Author: danwhitehi@gmail.com

CThis is Christmas Eve Day if you celebrate Christmas. When I was growing up, there were two kinds of families with respect to Christmas, those who opened their presents Christmas Eve and those who did so Christmas morning. The former kind of family must have moved past the Santa phase. The latter counted on the time after the kids went to bed to tackle “Some Assembly Required” presents. The Whites were confirmed Christmas morning celebrants.

Over my 71 years, I have been blessed with countless Christmas presents; ones that last and don’t require any assembly. I’ll open a few here this Christmas Eve to demonstrate that old dogs can learn new tricks.

First among them is the collection of memories from my growing up.  Mom loved to tell two stories every year about Christmas and me: as a six-month old, I allegedly let out my first real belly laugh when I saw my sister, Sandee, descend the stairs dressed as an angel for a play; a couple of years later, after opening a pile of presents, apparently I cried that I was getting too many.

Laughing “at” my sister rather than “with” her actually makes me sound unwittingly mean. Protesting over getting too much makes me sound unreasonably angelic. I don’t think Mom intended either but she sure enjoyed her stories.  Her annual re-telling of such family myths is a fresh present in my mind’s eye every year.

So are her Christmas trees dripping with tinsel and lit with lights the size of night light bulbs, always colored, never clear. We would find strands of tinsel in the living room into March! Mom was fine with replicating that tree every year, too. Dad’s role was to place the angel on the top of the tree, an adornment that got pretty dirty over nearly 50 years of use.

There was the year when a young woman serving Dad’s church as a youth pastor spent Christmas with us, her family distant in the Midwest. When she opened one particular package, she began to cry. That was the first time I remember seeing a grown-up cry tears of joy, as I was told they were, although…

The second present is big, and didn’t big packages always carry a specialness?  Inside are times Judy and I have shared. As members of the San Diego High School Choir, we sang at the Hotel Del Coronado as diners enjoyed their Christmas Eve dinners.  That was a date for us! We also learned how tough it is to sing when nobody is really paying attention.

There is the Christmas on Mt. Vernon Avenue when our house was burglarized, and the thieves took all of the presents from under the tree. Ha! The joke was on them, maybe. Some (ranging from a few in Judy’s version of the story and most in mine) of the packages were empty, trick presents. So, all the bad guys got was a box, some wrapping paper, and a bow, several times over. (Judy’s story is probably more accurate but way less satisfying in a very uncharitable way.)

Christmas 1968, we were living in Seattle as a year as grad students. On Christmas Eve, as the Apollo astronauts circled the moon on TV, we worked with Jim and Joann Richards on the “Some Assembly Required” gifts for their three boys.  Jim’s parents, Lorene and Gene, were watching and encouraging.  Just recalling Lorene and Gene is always a gift.  That their great-grandson just graduated last week from the University of Hawaii, Manoa with Jim, Joanne, their daughter-in-law, Teresa, and one of those boys, Dan, (now a dad himself) in attendance was this year’s refreshment of a treasured story.

How about Christmas Eve in London and Christmas Day in Nairobi in 1985? Or the Christmas Eve candlelight services over the years, or the year our very tall Christmas tree, fully decorated, fell over one night?

Judy and I never got into the tinsel habit.  Early in our married life, we bought some plastic snowflakes, clear enough to let light through them, giving the illusion of many more lights on the tree than were actually there.  We have put up a tree again this year, and there are still enough of the snowflakes to cover it.  We also made some ornaments ourselves as we were just starting out.  They, too, now adorn this year’s tree.

I have written before about that moment of pure grace we shared with Mom and Chad and Sandee in the car on a chilly Christmas Eve waiting to go into the church service listening to Ke’ali’i Reichel’s Christmas album. Count that as most precious.

That night is a part of the third present, an audio one.  Christmas music, some ancient, some modern, some sacred, some not. We enjoyed three Christmas concerts this year. We have nearly as many Christmas CDs as the number of years we have been married, and each one has the effect of putting us in specific times of our lives. Writing holiday greeting cards to people we have not seen in a while, listening to those CDs, is an exercise in the joy of remembering, opening a trove of treasure.

People of a Certain Age, you have your own presents under your own trees if you celebrate Christmas.  And if you do not celebrate Christmas (most of the world does not), there is still a gift we can all share. When else do we make such a fuss over light and love?

Daniel E. White

December 24, 2018

Common Threads

“…a believer in God does not allow his brother or sister to go hungry or live in unfortunate condition…” “Whosoever believes in God and the last day, let him not harm or annoy his neighbor…” “Worship God and join none with him in worship, and do good to parents, kinsfolk, orphans, the poor, the neighbor who is near of kin who is a stranger, the companion by your side, the wayfarer (you meet)…Verily, God does not like such as are proud and boastful.”(Quran 4:36)

“Love thy neighbor as thyself; do not do to others what thou would not wish to be done to thyself; Forgive injuries. Forgive thy enemy, be reconciled to him, give him assistance, invoke God in his behalf. Virtue is not left to stand alone. He who practices it will have neighbors. (Confucius)

“The full scope of the law of this faith tradition requires believers to protect their fellow man. Believers are commanded not to leave a condition that may cause harm, to construct homes in ways that will prevent people from being harmed, and to help a person whose life is in danger, so long as it does not put the life of the believer in danger.  These commandments are so important that they override all of the ritual observations that people think are the most important part of the faith. Almost any commandment may be violated to save a life.” (Judaism 101: Love and Brotherhood website)

The way to happiness is to keep your heart free from hate,your mind from worry. Live simply, give much. Fill your life with love. Do as you would be done by. Sometimes, it is better to be kind than right. If you light a lamp for somebody, it will also brighten your path.  (Guatama Buddha)

“A staunch devotee had undertaken a prolonged fast to empower himself spiritually.  When he was about to break his fast, God appeared to him in the forms of starving mendicants and begged him for food and water. Even before he broke his fast, the devotee distributed whatever food and water was available to him and said that, since all are God’s children, the food must nourish everyone.” “Love of neighbor is a fundamental requirement fora believer who aspires for final liberation from this world.” “One should not do unto others that which would cause pain if afflicted on oneself.”(Mahabharata 5:15;17)

“And who is my neighbor?” “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he fell among robbers, who stripped him and beat him,and departed, leaving him half-dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite,when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was; and when he saw him, he had compassion, and went to him and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine;then he set him on his own beast and brought him to an inn, and took care of him. And the next day, he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper,saying, ‘Take care of him; and whatever more you spend, I will repay you when I come back.’” ‘Which of these three, do you think, proved neighbor to the man who fell among robbers?’ He said, ‘The one who showed mercy on him.’ “Go and do likewise.’”  (Luke 10: 29-37)

It is not necessary to know what priestly obligations are or what a Levite was or how the Samaritans were regarded by the people to whom the story was being told. The rightness of the action speaks for itself. As the Buddha said “sometimes it is better to be kind than right.” What a gift it is when being kind is the right thing to do.

The commandments, admonitions, and stories above represent the major faith traditions of the world. They articulate beliefs expected of adherents of the faith. In general, they are counter to the messages to which we are subjected from those who can only see themselves as having exclusive access to The Truth.

People of a Certain Age, we have lived a while.  We know history.  We have shed the naivete that hopes all people will get along all the time. Those people in history articulating the religious principles above were not naïve, either. None suggest that any of us is perfect.  They all lay out paths we mortals could follow should we choose to move toward perfection.

The six faith traditions above grew out of historical and philosophical circumstances unique to place and time.  They have articulated common, not identical,threads. We can hope for, and aspire to, more understanding about these threads and how they comprise the fabric of humanity, in the past, now, and for all time. The believers in these faith traditions will forever be touching different parts of the elephant (remember the poem, “The Blind Men of Hindustan?”).  Perhaps after we depart this life, we will see the whole elephant and understand. I hope so.

For now, as Ellen DeGeneres has said, “why can’t we all get along and just judge each other by the kinds of cars we drive?”

Daniel E. White

December 10, 2018

People of a Certain Age, when you were a kid, did your Mom make you sit down and write a thank you note for every gift and check you received for Christmas or your birthday? My mother did.

I’m glad she did because she was instilling a good habit in me, to say thank you.

The trouble I always had was with the next couple of sentences my five-year-old self felt compelled to write beyond.  “Thank you for the check for five dollars.” I felt like I should add another thought or two in my child’s printing style to provide any benefactor with more than just one sentence.

This explains why so many of the letters I wrote at that age included something like “How are you? I am fine.” And then a printed closing “Your friend Danny.”

At that time in my life, I was not prone to commenting about the weather or chirping “how ‘bout them Yankees?” So the letters were short. They were required work, however, and always needed to include the words “thank you.” “Thanks” was too informal.

The advent of Thanksgiving this year got me thinking about thanking. Americans have shared a common understanding about “the first Thanksgiving,” when the settlers from England and Native Americans shared a feast, the settlers thanking God they were still alive and had food. (Not much has been written about why the Native Americans showed up, but they were probably invited, and showing up when invited is good manners.)

Abraham Lincoln is credited with officially designating one day for Thanksgiving in all states in 1863, choosing the fourth Thursday in November. Note that this was two months after issuing the Emancipation Proclamation.

Other countries have set aside official Thanksgiving holidays, too, often toward the end of harvest season.  The fact that, today, the vast majority of celebrants do not harvest any of the food they eat at Thanksgiving is beside the point.  There is a day when people are encouraged to give thanks, by national proclamation, and that’s just fine.

That’s Thanksgiving, the holiday. What about a life of thanksgiving?

There is a tire dealer in Hawaii who ends every commercial, or radio or television with “thank you very much.” There is something about the earnestness with which the words are clearly enunciated and carefully spoken to make one believe that the fellow (now deceased) really means to thank you for your business.

“Antiques Roadshow” on PBS is preceded and followed by short statements from sponsors that include one citing those of us who contribute money to PBS.  At the close of that citation, a woman’s voice sparkles the words “thank you,” making it almost sound like she is pleasantly surprised. It’s hard not to answer her “you’re welcome!”

My guess is that all of us in our About Aging network say thanks whenever someone hands us something or offers a compliment. “Thanks” is as automatic as “how’re you doing?” or “fine, thanks.”  It illustrates what Dad loved to call an attitude of gratitude.

Dad loved rhymes. He certainly did not invent that one. He probably preached a sermon or two by that title. He could not have known that Psychology Today would publish articles about the benefits of an attitude of gratitude on one’s mental health, because he died several years before the articles were published.

I thought about Dad’s attitude of gratitude when thinking about thanking. I thought about the almost electric spark that one can feel thanking someone else or being thanked. I felt that the other day when a worker at my house, as he was leaving, thanked us for being “so accommodating to his work.” I didn’t think I had done anything remarkable but he did and he said so, making the next few moments of my life sparkle.

The holiday is a special time to count your blessings, especially the big ones: family, friends, good health, comfortable living, freedom, grace, and so on.  It wouldn’t hurt to be grateful every day for these big things, beyond the fourth Thursday in November while eating a big meal.

People of a Certain Age, any of us could make a long list of little things for which we are grateful: the people who keep the electricity coming to our homes; the person who delivers our paper each morning; the engineers who work out traffic, construction, and mechanical stuff; teachers, etc. I’m grateful for the fact that major league baseball will start up again in little more than three months and that skilled people in the Marlborough region of New Zealand make good wine from Savignon grapes.

It is folly to believe that one can feel grateful for bad stuff in life but, hey, sometimes it takes a bout of bad stuff to remind us to be grateful for the good. In Hawaii, “Kimo’s Rules” include: “No rain, no rainbows.”

My Mom got me started in the attitude of gratitude in a formal way, awkward and childish though the messages might have been. My Dad reminded me to be grateful for more than presents. When I remember to live a life of thanksgiving, I honor them, too.

Daniel E. White

November 22, 2018

In November 1968, candidate Richard Nixon began to wrap up a speech by saying “And so tonight—to you, the great silent majority of my fellow Americans—I ask for your support.” Nixon used the term to describe citizens who did not take part in demonstrations and were not, in his way of thinking, counter-culture.

People of a Certain Age remember the phrase—silent majority. I did not take part in demonstrations, nor did I think of myself as counter-culture, so, according to Nixon’s definition, I would have been a part of the group. But, in terms of my attitudes and beliefs, I was not.

Still, Nixon’s taxonomy, dividing the voluble from the silent, accurately, if very generally, described the American polity. One couldn’t really tell what most of the people were thinking because they were not talking in noticeable ways. That division rings true today.

New York Times columnist David Brooks has written about More in Common, “a new international initiative set up in 2017 to build communities and societies that are stronger, more united, and more resilient to the increasing threats of polarization and social division,” first registered in the United Kingdom. Researchers for More in Common have written a typology of the American electorate, defining seven groups across the political spectrum.

Brooks wrote, “It won’t surprise you to learn that the most active groups are on the extremes—Progressive Activists on the left (8% of Americans) and Devoted Conservatives on the right (6%).” In his column, Brooks shares his two “big takeaways” from the study, the second of which is “ideas really do drive history.” He asserts that both Progressive Activities and Devoted Conservatives “organize around coherent philosophical narratives” which, he says, are both visions of a just society and “about who needs to be exorcised from society.”

Much of the rest of Brooks’ column describes differences and intensities of beliefs, much of which is predictable. What caught my eye was this: “roughly 2/3 of Americans, across four political types, fall into what the researchers call “the exhausted majority.” 61% say people they agree with the need to listen and compromise more.” (My emphasis.)

President Nixon, in 1968, asserted that there were two groups, the assertive and the silent.  It is not much of a stretch to suggest that the same two groups still exist, though named a bit differently.  A significant difference between then and now is that both groups are subjected to “noise” 24/7 in which the committed reinforce their biases and the rest just want some peace and quiet. These are the exhausted majority.

Brooks notes that, unlike the Progressive Activists and the Devoted Conservatives, the “people in the exhausted majority have no narrative.” He concludes by saying, “I don’t know what the next political paradigm will look like, but I bet it will be based on abundance not deficits; gifts, not fear; hope, not hatred.”

Now, here is a challenge worth the effort to meet: to construct a “coherent political narrative” for the exhausted majority!

To start the process, we might propose a few ground rules:

1. Ignore all negative political advertising. Millions of dollars are spent dishing dirt on the assumption that you and I, as voters, are influenced by these messages. Let’s foil the dirt dishers by resolving to explore what candidates say they stand for, specifically, not in generalities like “I support lower taxes.”
2. Start watching TV news at the start of the second half of the show. “If it bleeds, it leads” is the industry standard for news most times. Where are the reports about progress, service, successful endeavors? In the second half, if at all, often after the weather.
3. Engage where you can make a difference. Let the D.C. types snipe at each other and let us attend to the local opportunities to make the places and communities where we live better. James and Deborah Fallows have written Our Towns about the small cities and communities that have confronted change in a positive way, citizens working together without regard to political labels. It is a worthwhile read. Haven’t most of the creative developments in the history of humans living in harmony with each other started small, locally, in neighborhoods and communities?
4. Perhaps construct a matrix detailing areas of agreement across political boundaries. List a variety of questions like “do you believe that all citizens should have equal access to the opportunities of the community?” and “do you believe in freedom of speech?” that people would answer and then talk with each other about their responses. My bet is that there will be more than 90% agreement among the discussants about what we believe and the values we share.
5. Decide to be agreeable even when we disagree. Overwhelm any negative types with kindness and respect.

And, we might also recall that the message projected by the last President to be elected by winning over 58% of the popular vote was “Morning in America,” and the President who won more votes than any other person in American history assured us “Yes, we can.”

Wouldn’t you like to help construct a coherent political narrative for the exhausted majority built around mornings and possibilities?

Daniel E. White

November 11, 2018

A good friend enjoys researching family trees. A while back, she urged Judy to let her go to work on the Barker and Strobel families of Southeast Missouri, the clans of Judy’s biological parents.  Along the way, our friend has uncovered lots of interesting connections, names, and relatives, including a common ancestor for Judy and a friend of our friend’s daughter, back six generations ago.

Another noteworthy discovery was that, through the Barker side, Judy has lineage back to the second sailing of the Mayflower to America in the 17^th century.  That has given me a target for when our friend began my family tree; find blood kin of mine on that voyage or, even better, on the ship’s first trip to the New World.

I’m sure I will finish out my time on earth content even if I can’t establish any link with the Plymouth Colony of 1621. It’s just fun to think that, for this particular dancing with the souls on Dia de Los Muertos, there might be a few more folks I can call kin.

Note: On the first voyage of the Mayflower was a family named White whose son, Peregrine, was the first English male known to be born in America. Peregrine married Sarah.  Their first born was named…Daniel!

My friend has traced my family to Maryland, early 19^th century.  Now, if I can just find the link between then and 17^th century Massachusetts…

I have a different heritage tree, too, as do we all.  Recently, in the course of helping to write a history of the Hawaii Association of Independent Schools on the occasion of its 50^th anniversary, I was engaged in conversation with two people who are prominent limbs on my heritage tree.

One was instrumental in my becoming involved with school accreditation.  Because of that work, I met the second person, who was the catalyst for our moving to Hawaii in the first place and the matchmaker who put us together with the fellow working hard to get an independent school going in Kapolei. Needless to say, I am grateful to them both.

Driving home from that conversation, I thought about who preceded those two on my tree, and what effect I have subsequently had on the trees of others. I was in the position to become involved in accreditation because I was head of a school.  I was head because another friend suggested to the appropriate powers-that-were that I should be the head. I was at the school and a colleague of my friend because of a chance conversation on an elevator in Los Angeles several years before.

Island Pacific Academy, the previously referenced school in Kapolei, was one of several projects in which my catalyst-friend got me involved. There were academic programs at UH resulting from our professional collaboration and important work within the Hawaii Association of Independent Schools that followed. In every one of those projects, there were other professionals whose lives engaged with mine and for whom I am likely a branch on their professional heritage tree.

It is fair to say that few, if any, of the branches and limbs on my tree extending backward and forward in time could have been predicted.

People of a Certain Age, have you ever taken some time to think about your professional heritage tree? You have probably had more to say about who is on that tree, as opposed to your family tree, because none of us can choose our parents, and all of us have made choices about what to do in our lives and when. Who could have guessed, though, that, in my case, a chance conversation in an elevator in December, 1978 would have been directly linked to Island Pacific Academy or the seven cohorts of students (about 160 people) I’ve helped to educate in the M.Ed in Private School Leadership at UH Manoa?

Those branches of my professional tree who have left this world are hereby invited to join this year’s dancing of the souls on Dia de Los Muertos. They are family, too, in a way.

Many of you, like Judy and me, are fans of the PBS show “Finding Your Roots.” Henry Louis Gates has turned family histories of famous people into moments of real discovery, sometimes of notable heritage, sometimes of blood lines leading to less praiseworthy relatives.  We’ve become attuned to the value of DNA as a scientific method of establishing family connections.

What’s the DNA of your professional heritage tree? Are there branches or even limbs you would just as soon have lopped off? How much and in what ways are the people on your tree responsible for the arc of your life?

Dia de Los Muertos is an annual reminder that we are not of completely our own making. To those who see themselves as self-made, this might come as a surprise. To those of us who take pride in being a part of an ever-growing tree and treasure our lineage, it is a welcome reason for dancing.

Daniel E. White

October 29, 2018, the 98^th anniversary of my Mother’s birth

We saw the documentary “Three Identical Strangers.” A young man goes off to college and encounters students who welcome him back, even though he has never been there. Soon, they all learn that the young man has an identical twin about whom he had never known, and they meet.

Their story makes the newspapers. A reader notices how much the young men look like someone he knows. Before long, the triplets meet for the first time and begin a short period of sustained happiness in each other’s company.

Rent the movie if you are interested in knowing more. What comes out is an awful truth. The boys were intentionally separated at birth as part of a research project trying to determine whether “nature” or “nurture” was the more dominant factor in the arc of one’s life. Compounding the horror to our sensibilities is that these experiments began in the same decade as Nazi experiments on human subjects and were conducted by men and women whose families had been touched by the Holocaust.

In a recent edition of The Week, Adam Sternbergh details an actual course in the Psychology Department at Yale (Psych 157; Psychology and the Good Life) that has overflow enrollment because students view the course as lessons in how to be happy.

Professor Laurie Santos says she invented the course because “I think we really have a crisis writ large at colleges in how students are doing in terms of self-care and mental health.” Then she adds, “Sadly, I don’t think it’s just in colleges.”

In the course, Professor Santos shares the scholarship of a current University of California, Riverside professor, Sonja Lyubomirsky, who studies what factors affect happiness. Professor Lyubomirsky asserts, based on her experiments, that 50% of happiness is determined by our genes. 10% results from circumstance. The remaining “40% is determined by your thoughts, actions, and attitudes.”

So, if the professor is right, 50% is beyond your control and 40% is completely within your control. You might be in charge of the remaining 10% as well if it involves changing particular circumstances.

Imagine that! Another either-or proposition (nature versus nurture) might actually be a both-and one (nature and nurture). It might be tempting to say that the nature-nurture matter is neither black nor white but some shade of gray. I prefer a different mix, the one on Holstein cows, Dalmatian dogs, and leopards. Splotches and spots highlight the presence of more than one color without either losing its brilliance.

People of a Certain Age, when you reached that certain age, didn’t you already know that nature is not destiny? How many stories can you cite that tell about people whose lives far outdistance those of their progenitors? Likewise, how many stories are there about individuals born into awful circumstances who rise above those circumstances to accomplish significant things?

Or vice versa. How many children of smart people or affluent people crash and burn in their own lives?

Assume that Professor Lyubomirsky is right. Whether you are happy or not is 50% a function of your family’s genes. If your lineage is genetically gloomy, would you just stop trying to be happy? Perhaps, if being unhappy makes you, perversely, happy. I know a few people who seem delighted to be persistently negative, pessimistic, unhappy. I don’t spend much time in their company.

By avoiding pessimists, I have begun building support for either the 10% somewhat in my control (changing circumstances) or the 40% completely in my control.

Given that my life to this point suggests that my 50% factor was positive, building such support is expanding my happiness potential.

Does it matter whether nature or nurture is the more important factor in one’s life? In the middle of living an actual life, does anyone step back to ask that question?

If you are so inclined, you could look back in history to the writings of John Locke and other philosophers who theorized about such questions. The question has been around for hundreds of years, and the social sciences, when they formed in the 19^th and 20^th centuries, readily picked up questions like this for academic study.

I am a fan of academic study. I have studied, academically speaking. We have learned many things through the rigorous and disciplined processes of academic research. What Lyubormirsky has written intrigues me. Yet, I can imagine that a person working on a farm or in a factory from dawn until dusk doesn’t care a bit about what social science research says he or she should be thinking or feeling.

I think Professor Lyubomirsky would advise her readers that, while you inherit factors from your family, your life is influenced by your attitudes and actions. Any of us can be happy despite, or even because of, hard work required of us each day or the bumps we encounter in life.

Professor Santos’ class seems predicated on the understanding that actions and attitudes matter. I think she would be satisfied if her students left her class saying, “I choose to be happy.”

Happily, I don’t think I need to take that class.

Daniel E. White

October 16, 2018

When I was 18 and just returned from my trip around the world on the Semester at Sea, I got the idea to transfer from UC Riverside to UC San Diego. My roommate was making the switch, and Judy (who would also have transferred to UCSD) and I were from San Diego anyway.

I held a full-ride scholarship at UCR that would not transfer automatically to UCSD. I asked Dad if he would approve my transfer. He said no, emphatically. No doubt, the uncertainty about the scholarship was an important factor. He also saw that, while I had a year and one -half experience invested in becoming involved at UCR, I would be starting over at UCSD.

I did not receive his answer well. In hindsight, I am grateful to him, as my parent, making a decision for me even though I was 18.

After his simultaneous stroke and heart attack when he was 79, I was put in the position of advising Mom about decisions on his behalf. Another one of the ironies of life.

The subject of making decisions for a loved one came to mind as we watched the movie, “The Leisure Seeker.” Judy had ordered the DVD from Netflix, in part because of the premise of the movie and good reviews, but also because the stars were Helen Mirren and Donald Sutherland. They play a couple married for more than 50 years and devoted to each other. He, though, is a victim of severe dementia, and she is succumbing to cancer.

They undertake a road trip in their RV that they had long ago named “The Leisure Seeker.” To the consternation of their son and daughter, the couple had not let them know they were leaving or their route and destination. It is hard not to root for the couple as they tap into memories while, at the same time, enjoying a freedom of action that had become constrained at home by their well-meaning children.

It is also possible to identify with the children. They worry that either parent, away from medical support, will come to some harm, or accidentally harm others. There is no doubt that they would say “we’re only thinking of you.”

Our family experienced a similar moment in Mom’s final years. One spring, after having fallen several times, she suddenly needed more and more help around the house, and benefitted from friends delivering meals from time to time. She sold her car, got rides from other friends to church, and had her tenant grocery-shop for her.

Her children suggested that the time might have come for her to move to a retirement community. My sister, Sandee, and Judy toured a few and suggested a visit to the one nearest to Mom’s church. To our surprise, Mom agreed to go.

She seemed to love it. The apartment she saw had ample room, a lovely lanai, and pine trees that Mom said reminded her of camping. Compounding our surprise, she deposited $2000 and took away the papers she would need to complete in order to rent the space.

When I telephoned her a few days later, she said, “I can’t do it. I can’t leave here. I want to die in this house.” Whether or not she was trying to please her kids by saying that she would move, we will never know. That house, though, was the only one she had ever owned.

The prudent choice for her was to move. We encouraged her to do so. We did not insist. It was good fortune that Mom had the financial resources to undertake the risks of staying put. In the last six months of her life, she needed the 24-hour care that would have been a feature of the retirement community.

People of a Certain Age, our certain age puts us in the middle of the time frame for yet one more crucial life decision, one that either we will have to make (or perhaps have already made), or, possibly, will be made by others in our behalf. When is it the right thing to do to insist on deciding something for someone else?

Answering the question might well pit head against heart. Tough decisions often do.

A Stanford Professor of Psychology, in a speech to independent school educators several years ago, described a continuum of decision-making for parents and children in the early years. Until a certain age, parents make nearly all of the decisions in behalf of a child. At some point, the child is independent. The professor argued that the longer the period of shared decision-making from birth to adulthood, the better the outcomes for all concerned.

That’s a hard point to prove and harder still to implement if the child develops confidence early in life in her capacity to make good decisions for herself, and she is right. (Dad’s intervention in 1966 seemed late in my life by the professor’s standard. But it turned out okay.)

I wonder if the model holds promise for situations in later years; shared decision-making. In discussions about “do not resuscitate” or exercising “the right to die” in states where that is legal, loved ones are encouraged to talk about these issues in advance, and perhaps even to write down what those discussions conclude.

Perhaps matters like treatment for illness or moving to another living situation, etc. might also become topics for conversations between loved ones before any need arises.

Or perhaps circumstances vary so widely from family to family that we need to acknowledge that there are few hard and fast rules to follow here, that we are all obliged, in the end, to do the best we can.

Daniel E. White

September 24, 2018

On January 13, 1920, The New York Times editorialized: “That Professor [Robert] Goddard with his ‘chair’ at Clark College and the countenancing of the Smithsonian Institution does not know of the relation of action to reaction, and the need to have something better than a vacuum against which to react—to say that would be absurd. Of course, he only seems to lack the knowledge ladled out daily in high schools.”

“After the rocket quits our air and really starts on its long journey, its flight would be neither accelerated nor maintained by the explosion of the charges it then might have left. To claim that it would be is to deny a fundamental law of dynamics, and only Dr. Einstein and his chosen dozen, so few and fit, are licensed to do that.” (Here is Where, Andrew Carroll, p. 257)

New York Times editorial page July 21, 1969: Under the headline, CORRECTION, the Times ran a three-paragraph editorial that owned up to its January 1920 comments mocking Goddard’s intellect and belief that a rocket could reach the moon.” (Carroll, p. 263)

Carroll also noted: 1. That when Goddard went to Washington D.C. in 1942 to promote rocketry, all military branches rebuffed him; 2. In 1944, more than 3000 V-S rockets, built by German scientists led by Werner Von Braun, killed more than 7000 people in England and Belgium; 3. Werner Von Braun, once in America, observed that “in the history of rocketry, Dr. Robert Goddard has no peer.  He was first.” (Carroll, p. 254)

The fact that the Times had demeaned Goddard’s scientific assertions in the 1920s only to retract their criticism in 1969 holds its own intrinsic interest. It also raises other questions that seem pertinent these days when some in political life struggle with what the First Amendment authors meant by “freedom of the press.”

The first question:  what other geniuses have been pilloried, their ideas subjected to scorn by critics who have little professional backgrounds upon which to base their critiques? This phenomenon is not new. It took several hundred years for the Roman Catholic Church to acknowledge that Galileo was right.

Is it too much of a stretch to suggest that, in general, genius is counter-cultural?  After all, genius disturbs the prevailing norms.

The second question: why is it so hard for people in public life—and I include political and corporate leaders and professional news outlets—to say “I was wrong. I made a mistake?” To be fair, the answer might be that all are human, and a large number of humans have trouble saying “I was wrong. I made a mistake,” and meaning it.

Commenting on TV about recent elections, former Hawaii Governor Neil Abercrombie was expressing support for a state Constitutional Convention. The TV host noted, “but you have said you opposed a convention.”

“That’s right. I changed my mind. I was wrong,” responded Abercrombie. Note that he is retired, in his late 70s, and free from being concerned about what anyone has to say about him.

It reminded me of a change of mind that occurred in California in the 1970s that made some people mad. Governor Jerry Brown, in his first set of two terms in office, changed his mind about Proposition 13. For changing his mind, he was judged unprincipled. He replied that he had gotten more information, a better perspective, and therefore came to a different conclusion than before. I’m okay with leadership that responds to new information and re-thinks.

Question three: when did a segment of the population become more trusting of Facebook postings, tweets, and blogs, written by anyone, (freedom of speech), than the work of people educated into a set of ethics about reporting, supervised by people who hold their positions based upon their ability to exercise good judgment about what got printed or aired? (freedom of the press.)  As the Times story above shows, the professional standard for the press is to correct mistakes, even if they occurred 49 years before!

When teaching US History, I could always draw incredulity from the kids when I noted that Joseph Pulitzer (the prizes named after him are ironic) bragged about his ability to manipulate public sentiment into supporting a war against Spain in Cuba.  His example of “yellow” journalism colors how some think about all media. To be sure, there are publications and broadcasters whose starting point is a clear political point of view. That has been true since the US became a nation. Because some outlets are so tilted in their point of view does not mean that all are.

People of a Certain Age, could we not agree that the Framers separated freedom of the press from freedom of speech deliberately? And they understood, “press” to mean, in their day, print media? To be sure, the Sedition Act of 1798 tried to make publishing anything critical of the Adams administration illegal. But that law was allowed to expire in 1801.  The Framers, like Jefferson and Madison when they were President, defended freedom of the press even when the press opposed their point of view.

For me, a corps of professionals trained in a common set of ethical principles devoting themselves to holding all those who seek or hold power to regular scrutiny, always exercising loyal skepticism, constitutes the press the Framers sought to protect. When one of those outlets, even after 49 years, comes out and admits “we were wrong,” I think the Framers would be pleased.

Daniel E. White

September 10, 2018

Three stories converged recently.

Somehow I discovered that I no longer had an electronic copy of my own book, So Help me God. So I have been entering the text chapter by chapter on a memory stick and revising bits as I see the need.

Chester Alan Arthur became President on September 20, 1881. When he received the telegram confirming the death of President James A. Garfield from medical ineptitude following Garfield’s being shot in the back, Arthur sobbed, “uncontrollably” in the words of his butler.

Arthur had no previous experience in elected office. He had government work by virtue of his allegiance to the boss of the Republican Party machine in New York, Senator Roscoe Conkling. He became the Vice Presidential candidate under Garfield to win for the ticket the electoral votes of New York.

When he became President, people assumed that he would be loyal to the machine. To everyone’s surprise, he was a vigorous supporter of the Civil Service Act of 1883, which he signed. The Act attacked the patronage system upon which the machine’s power was based.

When confronted by a Republican partisan who accused him “of acting differently than he would have before, [Arthur replied] ‘since I came here, I have learned that Chester A. Arthur is one man and the President of the United States is another.’” (Ridings and McIver, Rating the Presidents)

Arthur knew who he was, what his role required of him, and was comfortable with both.

Denny McLain was interviewed in the AARP Bulletin. McLain was the last pitcher in major league baseball to win more than 30 games in a season, in 1968. After his baseball career, “history accurately depicts a guy that was out of control,” McLain says. That period of his life included two prison terms, for embezzling and extortion.

AARP asked if these were the low points of his life. McLain responded: “Denny McLain has had two tragedies in his life. Our daughter was killed by a drunk driver [in 1992] and my wife, Sharon, getting Parkinson’s disease. Otherwise, I’ve had a great life. To worry about the things that happened many, many years ago doesn’t make much sense.”

“I work every day. I’ve got a very sick wife who I take care of the best I can. I do lots of sports memorabilia shows. I am always looking to speak at a dinner—that’s my shtick.”

“I enjoy life as much today as I did when I was 24.”

When asked if he felt slighted by not being in the Baseball Hall of Fame, he said, “my family is hurt much more than I am. I have the memory and the thrill of being a player—that’s my Hall of Fame.”

In March, I was part of a large group of people celebrating the life of a teacher-friend who had died suddenly last summer. A few days after, our friend’s significant other, who had organized the event, sent us a copy of a letter he had received from Sonia Sotomayor, Associate Justice of the U.S. Supreme Court.

While in college, Justice Sotomayor had been tutored by our friend. Though that relationship was well in the past, the Justice wrote kind words about the help and encouragement she had enjoyed from our friend.

Justice Sotomayor is of particular interest to me. I have read dozens of biographies about U.S. Presidents (go figure!). I have read the life story of only one Justice of the Supreme Court, hers. My Beloved World detailed a life begun in circumstances unusual for someone who achieves such high station in life. Justice Sotomayor wrote frankly about the obstacles she faced as an Hispanic woman achieving the education she needed that was prerequisite to building a career in law.

I am partial to her as a Justice because she recalls earlier days when those on the Court had actual experience with criminals, juries and trials, not just appellate experience following a career as a law professor. I am a fan of “the life of the law is not logic but experience.” (Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.) So I was excited when my friend told me some time ago that she had a personal relationship with someone I admired.

What comes through in My Beloved World is a person who does not hold grudges against people or circumstances that might have made her path rockier. Nor does she regret the person she has become, in part because of those obstacles. She seems a person comfortable in her own skin.

I sometimes wonder if our world is filled with people who need to stay busy all the time, enabling them not to think too deeply or too often about the arc of their lives. And, I wonder if that restlessness is rooted in not feeling comfortable in one’s own skin. I’ve lived long enough to know how difficult it is to fairly assess one’s self, an assessment fundamental to coming to feel comfortable about who and what I am.

Perhaps it is a gift, or perhaps mere grace, that allows for people of any age to say to themselves, this is who I am, and feel comfortable about it.

Daniel E. White

August 26, 2018

Recently, we watched the movie Nostalgia. It begins in a cluttered room full of the stuff of the widower’s life where the man sits passively. An insurance appraiser comes to visit, hired by the widower’s granddaughter, to appraise the stuff, to see if there is anything of value worth saving, value meaning money.

The appraiser reports that there are a few things worth not all that much. When he asks the granddaughter whether or not any of the photographs might have a value other than money, she never answers the question.

In the next vignette, the appraiser meets a widow amid the rubble of her house, burned to the ground a few days before. She had time to save only a few items from destruction, pieces of jewelry and a baseball signed by Ted Williams in the 1940s. She is, naturally, distraught over her losses, especially the photographs.

The baseball was a family artifact, passed along from grandfather to father, intended to be passed along to the father’s son. Everyone involved understood the baseball to be more than a ball and a signature. The widow had not yet given it to the son but intended to one day.

But, something prompts her to consider selling the ball through a shop in Las Vegas that trades in collectibles. Ultimately, she does, for something over $60,000. She seems relieved, not by the sum but by not having the ball anymore.

The shopkeeper then leaves, bound for his now-deceased parents’ home, where he meets up with his sister. They are about to begin to disassemble the place, starting in the attic, chock full of things that meant something to the parents, a few triggering memories for the man and his sister, including photographs.

The sister’s daughter comes, asking permission to go away with the weekend with her girlfriends. The mom tries to persuade the daughter to stay and go through the attic stuff with them. The girl gingerly says, “this stuff has no meaning to me. It’s your space, not mine.”

Thus admonished, the mom agrees to let the daughter go with her friends.

On the way, the friend’s car crashes and the daughter is killed.

The film made us think. When do the things we keep for nostalgic purposes become clutter, either for us or for those who will face the task of taking apart our places?

“A picture is worth a thousand words but being there is worth ten thousand pictures.” I spoke these words at Grossmont Christian Church in Spring 1966. I was talking about my trip aboard the Seven Seas, the college-credit program that circumnavigated the globe in a semester. The sentence might be the only original thing I ever have spoken, appropriately pretentious for an 18 year old and achingly obvious.

Taking pictures is a common activity for travelers. The possibilities for picture-taking offered by Smart phones has made all of us more profligate photographers.

Phone camera photos are digital. What about the pre-digital-era pictures we save? Why and for whom? What do we do with them when we begin to downsize our homes?

One of my first About Aging pieces wondered what should be done with the National Geographics we all seemed to find stashed by our parents. Turning these into trash seemed almost sacrilegious. When the pictures are ones you have taken and the destinations you have visited are your own, what do you do? The shelf below our TV, with multiple photo albums, is a regular reminder of the dilemma.

We took those pictures because we wanted to remember. We look at the pictures…almost never. We have disposed of hundreds of photos in the last few years yet hundreds more remain, and a thumb drive in our safety deposit box is our insurance against losing our digital ones accidentally.

We continue to take pictures. Some we have printed and framed. A few of those serve as prompts for conversations beginning “remember when” or “that reminds me of.”

The movie showed the weight nostalgia can be. We saw similar weight when we took apart Mom’s house. We recognize the weight underneath our TV.

To see photos and things as prompts for remembering is not a bad thing. Being there is worth ten thousand pictures but if you cannot be there, the images sometimes do stimulate fond sensory memories.

At a memorial service for a colleague who died young, a slide show about her life ended with a photograph of her taken from above. She is looking up into the camera with sparkling eyes and a smile that blends joy and puckishness. It captures her well.

She is no longer where she once was, available for a hug. She is, however, indelibly fixed in the minds of her friends by that photo, all the senses engaged in the memory.

Beyond that group of her friends and family, the picture has no meaning, however. The daughter in the attic was wise.

People of a Certain Age, the dilemmas remain. Each of us will address them differently as did the folks in the film. For now, perhaps it is sufficient to regard the photos and the stuff as alternate ways of being there.

Daniel E. White

August 12, 2018