i knew everything in the known universe when i was young, yet never "got" mister rogers. he was just too kind for my cynical worthless smart a** to appreciate. plus he looked like a wimpier version of our dad, which at that time made me mad, for some reason. well, come to think of it, most everything made me mad back then; the world & its people flat just did not cooperate most all of the time... anyways, now i know mister fred rogers was next-to a saint, a worthy, worthy human who did so much to offer children & other homo sapiens dignity, education, comfort, safety: he & all like him are deserving only of the highest praise, & how blessed this world is that people like mister rogers exist to balance all the ones who, for whatever reason, are bad apples & eggs... anyways, i don't know why i started w/that. nice people: maybe that's it. was just watching pbs w/mama & they showed a father coaching his son's ball team, practicing in a fenced-in urban blacktopped yard someplace, & the dad's talking about teaching & modeling forgiveness. then they showed a man i've not thought of in some time, but used to teach about: his son tariq was shot dead by another teen & this father responded by quitting his high-power job & going to the father of his son's killer. these two fathers, one christian, one muslim, then started an organization, the forgiveness project, to "keep kids from killing other kids." here's a version of the article we used to read in class: http://theforgivenessproject.com/stories/azim-khamisa-ples-felix-usa/
the show progressed to scenes of viet nam vets returning to the far-off lands where under orders, & sometimes because of extreme grief & anger & stress, they'd committed acts unconscionable to civilians like me, & it showed these men, haunted all these years, collapsing in sobs before verdant fields & in asian graveyards, comforting one another. "do you want me to hide those cookies?" mama said, looking at me w/good-natured concern as i both blubbered & stuffed my face... a comparative innocent like me, one who's been privileged to live a relatively easy & dignified life, in the moment only can overeat or cry to try to handle the tremendous emotion that wells up from mere dramatized accounts... why are some of us so fortunate & get to avoid the suffering that others' lives are marked by? i turned james on to viktor frankl's "man's search for meaning," & he seems to have absorbed its central msg better than i. "it's all relative," he says sagely, & i must shut up bc my husband has undergone worlds more suffering than have i, & therefore to blubber on would just dishonor someone whom i tremendously admire as not just a survivor, but a victor, a phoenix, even... i thought of a fellow i met while the band played in rapid city sd, a tall, grey, bearded biker w/sky-blue eyes shining from behind heavy glasses, wearing a shirt for his volunteer organization, www.guitarsforvets.org . he came up on break to enthuse about how much he & his wife loved the band, then happily said becoming involved in playing music for & with vets had changed his life; james trucked up, heartily slapped the guy on the back & declared, "let me know how i can be involved! i can help!" he walked off & james's & my friend noted james is always a great friend to veterans' groups, donating his music & heart w/o reservation... the man's wife, a tall, graying, girlish woman speaking flat friendly minnesotan, later came up & said her husband had "carried a heavy burden for 30 years" due to war & how involvement in guitars for vets had "lifted that burden." i agreed that the power of music is tremendous & healing for anyone, including those who have suffered, those w/heavy heart, the victimized, the wounded warrior. she then hugged me, saying, "god bless those of us who are married to vets," & isn't the universe & its people beautiful sometimes?...
on the trip to-from SD, i was reminded that this world is filled w/good people. james knows many. he is one. i am, too. may you be, as well. good night for now.
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