Hope is a journey, not a destination

I admit that when I go to The Northern Lights Lodge and I am there by myself one of my favorite things to do is listen for nothing at all.

(Except when I hear a bat in the chimney.  That isn’t a favorite sound of mine anywhere.)

Yet, when I am at my home it is the silence that saddens me.  Not in a deep, despairing type of sadness.

But a kind of melancholy that all things, at some point, change or come to an end in our lives.

This morning was a morning like any morning at my house.  Nothing spectacular or remarkable other than it was another day I was blessed to wake up to the sound of my wife’s breathing.

The pitter patter of rain on the siding.  The creaking of the hall floor as The Daughter groggily got up from bed to use the bathroom.

The slap of my feet when they hit the floor and the cracking of my ankles, knees and other parts on my 53 year old chassis as I got up from bed.

For some reason today I decided to listen to my home.  More profoundly, to the people in my home.

Not just what they said.

But the sounds of their life that surrounds me.

There’s little routine to these sounds and I like that.  I have never been much for routine.  I suppose if I was I would have been wealthy and lived in a bigger, quieter house.

I don’t regret not having a routine.

There has always been the shuffling of feet on the floor.  It started with the feet of my wife and I.  And, before the sound of The Dude’s feet became a pattern of our life there was the scurry of his knees as he crawled from here to there.

There’s the creaking of the stairs.  Louder today as both they and the children that use them have gotten older.

A chair being pulled out as a 13 year old girl plants her tired frame before the table and grunts that she would like toast.

The unwrapping of the bag.  The sliding of the bread into the toaster.  The pushing of the button down.  The metallic clunk of the toaster ejecting the toast.

Knife across toast.  Plate on table.  And, crunching of the toast by the girl with the iPod watching YouTube with her headphones barely containing the noise.

The fridge opens.  It shuts. The fridge starts up and turns itself off.

A cleared throat.  A clunking of large feet up the stairs followed by a six foot two lank of young man with a smile.

Cereal poured into a bowl.  A bowl put on the table.  Juice poured into a glass.  He plops himself down.

My wife comes in and the dishwasher opens.  The dishes are removed and the glasses and plates make their own sounds as we take turns removing them, putting them away and replacing them with other dirty dishes.

I turn on the stove and the click of the pilot light sounds before the whoosh of the gas flame appears.

The toilet flushes, shower starts and a door closes somewhere.

A throat is cleared, the t.v. is playing, and a young man laughs downstairs as he talks to a friend on Xbox.

A sneeze.  The hallway door squeals and shuts.  The central air turns on and my wife walks in and out of the kitchen, her sandals slapping on the floor.  My Daughter yawns.

The microwave buttons are pressed. It sounds when it is done.

My Daughter hums.  Stuffs her backpack with her lunch bag.  More doors open and close.  Feet shuffle and some unknown sound happens somewhere else.

These are the sounds of my life in my home.  Someday there will be fewer of them.  My children will grow up.  Move on.

There will be fewer creaks from the floor boards and more from the bones of my body.

The days of my life flash before me.  I wish I could savor every day with the same deliberate moment of reflection I did this morning.  As much as I vow that I will I find my will wanting when life intervenes.

I don’t live my life by meme or motto.

I try to live it without regret.  Or with wanting to have someone else’s life.

My life is exactly what I want it to be.  Even when it isn’t exactly the way I want it to be.

I smiled when I left my home this morning with my Daughter in tow.  Not because I was happy to leave the house with the noises and sounds that have become my life.

Because I know that I get to come back to that place and listen to it all over again.

For as long as I can.

Dear Secretary Clinton,

As I write this America will to the polls to elect a new President in barely 90 days.

The likely victor will be either you or Donald Trump.

I will not vote for Donald Trump.

But, that does not equate into a vote for you.

To be honest, I wish it did.  I wish that my alternative was you.  Eight years ago I could have found myself voting for you.

Despite my admiration for your historic achievement in becoming the first woman nominated by a major party to run for President of the United States it doesn’t outweigh my disappointment in your policy and political failures these past eight years.

Perhaps it was the weight of coming so close in 2008 and coming up short that undermined the judgement, maturity and wisdom I had always come to admire in you.

I know it is fashionable for people who do not support you to demonize you.  To make you a caricature.  A one-dimensional character incapable of being genuine and authentic.

I believe you to be too accomplished and intelligent to characterize you in that way.  I believe you love your country too much to minimize the good you have done in your public life to improve the lives of others.

I think you failed in Benghazi.  I think you failed in securing classified information.  I think you are failing in presenting a compelling case to the American people about why you should be the next President of the United States of America.

Being the default choice of Americans who cannot stand the thought of Donald Trump being our next President is nothing to brag about.

There may be victory.

But, there will be no mandate.

All of this being said I believe you will be elected America’s next President. 

Not as a result of my vote. 

That said, I believe that given the choice between Donald Trump and you– America is in far better hands with you leading the nation than Donald Trump.

If I thought the guy running as Independent had a chance of actually getting elected I wouldn’t even be writing this note to you.

He doesn’t.

You do.

And, if you do win, as I believe you will win, you will be my President.

To that point I want to be abundantly clear:  You will be my President.

As an American – who did not contribute to your victory – but believe you when you say that you will be a President for every American – including those that did not vote for you – there is something I must ask of you.

In the movie “Saving Private Ryan” as Tom Hank’s character, Captain Miller prepares to take his last breath after spending his last moments on Earth attempting to return Matt Damon’s character, Private James Ryan, home to his parents, he whispers “James, earn this… earn it.”

Secretary Clinton, you must earn this.

America needs you to earn this.

As one American I want you to know that I don’t need you to apologize.

There’s no more need to explain why you risked America’s national security for your personal convenience. I don’t believe it was ever your duty to take the blame for President Obama’s failed policy in Libya and what happened in Benghazi.

I also don’t believe it was appropriate for you to help him cover up his failure of leadership.

Here’s what I can’t stand the thought of: Four years of Congress doing nothing but launching one investigation after another to get to the bottom of all of these things.

Let’s accept that your role in each of these areas was a failure of leadership. You cannot erase these things from the historical record.

There’s no perfect President or candidate for President. To demand a standard of perfection from you is unfair, it is sexist, it is unreasonable and it is beside the point.

Ultimately, long from now, history will judge you for what you did – and did not do – when America needed you to be the leader you say you are prepared to be if you are elected our President.

As our President it is up to you to earn this. Not us to forget what you have done and failed to do.

Help us move beyond it. Move past it. To embrace the promise you are making to us that you are prepared to lead. Prepared to bring America together to get things done. That you will focus on rebuilding our economy. Restoring our place in the world. Recalibrating the appropriate role of the Executive, Legislative and Judicial branches of government.

I don’t know if you are up to the task. I hope you are. I want you to be.

Despite my reservations and my decision not to vote for you I want you to be successful as our President. For my sake. My children’s sake. And, for my country’s sake.

Winning this election has become easier every passing day. Despite millions of people who support Donald Trump hoping he is the right choice for America’s future he is making every effort to disrespect and dishonor their faith in him.

Their choice should not be disrespected or dishonored by those of us who do not share their belief in Donald Trump. We should respect it even if we cannot agree with it.

And, it would be my hope that once the election is over with those who cast their votes for Trump or someone other than you will find we must all come together to support our President.

Secretary Clinton, America will need you to be a successful President.

While there will be many who voted for you.

There will be millions who deliberately cast their vote against you.

It would be a failure of leadership to ignore that reality.

You must be their President, too. To be their President will be difficult. And, for many of them no matter what you say, or do, or accomplish, they will never accept you as the legitimate leader of this nation.

At that point those Americans have become mirror images of the very things they have accused you of being: self-absorbed and more interested in their personal agenda than they are in America’s need for leadership.

Secretary Clinton, I will not vote for you.

But, if you are elected President I will support you as my President.

For the millions of Americans who will not do so as easily as I will I do not envy the work you have in front of you.

They will need far more convincing

Earn this.

Earn it.

 

One of America’s finest foundations resides right here in St. Paul – The Wilder Foundation.

It’s unique combination of direct services, research and community initiatives has been a driving force in St. Paul and the East Metro since its formation in 1906.

Nowhere has Wilder’s impact been more profound than in the creation of the Saint Paul Promise Neighborhood (SPPN).

As it describes it on its website,

The Saint Paul Promise Neighborhood (SPPN) is a transformative education initiative that brings together families, schools, public agencies, and the community to change the odds for a generation of children. SPPN uses education as a tool to end multi-generational poverty in the Frogtown and Summit-University neighborhoods by creating early pathways of opportunities leading to college and career success.

At SPPN, we envision a thriving community where everyone can succeed – regardless of their race, income, or neighborhood. We strive to create an environment that expresses all youth and families can achieve at high levels by promoting self-determination and self-efficacy, which we believe is the ultimate form of sustainable change.

In other words, the SPPN is all about giving children and their families the best tools, resources and opportunities to achieve the American Dream.

As the Star Tribune reported this week, “For the past five years, the St. Paul Promise Neighborhood has helped families who live in a 250-square-block area in St. Paul’s Frogtown and Summit-University neighborhoods navigate the complicated network of social and financial resources.”

The Promise Neighborhood concept is the brilliant coupling of social services, education and community support designed not to be a hand-out, and not even a hand-up, but a leg-up for the future of children and their families.

Rather than put families in the position of having to go to the resources they need to build a successful life after generations of poverty the SPPN brings those resources to them and in a kind of potent cocktail of social services provides intensive support that is showing real success.

Today, the Saint Paul Promise Neighborhood is primarily and publicly championed by liberal Democrats. And, kudos to them for understanding that the further away we make families have to reach to find the support they need to give their children a fighting chance to climb out of poverty the more likely they are to stay in that pit of despair.

While the temptation is growing among some of its advocates to stray from its proven, laser beam focus on children and families basic and fundamental human needs and access to knowledge and resources there is a lesson for my Conservative and Republican friends to learn from the SPPN.

In fact, if Conservatives and Republicans truly hope to find inroad into urban America they would be wise to understand the tremendous potential of Promise Neighborhoods to transform communities that many have given up on into swaths of opportunity and prosperity.

The brilliance of the Promise Neighborhood concept is that it doesn’t bite off more than it can chew.

Rather than stating the entire City of St. Paul will be one giant Promise Neighborhood – a typical approach of government programs – supporters of this initiative understood that focused, manageable and identifiable geographic area was a critical component of directing resources to their maximum potential.

There are no amorphous efforts in Promise Neighborhoods. No vague euphemisms and platitudes or slogans.

Just investment in the simple, proven notion that knowledge is power. And, the pathway to opportunity lies in giving children access to that power.

It starts, as Wilder points out in its Principles for Engagement, with Parent Power:

“We believe parents as the first teachers and greatest assets in a child’s life. Our parents are the lead partner in the work to reclaim power, culture, schools, and the neighborhood.”

Notice there is no message about government being the catalyst or the lead as it relates to the Promise Neighborhood.

It starts, as it has always started, with parents.

And, for my Conservative and Republican friends, the section of its principles titled “Build Community” from Wilder should make you weak in the knees:

• We look to the assets of our youth, parents, community first to develop systems to building up their assets.
• We keep opportunities and resources in the neighborhood.
• We engage families and communities in their own solutions; this is not a community consumption model.
• We organize with integrity, which requires SPPN and its partners to be accountable to children and families.

Accountability. Looking to the community first. Keeping opportunities and resources in the neighborhood. This is not a community consumption model.

All of these sound like words one might find in the plank of a Republican Party Platform.

As a Center Left Conservative I don’t believe government is the enemy of the people. I do believe that government has exceeded its boundaries in many areas of our life. And, more frustrating for me, I believe government has increasingly failed to live up to the expectations of the investment its citizens have made in it.

When that happens in the private sector we have choices in changing who we buy our services from. When that happens in the public sector the choices we have in making those changes are more difficult, complex and opaque.

The Saint Paul Promise Neighborhood is government at its finest because it is not government in the lead. It is government as a partner with the family and the community leading the way.

It’s why these are the types of investments we ought to be making more of in St. Paul and throughout urban communities all throughout America.

Conservatives and Republicans should not just embrace the Promise Neighborhood concept, but at a state and national level they should celebrate, advocate and lead for it.

If there is a true bi-partisan model of community development that is intended to directly benefit children and their families, this could be it.

It’s okay to give Liberals and Democrats credit for being the cheerleaders of Promise Neighborhoods.

It would be a shame for Conservatives and Republicans to keep being spectators on the sidelines.

 

The daunting task of assembling two IKEA furniture pieces for my 15-year-old son’s bedroom lay before me.  Large cardboard boxes of different shapes.  Inside, I knew, contained white paper “instruction” sheets that are a series of drawings clearly intended to cleverly measure one’s intelligence.

Bags of bolts, washers, doohickeys, fobs and frick and frackery are taped together with barely plausible explanations for their purpose described with item numbers that takes a Hubble capacity set of eyeglasses to read.

The boy who picked out these items did, in his defense, help carry them into the house.  And then, with conviction, told me he needed to eat and vanished.

The Daughter who, just a week earlier had helped me assemble another IKEA furniture purchase and, to her credit, assembled a shelf on her own, was gone with a friend, unaware her Dad had unwisely chosen to return to the store for more punishment.

It was at this point I decided a short nap was in order before I got to the mission at-hand.  Thinking, optimistically, that the boy would join me after my snooze and we would enjoy another unique bonding experience in our relationship.

As I began to nod off into my middle-age mid-afternoon siesta he peered down at me and said, “Hey, I am going to go for a walk.”

I groggily smiled and said something like “The moo cow is a chocolate marshmallow” or a close approximation of something similarly profound.

Upon waking there was no son.  Confused after my nap (to be honest, I’m confused before my naps) I looked around for a couple of minutes to get my bearing.

It was at that point I thought I heard someone or something calling me.  It was vague, barely audible but persistent.

IKEA!

More specifically, it was Hemnes, Beddinge and Millberget.

Unpronounceable names, to be sure, but ones that make no pretense about caring about your level of engineering skills, patience or emotional maturity.

They just beckon to be built.

So, like the Dad I am I went to the voices.

My heart raced when I saw the boxes and containers.

Hemnes the Desk had two boxes, including the descriptions “1 of 2” and “2 of 2”.

Next to Hemnes was Beddinge the Sleeper Sofa.  It, too, had two boxes, similarly labeled as Hemnes the Desk, but with accompanying plastic wrapped mattress and mattress cover.

Millberget the Swivel Office Chair, mercilessly, was only one box.  And, smugly, I looked at it and declared out loud and to no one in particular, that I would begin with her.

Her? Yes, everyone knows that Millberget is a female name at IKEA.  If you don’t then I really don’t have time for you.

At IKEA I had looked at The Dude and chuckled and said, “Well, at least that one is probably already put together.”

His burst of laughter startled me and made me wonder if he really was a nice boy.

He looked at me and simply said, “Good luck!”

Carefully opening the box, it became obvious that Millberget had conned me with her come hither beckoning that she was just a simple and unassuming lady.  For inside there were enough parts and allen wrenches to build a small North Korean nuclear submarine.

Wiping my brow, simply for effect as the sweat hadn’t started yet, I got down to work trying to decipher the instruction booklet that may have also doubled for a farmer’s “How to make your own alien crop circle” blueprint.

An hour and a half later, Millberget the Swivel Office Chair became a member of our family.  Without any thanks from her I simply rolled her slowly into the corner of the room.

It was at this point I knew that Hemnes the Desk was becoming clearly aware I was no different than millions of other Dads who had acquired virtually no building skills throughout their lives.

He didn’t say it but just by looking at the imposing “1 of 2” and “2 of 2” boxes that held him and his murky soul I knew he intended to take me to Hell and back.

About this point I casually wondered where The Dude was and texted him.  In response I got “I am walking back home.”

Being his father’s son I knew that was simply code for “I know what you’re doing in my bedroom with Hemnes the Desk and I want no part of that Evil.  Count me out. And, oh, by the way, can you order me a Papa John’s pizza.”

Hemnes, freed from his boxes, taunted me with his three-bags of hardware and dozens of pages of detailed instructions on how to hurt oneself while theoretically making a desk.

I would be lying if I told you at this point I did not seriously consider putting it all back and running back to IKEA and telling them that Beelzebub himself resided inside.

But, that would have required me to figure out how to put everything back in the box, tape it up and load it back into my truck.

Without the son who had forsaken me for a walk and hot cheesy and dough sustenance from some guy named John who was not his Papa.

So, I strode forward.  Committed to making an uneasy peace with Hemnes and getting him built.

Four hours later, with pieces still remaining that will haunt my memory forever in not knowing where I was supposed to have put them, Hemnes the Desk stood complete.

There was no gratitude.  No high five and celebration.  He expected to be built.  And now he was.

Which left Beddinge the Sleeper Sofa.

Perhaps it is because I spent much of my career in politics or the fact that I lied to the dentist all these years about flossing I suddenly felt helpless in the face of Beddinge.

First, I wonder if Beddinge is the Swedish word for bed and second, is the “e” silent or is the pronunciation of its name really “Beddingy”.

For the cautious reader you have likely noticed that I refer to Beddinge as “It.”

This is not mere coincidence.

Beddinge is an “it” because, frankly, it is really neither couch nor bed.

At IKEA it looked like a gray pancake that, when folded, resembled a taco that had reached its expiration date.

Unfolded it looked like somebody had put unappealing looking frosting on a pan of brownies that hadn’t really been cooked long enough.

Beddinge, exposed to the sunlight, I reluctantly must admit, shocked me.

Two large pieces, two medium sized pieces and a single bag of nuts and bolts, an allen wrench thingy and a thing that was euphemistically labeled, “wrench.”

Could this really be this easy?  Was it possible that Beddinge was IKEA’s way of giving me hope where despair had begun to seep into my life?

The first couple of sections of its only 6-page instruction sheet were actually easy to understand.  I began to smile.  I got a little excited that I might live to see my first grandchild after all.  That I wouldn’t be stuck in the bedroom of my oldest child longer than it would take to pay off the mortgage.

The second part of the project took only 30 minutes to screw in the four screws and really who shouldn’t learn how to turn one’s 53-year-old body that way to hold a screw and washer and nut at that angle?

The third part, the one that required me to take two diametrically opposed pieces of metal covered with wood slats and fabric, and conjoin them with one another, could have broken me.  Could have simply caused me to question my faith in God, America and the existence of the other dimension in which Donald Trump is exactly the man we need to lead our nation forward.

But, I was determined to bring Beddinge to heel.  It was not my time to succumb to its mocking disdain for who I am as a man – and more importantly, a putter together of stuff from IKEA.

It was not that time.  This was not the place.  This would not be the day.

Three hours later.  With a wrist that may need some form of medical attention from the jarring consequences of being caught between a spring and two pieces of gray metal and a son who was happily filled with pizza and a daughter who bid me adieu for the comfort of a bowl of Ramen Noodle Soup, Beddinge was done.

As I looked over the assemblage of new additions to our household I felt some level of pride that Hemnes, Beddinge and Millberget and I had bonded in some strange and inappropriate way.

Perhaps we had begun our relationship on the wrong foot.  Maybe I had been too harsh on them and my expectations of how we would work with one another.

After all, wouldn’t they know provide untold hours of enjoyment for my son.  Wouldn’t Hemnes and Millberget give him the sanctuary he needs to study, get good grades, learn more about the world around him and propel him into receiving scholarship opportunities for the world’s most renowned schools, colleges and universities.

And, Beddinge, dear, dear Beddinge, wouldn’t it give my son the magnificent gift of sleep that would allow his brain to grow and develop in ways that only Einstein could appreciate?

Yes, this was a day I could have been defeated.  I could have fallen to my knees and looked up the Heavens and cried “Why, God, why me?  Why have you forsaken me?”

But, no, this day – on this day – I conquered the IKEA demons in me and around me.  On this day I got the better of Hemnes, Beddinge and Millberget and tamed them and their insolence and brought them fully into our family.

It has been said that in the fog of war one often loses his sense of what is really happening and that what one things is reality really is the opposite of what one is experiencing.

Perhaps.

But this day there was no fog of war that caused me to lose my way or fail in my objective and mission.

The mission is completed.  I have prevailed.

Hemnes, Beddinge and Millberget are mine.

Now, what to do with those damn boxes!!!

As one of 9 children of Eugene and Betty Mische I’ve never forgotten, ever, that of all the gifts that have been bestowed upon me the most powerful, if not always the most obvious one, is that of my mere existence.

Its why, even in my own darkest moments, I have been able to crawl out of those places and embrace that simple, basic and profound gift:  Life.

Trust me, it’s easy to forget that and focus on the dark corners of my mind.  The world around me swirls with what seems all too often to be sadness, madness and badness.

Yet, I know that isn’t the entire world.  All of the time.

One of the ways I have done that in my life is to remember the blessing of the family my parents created in their own lives.  Growing up in my parents’ home was not always sunshine.  There were often moments of great darkness, pain and suffering.  But, there always seemed to be enough love to help heal the pain, lessen the sorrow and elicit a smile and laughter.

I don’t speak for my siblings when it comes to how they found the life they lead in the way that is meaningful for them.

I do speak for myself though, when I say that each of them are remarkable, kind, generous, smart and successful human beings.

They are, in large part, because of the parents we had – however successful or unsuccessful we may have thought they were in being parents.  They obviously did something right along the way – either deliberately or on accident – that allowed all nine of us to figure out how to function in the world we live in today.

My 84 year old Mom lives next door to me.  I adore her despite how much she can annoy me.  There is no twilight in my Mom.  Only light.

Perseverance.  Stubbornness.  Sly, sneaky Mom manipulation.  Joy and laughter.  Courage and conviction.  Passion and persistence.  These are Betty Mische.

She’s taught me a lot of things.  But, of all the things she taught me that has stuck with me the 53 years I have been privileged to spend with her is this:  “Be nice to one another.”

It is always to one of her kids about how we should treat another one of her kids.

“Be nice to one another.”

In our middle age it is clear that none of us are any longer teenagers.  We have our own families.  Our own lives.  Our own opinions. Our own future.

In that it is easy to find one disconnected from brothers and sisters but it is also easy to find that connection come back when one looks at photos of us together throughout the years – or when our youngest brother, Will, celebrates his 43^rd birthday today.

The world does move at the speed of life.

One moment you’re 13, running a gas station, surrounded by kids and fighting over what song to pick in the jukebox.

The next minute you’re 53, running a non-profit, surrounded by families of critically ill and seriously injured kids, trying to find ways to help more of them with a mortgage payment.

It’s why when I find myself going to those places that can weigh me down with anxiety, sadness and despair I seek the places of light and joy and purpose.

It’s often found in the memories of my life I cherish with those who have made me who I am today:  My family.

My wife and kids have come to know that some of my memories as a child seem to have vanished.  Sometimes they come back in dribs and drabs.  Often barely a picture and more a silhouette in the time of my life.

But, there are those that have become so much a part of who I am as the bones and blood and skin that make up the body that carries the soul I have had since the moment of my creation.

They are the memory of my final words to my difficult, complex and troubled Father the last time I saw him before he died, “I love you, Dad.”

The memories of being with my brother, Will, as he finished his first marathon – or more accurately, the memories of me finishing more than hour after him!

Those of my sisters, Teresa, Kris and Bep, who, if all I would have had for siblings had been sisters, would have been enough laughter, arguments, beauty and brains for a lifetime.

And, my Mom.  Memories made.  Memories being made.  From hot dogs in a crockpot in a Mobil gas station to a date with her 13 year old granddaughter for a play in a boat.  84 years around the planet and more to come.

There is a world that pressures us to keep up with it.  There is no “Clap on, Clap off” feature.

The days are long.  The years are short.

Every day isn’t a memorable day.  But, throughout our life we ought to make sure that there are enough days that will be.  Especially for those that we love the most and some day may well miss the most.

As humans we do things to ourselves that animals do not.  We punish ourselves for the things we didn’t say or do before it’s “too late.”

Run with your Brother, Dance with your Mom,  Laugh with your Sisters and Tell your Dad you love him.

It’s never too late.

Until it is.

We live in a day and age where it is easy to get discouraged, helpless and hopeless.

The 24/7/365 a year news and social media cycle have transformed our lives in good ways – but in bad ways, too.

There is, without question, bad things that happen in our world.  Every day.

But, not that long ago there seemed to be some balance between the bad things and the good things that we saw around us or lived in our own lives.

One of the benefits of being the Executive Director of Spare Key is that every single day I get to see the balance in the world around me.

I see it in the checks – large and small – that we receive from people, foundations, companies and associations – that help us provide housing grants to families with critically ill and seriously injured children in the hospital.

I see it in the faces of my Staff and Board who understand that they are often all that stands in the way of a family’s sense of despair and their belief in hope for a better day.

Spare Key, like the many fantastic non-profits that support families in need, is blessed with the support of thousands throughout the years.

Organizations like the Minnesota Mortgage Association and their members that have supported our organization since its founding in 1997 by Robb and Patsy Keech.

Funders like the Otto Bremer Foundation, the Edina Realty Foundation, the Richard M. Schulze Family Foundation, the Pajor Foundation and so many others, have supported our mission and allowed us to focus on how we better leverage resources to do what we can to serve more families.

And, amazing companies like Bell State Bank and Trust, Bell Mortgage, KleinBank, Wells Fargo, Black Knight Financial Services, TitleSmart and so many others that there’s not enough memory in my computer to hold them all.

Others like our good friends at Treasure Island Resort & Casino, Impressions Incorporated, Anchor Paper and others make it possible for us to do our work – but also offer us friendship and support in more ways than they can imagine.

There’s also people like Derek Link, Todd Jensen, Josh Paulsen and Ryan Brevig who I had the privilege to meet this week out on the golf course.

The four of them, all grew up in Rochester, Minnesota – attended Rochester’s John Marshall High School  – and, under the name or Rocket Restaurant Group have opened some of the state’s most popular eating and drinking establishments:  The Loop Restaurants, Five West Kitchen + Bar and Bar 508.

Their website says, “Rocket Restaurant Group began in 2006. It was the vision of four 20-somethings who all grew up together in Rochester, MN.”

And, somewhere in that span of time they have also held a golf tournament for the past 9 years to raise funds to help families in crisis.

This year Spare Key was honored and privileged to be the charity that The Loop Restaurants, Five West Kitchen + Bar and Bar 508’s owners, staff, vendors and customers came together to support at Brookview Golf Course in Golden Valley.

Golf is golf.  I can take it or leave it.

But, on a sunny and hot July day in Minnesota I found myself not caring about how little I enjoy golf but in just how much I respect and appreciate people like Ryan, Derek, Josh and Todd – and the people that work for them and work with them.

There’s no obligation to help a charity.  No law that requires you to be good to another person.  No constitutional requirement that you care about strangers.

I have often said that Minnesota has as many non-profits and charities as it has lakes.

This week I was reminded that Minnesota has even more companies and people like I met on the golf course than all of the lakes, oceans, seas, rivers and streams in the world.

Companies and people that are of their community – giving back to the community – without any expectation of anything in return.

Ryan, Derek, Josh and Todd have a business to operate.  Payroll to meet.  Employees to manage.  Bills to pay. Customers to make happy.

Nobody could fault them if they said they were too busy and too over-extended to have to be asked to do more than what others may do to serve the community.

There’s no front page news headline or lead on the 10:00 t.v. news trumpeting their commitment to their community or the contributions of their staff, customers and vendors to help other people.

People they will likely never meet or ever know but who will benefit from their kind hearts and good deeds.

Bad things will always happen in our world.  It is the bad things that far too often occupy our minds and fill our beings with dread, anxiety and uncertainty.

Good things happen in our world.  I think they happen far, far more often than bad things.

It would be a great thing if all the good things led our radio and television newscasts, were blared out on the headlines of our newspapers and populated every social media post around the world.

Because that won’t happen soon it is important that we all just look at the world around us and celebrate and embrace the big and small actions of goodness and kindness that does exist in the world.

On a Monday in July in Minnesota on a golf course I did just that.

And, it did me a world of good.

I sit in my home and my office surrounded by pictures of the things that mean the most to me in my life.

Each one of the pictures is important to a moment in my life if only because I have had the honor and the privilege to be in the life of those whose images are in them.

One of those pictures is from the 2016 Spare Key Groove Gala and it is a group of middle-age men dancing on the stage with a couple of young ladies enjoying the music.

One of those middle-age men is Scott Chapman who, at the age of 53, left us all too early this past week.

On that stage that night was love – joy – fun – and passion.  I look at the picture and I imagine that each heart was full that evening as we wrapped up an event that serves as a fundraiser to help families with sick and injured children in the hospital pay their mortgages.

I forgot about who was in that picture until shortly after I spoke with Scott’s brother to share the grief that everyone at Spare Key has felt since learning of his passing.

I stumbled on it again after looking at Scott’s Facebook page and reading the notes from those who know and love him and already understand the depth of the loss of his presence on this Earth.

I will admit I did not know Scott well.  He has been a supporter of Spare Key for several years, attending his first Groove Gala in 2013.

The first I knew of Scott on a personal level was when we were getting closer to the 2016 Groove Gala date and he made himself known on my Facebook page with a post on page that said, “I already got my tickets!”

I got to meet him at the Groove Gala and what struck me was that smile.

That smile.

I know something about smiles.  They are the window to the soul of everyone I know and love the most.

That smile is what made me fall in love with my wife minutes before I knew she was going to be my wife.  It was my Daughter’s first greeting to me in the world.  It’s that smile that makes me melt when my Son is filled with such happiness that his eyes simply disappear.

That smile.

That was Scott’s calling card each time I saw him.  Each time I saw him on Facebook.

I have seen pictures of Scott with his Daughters.  That smile is there.  With his friends.  That smile is there.  By himself.  That smile is there.

Yet, I have come to learn that behind that smile was also pain and sadness.

Something that all of us deal with.  Sometimes others deal with constantly.  Sometimes others deal with it for years – others for months.

It’s hard to fathom for those of us who deal with pain and sadness in short intervals that there are those who must carry the burden of the weight of the unknown cause of their darkness nearly every single day of their lives.

What I know about Scott Chapman came from that smile.  And, his heart.

A man who loved his children with such ferocity that you can almost feel the heat of his passion for them jump out of their pictures together.  A man who inspired love from others in such enormous amounts that their grief must seem nearly impossible to bear.

Whether through his generous financial support of Spare Key, or his willingness to step up and serve on our Advisory Council, Scott was committed to our mission because he was committed to the bettering the lives of others.

Scott made it clear to me that he wanted to find ways to get his Daughters involved with helping others and hoped they could, as a family, be a part of helping other families in need.

At Spare Key, Scott Chapman helped families who were in their own difficult and dark places in life find hope and light in their most desperate hour.   In their time of need Scott Chapman’s heart gave them grace.

They may never have met Scott in person.

But they know of Scott Chapman in their lives by the smiles of their children.

Scott Chapman.

That smile.

 

Designating the St. Paul Riverfront as a St. Paul Minority Enterprise and Economic Development Zone (SPMEEDZ).

In 1994 newly elected Mayor, Norm Coleman, sensing that the St. Paul Mississippi riverfront held the potential for expansive economic growth and opportunity renamed the Riverfront Development Corporation the Saint Paul Riverfront Corporation.

Twenty-two years later one can be forgiven for not recognizing substantial public and private economic development along St. Paul’s Mississippi riverfront.

Which should compel us to reexamine what is the real opportunity for the riverfront.

Certainly taxpayers should consider whether or not the multitude of loud public pronouncements by multiple Mayors (including Norm Coleman) over the past decades about the potential of the riverfront have found good intentions thwarted by studies, visions and promises of “place- making.”

A lengthy piece in 2013 by Joe Kimball of MinnPost heralding the adoption of the “Great River Passage” plan is just one example of a lot of hype that has seen little in the way of real advancement.

https://www.minnpost.com/two-cities/2013/04/great-river-passage-plan-will-guide-st-pauls-mississippi-river-vision-decades

As Kimball points out in his story, “In the storage rooms at City Hall, you’ll find dusty copies of previous river-related studies conducted by the city, including a river framework from 1997, a corridor plan in 2001 and the Great River Park Chapter on 2007.”

I noted with interest an article that the Riverfront Corporation has on its website:  http://www.riverfrontcorporation.com/how-thoughtful-design-can-reduce-racial-inequity/

Which, of course, is a lofty and absolutely essential goal – reducing racial inequity.

Thoughtful design – place-making – championing of urban design – these are great development words.

But, it would be too much to claim that they have substantially reduced racial inequity in St. Paul and certainly haven’t done so along the St. Paul Mississippi riverfront.

Which is why there ought to be a radical new approach to how the St. Paul riverfront is handled with regard to economic development and job creation – and how it can be harnessed to effectively address racial inequity.

I believe that the Mayor and City Council should work to establish much of the 17 miles of the St. Paul Mississippi riverfront as The St. Paul Minority Enterprise and Economic Development Zone (SPMEEDZ).

The stated goal and objective of the SPMEEDZ should be simple:  To offer tax benefits and financing and other incentives to encourage minority owned businesses and investment to create new businesses and jobs along the St. Paul Mississippi riverfront.

By designating what is arguably the most valuable piece of economic development real estate in St. Paul – perhaps in the entire State of Minnesota – as the SPMEEDZ – the City of St. Paul will have done more in one fell swoop than has been done in the past twenty-two years to address racial inequity in the city’s economic development and job creation efforts.

It sends a strong message to minority businesses and investors – not just in Minnesota – but throughout the United States – that St. Paul is opening the door to one of the most compelling economic development opportunities for minorities in the Midwest.

It provides a clear and irrefutable focus on racial inequity – one that is rooted in building up communities of color by creating an enterprise and economic development zone that’s not located in an economically depressed or hard to develop region of the city.

(As a quick aside, we need to continue to strategically invest in economically depressed and hard to develop regions of the city.  But, the failure of most enterprise and economic development zones is that they are often located in areas which have been historically difficult to find interested investors and entrepreneurs without massive and, far too often, unsustainable public subsidies.)

No such problem should exist with St. Paul’s 17 miles of Mississippi riverfront.

Imagine a riverfront teeming with a rich tapestry of diverse cultures, ethnic restaurants, shops, artisans, entertainment and more – and with the kind of mix of public and private partnership that is the key to long-term success of these ventures.

Mayor Chris Coleman has shown his propensity for big vision and willingness to take risk.

The St. Paul Saints – St. Paul United – and other initiatives succeeded because he understood that bold action was required to cut through the clutter of studies, task forces and community conversations to get the job done.

One may not agree with the projects – but one can’t disagree with the outcome of the Mayor’s impatient, focused and urgent efforts to get those projects done.

The same impatience for action must be applied to riverfront development in St. Paul.

It won’t happen with a riverfront corporation focused on championing thoughtful urban design and place-making.

There is a role for those things in an urban center.  And, if that’s the role of the Riverfront Development Corporation, then let that be its role.

But, then someone needs to be responsible for actually creating economic development and jobs along the Mississippi riverfront.

Combining an urgent sense that something can and should be done with the historic opportunity to create a SPMEEDZ – along the most valuable piece of real estate in Minnesota – is the kind of vision the Mayor is capable of harnessing – and making a reality.

That is a lasting legacy of addressing racial inequity that will be paying dividends for generations to come in the form of minority business ownership, capital investment, economic growth and job creation.

A headline in the St. Paul Pioneer Press caught my attention recently:  St. Paul police cancel Safe Summer Nights on Thursday

Safe Summer Nights is typically held each Thursday during the summer, at a different location each week. It is a weekly cookout held for the community by the police department to help build relationships between the department and the community it serves.

The reason seemed to be straight forward enough- a lack of resources and a police department stretched to the limit with their day-to-day duties, and the immense amount of time and effort it took to ensure that peaceful protests in St. Paul were safe for all involved.

St. Paul’s new police chief, Todd Axtell, could not have assumed his role at a more difficult time.  Yet, we are fortunate that the person who assumed the role at this difficult time is Todd Axtell.

Smart, fair, level-headed, focused and in touch with the community he and his department are sworn to protect and serve, Axtell has managed to be a calm, firm and resolute voice at a time when our St. Paul community, and the State of Minnesota, needs one.

A recent press conference by Axtell, and our Mayor, Chris Coleman, was a case study in measured anger, sympathy, empathy, frustration and outrage at the difficult position St. Paul has been thrust into as a result of the tragic shooting death of Philando Castile.

While committed to the protection and preservation of everyone’s right to free speech and civil protest and disobedience, both Coleman and Axtell made it clear that the line had been crossed the moment dozens of protestors became rioter’s intent on causing destruction and injury to the men and women of the St. Paul Police Department.

It was that headline – and press conference — that got me to thinking about what St. Paul can be doing to better improve race relations in our City.

Frankly, to simply improve the general relations for all of us throughout our City.

Candidly, I don’t think it should be the primary role of the City of St. Paul, or government for that matter, to make us all better people and neighbors.

That is each of our individual duty, role and responsibility.

That being said, there is an entity that already exists in our community which I do believe has a moment in time to redefine its very reason and purpose for being:  The St. Paul District Council.

The City of St. Paul currently allocates about $1.2 million to the City’s 17 District Councils.

Those district councils then are given a significant amount of autonomy about how they allocate and spend those dollars – as long as they comply with some broad requirements of community engagement and participation.

It seems to me that there can be no more pressing matter facing our community today than doubling down on a community conversation about race relations and how all of us can play a constructive role in bringing our community closer together.

I’m not suggesting that district councils haven’t done some of this already.  Nor has the City of St. Paul been lax in its outreach.  A recent story in the Christian Science Monitor shows the City’s commitment to thinking outside the box when it comes to community engagement.

http://m.csmonitor.com/USA/Justice/2016/0715/Beyond-protests-St.-Paul-shows-how-police-and-community-can-find-solutions

What I am suggesting, is doubling down on these efforts for the remainder of this summer and that District Councils allocate the bulk of their current funds towards efforts to visibly and demonstrably bring our community together for greater dialogue and discussion.

The Safe Summer Nights initiative is one, I believe, that ought to be amped up substantially throughout our City.

Furthermore, I think the very simple thing of engaging neighbors in their streets – their neighborhoods – for nothing more than a cook-out or similar activity is exactly what St. Paul needs right now.

We need more face time and less Facebook for all of us in St. Paul.  We need less writing and more talking.

It doesn’t have to be complicated.  It doesn’t have to be complex or difficult.  No study or research is needed.

From district council corner to district council corner in St. Paul we should have a summer of solidarity – rooted in the fundamental premise that neighbors breaking bread together is the first step towards neighbors breaking the bad cycle of resentment, anger and division we have seen for far too long.

Sometimes we all make it too hard.  It doesn’t have to be.

Kids of different colors playing together – and their parents talking to one another – seems to be the recipe for reconciliation that we need right now.

I know that transportation planning, recycling, bike routes and the like are important – don’t get me wrong, I don’t dismiss the value of any of those activities.

But, we are a community that is damaged and hurting.  Those things can wait.  They aren’t going anywhere.  There will always be time to finish the study or analysis.

Right now we need to be together with one another.

In places that are safe for us to talk.  To have a dialogue.  To share our common beliefs, hopes and concerns about the state of our city and the future of our neighborhoods.

The St. Paul District Councils – all 17 of them – should consider pooling their existing resources and creating an aggressive and ambitious “Safe Summer Nights:  A Summer of Solidarity” campaign.

It should focus on first and foremost – bringing us together in big and small ways in St. Paul.

Start with neighborhood picnics – a big one – and then ones in every single neighborhood – and more of them from now through the end of the summer.

But, it shouldn’t just be about neighborhood picnics in the neighborhoods we live in.

It should also be ones where we are invited to neighborhoods we don’t live in – and where we invite neighbors to the neighborhoods we live in.

If we want to get to know one another better – and to understand one another better – we need to literally know one another better.

No speeches.  No campaigns.  No slogans.  Just food for families – games for kids – conversations for everyone – regardless of age – about what each of us has to do – must do – to make our City and future a better place for everyone.

That’s the agenda:  Talking.  With food.  For people.

Then, go beyond that.  Ask neighbors to take it upon themselves to keep the conversation going.  Give them the resources to do that and the tools to understand what they can do to make a difference.

If a neighborhood needs money to host their own gathering of neighbors – use existing district councils and their resources to make it available.  Perhaps a small grant of $100 for neighbors to begin investing in themselves to bring themselves together.  To invite neighbors from neighborhoods farthest away from them to be closer to them. To buy some hot dogs and pop and fun and games.

I know it seems like it should be easy for us, as citizens of St. Paul, to just do these things on our own.  But for all of the talk about St. Paul being a big small town – we have become more disconnected from one another because of social media and work and life.

And, conflict.

This is now the time for the St. Paul District Councils to step up.  To engage more directly.  To fully expand its arsenal of resources at a block-by-block neighborhood level.  Not to call people together for a town hall meeting or wait for a regularly scheduled Community Council meeting where there are agendas and minutes and rules of order.

But, to invest in allowing all of us – neighbor to neighbor – block-to-block – to come together.  Eat a hot dog.  Play a game.  Greet one another with a handshake.  Share our ideas.  Know who lives next door to us.  Who lives down the street. Across the city.

To talk. Not at each other.  But to one another.

Since its incorporation in 1854 the City of St. Paul has had 54 Mayors.

All of them men.

All of them white.

Across the river in Minneapolis the voters of that community have elected two women, including the city’s first African American Mayor, Sharon Sayles Belton, as its 45^th Mayor in 1993. 

In 2018 the voters of St. Paul should usher in a new era for the City by electing a Mayor that is not another white guy.

Don’t get me wrong.  I am a white man.  The current Mayor is a white man.  I think he’s done a solid job leading the City since first being elected.  I haven’t agreed with every decision he’s made or policy he has pursued or enacted.  I don’t know that I’ve ever agreed with every decision or policy of any politician I have supported throughout my life.

I don’t think white men should forever be excluded from being elected Mayor of St. Paul.

In fact, I know of a few white men that would like to be the Mayor of St. Paul.  I suspect any number of them could do a decent job of being the city’s next Mayor.

But, I also know a lot of qualified men and women of color that could be Mayor of St. Paul and I believe that any number of them would do an outstanding job of being the city’s next Mayor.

I don’t advocate the election of someone other than a white man as Mayor of St. Paul as some symbolic gesture. 

Quite the contrary.

We live in a community that is as divided, as it is united, at any given time.

Recent peaceful protests – and the handful of violent riots – have underscored that racial discord has not lessened over the years.  Nor has it dissipated as the result of the election of the nation’s first African American President.

Electing someone who is not a white male as the next Mayor doesn’t guarantee that there will be a sudden lessening of the racial divide that keeps far too many of us from working with one another to improve our community for everyone.

What it can do, however, is eliminate another barrier to political power and influence that is, I believe, at the core of what must be wielded to create sustainable and meaningful change in our society.

Political power always has been, is, will be and should be the tool and weapon of choice of any American who wants to see real, systemic and sustainable change.  

Without political power the path to changing public policy is steep and difficult and time consuming. 

And, let me be clear – political power is not just the right to vote – although the right to vote remains a powerful weapon in the arsenal of democracy.

St. Paul’s glass ceiling of political power needs to be shattered. 

And, it seems that 160 years with only white men being elected Mayor of the state’s Capitol City is long enough for that glass ceiling to be holding back political power for others in our City.

St. Paul, despite the good work of our current Mayor, has significant challenges ahead of it. 

One of those challenges is a barrier to political power for men and women of color in St. Paul.

Of the 7 members of the St. Paul City Council, only one is a person of color.

Of the St. Paul Legislative Delegation of 12, only three are people of color.

Of the 7 members of the Ramsey County Board of Commissioners, only two are people of color.

It would be a mistake to dismiss the important public service that has been provided by every single individual who has had the courage to seek and hold public office.

Regardless of one’s race, the decision to run for public office – and to be an elected official – is an act of personal commitment and sacrifice.

While it is an honor and privilege to serve it should not be ignored that is has become more difficult of a job than ever before. 

I’ve found throughout my life and involvement in politics and public policy that is easy to stand up and call for progress.  It is far more difficult to be willing to make it so.

For every Facebook post and every Tweet, I have read from my white friends calling themselves and others out for our white privilege there is another from someone else calling white privilege a myth.

Myth or not, this much is true:  The single greatest way to eliminate white privilege in politics is not a post on social media – but removing the barrier to political power.

Societal change.  Policy change.  Cultural change.

All of these change over time because of changing perspectives, beliefs and demographics.

Generational change in America is as old as America itself. 

The barriers to change are torn down in America in many ways, for different reasons, at different times.

In St. Paul, it is clear there is one major barrier to political power.

It’s the wall that has kept everyone, but white guys, from being elected to the office located on the 3^rd Floor of City Hall.

St. Paul, tear down that wall.