Good and Evil

I've written some unkind things about my father, most recently about how I think my father has always drawn power from, in Star Wars terminology, the Dark Side. Today, however, I'll share one of my few stories that just reminds me that people aren't all bad.

I've always known my father was a boxer when he was in the army in World War II - he told me as much on many, many occasions. One must know that he was 48 years old when I was born. My memories of him start when he was well into his fifties, his potbelly well evolved, so these stories of his glory days really didn't hold much weight with the boy who was hearing them.

One day a couple of years ago, my daughter returned from a friends' house and said, "I think Molly's grandfather knew your dad." This wasn't a shock to me - this has happened to me my whole life. My father worked at the only open window in the Albert Lea post office for over 30 years. Anyone who used the post office for 3 decades in Albert Lea, or all of Freeborn county, knew my father.

A few weeks later I was sitting at a school event when Molly's father sidled up next to me. "Megan told me you're from Albert Lea. Are you related to Eli?" And he said it with reverence - almost as if he was going to ask for an autograph. I confirmed that I was and that he was my father. "Man, he was like a god in our house."

Whaaaa? My father? Revered in someone else's house? Huh?

"My father watched your dad box. He was a huge fan. We heard about him all the time." It seems there was some regional champion in my father's weight division who had nearly a perfect record - except against my father. He could not beat my father.

The story does not end here.

The next week I was delivering Girl Scout cookies to my aunt (my father's younger sister) and conveyed this story. She knew who Molly's grandfather was - he was one of a few doctors in Albert Lea. Then she added, "Your father was considered a defender to a lot of people. He was admired by a lot of people in Albert Lea."

I guess I had always thought that people knew him from the Post Office and liked him and that was the basis for the admiration. I never thought much past that. My aunt then shared the following, which I will paraphrase:

This was shortly after the end of WWII, in small town rural America. My father's family was a "first generation assimilation" family. That is, they moved to Minnesota from Mexico and were determined to shed old Mexican traditions and "blend" into the American lifestyle. They modified their names - Salvador became Sam, Pedro became Peter, etc. Despite all these efforts, they were still known as immigrants.

My aunt was sexually assaulted by one of the locals. Given their position in the community she didn't feel that she could do anything about it. However, the guy who did it was known throughout the town as a real SOB. So my father tracked him down and beat the hell out of him. To this day she still feels gratitude for that.

I later asked my father about the incident. Apparently, the guy he beat up was huge. My father is 5'4" and weighed, at the time, maybe 125 pounds. (We are not big people in my family.) There was a crowd surrounding them when they fought. No one stopped the fight. My dad commented - "I beat him for quite a while. He just kept taking it. I beat him until my hands hurt." And then the police showed up. According to my father, even the police knew how much of an SOB this guy was, so they watched until it looked like my dad was punched out, then said, "Eli - are you about done?" My dad said, "Yeah," and sighed. The police sent everyone home.

The police didn't do anything!? I asked my dad. "Nope. Just sent us all home. I think they gave the big guy a ride."

My dad later went on to say that this wasn't the only time he'd "had to set someone straight". In fact, when he said that it triggered a whole bunch of memories of stories where he'd had to "set someone straight" and I finally understood what that really meant.

My father has done some things in his life that are unforgivable. But these stories show me that no one, my father included, is all bad. There is good in us all. And that makes me feel better.

A Poorly Written Note on One Key to Effective Business Writing - Sounding British

And I don't mean using "lorry" for truck, "lift" for elevator, and "wireless" for radio.

While I'm probably not the most authoritative figure in effective business writing, I have unwittingly adopted certain writing elements in my work environment. Only recently (a few days ago) did I realize that I've been aspiring to "sound British" when I write.

For example, let's examine the following sentence as it occurred to me a few days ago.

"I enjoy watching women with big breasts in tight shirts walk in the skyway in the morning."

This is the American version of this sentence. It's pretty clear where my mind is. But still, it has an ugly American feel to it.

How would a British person say this? I'll suggest the following:

"I fancy a woman with sizable bosoms straining a tight blouse during a morning skyway stroll."

This may not be exactly what a British person would say, but I think it's a good approximation. Let's examine the differences.

1. Use of the word "fancy" instead of the phrase "enjoy watching". It's more concise - a 1-for-2 tradeoff. Though one wouldn't normally use "fancy" as a verb in the United States.

2. Use of "tight blouse" instead of "tight shirt". "Blouse" is a more precise word than shirt.

3. Use of "bosom" instead of "breast". "Bosom" is a more maternal word for breasts. It sounds classier.

4. Use of "stroll" instead of "walk". Again, a more precise word.

5. The use of the word "straining". In fact, the phrase "women with big breasts in tight shirts" conjures a slightly different image than "woman with sizable bosoms straining a tight blouse". In the former, the breasts are merely laying there. In the latter, it's as if the bosoms are fighting for release from the shirt. The British version gives the bosoms life, while in the American version the breasts exist only to be observed.

[Author's note: I have long since forgotten how to diagram sentences. Perhaps I'll have my 8th grade daughter do this same analysis, since she's actually diagramming sentences in school this semester.]

What are my keys to effective business writing then? Adopt some of the principles that the Brits have been using for centuries.

1. Be concise. Blouse is a better word than shirt. Stroll is a better word than walk. There's almost always a better word than you first used.
2. Sound classy without tapping the boundaries of the thesaurus. Remember, Americans typically have small vocabularies, so while a very precise word may be great, if no one understands you then its the wrong word.
3. Minimize prepositional phrases. They only serve to redirect the reader from the actual subject. Instead, use adjectives. Notice how "walk in the skyway in the morning" turns into "a morning skyway stroll".
4. Think to yourself, "How would they have said that on Masterpiece Theatre?

Jackson Got a Haircut

So what's the deal with Jackson's hair? I know other parents think this very thought when meeting us. Why do you let him have long hair?

Ah, welcome to the world of tradeoffs. Jackson has Asberger's syndrome, and has sensitivity issues. Katie and I learned long ago to pick our battles. At some point in the past - I'm not even sure when it happened, we stopped fighting the hair battle. We said, "If you keep it washed, combed and out of your eyes, you can have it whatever length you want. And if it's ever a safety issue in sports, it either goes in a pony tail or we cut it." And since then it's never been an issue.

It's been well more than a year since his last trim - I think we took off about 1-2 inches - and over 2 years that he's been able to sport a pony tail. Alas, it is finally "normal". Check it out.







How? Why? Don't really know for sure. Out of nowhere earlier this week Jackson said, "I think I should get a haircut." I checked again with him on Thursday and he was still ready for a haircut. He did mention that he was sick of kids staring at him. That sounded especially troubling to him. He also mentioned that he would no longer be mistaken for a girl. Anyway, when I got home from work last night I asked again, and when he agreed, I suggested we get it done tonight. We went to Perkins for dinner as a family, then went straight to the haircut place.

For the record, the pony tail was about 9 inches long, which qualifies for a Locks of Love donation. He's happy to be giving hair to a kid with cancer. So that's just another reaffirmation for me.

I have great kids.