Death Row Community College

This past week I was scoping out a small community college in southern Virginia.

The name of the school is John Tyler Community College. Who was John Tyler, you might ask? (as I did) You might need to brush up on your American History (as I do) for he was the 10th President of the United States. Who knew? (though I actually have heard the slogan they used to promote him; "Tippacanoe and Tyler Too." Catchy. I might vote for him in the next presidential election. Why not? If dead people can vote, http://www.citypaper.net/articles/101295/article009.shtml why not vote for dead people?)

So after clearing that up, I and a couple co-workers set out to give out some Freebies on campus. Alas - the administration wouldn't allow it. More accurately, the person who does allow that kind of thing was in Holland digging for tulips or something. The people there were unwilling or unable to give us permission to distribute some free stuff - which could be a blog topic in itself. But hey - who gets paid to do more than they have to do to get paid?

So, in lieu of actually giving out unauthorized freebies, we thought we'd informally survey a few students. I began the conversation with 2 guys sitting on some couches outside their classroom. Before I knew what was going on, everyone attending an English class was there. Interesting mix of people. Interesting mix of conversations.

Tattoo Dude: "Hey - did you guys do the reading for today?"
Several people between the ages of 18 and 67: "what?! There was an assignment? Explicative."
Tatoo: "yeah - it's on page 125."
18-67 Year Olds: "zip. flp flip flip. Ok - lemme skim it."

Someone quoted part of the article which said - I kid you not "No one is really poor. They're just pre-rich." Brilliant. Perhaps this guy thinks the starving-poor of the world are also not actually malnourished - they're just pre-dead.

In another section of this crowd, there was a conversation between a guy who looked like his name should be Gunther and the very small but sassy crippled girl. They were making fun of each other. I shall leave this up you your imagination. Surreal.

In the midst of this fray, I tried to ask a couple questions. A few of the students responded - some with anecdotal references to the Family Guy, and some with real responses. Several were pretty surprised to hear that John Tyler was a president of the US. Then, Gunther began to read some internet webpages he had printed out. They were letters from Death Row Inmates, and they were pleas for penpals. He read them out loud to the group.

These letters spoke of the intense loneliness of men slated to die. Some spent 23 hours a day in solitary. They were very honest and desperate, yearning for someone to write them. They were hungry for someone to bring some meaning or significance into their world; someone, anyone who would dialogue with them by way of letters. Their present isolation from society seemed even more severe for the fact that ultimate separation was coming on a known date and time. To me, these pleas for connection sounded like requests for some kind of last meal for their souls. One more good thing before the end.

I felt so sad. But that changed very quickly.

In response to these naked cries for human connection, Gunther (who was apparently the apex Community College English student) began to make fun of their grammar and spelling. He mocked them for their poor parts of speech, for their apparent lack of educational prowess. "Ha ha! They are so stupid! Listen to this one!"

Unbelievable. Apparently Gunther could only see the ink on the page. Behind those molecule-thick markings were men who were dying, and all he seemed to care about was pointing out their lack of writing ability. Wow.

I really wanted to say something, but just then the class opened up and everyone shuffled off. What would I have said anyhow? "You selfish jerk!! Don't you care about other people, you moron!?" Hardly a compelling prod toward empathy.

But, this was one of my better moments of empathy. I felt sad for Gunther's callousness, and I felt sad for the desperate inmates. Right then I could see a contrast between his bad reaction and the response that I was having. But to be honest, I'm not really sure how many good moments I have.

If I had to bet, I would wager that the majority of people are hungry for connection. Most of us are at best somewhat relationally malnourished. Sure, we all have lots of events and technologies and people around us to make us feel connected and filled. But my impression is that few of us really connect on that deep soul-nourishing level that we all hope for.

The thing is, unlike those inmates, it seems that few of us really relate how needful we really are. We're too proud to be honest. There is strike one against my day to day empathy for others. They aren't very open about it, so I'm less likely to recognize it.

Strike two for me is that I know this. If I stop and think about it, I know that people want to be pursued and loved. But I forget this (willfully maybe?) and pretend like everyone is fine - if not in my inner view, at least in my outward expression. I'm the callous one.

Strike three for me is that I'm the Gunther. Oh sure - maybe I'll react well to those desperate cries for help, but most people aren't that vulnerable. So I'm not that empathetic. In fact - often times I'm the one who's making fun of other people. Occasionally for grammar, but more for smaller things. The way they talk, their personality quirks and shortcomings, their job performance, physical appearance, the way they drive. (Empathy is the emotional roadkill of the highways. If you could hear what I think about other drivers!)

In short - I need a double shot of humility. I'm getting that, slowly. I'm being worked on, and am way better than I used to be. Still need work though. I want to have the kind of humility and empathy that I had for those prisoners with the average Joe. I want to want to connect with the heart of the average guy walking down the street, or my neighbor. I was to be that kind of a person.

But what about you? I'm curious what things for you have made you more empathetic. What gives you the courage to reach out to others? I'd really love to know. If you love other people - what is it that gives you that? And I'm wondering if you're deeply, richly connected with anyone. Are you? Hey - I'd love it if you were my penpal. Lord knows I need more honest connection. Perhaps you do as well.

My roof is on backwards

This weekend, we were inundated by nearly 7 inches of rain.

Saturday morning I laid down to take a nap, but, as I was falling into the fog of sleep, I shot out of bed when the house imploded. A big chunk of bedroom ceiling decided it liked the view from the floor better and made its way there in a hurry - along with gallons of water and some rather soggy insulation.

Ah - the joys of home ownership.

I won't bore you with a wordy rant about the slippery climb up the ladder and the hour on the roof in the rain (at least it was a tropical system, and the rain was rather warm for October in Pennsylvania) with tarps and a staple gun. (what qualifies something as being referred to as a gun anyhow? And why do most of my paragraphs have more content lodged in parenthesis than actual paragraph body? Guns though - my beefy friends are said to have "nice guns" but that doesn't follow if it has to do with the capacity to shoot a projectile. Maybe muscled men's big arms shoot invisible bullets of perceived inferiority? For that matter, caulk guns barely get their projectiles out, yet they are called guns. Why call it a gun? It's the same principle as a tube of toothpaste, but I don't refer to that as a gun - cool as that might sound. "Honey...where's the Crest-gun?" "In your toiletry and gun kit. You'll need to reload it." Cool. What would the neighbors make of that? But - I was talking about my roof, wasn't I?)

So - my roof.

Today the son of the actual contractor whom we called came out and looked at the spot where the water was definitely leaking in. Ok, send in the son. Lots of people have roof issues - sure. I'm a home maintenance idiot anyhow, so a roofer's 3 year old probably exceeds my frighteningly small roof vocabulary. So, tell us all about it just-learned-to-drive teeny-bopper roof boy. What do we need to do?

The answer: "Just caulk it."
"Caulk it?!" says I.
"Yeah" he says, "it's coming in this hole just below the gutter. If you fill that up with caulk or something, it should keep the water out."

Here I must explain a few things to you. (or the theoretical you whom I imagine might actually read this someday for some reason I can't imagine. The reality is that this blog - like most others - is probably just self servicing. A figurative "place" where uncontested vanities and delusions of widespread literary significance can grow unchecked by and unfounded in reality. But it's fun - ain't it?) Ok - cessation of digression.

Just caulk it.

The thing you need to know; I already know that this solution is ridiculous. On a clear day I can see New Jersey through this hole under the spouting. What's more, in that balmy rain I pulled back the metal "flashing" (I learned a new word pertaining to roofs & siding! Yay!) and found that the only thing holding the "wood" together was the "moss" that was covering it. The wood was so rotted and wet... well - fruitcake would be a much more substantial building material.

So, caulk itself, unless there's some magical caulk I don't know about, can't be the answer.

"Umm - Caulk? I think the wood up there isn't in very good shape, would you take a closer look at it?" I was at work and talking to the kid on the phone.

After a less teenager-ish examination, here's his new story:

The previous owners/roofers
1 Didn't remove the old roof before adding the new one.
2 Put the flashing on upside down.
3 Didn't stagger the layers, so there are huge seems running down the roof
4 Put the bottom layer on upside down. (on top of the old shingles)
and therefore it can be concluded that they...
5 Had no idea what they were doing.

What's even more intriguing is that they managed to put the edge layers on upside down ALL AROUND THE HOUSE. My entire exterior wooden framing might be less stable than last Christmas' fruitcake from Aunt Ethel.

So, in effect, behind the 1970's avocado yellow aluminum siding, my entire house is probably being held together by moss.

We should sleep well tonight, and every night - until the first hard frost.

I Dream of Bikini

Last night my wife had a dream.

In her dream, she was in a bikini contest with some other ladies, but felt pretty confident about the outcome. The reason for this assurance of victory: I was the judge of the contest. She thought "surely he'll pick me as the winner."

This sounds like a nightmare to me. If I don't pick her, I'm in serious trouble on the home front. If I do pick her, I'm in less trouble, but still in trouble on the home front. Mainly for that fact that I took the job of comparing my wife with all the other ladies.

I can imagine a doomed conversation later on.

Wife: So John, you felt that I was the clear winner?
Me: Sure did babe! You're dreamy.
Wife: No bias there, you really felt that I compared well with the other nearly naked women?
Me: Um, well, you... You more than compare, you're in a class so far above them all. Not that I was really comparing, even though I had to. So I guess I was - but you won! Yay!
Wife: So if I hadn't won, who would you have picked to win?
Me: (now realizing the impending train wreck) Uhhh. Let's, ahh - let's stay out of the theoretical, shall we?
Wife: I mean, surely in your mind there was a runner up? Right? If you made her the winner, why would you have? What about her would have made her stand out to you?
Me: Are you getting warm? I'm warm.
Wife: Really, what would you have done if I weren't even in the competition? Would you have enjoyed judging it?
Me: It's really hot in here.

Fortunately, it was just a dream, and there was no final judgment about the winner in it. This has spared me explaining the actions and attitudes of the dream-me, and led me to a valuable preventive lesson through my wife's active subconscious.

Namely:

Never be a bikini contest judge, especially if your wife is competing.


This advice I give to you freely and without cost to you. Have a good day.