Squad Helps Dog Bite Victim

About 20 years ago, or more, the Columbia School of Journalism published a little book with the title above. It was a collection of headlines that could be read multiple ways. One of my favorites from the early 1970's:

Nixon to Stand Pat on Tapes

"Stand Pat" means to do nothing, maintain the status quo. But when one realizes that President Nixon's wife was named "Pat", it conjures up a whole new image. The wife of the POTUS standing on some audio tapes is a pretty funny image.

Another was:

Milk Drinkers Turn to Powder

So since then, I love watching for bizarre headlines. Here is one from this morning.

Teacher: Reading Leads to Learning

Brilliant! No teacher alive has ever connected the two! Until now!

One of my favorite sources of these headlines is The Opinion Journal's "Best of the Web" by James Taranto. Agree or disagree with Taranto's politics, he usually finds some hilarious headline bloopers.

Here's another link, a web site called Language Jokes * Funny Newspaper Headlines

It is refreshing to be able to laugh at ourselves, and not to take ourselves too seriously. Funny headlines will do that for you. Be on the lookout. But beware, this is dangerous stuff we are talking about. Reading through these again, I laughed so hard I could not breathe. As Monsters, Inc. taught us, laughter and joy are much more powerful than fear.

Children of Divorce

I am still processing my dad's death, having recently been to Minnesota to deal with his estate issues.

My parents were divorced in 1970. By all accounts, it turned into an unhappy marriage. I was greatly pained by their divorce, for several reasons. First, I was the eldest, and eldest children tend to feel responsible for these things. Second, neither my mom nor my dad would talk openly about what was happening. Neither of them ever asked, "How are you feeling?" Neither of them ever said, "No matter what is happening between your mom/dad and me, I still love you."

Third, I really did feel it was my fault. In the spring and summer of 1970, my friends and I started to experiment with shoplifting. We would go to the local version of 7/11, and steal candy, or gum. Or we would go the Apache Plaza mall and steal small stuff. For some reason, I got it in my head that I would go one Saturday and steal one thing from every store in the mall. I nearly made it. I wore a dark blue windbreaker, and just went from store to store, stuffing things in my jacket. I must have looked like the Michelin man when I finally got to Montgomery Wards. There, I stole a fishing lure to complete my "haul." As soon as I left the store, the store security nabbed me. I was taken back to his office, filled out a report, and then was "escorted" home in the back of a St. Anthony police cruiser.

The cop was very nice, and explained to my dad what had happened. The chill in the house was immeasurable. When my mom got home, I had to explain to her what I had done, and then I was sent to bed, at about 6:00 p.m. I went to sleep that night hoping and praying never to wake up again. Fortunately, I did wake up again. But the issue was never discussed. Ever. But the chill from my dad towards me was absolute, and the chill between my parents seemed to increase.

I thought they had a good marriage. Unlike my Italian friends' parents, who were always screaming at one another one minute, and then hugging and kissing the next. I never got that. Now I see that at least they were communicating. My parents were not. Perhaps they did not know how. Perhaps it was a poor upbringing. Perhaps it was sheer selfishness.

Whatever the case, I can imagine that my dad concluded that it was my mom's permissiveness that caused his eldest child to become a criminal. My mom probably concluded that my dad's tyrannical attitude was driving the eldest son away. Perhaps both were right. Perhaps, as a counselor once said, I was crying out for attention. Any attention. My parents were so silently hostile to one another, that there was no room left for my brother and I, and we needed our parents.

So, for many years, I put two and two together, and blamed myself for the divorce. Because it was only weeks/months later that my dad one day left. Saying nothing. Just got in his 1969 Ford Mustang Grande and left. While my mom sobbed.

Since then, I have made it a point to study the literature about divorce, and the impact on children. The first book I read on the subject was Judith Wallerstein's landmark book, Second Chances : Men, Women and Children a Decade After Divorce. It was the first longitudinal study done on the affects of divorce. Most books focused on surviving divorce, or recovering from it. But Wallerstein followed some families through the divorce and for the next few years, checking in on them periodically. I was intrigued by her next book, The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce: The 25 Year Landmark Study. She tracked the same initial families for 25 years.

Her conclusion was that in divorce, everyone loses. Less than 10% of those affected by divorce were doing better 25 years later. "Better" was measured emotionally, relationally, fiscally, physically, mentally, spiritually, etc.

Her two prescriptions were these: for kids to have a good chance at coming out of this OK, both parents needed to keep in active contact with the kids, and the parents could not under any circumstances use the kids to get back at the other spouse. ("Son, your mom's a drunk." "Daughter, your father is a pathological liar.")

Wallerstein's next book was What About the Kids? Raising Your Children Before, During, and After Divorce, which addresses the issue from a prescriptive, rather than a descriptive point of view. I have not read this.

Today, I discovered another book out on the subject, and it seems to add to the "divorce is a bad thing" side of the debate. It is written by Elizabeth Marquardt, and entitled, Between Two Worlds : The Inner Lives of Children of Divorce. A good review by Michael McManus is here.

To be fair, my parents did the best they could. My dad always sent child support and alimony every month. I used to take that for granted, until meeting friends for whom that was not the case in their family. Still, I wonder what would have happened if they had gone to counseling, if they had had supportive, caring people, who would have intervened and tried to save the marriage. Or at least, to process it in a more healthy manner.

I understand the guilt and shame from the inside. I am loathe to confess and confront my own "sins". It is hard for me to ask for help. It is hard for me to forgive. It is hard for me, once a mistake has been made, to confess it. So I understand my parents' never talking about this. It was embarrassing. They had failed at fulfilling "Til death do us part". And they suffered for it, as my brother and I did, in different ways.

The end of the story was better than the beginning. My dad married Susan, a professional friend and colleague, in 1970. And he thrived in the relationship. My mom married Kel Pierce, having met him at a bridge club, in 1981. They, too, were happily married.

The point of the story is not "they lived happily ever after". The point of the story is not that we can screw up our primary commitments and still come out well on the other end. The point of the story is that God, in his grace, does not consider failure to be the final word in our lives.

On Tuesday, Batman Begins came out on DVD. Bruce Wayne, played by Christian Bale, and Alfred, played by Michael Caine, have a moving relationship in the film. At one point, Bruce utters in despair that, "I've failed, Alfred."

To which Alfred says, "Master Bruce, why do we fall? So we can pick ourselves up." (A repeated phrase in the movie, first uttered by Bruce's father.)

Bruce says, "You have never given up on me, have you?"

Alfred then stares hard at Bruce, and says, "Never!"

God, in his mercy, has never given up on us. He did not give up on my mom, or dad. He has not given up on me. And that brings a measure of comfort.

Minnesota Misadventures

From my MN trip, I got home safely, and late, rolling in after midnight CA time. My wife and son came to pick me up at the airport, a great sacrifice on their part, as they had to rise early to go to work and school respectively.

My brother, Dave, and I had some misadventures on our way to the airport. First, we took 494 to get to 394, but the transition from the 494 to the 394 was closed. So we got lost for a while down in Hopkins. We tried to take Minnetonka Blvd east, but at some point, it was closed. We backtracked to MN 5, and found lots of traffic. We finally wound up near our parents' first house in Hopkins, and drove by. It looked a lot smaller than I remembered it. We then found our way to Dinkytown, by the University of Minnesota. After buying some assorted gifts for the family at Gold Country, our stomachs rumbling, we turned the corner to find Vescio's CLOSED! Closed on Mondays. Argh! We had been planning on dining at Vescio's for weeks. We ate there as kids, a nice Italian place. I had my first pizza there. Their pizzas were square. When I encountered my first round pizza later in life, I thought something was wrong with it! In spite of Vescio's having its own web site, I guess we never checked on the hours. Doh!

We then drove towards the airport, looking for a place to eat. Wound up eating french toast at IHOP. I told Dave the story of my son's friend, Myles. On a drive to Long Beach to see the Ice Dogs play, we passed an IHOP on the 710. As we passed, Myles exclaimed, "Ooh! I love IHOP. They have great pancakes. Do you know why their pancakes are so good?"

"No, Myles, why are IHOP pancakes so good?"

"Because they mmmmmmmmake 'em!"

"OK"

Then we looked for a gas station to fill the rental car. Driving around for about 30 minutes, we found nothing. And with time running out for Dave to check in, we just returned the car and paid their hefty inflated gas prices.


Once in the airport, and checked in, my name was called on the PA. "Would a Mr. James Stochl please report to customer service at Gate 3?" I thought, "Uh, oh. I have been bumped." Sure enough, I got to the gate and was apologetically told my seat had been taken by another person. How could this happen? I had visions of staying overnight at Lindberg until the next plane to LA arrived. Instead, they gave me a seat in first class! This is the third time I have flown in a first class seat in the last six weeks! I could get used to it.

I flew home on a Boeing 757, a very nice plane. Of course, I suppose all planes are pretty nice in first class! The interesting thing is that in the 757, the door to the plane is between the first class and the coach class. The first class cabin is ahead of the door, while the coach class is aft of the door.

On the way home, we flew over some thunderstorms. It was a little bumpy. But the views were spectacular. Watching lightning flash under the clouds from 35,000 feet is incredible. All over the sky below us, we could see flashes of lightning. I did not take any pictures, but this is a picture of lightning. Imagine the clouds being lit up from the inside, or actually the underside, like in this picture. Not picture this happening as far as the eye can see from 35,000 feet. It was beautiful! Awesome! I am very glad the weather had cleared in Los Angeles so we would not have to land in a lightning storm.

RIP Bill King

Spending my teenage years in the San Francisco Bay area, and being a sports fan, I could hardly escape the presence of Bill King on the radio. He was at one time, the broadcaster for the Giants, (with Lon Simmons on KSFO), the Warriors, and the A's. It saddened me today to hear that he had died following surgery last night in San Leandro. He was 78.

King had a a great delivery, and was the best basketball announcer I ever heard, aside from the Lakers' immortal Chick Hearn. His memorable phrase was "Holy Toledo!"

He was an eclectic man. Rather than a former jock turned announcer, King was rather an intellectual. He always brought his outside interests into his broadcasts, but without intruding on the game itself. He was a joy to listen to.

From the article in the San Francisco Chronicle this morning.

King was the Warriors' first broadcaster when they moved West from Philadelphia following the 1961-62 season. He broadcast the Wilt Chamberlain era and called the games in the team's title season in 1974-75. Lon Simmons, who was inducted into the broadcast wing of baseball's Hall of Fame last season and was a former partner of King's, called him "the best basketball announcer I've ever heard."

"He was talented, versatile, enthusiastic and, most importantly, a class act and a great man," Warriors president Robert Rowell said. "He will be sorely missed by everyone he touched, including those who never had the opportunity to meet him, but still benefited from his presence in their homes."

On road trips, King often could be seen studying Russian history and literature. He also loved ballet and jazz and always had a book with him on road trips in case flights were delayed.

RIP, Bill King.

Fall in Minnesota

It is an absolutely beautiful day here in central Minnesota. I am at my dad's home on Lake Sylvia, looking directly south. For the first time in several days, the strong breeze is from the south. Wavelets lap at the shore no more than 100 feet from the window in from of me. The maple trees have turned a brilliant yellow, which provides a stark contrast to the azure blue sky, And with this breeze, the leaves are tumbling down from their summer perches in droves. If one area of the driveway is swept, it seems like a few minutes later, it is again ankle deep in leaves. Chestnuts hit the roof of the house like tiny bombs, and roll off onto the lawn. Every morning there are two buckets of chestnuts to collect, at least.

Here are some leaves. Beautiful!

I am here with my dad's wife, Susan, and my brother, Dave. We are sorting through some of my dad's things. We have taken four loads of scrap wood to Fairhaven Farm, a local farm with an outdoor oven for baking. They needed the firewood, and they got it! We took one load of scrap metal to the recycler in St. Cloud the other day, with another load all ready to go tomorrow.

We have laughed and remembered. We have wondered at some of the things my dad collected. A man, who seemingly threw nothing away, as evidenced by the tremendous amount of scrap wood. We have eaten. We have watched NASCAR and Vikings football. And we have missed my dad.

It has caused me to wonder what my life consists of, and what sort of things will I leave my family to sort through. Rachel will immediately say, "pens." Well, I confess, I do love a good pen. And if one pen is good, a dozen are better. Still, I stick to my favorites. I have a red Zeppelin pen for writing most everything, and a Parker for correcting papers, as it has red ink. Still, I like pens, and will most likely buy more.

I will leave a great deal of theology books behind when I go. And some computer parts. You never know when you might need another hard drive cable, of which I have, oh, more than a few.

I will leave behind clothes, one of the three things Beth married me for (my clothes, my books, and my 1977 yellow Datsun pickup truck, now hard at work somewhere in Mexico.)

(Moonrise over Turtle Bay, to the east of my Dad's house.) I am remined of when we moved from our Monterey Road house to our house on Marengo. I came across a box. I looked in it, and I saw some toys I had bought some time before, to give to the kids when they were small. Some Star Wars toys for Mark, some Barbies and stuffed animals for Rachel. However, sadly, the time had passed. The right time for them to receive maximum enjoyment from them had come and go. And I was left wondering why I had not given them to my kids at the time. It was their loss. And mine.

I wonder what my dad was doing with four truckloads of scrap wood. Was he saving it for a rainy day? Was he preparing to do some project? Was he using them as a hedge against some structural disaster? I understand that Home Depot was out of the way. But that much stuff?

I live so much for tomorrow. When I do this. When I do that. When this opportunity comes. Like Yoda's charge against Luke Skywalker, "Never his mind on where...he...is. Hmm!" Since my mom and dad died in their early 70's, I understand how fragile life is. I am beginning to realize that I may not have 30 more years. Or even 20 more. Or even another day! So I live life for today, without forsaking the dreams of tomorrow. I suppose there are toys in the box the Lord has given me today, that will not make much sense to me on any other day. If only I would open them.

Some Links

Surfing the internet is sometimes like browsing a used book store. You can find some real gems out there in cyberspace. However, nothing beats the smell and feel of a real book.

Last week, I discovered a website of Ben Witherington, a professor whose work I have read and used. His web site is here. Two posts I liked were his one today, on the disparity between rich and poor in the world, called Food for Thought. The second was a post on "Jesus and Paul on Singleness,Marriage, and Divorce", located here.

Another web site I discovered called jesuscreed, and is found here, blogged by Scot McKnight, another New testament professor whose books and writings I enjoy.

I am grading papers on Luke 15 today. I am then off to Minnesota tomorrow to deal with my dad's estate. He died about five weeks ago, without a will. If you have not done a will, please do one for your own peace of mind, and for the peace of mind of your family. Do it today.