Christmas Request.

Long time readers of this blog may remember my posts about Matthew Rager. I still follow his story via Caring Bridge, and while Matthew is doing well right now, I would like to pass along a request from his mother regarding one of their Caring Bridge acquaintances:

"There is a little girl named Dasia who has a pontine glioma (tumor on
brain stem) who was hoping to get birthday cards from all 50 states. Her
birthday was Dec. 3rd and her mother posted her birthday hopes on her caring
bridge site. Well I read her update tonight and sadly the little one received
only 3 cards. Here's my favor, do you think we could send her Christmas cards
from all 50 states?
-
I was made aware of this little girl from my online
pediatric brain tumor support group. We are a tight knit group and we will do
all that we can for other kids and parents in need, because we know how it is.
We are all putting this out in cyperspace in hopes that people can send this
beautiful little girl some Christmas greetings. This is her website www.caringbridge.org/visit/dasiaatkinson "

My wife and I are notoriously bad procrastinators when it comes to Christmas Cards, but this time I'm making an exception. So, dear readers, spread the word in the blogosphere and see if we can't get this little girl her Christmas Cards!

Edit: I've clipped Dasia's address from the quote. You can get it by clicking on the Caring Bridge links.

R.I.P. Norman Mailer

American journalist and novelist Norman Mailer died of renal failure in New York City today. I'm still trying to sort my impressions about this news.

I first discovered Mailer while I was a freshman in college. I had read about The Armies of the Night in a magazine article, and being young and flushed with idealism and liberalism, I bought a copy at a second-hand bookstore and immersed myself in a world that I had only seen in The Wonder Years. Needless to say, it was a side of that world that I had never known, but I was drawn in by Mailer's unique writing style, even if I didn't fully comprehend the politics behind the narrative. I've since grown out of my youthful liberalism.


I moved on to The American Dream, a dark portrait of our country that I still haven't figured out. What mattered was that Mailer wielded words the way Monet or Picasso wielded a brush, sometimes with similarly striking results. While in Italy, I read some of Ancient Evenings. I tried to read Of a Fire on the Moon during the summer I spent reading about the space program, but the contrast with the no-nonsense technical histories stymied me and I had to put it down. Likewise, I've never been able to get very far into The Prisoner of Sex, which is a pity, because I believe that in this instance, Mailer and I are in agreement. He seems not to be a fan of the feminists (nor they of him), but alas, here his unique style defeats me.


Possibly my favorite Mailer book is Oswald's Ghost, a remarkable look into the life and mind of a killer. Rather than examine bullet theories and grassy knolls, Mailer delves into Lee Harvey Oswald's history to make the case that he did indeed kill Kennedy and acted alone.


In his historical romances about WWII, Herman Wouk writes of Churchill complimenting Rommel with the words, "Across the gulf of war, I salute a great general." Norman Mailer at once entertained me with his narratives, enthralled me with his style, and disgusted me with his politics. He probably would have been amused by that, and appreciated it. Across the gulf of ideology, I salute a great writer.


Link to image source.

Second Chances.

Michael Yon is an independent writer and former soldier working in Iraq. He chronicles the war from the soldier's viewpoint, telling the story as it is, in a way that is not reported by the Mainstream Media. I like to think of him as a modern-day Ernie Pyle.

By now, the Scott Thomas Beauchamp/TNR story is old news, but I wanted to share with you Yon's follow-up to the story.

"In fact, the commander said Beauchamp, having learned his lesson, was
given the chance to leave or stay."

He stayed. I don't have any other comment on this; read Yon's piece, and undertsand why our troops are the best of the best.

You're Beautiful, Baby.

Unless you happen to live in DC, that is.

I like looking at attractive people as much as the next person, but in my experience a beautiful appearance does not equate to a beautiful heart. I was driving to work one morning and heard a local talk radio host make fun of all the gamers that were in town for Gen Con, a yearly gathering of role-playing game enthusiasts. I don't remember what his specific comment was, but it had something to do with them being geeks and having no life.

I'm a gamer(retired), and I'll freely admit that we're geeks. We take pride in it. But I also can say that for all their quirks, gamers are some of the most loving and caring people I've met, who make friends for life and would do anything for their friends. It's a pity that so-called normal people rarely look beyond our propensity for wearing cloaks and shouting "+4 Battle axe? Leave my wife alone!" to see it.

Matthew Rager Update.

If you've read this blog for a while, you'll remember the story of the little boy with a brain tumor that I found at Michelle Malkin's website. I've been following his story at Caring Bridge, and I thought I'd update all of you on his progress.

Matthew's tumor was discovered when he had a seizure and was rushed to the hospital. He had surgery to remove the tumor, but the pathology report has proved problematic. The pathologists determined that the tumor was malignant (what they call a 'high-grade' glioma, or cancerous brain cells), but they have not been able to determine what exact type of brain cell it is. The family is now in Houston, where Matthew is undergoing radiation and chemotherapy treatment.

My heart goes out to them, and it's a joy to see how strong they are in their faith. Their other son has had a history of seizure s, but has not had one since Matthew's ordeal began. If anyone needs proof that God doesn't throw more at us than we can handle with his help, then there it is. The Ragers are an inspiration to me because of their faith and courage in trying to maintain as normal a life as they can at their home away from home.

Matthew also touches me because when I look at his pictures I'm reminded of my oldest son. They both have the same joy on their faces, in spite of what they must endure. My son has an Autism Spectrum disorder as well as a brain tumor. Thankfully, my son's tumor is not malignant, but it's location in his brain means it would be inoperable if it became so. He must have an MRI every nine months or so to monitor the status of the tumor. Yet like Matthew, my son has that same joy of life and of other people. Matthew's parents have remarked that Matthew is always more concerned one of their Caring Bridge friends that with himself. My son is the same way.

I spent a lot of my youth in the children's hospital undergoing surgeries to repair a cleft lip and palate. That's nothing compared to what some kids go through, and I met many who had terminal cancer or otherwise untreatable or difficult to treat conditions. I'm amazed at the resiliency these kids display in the face of situations that would cow most adults. Indeed, I've seen adults whine and moan about going to the dentist more than kids who have had multiple open heart surgeries.

Please take time to pray for Matthew and his family, and for my son as well. His name is Josh. Pray for their doctors and nurses, and pray for them to be healed. With God, nothing is impossible.

Image from Matthew's CaringBridge album.

Spare a Quarter.

You see them everywhere. Maybe you're like most people and you walk by trying not to catch their eye because you know the inevitable will come. "Hey, buddy, can you spare a quarter?"

They are called disgraceful, dirty, blight, a sign of the government's failure, a sign of society's ills. They are fathers, sons, mothers, daughters. many of them are veterans. Some never went to school, others may be PhDs. You can't tell because they all are marked by years of living on the street, depending on the good will of passers by who know nothing about the demons they are unwilling or unable to face.

I've heard how there are professional bums who make a better living by panhandling on street corners than they would at a full time job. Many people use this as an excuse to duck their head and keep walking. I used to do that.

But then I started working in a poor inner-city neighborhood. I remember the guy I worked with my first night on the job. He was a recovering drug addict who was not very reliable. After I had been there about six months, he finally lost his job because he couldn't make it into work. A year later I was surprised to read an article in the paper about street beggars which featured my former co-worker. I've also seen the guys in the neighborhood that get along by panhandling. I've seen them beg for a dollar and by a cheap bottle of wine; I've also seen them beg for a dollar to buy a pack of bologna.

I think of how blessed I am to have a good job, a good wife, a roof over my head, and a car to get around in. I know that even in the tough times when I have to use almost all of my paycheck to pay bills and I have $20 to live on for the week, I still have a place to stay and plenty of canned goods in the pantry. I trust God to provide what I need, and He is always faithful, whether I get through the week with no new bills coming in the mail, or someone in the grocery line having a quarter when I'm short for lunch. I realize now that there are others who have nothing but that faith, and God does not abandon them. I realize that I'm in a position to be his agent, because I have what I need, and can spare a dollar or two.

Now, when I walk down the street, I don't avert my eyes when I see some guy sitting on a brick holding a cup in his hands. I reach into my pocket and drop some change in. I don't know why he's there, or where he came from. I don't know what he's going to do with my money. I just know that I have it and he doesn't. I do know that he probably sits all day with people walking by as if he doesn't exist. Which is more valuable to him, do you think: a few coins, or simple recognition by a fellow human being? The answer, I think, is in the way they always respond.

"Thanks, brother. God bless you."