Hope is a journey, not a destination

The President is right. We have grown numb to the news of another mass shooting in a school.

By the time this week is over with the news and shock and horror of it all will be replaced by some other news story. The grieving families, the survivors and the community in which this shooting and killing took place will live with this the rest of their life.

It’s become simply a part of the news cycle.

Children slaughtered in a school. Children slaughtered in a movie theater. Children slaughtered in a college. Children slaughtered in a church. Children slaughtered in a home.

Do those words even make us cringe anymore? Does the violence that was inflicted upon them in the last seconds of their lives in places where peace, security, love, learning and joy were supposed to be even stir our soul? Our anger? Our sorrow?

Our empathy?

This post isn’t about guns or gun control. I know that the public debate will swirl around this notion—again – and it will move onto the next divisive debate that keeps pushing us further apart as human beings – much less Americans.

If I thought banning guns would stop the horrific slaughter throughout our country – whether one person or dozens of people – I would be the first in line to sign the petition. If I thought taking away guns from everyone in the United States would protect my children – your children – our lives – I would be standing on the front lawn of every Capitol in America and demanding it be done.

Whether you believe or don’t believe the 2^nd Amendment does or does not allow us as Americans to own weapons of every imaginable size, shape and destructive capability matters little to me.

What matters, to me, is do we even love one another as human beings anymore?

It really all starts right there, at the core of it all.

Have we lost our humanity?

We hate people because of the color of their skin. We hate them because of their religion or what God they wish to honor. We hate them because of what color clothes they own, or the number or angle of the fingers they show us when they drive by us. We hate them because they killed a lion with a name. We hate them because of their political affiliation, whether they came into our nation illegally, who they wish to love, choose to marry or the call they made on the football field.

We are becoming people who simply hate people because they are people.

I would be lying if what happened in Oregon, or everywhere else in America, doesn’t frighten me every single day I send my children off to their life.

I imagine I am not the only one.

I pray a silent prayer every morning when they leave asking God to protect them and I pray a silent prayer every day of thanks they are home and sleeping in their beds.

Even typing these words makes me fearful as though the simple thought of worrying about it makes their life journey more susceptible to risk.

While the angry voices of blame, finger-pointing, debates over what the Constitution does or doesn’t say, will begin to overshadow our horror, grief and sorrow at the loss of life in Oregon, the numbness will return.

We will move on. We will find something else to occupy our time and our thoughts. Our Facebook and blog posts, tweets and talking heads and mouths on media will become exhausted in an orgy of words and recrimination.

But, we will be no closer to dealing with the truth.

You have to be loved, you have to give love, before you can love humanity.

Something tells me that deep in the hearts of those who have murdered hate has grown. It has grown because there wasn’t enough love to crowd out the anger, the hurt, the pain and the loneliness.

Inside their head, where the brain processes all things, hate invaded and defeated reason, compassion, understanding, terror and empathy.

I don’t know why, or how, but it seems to me we have to figure that out and soon.

There will come a day when instead of a gun, or a knife, comes armed someone with the capacity to destroy far more than the lives of a dozen young men and women, or dozens of children or an entire family of five.  They will destroy thousands, perhaps millions, and with it, our humanity.

Individually we can all vow to push away from the table and reject the feast of hatred that has begun to envelope us like the darkness.

If we do, if we can, I do believe that, together, we can change the arc of the destiny that seems to be forming in front of us.

Something evil this way comes.

Only goodness can defeat it.

Yogi Berra is dead.

At 90 years old this icon of America.

In baseball, at 5’7”, he is a towering icon.  Perhaps the greatest catcher to ever play the game.

Think of this:

• 18 seasons as a catcher for the New York Yankees
• 10 World Series rings
• 14 World Series appearances
• 3 most valuable player awards
• 15 All-Star games

Soak it up for a second.  Even if you’re not a baseball fan you cannot ignore greatness of this magnitude.

In his passing much will be said of Yogi Berra.  How he was an accomplished athlete.  A World War II veteran who left baseball to join the Navy.  Who served at D-Day.

Married for 65 years to Carmen Berra he rarely spoke of his military service because, as his wife said, “I think his military service has been a little overlooked, because men like him really didn’t talk about it much..It wasn’t a big thing to him…it was just what they had to do.”

This post, however, has less to do with Yogi Berra the athlete – the soldier – the patriot – the husband and the father…than it has to do with this fact: Yogi Berra was the son of immigrants.

According to multiple sources from Wikipedia, “Yogi Berra was born in a primarily Italian neighborhood of St. Louis called “The Hill“, to Italian immigrants Pietro and Paolina (née Longoni) Berra. Pietro, originally from Malvaglio near Milan in northern Italy, arrived at Ellis Island on October 18, 1909, at the age of 23.”

In a 2005 interview for the Baseball Hall of Fame, Yogi said, “My father came over first. He came from the old country. And he didn’t know what baseball was. He was ready to go to work. And then I had three other brothers and a sister. My brother and my mother came over later on. My two oldest brothers, they were born there—Mike and Tony. John and I and my sister Josie were born in St. Louis.”

The Berra Family history and story is as remarkable as it was common during Yogi’s own life.

Immigrants from the “Old Country” who came to America to start a life.  Make a living.  Create a family.

To become Americans.

I am struck by Yogi Berra’s death today, not because I followed his career, and not even because I could tell you a lot about how he lived and what he did beyond those things I have read.

It’s because his death reminds us that in life he was living the American Dream that his immigrant parents had hope for him and his brothers and sisters.

It’s the same American Dream that millions of others who have come to America since then – legally and outside the law – to embrace, experience and live for themselves and their own sons and daughters.

It’s that quest for the American Dream that people like Donald Trump deliberately choose to ignore when they call for the shipping of humans from our nation like cattle to the slaughter.

It’s the hope and aspiration of parents that Ben Carson ignores when he callously proposes that no American child who is a Muslim should ever be President of the United States.

It was not so long ago that a candidate whose faith, and church, is now lead by Pope Francis would have been deprived of being President simply because he was a Catholic.

It was even more recent that a candidate whose skin color was not white could ever be considered to be the President of the United States of America.

Imagine the world of baseball without Yogi Berra because owners and others refused to give the son of immigrants an opportunity to throw a ball.

Imagine the men of D-Day without Yogi Berra next to them, fighting for their lives and for the very life of civilization, because he wasn’t “American” enough.

In 90 years the world Yogi Berra lived in – fought for America in – raised a family in – played baseball in – and died in – has changed since his immigrant parents arrived here to give themselves a chance for a better life.

But, one thing hasn’t changed.

The thirst of men and women throughout the world to come to America to find a better life and to build a future that is more hopeful and prosperous for themselves and their children.

Yogi Berra’s life is over.  He has gone onto join his Carmen.

But, the American Dream is not.  It continues to this day.  Here, in our nation.

And, across the world, in the hopes and dreams of millions who yearn for a better life.

The American Dream. It ain’t over till it’s over

America, having already broken through the race barrier by electing our nation’s first African American President, may or may not be on the verge of breaking through the gender barrier by electing our nation’s first female President.

There’s a long ways to go before November 2016 but the fact that Hillary Clinton still leads virtually every potential opponent, Democrat or Republican, is not an insignificant political reality.

Whether for or against her and her candidacy one does have to appreciate the excitement that would be evident in America and across the world at the prospect of our nation electing its first female President.

As the Dad of a Daughter I would be lying if I didn’t believe that development would send a very powerful message to her and millions of other young girls and women throughout the world.

Closer to home there is also the potential for some barrier shattering for females, as well, in a number of different areas of Minnesota life.

In Minnesota, we have yet to elect our first female Governor.  In an earlier post I predicted (and I still believe it will come to pass) that the state’s current Lt. Governor, Tina Smith, will move into that role upon an early retirement/resignation by current Governor Mark Dayton.

Smith is a restless, smart and savvy politico.

Even in watching her presence on social media she is mindful of the coming opportunity – whether by ascension or election – she has to be the first female Governor in Minnesota history.

At the University of Minnesota, still without its first female President, stands an opportunity for the institution to appoint a female Athletic Director in place of the recently resigned Norwood Teague.

That not a single female, other than the interim Athletic Director, Beth Goetz, has been mentioned as a potential candidate is disappointing.

Sadly, in mentioning Goetz others have seemed to casually dismiss her candidacy as not being ready for prime time.

As the same father of the same Daughter I am watching this very closely.  If the University of Minnesota is incapable of understanding this place in time in history and fails to field Goetz and other qualified female candidates for Athletic Director there should be an instant uprising.

The appointment of a female Athletic Director at the University of Minnesota would be electric.  It would supercharge their fundraising and change the dynamic at an institution that frankly needs some shaking up.

In fact, it would be quite interesting if the current University of Minnesota President Eric Kaler ultimately is deposed over the Teague and other incidents.

There are any number of extraordinary women in Minnesota that would be amazing candidates to replace Kaler.

Even closer to home for me is the City of St. Paul.

Since its founding in 1854 the City of St. Paul has yet to elect its first female Mayor.

Across the river the City of Minneapolis has not only elected and re-elected female Mayors, it also had the foresight to elect an African American woman as its first female Mayor.

I suspect that there could be, and should be, any number of strong, qualified female candidates considering the opportunity to run for Mayor should incumbent Chris Coleman not seek another term of office.

While I don’t have a preference for any candidate for Mayor of St. Paul I know there are many powerful women throughout the City that would be spectacular candidates and would, I believe, do fantastic jobs as Mayor.

There is no question in my mind that the potential for electing the City’s first woman Mayor – perhaps a woman of color – is a very real possibility in the next Mayoral election.

It’s simply a matter of who is willing and ready to step into the breach to be that candidate that can win.

As my Daughter grows up I learn from her more and more.  I understand the value and importance of her ability to see strong, successful women in positions of authority, leadership and power at every level of her life.

It is no less fundamental to her sense of empowerment and worth, than it is to my son, to see strong women AND men leading our communities, our businesses, our government, our educational institutions and our athletic departments.

I believe the world is changing around me in ways that I believe are as profound as the changes that took place during the 1960s and other moments in American history.

Much of these changes are for the better and have improved the lives of countless of millions of Americans.

In Minnesota, the world is changing, as well.

A female President?  A woman Governor?  A female Athletic Director and University of Minnesota President?  And, St. Paul’s first female Mayor?

Welcome to Minnesota!  Land of 10,000 firsts!

The first week of August has Spare Key attending the Lenders One Summer Conference in Washington, D.C. to further our newly announced partnership with Lenders One and its parent company, Altisource.

At our Spare Key Groove Gala we announced that Lenders One would become our National Founding Partner and over time we would expand our program throughout the United States.

This growth is deliberately intended to take time. Time to allow us to secure the necessary resources in any new states that we add to our platform.

It also permits us to stay focused on the current platform of states we serve – Minnesota, North Dakota, South Dakota and Wisconsin.

Today, Spare Key says “Yes” more than ever before to critically ill or seriously injured children. By making housing grants on behalf of them and their families we seek to continue to grow and expand our capacity to limit the number of times we have to say “No” to families that are desperate for our support.

It’s not easy. It’s hard work. It requires a Board of Directors that is committed to effective governance but also to reaching out to their professional and personal network of relationships.

It also requires generous individual donors – corporations – foundations – and a lot of creativity and innovation by staff.

When I became Executive Director in 2012 I was woefully unprepared to understand the challenges facing a small non-profit like Spare Key. To be sure I had managed and led public and private sector operations with much larger budgets – more staff – and overall, significantly more resources.

But, those operations benefitted from their size – both financially and in terms of human resources.

Spare Key has a “huge” staff of four people serving a program that provides services to families in four states. It’s the genius of the organization that is Spare Key that has permitted the growth we have experienced in the past three years without a massive ramp up in overhead often associated with such growth.

The genius is in the organization’s single minded focus on doing what we do and doing it very well.

All too often organizations confuse growth with mission creep. And, when competition is fierce for resources it is easy to give in to the temptation to stray from the central mission of an organization.

To be sure Spare Key has made changes since it was created in 1997. However, those changes have not sent the organization down the rabbit hole of mission creep.

On the contrary, the affirmation of the Board of Directors to stay focused on its mission has been at the core of our success the past three years.

Our guidelines have been updated – rather than modified.

We have expanded the definition of a “home” to not just refer to a house but also to an apartment or condo or other structure that a family can legally call a “home.”

By expanding to new states we have stayed true to our mission and pushed back against the obvious temptations that any small non-profit faces as it deals with the challenges of resources.

When we arrive in Washington, D.C. for the Lenders One Summer Conference we approach the week with the same focus we have the past three years.

We are clear in our commitment to serve more children and their families and doing so within the framework of our mission.

The unique relationship we are creating with Lenders One offers an opportunity for thousands of families across America to find financial stability during a child’s medical crisis – as well as giving parents the time to be with their child while they recover in the hospital from their critical illness or serious injury.

It will take the necessary time to be successful and sustainable and for that we are excited about the promise and opportunity for the future.

The bottom line for both of our organizations is helping families “Bounce and not Break.”

This week I, along with Spare Key’s Board President, met with a representative of MAPS for Non-Profits to begin discussion of our organization’s first strategic planning retreat in more than five years.

Founded in 1997 Spare Key has had its share of ups and downs and challenges, like many other small non-profits, throughout the years.

It has seen periods of growth and contraction.  Moments when it was an open question as to whether it would be able to continue to serve critically ill or seriously injured children by making housing payments on behalf of their family.

I remember meeting with Spare Key Founders, Robb and Patsy Keech, shortly after I accepted the role of Spare Key’s Executive Director in 2012

Their son, Derian, and his struggles after his birth became the foundation upon which Spare Key would ultimately be founded.  Not long after his birth it was discovered that Derian had a serious heart condition.

For 2 ½ years he went through a series of major heart surgeries resulting in lengthy hospital stays.  As the bills piled up and the need to stay with Derian while he recovered in the hospital kept both parents from being able to work they found it more and more difficult to keep making their housing payments.

When their friends and families stepped forward to make sure they never missed a housing payment the foundation for Spare Key was laid.

Not long after Derian earned his Angel Wings Spare Key began a mission that, today, has served more than 2,800 children with nearly $2.9 million in housing grants on behalf of their family.

It was in the conversation with Robb and Patsy that they recounted the opportunities and challenges that had faced Spare Key throughout the years.  But through it all the organization survived and continued.

As Patsy explained, “It always seems that the right people show up at the right time to lead the organization.”

Three years after that meeting I am mindful of Patsy’s perspective as we begin the process for planning for Spare Key’s next chapter and future.

Significant changes have taken place at Spare Key since 2012.

One of the first changes we made was bringing our guidelines up to date to more accurately reflect the delivery of health care to critically ill or seriously injured children.

In place of a requirement that children had to spend a minimum of 21 days in the hospital to qualify we reduced the number of stays to fourteen days.

We also dramatically increased our outreach to Social Workers to encourage them to submit more applications on behalf of families to qualify for our program.

In 2013 after having only served families in Minnesota Spare Key expanded its program to three additional states.

Later that year we also dropped the requirement that a family had to be a homeowner to qualify for our housing grant assistance.  Today Spare Key makes no distinction between a renter or a homeowner when it comes to supporting them during their child’s health crisis.

In 2014 much of the groundwork that was laid from 2012 and 2013 began to bear fruit.

Last year we served nearly 540 families compared to 209 in 2012.

The key to this success, at its core, has been a Spare Key Board of Directors that has supported this growth, helped to raise the resources to fuel the growth and has been willing to stretch our goals and objectives to continue to serve as many critically ill or seriously injured children as possible.

In March we announced, along with Lenders One and Altisource, a joint effort to expand Spare Key throughout the United States.  This unique partnership offers Spare Key an orderly and sustainable opportunity to serve more families than ever before throughout America.

With opportunities come challenges and it is because of that Spare Key staff and its Board of Directors will gather in September to consider how Spare Key will achieve its goals and objectives over the next five to ten years.

It’s an exciting time for Spare Key.  Our path to where we are today has not been easy.

It has required the dedication of a very small team of staff – the support and passion of our Board of Directors – and the generosity of the thousands of individuals, organizations, foundations and businesses that have stepped forward to support our mission with dollars and expertise.

The organization’s future will require a continued commitment from each of them to be successful.

Planning has been at the core of Spare Key’s success for the past three years.

Planning for its success for the next 18 years will be at the core of its ability to help families “Bounce and not Break.”

After more than 30 years of a career deeply rooted in government and politics I made the decision to enter public service in a new and different way.

I became the Executive Director of a small non-profit: Spare Key.

In a nutshell Spare Key is all about helping sick and injured kids in the hospital. We do so by providing housing grants on behalf of their parents so they can focus on their child’s care and recovery and avoid having their already tenuous financial situation become more dire.

It was a mission born out of the tragedy of the loss of a child by Robb and Patsy Keech who felt compelled to pay it forward after having had the support of their family and community network. Their son, Derian, had been born with a congenital heart disease that ultimately claimed his life.

During the ensuing two and half years of his life he and his parents were in and out of the hospital. The hospital stretches became longer and the expenses became bigger. There came a time when the young parents had to make a choice between being at the hospital or at work. If at the hospital there would be no income, no money and no way to pay the mortgage to keep their home.

It was at this time that others came forward and made sure that the Keech Family never missed a housing payment.

Not long after Derian earned his Angel Wings Robb and Patsy founded Spare Key.

Eighteen years later the organization has served nearly 3,000 children and their families with almost $3 million in housing grants.

Its mission has remained the same although its ability to serve more families than ever has grown beyond the single state it began with in 1997.

My career in government and politics was fulfilling and I had the opportunity to work for and with many outstanding men and women. From small issues to big ones it was and remains my great privilege and honor to have had a life in public service.

Today, my life in public service is different but no less fulfilling. It is also devoid of the partisan and bitter rancor that has so polluted our national discourse and diverted our attention from focusing on the needs and wants of our fellow citizens.

It is also a window into the true heart of my fellow citizens.

It never ceases to amaze me the generosity of men and women who have never met any of the children or families we serve but unhesitatingly donate their hard earned money to help them.

Nor does it fail to impress me the number of organizations that stand ready to support the mission of organizations like Spare Key to better and improve the lives of our communities. From community and private foundations to family foundations – large, medium and small – they are a collection of commitments through the years dedicated to lives of those who are in need of comfort and compassion.

Whether it is the Richard M. Schulze Family Foundation – the Otto Bremer Family Foundation – or private companies like Wells Fargo, Bell State Bank & Trust or the Corval Group — each has made a determined decision to give back to organizations like Spare Key.

The result is a stronger, more vibrant and better life for all of us – those who are in need of their generosity and those that support it through our own donations in both time and resources.

Today, more than three years after accepting the role of Spare Key’s Executive Director I can personally attest to the impact of their generosity and that of thousands of individual men and women.

We have been able to say “Yes” to more children and their families today because of that generosity.

It is my everyday focus and effort to find ways to say “No” less often to those in need of our mission support.

I am encouraged by the progress we’ve made and optimistic about the opportunities ahead of us. Our new partnership with our National Founding Partner, Lenders One and its parent company, Altisource, offers a promise to thousands of families throughout America that Spare Key can soon help them “Bounce and not Break.”

This promise won’t happen overnight, nor will it take a direct line to the lives of those families, but it offers an open door of opportunity to expand the mission that began 18 years ago in the home of Robb and Patsy Keech.

Spare Key and the hundreds of small non-profits like it throughout Minnesota and America are an important part of our lives.

At the heart of each of these organizations are the donors that provide the lifeblood that enables them to carry out their mission of mercy and compassion to the hundreds of thousands of families that are, at the same time, both hopeless and hopeful.

Because of their generosity there remains, always, more hope rather than less.

“Give me Liberty or give me Death”

These words, or some version of these words, have long been attributed to Patrick Henry from a speech made before the Virginia Convention in 1775 at St. John’s Church in Richmond, Virginia.

Henry’s stirring speech was heard by such American giants as Thomas Jefferson and George Washington and it was his words that sealed Virginia’s decision to provide troops for the Revolutionary War.

Today, as the United States of America celebrates its Independence Day I, like millions of other of my fellow Americans, will be spending time commemorating the day with family and friends.

We do so against a back drop of “chatter” from terrorists and terrorist groups seeking to do harm to our country.

We celebrate as thousands of our fellow citizens – American soldiers – defend our nation’s interests in places near and far in our name in the hopes we can continue to enjoy our freedom and liberty.

In and amongst the food, the picnics, the laughter and the fireworks it is easy to forget what this day means and should mean to all of us.

The choice between liberty and death seems melodramatic today.  But, for our fellow countrymen and women who have fought abroad – and who defend here at home and throughout the world – that is the commitment they have made to our nation.

Would the rest of us choose the same?

I have often wondered if, faced with the stark choice between my liberty or my life, would I give up the former to keep the latter?

When it comes to the life of my children I would not hesitate to give up mine for the preservation of their lives.

But, for generations of Americans, including those that began the liberty that we all enjoy so much today, it hasn’t simply been a rhetorical question.

Liberty has been as much of their existence as the blood that courses through their veins and the air in their lungs.

Without liberty there would be no life.

Robert Green Ingersoll wrote, “What light is to the eyes – what air is to the lungs – what love is to the heart, liberty is to the soul of man.”

Independence Day in the United States of America is more than just the date of the 4^th of July.  Truth be told, the date of our Independence has always been open to debate.  With some questioning if the actual date was sooner or later and some, even challenging the notion of whether or not America truly is the land of the free.

To those who question America’s commitment to freedom and liberty I can only remind them that their right to do so would be met with imprisonment, punishment and even death in many places around the world.

For those who question whether or not the 4^th of July truly is the correct date we gained our Independence I simply smile and turn to allow them to continue the debate.

As for me, I choose to relish every single day of my life in the United States of America as a free human being.  My freedom to enjoy my life on my terms within a nation built upon the Rule of Law, in a civil society, continues to be as strong today as it was when my mother brought me into this world.

God willing, my life will continue long into my old, old age and so, too, will the freedom and liberty I enjoy as an American.

It is my hope, as it is for millions of my fellow Americans, that I will never be confronted with the choice between my liberty or my life.  I understand that hope is not a strategy for avoiding that choice.

A strong America, with active participation by its citizens in its government, community, school and other forms of civic engagement, is vital to the protection of our democracy and thus, our liberty.

A strong America, supporting its military and the men and women who serve in it, throughout the year – every single day of the year – is fundamental to protecting and preserving that liberty.

America is not perfect.  Nor is our liberty unrestrained by laws and rules and regulations.  Or, is liberty equally defined by every American citizens.

Great internal conflict has been at the core of America’s journey of Democracy and its legacy of the pursuit of the perfect liberty.

Thomas Jefferson said, “The boisterous sea of liberty is never without a wave.”

Give me liberty or give me death.

I choose liberty.

Every single time.

I would give my life on it.

I have tried to imagine what I would say to even one of the families of the nine men and women murdered in Charleston.

Standing in their home, as they received the news that their loved one had their life taken from them by a man filled with hate, what could I tell them in response to their most pressing question.

Why?

To be honest, I don’t know the answer.

That there is no shortage of Americans telling me why on TV. the radio, online and in the newspaper hasn’t made finding an answer any easier.

Without missing a beat the same tired voices emerged to assure me they know why.

It is because we have too many guns. It is because we don’t have enough guns.

It’s because we are more racist than ever before. It’s because the President is black. It’s because Republicans are intolerant.

The Confederate Flag is the reason. The man was mentally ill. It was the drugs he was taking. Or not taking.

With all of what I have heard, seen and read, I would still be standing in the living room of any one of the dead of Charleston, surrounded by their sorrow, pain and tears, with nothing more to tell them than to say “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for your pain. For the horror of the taking of the life of the one you love.

I’m sorry you will no longer hear their voice. See their smile. Hold their hand. Seek their comfort. Share their life.

I’m sorry I don’t know why.

For me, I believe the man who killed their loved ones is Evil. I believe his dark heart is filled with sickness and hate.

I believe him to be a racist.

I also believe there are far too many like him in America.

But, somehow, I don’t think those words would provide them any more understanding of the acts of violence that took away those they loved and who loved them.

In my heart, there is anger and sorrow. I want an easy answer about why this happened.

I want to blame it on racism. I want to blame it on hate. I want to blame it on guns.

But, each of those reasons still leaves me wanting.

I can understand the President’s belief that there are too many guns, and that if it were not so easy to gain access to guns, that so many would not have died inside a church.

Yet, what if only one life had been taken inside that church that day? Would that have made the motive behind the attack anymore comprehensible?

Would it have made it easier to explain to that one family?

Is there a number where the loss becomes so numb that we are moved to act? Or a number in which were are finally enlightened as to what must be done to put an end to such violence?

I think there are too many guns in America. Too many guns that have the capability to do so much damage and carnage in the hands of people who are committed to doing so.

But, a gun can’t pull its own trigger.

It cannot decide who to kill or why to kill them.

Any more than a knife can, or a car or a pair of human hands.

Standing in their home, as a white American male, would I feel compelled to apologize for who I am?

I have taught my children to be kind. To be compassionate.

There is nothing inside their home that would give them cause to believe that the color of their skin – the amount of money in their parent’s bank account – or their standing and station in life – gives them the right to bear hatred against anyone.

My children have no privilege that was bestowed upon them at their birth except that which was, and remains, the unconditional love of their parents.

Which still leaves, for me, the question.

Why?

It is because I do not know that I continue to seek answers to that question.

I believe that is my moral obligation to the families of Charleston. To continue to seek answers to that question.

It should not be easy for any of us to answer that question.

Nine innocent men and women lost their life in less time than it takes to get a cup of coffee at a convenience store.

Each one of them. Each one of their families. They deserve that we take longer to answer that question.

Which means that we should all bear responsibility to have a conversation that extends beyond the current news cycle.

There’s no shortage of questions that must be asked. There’s no shortage of questions that must be answered.

Either we make the effort to honor their lives through that hard work or we will find ourselves continuing to ask the question.

Why?

Today’s 52^nd birthday lacks the drama of my 50^th. And, for that I am pretty happy.

Prior to my 50^th birthday, in anticipation of this milestone of a half-century on the planet, I intended to climb Mt. Ranier.

According to my plan I would celebrate my 50^th birthday on or near to being on Mt. Ranier.

I trained. Hard. And, as I got stronger I also noticed my left lower leg was getting sorer.

The Thanksgiving before my 50^th birthday the pain was so intense I was pretty sure I had actually broken my leg.

The pain was bad enough that I circumvented my normal male urge to avoid going to the doctor and went to the doctor.

Who then sent me to a get an ultrasound.

Where it was determined I had a blood clot.

Three months later, and a bunch of blood thinner, anxiety, visits to the doctor, the clot was determined to no longer be a threat to my life.

Today, as I celebrate my 52^nd birthday I do so with the knowledge that the next 48 years of my life will not be spent waiting for another blood clot.

I quit doing New Year’s Resolutions long ago that I can’t exactly remember why I quit doing them.

In lieu of resolutions I have chosen to set benchmarks for the next years of my life.

Thankfully, none of them have to do with becoming filthy rich. Although, if any of you reading this wish to make me so, I will not reject your efforts to make it so.

None of them have to do with a face lift, Botox treatments, hair transplants or purchasing a shiny red sports car.

Each of them, however, have something to do with another 48 years that have been as remarkable as the first 52.

I intend to run more marathons – do more bike rides – try more physical challenges that push me to my limits both mentally and physically.

I have no illusions about how fast or how far I will go. Just that I will go as fast as I can and as far as I can.

And, make me laugh when I find myself in the middle of them and proclaiming out loud to myself, “This is amazing!”

I plan to wait until the last year of my life to leap out of a plane. Although, I do intend to get to that Mt. Ranier climb before I turn 60.

I look forward to embracing the journey of my teenage son through the remainder of his teen years, and the beginning journey of my near teen daughter through the entirety of her teen years.

I embrace the uncertainty of it all. As much as I fear it.

I think I will do a better job of taking care of my lawn at home while I make no promise to do the same for my cabin lawn.

I am going to spend less time looking at my phone on weekends, and plan to disable my email through the weekend.

Along the way of the next 48 years I am going to try more things I haven’t done before – maybe do some things I didn’t like before – and make an effort to help more people in different ways than I have before.

Mary-Helen and I have some new adventures ahead of us – some of which I am pretty sure she won’t appreciate nearly as much as I think she will – some of which I know both of us will be glad we took the risk and made them happen – all of which will remind me of why I am where I am today.

In talking with my 14 year old son about the world around both of us – and how he sees his future in it and beyond it – it’s clear I have some unmet obligations to his generation that need my attention.

That requires me to get back out of my comfort zone and participate in the world of public policy despite my disdain for so much of how it is created – as well as disrupted and distorted.

The first 52 years of my life did not go by like a blur. But before I knew it I was 52.

I have flashes of my childhood that come and go – more vivid memories of the rest of my life as it has progressed – some of the most painful ones that cause me to flinch – while some of the most joyous cause me to smile.

It has never been my intention to leave my life on Earth feeling as though I didn’t take full advantage of the gift of life on this Earth my Mother gave to me 52 years ago on this day.

I have never feared getting older. As a young boy I couldn’t wait to grow up.

As a middle age man, I am still enjoying the growing up.

 

This past weekend Friday I had the honor and privilege to tour America’s Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland.  This storied institution that has prepared thousands of American Patriots has been at the forefront of protecting and defending American’s freedoms and liberties since its founding in 1845.

My reason for touring the Naval Academy has to do with my son, Owen.  He has determined that one of the options he would like to consider upon graduation from High School is to enter the Naval Academy and pursue a career in the Navy.  At 14 he is four years away from graduation but never too far away from knowing his personal values and beliefs.

As we drove from Washington, D.C. to Baltimore we passed by a highway exit sign with the town name “Catonsville” imprinted upon it.

I made a mental note of it and my need to share with my son the family history that was, and is, connected with that Maryland community.

We spent a day in Baltimore and then, on Friday, we made our trek to Annapolis, Maryland.  As we did I took a moment to share with Owen the story behind Catonsville and its connection to him and our family.

On May 17, 1968, nine men and women entered the Selective Service Offices in Catonsville, Maryland and removed 378 draft records, dumped them on the ground and burned them with homemade napalm as a protest against the Vietnam War.

One of those nine was my uncle, George Mische.  George, along with Father Phillip Berrigan, were the main instigators of this protest which eventually resulted in the arrest, conviction and imprisonment of many involved with the protest — including my uncle.

I shared with Owen the impact of the aftermath of the action of the Catonsville Nine on the nation, as well as its impact on my own family as the FBI chased my uncle and other members of the Nine after they failed to report to prison and went underground.

Owen listened with interest and respect and reminded me I had shared this story him before.

Fast forward to later in the day as Owen and I toured the Naval Academy Museum and I came across the POW wristband of Senator John McCain.

As many online sources inform us, in October 1967, while on a bombing mission over Hanoi, he was shot down, seriously injured, and captured by the North Vietnamese. He was a POW until 1973. McCain experienced severe torture and refused to be release early ahead of other American POWs.

His war wounds left him with lifelong physical injuries.

My Uncle George and Senator John McCain are, in my opinion, both American Patriots.  That one fought a war and other protested it does not make one more patriotic than the other.

Throughout America and its history we have seen patriots stand on other sides of one another — each believing their actions and service were the manifestations of their patriotic duty.

Supporters, and opponents, of their actions have been just as vociferous in their defense of the actions of these patriots.

As my son and I shared dinner with a young Minnesota man, Louis Wohletz, at a local burger joint in Annapolis to learn more about his experience at the Naval Academy I was struck, again, by the diverse journey every American takes on their journey to being a Patriot.

Louis is an already accomplished young American whose service to his community began long before he was nominated and accepted to the U.S. Naval Academy.

His patient willingness to share more of his journey with my son meant a great deal to both of us.

The next day, as my son and I stood on the deck of the SS John Brown Liberty as we enjoyed a six hour cruise into American history, I reflected on the millions of American Patriots fought in World War II — the hundreds of thousands that gave the ultimate sacrifice–and what their service has meant to the life of my family.

It has meant freedom and liberty.  It has meant this trip with my son. It has meant the life we have at home when we return.

So, too, did the service of my Uncle George — the service of Louis Wohletz — and every single American throughout our nation’s history.

Being an American Patriot is as diverse as America.  At the core of being a Patriot is the belief that what one is doing is being done to better — strengthen — protect — and preserve — the values and beliefs that our nation was founded upon to ensure they endure for future generations of Americans.

I am proud to be an American and proud of all of America’s Patriots.