Uncommon Common Sense
Friday January 27th 2012

Interesting Sites

Insider

Archives

Just a Thought …

Peo­ple who are brought up to believe they are the cen­ter of the uni­verse seem to have a hard time find­ing their place in the world.

Share and Enjoy:

  • RSS
  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Technorati
  • Digg
  • LinkedIn
  • del.icio.us
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Live
  • StumbleUpon
  • NewsVine
  • Mixx
  • FriendFeed
  • Ping.fm
  • Diigo
  • Sphinn

One Talk Won’t Do It

A radio ad tells par­ents how impor­tant it is to talk to their chil­dren about drugs.  In the con­ver­sa­tion, a father tim­o­rously approaches his son, to have “the big drug talk,” only to find that the boy already knows all about them.  The father’s attempt is obvi­ously too late.

When Dad asks how the boy knows so much about drugs, he replies, non­cha­lantly, that he learned every­thing from his friends.  The mes­sage of the ad is, of course, that he would have been bet­ter off hear­ing it from his dad, had Dad made the effort and done so in time.  Through­out the dia­logue between the two, it is obvi­ous the son knows a whole lot more than Dad about drugs, and the impli­ca­tion is that it is prob­a­bly knowl­edge born of expe­ri­ence or, at least, from direct observation.

It is true that the issues of sub­stance abuse and moral­ity in gen­eral should be adressed by par­ents, but they are not top­ics that can be cov­ered in one well-timed chat.  A par­ent can­not sim­ply call Junior into the den, have a timid ten-minute con­ver­sa­tion  and expect it to pre­pare him for today’s world. Read the rest of this entry »

Share and Enjoy:

  • RSS
  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Technorati
  • Digg
  • LinkedIn
  • del.icio.us
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Live
  • StumbleUpon
  • NewsVine
  • Mixx
  • FriendFeed
  • Ping.fm
  • Diigo
  • Sphinn

12 Step Forgiveness

Sev­eral years ago a man came to the pro­ba­tion office to see me.  He was in a twelve-step recov­ery pro­gram for sub­stance abuse, and said we had some unfin­ished busi­ness from when he was on my case­load, three years earlier. 

He apol­o­gized for how badly he had behaved and admit­ted that, at the time, he would go to any extremes to use alco­hol and drugs and couldn’t have cared less about how he treated peo­ple, espe­cially me, his pro­ba­tion offi­cer.  He wanted to beg my par­don and make right the wrongs he had done.  He added that I was only one of many peo­ple he had to face.  He also made it clear that his suc­cess in com­ing to grips with his past did not lie with my will­ing­ness to receive his apol­ogy, although that would be nice.  The impor­tant thing in his recov­ery was to make the effort.

The fact is, I didn’t remem­ber how he had behaved toward me.  Oh, cer­tainly I accepted his apol­ogy and was thrilled to praise him for his cur­rent efforts, but he was only one of an entire case­load, many of whom had been rude, had con­sis­tently lied to me or been manip­u­la­tive. Pro­ba­tion offi­cers even­tu­ally come to grips with the fact that it isn’t our fault and we try not to take it per­son­ally. Read the rest of this entry »

Share and Enjoy:

  • RSS
  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Technorati
  • Digg
  • LinkedIn
  • del.icio.us
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Live
  • StumbleUpon
  • NewsVine
  • Mixx
  • FriendFeed
  • Ping.fm
  • Diigo
  • Sphinn

Can You Pledge to be Compassionate?

Accord­ing to a “Mail Online” arti­cle of March 6, 2010, an 11 year old boy died of dehy­dra­tion in a South Lon­don hos­pi­tal due to neglect by hos­pi­tal staff.  The arti­cle states that, at one point, the boy was “so des­per­ate for a drink that he rang police to beg for their help.”   When the police responded, they were told the boy was fine.

The arti­cle ends with, “This week a task force called on nurses to sign a pub­lic pledge that they will treat every­one with com­pas­sion and dig­nity.”  I find that inter­est­ing and, frankly, it makes me shake my head in won­der.  Do they really think that will take care of any problems?

Among other things, it is pos­si­ble that the staff is over­worked or that there are severe admin­is­tra­tive prob­lems, in which case a pledge won’t address the real issues.   But, more impor­tantly, if any of those staff mem­bers don’t have a true enough grasp of com­pas­sion — enough that it demands expres­sion in their behav­ior with­out a pledge - sign­ing their names won’t accom­plish any­thing.  That’s because the ideas them­selves may have no intrin­sic meaning.  How can you pledge to do some­thing you don’t truly “get”?

On the other hand, those who do have a gen­uine grasp of com­pas­sion, and who sin­cerely respect the dig­nity of oth­ers, don’t need to sign a pledge.  They will  nat­u­rally demon­strate such virtues because they are essen­tial to their character.

Share and Enjoy:

  • RSS
  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Technorati
  • Digg
  • LinkedIn
  • del.icio.us
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Live
  • StumbleUpon
  • NewsVine
  • Mixx
  • FriendFeed
  • Ping.fm
  • Diigo
  • Sphinn

Donut Dollies Re-Unite

scan0001-3Surely it hasn’t been almost 40 years since I returned from Viet­nam.  Surely the inter­ven­ing years didn’t dis­ap­pear like smoke from a sum­mer camp­fire.  Surely the very real events of my youth haven’t already been rel­e­gated to the unre­al­ity of his­tory.  Surely not, yet I have in my hands a piece of paper that sug­gests oth­er­wise.   This week I received an invi­ta­tion to another Red Cross Donut Dolly reunion. 

The term “re-union” is par­tic­u­larly appro­pri­ate in this case because, as Red Cross recre­ation work­ers in a war zone, we were very much united in spirit and in pur­pose.  We were a team.  We were there for each other.  We cared and we were welded together by a once-in-a-lifetime expe­ri­ence that could never be for­got­ten.  Read the rest of this entry »

Share and Enjoy:

  • RSS
  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Technorati
  • Digg
  • LinkedIn
  • del.icio.us
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Live
  • StumbleUpon
  • NewsVine
  • Mixx
  • FriendFeed
  • Ping.fm
  • Diigo
  • Sphinn

Those Inner Conflicts

bud-esther-abt 1940-coat & hatI think I was in col­lege when I real­ized that some of my inner con­flicts — you know, those lit­tle argu­ments we carry on within our­selves — were the con­flicts my par­ents had with each other. 

The Bud half of me would do some­thing to embar­rass or annoy the Esther half, and vice-versa, leav­ing me  feel­ing I was wrong, no mat­ter which “side” I chose.  My par­ents’ dis­agree­ments had some­how been fused into one per­son­al­ity trait that was now mine, too.  I was  able to carry on the dis­cord, all by myself.  By default it had become nec­es­sary for me to try to solve their issues.

Maybe this is just another way to “inherit” family traits.   Talk about genetic warfare …

Share and Enjoy:

  • RSS
  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Technorati
  • Digg
  • LinkedIn
  • del.icio.us
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Live
  • StumbleUpon
  • NewsVine
  • Mixx
  • FriendFeed
  • Ping.fm
  • Diigo
  • Sphinn

A Name Is Not A Legacy

We were sip­ping cof­fee in Starbuck’s when I noticed “Luis” etched into the sur­face of our table.  Luis no doubt believed he was mak­ing a mean­ing­ful state­ment, but I sus­pect he didn’t think it through. 

Besides the mark in the table, Luis left a more telling impres­sion.  He left evi­dence of some­one who has no respect for other people’s prop­erty and who doesn’t ana­lyze his own behav­ior.  Had he done so, he might have real­ized such a tem­po­ral mark would, in the long run, mean noth­ing.  It is not a pos­i­tive legacy to will­fully dam­age some­thing, and leav­ing one’s name on an object that will, within a rel­a­tively short period of time, either be refin­ished or dis­carded as junk, does not impart immortality.      

As far as I’m con­cerned, graf­fiti is the human equiv­a­lent of dogs mark­ing tires and fire hydrants.  For ani­mals, it is a use­ful act based on instinct.  For peo­ple, it’s sense­less, waste­ful and demean­ing.  Besides the inap­pro­pri­ate­ness of this par­tic­u­lar act, how­ever, I was struck by some­thing else with regard to the gen­eral human need to be noticed and remem­bered.  Read the rest of this entry »

Share and Enjoy:

  • RSS
  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Technorati
  • Digg
  • LinkedIn
  • del.icio.us
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Live
  • StumbleUpon
  • NewsVine
  • Mixx
  • FriendFeed
  • Ping.fm
  • Diigo
  • Sphinn

What’s “Self Esteem” Got to do with Probation?

I think our fix­a­tion on “self esteem” has affected the way pro­ba­tion offi­cers approach the prob­lem of crime and has even con­tributed to our lack of success.

The pri­mary job of sworn peace offi­cers, includ­ing pro­ba­tion, is to keep the com­mu­nity safe.  Period.  Assist­ing offend­ers is sec­ondary to that mis­sion.  How­ever, because we believe in treat­ment, we tend to think our pri­mary objec­tive is to trans­form and renew the nature of those on our case­loads.  We assume that we must make offend­ers see them­selves and their world dif­fer­ently before they can alter their anti­so­cial conduct.

The truth is, in order to change how we feel, we must first change what we do, and the same applies to felons.  Wait­ing until they “feel” dif­fer­ent before we expect them to act dif­fer­ently usu­ally doesn’t work.  It’s too much like post­pon­ing a reli­gious con­ver­sion until we feel worthy—it never comes about because it’s too dif­fi­cult to accept grace when you feel so bad about your­self. Read the rest of this entry »

Share and Enjoy:

  • RSS
  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Technorati
  • Digg
  • LinkedIn
  • del.icio.us
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Live
  • StumbleUpon
  • NewsVine
  • Mixx
  • FriendFeed
  • Ping.fm
  • Diigo
  • Sphinn

A Soldier’s Christmas Carol

As stew­ardesses on an inter­na­tional air­line, we flew troops into Viet­nam at the height of the war. Nat­u­rally the flights didn’t stop when hol­i­days were cel­e­brated at home, and my room­mate found her­self on a mil­i­tary char­ter bound for Saigon, on Decem­ber 23, 1968.

The cabin was full of young men, and the pain was pal­pa­ble. I’m cer­tain the fam­i­lies and friends of every­one on that plane were try­ing hard to enjoy the Sea­son and remain hope­ful, but their prayers were no doubt non-stop for those fright­ened men who were fly­ing into harm’s way.

The crew and the sol­diers were try­ing to ignore the true nature of the flight. Cabin atten­dants flirted, and jokes and laugh­ter were the name of the game. Some asked stew­ardesses for a date in twelve months, when they would rotate back to “The World,” while oth­ers poked fun at each other, pre­tend­ing there was noth­ing they couldn’t handle.

At one point the senior stew­ardess got on the PA to announce the time change, and to say it was now Christ­mas Eve. Rather than cre­at­ing more gai­ety, her announce­ment quelled the racket and sud­denly every­thing went still. Not a crea­ture was stir­ring. It was then that a sergeant in his mid twen­ties rose from his seat, and made his way up the aisle. As he approached her he reached for the micro­phone and asked, “May I?”

Read the rest of this entry »

Share and Enjoy:

  • RSS
  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Technorati
  • Digg
  • LinkedIn
  • del.icio.us
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Live
  • StumbleUpon
  • NewsVine
  • Mixx
  • FriendFeed
  • Ping.fm
  • Diigo
  • Sphinn

O Christmas Tree …

Christ­mas 1969 was prob­a­bly my most mem­o­rable hol­i­day, but it was def­i­nitely not the most enjoy­able.  Still, what began as a depress­ing expe­ri­ence was some­how trans­formed by a fairly insignif­i­cant symbol.

I was sta­tioned at Camp Enari, near Pleiku, in the Cen­tral High­lands of Viet Nam, one of four Red Cross Donut Dol­lies whose mis­sion was to pro­vide mobile recre­ation within the Fourth Infantry Divi­sion.  I can’t say our job was par­tic­u­larly easy, espe­cially for me, because my per­son­al­ity has never been what one would call “bouncy.”   I was more tac­i­turn – less effer­ves­cent.   So, no mat­ter how much fun it might be in the end, I found it dif­fi­cult to over­come my nat­ural reserve and gather grown fight­ing men into groups, to play games.

Christ­mas was just another work­day for us.  As usual, we climbed aboard a heli­copter and headed out to the for­ward units.  The dif­fer­ence, that day, was that we all wore bright red dresses made for us in Hong Kong, and we hauled along a small pump organ for one of the girls to play.  With her music, we hoped to urge the men to sing car­ols. Read the rest of this entry »

Share and Enjoy:

  • RSS
  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Technorati
  • Digg
  • LinkedIn
  • del.icio.us
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Live
  • StumbleUpon
  • NewsVine
  • Mixx
  • FriendFeed
  • Ping.fm
  • Diigo
  • Sphinn
 Page 1 of 4  1  2  3  4 »