Serious Thoughts

Moe serious thoughts and ideas

A Question of Omnipotence

/ Joe Broadmeadow / Leave a comment

Assuming there is such thing as an omnipotent God, one that gives us free will, then we can surmise he didn’t cause the tragedy at Sandy Hook.

My question is, couldn’t an omnipotent being, knowing it was going to happen, prevent it? Is our having free will so important it requires the taking of innocents?

If he could, as omnipotence would imply, but didn’t, it paints a troubling portrait of an all-knowing, all powerful God and his intentions towards his “children”.

If he couldn’t, further unveiling the myth of omnipotence, what good is prayer?

For my daughter, in whom I am well pleased.

/ Joe Broadmeadow / Leave a comment

The birth of a child brings a total upheaval to one’s life. From the moment of birth, to when they first open their eyes and smile, to the time they first head out a door on their own, they encompass your every waking, and most sleeping, moments.

The first time they fall asleep you can’t help checking on them every five minutes, followed quickly by the time they argue about not going to sleep, it is an ever changing influence on your life.

Gradually, at first, and then with ever increasing speed the transformation takes place. From the first independent steps, to the time they head off to school, to that first solo trip in a car, to their selecting a college, they go from total dependence, to total (well mostly) independence.

On the day of my daughter’s birth, at the moment she was only a few minutes old, the nurse took me along as she cleaned her up.

I stood absolutely useless, having no idea what to do.

The nurse, an experienced old hand at this, smiled and said “Talk to her, she knows your voice.”

So I bent down and said “Hi, Kelsey”

Eyes opened, she looked towards the sound of my voice.

Instant tears.

The nurse laughed and said “works every time”

And so it has continued.

Every new stage bringing new joys, fears, hopes. There is no describing the pleasure of being part of her transformation from a child, needing guidance every step of the way, to an accomplished, articulate, thoughtful, and independent young woman who, more often than I care to admit, points me in the right direction.

So that which began some twenty-four years ago ends and a new stage begins.

She heads off on her own independent path in life.

We’ve done what we could to provide her with the opportunities.

She has taken advantage of these and made more of them than I could have ever imagined.

Someday, I know, she will be that initial guiding influence on another new life.

She will be a great one.

She will also know the bittersweet moment of recognizing the time for letting fully go has arrived.

I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.

But for now, we get to relax a bit, take some measure of satisfaction in a job well done, and see where this all leads.

For with my daughter Kelsey, in whom I am well pleased, the world is a better place.

 

JB/12-12

 

 

Reality and Atoms

/ Joe Broadmeadow / 1 Comment

Reality

It takes years to realize, you are not unique. It is disappointing, then depressing, then comforting. Most people are raised by their parents as if they were the most unique human ever. It is just a protective mechanism that gradually decreases as you become capable of handling the disappointment.

The good part being that you realize pretty much everyone has done stupid shit just like you did. Those that never did generally become School committee members and worry about things like trying to stop bullying behavior with rallies and t-shirts.

I think self-defense classes are a better idea. Bullies are just crying for help, they need to have their asses kicked. I say we help them by training everyone to do that. We can have t-shirts made “Beat a Bully to make them Better”.

Shakespeare wrote “there’s nothing new under the sun” and there’s nothing (about) you that is different under the sun.

It is not being different that makes someone special, it is being human, just like the other 3+ billion of us on the planet, and doing something different with our fleeting moment, in this particular configuration, in this universe.

Prior to, at my best estimate, October 1955, all of the atoms that coalesced into the fertilized embryo that became me, were part of something else. (for purposes of explanation I was born on July 25th, 1956, doing the math of a normal human embryonic fertilization and development, the sperm and egg that became me met sometime in October, 1955). I try not to think of the reality of that matter, jeez it was my mother and father, eewwhhhuugh.

I was, perhaps, the benefit of the romanticism of a full October moon. Or more likely, knowing the limited time off my father had at home as a Rhode Island State Trooper, a moment of opportunity.

Perhaps the atoms in a grill cheese sandwich that my mother enjoyed, or a glass of milk that my father drank because he didn’t like coffee, became me.

At any rate, it was something else, then it was me. Not different, just arranged differently.

We really are all stardust.

The cells of the hair you spend so much time arranging in perfect symmetry are composed of atoms that were once, perhaps, an element of a Roman sword, or Aristotle’s toenail, or part of a grain of sand on the beach of Normandy. Or, for those that would enjoy this, formerly an atom of a Victoria Secrets model.

Perhaps, it is in the efficiency of the recycling processes of nature that we should recognize God.

No Atom left behind.

The Journey

/ Joe Broadmeadow / Leave a comment

She looked out over the dunes for his return, a sign, anything.

Would he come? Why haven’t heard? Why is he so distant?

This is the part she hates, the intensity of the feelings, love, hope,

doubt, distance, despair, delight, resolve, and resignation.

It had always been this way. Was it her obsession? Was he really that

different? Was he really so sweet, and caring, and tender, and distant, and

difficult?

Does it have to be thus?

She kept looking, kept hoping, every day, whenever she could, she’d

look out and hope, watch the sun fade and steal her heart, pulling it down

beyond the horizon, inevitably, undeniably. Broken, she would return inside

and pretend her life to continue.

In the morning sunrise would return her hope, renew her spirit, buoy her

heart…..and the pattern would repeat, day in and day out.

The day came when she no longer went to the deck. She

knew now that his absence wasn’t a delay, a deferral, it was a decision.

She would never look out again.

She became better at pretending to be happy,

took solace in things that had become familiar but never fulfilling, there

but not their’s, comfortable but not comforting.

Alive, but not living.

He steered the ship through the storm, made little progress. He had

turned back over and over only to return to this ship and try again. He was

unprepared, unequipped, and unsure of the way.

Sure of his purpose.

There was something that compelled him. Something that drove him on

this time in spite of the storm, In spite of all the objections to his

leaving the safe harbor.

The waves chilled him, blinded him, concealed his progress. But he was

moving forward, he was approaching the coast. He was approaching that which

had held him together for years.

The storm receded, the sun appeared and then set. She would be watching,

or would she? It had been so long, so much time lost, so many times he’d

disappointed her by returning to the safe harbor.

He could see now, the sea was calming, the wind relenting, the mists of the

rains fading. He could see.

He looked at the shore, felt the guilt rise, felt the shame of his cowardly

delay consume him.

How could he have expected her to wait? After all he’d done and failed to

do, how dare he think himself worth it.

He returned to the tiller, began a gentle turn away from the coast. The

tears blinded him, he couldn’t imagine life alone.

And then he heard the voice, he tried to see but only saw motion. She was

there, she had always been there, it was his doubt that blinded him.

But it was her gentle, loving, honest heart that led her back to the

shore. Not another chance, but compelled to continue the journey with him

as they were meant, first separately, and then together, to complete.

It wasn’t where, how, or when they came together, it was always that they

would come together.

The journey continues.

Unrealistic Expectations

/ Joe Broadmeadow / Leave a comment

Unrealistic Expectations

Here are some of our expectations for those who would hold Political office up to, actually in particular, President.

Clairvoyance

Infallibility (even the Pope has a hard time with this one)

Omniscience

Perfection in character

Embracing “Middle” Class sensibilities with no, or little, actual experience

But the most troubling is the following requirements we demand of our political leaders (in particular the President)

You must espouse an unwavering belief in an invisible, unprovable, and omniscient being that takes a direct and purposeful interest in our success.

You must acknowledge that this Being is clearly of the Judeo-Christian tradition AND has interceded on our behalf during the many crises we’ve endured. You must ignore the Islamic portion of this mono-theistic tradition

This Being did not inspire martyrdom on 911, that was the wrong god or a miscommunication. (This is where leaving out the Islamic part of monotheism really comes in handy)

You must “openly” embrace all faiths, even the non-Christian ones (wink, wink, nod, nod)

You must acknowledge direct communication and guidance from this being. This is a requirement even in light of the fact that we lock up and classify as delusional others (meaning non-politically motivated) that claim divine guidance for their actions.

You must finish every significant address to other political beings with “God Bless the USA” (leaving unsaid, but inferred, “and send the rest to Hell”)

So, in spite of the fact that our psych wards are full of people “talking” to God, we make this a benchmark of suitability for an elected leader.

If there ever comes a time when a country or group, particularly those trapped in the mindset of the 15th century with all its rules of behavior, divine commandments, and holy guidelines, acquires the ability to launch a nuclear weapon at the US do you want a President who will drop to his (or her, well perhaps) knees and pray to God to save us?

Or do you want a President that will invoke the power of our own making and eliminate that threat?

Any weapon launched in God’s name underscores the fallacy of relying on another divine being to intercede. My God can violate all the rules of the universe better than your God.

Nostalgia and defeating the seat belt warning

/ Joe Broadmeadow / 1 Comment

I, like most people that are online and “connected”, are inundated with nostalgic emails touting the “good old days”. Some are quite touching in spite of their superficial treatment of history.

Harmless I suppose.

So I thought I would indulge in one of my own.

I received my driver’s license when I was 16 years old (1972, and yes we had cars).

The first time I began conscientiously wearing a seat belt was most likely around 1992 when my daughter, who would have been four years old, was aware enough of the need to tell my wife if I didn’t.

She, of course, took great pleasure in this, I may add.

In those intervening 20 years, I had driven several hundred thousand miles, many of them as a Police Officer, in less then ideally maintained police cars, at high speeds, in all sorts of weather conditions, all without wearing a seatbelt.

I apparently defied the odds.

I miss those days. Sometimes, late at night, on the way home from work, which today consists of a 7.4 mile trip, I release the seatbelt a good .1 miles before I arrive home.

My idea of rebellion having mellowed a bit over the years.

I miss the ingenuity of Americans coming up with ways to defeat those seatbelt warning buzzers and lights.

I miss the days of getting into a car and not having the seatbelt connector act as a surrogate proctologist.

Nostalgia, by it’s very nature, must ignore more truths than it reminds us of but it is a momentary indulgence for which we should all occasionally partake.

In the interest of the full disclosure, while I was on the Police department, I had the occasion to arrive at a car accident in which one of my best friends was involved. He was likely saved by the fact that he was wearing a seat belt.

I went to the hospital with him and took great pleasure in poking at the bruises, with the assistance of the ER physician, left by the seatbelt. I was glad he had the seat belt on. Not only because it offered me a medically supervised way to torture him, but it gave me more years to benefit from the friendship.

A short time after this incident, I received one of the calls cops get all the time in the middle of the night. I answered in my usual way “Hello, who’s dead?”

Th answer was as I had assumed, someone was in fact dead. Another good friend, in a car accident. He hated seat belts as much as I did.

So, enjoy the nostalgia of your past, laugh about the things you remember, the risks you took, but what the hell wear the seat belt.

Good Byes?

/ Joe Broadmeadow / 2 Comments

Sometimes, goodbye is all that is left. No matter the depth, no matter the breadth, no matter the sincerity of the desire. Life presents some opportunities that are just mirages of illusions of unattainable desires.

I have come to believe that in many things we are in full control, in some things we have influence, but there is one overarching aspect of life over which we have no control, no input, no say. It is the ocean that is our life.

We are merely a ship afloat in this ocean, we can direct it to islands, guide it through a storm, rest on deck and enjoy sunset, but life is the ocean, always in ultimate control. It allows our ship to float, to gently ride the calm seas and brave the roiling storms, but ultimately life determines the course.

The ocean teaches us, challenges us, sustains us, and frightens us. Sometimes icebergs sometimes gentle breezes.

We can fight the wind, tack back and forth to resist its force, continue on in the face of insurmountable obstacles , but inevitably the sea directs us, and when it suits its whim, forces us in a different direction or reclaims us in the depths.

There is a joy to be derived from this. Driven before a storm, we suddenly come upon a gentle wind, a following sea, moments of happiness and contentment, yet still surrounded by the reality that is life. We pass alongside others, share the wind, climb the peaks, face the troughs together, create a bond that cannot be broken and knows no limit of the distance it can be pushed in separation.

There are those who resist to the point of damaging their ship, perhaps by colliding against others, taking both down.

I cannot do that. I have fought against the currents, ruined rudder and rigging, lost my course, damaged too many others.

I will not be responsible for this anymore.

I have taken this ship as far as it will go off course, I am compelled to return to the course set for me. I wish there were a different compass setting facing me, but it is not to be.

So the ocean turns my ship, sets my course, and the wind’s beginning to rise. The experiences have been imbedded in my mind, changing me forever, leaving me a different man.

180 degrees away from where I had hoped. Sometimes, goodbye is all that is left.

Leaving Homes

/ Joe Broadmeadow / Leave a comment

Leaving Homes

I have lived in a number of different places. Mine is not a pattern of yearly moves to exotic and far-flung places, but rather a progression from one home to another, with a few interim locations.

I was born in RI and lived for the first five years of my life in a small, former industrial city, on a street that was predominantly working people. I have no personal knowledge or recollection of the owners of the house, they lived on the second floor, but I came to learn that the father was a milkman, the mom took care of the two children, who were much older than me.

I have very little actual memories of the place, just some little incidents and happenings. One in particular I somewhat recall, but it is vague at best.

We were playing in a neighbor’s yard and my sister, who would have been 3 or so at the time, wandered near a hole being dug for something or other. The hole was pretty deep and there were pipes exposed on the bottom. She stumbled over the edge and I managed to grab hold of her. I wasn’t strong enough to pull her back up and yelled for someone to get my mother.

She ran over and hauled my sister back to safety. When my father got home (he was a Trooper with the Rhode Island State Police) he presented me with a Good Conduct Medal that he had from the Marine Corps. There were times over the years where my father and I had a strained relationship and little contact, but I held onto that medal and have it to this day.

We left this home when I was five.

My next home was in a growing suburban community located in the northern part of the state. This home took me from childhood to early adulthood. I have many memories of exploring the woods surrounding the plat. Baseball in the street, little league games, trips to “Jolly Cholly’s” (a story in and of itself). This was really my anchor home. I still think of myself as being from here, even though I haven’t been there since I was 19, have lived longer in Massachusetts then I ever did in Rhode Island, but it was my first, memorable, home.

I left this home when I was nineteen.

There then came a period where I didn’t so much have a home, but a dwelling in which to store my stuff, sleep when I needed, go through those first stages of being “free”. The culmination of this period of “home”lessness ended at a place known as “Monster Mansion”.

By this point I was twenty-three, single, and a Police Officer. For those of you familiar with the writer Joseph Wambaugh, a former LAPD cop, Monster Mansion was the scene of many, many “choir practices”, complete with smoke grenades, 5 to 50 invited and some uninvited guests, and events lasting until the sun came up or the beer ran out. This disqualified the location as a home. It was fun, but not a home.

I moved “back” home when I got married. We bought a house in Massachusetts, the original plan being to stay five years or so. At 7 years, my daughter arrived. This was truly a home in the best sense of the word. Many things happened while we were there, many lasting memories were created. It was a great home. At 20 years we decided to build a new house

We left this home when I was forty-five.

This brings us to the last home. We have been there for almost eleven years. We contracted and had the house built, making some great choices and a few mistakes along the way, but ending up with a wonderful place, in a great location. The new house, indeed become a home.

We have now left this home, I am fifty-six.

I have spent fifty or so of my fifty-six years living in “homes”. In each instance there came a time when they were no longer my home. But they always became someone else’s home. There was continuity in purpose.

There is the old expression that “home is where the heart is”. I disagree, hearts sometimes make poor choices. Home is where you feel a sense of belonging when you are there, loneliness when you are away, and loss when you leave. Sometimes, you leave a piece of your heart behind.

So perhaps it is not that “home is where the heart is” but “home is where the heart remains”

Same Sex Marriage Chicken Sandwich Morality

/ Joe Broadmeadow / 4 Comments

August 5, 2012

I came across a recent letter to the editor in the Florida Today newspaper.  The letter expressed agreement with Chik-Fil-A President Dan Cathy’s position on Same Sex Marriage.

I will give them one thing, at least they didn’t hide behind the smokescreen of understanding with the requirement to seek forgiveness of one’s sins.  They went right to the policy of zero tolerance as God’s word.

There isn’t enough space here to point out the various Biblical passages regarding intolerance, racial hatred, human sacrifice, stoning, treatment of women as chattel that clearly refute the Bible as the ultimate guide to good government.  If one is going to quote the Bible as absolute authority, you cannot quote the good stuff and “interpret” the conflicting ones.

But the passage that is most frightening is the following;

“We have been tolerant too long.  Someone has said that tolerance is the last virtue of a depraved society.  Did you realize that Jesus himself was intolerant? He did not tolerate sin, and neither should we”

They do not attribute the quote to anyone but I have a few suggestions,  Hitler, Stalin, Governor George Wallace.

In reality the “quote” is one of those convenient urban myths, attributed to many, designed to “prove” a point.  Like most myths it fails once it is examined.

The Bible has been the tyrant’s tool to manipulate mankind since first written (and re-written and edited and adapted and changed and interpreted).  Relying on such a document as a basis for the conduct and laws of our society is dangerous.  It is precisely the approach most feared by the Founding Fathers of this great nation.

There was a time when certain religious leaders referred to the Bible when opposing organ transplants.  Organ transplants were an abomination before God?  Said so right in the Bible!

The Bible wouldn’t pass the first standard of admissibility in any court in the land as being “evidence”, why would we use it to provide a basis for law?

My brother and his partner have been together for 18 years. They have a loving relationship, great family, treat others as they want to be treated, and feel that this was God’s plan for them.

They are denied rights and benefits available to me through the secular laws of this country by virtue of the imposition of religious beliefs. There was a time in this country where people were denied rights by virtue of the color of their skin, sex, and ethnicity.  We changed the law to correct those issues and we need to do the same regarding the inequities in the law limiting access to the benefits of marriage.

I think the writers have a point, we should not be tolerant.  We should never tolerate the imposition of a belief on any other person by the use of governmental authority.

Yet this is precisely what we are doing by denying the legality of Same Sex Marriages.

If a church refuses to recognize Same Sex Marriage it is entirely acceptable as a “private” institution. If the IRS, the City of Fort Myers, the State of Florida, or a public Hospital, refuses to recognize Same Sex Marriage as of equal legal standing,  that is wrong.  Morally,  ethically, and legally wrong.

Religions are not the exclusive standards of morality. A tolerant, understanding, empathetic, and moral society is.  The morality arising from the fair, equitable, and consistent treatment of all under the law

Religious majorities change. The fastest growing religion in the US is not of the Judeo-Christian tradition according to the Pew Forum of Religion and Public Life (www.pewforum.org).  I am sure the writers would fear what “passages” might be used then to set the standards of behavior.

This is not about religious beliefs.  Everyone in the country is free to believe, or deny, the validity of any and all religious sects.  It is about fairness.

If even one person in this country is denied a right and privilege available to their fellow citizens, then this country has not lived up to the hopes of those who crafted this great democracy.

If you do not believe in Same Sex Marriage, marry someone of a different sex.  I fully support your right to your religious beliefs, as long as you agree that everyone has a right to their own relationship with God, and to hold any beliefs.

This country’s greatness is our willingness to “tolerate” differing opinions, to defend that right, and to ensure everyone’s opportunity, under the law, to freely express them, without fear of being “condemned for doing so”.

Tolerance is in fact the first virtue of an enlightened society.

Miranda Warnings: Why do we name monumental USSC decisions after the perpetrators, rather than the victims?

/ Joe Broadmeadow / 2 Comments

On March 13, 1963, Ernesto Miranda was arrested. The arrest was primarily based on circumstantial evidence linking him to the kidnapping and rape of a 17-year-old woman 10 days earlier.

After a prolonged interrogation he confessed. The conviction was reversed by the United States Supreme Court in Miranda v. Arizona. The “confession” was ruled inadmissible. A little known fact is he was retried and convicted again.

Every Lawyer, Police Officer, Law & Order fan, convict, and criminal alive knows the “Miranda warning”, no one knows the victim’s name.

Many probably think it was Congressional Legislation that created the “Miranda” Warning. It even became a verb in the form of “Mirandized”

“Did you Mirandize him?”

The name of a (twice) convicted rapist of a 17 year old girl became a cloak of protection, or a manner of invoking the protection.

“Hey man, I know my Miranda rights”

Ernesto Miranda himself died of stab wounds after an alcohol fueled bar fight a few years after his release from prison. On his body the police found “Miranda Warning” cards that Miranda would autograph for money.

Perhaps naming it for the perpetrators is the right thing to do, it reminds the government of their failure to exercise due care in the protection of their citizens rights.

Perhaps, by perpetuating the names of criminals, we as a people will demand better from our Police Officers, Prosecutors, and Judges.

It serves as a reminder of our failures, not a tribute to the defendant.

My original thought was to complain about the naming of decisions for perpetrators rather than the victims.

Then I realized that naming it for the perpetrators was correct, we need to be reminded of the names of evil and the benefit of living in a country that values justice for all.

And why would we want criminals to invoke the name of a Victim to insulate themselves.

My daughter aspires to a job wherein the fundamental tenet is everyone, regardless of the depravity of their act, is entitled to all the protections of justice.

Proud doesn’t even come close.

It is truly a wonderful commentary on a society that can raise individuals who can devote their lives to protecting all.

Those that can separate the person from the principle.

Justice from Justifiability

The ends from justifying the means.

So that is why I know decisions like Miranda v. Arizona and Escobedo v. Illinois are not an indication of a weakness in our system of justice.

It is not a fault that perpetrators names live on while the victims are long forgotten, but rather a reminder of the greatness of our system.

Leave the victims in peace and let the bad guys invoke other bad guys for protection.

If it ever stops, well, then we are truly in decline.