Of Shug...

I’m sitting here looking at this thin strip of metal, a military dog tag issued some time before June the 6th, 1944. There are five lines of text stamped on it. These five lines only represent a few years of the life of the man whose name appears upon this scrap of tin, but to me it is so much more. Some say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, which I would not contest. For any who may come by this, it may seem as nothing more than refuse, except for the truly curious who may try to find out who this man was. Even then, they could learn nothing more than base facts like who and when. This tag is a mere brush stroke in the masterpiece of a life, to which the artist signed his name shortly before 2am on December the 27th, 2009.

I thought I’d be more heartbroken when I got the news that George Machuga had died. I expected quite assuredly that I’d be overwhelmed with sadness, and without doubt my heart has ached continuously since I got that call at 2:01am on Sunday morning. But the grief has failed to well up. Though I never saw him cry, I expect he’d tell me that tears were a gift from God to help when the hurt got to be too much. And as much as I feel at this moment that I could cry for him, I’m instead filled with pride that I got to be his grandson. Not many people had that honor, and it is not one that I take lightly.

At first, I thought I’d have trouble remembering the things I loved most about him. In fact, my mind was blank most of Sunday following the news. But I found him again in the grocery store. I felt like a zombie when I walked into the Safeway on Chandler Blvd, aware that I was there for a purpose, even knowing what it was, but I lacked the conviction of a person whose need was pressing. I was there for eggs to make potato pancakes, and in that store, the eggs are in the same aisle as ice cream. I grabbed a dozen Grade AA Large eggs, and for no reason that I can define, I turned around. And there he was, smiling at me from the label of a half gallon of Butter Pecan… his favorite ice cream.

I smiled back at him.

Then more and more things came back to me, and the richness of the way he touched my life was again tangible. In the produce section, I saw naval oranges the size of softballs, just like the ones he had stacked in a bowl on the kitchen table. I remember breakfast at that table on more mornings than I can count; scrambled eggs, and toast from a single slice of bread cut down the middle, with orange juice served in an impossibly small glass that had odd little flowers on it. On the far side of the table, the small square weather radio that I’d sometimes click on barely brushed against the lace curtains of the kitchen window. I’d look out into the tree, into the fork of which he had wedged a piece of board that had two long nails driven through it. Upon those nails were corn cobs that he collected every year from the harvested field that backed up to his property. And there, the birds and squirrels feasted every morning, and I with them.

Further along, in the cereal aisle, I found the single serving variety packs of General Mills products. It was almost foregone to know that he would have one of these packs sitting on the counter next to the microwave and the small tree of hooks that held his coffee cups, including the one with the picture of a Model T, under which his name was printed. When I ate from those single serving boxes, I’d go to the fridge and get the milk decanter, which he jokingly called moo-juice, and there at the back of the icebox was the unfinished bottle of Old Granddad Whiskey. I’m sure the bottle was older than I was at the time, and perhaps the bottle I found in the spirits aisle will last a similarly long time.

Perhaps not.

A lot of times, I’d wake up to find a box of donuts and a poppy seed pastry already in the kitchen. I’d never wake early enough to go to the bakery with him, but I once caught him returning and he gave me no more than a grin that showed me the joy he took in bringing home treats like these with all the stealth of the tooth fairy. I still can’t find poppy seed pastries like the ones he got. It was a cultural thing, brought down by his immigrant parents, and one I’d be eager to continue if I could just find someone that does it right.

George was a humble man. Everything he did, he did without explanation or justification, and yet nothing he ever did in my lifetime was objectionable. Who could find fault with eating huge slices of watermelon with your siblings and grandpa while sitting on the swing and spitting the seeds in the yard? Who could find fault with driving around in that old Dodge pickup truck and going down to the river to haul back buckets of sand for the brick patio he was fixing? Who could find fault with wheat germ milkshakes? Who could find fault with shagging golf balls into a fallow corn field, only to go out and collect the balls and any fallen ears of corn that would help feed the squirrels that gathered outside the kitchen window on snowy winter days for an easy meal?

Everything I ever saw him do had the capacity to make someone else smile. His love was endless, his labor selfless, and his guidance was righteous. My favorite days were ones spent riding his Snapper lawn mower around their large yard, shooting arrows into the hay bales he brought home for me, and endless evenings throwing Frisbees with him and the rest of the men in my family.

I can’t define what he means to me because you would have had to be there through all of the thirty years I knew him. I can no more tell you about the incredible man he was through these examples than I can describe Starry Night by telling you about each brush stroke. Each thing he did was so small, possibly even unnoticeable, but one action built upon another added up to a life that was awe inspiring in its simplicity, punctuated by a heart that was humbling in its sincerity.

Perhaps one day I’ll stand on the shore of Lake Michigan with my grandson and start chucking rocks into the water. I’ll make the same claim George did about filling the lake in or running out of rocks, whichever came first. And I’ll make the claim because I can think of nothing better, or more memorable. When he said it, it certainly stuck with me, and there can be nothing greater than providing someone with memories on which they can look back and endlessly smile. If he only knew that everything he did, with no intent on his part, gave me an example of everything I wanted to be, from his humor to his humility, it still wouldn’t have changed him. I can never be a better man that he was. But I certainly am a better man because of him.

I won’t feel his bear hug again. I won’t hear his raspy laugh. I won’t smell that aftershave, hear him call me Ichabod, or ever have him apply Prid to another cut. Watermelon will never be just a fruit. Butter Pecan will never be just because I like it. Ketchup on everything will never seem weird. Norman Rockwell paintings will never seem old. Even zipper neck ties will never seem cheesy. These are all things I will miss, but they will never be far from me.

For such an unassuming man, there may not be much to say, or much of which to have taken notice. And for this reason I’m glad that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, because he was beautiful to me.

Saving Face for the 1st Amendment

There are few guarantees afforded by the Constitution as resolute as the freedom of speech. It has grown to such status that we take it for granted, and for the most part, we exercise it with discretion and respect. There are certainly exceptions of course, both to our right to exercise free speech, and to our dignified use of it.

Doc Underwood sometimes referred to the practice of yelling 'Fire, Fire' in a crowded theater as unacceptable use of this ability. The potential for such a statement (if less than genuine) to incite a panic in which some may be injured far outweighs the comedic value, and represents reckless disregard for safety. Most municipalities would frown on this as a misdemeanor at best.

However, in a democratic republic such as ours, speech, even unpopular speech, is necessary. Political, moral, and ethical debates couldn't occur without dissenting opinions. But the city of Elmhurst, Illinois is trying to legislate that right out of existence. When I first heard of this, I was amused, but when I heard the reasoning, I became dismayed. Now I'm concerned.

The proposition brought by the city government would, if passed, add the rolling of one's eyes to a classification of misdemeanors called 'disorderly conduct', punishable by fines and possible arrest. The impetus for this ordinance stems from a woman who rolled here eyes and sighed during a statement from one of the city officials. She was ejected from the meeting.

I agree that rolling your eyes at someone can be frustrating, even hurtful. But we're all grownups here. Facial expression itself is part of speech, as is wild gesturing of hands, and other body language. It's communication in its most reduced form, and in my humble opinion still a form of speech. I realized in the first grade, sitting on the assembly room floor (which was also the gym and cafeteria) of Marion Elementary School, that the kid making faces at me was no less dignified than an emotional response to something childish.

However, we're not robots. A roll of the eyes is reasonable, if not mandatory, when public officials fail to uphold the interests of the People. The woman whose actions have prompted this suggestion is known for outbursts. Her restraint is less than admirable, as reported by The Chicago Tribune. And if she is in fact that disruptive, barring her from future city business is far preferable to attempting legislation of natural human expression.

Unfortunately, I foresee this as an infraction, however minor, of free speech. And if pursued, I believe it could lead to larger restrictions on public involvement in public affairs. On the heels of such a decision, impassioned statements that rile public opinion may be punishable, followed by a ban on public statements altogether.

We cannot be restrained from showing our disapproval. It's a requirement of a Republic.

Sovereignty and its Defense

America has become a nation divided. For every political agenda, there are two distinct viewpoints, and then one, less clear, that rests somewhere between them. Whether the issue is abortion, immigration, or economics, the divisions run deep and are inhabited by people with every shade of enthusiasm from polite indifference to fundamentalist rage towards other viewpoints. Rarely do two people who share a philosophy one subject invariably come down on the same side of the fence on all the others. Quite literally, one can have a finger in every pie on the political picnic table and never see the same face twice.

There are few issues about which I am so impassioned as the 2nd Amendment. And as the Supreme Court hands down decisions that leave the exercise of what we have traditionally interpreted as the 'right to bear arms' in the hands of individuals, the nation has become more divided than ever. Conservative ideals have been upheld in these recent decisions, much to the dismay of the political Left. Many liberally minded individuals have shouted with very loud voices that we should fight for stronger gun control, while their counterparts have insisted that two hands on the pistol is all the gun control that is required.

Fanaticism, in all its forms, is selective reasoning, and often the offspring of false syllogism. While I respect that opinions are the exclusive domain of those who bear them, I must decline to agree wholly with either side of the debate. One cannot be an extremist of any kind without also being biased, and therefore blind to some degree of truth. Whether it's being dismissive of the importance of established fact, or willful ignorance in defense of one's dogma, absolute devotion to one side of any issue is a choice to be blind.

I am of the firm belief that people are not complete idiots. For whatever devotion they ascribe to a topic, they have some basis for their allegiance. To dismiss it out of hand simply because they disagree with us is to reduce them to a mindless mob. I will at least hear one's reasons before I judge them valid, and I will never dismiss a well reasoned perspective, even if I disagree.

The 2nd Amendment of the US Constitution reads as follows: A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

This is a very simple looking statement, which unfortunately was the dumping ground of at least three concepts that the founding fathers wanted to address. It is overly ambitious, and overly simplified for its reach. Two sentences would have been better. In establishing one right, of the people to keep and bear Arms, the necessity of the a well regulated Militia is declared. A subject of little debate, the ability to repel despotic government is protected by this Amendment. The explicit authority to form an armed resistance is granted to the People.

Where people seem to disagree is whether this authority is granted at the individual level, or at the state level. The Supreme Court has declared in District of Columbia v. Heller that it is an individual right that cannot be preempted by the Federal Government, even in Federal Enclaves such as Washington DC. This position was recently affirmed in McDonald v. Chicago, where the Supreme Court again ruled that the city could not deny gun ownership for the purpose of self defense.

Regardless of philosophical reasoning, what is clear is that the highest court in the land has upheld the individual right to bring weapons to bear. Illustrated by this ruling, the exclusive right of the people to fight tyranny by any means necessary is protected. Primarily, people interpret this to mean that we can fight off oppressive government. And considering that the framers of the Constitution committed high treason in putting pen to paper for the very purpose of opposing tyrannical rule, this interpretation is implicitly correct.

Also implicit in the Declaration of Independence and the Bill of Rights is the sovereignty of self. And if one agrees that the 2nd Amendment was drafted to protect one from uncontested tyranny, one must also agree that a tyrant need not be a ruler, or even a governmental body. As defined by Merriam-Webster, a tyrant only need be a usurper of sovereignty to qualify for the title, and is thus inclusive of home invaders, rapists, thieves, and murderers.

If as individuals we claim sovereignty over our faith, property, finances, and bodies, then we also accept that to defend or acquiesce that claim is our exclusive right. And in doing so, to bear arms in defense of that which we will not freely surrender is also our exclusive right. For no reason shall the ability to defend or dispense that which is ours, including the government, at our discretion, be infringed.

Because tyranny may be executed at the personal level, the ability to defend against it at the personal level must be protected. Currently, the city of Chicago, Illinois would contest that legislation that only the truly law abiding will heed is the way to reduce gun violence. And while I agree that gun violence is abhorrent, a government cannot legislate weapons out of the hands of criminals. They may only legislatively incriminate previously law abiding people by making the guns which they refuse to surrender illegal to own.

If there is anything for which guns do carry the full responsibility, it's making violence impersonal. Murder may be committed at a distance with no more tactile feedback that the recoil of a spent round. Looking a victim in the eye while they are put to death is a sensation that only the truly insane seek.

Violence can never be the sole domain of the weapon. It is, and always has been, a reflection of the values and ethics of a society. Guns owned and kept for the common defense can be used against oppression in all its forms. They must be, if for no other reason than those who come to do you harm, whether they be elected officials or common thugs (insert snicker here) will come appropriately armed to coerce your cooperation. And though not spelled out in the 2nd Amendment, the larger body of America's constitution grants you Liberty, and you are under no obligation to surrender it without the most vigorous fight you can muster.

Needs and Wants (Concluded)

My grandmother was a terrible cook. In her youth, she inexplicably lost her sense of smell and taste. Henceforth, everything she ever made on a stove or in an oven tasted like crap. Of course, she no longer cared, so the loss really wasn't hers. However, I remember an awful lot of burnt cookies, dried out pork chops, and Spaghetti-O's that had more flavor than the meat she cooked. I never could figure out why grandpa put ketchup on everything, until I tried her food without it.

My parents often took us camping when we were kids. One year, my grandparents joined us at Lake Norfork in northern Arkansas. As we sat down to a meal at the concrete picnic table, my grandpa said grace, and we began to eat. A few moments later, grandma stopped and a tear rolled down her cheek. After a moment of concern from the rest of us, she smiled and said, "I tasted that."

From then on, she enjoyed her food much more than had in fifty years, but her cooking never improved. But at the very least, she knew how bad she was and dinner out was a much more frequent occurrence. The interesting thing was the look she got in her eye on that day of camping. It was recognition, longing, relief, all rolled into one. Three wars, three sons, and seven grandchildren had come along in absence of her senses, but that long hiatus was not enough to erase her memory.

I believe this is true of many things and a little perspective can go a long way. In my grandmother's case, knowing what she was missing was as simple as knowing what was there. In the case of Henry's wife, finding out who she wasn't was a matter of finding out who she could be.

I know I came at this topic from the wrong direction, but I wanted to illustrate the point that we may think we know who we are and that we are the masters of all we survey. The truth is, all we really know is what we were yesterday. We are the sum of our experiences and we have no idea how high we can reach until someone, or something, shows us what can yet come to pass.

Henry has been smiling more lately, and that vacant look he used to have when his friends were not distracting him has faded to all the relevance of a shadow in a dark room. I'm not the type to pry, but I did ask him how things were going and he was all too happy to share how his life has changed. For ten minutes I listened to him and I was proud for him. Not only in the complete one-eighty that has occurred between he and his wife, but in his willingness to hold out just one more day. He took the worst he could ever imagine and then took a little more. In the end, we find that his diligence has paid off.

What it comes down to, friends, is that he decided to make a change. He decided that he wasn't going to be unhappy. Not with his wife, but with himself. His trials had turned him into a person he didn't respect. After a long look in the mirror, he made the choice to be different, better. Rather than trying to change the things about his wife that caused him grief, he changed the things that he allowed to cause him grief. When his wife saw that he was choosing to be happy in spite of their troubles, she made that same self examination, and made choices that were tough for her too.

As one could have only predicted had her love for him been certain, their relationship was more important to her than all of the insecurities and pride that drove her behavior just a few short months ago. What she stood to lose was of far more value than what she so ardently protected, and it wasn't until it was on the way out the door (literally) that she made a change.

The love of a person isn't something to which we're entitled, nor is it something we're granted. It is something we're extended in the way we receive hospitality from a host. It can be abused and, with a little effort, rescinded. We never own the love of another and sometimes we can forget that in a relationship. It's especially easy to do when we are so certain of another's love that we begin to view it as a convenience to be used when and how we desire. But that's a mistake of colossal magnitude.

Viewing our spouse, lover, girlfriend or boyfriend as anything other than an equal person with equally important needs and wants is to put them on a shelf. In the times when they are not convenient, they are viciously aware of it, make no mistake. They can feel the vacuum of love as acutely as a knife pressed slowly and steadily into their flesh.

That was the pain Henry bore with exceptional dignity. When he stepped out of the place in which he'd been put, he became free. He was free to love his wife for the things she was, rather than to lament the things she could not be as long as she kept him in that place. And in his freedom, she found beauty. And it was a beauty in which she decided she wanted to bask. Being free of the obligation to love each other, they have again found the desire to love each other.

For as long as we wish to love someone, we will always find ways to show them that love.

Forgive My Insensitivity

CNN has posted an article regarding the legislator of Connecticut's proposed bill to repeal the statute of limitations on sexual abuse of a minor. It would take the current statute of 30 years from the age of majority to report sexual abuse and make it indefinite. In other words, victims of childhood abuse will have the lesser of the the remainder of their own lives, or the remainder of their attacker's, to bring accusations to bear.

This is the point where I beg your indulgence. The following will be brief, but direct.

The article also states that local Catholic leadership are instructing their parishioners to oppose the bill because the "legislation would undermine the mission of the Catholic church in Connecticut, threatening... schools, ... parishes , and... Catholic charities."

Correction! The actions of their CLERGY undermine the church!

In a letter from the three Arch Bishops of Connecticut, Catholics are being told to contact their elected leaders to express their concern. In moments like this, I find that restating the idea in a different way often lends some clarity. If we take the above statement and instead say, "We, as an organization, do not want the law to allow crimes committed by our leaders to come back and bite us in the ass in perpetuity," it suddenly sounds very selfish.

Let's take this and expand the scope to include ALL victims of childhood abuse. Shall we then say to child abusers everywhere, "It's ok. Your crimes have a shelf life. That child you scarred can't come after you beyond their 48th birthday"?

Well, gee, when you say it like that, it sounds kinda silly.

1st Amendment Freedom vs 4th Amendment Privacy

There are presently court cases on the docket which are set to decide the public's right to information against the victims' right to privacy. In question, thanks to the diligence of men like Larry Flynt, is whether or not grizzly crime scene photos may be published in the interest of public safety and information. First Amendment activists are quick to point out that the freedom of information is protected, and for the sake of knowing how our tax dollars are spent, we should be able to view all material related to judicial matters and decide for ourselves if our interests are adequately represented.

The Fourth Amendment conversely protects us from unreasonable search and seizure, which has been interpreted by the Supreme Court to mean that private matters are not public domain, and shall not be so unless there is probable cause to indicate a crime has been committed. Journalists, and other publishers like Mr. Flynt, are demanding that crime scene and autopsy photos be made available, regardless of the risks or damage that may befall the victims or surviving family.

I am torn over this issue because I don't believe there should be a cap on information, and if I make an exception for the exorbitance of the human cost, I must concede that other exceptions may exist. What I find laughable is that media outlets are only contesting the family's requests for injunctions against the release of such photo's in high profile cases, which necessitate the injunctions in the first place. If this is such a critical topic, then journalists should be requesting access to ALL crime scene and autopsy photos, and yet they do not. This reveals one of the fundamental truths about news media, which most people forget, and that is that at it's top level, news is a business. And fundamental to all business, they must remain competitive. To do so, they must be reporting on the hot-button issues of the day, which they claim is only possible if they have access to those pictures.

I personally believe it is shameful that media mongers have discovered the price of a murder victim's dignity, and it's value is a market share.

I therefore propose a simple fix to this conundrum. If the media is so intent on having access to photos and videos of death, let's give it to them. In a two step process, they will have all the access they desire. Consider the following:

1. Media companies wishing to examine and/or publish crime scene and autopsy photos must submit a proposal, outlining the intended purpose of the story and projected impact on public safety, to an independent review board that will determine the validity and viability of the proposal. The submission of the proposal will cost the company a nominal fee, from which the board will draw operating expenses, and the excess of which will be contributed to crime prevention programs nationwide.


2. Upon successful review of their proposal, the board will grant access to the requested material, which will come as part of a package bundled with case files from 99 other non-news worthy violent crimes. After reviewing the photos associated with those 99 other cases, the news agency will then have access to the photos pertinent to their segment on the 11 o'clock news, to use as prescribed by law.

If they want information, let give it to them. All of it. If they want to make a buck off of a murder, let's sell it to them at a premium.

State of Denial

Talk to any five people in the world and you will get five different opinions on the best ways to maintain a relationship. What each of these people tell you will be a product of their experience, personal desires, and philosophies. None are wrong. But neither are any correct. Every opinion is a representation of how things ‘should’ be, and yet every pairing is filled with its own dynamics that make the working equation different from all others.

I’ve heard recently, and also in the past, from spouses that would “never deny” their partner intimacy, mostly for the fear that they’d find it someplace else. This always sounded like an ideal to me, but I’ve recently started to believe this to be a manifestation of insecurity. It’s a pessimistic view on a relationship to say that denying your spouse the comforts of your body will soon lead them to seek it elsewhere. My experience with Henry has shown me that this can be a much longer process than I once believed.

He’s been facing an intimacy drought that is now stretching into calendar years instead of just months or weeks. Most people who take care of their partners needs whenever called upon could not fathom a break in action that is this long. Frankly, neither can I. But the truth of the matter is that this is so common that marriage counselors have a name for it. ‘Sexless marriages’ are ones in which intimacy occurs less that twice in a twelve month period.

These circumstances are proof that a relationship can, and often does, endure long beyond the cessation of intimacy. Those relationships are also occupied by at least one optimist. The optimistic spouse can endure those long droughts because they don’t seem to feel that intimacy is the tie that binds. It’s just an extension of the relationship’s primary foundation. But again, this definition will be different for every person you ask.

What I do believe is that the person in the relationship that is denied more often than they deny is frequently disappointed and fearful of some other shortcoming. What is it that makes them undesirable at that moment? Why is their spouse’s love not strong enough to make them want to express it physically?

I’ve heard often, and it’s even joked about in cinema and television, that one’s spouse (often the man) only thinks about sex, and as result they just never get any peace. Every time they’re alone, it’s all (he) wants. I’m personally of the belief that one should be grateful that one’s spouse wants it whenever they have the chance. It means that their spouse finds them attractive, and wants to express how they feel about the relationship. Frequent sex can be a great indicator of a fundamentally healthy relationship.

After being turned away frequently, it’s not unreasonable to expect someone to take matters into their own hands. But what happens frequently enough is that matters go from their own hands to someone else’s. Intimacy is an important manifestation of good relationships, to whatever degree and frequency is agreed upon. But when there is a lack of consensus, the one who is turned away can begin to fester in their doubts. Self doubt in particular often finds comfort in the ear of another. Comfort in the ear of another, who was often just the one willing to let someone vent their frustrations, can easily lead to more illicit encounters.

If there’s a disagreement on how often sex should or does occur in the relationship, it’s a conversation that best dealt with quickly. Being faithful to a spouse should not include a clause demanding that one also endure loneliness, doubt, and disappointment. It may not take a week, a month, or even a year for things to erode. But one day…

Henry has dealt with this for nearly two full years, with a steady escalation in recent months. He needs to feel relevant, attractive, and loved. His wife’s long list of justifications for their lack of intimacy cannot do anything to assuage his feelings of emptiness. To accept that your spouse will deny you repeatedly is to deny yourself.

If it is their right to say that you must wait, it is your right to say how long you will wait.

Needs and Wants (Part 2)

I grew up in a religious family. It was a particular sect of Christianity that is historically part of the Protestant Reformation, yet shares no secular ties with any common faiths. What I learned from my youth onward is that the protection of an ideal, or faith, can sometimes come at the expense of truth. Ideals are a fantastic thing to have since it gives you a goal towards which to work. But if one must decline understanding to uphold the ideal, it's of little value.

I talked with 'Henry' again today about how things are going with his wife and his understanding is beginning to change. Henry decided to check his phone records yesterday, and for any of you who have ever needed to do that, you already know what I'm going to tell you. Henry has discovered that his wife has been texting on a near constant basis (at least while Henry is at work) with a male friend from her high-school days.

Though she asserts that her friend is married, this is merely a rationalization, because so is she. Experience shows one thing above all else: If you are in a troubled relationship and your choice of confidante is a person that is the same gender as your significant other, you have not chosen a kind ear, but a person who gives you what your partner could not. That person becomes a surrogate for all the feelings that have gone unfulfilled, and if you are on the fence about what you wish for the future of your relationship, your friend in need can easily become a friend with benefits. A person in her position is unlikely to resist when the conversation inevitably turns flirtatious. And in the new found intimacy of her friendship, that temptation is easily found.

That friend will do nothing to help the relationship. Matters only become more complicated, and the chance of recovery which was tenuous at best, suddenly becomes all but impossible. Please don't confuse this to mean that your friend will not make you feel better. Almost assuredly they will. However, it's important to understand the anyone in the midst of repairing a relationship will take the presence of that third person as a sign that you've moved on, and in the vacuum of their own hurt, they will seek to retaliate. The void will continue to grow unless someone consciously decides to stop it.

Consider the triage of a relationship much like one would treat a trauma victim. The first step is to control the bleeding and then do a damage assessment. Outside contributors, excepting impartial advice from a trained professional, is of little value other than to help you validate your feelings of betrayal. Every time you accept affirmation that your feelings are justified, you take one step further away from repairing the relationship.

Henry is now facing the reality that not only is his wife not talking with him, she's sharing her feelings with someone else. He has gone from a bitter smile to an angered scowl. I see the resignation and he's now weighing the costs of leaving. In his mind, he's preparing for a life apart, wondering how long it will take him to find someone and if she'll make him as happy as his wife used to. He doesn't want another woman, but he will find one to forget about how hurt he is right now. For as long as his wife seeks comfort elsewhere, things will not improve between them.

And that is the truth about troubled relationships: Dealing with it is not comfortable. If one is seeking comfort, they are hiding from the reality. Facing the problem head on, however painful it may be, is the path of progress. As John Kennedy said to the nation, "We will go to the moon, not because it is easy, but because it is hard." Moving on to another endeavor takes no effort. But anything worth doing will involve tears, sleepless nights, and a lot of humility.

For Henry's part, I hope his wife chooses to talk with him about the things that matter, instead of her friend. Keeping her friend around will allow things to evolve into something that cannot be undone. Henry may or may not have the strength to absorb that and still move forward with their relationship. Even if he does, it will rest there in the back of his mind, quietly waiting to squeeze his heart with icy fingers every time he sees something that reminds him of the relationship his wife had with her friend. He will never again be sure of himself, or her. He will bear a stain of anger and hurt for as long as he draws breath.

Some things just never go away.

Molon Labe

The United States Supreme Court is hearing arguments this week about the right of states to impose restrictions on firearms that preempt federal regulation. Two years ago, the ban on handguns in Washington D.C. was struck down and the court ruled for the first time that gun ownership was an individual right, not one reserved for militias. At stake now is whether or not the states have the authority to restrict the application of the 2nd Amendment, when all other Bill of Rights provisions are staunchly upheld.

Some make the argument now that the 2nd Amendment is somehow a lesser right that requires careful applications by nature of the immediate and lethal threat it poses. Many news articles are quoting the children’s rhyme we know as ‘sticks and stones’ as justification that the 1st Amendment does not bear the same weight or lethality as the 2nd. Humbly, I disagree.

Every fight I’ve ever witnessed or been part of was immediately preceded by angry words meant to incite violence. Philosophically, I know that violence is a choice and with sufficient self control, words alone cannot goad another to violence. However, philosophy is an exercise in logic, and violence is an expression of emotion. Seldom do logic and emotion intersect.

There are superb examples throughout history of the artful use of words, both for good and for evil. Little more than 77 years ago, a young veteran of the First World War was rising very quickly through the political ranks of post-war Europe. He was intelligent, charismatic, and well spoken. After his appointment to the highest office in his government, he made an impassioned plea to his countrymen that they better themselves, reaping the gifts that their heritage has bestowed. They rallied as a people, frenzied and determined to rebuild their nation. They engineered an infrastructure which no other country could match. Their industry exploded and the people prospered. And in a final stroke of political genius and nationalistic pride, they rounded up every undesirable person in their borders and shipped them away to places like Auschwitz-Birkenau, Sobibor, and Belzec.

Adolf Hitler had a way with words that few others have ever exhibited. For his skill with words, two-hundred and twenty-five thousand German Jews, and as many as eight-million other German military personnel and civilians died. Quantifying the global impact is far too difficult, so these statistics are limited to German nationals. One could argue that they all died violently in the war, that the direct cause of death was the use of weapons. However, many more died by starvation, gas chamber, and mob action than ever fell to the bullet.

Words, my friends, have a reach far beyond the capabilities of a firearm. There is nothing one can do with a gun that cannot be done with the bare hands of one so artfully inspired by a turn of phrase. I personally do not intend to arm myself only after all diplomatic means have been exhausted. The police have already said that they are not responsible for crimes to which they cannot respond in a timely fashion.

If not now, when? If not them, who?

I have said before that those who wish to deprive you of your liberties will not ask your permission. You must answer back with the loudest voice necessary, or else bear the burden of being robbed of your rights as a human by implied consent. The 2nd Amendment is there because you should not need the government to tell you that you’re allowed to defend yourself. It’s there to acknowledge that you don’t have to ask.

Needs and Wants

I've been talking with this guy at work whom I respect. He smart, diligent, and charming in the way that makes even anxious people feel comfortable. I see him out there every day, hard at work, and taking a moment to joke with his fellow metal workers from time to time. While I wouldn't call him soft-spoken, he's not the boisterous type, nor is he a person whose temper would make you think twice about a joke at his expense. He's humble, but a team player, a guy that you could see playing football without ever being a media sweetheart. We'll call him 'Henry' for the sake of dignity.

I've noticed over the past several months a change in Henry's demeanor. It's subtle, but if you've been through the kind of thing he has, it may as well be a big flashing light above his head. I first became aware of it a few weeks ago, and once I realized what I was seeing, I could trace it back to when his problems first started. I knew how long he'd been dealing with his problem, even if I didn't know it.

You see, most people can joke with friends and after a good laugh, walk away with a smile on their face. It takes a little time for that rush of glee to fade, and for most people, that smile can last well into the undertaking of the next task. But with Henry, it's like someone turns off a switch. There's a quiet heartbreak in his eyes now that reminds me of dementia. For a split second after you approach him, he continues to look past you. But then he recognizes you as a friend and his aura changes to the Henry I first knew. He's a man with two faces these days. There's the face that's distracted from his problems, and there's the face that can't hide the very deep hurt.

Concerned for him, I asked about, and got a very frank synopsis of, what's eating him. In the time it took him to tell me what was wrong, the irony stained surrender in his eyes never changed. He smiled in the way one does when they know they're getting screwed over. The way one does after investing everything and being told it's not enough. The way one does when the person they love just can't trust them enough to return the warmth. It was a bitter smile, through and through.

The details are not necessary to this discussion, but Henry is suffering in the way many of us have. He is in a troubled relationship, and as much as he wants to save it, he needs to stop hurting. Turning that look inward, I admit that what I need and what I want are very different things. I want passion and kink. I need stability and structure.

But are wants any less important that your needs? Needs are finite and immediate. I need water and have a limited time frame in which to fulfill that need before I'm in actual trouble. Same for food, air, shelter, and income. But the wants we have define us as people. Do you want to reduce your carbon footprint? Do you want to exercise your 2nd Amendment rights? Do you want to paint a portrait?

Needs and wants separate life from living. For every want we suppress because it's not compatible with our significant other, we lock away a piece of ourselves and make the face we show them a little bit more of a lie. And every one of your partner's wants you rebuff is another brick in the wall of you're-not-good-enough. For Henry's part, he stuck on the outside of a huge brick wall, and not a single stone has his name on it. And when someone you love becomes so occupied with themselves that there's no time left for you, then it becomes clear that they no longer need you.

It's Henry's intent to get his needs met somewhere else, which I don't endorse, but I do understand. In this case, he needs to feel attractive, wanted, and relevant. I'm not sure how long he could go without those things. Only he can. After listening to his story, I believe he's made every reasonable effort. He's even made some unreasonable efforts. I was once thanked for 'meeting on the bridge', for those of you who've seen the Sex in the City movie. Well, Henry showed up on that bridge and no one was there. I don't know how long he's going to hang out, but knowing the kind of guy he is, it won't take him long to find someone who's willing to give as much as he does.

He's a good man, so far as I know. If his version of events is to be believed, then he's probably justified in moving on. Before you call him selfish, know that a selfish person would never endure the heartache that I hear in his words. He's already given away all of himself, and it was spitefully declined.

He may want her, but he doesn't need this.