Two of my children turn 12 this week. Nora and Thomas are twins, the best of friends (reluctantly)and as different as they are similar. A common sight is Nora running out to remind Thomas what he forgot on the way to school.
Having opposite sex twins provided me the opportunity to embark on a ground breaking sociological experiment, with a remarkable conclusion.
Men and women are different.
Please, before you leave this page to email Drudge or Huffington,read on as to my methods.
You see, from the beginning I to exposed them together to everything. We played catch together, attended dance and music shows together, went to the mall together. P.C. baby, all the way. Equal opportunity.
It didn't work.
I should have known early on. On their first birthday we gathered for candles and cupcakes, which were carefully placed on each high chair.
Nora delicately reached at a few sprinkles, raising each in the air and placing it on the tray before eating them.
Thomas thrust his face straight into the cupcake.
I guess it's not about sex as much as personality. As a child Nora would sit for hours with her books and dolls, while Thomas preferred to chase the dog and go one on one with the seat cushions.
Some would argue that young kids are like kittens. Everyone loves cute, cuddly kittens. So soft, purring gently.
Then they turn into cats.
Don't get me wrong. I adore my children, and every age has had it's share of joy and challenges. They are not shy about what's hip and what's an OMG moment.
As an aside, I have taught fifth grade religious ed (Sunday school) for years. I love kids at age 10 because they are on the cusp of adulthood, and close to attending church because they want to, not because Mom and Dad drag them there.
Each year I predict that for half of them the light will go on...they will discover that the opposite sex is good for something besides target practice. Each year, bingo, about half are smitten.
My kids are no different. Their experience is somewhat unique in that they watched me date and marry my wife. I still have a framed, signed note from Nora, age 6, which reads "Dad is going on all of my dates."
Twins make great spies. Nora gives me the scoop on her brother and vice versa. When Thomas was in first grade he spent a good half hour in the bathroom slicking his hair like Bowser from Sha Na Na. Quite a hit with the ladies, I learned.
And then, a few years ago, the hormones kicked in. Now I have a son who wants to buy Axe because "It's chemically guaranteed to attract women." Or flies.
I will never forget the evening when, while barbecuing, I asked Nora, then 9, to please get me a spatula. What ensued was a child writing on the kitchen floor, screaming that I did not understand her.
She's right, I didn't. Then again, she didn't either. The hardest part of parenting these days is recognizing the times when they have no control. Their bodies are volcanoes, erupting at any moment. To parent a tween is to experience "push pull" on a daily basis. Up to age 8 or so you are the center of their universe. Now the switch flips between affection and mortification.
Oh, and I did I mention that my son's party includes GIRLS?
And then you are a man, my son.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Call Congress for a Band Aid
March 22. Monday. I could not believe my eyes. First of all I opened them, which meant I was breathing and the world had not come to an end.
There were some clouds, but the air was relatively clean, the train ran on time, and when I walked into the office nobody greeted me with "Good morning, comrade."
We're all here. No apocalypse.
Could have fooled me. I thought the world was sure to end with the health care bill. We were on our way to bread lines, gun toting IRS enforcers and military parades led by men in fuzzy hats.
Don't get me wrong. I don't like the bill, at least what I believe to be in it. Do any of us really know what's in this thing? As for the politics, both sides are full of it, as usual. Good idea, bad bill.
Citizens of this country should have access to quality health care. Radical concept? Hardly. But is an insurance system subsidized by employers really the best method?
Many would argue that we give citizens full access, and I would agree to a point. We spend zillions on care for seniors, for the poor, in subsidies for all types of patients and facilities.
And we continue to spend. Like a drunken sailor, which of course is an insult to sailors who are spending their own money.
We spend away, while our resources are drained by abuses. The other night I watched a segment about 911 paramedics in Washington DC (go figure) who spend most of their time responding to head colds and stubbed toes.
I have also lived first hand, as a special needs parent, the nightmare of insurance companies kicking consumers in the gut. Experience taught me an important lesson; all insurance is good until you get sick.
And we all feel the strain of increasing health care costs. As our population ages, the problems will further tax our system. For proof, spend time with a group of seniors engaging in an "organ recital."
So the system is busted like a three legged chair. We need a fix, yet the health care bill seems like too much, too fast.
And while I hardly expected complete bipartisanship, I thought we might see an olive branch instead of a two-by-four.
Hopefully the new plan covers splinters.
There were some clouds, but the air was relatively clean, the train ran on time, and when I walked into the office nobody greeted me with "Good morning, comrade."
We're all here. No apocalypse.
Could have fooled me. I thought the world was sure to end with the health care bill. We were on our way to bread lines, gun toting IRS enforcers and military parades led by men in fuzzy hats.
Don't get me wrong. I don't like the bill, at least what I believe to be in it. Do any of us really know what's in this thing? As for the politics, both sides are full of it, as usual. Good idea, bad bill.
Citizens of this country should have access to quality health care. Radical concept? Hardly. But is an insurance system subsidized by employers really the best method?
Many would argue that we give citizens full access, and I would agree to a point. We spend zillions on care for seniors, for the poor, in subsidies for all types of patients and facilities.
And we continue to spend. Like a drunken sailor, which of course is an insult to sailors who are spending their own money.
We spend away, while our resources are drained by abuses. The other night I watched a segment about 911 paramedics in Washington DC (go figure) who spend most of their time responding to head colds and stubbed toes.
I have also lived first hand, as a special needs parent, the nightmare of insurance companies kicking consumers in the gut. Experience taught me an important lesson; all insurance is good until you get sick.
And we all feel the strain of increasing health care costs. As our population ages, the problems will further tax our system. For proof, spend time with a group of seniors engaging in an "organ recital."
So the system is busted like a three legged chair. We need a fix, yet the health care bill seems like too much, too fast.
And while I hardly expected complete bipartisanship, I thought we might see an olive branch instead of a two-by-four.
Hopefully the new plan covers splinters.
Monday, March 29, 2010
The Last to Be First
Baseball season is around the corner and "hope springs eternal" (even for Cub fans).
We will spend many nights at the park, looking out at number 42, never to be worn again.
42 belongs to Jackie Robinson, the Dodger great who's number was retired by all professional baseball teams (majors and minors) a few years ago. Robinson broke baseball's color barrier in 1947 as major league's first black player. Before Jackie greats like Josh Gibson and Satchel Paige tolied in the relative obscurity of the Negro leagues.
I have a challenge for you. As you read this, think of five people you can ask the question, "Who is Larry Doby?"
I would be surprised if one person knew the answer. Do you?
Larry Doby was the second black player in the majors after Jackie Robinson. Coincidently, he was also the second black manager (after Frank Robinson) of a forgetable White Sox team in the late 70's.
Larry Doby signed and played for the Cleveland Indians eleven weeks after Jackie Robinson broke in with the Dodgers. He led the Indians to their last world championship in 1948, played in nine all-star games and, like Robinson, is a member of the Hall of Fame.
So Jackie Robinson "paved the way" a couple of months for Larry Doby. Was life in "the show" any easier for Doby than Robinson? Hardly. But nobody remembers Larry Doby.
How about Kathryn Bigelow, the first woman to win an Oscar for Best Director. Who will be the Oscar's Larry Doby?
I'm not a fan of "firsts;" first black player, first woman director, etc. In J school I had an editor who hated "first" stories because they neglected everyone who came before them. Amen.
Not to take away from the achievement, or the significance. But too often we skip the first steps on the ladder.
For example, I was moved to tears in 1988 when Jesse Jackson gave his remarkable speech at the Democratic National Convention. "My right and my privilege to stand here before you has been won," he said. "Won in my lifetime, by the blood and the sweat of the innocent."
Jackson got it. So many had come before him, many forgotten until he spoke of the "common thread" which unites us all.
It's too bad we can't run an "honor roll" with the next "first" story of everyone who built the mountain the subject stands on. In that sense, the first is in fact last.
We will spend many nights at the park, looking out at number 42, never to be worn again.
42 belongs to Jackie Robinson, the Dodger great who's number was retired by all professional baseball teams (majors and minors) a few years ago. Robinson broke baseball's color barrier in 1947 as major league's first black player. Before Jackie greats like Josh Gibson and Satchel Paige tolied in the relative obscurity of the Negro leagues.
I have a challenge for you. As you read this, think of five people you can ask the question, "Who is Larry Doby?"
I would be surprised if one person knew the answer. Do you?
Larry Doby was the second black player in the majors after Jackie Robinson. Coincidently, he was also the second black manager (after Frank Robinson) of a forgetable White Sox team in the late 70's.
Larry Doby signed and played for the Cleveland Indians eleven weeks after Jackie Robinson broke in with the Dodgers. He led the Indians to their last world championship in 1948, played in nine all-star games and, like Robinson, is a member of the Hall of Fame.
So Jackie Robinson "paved the way" a couple of months for Larry Doby. Was life in "the show" any easier for Doby than Robinson? Hardly. But nobody remembers Larry Doby.
How about Kathryn Bigelow, the first woman to win an Oscar for Best Director. Who will be the Oscar's Larry Doby?
I'm not a fan of "firsts;" first black player, first woman director, etc. In J school I had an editor who hated "first" stories because they neglected everyone who came before them. Amen.
Not to take away from the achievement, or the significance. But too often we skip the first steps on the ladder.
For example, I was moved to tears in 1988 when Jesse Jackson gave his remarkable speech at the Democratic National Convention. "My right and my privilege to stand here before you has been won," he said. "Won in my lifetime, by the blood and the sweat of the innocent."
Jackson got it. So many had come before him, many forgotten until he spoke of the "common thread" which unites us all.
It's too bad we can't run an "honor roll" with the next "first" story of everyone who built the mountain the subject stands on. In that sense, the first is in fact last.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Pleased To Make Your Friendship
The phone rang at 9:00pm on Friday night. One of my oldest friends, calling to ask whether I can meet him on the South Side of Chicago at 8am Saturday to help load boxes for Haiti relief.
Of course, I said, where do you need me?
My wife marveled at the fact that I responded immediately, and happily corralled the kids into the van for a rainy trek south.
My friends and I, it's how we roll.
I learned long ago that the most valuable treasure we have is friendship.
I have a many, many acquaintances, but a handful of dear friends. In fact, I joined Facebook a few months ago and never realized just how popular I am, with a daily dose of new "friends."
They are acquaintances, of course, not friends.
But nothing to scoff at. Acquaintances serve a purpose. They are there for us at various points in our lives, we visit, spend time together, but they don't see me the way my friends do.
I was touched hearing Sportswriter Frank Deford tell a story recently about Boston Celtics legend Bill Russell. Deford and Russell spent a good deal of time together through the years as Deford covered both Russell and the Celtics. One afternoon they were riding together on a highway when Deford said (I'm paraphrasing), "You know Bill, I really appreciate your friendship through the years."
"We are acquaintances, not friends" Russell said. "Friendship requires a tremendous amount of work, and I just don't have the time to invest in another friendship. I do value your acquaintance, however."
He's right, of course. Most of us go through life without bothering to make the distinction, and their acquaintance seems to bring both satisfaction.
But they aren't friends.
My sixth grade daughter expressed concern recently about her number of friends. It's about quality, my dear, not quantity.
I have a handful of friends. Most go back over 30 years. They are my brothers and I would do anything for them.
They see every side of me, especially the raw, vulnerable side I try so hard to keep from everyone else. Lord I am not perfect, but they see me for who I am, and I see them for who they are.
We've been through a lot together. Marriage, divorce, kids, vices, job advances, jobs lost. We are older now, heavier and a bit grayer. But we still laugh like kids when we're together.
My children think it's funny that I have known them for so long. I hope they have the gift of true, loving friends throughout their lives.
Of course, I said, where do you need me?
My wife marveled at the fact that I responded immediately, and happily corralled the kids into the van for a rainy trek south.
My friends and I, it's how we roll.
I learned long ago that the most valuable treasure we have is friendship.
I have a many, many acquaintances, but a handful of dear friends. In fact, I joined Facebook a few months ago and never realized just how popular I am, with a daily dose of new "friends."
They are acquaintances, of course, not friends.
But nothing to scoff at. Acquaintances serve a purpose. They are there for us at various points in our lives, we visit, spend time together, but they don't see me the way my friends do.
I was touched hearing Sportswriter Frank Deford tell a story recently about Boston Celtics legend Bill Russell. Deford and Russell spent a good deal of time together through the years as Deford covered both Russell and the Celtics. One afternoon they were riding together on a highway when Deford said (I'm paraphrasing), "You know Bill, I really appreciate your friendship through the years."
"We are acquaintances, not friends" Russell said. "Friendship requires a tremendous amount of work, and I just don't have the time to invest in another friendship. I do value your acquaintance, however."
He's right, of course. Most of us go through life without bothering to make the distinction, and their acquaintance seems to bring both satisfaction.
But they aren't friends.
My sixth grade daughter expressed concern recently about her number of friends. It's about quality, my dear, not quantity.
I have a handful of friends. Most go back over 30 years. They are my brothers and I would do anything for them.
They see every side of me, especially the raw, vulnerable side I try so hard to keep from everyone else. Lord I am not perfect, but they see me for who I am, and I see them for who they are.
We've been through a lot together. Marriage, divorce, kids, vices, job advances, jobs lost. We are older now, heavier and a bit grayer. But we still laugh like kids when we're together.
My children think it's funny that I have known them for so long. I hope they have the gift of true, loving friends throughout their lives.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Forget Hoops, Give Me Some Wraslin!
As I write this there are about 15 hours or so to complete your "March Madness" bracket.
Offices are sure to empty over the next couple of afternoons as a testosterone charged migration begins to local watering holes. Suddenly we are interested in schools such as Oakland (Michigan, not California), Wofford (South Carolina) and "directional schools" - Eastern, Western, Southestern (insert state name) that serve as preseason sparing partners for teams in the Big Ten, ACC, Big East etc.
A recent article cited the next two days as the most popular time to get a vasectomy, with many practices offering discounts for those who book ahead. Anything for a couple days on the couch, I guess.
64 teams to start, 16 teams by Sunday. Best of one, with upsets galore. Madness.
But I would rather be in Omaha this weekend catching some wrestling. Not the WWF nonsense, but the amateur, freestyle variety.
Omaha is the site of the NCAA Division I Wrestling Championships.
I wrestled in high school and through the years have become a big fan of college wrestling, particularly Northwestern. I watch and go to dozens of meets. Northwestern is a program on the rise, with three recent individual champions and a 4th place team finish in 2008. NU alum Jake Herbert is likely to make the Olympic team in 2012.
I love wrestling because it features constant movement by some of the best conditioned athletes in the world. If you have ever tried boxing, kick or otherwise, you understand the endurance needed to last seven minutes on the mat. It's grueling.
On the mat you're alone, working through a series of moves and counter moves. Coaches wave their arms, contort their bodies and yell during a match, but it really doesn't matter. Take your arm, leg or head out of position and it's over. Fin. Nyet. Wrestling is a sport for thinkers. Fast thinkers.
So who will win this year? No mystery here. Unlike basketball, where dozens of teams have a shot, wrestling is dominated by the Iowa Hawkeyes, who are competing for their 23rd national championship. A couple of teams will challenge (Oklahoma State, Iowa State) but rooting for Iowa is like rooting for the Yankees, or Microsoft. The only Iowa intrigue is last year they won the team title without an individual champion. At a minimum Jay Borshel and Brett Metcalfe should take first this year.
And for the record, I have Ohio State, Kentucky, Duke and Kansas State as my Final Four picks.
Offices are sure to empty over the next couple of afternoons as a testosterone charged migration begins to local watering holes. Suddenly we are interested in schools such as Oakland (Michigan, not California), Wofford (South Carolina) and "directional schools" - Eastern, Western, Southestern (insert state name) that serve as preseason sparing partners for teams in the Big Ten, ACC, Big East etc.
A recent article cited the next two days as the most popular time to get a vasectomy, with many practices offering discounts for those who book ahead. Anything for a couple days on the couch, I guess.
64 teams to start, 16 teams by Sunday. Best of one, with upsets galore. Madness.
But I would rather be in Omaha this weekend catching some wrestling. Not the WWF nonsense, but the amateur, freestyle variety.
Omaha is the site of the NCAA Division I Wrestling Championships.
I wrestled in high school and through the years have become a big fan of college wrestling, particularly Northwestern. I watch and go to dozens of meets. Northwestern is a program on the rise, with three recent individual champions and a 4th place team finish in 2008. NU alum Jake Herbert is likely to make the Olympic team in 2012.
I love wrestling because it features constant movement by some of the best conditioned athletes in the world. If you have ever tried boxing, kick or otherwise, you understand the endurance needed to last seven minutes on the mat. It's grueling.
On the mat you're alone, working through a series of moves and counter moves. Coaches wave their arms, contort their bodies and yell during a match, but it really doesn't matter. Take your arm, leg or head out of position and it's over. Fin. Nyet. Wrestling is a sport for thinkers. Fast thinkers.
So who will win this year? No mystery here. Unlike basketball, where dozens of teams have a shot, wrestling is dominated by the Iowa Hawkeyes, who are competing for their 23rd national championship. A couple of teams will challenge (Oklahoma State, Iowa State) but rooting for Iowa is like rooting for the Yankees, or Microsoft. The only Iowa intrigue is last year they won the team title without an individual champion. At a minimum Jay Borshel and Brett Metcalfe should take first this year.
And for the record, I have Ohio State, Kentucky, Duke and Kansas State as my Final Four picks.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Lent, Coffee and Spirituality
So we are about half way through Lent, the 40 day period leading up to Easter and the holiest period for Christians.
I'm in the club. Raised Catholic, attended Catholic grade school and now raising my three (soon to be four) children in the church.
I'm observant, attending mass weekly in addition to teaching Sunday school (fifth graders) for over ten years. I love fifth graders because they are "young adults" and on the verge of so much, including deciding for themselves whether to attend mass. All I can do is help strengthen the roots and branches, along with their parents.
It's not easy rounding everyone up for two hours of church and school on Sunday. My son Thomas used to say "How many more songs?"
Two stories regarding religion and kids:
Years ago I was in the habit of letting one of my kids place the collection envelope in the basket. It became a big deal because I based it on who was behaving well. One Sunday I forgot the check but had an extra envelope, which I sealed and gave to Thomas, age 7. We were in the second row, and as the usher came towards the front with the basket my son held up the envelope, saw that it was empty, stood up (my wife and daughter were between us) and exclaimed, "Dad, there's no money in here." It was on that day that I started to give online.
Another time I was walking in downtown Chicago with Nora and Thomas, then age 8, when we passed a panhandler. He asked for money and I politely said, "Sorry not today." Later when we stopped for lunch Nora asked why I didn't give him money and I explained that we donate money to organizations which provide food and shelter to those in need, and that we are told in the bible to help the poor.
Boy was I proud. We got home and Nora began explaining to my wife about the man on the sidewalk. With a big smile on my face I asked Nora to explain to Tania why we didn't give the man money and she said, with true conviction, "WE DON'T GIVE MONEY TO THOSE PEOPLE!"
Can I get a witness?
I've always tried to be a moral compass for my children, and one of the highest compliments I received was from a friend who said I "blend spirituality and religion in a way few others do." Early on with them I focused on two things: 1) We are all God's children and 2) The golden rule.
I remind my kids (and students) that Lent is about giving and observing as much as sacrifice. For several years now I have given up coffee for Lent. I am not a happy camper for the first couple of days, but as I say to my kids, going without my morning jolt is nothing compared to Jesus dying for our sins. I also try to attend daily mass more often and read daily meditations. Most years I have to get past kids wanting to give up broccoli or school. Some things never change.
The God I pray to loves everyone. In terms of my Catholic faith I am moved by Gary Wills and his book "Why I am a Catholic." The Creed is the essence of my faith.
Religion is a personal experience, one that ebbs and flows. Right now I am in a good place spiritually and feeling great about my life and all of the blessings it brings. I love my work, advising people who are rich by any definition. Yet I am truly a wealthy man.
I'm in the club. Raised Catholic, attended Catholic grade school and now raising my three (soon to be four) children in the church.
I'm observant, attending mass weekly in addition to teaching Sunday school (fifth graders) for over ten years. I love fifth graders because they are "young adults" and on the verge of so much, including deciding for themselves whether to attend mass. All I can do is help strengthen the roots and branches, along with their parents.
It's not easy rounding everyone up for two hours of church and school on Sunday. My son Thomas used to say "How many more songs?"
Two stories regarding religion and kids:
Years ago I was in the habit of letting one of my kids place the collection envelope in the basket. It became a big deal because I based it on who was behaving well. One Sunday I forgot the check but had an extra envelope, which I sealed and gave to Thomas, age 7. We were in the second row, and as the usher came towards the front with the basket my son held up the envelope, saw that it was empty, stood up (my wife and daughter were between us) and exclaimed, "Dad, there's no money in here." It was on that day that I started to give online.
Another time I was walking in downtown Chicago with Nora and Thomas, then age 8, when we passed a panhandler. He asked for money and I politely said, "Sorry not today." Later when we stopped for lunch Nora asked why I didn't give him money and I explained that we donate money to organizations which provide food and shelter to those in need, and that we are told in the bible to help the poor.
Boy was I proud. We got home and Nora began explaining to my wife about the man on the sidewalk. With a big smile on my face I asked Nora to explain to Tania why we didn't give the man money and she said, with true conviction, "WE DON'T GIVE MONEY TO THOSE PEOPLE!"
Can I get a witness?
I've always tried to be a moral compass for my children, and one of the highest compliments I received was from a friend who said I "blend spirituality and religion in a way few others do." Early on with them I focused on two things: 1) We are all God's children and 2) The golden rule.
I remind my kids (and students) that Lent is about giving and observing as much as sacrifice. For several years now I have given up coffee for Lent. I am not a happy camper for the first couple of days, but as I say to my kids, going without my morning jolt is nothing compared to Jesus dying for our sins. I also try to attend daily mass more often and read daily meditations. Most years I have to get past kids wanting to give up broccoli or school. Some things never change.
The God I pray to loves everyone. In terms of my Catholic faith I am moved by Gary Wills and his book "Why I am a Catholic." The Creed is the essence of my faith.
Religion is a personal experience, one that ebbs and flows. Right now I am in a good place spiritually and feeling great about my life and all of the blessings it brings. I love my work, advising people who are rich by any definition. Yet I am truly a wealthy man.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
I'm Sorry...Really?
Are you tired of public apologies? Are you sick of seeing famous people with seemingly perfect lives screw up, blubber about it on camera and wonder what possessed them to behave that way in the first place? John Edwards, Mark Sanford, Ted Haggard. Enough already!
And Tiger, I get that you messed up, but it seems to me the only people you owe an apology are your wife and family, friends and maybe Nike shareholders.
Save the rest of it for another time. Take away TMZ and The National Enquirer and Tiger would still be crushing the PGA like walnuts. In other words, he didn't seem to be apologizing for his behavior as much as for getting caught.
Some apologies, however, I would like to hear.
Which brings me to Derrick Rose. I was at a Bulls game the other night entertaining (this year some would say subjecting)guests when I looked around at a number of Bulls jerseys with Derrick Rose's number 1 on the back.
My son Thomas received the same Rose jersey from one of his running buddies for his 11th birthday. He was excited and wore it for a few days until the story broke about Derrick Rose having someone else take his SAT exam to get into Memphis. I sat down with Thomas a couple of weeks later and let him know that he was not to wear the jersey any more for two reasons:
1) His mistake would likely cost students, alumni and fans of the school any games he played in. Rose was "one and done" to the NBA after only one season, and subsequently Memphis was forced to forfeit their entire season which ended in the Final Four.
As an aside, Memphis was also forced to vacate their only other Final Four appearance in the mid '80s. I am planning a reality show featuring players from schools forced to forfeit games and seasons due to misbehavior. A cast of thousands, as they say.
2) He has yet to apologize for his mistake.
We all make mistakes, I said, but without contrition his bad example is made worse. So I asked for the shirt, which we gave to goodwill, and offered to buy him a new one. He chose a Bulls shirt without a players name.
Teachable moment accomplished. I was proud of his reaction. He really had none, just looked at me as if to say "Yeah Dad, that makes sense." I reminded him that character is the way you behave when nobody is watching you.
I have never met Derrick Rose. Seems like a nice guy. Brilliant basketball player. He's young and has the talent to be an All Star for years to come. It's also apparent he had no interest in going to college, forced to do so by the ridiculous requirement that you must be 19 to play in the NBA. Have they set a maximum age yet?
Seems like a nice guy. That's the point and where, like Tiger's Nike ad, "I am Tiger Woods." We all craft an public image. Some people are active in social causes, or at least offer opinions once in a while. Some aren't. Tiger Woods is no Muhammad Ali. Or Jim Brown. He plays golf. Like nobody before or since.
Tiger plays golf, but that's really all he does. I have never heard him speak about infidelity or much of anything else, so he is no hypocrite. Flawed? Oh yeah. Hypocrite? Nah. Hello Mark Foley. A friend of mine said at one point, "Tiger's father must be so disappointed." Really? How would I know? How would anyone know?
As a kid one of my heroes was Cardinals great Lou Brock. I went to a game at Wrigley Field when I was 12 with a homemade sign congratulating him on his 3000th hit. Later I sent him a letter requesting an autograph. He (his peeps) sent a form letter saying I needed to send $20 for it. My Dad said to remember the moment, what he does on the field.
Teachable moment accomplished.
Later I remember meeting Artis Gilmore, "the A train," at a Bulls game. No autographs, just a handshake and smile. Much more meaningful.
So to me heroes are like politics. If all politics are local, let's keep the heroes local. Parents, teachers, friends and family. Those we know, or at least think we know.
And Tiger, I get that you messed up, but it seems to me the only people you owe an apology are your wife and family, friends and maybe Nike shareholders.
Save the rest of it for another time. Take away TMZ and The National Enquirer and Tiger would still be crushing the PGA like walnuts. In other words, he didn't seem to be apologizing for his behavior as much as for getting caught.
Some apologies, however, I would like to hear.
Which brings me to Derrick Rose. I was at a Bulls game the other night entertaining (this year some would say subjecting)guests when I looked around at a number of Bulls jerseys with Derrick Rose's number 1 on the back.
My son Thomas received the same Rose jersey from one of his running buddies for his 11th birthday. He was excited and wore it for a few days until the story broke about Derrick Rose having someone else take his SAT exam to get into Memphis. I sat down with Thomas a couple of weeks later and let him know that he was not to wear the jersey any more for two reasons:
1) His mistake would likely cost students, alumni and fans of the school any games he played in. Rose was "one and done" to the NBA after only one season, and subsequently Memphis was forced to forfeit their entire season which ended in the Final Four.
As an aside, Memphis was also forced to vacate their only other Final Four appearance in the mid '80s. I am planning a reality show featuring players from schools forced to forfeit games and seasons due to misbehavior. A cast of thousands, as they say.
2) He has yet to apologize for his mistake.
We all make mistakes, I said, but without contrition his bad example is made worse. So I asked for the shirt, which we gave to goodwill, and offered to buy him a new one. He chose a Bulls shirt without a players name.
Teachable moment accomplished. I was proud of his reaction. He really had none, just looked at me as if to say "Yeah Dad, that makes sense." I reminded him that character is the way you behave when nobody is watching you.
I have never met Derrick Rose. Seems like a nice guy. Brilliant basketball player. He's young and has the talent to be an All Star for years to come. It's also apparent he had no interest in going to college, forced to do so by the ridiculous requirement that you must be 19 to play in the NBA. Have they set a maximum age yet?
Seems like a nice guy. That's the point and where, like Tiger's Nike ad, "I am Tiger Woods." We all craft an public image. Some people are active in social causes, or at least offer opinions once in a while. Some aren't. Tiger Woods is no Muhammad Ali. Or Jim Brown. He plays golf. Like nobody before or since.
Tiger plays golf, but that's really all he does. I have never heard him speak about infidelity or much of anything else, so he is no hypocrite. Flawed? Oh yeah. Hypocrite? Nah. Hello Mark Foley. A friend of mine said at one point, "Tiger's father must be so disappointed." Really? How would I know? How would anyone know?
As a kid one of my heroes was Cardinals great Lou Brock. I went to a game at Wrigley Field when I was 12 with a homemade sign congratulating him on his 3000th hit. Later I sent him a letter requesting an autograph. He (his peeps) sent a form letter saying I needed to send $20 for it. My Dad said to remember the moment, what he does on the field.
Teachable moment accomplished.
Later I remember meeting Artis Gilmore, "the A train," at a Bulls game. No autographs, just a handshake and smile. Much more meaningful.
So to me heroes are like politics. If all politics are local, let's keep the heroes local. Parents, teachers, friends and family. Those we know, or at least think we know.
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