I was looking for inspiration and came across the story of Lasse Viren.
Remember him? Viren was the guy who stumbled and fell halfway through the Olympic 10,000-meter final in 1972. Any chance the 23-year-old police officer from Finland had of winning a medal appeared to be gone.
He calmly got up and started running again.
Sportswriters consider it one of the great comebacks of all time because Viren not only caught up with the other runners, he passed them all to win the gold.
And he set a world record in the process.
Amazing.
What does that have to do with you, my friend? I wanted to remind you, in case you might have forgotten, that the same spirit resides in you.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Unintended Consequences
When I was very young, maybe five years old, my mother asked me what I wanted to be.
This was in the living room of the house on Satsup Street (still the setting for occasional dreams, since I spent so many of my formative years there). A number a people were around and I was vaguely aware of an older brother answering the same question.
I think I gave the same answer he did, though I don't remember what that was. Fireman, perhaps. I had never thought about it before.
My mother said, "Wouldn't you like to be a pastor?"
Being an agreeable child, I said yes.
She then told everyone what I had said, and I knew right away that I would never be a pastor.
I still find it funny how that worked. I was an agreeable child, as I said, and eager to please, but I felt tricked. This was so clearly what she wanted; it had nothing to do with me.
I did end up being a serious student of religion in college, but I'd be damned if I was going to be a professional.
This was in the living room of the house on Satsup Street (still the setting for occasional dreams, since I spent so many of my formative years there). A number a people were around and I was vaguely aware of an older brother answering the same question.
I think I gave the same answer he did, though I don't remember what that was. Fireman, perhaps. I had never thought about it before.
My mother said, "Wouldn't you like to be a pastor?"
Being an agreeable child, I said yes.
She then told everyone what I had said, and I knew right away that I would never be a pastor.
I still find it funny how that worked. I was an agreeable child, as I said, and eager to please, but I felt tricked. This was so clearly what she wanted; it had nothing to do with me.
I did end up being a serious student of religion in college, but I'd be damned if I was going to be a professional.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
The Amoral of the Story
"I don't believe in anything," a colleague once told me.
I didn't believe him.
"I'm serious. I don't. When I sit down and try to decide what I believe ... there's nothing," he said. "It's hard to decide on anything."
"Of course, because that means you have to commit yourself."
"That's right. And what if you find out you were wrong?" he said. "What if you live your whole life and ..."
"You can always change your mind," I said.
I'm afraid that was a little too blithe for my coworker, though.
"What about after the Spanish Inquisition, after you've burned all these people at the stake? What do you say then: 'Oh, we changed our minds'?"
"Never mind," I said, in the sort of pinched, old-woman voice you hear in Monty Python reruns.
"You've got all these crispy critters on your hands," he said.
An important point about the dangers of belief, I suppose, but far removed from any choice we would have to make that day.
Soon the conversation shifted and my colleague started telling me about something he'd seen on TV — an interview with a mass murderer, long imprisoned.
(I say colleague rather than a friend because Pete made it quite clear that he didn't like me. He once called me pious, and he didn't mean it as a complement. I pray to God I don't sound pious now.)
I had missed the interview (intentionally) but wondered what Pete thought.
"He was really bizarre. He was ... well, he was completely amoral."
"Kind of like you, huh?"
"No, Al."
"Well, you don't believe in anything. Isn't that what amoral is?"
"It's not the same thing," he said.
"I think you believe in more than you know."
I didn't believe him.
"I'm serious. I don't. When I sit down and try to decide what I believe ... there's nothing," he said. "It's hard to decide on anything."
"Of course, because that means you have to commit yourself."
"That's right. And what if you find out you were wrong?" he said. "What if you live your whole life and ..."
"You can always change your mind," I said.
I'm afraid that was a little too blithe for my coworker, though.
"What about after the Spanish Inquisition, after you've burned all these people at the stake? What do you say then: 'Oh, we changed our minds'?"
"Never mind," I said, in the sort of pinched, old-woman voice you hear in Monty Python reruns.
"You've got all these crispy critters on your hands," he said.
An important point about the dangers of belief, I suppose, but far removed from any choice we would have to make that day.
Soon the conversation shifted and my colleague started telling me about something he'd seen on TV — an interview with a mass murderer, long imprisoned.
(I say colleague rather than a friend because Pete made it quite clear that he didn't like me. He once called me pious, and he didn't mean it as a complement. I pray to God I don't sound pious now.)
I had missed the interview (intentionally) but wondered what Pete thought.
"He was really bizarre. He was ... well, he was completely amoral."
"Kind of like you, huh?"
"No, Al."
"Well, you don't believe in anything. Isn't that what amoral is?"
"It's not the same thing," he said.
"I think you believe in more than you know."
Monday, April 9, 2007
Another Sister's Perspective
My sister Irma remembers being impressed with our father because he taught himself to read and write in English without much help and doesn't know how in the world he ever did that.
She remembers coming home to see him sitting at the kitchen table reading the World Book encyclopedia. She thinks he probably read the whole series cover-to-cover. He must have, she says, because of all the many times she saw him doing that.
He was so hungry for knowledge, he read constantly.
He always knew everything that was going on all over the world, she recalls, and he used to get disgusted with Americans because nobody knew anything. He'd ask them who the leader of Germany was and nobody knew. He couldn't get over that.
She thought he would have been a great politician, but of course that was not to be.
Another thing she remembers is that Dad couldn't stand it when people sat around in bathrobes, like she used to do, until 10 o'clock in the morning. It about drove him crazy. He just did not like that look. He felt you should get dressed and eat and start the day dressed.
On the (somewhat) humorous side, Irma recalls, he hated seafood — any kind of seafood. It was almost as if he thought it was a sin to eat any of it. Anyway, one time she was fixing razor clams, dipping them in flour and frying them like cutlets. He said, "Oh, those look good" and she said, "I'll give you a plate."
So he sat down and started eating. "This is good," he said. "What is it?"
Not being able to lie to him, she told him — kind of jokingly, like she'd pulled one over on him.
He picked up the plate and flung it across the room.
He was very upset with her for deceiving him, so that was the first and last time she ever did that to him.
She remembers coming home to see him sitting at the kitchen table reading the World Book encyclopedia. She thinks he probably read the whole series cover-to-cover. He must have, she says, because of all the many times she saw him doing that.
He was so hungry for knowledge, he read constantly.
He always knew everything that was going on all over the world, she recalls, and he used to get disgusted with Americans because nobody knew anything. He'd ask them who the leader of Germany was and nobody knew. He couldn't get over that.
She thought he would have been a great politician, but of course that was not to be.
Another thing she remembers is that Dad couldn't stand it when people sat around in bathrobes, like she used to do, until 10 o'clock in the morning. It about drove him crazy. He just did not like that look. He felt you should get dressed and eat and start the day dressed.
On the (somewhat) humorous side, Irma recalls, he hated seafood — any kind of seafood. It was almost as if he thought it was a sin to eat any of it. Anyway, one time she was fixing razor clams, dipping them in flour and frying them like cutlets. He said, "Oh, those look good" and she said, "I'll give you a plate."
So he sat down and started eating. "This is good," he said. "What is it?"
Not being able to lie to him, she told him — kind of jokingly, like she'd pulled one over on him.
He picked up the plate and flung it across the room.
He was very upset with her for deceiving him, so that was the first and last time she ever did that to him.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
