Thursday, April 28, 2011

The Birth Certificate

What's striking about Barack Obama's birth certificate is that we actually have a President of the United States

* with the name Barack Hussein Obama II

* with an address at 6085 Kalaniansole Highway, Honolulu, Oahu, Hawaii

* with an African father from Kenya, East Africa

* and with a Caucasian mother from Wichita, Kansas.

The ongoing flap over this birth certificate is the direct result of the information above. Many Americans have never gotten over the fact that a majority of us elected a black man as President of the United States. To them, funny-sounding words like Kalaniansole and Oahu aren't really American words; Kenya is simply not a part of the civilized world; and an 18-year-old white woman from Kansas had no business having a child with an African man--let alone a child who would one day become President of the United States.

Mr. Obama is generous to call this monstrous distraction "silliness." In fact, it's bigotry through and through.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Resurrection

Yesterday afternoon when I found in our woods five baby opossums clinging to life on their dead mother's body, I didn't know where I'd find help on Easter Sunday. Who would be open on a holiday? The Triangle Wildlife Rehabilitation Clinic, thank goodness.

As a part of its mission, the clinic "provides care for sick, injured, and orphaned native North American wildlife" and is open every day. Running on the usual non-profit shoestring, the staff and volunteers tend to squirrels, turtles, rabbits, native birds, snakes, and just about every little creature you can think of.

A far different enterprise from the pageantry at Duke Chapel, where I had attended Easter services earlier in the day. An inspiring and humbling sermon I heard for sure, but not quite as humbling as the modest animal clinic that took in five two-month-old opossums destined otherwise for death.

The natural world, it turns out, assures us that the Easter story will be told over and over again in infinite variety. How fortunate that we get to play a part.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

A Back Seat for Congress

“'Why have legislators?'” asked Representative [and Democrat] Pete Stark of California," in response to President Obama's proposal to expand the authority of the medical Independent Payment Advisory Board. Why indeed?

According to an article in The New York Times, Congressman Stark and a host of others--both Democrats and Republicans--object to the proposal to allow an independent body of doctors and patient advocates to recommend policies to lower Medicare costs. This group, to be appointed by the President and confirmed by the Senate, would make such recommendations only in the event that Medicare spending grows too quickly.

Sounds like a good idea to me, and Congress itself has shown us why. Time and again our legislators have governed ineffectively because they're beholden to special interests. That so many of them are in the pockets of insurance and pharmaceutical companies means that we still don't have effective health care policies. And you don't have to look beyond the power of the NRA to see why we have such insane gun laws despite the fact that the majority of Americans support tighter regulations.

Do we need Congress? Of course. But in this case we're better served by professionals in the field than by non-professionals in the Capitol. No offense, Congressman Stark, but this time you're not needed.

Monday, April 18, 2011

The Great Gun Divide

Working on a tax return last week, I needed to consult the website for the Colorado Department of Revenue. Not sure where to begin, I clicked on Frequently Asked Questions and pulled up the first one: "How do I apply for a concealed weapons permit?"

I didn't read the answer but was reminded of the question again on Friday when I watched Barbara Kopple's new documentary film Gun Fight. In it she shows the vast landscape of passion and opinions surrounding gun control--or lack thereof--in America. In some parts of the country people are packing as many weapons as they can, and in others people are working furiously to eliminate them. The chasm portrayed was so great that I could find nothing in common with people cheering at NRA rallies and buying assault weapons at gun shows. It's as if we live in two different countries.

Which brings me to Barack Obama. A situation this loaded, and this dangerous, calls for reasonable people to come together to enact reasonable regulations--the sort of problem tailored to this president's ability to find common ground. We need his leadership.

Otherwise, our national scourge of gun violence will continue unabated, with the National Rifle Association literally calling the shots.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Monday, April 11, 2011

Blessings

On a trip last week with my mother and daughter--amidst all the background noise of thoughtless politicians threatening to shut down our government--we stopped to visit my niece at St. Mary's College in Maryland. This poem by Lucille Clifton, printed on a wall in the Campus Center, stopped me (and silenced all that noise).

blessing the boats
by Lucille Clifton

(at St. Mary's)

may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
may you kiss
the wind then turn from it
certain that it will
love your back--may you
open your eyes to water
water waving forever
and may you in your innocence
sail through this to that

Monday, April 4, 2011

Cooties, No Touch Backs

When I was a kid, we used to play this game where someone would suddenly tap another person and shout, "Cooties, no touch backs." The kid who'd been tapped had cooties--something you didn't want--until she managed to tap someone else and pass the cooties on. Most of us really didn't have cooties; those who did were either from poor neighborhoods or from the orphanage.

I remembered this game the other day when I took an elderly friend to an annual retirement banquet. She has dementia, a form of cooties--I realized--for the older, well-to-do set. For as we mingled during the social hour, I watched old friends and neighbors sidle out of her way or make wide circles around us to avoid having to speak. She didn't notice, of course, because she doesn't remember most of them. Nonethless, she still welcomes a kind smile and a friendly reminder of her past.

Is it really that hard to greet an old friend?

I guess it is. I guess it's too frightening to realize where we might end up. It's easier and safer to look away and tap someone else: "Cooties, no touch backs."