Gone....Just Gone

Mary Travis of Peter, Paul and Mary left us this week.

Her passing reminded me of the days and weeks and months and years that I tried in my own small way to be heard.

I protested the war in Viet Nam.

Vigorously.

I never felt I was protesting against our troops.

I believed I was protesting for them- because I could.

Because, as high school graduation approached, I saw the light dim in the eyes of the guys I knew as they saw their possible fate approaching.

I protested because of Patrick Haley.

Did I ever tell you about Pat?

He went to Notre Dame with my brother.

He was 10 years older than I was, but a dear friend on whom I had a probably not so secret crush (how good are 11 year olds at keeping crushes a secret?) But I was a pragmatist even then and Pat was engaged to a beautiful, accomplished woman and I accepted the little sister role with what I hope was good grace.

I must have succeeded to some extent because night that he and my brother graduated from Notre Dame, he told me after dinner that he was being shipped out to Viet Nam.

Pat was Air Force ROTC (my brother was Navy).

Pat told me before he told his mom or even his fiancée.

The moment he told me is frozen in time.

Because the moment he told me, I knew he was not coming back.

And he did not.

He flew chopper rescues and was lost in his second tour.

My brother accompanied his body home.

My brother never really recovered from the fact that he was not sent over.

Survivor guilt.

It happens.

It is unnecessary because we all have our part to play in this drama of life…and yet it happens.

But, that is why I protested. I was never unkind to a soldier or a sailor or a marine.

I was a pen pal and sent packages to guys I never knew.

But I protested- screaming in to wind as my friends were fed to the jungles of Southeast Asia.

So where have all the flowers gone?

I do not know, Mary Travis. After all these years, I still do not know.

Signs

This week, a bright and charming young woman from my graduate school alma mater came out to interview me for the school newspaper. We sipped cappuccinos and she asked questions.
It was a strange feeling. All the years of struggle to get through the degrees and here I was watching them in the swirl of foam in my cup.

It was a good thing.

Kind of like the capstone project at the end of a course.

There is a certain amount of PTSD that any Doctoral candidate goes through because you are always hanging by an academic thread and at the mercy of a committee that is at the same time very involved and yet exquisitely aloof. I have been "Dr D" as the students call me for a year now, and I still wake up in that proverbial panic.

Here is an interesting coincidence.
The same day that I was interviewed and was thinking- OK- it must be real- if they interview and the fact that you are a PhD is in print, they can't take it back, right?- my students showed up with a bouquet of flowers for me marking the end of the quarter.

How many more signs does it take, Dr D?
Breathe in
Breathe out
Move on.

A Striking Difference

I am not alone among criminal justice professionals when I say there are some flaws in the Three Strike Law. But that is a debate for another day.

Sort of.

You see, Pfizer pharmaceutical as I am sure you read yesterday, was slapped with a multi-billion fine for fraudulent marketing. Imagine our shock that pharmaceutical companies that is arguably our first line of defense against everything from pregnancy to swine flu would act in less than a responsible, righteous and forthright manner.

But, rest easy. The Attorney General tells us that this mega fine "should act as a deterrent".

Really?

Newsflash. This was Pfizer's FOURTH fine since 2002.

Maybe we need a new definition of deterrence.

So here is my point:
Some kid commits three Class I crimes- violent or not- and he/she gets life in prison.

Pfizer? I have a feeling that this is just the top of the inning and it is going to be another winning season

Your Tax Dollars at Worst

So, because I am the unfortunate member of the class known as middle, I had to pay my own way through school. The government gave me a bit of help and now owns me body and soul.
The reams of paperwork that I need to fill out on a quarterly basis to keep them from extracting the funds back from me while I enjoy the benefits of the bad economy is legion.

Here was my latest and perhaps my favorite.
"Please fill out this forma and attached documentation" (shortened version of their request)

So, I did. Made myself copies and sent it off.

One week later.

"Thanks for submitting, but we could not process this because it did not have all the required information BECAUSE- we did not ask for that information as it is a new requirement and we have not updated our forms,"

OK, guys- psychic comes extra. How was I to know to put it on there if they did not ask for it? And how much is it costing them (us) to send out the wrong form, and then send it back?

A weaker mind would snap.

Dreams Through the Years

My oldest son is in New York this week.
He called Amtrak, packed a back and told us all he needed a break- and headed East- for 17 days.

He is spending his days on the upper west side at cafes and parks.
He is tippin' a few with the old timers at Jimmy's on Times Square and he is making his pilgrimages to Lucky Strike- our family's restaurant in SoHo.

He sounds more like Robert DeNiro every day.

I send him emails about where there are Jazz Festivals and Flea Markets happening in the City- but he is not there to see or even here.
He is just there to be.

He is where I want to be.
He told me the other day that he was sitting in Central park and realized that he was doing just what he wanted to be doing as he sat at his desk in California.
So he just did it.

OK...a really cool part about having kids is that they get to live your dreams when you don't have the time.