Quoteworthy: A Prayer for Owen Meany

Once in a while, I run into a book or a movie or music that shifts my perspective, makes me see things in a different light; opens up new ways of thinking. "A Prayer for Owen Meany," by John Irving, was such a book.

Here is the opening sentence:

I am doomed to remember a boy with a wrecked voice - not because of his voice, or because he was the smallest person I ever knew, or even because he was the instrument of my mother's death, but because he is the reason I believe in God; I am a Christian because of Owen Meany.

Years later, the words reverberate for me. What an adventure follows for the reader, I thought. I skimmed the first eight pages this morning, and I laughed out loud twice, in public.

A little recommendation for some off-center summer reading. Be patient.

Come look at this! or, the soul of a teacher, part II

In Journalism, you're told not to use exclamation points. Among the Heritage Media Staff, we've discussed it and actually joked about its use at editorial meetings.

So when I exchange emails with a school teacher to schedule an interview or to ask or answer a question, I'm often tickled by the number of exclamation points that are used. In one recent note from a teacher, I counted six exclamation points after a single sentence. Six! (oops.)

Now, this Edgemont teacher had recently been nominated for teacher of the year for the third time. Committed, passionate, driven: you can see it in her writing.

Yesterday, I figured out why. Teachers spend much of each day working with children to see that they grasp concepts and facts. It's a little like my teaching my grandson Noah how to throw or catch a ball.

It is amazing the sophistication of motor skills required to do that. Adults have long since taken it for granted in their lives, but try to teach it to a two-year-old and you begin to understand. The act of releasing the ball at the right time as it's being thrown is not automatic. It needs to be taught, and teaching takes patience and commitment.

It also takes a bit of faith. You're taking a leap that your student will get it: that he will understand the point, will enjoy it, will release the ball at the right time. For the longest time, Noah would would reach behind himself, ball in hand, and as his arm whipped forward to throw the ball, he would open his hand prematurely and release the ball behind his head. It was pretty comical, but puzzling. I mean, c'mon! You're two years old, already!

I realized recently that teachers do this all day long, for several hours each day, with about 30 different children. Some of the stuff surely is rote, a reinforcement of what most have already learned, before you move on to the new stuff.

But some may not have yet gotten it, so you need further work with them, and the need to teach them new stuff is always just around the corner. So you work with your students, teaching in a manner which has worked in the past, trying to be engaging so you command their attention.

And one of the natural approaches is to create excitement. The use of exclamation points in your teaching is a small way to create that excitement, and a teacher will pull out every tool in her or his toolbox to drive that message home.

And then, when they do get it, when the light goes on, you want to call attention to your victory. Not for you, so much - it's what you do - but to your young charge.

Come look at this!!!!!! you say. See what he or she did!!!!!!! They got it!!!!!!!

It's a little like the basketball coach watching a player at the end of the game at the free throw line. There's 0:01 left on the clock. The score is tied; a single point will win it.

With the young person at the free throw line, you've tried everything: overhand, underhand, deep breaths, repetition. It's been largely frustrating. And now the game is on the line.

Up the ball goes, arcing toward the net. Swish! It drops down through the strings, and the game is won. Now, that's good, but as the coach, the key thing, the thing that really lifts you, that makes it all worthwhile, is that the lesson took. The student learned.

Teachers get that every day, every hour in the classroom. It has to be one of the most rewarding parts of their job, and no wonder. Come look at this!

My unique journey through Lent

My Lenten commitments for the last several years have been nothing to write home about. I commit to something or other, and when I arrive at the Triduum and reflect back on what I've learned or how I've changed, I have precious little to show for it. I'm disappointed in myself, but life goes on, eh?

Usually, it's a behavioral thing I try to change, but those are resistant to change; they're habits - they're who we are. Despite this, I decided this Lent to try to be less judgmental and friendlier toward everyone, especially strangers.

I had a weight loss goal, on which I've failed so miserably that I've actually gained weight, although I have a specific plan after Lent that may produce some results.

And, practically or, say, liturgically speaking, I decided to attend daily Mass, and to go on retreat, which I went on yesterday. It helps to have a flexible job schedule to do this. I know I'm very fortunate in that regard.

Interestingly, though, I've realized through thinking about it at Mass, and particularly at yesterday's retreat, that I've been extraordinarily lucky in my life. But luck comes and goes, doesn't it?

As I think about it, maybe a better word is blessed. Now, on a daily basis, I see the world and my role in it through a secular prism. My behavior is guided far more by secular humanism, a very fine thing, than it is by a relationship with the Holy Trinity. I mean, that's difficult even to understand, to grasp. Given that, how do you develop a relationship with it?

Well, it's begun. I don't really understand it, and I'm a bit put off by it. I have no idea where it will end, but I've decided to run with it for a bit. We'll just let it play out, by further practice at what I've begun to do.

I was sitting in Mass yesterday after the retreat that immersed me among about 40 like-minded folk for several hours, and I sang and listened to a hymn whose lyrics I didn't recall ever seeing, although the melody was familiar, and very pretty.

As we sang each verse, I thought, Dear God, He's speaking to me! Note the capital letter "H." Yes, that He.

It was at once alarming and affecting, but I realize more each day that it's part of a journey in which we puzzle over what it means. Some of it we spend in isolation; some of it we share with others.

Today, I share with you the second verse of the "Covenant Hymn," which got to me so powerfully in Mass yesterday:

Whatever you dream, I am with you, When stars call your name in the night.

Though shadows and mist cloud the future, Together we bear there a light.

Like Abraham and Sarah we stand, With only a promise in hand.

But lead where you dream: I will follow. To dream with you is my delight.

Have a great day.

Basketball walk

I've examined this photo for months now. To me, the facial expression is fascinating. What does it remind you of? I see curious. I see eager. I see a young boy filled with potential, whose life I hope will be filled with goodness, love and adventure. God bless you, Noah.

Amma and Pa's recent visit to Noah featured delightful weather, and a little boy who is adventure, who is fun, and never stops, except when we insist that he eats something, and takes a nap.

Yesterday it was basketball, in fact all sorts of balls - tennis, soccer - at play. Noah has a small basket into which he's able to dunk a ball, but he made a couple attempts at the official 10 foot high basket yesterday. That need a little work.

I kicked the ball over toward the fence, and encouraged him to kick it against the fence, catch the rebound with his foot, and whip it back against the fence, hard, trying all the time to control the ball. It's how his Dad learned to be a good soccer midfielder. Matthew was able to remove the ball from contention with one hard well-placed kick, and change the direction of a game in an instant.

A little later, Noah led me on a walk around the garage. There are narrow alleys to the right of and behind the garage. We began by walking through a bed of volcano rock down a corridor that was about four feet wide, made a sharp left and reached a patchy area of grass behind the garage.

As we made our way toward the open backyard and the lush open grass, he began to run and to yell. I did the same and began to run and yell myself. We did it many more times together, and I began calling it the "basketball walk." I told Noah that we would use the walk to build our stamina and agility, so that we would become better basketball players.

A little later, I began running sideways on the grass, like sliding during basketball practice, and he loved it. He began doing it too, and we had the best time.

After he went inside and took his bath, we played with a beach ball in the living room. After working on this for a few months, he has learned how to catch the ball, and to throw it back to me. He puts the ball behind his head, and has now learned to release it at the right point so it flies toward me, instead of off into space.

When Amma and Pa bid him goodbye, it was as if we were saying farewell to someone with whom we'd just shared a great daylong adventure, like a whitewater rafting expedition. It was that much fun.

Please be careful of pedestrians and bikers

I ran for 15 years, and biked for a few years. I know the hazards of being out there with drivers of automobiles whose first thought may not be avoiding the runner or the biker alongside then, or who suddenly appears in front of them.

As a driver of an automobile, I'm sometimes guilty of it too. Yesterday, I drove past a poignant memorial at the northwest corner of Haggerty and Michigan, a remembrance of a young lady's untimely death, and a reminder to please be careful with those just outside our vehicles.

When I approach an intersection, I look left and right and ahead to spot pedestrians. Runners and bikers have a way have a way of suddenly appearing, and you realize after a few close calls that you should have been more careful, paid more attention.

The burden, I think, falls on runner and bikers as well. I used to ensure I had eye contact with the driver of the vehicle before I proceeded to cross its path.

Let's watch out for each other.

The price of piety

I've been going to Mass most weekdays, to St. Thomas a' Becket in Canton. I did it partly for Lent.

I learned when I began to lector that the liturgies that often had the most impact on me were those that I chose to go to, as opposed to the weekend obligation. And it's been very worth it. I've enjoyed it, and I'm learning. It's quite a good way to start your day.

But I stopped today in Belleville to fill the car up with gasoline, and at $4.10 per gallon, I spent just north of $65 on on a tank fillup. So the attendance at Mass has become a sort of investment - it has a quantitative cost, a qualitative benefit (I'd like to think), and a resulting return on my investment. I'm gonna say it's worth it.

The first day of spring

Noah got to play in his backyard just a bit on

Tuesday, and his Dad briefly came out of retirement to take a photo or two.

I'm glad he did. They capture Noah's excitement and what is sure to be an adventure-filled spring and summer, as he, among many other things, hones his basketball skills. He needs a little more work on the tomahawk dunk, but that is one sweet outside shot - nothing but net.