Hope in Motion Update

I must admit, when I was stretching this morning at home I was a bit nervous. After all, I was about to partake in my first race since 1992 when I stopped running the Waveny Park concert series. I was filled with self-doubt, which is a runner’s worst enemy.

Once I got down to Columbus Park, my self-doubt was replaced by an overwhelming sense of emotion. In the sea of orange tee shirts I saw young people and old people. I saw people of many different nationalities and faith backgrounds. I saw two nuns wearing full habits and smiles as they spoke with participants before the race started. Then I saw Jack Stobbie whose wife Jean lost her battle with cancer a few months ago. I was running on Jean’s Team and, upon seeing Jack, I had to fight back tears.

I saw friends from High School and people I used to lifeguard with who are now doctors at Stamford Hospital (which is a very scary thought because I also remember our staff parties). I saw teachers from my children’s school and parishioners from St. Gabriel Parish in Stamford, the church I grew up in.

At the starting line, I was again filled with doubts. I had to wrestle with the question, “Will I be able to do this?” Then the DJ played Beautiful Day by U2 and all doubt was erased.

I started running and did not stop until 3.1 miles later. When I felt tired I thought of Maria, my grandmother, who lost her battle in 1992. I thought of Randy, my best friend’s mother, who lost her battle before she could meet her granddaughter. I thought of Kim who is battling now, of Susan who is in remission, and of Kevin who lost his battle last week and whose funeral I will miss tomorrow because of a business trip. I thought of Nyree who is a survivor and of Declan who is surviving.

When I crossed the finish line I did not focus on the pain in my knees or the sense of fatigue I started to experience at the two-mile mark. I felt proud to take a small step in battling a disease that does not afflict based on gender, age, nationality, religion, or sexual orientation.

Of course, I could not do it without my sponsors. The thirty-five members of Jean’s team raised $2,761. Of that, I was responsible for $356.00. In particular I want to thank the following:

Nick Cappiello for once again proving that the best friends someone can make are indeed made in grammar school.

Greg Dowd and Mike Morgan for reminding me that brotherhood is not for a day, a year, or a college term, but for life. AEKDB

Brent Bodick for reminding me that, no matter how long it has been since you see ach other, that a true friend will be there when asked.

Marc Becker for reminding me that not all people who work at Unilever are nutty (or are they?).

And Nick Braccia for just being the person you have always been since the squelch days.

I also want to thank all of you who kept me and my fellow runners/walkers in your thoughts and prayers including Carrie Hall, Robin Falkoff, Nyree Pinto, and Joe Andreana.

For those of you who would still want to make a donation, the Bennett Cancer Center is keeping this drive open until the fall. You can make a donation online using the link below.

Thank you all once again!

Mike

http://www.hope-in-motion.org/faf/donorReg/donorPledge.asp?ievent=338611&lis=1&kntae338611=228B0AC5200E48B8AFCE16C0781DAF4E&supId=257670240

Hope in Motion

Maria Fauci was my grandmother and one of the strongest women this world has ever known but she was not strong enough to beat cancer. She died just shy of Mother’s day in 1992 and just a few weeks before my high school graduation.

Randy Cappiello was probably the second strongest woman I have known in my life. She died after a brief battle with cancer – she was barely 56 years old.

Declan Ratner is the young son of a friend of mine from high school. He is currently fighting Leukemia.

Jean Stobbie and Jack Stobbie recently celebrated 50 years of marriage. The following day after celebrating this golden anniversary with their family, the family was informed that Jean had terminal cancer. She died a month later.

Kim Hart is my best friend's younger sister. She is battling brain cancer for the second time. "Chemo sucks," is her favorite phrase these days.

Kevin Sutton was the Assistant Vice Principal of Student affairs at Trinity Catholic High School. He lost his battle with cancer this morning. He was my age.

Every single one of you knows somebody who has been affected by cancer. It kills without discrimination. It’s time to turn the tables and sentence cancer to death.

Perhaps it’s too lofty a goal. Perhaps you are reading this and scratching your head wondering, “What can I do?”

More than you think.

This Sunday, June 6, I will be participating in the 15th Annual Hope in Motion – Walk, Run & Ride to benefit Stamford Hospital’s Bennett Cancer Center. Help me fight this killer by pledging what you can – no amount is too small.

If you cannot make a financial donation, please pray for all of those who are participating, that we may finish the event safely.

Pray for the families of those who have lost a loved one to cancer. For those who celebrate bittersweet holidays such as Thanksgiving, Christmas, Mother’s Day, and Father’s day feeling as if something is missing.

Pray for all those battling cancer and for the repose of all souls who have died from cancer.

Pray that fewer people will have to sit across from a doctor who likely starts the conversation no one wants to have with the words, “Thank you for coming in, have a seat. The news is not good.”

Pray for the research scientists who will be using the money raised from this event to help find a cure for this killer.

Pray for your families and all those close to you that they may never have to feel a lump and wonder to themselves, “what if?”

May God continue to bless you all.

Michael

http://www.hope-in-motion.org/faf/donorReg/donorPledge.asp?ievent=338611&lis=0&kntae338611=A80549FE7B644FD39D64A01AF1DBC5C1

The Joy of Se_ _ _ _ _

Serving - Not Sex. Sorry to excite anyone.

____

I remember as a kid my mother would always volunteer my brother Jimmy and I for various activities. We did everything from painting a rectory’s basement to cleaning a convent. In retrospect, “volunteers” was the wrong word to describe our status; “indentured servants,” would have been a more accurate description.

As you might predict, the anticipation of these activities was met with resentment. “How could you do this to us mom?” we would ask. “No one else has to do these things!” we would protest. She would stand her ground and give us a look that suggested, “Someday you will understand.”

A strange thing would happen, though, once we were engaged in one of these activities. We would start to have fun; not in the “spoonful of sugar sense” of Mary Poppins as we were not creative enough to make a game out of it. No, we started to have fun because, deep down inside, it made us feel good to do these things.

Damn, I hate it when my mother is right!

We are told that we are only truly giving of ourselves when we expect nothing in return for our actions. What a freeing concept! Doing something for someone else out of the pure goodness of our heart. These can take the form of random acts of kindness (i.e. helping a stranger change a tire) to premeditated activities (i.e. completing project pro-bono for a non profit).

I will admit, I am in need of inspiration heading into this weekend. What have you done recently that may fit this criteria? Better yet, can you recall any times when you were the beneficiary of such activities? Thanks in advance for sharing!

Mike

My God Complex

My mother is Italian and my father is Irish, which of course makes me Catholic. In many ways I am an exception to the rule; many in my generation do not practice the religion in which they were raised. While that may have been true for me during my college years, over the past 13 years or so, I feel as if I have truly embraced my faith.

I wish I could say that my devotion comes solely from 12 years of Catholic school or being an altar server but, while these factors certainly contribute to my faith life, there is another to consider. I grew up having a God complex.

Let me explain.

My father, Don, is many things; generous, honest, and frugal being just three virtues espoused by “the Don.” However, when God was giving out patience, my father must have chosen to “heavy up” on other virtues. As such, when the slightest bit of stress came into his life, the man could combine multiple swear words into legendary phrases.

My personal favorite actually does not contain any foul language at all; when someone is driving poorly on the road he simply refers to them as a “club member.” The club my father is referring to, of course, is the Asshole Club (my mother made him shorten the phrase to club member during one of our long drives from Connecticut to Florida when we came into contact with many “Club Members” along I95 South).

Back to my God complex.

When trying to teach me something that I could not grasp right away, where I had a tendency to cause a little “excitement” in the man’s life, he would often shout “Jesus Christ” before instructing me to make a correction. For example:

• While teaching me how to cut the lawn: “Jesus Christ, cut it in straight lines.”
• While teaching me how to drive: “Jesus Christ, don’t cross over the yellow line.”
• While teaching me how to play golf: “Jesus Christ stop picking your head up, God damnit!”

During this last instance, I turned to my father and said, “Don’t take the name of my father in vain.”

The God complex was now complete.
_____

What you have just read is some “material” I am going to try during an amateur night of standup comedy while on vacation in ft Lauderdale at my parents country club. If you think it is funny, please let me know. I have some additional material as well, I just don’t think it is appropriate for a “Catholic” blog.

I am a total bonehead

I am writing this while on vacation with the family in Ft. Lauderdale. As always, our vacation started off with a little drama. Pre 9/11, we traveled to St. Lucia and forgot a birth certificate; luckily we were able to find a sympathetic ticket agent who let us through security so long as we promised to have it FedExed to us while we were away. Honeymoon saved!

A few years back, we did not realize that one of our licenses was expired. Again, we were able to sweet talk our way through security. This year, however, we forgot to check the bag containing my wife’s makeup. The TSA agent gave us two alternatives; go back past security and check the bag or leave over $200 worth of makeup with him to be thrown away. No sweet-talking our way out of this in a post shoe/underwear bomber world!

My wife looked to me, the experienced traveler, for advice. All that would come out of my mouth (in front of our kids and the TSA agent) was, “How could you forget to check that bag?” said in a condescending tone. This was, of course, not the correct response. It was completely disrespectful as it was a completely honest mistake on her part. I was frustrated because I did not want her to loose all of her makeup but I also did not feel as if we had enough time to go back through security to check the bag.

After I calmed down, I told my wife that I would pay for all the makeup she would have to replace, but this did not do much to make amends. It was not about the makeup, it was about how I reacted to the situation.

As I sat on the plane, I started to think about my friend Jack who came up to us after church one day with a big hug and said, “Enjoy this now. My wife and I were just with our kids celebrating our 55th wedding anniversary. The next day we found out that Jean (his wife) has terminal cancer. It was not a perfect 55 years, but we loved each other very much. Treasure this time.” With that, he went away in tears. (As an aside, If you have never heard the song Don't Blink by Kenny Chesney, listen to it right now. It could have been written based on Jack and Jean's life together).

I heard that Jean died two weeks ago. We have known Jack and Jean for 6 years, as Jack is the general manager of the swimming club we have belonged to over that time. He was always very social we had many conversations over that time on everything from Catholicism to politics to how fast my children are growing. He and Jean had a relationship to be envied; how many people can make it 55 years?

My reaction to my wife during the beginning of our trip (as well as other times in our lives) is something that I need to work on. My sense is that these reactions I have stem from a place of both selfishness and impatience. In these situations, what my reactions say is that I place more value on convenience than I do my wife’s feelings. Hopefully, now that I am more conscious of this tendency in my own life, I will be able to choose a better response.

Jack’s words to me after mass that day remind me that marriage is not meant to be the end to a race (i.e. dating), but the beginning of a long climb. There will be peaks and valleys along the way and it is how we deal with these peaks and valleys that will help determine whether or not a couple will make it or part ways halfway up the mountain. Now that I am more conscious of my own flaws, I hope that my reactions to stressful situations in the future will be more positive; helping us to keep climbing the mountain of marriage till death do us part.

Not for a day, a week, or a college term, but for life!

If you ever wonder whether or not you have true friends, I’ll offer a litmus test; don’t see or talk to some for 10 years. Then, randomly, pick a night to go out to dinner/drinks with them and, if after all that time, you can sit down and pick up as if you saw each other yesterday, it is safe to say that you have some true friends.

Last night I did just that with some guys I went to college with. The bonds of the Kappa Sigma Fraternity made us brothers (gasp) almost two decades ago and this bond is as strong as ever!

Given that my job as a marketing consultant is a lifestyle job (i.e. there is a very blurry line between my professional and private lives) and that I am an active father of eight-year-old triplets, I don’t make the time to see old friends as much as I would like. This is unfortunate given that most of these guys live within a 12-mile radius of my home and some are literally right around the corner. Even though family life and professional responsibilities take priority, it is still important to maintain these old friendships. Every now and then you need to relive the old days while, at the same time, create new memories.

Seated with me at the table were the following (referred to by nickname only) Conan, Sloth, Zach Daddy, Big D, Slaw, and Po. A cast of characters indeed! During our time together, we of course played the “remember when” game and had the opportunity to catch up on more current events; what our kids are into, what we do for work, etc.

After being kicked out of a restaurant in Norwalk at 10 pm, we found ourselves looking for a place where we could extend the evening. We wound up at the Ash Creek Solution; one of those places I have passed a thousand times but never entered. What appeared to our wandering eyes as we entered this fine establishment? Karaoke night in full swing! Couple that with the fact that everyone in that place seemed to know each other and we immediately felt like the odd men out. We immediately knew that this was a world that we could not break into so we went off in the corner and had our final beer.

One by one each of us left citing either having to get up early with the kids in the morning or having to get to work earlier than usual as our primary alibis for leaving (mind you, these thoughts never crossed our minds 20 years ago when leaving Yellow House, Huskies, Teds, or the Upper Deck). As such, I was struck with two sobering (literally and figuratively) thoughts: 1. It is possible for men with nicknames like Conan, Sloth, and Slaw to grow up and 2. Our alcohol consumption has dropped by 110% over the time we have known each other.

Neither of these points are negative, just surprising to anyone who knew us 20 years ago at the University of CT.

Grace Before Meals

I had an embarrassing thing happen today. During breakfast with my boss, Cathy, I noticed that before she ate, Cathy bowed her head and closed her eyes. Remembering that Cathy had been battling a cold for the better part of a month, I interrupted her moment of silence to ask if everything is all right.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I just pray before every meal.”

Bonehead alert! Here I am ‘Captain Catholic’ as my friends often call me. I teach a first Communion class to second graders at my church. For Heaven’s sake, I write a Catholic blog and never miss a mass on Sunday. Not only do I not recognize when someone is giving thanks before a meal, but I have the nerve to interrupt them while they do so.

After my interruption Cathy felt as if she had to apologize, “I am sorry. I should have told you.”

Imagine that, I interrupt her during a prayer and she feels the need to apologize to me. What kind of world are we living in?

Why did this happen? Obviously, saying Grace before a meal is something that has gone by the wayside in my own life. Like Saul on the road to Damascus, the event from this morning knocked me on my rear end. It is an opportunity, though, to get back “on the ball” and start the practice of saying Grace before meals again in my own life.

As a result, I have two things to say to Cathy; 1. I am sorry for interrupting your prayer and 2. thank you for shining a spotlight on my own spiritual deficiency. This was the best gift I received today.

Resistance Training

I started working out with weights while I was in college. My best friend, John, was planning on joining the Marine Corps after he graduated and wanted someone to bulk up with. Prior to my junior year at the University of Connecticut, strength training was a foreign concept. Any exercise I did was purely cardio; which explains why I weighed only 135 lbs for most of my college life.

I quickly learned that lifting weights was painful. The day after my first workout with John, I could barely move my arms. The day after that was even worse! “It will get better,” he said to me.

After the soreness went away, we went back to “the cage” as the gym in the field house was known back then. After a month or so of strength training four days a week I noticed two things; I was getting stronger and I was getting bigger. My friends started to notice too, “Dude, like your getting big,” my roommate 'flounder' said to me one day. I was no longer sore after every workout but only after those where we pushed ourselves. Over time, I learned to enjoy the soreness that came after pushing myself hard; it was like a little reminder that there was always room to grow.

The lessons I learned about resistance training were simple; increase the resistance and increase your strength. Keep the resistance the same, and your body will get complacent and not change; you will plateau. Stop working out all together, and you will loose what you have worked so hard to gain.

There is a parallel in our spiritual lives. Consider that sin can be like a barbell coming towards us as if we were doing a bench press. When our faith lives are strong, we can push sin away more easily. When our faith lives are weak, we have a harder time avoiding sin and, over time, a weakening resistance to sin can lead to it crushing us.

As we get older, the temptation to sin can get bigger as can the sins we are tempted by. As such, it is important to continually grow in our faith so that we can more easily resist sin. There is an unfortunate reality, though. Many of us were born into a faith and spent years, largely at the insistence of our parents, building up our strength in that faith. However, adulthood comes along and we are likely not under the watchful eyes of mom and dad who always “prodded” us to going to church at least once a week.

Adulthood, therefore, is not the time to walk away from faith because we can get away with it. Rather, it is the time to start practicing the faith more seriously so that we can be strong enough to push away the bigger sins that will come our way.

Video Killed the Radio Star?

Bless me father for I have sinned. I have been listening to the 80's channel on Sirius XM and feel quite guilty about it.

I am not sure why I am drawn to this station so much; perhaps it is the original MTV VJs who I watched incessantly (much to my mother’s dismay) in my formative years or perhaps I am living out some “Peter Pan” type issues, but I just cant turn away from the sounds of Cindy Lauper, Tears for Fears, and Simple Minds. One thing is for certain; it certainly takes me back to a time in my life when things were simpler.

The other day I was treated to the sounds of Video Killed the Radio Star by The Buggles. Ironically, Mark Goodman introduced it on the radio. Looking back, the popularity of music videos and MTV certainly changed who could be a pop star; it was no longer good enough to have talent, you also had to have looks.

This was a change in convention, not unlike the change in conventions experienced as a result of Christianity.

In the days before Abraham, the known world was largely polytheistic in that people worshiped many gods. The actions of Abraham and, of course, Moses, would change the convention of polytheism and move civilization towards Monotheism. The changing of conventions, though, did not end with Judaism.

In the days of Christ, the area where He lived was under Roman rule and many were expecting the savior to be a great warrior delivering them from foreign rule. That Christ taught about loving neighbors, “giving Ceaser what is Ceaser’s,” and care for the poor/lowly, confused leaders of the time. That His influence was so strong was a threat to existing conventions.

Changes to convention are of course met with resistance; just like there were accomplished musicians who resisted the MTV phenomenon, there were leaders at the time who resisted the message of Christ. Luckily, there were those who embraced this message and who were courageous enough to spread it under fear of imprisonment, torture, and death.

That Christianity and Roman Catholicism have survived over 2,000 years with the odds stacked against them is testament to how powerful the messages of love, charity, generosity, and forgiveness really are. Of course, we would not have made it so far if it were not for those early martyrs who gave their lives for the faith. Likewise, we would not be able to practice our faith in community with others if it were not for the men who answer their calling towards the Priesthood.

In this year for Priests, I ask that each and every one of you reading this post remember to keep not only your parish priests in your prayers but also all those young men who are discerning a vocation towards the priesthood.

A Life Worth Noting

Growing up as a Catholic boy in Stamford, I went through a rite of passage that my older brother and countless others experienced before me; I became an altar server. While there were those boys whose parents “strongly encouraged” them to serve their parish in this manner, my motivations were different; I was in it for the money.

My family belonged to St. Gabriel Parish on Newfield Avenue, which is also where I attended middle school. One of my fellow altar boys, who was a bit older than I and “retiring” from the “club” clued me in on a little secret; when you serve mass at a funeral, you are likely to earn a tip. Furthermore, funeral masses in our parish tended to be at 10 am in the morning during weekdays; as such, if I were scheduled to serve a funeral mass I would not only earn a little extra money, but also be legitimately excused from class. Jackpot!

Even at twelve I was a bit entrepreneurial so, while entering the Church on a Sunday morning, I would always pick up a bulletin and scan it to see if anyone had died that week. If so, I would approach our pastor and ask if he needed any help with the funeral. Father Bob was always more than happy to accept my offer of service and I not only had a ticket out of Ms. Gullo’s Literature class, I would likely have enough money for a new cassette tape (it was the 1980s after all).

In my two years attending St. Gabriel School, I likely served 20 funerals. Initially, it was difficult to see the grief worn by those who came to mourn the deceased; however, over time, I started to become immune to it. Thankfully, I have not had to attend too many funerals since those days in the late 80s.

Last week, however, I found myself sitting in a pew at a St. Cecilia Church to pay my respects to a former neighbor, John Marsalisi. That the church, one of the larger Roman Catholic churches in Stamford, was as crowded as it was serves as witness to the number of lives that John touched in his all to brief 54 years on this planet.

As I sat waiting for the funeral mass to start, I thought to myself this will not be hard to get through. After all, I had so much practice going to funerals in my youth, I was not fearful of shedding a tear. Then, it hit me. As I saw John’s wife Ann being escorted down the aisle by her four children, I felt the tears well up in my eyes and I lost it. I was so full of sympathy for the young family left behind by this untimely death that my only response was to start crying.

The sadness I experienced at the funeral was broken briefly by the sound of children playing. It sounded like they were right underneath all of us sitting in the church. Then I remembered that on cold winter days, the students of St. Cecilia School have gym class in the church hall, located in the basement of the church. What a nice contrast; while we were celebrating the end of one life, we were treated to the joy experienced by those in the beginning of theirs.

Ever since I heard of John Marsalisi’s passing, I scanned my local newspaper for a story on him. Certainly a man who impacted so many lives through his commitment to the community would have an article devoted to his life and untimely passing. Instead, I kept seeing a story on a rectory facing demolition. This inanimate object has no feelings and its demolition would leave no widow or children behind. From what I have read, it is not even usable in its present condition.

As such, I am left with a sobering thought; we sometimes are so blinded by our passion to fight for “little” things that the really important things, life for instance, are often ignored. As we enter 2010, I hope that we as a society choose to devote our time, talents, and resources to things that matter and will have a positive impact on others in the community. RIP John Marsalisi; I will pray for the repose of your soul and for the beautiful family left behind by your untimely passing.

The Fuse

Today I have the unenviable task of putting all of the Christmas decorations away. It seems that it was just yesterday when the kids and I took them down from the attic and I remember completing that task with excitement and anticipation. Today's task, however, is met with sadness; it is hard to believe that another Christmas has come and gone.

This year, my kids made Advent wreaths at school. I am looking at them now and am sad that I have to put them away; not the kids but their wreaths. Since we light one candle a week for four weeks, each wreath has four candles of slightly different lengths. I don't look at these candles, though, as having slow burning wicks; rather, I see them as having fast burning fuses. The Sunday's of advent went past me in the blink of an eye and suddenly, BANG, it was Christmas day. The burned wax on each candle a subtle reminder that the flame that burns down the wick forever alters the candle's shape.

The holiday season is like that as well. As we moved through the Sundays of Advent we were preparing ourselves for the coming of Christ. Those of us who look to Advent as a time for reflection, and not simply a countdown clock for Santa Claus, should leave the liturgical seasons of Advent and Christmas as changed people; as altered as the candles on our Advent wreaths.

I hope that all of you who follow my musings had a very merry Christmas. I wish all of you health, happiness, and prosperity in the new year.

Hitting Curveballs

When I as knee high to a grasshopper (who says that?) I played in the Springdale Little league for Palmer’s Market (which, like some of the other sponsors including Handyman Hardware and Machlette Laboratories, is no longer in business in Springdale). I remember having a hard time hitting curveballs (to be truthful, I had a hard time hitting anything – the only thing that explained my on base percentage was the fact that my smart ass attitude was a target for pitchers). I think I have a permanent Rawlings tattoo on my left hip!

I remember one game in particular where Palmer’s Market was playing my brother’s team, Handyman Hardware. On my grandmother’s gave, the opposing pitcher was 11 feet tall and had blond hair. He kind of reminded me of William Zabka; the actor who played Johnny Lawrence, the antagonist in the Karate Kid. Any rate, he threw a curveball that curved right towards my body on its journey from the mound to the plate. Being a righty, it slammed into my left hip. I was down for the count. When I took my base, the first base coach asked me, “why didn’t you get out of the way?” I replied, “I did not see it coming.” No more words were spoken between us, but his expression said it all, ‘maybe its time for glasses.’

It dawned on me yesterday though that long after our ball playing days are over, the curveballs keep coming, albeit in different forms. Consider the following events which unfolded over a 12 hour period yesterday;

1. As I was waiting to board a flight from New York to San Diego, I spilled coffee on the only dress shirt I brought on the trip (I was only to be gone overnight). No problem, I said to myself, I was going to have 4 hours to kill once I landed in San Diego as my focus groups were only going to start at 5:30.

2. As we approach the San Diego area, the pilot comes on and tells us that we are being diverted to Long Beach due to bad weather in San Diego. Bad weather? Really? It rains once a decade in San Diego and I have to fly on the day of an apparent monsoon. Okay, stay calm, it will all work out.

3. We land in Long Beach and the pilot does not know how long we will be there. However, anyone with a carry on bag can deplane and make their own transportation arrangements to get to San Diego. Having friends who were stuck on an airplane for 30 hours, I decided to deplane and rent a car. It is only about 119 miles to San Diego from Long Beach and I had 4 hours to make it. This should not have been a problem only for the fact that A. the GPS I rented did not work and B. people in Southern California apparently don’t know how to drive in the rain. It was stop and go as I got onto the 405 S.

At this point, I was fuming. I thought I was going to miss my focus groups; a first in my career. Then, as I was driving south, I saw a break in the clouds and the sun came out for a brief moment. Something caught my periphery vision; the biggest and brightest rainbow I had ever seen in my life. I felt as if I could open my window and touch it. I then looked to my right and saw the Pacific Ocean. I could not help but smile at its beauty. So, I decided to do what one does in such situations and turn on the radio. The first song I heard was Simple Minds’ Alive and Kicking:

You turn me on, you lift me up

And like the sweetest cup I'd share with you

You lift me up, don't you ever stop, I'm here with you

Now it's all or nothing

'Cause you say you'll follow through

You follow me, and I, I, I follow you

What you gonna do when things go wrong?

What you gonna do when it all cracks up?

What you gonna do when the Love burns down?

What you gonna do when the flames go up?

Who is gonna come and turn the tide?

What's it gonna take to make a dream survive?

Who's got the touch to calm the storm inside?

Who's gonna save you?

Alive and Kicking

What an appropriate message to receive at that point in time! Suddenly, I felt the stress and frustration which were on my back like a monkey leave me as I traveled south towards San Diego. I then started to reflect on the topic of the night's focus groups; the US Army. Images of soldiers I had seen in airports reunited with their families after a long deployment only increased my happiness. The thought of soldiers thousands of miles away engaged in war and separated from their families during the holidays made me think that my current ordeal was nothing compared to what they face.

I made it to San Diego with 15 minutes to spare before my first focus group. Not enough time to get a new shirt so I just started off the session making fun of my own clumsiness; group participants always like it when the moderator is a bit self deprecating. The groups went great and I felt as if I did a great job for my client.

At the end of the night I realized that, after 35 years, I finally managed to hit a curveball.

The Advent Adventure

We children of the 80s hold a special place in our hearts for 1985’s Back to the Future. Imagine being able to travel backwards or forwards in time with nothing but a used DeLorean, a Flux Capacitor, and, of course, some plutonium stolen from Libyan nationalists. I know stealing is a sin but let’s face it; they were up to no good with it.

What would we do with such ability? I can think of a few actions I would like to erase from Carlon history; like the time I poured chocolate milk down my parents brand new hi-fi during a big party at our home or the time I said something really hurtful to someone close to me. In short, I would rather change some poor decisions I made rather than take a trip into the future to see who will win the 2010 World Series and make some serious cash by placing a winning bet (that said, I don’t need a time machine to know that it will likely not be the NY Mets).

What does this have to do with Advent? Last night my wife asked me to describe the significance of Advent to her and the kids. I’d like to think I learned something in my K-12 Catholic education so I offered the following reply.

Advent is a time of anticipation. It is a formal time set aside for us to reflect on whether or not we are ready to accept a savior into our hearts; and all that doing so entails. That Advent has its own season suggests it is a time to retreat from our regular lives to identify any obstacles we may have put up through our actions that may prevent us from fully experiencing the Christmas miracle.

Advent then becomes adventure; a time to identify our shortcomings, map a plan to overcome those shortcomings, and begin a journey down a more Christ like path.

While we don’t have Dr. Emmett Brown’s time machine at our disposal to erase the poor decisions of our past, we do have one tool that can help us prepare for the miracle of Christmas in our hearts; the Sacrament of Reconciliation. While many Catholics, myself included, have drifted away from this Sacrament as we moved into our adult lives, we must recognize that Advent provides a wonderfully appropriate opportunity for us to make confession and return to a state of grace.

Beginning our Advent adventure with a blank slate will help us truly experience the presents that await us after the wax from that fourth purple candle of the Advent wreath begins to melt. No, not those presents that come in wrapped boxes under the tree. Rather, those gifts that come when we realize that a savior has come to this world to carry the cross of our shame. The gift of joy we experience by serving and loving one another the ways we want to be loved and the gift of relief when we realize that we can surrender our burdens to He who so loved the world that He offered unto us His only Son.

Every Breath you Take

I was very close with my maternal grandmother. My twin brother suffers from asthma and was in and out of the hospital when we were little. He absorbed much of my mother’s attention and, as a result, my grandmother would drive west to Plantation, FL from her condo on Pompano Beach to help take care of my older siblings and me.

Grandma and I had a very special bond that was broken in May of 1992 when she succumbed to cancer. Her timing really was awful; it was right before Mother’s Day, my twin and I were just about to graduate from high school, my sister was about to be married, and my older brother was about to open his first wine store. It was hard to believe that she would not be there to witness these events and the parties that went along with them; she always loved a good party.

Is that entirely true though? Would she really not be there?

I have a vivid memory of my grandmother’s wake, not of the scores of people who came to pay their respects, but of the scent of the flowers that surrounded her casket at the Gallagher funeral home. I will never forget that smell.

I remember leaving the funeral home after all of my siblings; I had borrowed my sister’s car for the night as she drove with her fiancée. I wanted to be the last person to leave. As I left the funeral home, my sense of olfaction was cleansed by the warm spring air as I walked through the parking lot and got into the car. I turned the car on and was greeted by the Police’s Every Breath You Take:

Every breath you take and every move you make

Every bond you break

Every step you take, I'll be watching you

Every single day and every word you say

I’ll be watching you

I inexplicably smelled the flowers from the funeral home as I heard Sting’s lyrics. I know this song is supposed to be from the point of view of a stalker, but for that brief moment in time it was being sung to me from the point of view of my grandmother. I truly believe it was her final gift to me; a way of telling me that even though she is gone, I will be okay. She will still continue to watch over me.

What a comforting thought, that those who have left this world to join the next will still continue to watch over us as guardian angels of sorts. Every now and then, when I am facing a difficult decision or a trial in my life, I sometimes smell those flowers as if my grandmother were right next to me trying to help me find a solution to whatever is troubling me.

As Christians, we believe that Jesus is still with us and by turning towards Him and putting our faith and trust in Him, our burdens will ease. I truly believe that the experience I had the night of my grandmother’s wake is a gift. It is a reminder of the reality that through Christ, all things are possible and all will be taken care of.

The Sin of Denying a Vocation

I had a Religion teacher in high school, Mr. Roper, who impressed upon us the nature of sin. Up to that point in our lives, we believed that various acts, in and of themselves, were simply sinful. For example, treating your mother and father poorly, treating others unfairly, lying about something, etc.

Mr. Roper though, told us why these sins were, well, sinful. He explained that all sins can be traced back to the act of alienating oneself from others. Further, by doing so, we actually alienate ourselves from God as it is God’s will that we love one another. The actions described above, and many others, stem from acts of alienation. Therefore, Mr. Roper argued, that there is only one sin in this world and that is the sin of alienation (not to be confused by the 1988 film Alien Nation starring James Caan who was also in The Godfather. From the Godfather to Alien Nation; I could argue Caan's accepting the lead role in this horrible movie was a sin in and of itself but I digress).

I took on this simplistic worldview for a while and then, while considering the life of one of my closest friends, I started to challenge my beliefs in this area. My friend Robert (not his real name) came from a very strict family. He was extremely bright making the honor roll during all four years attending a very prestigious Catholic prep school.

He was talented at both mathematics and writing. He could have been an accountant or writer, or perhaps a writer of accounting standards (as exciting as that sounds). However, when Robert left home to attend a very prestigious private University, the sudden influx of freedom was too much to handle. His grades slipped. He was given 4 warnings and was later asked to leave the school. He bounced around a few more colleges after that, but he never graduated. Now, this former honor roll student runs around doing odd jobs well below his ability. He often does not go to bed until 4 am and treats his personal relationships poorly.

I know that Robert’s home life was abysmal. While his parents supported him financially, the emotional support critical to fueling a person’s self esteem was not present. However, at what point to we wake up and recognize the need to overcome such an obstacle? At what point do we accept responsibility for the poor choices that we consciously make even when we know better? At what point do we choose not to have our present actions dictated by our past?

My friend’s experience and choices made me realize that alienation is not the only sin in the world. The conscious decision to deny one’s vocation is also a sin. It is a sin of wasted potential.

When I was younger, the term vocation meant a call to religious life; an arguably very narrow definition. Now I come to understand that we are all called to something; we all have abilities and gifts given to us by God and tasked to use these abilities to spread the Gospel’s messages of love, forgiveness and salvation. Its not just through preaching, but through raising a family in the faith, treating others with kindness, running a business grounded in moral principles, keeping a blog, etc.

Choosing not to develop our gifts and therefore not to use our abilities in the service of others is just as much a sin as bearing false witness against one’s neighbor. If we consciously choose not to cultivate these talents we are, in a sense, saying no to God.

As I write these words, I find myself at the crossroads where these two sins (alienation and denying vocations) interconnect. I can choose to alienate my friend and not encourage him to take a different path or I can pick up the phone and have a heart to heart conversation with him. There is much more to be said about this theme, and more words I can write; however, I have a phone call to make.

St. Leo - The Godfather

The Godfather is one of my favorite books primarily because of Don Corleone; a character whose sense of family and honor is shadowed by his own brutality. It is hard to argue that "I'll make him an offer he can't refuse," is not one of the best character catch phrases ever ascribed to a character in print or on film.

A few weeks ago, our parish celebrated the feast of our patron Saint; St. Leo. During the homily, our pastor told us the story (again) of St. Leo and one of the things St. Leo (then Pope) is famous for. Atilla the Hun was planning on invading Rome until he was met outside the city by Pope Leo I. History does not account for what was said at the meeting, but Atilla decided not to invade Rome.

In my mind, Pope Leo I must have made him an offer he could not refuse. I wonder if any of Atilla's horses were missing a head after the meeting....

Back in the High Life

This weekend I took the kids to see the most recent adaptation of A Christmas Carol. It is one of my favorite stories primarily because it deals with the very simple, yet powerful, theme of repentance. As rich as he is, Scrooge realizes that he has lived his life quite poorly and is given a second chance. Quite a Catholic (in the religious as well as universal sense) message indeed; we ask for forgiveness and a forgiving God grants it unto us.

Later that weekend, I was driving with the kids and Steve Winwood’s Back in the High Life came on.

It used to seem to me

That my life ran on too fast

And I had to take it slowly

Just to make the good parts last

But when you're born to run

It's so hard to just slow down

So don't be surprised to see me

Back in that bright part of town

I'll be back in the high life again

All the doors I closed one time will open up again

I'll be back in the high life again

All the eyes that watched me once will smile and take me in

I cannot help but think that Charles Dickens could have penned these lyrics for Ebenezer Scrooge to sing after he woke up on Christmas morning and realized that he is, indeed, alive.

The idea of a second chance goes hand in hand with the notion of freewill; we are free to choose the road on which we walk and our not predestined by our creator to take a particular direction. Sometimes that road is smooth while other times it is bumpy. If we learn from our mistakes, and sincerely wish to change the road on which we are traveling, it is comforting to know that we have a second chance; a mulligan of sorts.

How do we engage such a second chance? As Catholics, we often take for granted the Sacrament of Reconciliation. Many Catholics and non-Catholics alike question the need for this Sacrament to begin with. I used to be one of them. The notion that another man can forgive us our sins just because he wears a roman collar used to seem preposterous to me. Truth be told, I did not know what the Sacrament was all about.

As a 35 year old man I now realize that there are 3 components to this Sacrament:

1. The penitent recognizing that he has sinned and feeling a desire to be absolved of this sin
2. The penitent confessing his sin to a priest
3. The Holy Spirit working through the priest to absolve the penitent man of his sin

A reasonable person might question whether or not simply asking God on a personal level is good enough for seeking reconciliation. The counter argument to that is that when you confess to someone else, you make the fact that you have sinned more real. On a psychological basis, hearing your own words come out of your own mouth and flowing into the ears of another provides a sense of accountability for the sin. Theoretically, this action should reduce the chances of committing that sin again. On a theological basis, of course, the Gospel of John (Chapter 20) tell us that Jesus said to his apostles (the first priests) “Whoever sins you forgive are forgiven.” Theologically, then, Jesus bestowed this power to his closest followers.

Thinking this through, Freewill, then, cannot exist without the Sacrament of Reconciliation to help erase the mistakes we choose to make as we live our lives.

Scrooge had 3 confessors in A Christmas Carol; the ghost of Christmas Past, the ghost of Christmas present, and the ghost of Christmas yet to come. We need not seek out these 3 spirits to put our lives back on track. All we need to do is seek out a priest and ask to be absolved from our sins. And, believe me, priets will be happy to help. Many times, they are looking for a little company in the confessional.

Healthcare Reform: Treating the Symptoms and not the Cause

President Obama, Hillary Clinton, and the majority leaders in both houses of Congress are not the first group of people to realize that the health care system in the United States is in need of reform. The US Conference of Catholic Bishops has been preaching on this for decades. The fact that health care costs have risen so high to the point where tens of millions of Americans cannot afford health care coverage or elect not to pay for it suggests that the current system is broken. Access to affordable health care is a key component of Catholic Social Teaching and the fact that millions of Americans do not have access to it is simply wrong; dare I say sinful. The Bishops are right to call for reform.

This issue has become politicized, meaning that a lot of people on both sides of the aisle use manipulated data points and fear tactics to push their agendas. Really difficult problems become very simple (albeit watered down) sound bytes. The average American has no idea what the proposed House bill is all about; it is, of course 2,000 pages long and no doubt filled with all of that legal mumbo jumbo that causes me to break out in hives (personally, the world would be better off with fewer lawyers and fewer tax accountants, but that is another post all together). The point is, all most of us know about this legislation is what we hear politicized on the news.

One issue that has received a lot of airtime surrounds whether or not federal dollars will be used to fund abortions. With over 50% of people in this country now considering themselves pro-life, the thought that their tax dollars may be used to fund abortions is, frankly, sinful. Initially, the President understood and respected this position as he, on multiple occasions, pointed out that abortion will not be covered by the legislation under consideration. However, over the past few decades we have come not to take our politicians at their word so, when a House Democrat from Michigan, Bart Stupak, pushed for an amendment clearly spelling out that federal dollars would not be used to fund abortions, President Obama should have been relieved for 2 reasons; 1 it clearly states something the president has promised and 2. this amendment was the primary reason the house voted in favor of the bill.

The fallout from this event has been interesting to watch. The President and speaker Pelosi along with other pro-abortion democrats are not happy with the House bill in its current form. They are not pleased with the Stupak amendment and many in the senate have pledged not to vote for any health care reform bill that contains this language. Given the President’s multiple statements regarding abortion and healthcare reform, it begs the question, why?

Put that maddening puzzle aside for a second. I suggest that even if you are pro-abortion, you should be in favor of the Stupak amendment if you want this bill to pass. Here’s why:

1. The bill does not prevent abortion from being funded by federal dollars in the case of rape, incest, or when the mother’s life is in danger. Otherwise, arguably abortion is not a necessary medical procedure but rather an elective surgery. Which other elective surgeries are covered by this proposed legislation?

2. Abortions are actually one of the least expensive medical procedures to have performed, particularly early on in a pregnancy. In fact, it costs less for an early term abortion than it does for many vision procedures or dental procedures that are not covered by most health plans.

3. This amendment does not ban abortion, it simply prohibits the use of federal dollars to fund abortions under the new legislation. It simply applies the principles of the Hyde Amendment to this new legislation. As such, cost to the woman seeking an abortion do not change as a result of the Stupak Amendment nor does her access to having that abortion.

All of this, however, should be a moot point. With or without abortion, health care reform, as it is being addressed by the administration and congress, should not see the light of day because it does not address the root causes of why health care costs have escalated to where they are. Consider the following:

1. Doctors have to charge higher fees to cover exorbitant malpractice insurance premiums. Additionally, healthcare costs rise when doctors order unnecessary tests to cover their “you know whats” for fear of misdiagnosis which can lead to further legal liability. If this liability is not “capped,” this cycle of high premium/unnecessary tests will expand and continue to add to inflation in the healthcare sector.

2. Managed care organizations (of which the government is proposing to become the largest if the public option passes) only reimburse doctors a fraction of their fees. Additionally, doctors have to wait a long time to get paid and, as a result, must see more patients to maintain their income (and pay off all those debts incurred in medical school). Seeing 30+ patients a day (and finding the time to deal with multiple insurance hassles – ie taking multiple calls from a pharmacy about Ms. Smith's Medicare not covering Forteo) leads to fatigue, which increases the possibility of making a misdiagnosis.

The interrelated dynamics of number 1 and number 2 are what cause healthcare costs to continually inflate. They will continue to do so even if every American has affordable healthcare available to them. As a result, our taxes will increase proportionately. We will not be solving the healthcare cost crises; rather, we will be funding costs that will continue to escalate by robbing from Peter to pay Paul. Responsibility will now be on a wider base of Americans (i.e. all tax payers) vs. just those who currently pay for premiums. The fact that not all Americans pay taxes, but will have access to government sponsored healthcare is another post all together.

Real healthcare reform must address the root causes of escalating healthcare costs. Otherwise you are treating the symptom and not the cause. As such, with or without the Stupak amendment, this administration’s approach to healthcare reform should takeoff like a led zeppelin.

Proponents of Eliminating Ability Grouping Should Lace Up their Skates

Originally printed in the Nov 12 Edition of The Stamford Advocate

Like many readers of the Stamford Advocate, I have been following the back and forth on ability grouping in our City’s public school. Both sides use their own biases to select data to support their arguments. Such conflicting statements based on supposed facts make it hard for readers to form their own opinion. Of course, as observers, we are left in the dark regarding where these facts come from, how many subjects were used in the study, whether or not other studies support conclusions etc. Importantly, we do not know whether or not these studies are conducted in markets comparable to Stamford on the basis of demographics, socioeconomic status, etc.

That said, we don’t have to turn to studies from Stanford, Harvard, Yale, or Columbia to make up our minds on this issue. All we have to do is sit rink side, courtside, or on any other “sideline” as we watch our kids practice for sports. This should not be hard for most of us to do as Stamford is such a sports oriented community.

Take hockey for example. My daughter is on the Tiger Sharks who practice at Terry Connors on Saturday mornings. The coaches take the entire group of kids and split them in half; those who skate better than others go to one side of the ice while those who need more help go to the other side. This is done so that those who are more advanced get more advanced instruction and those who need more help get more remedial instruction. My daughter was on the “remedial” side of the ice last year and worked hard to get to the more advanced side this year. She had a goal in mind (literally and figuratively) and she worked hard to meet it. As a result, her self-esteem improved as did her willingness to try harder to master her skating and puck handling skills.

Let’s go beyond practice and look at games. In games, hockey teams are broken out into 3 lines based on ability. The first line includes the “best” players while the second line includes those who are still mastering their skills. The third line includes those who may be newer to the team and need more instruction. Each line gets the chance to skate multiple times during a period. In games, the first line of team A matches up with the first line of team B. this is done to insure kids of similar ability play each other. What would happen if line 1 of team A faces line 3 of team B? You can debate the conclusion but, more often than not, I would pose that team B gets destroyed.

This same principle holds true for the playing field that is the classroom. Mixing our classrooms with kids of vastly different abilities may ultimately serve to hurt everyone involved. If our teachers choose to focus their time on those who need the most help comprehending a concept, those who have mastered the concept will suffer because they can’t “move on.” Alternatively, if the teacher caters to those who are most advanced, those who need more help will be left frustrated as they many not cannot comprehend the concept as quickly as others.

The motivation to eliminate ability grouping in Stamford public schools is supposedly to level the playing field for all of our city’s children. Proponents suggest that placing students in a lower performing track may do psychological harm to those in such track and increase self perpetuating feelings of helplessness which are hard to overcome. This is an issue of stigmas associated with such an ability group and not the result of being in that group. Perhaps we should work to remove the stigmas and not the groups themselves.

Further, proponents say that eliminating grouping will improve the educational experiences for our city’s minority students who are over represented in such ability groups. Even if eliminating grouping improves the educational experiences of some children, it does not address why certain children were in underperforming groups to begin with. This is the biggest flaw with the proposal to eliminate grouping; it fails to address why so many children from our more urban areas are over represented in lower ability groups. As such, eliminating grouping is akin to treating a disease by removing the symptoms instead of preventing the disease itself; sure it may work, but it is rather inefficient, and not a long term solution.

Human beings are diverse in ways other than race; we all have varying levels of ability. Some of us are stronger in certain areas than others. My twin brother was much better at reading and English (and you may argue writing) while I was stronger in math and science. Some of us learn differently than others, some of us need more time to grasp concepts while others grasp them quickly and are ready to move on. We need to learn at our own pace and be placed with others who learn at a similar pace. This does not mean that, as we master skills, we cannot “change lines.” Of course we can and our educational system should allow us to do so. Eliminating ability grouping will do more harm than good, even in those who are intended to benefit by such an action.

The Old Apartment

Certain songs are like bookmarks; just hearing them takes us back to certain times in our lives (you were so right Kenny).

When I was in college, The Barenaked Ladies were just breaking with their first hit The Old Apartment; a quick piece of trivia, the video for this single was directed by Jason Priestly of 90210 fame (and who could forget him on the lesser-known Sister Kate?). I heard this song today and it took me back to 1990 something when life was certainly easier and the biggest problem I faced was whether or not go hit Ted’s or Huskies first on a Thursday night. Sorry Kenny, no short bed Chevy for this city boy.

Today, though, I heard this song with a different set of ears; a different filter of sorts influenced by all the grown up things I have done such as getting married, owning a home, and becoming a father. Let’s add getting back in touch with my Catholic faith to that list of events as well shall we?

This song is about someone who has left a relationship only to try and return to find that his love has moved on. The old apartment has been rented to someone else. The memories remain, but the writer can never live there again. While this may be true with our more “human” relationships, this is not the case when it comes to those relationships that are divine in nature. Our spiritual apartment, although it may be vacant, will never be rented to someone else. It is always waiting for us to come back home.

I know many people who have left the church and feel a tug on their heartstrings pulling them to come back home. They wonder will I be accepted? Will I have to be re-baptized? Like a child who has run away from home over a small argument with his parents, the Church will welcome you back and be comforted that you have come back.

The song Open Arms by Journey always made it on every mix tape I ever made for a girl; that’s right kids, before we had playlists we had mix tapes. Ill tell you about the lost art of the mix tape at another time. The Church will welcome us back with open arms so long as we make the first move (does anyone but me remember the show Its Your Move with Jason Bateman? “Block that kick, please block that kick,”). Sorry for the digression.

Are you one of those who want to explore a return “home?” Are you wondering what you have to do? Just take a deep breath and enter the old apartment that is your spiritual home. The locks have not been changed.