Guess who I met?

On Friday, February 15th, I was invited to attend an "intimate gathering" with Hillary Clinton. Being a supporter, I jumped at the chance and brought my friend Laura along. We waited in the cold, then waited inside, but realized we were amazingly lucky that we were seated just feet away from where Senator Clinton was going to be sitting. To top it off, we were also on the side of the room where she was to enter, so we knew there would be a photo opportunity as well as possibly the chance to shake her hand.

No matter who you support in the upcoming race, to be this close to someone who has represented our country for many years, and who is creating history as possibly the first woman candidate was amazing. The excitement I felt was huge.

She finally arrived, and sure enough, she shook hands, signed autographs, talked to each person she could, including an elderly clergyman near me who wanted to talk to her for quite some time. She held my hand as she spoke to this gentleman, and even took his worn business card when he offered it to her. She looked each person in the eye, patient and smiling, and moved to her spot at the front of the room.

Hillary spoke for about an hour about the problems facing Ohioans and our country. For each problem she mentioned, she also proposed a solution on how she would handle the problem. I know that she has had a rough road for many years. People love to hate Hillary, often for no real reason when cornered. But as she continued to speak to us, passionate about America and getting us back on track, I gained even more respect for her. I am proud to be an American woman. I am proud that someone like Hillary Clinton is willing to face the criticism, to face the name-calling, to face the attacks on her beliefs, morals and ideas, and yet keep on going. I believe that she has proven that she can be tough but she also has proven that she is smart...and we really need a president we consider smart! Aren't we tired that the entire world makes fun of our current leader?

When Hillary was done talking about the economy, about mortgage foreclosures, about energy and jobs, and about making life better for the middle class, she proceeded to come back around to where we were. She posed for pictures with us, and listened to me talk about my life, about my dreams and how I believed she could help us. She looked at me as I told her how proud I was of her, and she said, "Bless you." I knew as I looked at her that our country would be in wonderful hands if Hillary Clinton becomes president.

The rest of the day we wore the "Hillary for President" stickers we were given at the gathering (which ended up being 150 people, not so intimate as the 50 I was originally told.) Everywhere we went someone talked to us about Hillary. Laura and I felt we were campaigning for Hillary ourselves as we spoke about Hillary's solutions to change our country.

One woman said, "I just don't get why she didn't kick out her husband when he cheated on her." This comes up over and over. First, Hillary didn't do it...Bill did. Sometimes a spouse cheats, and the right thing to do is move on. But sometimes you believe so much in your marriage, you feel such love and commitment, that splitting up is not what you want. Sometimes you want to work through this breach of the promise, forgive the one who hurt you, but stay together because you believe completely in the vows you made. Was it wrong what he did? Of course! Is lying ever right? No! Have all of us told a lie at some point? I expect we have. Have all of us forgiven someone who did us wrong? I hope so. There are reasons that are none of our business why Hillary stayed with her husband. It was amusing to our country to poke fun at their marriage, but I expect to Hillary, there was nothing funny about the public humiliation. I think at times she wanted to hide and never be seen again. However, we know, that is not what she did and now look at the possibility awaiting her. You have got to give her credit for having more courage than many of us!

People also say she is not electable. However, I think if we put Hillary up against John McCain, which is quite likely, she has a greater chance of winning the presidency. Hillary has already beat a very powerful, very well-funded candidate in New York for the senate. She also has never had her patriotism questioned unlike the other candidate, rightly or not.

I do believe in what Hillary Clinton has to say. I hope that enough of her supporters get up and vote on Tuesday, March 4th, so this race can continue. No matter what, however, January 2009 cannot get here fast enough.

Pan Am Flight 103

20 years ago this December 21st, 270 people were killed on Pan Am Flight 103 over Lockerbie, Scotland. 11 of these people were citizens of Lockerbie. All of the passengers on board the plane as well as all of the crew also died. They were victims of a terrorist bomb from Libya. Many were Americans, and many were young. One such young person was Tony Thomas. His full name was Arva Anthony Thomas. He was one of my students at Hanau American High School in Hanau, Germany. He was living with a family member who was active duty military, but was from Detroit. No one really called him Arva at the high school.

Tony was a funny guy. He hadn't been at Hanau very long, not being a traditional military brat like most of my students. The very nature of schools operated by the Department of Defense is one of acceptance and quick inclusion. Students come and go in such schools, based on whatever is necessary involving the troops around the world. So, while Tony was a city boy, with a little air of the urban street still encircling him, he became a member of the school community easily.

I was a computer teacher, and everyone ended up taking my class at some point because it was a requirement for graduation. It wasn't particularly hard, and back then I was a young, well-liked teacher and the students enjoyed being part of my class. Being a teacher in such an environment was different than teaching back in the States. There was a sense of "we are all in this together" from the faculty as well as the student body, and it wasn't unusual for students and teachers to be seen at the same community events, even enjoying each other's company. I loved it and knew I was very fortunate to have the opportunity to experience this kind of life.

Tony would often joke with me as he entered or left the classroom. In 1988, I was planning to come home at Christmas time to Columbus, Ohio to see my family. I had moved to Germany in 1985 to work for the Department of Defense, and never expected to stay more than the agreed upon 2 years of service. However, I really was having the time of my life and wanted to stay as long as I could. I missed my family, however, and my beloved grandmother had died during the previous year, so Christmas with my family had an even stronger sense of poignancy for me.

Tony and I talked about flying back to the US together, since he was going to Detroit and I was going to Columbus. However, I always flew TWA then because of accruing frequent flyer miles. I also was leaving sooner than the 21st in order to be at home as much as possible during my two week vacation. We did joke, however, about how funny it would be to step off the plane in Columbus together. My father, a rural Ohio farmboy, was not terribly open-minded about mixed racial couples. Tony was a fairly dark-skinned black young man, and I was a red-headed white woman. Playing a joke on my father that Tony and I were a couple made me laugh...it wasn't anything I really would have done, but Tony and I discussed a couple of times about the imagined looks we would get, especially if I could hold a wrapped up object like a baby in my arms when coming into the airport.

On Wednesday, December 21st, I had been home for a day or two, and was already in bed at my parents home when the phone rang late at night. My mother answered it, and then called me to the phone. It was an old college friend who heard about the Pan Am crash on the television, and immediately thought of me. I had no idea at the time that anyone I knew was on the plane, although it definitely shook me up. Flying back and forth from Germany to the US was something I did at least once or twice a year, and it never really entered my mind that there could be terrorists involved. The next day I received several more calls, all wondering if I was home safely. I still didn't know about Tony's death.

I went back to Germany to start the school year after the New Year. When I got to school, I heard the news that Tony had been on the plane. I couldn't believe that this 17 year old boy, going home for Christmas after being away from his family, was killed. The school held a memorial service for him, and his brother came to speak to us all. I remember crying in the auditiorium, and students looking at me. His brother said that Tony had been found in a field, not a mark on his body, looking quite peaceful. I think that it had to be terrifying, but from what I have read, many of the passengers lost consciousness right away when they were sucked out of the plane, and never knew what happened.

Tony lost his life at such a young age. He was only 17! Who knows what the future held for him? I expect the residents of Lockerbie will never forget what happened on the day "Death rained down" upon them 20 years ago. I know the family members of all 270 people killed will mourn them forever. The terrorist who put the bomb in the suitcase, transferring it to the flight and now serving life in prison in Scotland, cannot forget. But, I, too, will always remember Tony Thomas and his smile.

The Meaning of Life

I am not going to presume that I have the answer. But I do have the answer that is right for me. I did not think of it myself, but rather, was inspired by a priest at an opening school mass where I used to teach. The message resonated completely within me, and at last, I no longer had to dwell on this particular topic.

The meaning of life probably never enters some people's minds. Perhaps existance on this planet has no real meaning. Evolution caused the combination of Carbon and Oxygen, and ta-da! Life is.
For other people, life is intertwined with religion or spirituality. The meaning of life to them is whatever the church says for them to believe...maybe it is spreading the word, converting others to their way of believing, or even bigger, getting ready for heaven.

My favorite Bible verse is "He who loveth not knoweth not God, for God is Love." I also happen to believe that God is everywhere and loves everyone. This matters in my explanation of the meaning of life because it centers around love.

Wait...what? That's it! The meaning of life is knowing I have loved during my time here, as well as knowing that I was truly loved in return. Too simple?

Love comes in many forms. It's the love we have for our parents, often starting as a special love for our mothers who nurture us and feed us even before we are born. It's a love that never leaves us, if we are lucky, even when our parents are long gone. I used to cry at night as a girl, worried that my father might die. When he actually did die, too young as a man still in his 60s, I was devastated. I will never get over the loss of my father, but yet, I still have love for him. Isn't this really amazing? I can love someone who isn't even alive!

I remember falling in love with someone for the first time. It took some time for me to realize that was what it was. I wanted to be sure it wasn't just hormones, or lust, or wanting to be like everyone else, but when it lingered and grew, I knew I truly loved him. I dreamt of him, my every teenaged conversation was about him, and I couldn't wait to see him even through one high school class at a time. I'd get a hall pass to the restroom and saunter by his classroom, just to have a quick look and a smile from this boy I was crazy about.

When I was pregnant with my daughter, a good friend told me, "There are two things no one can ever really tell you about having a baby. One, it really hurts. You can't imagine the pain you will experience when you have this baby. Luckily, the pain goes away not long after, or no one would have more than one baby! Two, you have thought you have loved before. But no love compares to the love you will have when you see your baby for the very first time. It is the kind of love you would kill someone about." She was absolutely right! It did hurt, more than my dry socket after my wisdom teeth were pulled. And I fell in love with that little baby in a way that cannot compare to any other feeling I have ever had. Then I was blessed with a son, and I had the very same love for him in the very same way. There is no limit to the love we can have.

People use the word love in so many ways, and each version of love really means something completely different. I love my cat. I love my partner. I love ice cream. I love my favorite movie. I love to sleep. Aren't they all different? And then we use the expression, "Making Love." Which often has nothing to do with love in the first place, does it? Can we make love? I wish we could. Every girl with a skin problem left alone on prom night eating her tube of cookie dough in front of the TV with her ear glued to the telephone rants of other lonesome and leftout no-beauty queens wishes there was a way to make love.

Love also dies. How does this happen? How can I have love, real love for someone, and then one day, realize I don't have that love anymore? And no matter how hard I try, I just cannot feel the same way. Where does love go?

So. Back to the meaning of life. I am blessed with having been in reciprocated love more than once in my life. I am loved still today, and I love in return. My children know they are loved, which was my number one vow when my children were born. And, most days, my children love me too. My cats love me, especially the big fat male who knows I will feed him and pet him every day. There are others, family and friends mainly, who also love me. There are many people long gone from this earth who loved me as well. There are people I never see who may still love me, just as I love them.

I believe on my last day, I will not be afraid. I will be able to go to my Maker, having been with Him all along after all, in the love that I have had in my life all of my days. God is love.

Being True

I was in my 8th grade American History class at Watkins Memorial. This community was made of mostly middle and lower income students, many with blue collar fathers, stay at home mothers, and lots of plain old Ohio country folks. I lived just outside of Etna, Ohio, so small you would miss it if you blinked your eyes while driving through.

I remember this day as if it were yesterday, even though it was 38 years ago. There was an 8th grade boy named Johnny who pestered the daylights out of everyone. I am able to look back now and realize that Johnny was a typical 13 year old, seeking attention, and not quite mature, but at the time he was just not someone we wanted around. He was short, a little grubby, and hyperactive.

The bell had not rung for Miss Ralston's class to begin, so we were all jostling around in the small classroom trying to get to our seats. I was toward the middle of the classroom, a good student, although tall, gangly and bespectacled. Kind of a geek. I noticed a commotion at the front of the classroom, and realized that Johnny was once again getting himself in a mess. Several boys were picking up Johnny and stuffing him down into the classroom trash can. Johnny was stuck, with only his arms, head and legs sticking out. He was struggling, trying to get out, but the rest of the class was laughing at his predicament. I am ashamed to admit that I was laughing at Johnny, too.

Probably the boy most greatly respected in our 8th grade class was Dick Harvey. If you are not from this era or earlier, you may not know anyone nicknamed Dick, but it was not unusual back then. Dick Harvey was Donny Osmond cute. He was tall, had thick dark hair, really smart, athletic and played the drums in band! I don't think there was an 8th grade girl who didn't totally crush on Dick Harvey, myself included. He had an aura about him that commanded respect as well as admiration.

In the midst of the laughter and derision directed towards the unfortunate Johnny, Dick Harvey entered the classroom. The other boys started calling out to Dick, telling him to look at the trash in the room, making fun of Johnny still thrashing about in the metal can. I think we all expected Dick to join in the laughter, and all eyes were on him, wondering what barb he would throw Johnny's way. However, what happened next impacted my life forever.

Dick put his books down and immediately walked over to Johnny, and without a word or a glance at any of the members of the classroom, simply helped Johnny out of the trashcan and to his seat. Dick didn't lecture us, or yell at any of the boys, and he didn't boast about his acts. He simply did what he knew was the right thing to do. Oh, how awful I felt! My face was burning. The catcalls, the hooting, the giggles all faded away, and every 8th grader in that room lowered his or her head in shame.

I have told this story, more or less the same way, to hundreds of my students over the years. My own children can recite it word for word as well. I don't know what happened to Dick Harvey, as I moved away the following summer. Some of the details of the story may not be exactly as it happened, but the movie in my head remembers it this way.

Why can't we all be Dick Harvey? Why can't each one of us choose to do the right thing, to help those who need us, to reach out to the less fortunate, even when it seems to be going against the tide? Imagine what little effort it took for Dick to help Johnny, but that moment has helped me in so many situations when it would have been easy to go along with the crowd.

I don't remember any of the boys' names who put Johnny in the trash can. I don't even remember their faces. Who will I never forget? Dick Harvey. What a guy.