Daddy's Girl

Anyone who reads this blog with any regularity is certainly aware of my particular attachment to the relationship of fathers and daughters. It starts with my relationship to my daughter and expands from there to encompass other particular examples of the relationship and to the general reality of what that relationship means across the wide ranging array of personalities, beliefs, and values that people hold all over the world.

In an, until now, unrelated connection, I have also always held a particular fondness for Caroline Kennedy that goes beyond just the fact that she is the daughter of JFK. It is somewhat mysteriously tied to the fact that, as a kid growing up in WEST Palm Beach, Caroline was playing across the river on Palm Beach. This connection was enhanced by the fact that on several occasions, my folks - part of the South Florida working press (my dad was the Palm Beach County Bureau Chief for the Miami CBS affiliate) - would pull me out of school to go with them to see Kennedy and family come into Palm Beach International Airport. Partly due to the fact that Caroline was just slightly younger than me, I felt a strange connection, as if I was almost a part of the family; an idealistic, if not fully genetic (or financial), Kennedy cousin. This is a feeling that has remained with me my whole life.

Beyond all that, I have an enormous respect for how this woman has lived her life. What she's done, what she thinks, what she writes and what she has to say.

So, today, when I woke up to the news that she was endorsing Obama - with a New York Times op-ed entitled A President Like My Father - I sat up to take notice.

On the other side of the country my long term friend, and producing partner, Zach had already done the same thing, adding the article to a growing collection of links on his blog about why he supports Obama and why he adamantly opposes Hillary. The links and articles and opinions are informative, passionate, and even quite amusing (the Letterman clip is particularly encouraging and terrific).

All of this material is worth the time it will take to read. If you can read it and still support Hillary, well then more power to you (and her!). As for me... I have come to the conclusion that this is the most important (and most significant) presidential election in my lifetime.

And... I'm ready for CHANGE We Can Believe In.

Brigadoon and The Beloved Community

Today is the day when we remember and commemorate one of the greatest Americans, Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

I find it unfortunate that it took so long for the country to get around to honoring this man. When I was in seminary 30 years ago, my boss at a youth center in San Francisco used to close the center for the day in order to make the point that it should be a holiday even before it was made one. Even now many places (maybe even most places) do not honor this day as they do so many other holidays; a day when we are given the opportunity think on, and to live out, the meaning of Dr. King's thoughts, words, and deeds. Unlike most other holidays, this is not a day of rest and recreataion, but a day when we are called - by example - to change the way we live our lives, both individually and collectively. A day when we are shown - if we will but choose to see - what it really would be like to live as The Beloved Community.

To me, this day comes around every year like Brigadoon, a Scottish legend about a magical town that appears out of the mist for one day every hundred years. Like the village in that story,this day when we honor Dr. King gives us a glimpse of what we could be; a glimpse of what we CAN BE. Having seen the vision and glimpsed the prize, it is then up to us to decide if we will seize the reigns of opportunity and seek to build a truly fair, just, right, and compassionate neighborhood, nation, and world.

It's not an easy thing to imagine, and it's even harder to create. If the world were otherwise, Dr. King (and so many others) would still be alive and this day would be just another Monday. And THAT is the point. Today is NOT just another Monday. It's a day to look up from our pettiness, our racism, our cowardice and our greed and ask ourselves, our neighbors, our God, and the Universe "what then must we do?" If we take the time to ask the question, listen for the proclamation, and then wait to truly hear the answer, we will KNOW what to do and then we will be compelled to do it.

The change has already begun, and while so many things seem to cry out against us, the fact is the day is coming when the New World is revealed.

We WILL get there... The time WILL come.

In the meantime... Keep Your Eyes On The Prize... Hold On!

Take Me Out To The Ballgame

M's Uncle Don died this week.
He was a baseball player.
He pitched for the 69 Mets.
He pitched a NO HITTER in Wrigley Field for the Chicago Cubs.

This is the Holy Grail of American childhood dreams... He was an American mythological hero.

I wrote some more about it on a new blog I've begun with my production partner Zach because Zach is a major baseball fan and it seemed like the proper place to put it.

Go there... Read it... and Remember. If you can't remember... Imagine.

Buy me some peanuts and CrackerJack... I don't care if I EVER get back.

I'm Gonna Paint A Sign So You'll Always Know...

Yesterday was my daughter Jennifer's 26th birthday and when I came into my office yesterday morning I found the above image from StoryPeople.

It pretty much says all I have to say about what Jennifer means in and to my life; what she has ALWAYS meant in and to my life.

Back 26 years ago I was a pretty serious person - some folks would suggest that this is still the case, some would suggest I'm being delusional to even suggest it - and I really did not only WANT to "change the world as we know it," but I was pretty sure that I was, somehow, going to do so. I also figured that if I didn't pull it off I would at least (and probably) die trying. Those expectations (even desires) are not as intense as they once were and the realities of time, age, frustration and disappointment have shown me that anything that one is likely to accomplish along those lines will probably only come to fruition in ways that you can't really plan and certainly can't foresee.

Hence, the story of my daughter.

I know it's a cliche... and I'm sure that the several men I know who have recently seen the birth of their own daughters are feeling pretty much the same thing tonight... But it is really true that my life is divided easily and cleanly (well sometimes not so cleanly) along the meridian of January 14, 1982.

Jennifer really is my best thing, my greatest love and my true hope for good in the world. She carries, sometimes consciously and sometimes less so, the hopes and dreams I have for justice, truth and beauty, and along with that she's pretty good at moving around, making funny noises, and making me laugh my hardest and cry my deepest.

So yeah... It think that maybe I really did change the world after all.

And Jennifer... From butterfly kisses, to dancing on my toes and riding on the back of my motorcycle, from Great Books and choreographing to Janet Jackson, from Danger Mouse to Angry Angry Beavers, from Montessori to UCSC, from boogey boards at Ocean Beach to Triathlons at Lake Berryessa, from worrying about you walking to the corner to journeys to Ireland and England and beyond... It's really true that there could never be a father loved his daughter more than I love you.

Every Little Bit Helps

Last Thursday a little touch of New Orleans rolled into Petaluma's Mystic Theater. It was a rockin' night of blues when Henry Butler came to town and the show was another of those weird "Mystic Moments" when a person I've seen dozens of times in all kinds of environments pulled off the best show I've ever seen him perform.

There were two delights in this. The first was simply the chance to have that little touch of New Orleans all the way out here on the west coast (where I am significantly more comfortable than I've been in a long time, though I still feel somewhat in exile). The second was the show itself, witnessed by less than 100 people in a theater that - in it's intimacy and comfort - feels a lot like a club in The Crescent City. It was a good night, a good show, and I was in very very good company.

These really are the moments that matter, the ways in which I hold on to my sanity when all else seems to be disrupted and chaotic.