A Rather Large Bucket Of Lemonade

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I’m quite sure all of you have heard the expression “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” It’s trite, and usually just the opposite of what we do with the bitter taste of defeat, the acid of anger, or the puckered mouth of distaste.

Instead, most of us bitch and moan for a while and then move on to the next thing in our struggle through life. Some grab on to that lemon and squeeze it for all of their days, the mist from the exploding fruit blinding them and choking their life out with the molecules thrown in the air each time they pound on the table and smash the fruit even harder.

A rare few actually look at the pile of lemons in front of them, find a pitcher and some sugar, and get to work making a beverage that will restore the balance in some lives, provide a needed drink in the desert of anger and sadness, and put their hands to the work that God has set before them.

One such man is my friend Clarence D. Castile.

A couple of years ago, on a hot summer night, his nephew was shot to death during a traffic stop by local police. Philando Castile was, by all accounts, a personable young man who was a giving person. I had never met him. Nor did I know the police officer who did the shooting. The point of this post is not to revisit the facts of the case, for a jury has already ruled.

What can be said with certainty is that a horrible event took place that night, and a number of lives were altered with the stain of blood. A community erupted in anger and outrage, and things were mighty tense in my hometown for a couple of months. The tension flared again as the trial of the police officer was held, and threatened to explode when the verdict of not guilty was returned.

I can’t say I knew Clarence at that time. We met the following year when I was teaching a class on writing at my church. Clarence is also a member of Shiloh Missionary Baptist Church, and the class was designed to help people explore their writing life.

During the class we got to know each other a little bit, and in the weeks following that morning we got together to talk about things and scarf some serious breakfast food. I was surprised to learn that Clarence, a guy my age, had applied to the Saint Paul Police Reserve, and was undergoing the training.

His goal? To find out what cops were taught, and see if he could make things better for all involved. He wanted to develop training for both police and civilians to help in the relationship issues that threatened to tear our city apart.

Over the past year, he has been a member of the Peace Officer Standards and Training (P.O.S.T.) board for the state of Minnesota. He has become a reserve officer with all the excitement that offers. (He got to guard a rockslide at one point. But that’s what reserves sometimes do!)

More importantly, he stepped up to the plate and brought about a community forum this last week, aimed at informing the public of what is going on with law enforcement, how they are struggling in their own ways, and how to successfully handle a traffic stop so that you get to go home, and not to the hospital or jail – or morgue.

You see, Clarence has taken that gigantic pile of lemons that were dumped on him when Philando died and made lemonade. He’s offering it to anyone who would like to quench their thirst for justice and transparency. He’s following the way of a peacemaker by doing this great service.

The forum was excellent. It was something that the local public television station filmed, and I sincerely look forward to it airing in the future. Most of all, I know Clarence is hoping that his hard work might save an innocent life. It doesn’t matter if it’s a black life, a blue life, or any other color: we are all God’s children and that’s how he’s judging the line for lemonade.

I’m proud to call him my friend. And when Black History month rolls around down the road, I suspect Clarence D. Castile will be a person young people read about and admire. For he is truly a good man.

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NEW BOOK IS OUT!

My second novel, Nicholas of Haiti, is now available. Go fetch your credit card for the Kindle, print, and audio book versions. This is not a sequel to Assault on Saint Agnes, but a unique book in the speculative Christian fiction world.

Audio book cover on the left, Kindle cover on the right.

Please follow me on Twitter, and “Like” the Facebook author page.

Don’t forget to subscribe (the box is on the right side of the page) to be eligible for free e-books and other benefits! Oh yeah – grab a copy of Assault on Saint Agnes if you’re of a mind.

Black History Month Is For Henry

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Anyone that reads this blog regularly knows that I’m not big on hyphenated Americanism. I truly feel that you’re an American unless you’re previously from somewhere else, and have recently gained your citizenship. After some reasonable period, say five years, you should (in my opinion) just shift to being an American.

My identity is just that: American. There’s some Minnesotan, and some Saint Paul in that mix, even, perhaps, some neighborhood loyalty. But it is as an American that I frame my reference to the world.

The exception to that is Black History Month.

I’ve felt, since I first gave it any deep thought, that since whites wrote most of the history books, blacks got short shrift on the ink volume. A number of great accomplishments were either overlooked, or attributed to a white person in error. (Sometimes a malicious act, sometimes not.) But as time went by, it seemed that many of these injustices were being corrected and the histories were reflecting the actual accomplishments of black and white people without regard to color, but by dint of historical fact.

Settled, right? It was until one dinner this past year.

I have been blessed to have a new and great friend in my church. His name is Henry, and if I know him at all, I think he’d be a bit reluctant to see his name in print here today. But this great man of God, and impeccable character, is responsible for the shift in my perception.

What happened at dinner? We were talking about our teen years, and found out that we both participated in public speaking programs in high school. Henry is 10 years older than I am. That means he grew up in Jim Crow Dixie, and I grew up in Minnesota. He graduated from high school when water fountains were still marked by race. I graduated following the tumult of the Civil Rights movement, and had never seen such a thing.

Henry told me about a speech competition where he had a strong competitor. A white kid. They were both very good, but Henry was better. Enough so that after a couple of rounds to break the ties, it was clear that he should advance to the next round. But that didn’t happen. You see, no black kid could beat a white kid in this intellectual pursuit and move on toward the trophy for the state competition. So the white kid moved on, and Henry did not.

Most stories like that are self-serving crap. This one was not. It was conveyed with a sense of joy at the struggle, and a sense of wistful sadness at the inevitable (in 1967 Alabama) result. Henry didn’t dwell on it, we moved on to the next topic and had an excellent meal.

The meal, and the story, changed my outlook. What if instead of Black History Month being perceived of as an alternative history, it instead became an emphasis of lost history, lost opportunities, and lost dreams? The kinds of things that Henry could have brought to the world in a better time, with a fair set of rules for everyone.

Let’s make it just that: an opportunity to explore the rich parts of people, and history, that were subdued and cheated because of racism. The sparkling genius of a young man that was kept under a blanket so as not to upset the apple cart. Celebrate the light that God imbued in each of us, and is equally as brilliant in a white or black set of skin.

Henry did well in life. He’s a respected, educated, successful man. But what if Henry had been afforded his dues in life at age 17/18? Might he not be sitting in the White House? A captain of industry?

I am blessed to know Henry. I blessed to count him as my friend. And if I could travel back in time and change the judge’s decision that day I would. But since I can’t travel time, I will take today to honor my friend and his accomplishments. Realized and dreamed of both.

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NEW BOOK IS OUT!

My second novel, Nicholas of Haiti, is now available. Go fetch your credit card for the Kindle, print, and audio book versions. This is not a sequel to Assault on Saint Agnes, but a unique book in the speculative Christian fiction world.

Audio book cover on the left, Kindle cover on the right.

Please follow me on Twitter, and “Like” the Facebook author page.

Don’t forget to subscribe (the box is on the right side of the page) to be eligible for free e-books and other benefits! Oh yeah – grab a copy of Assault on Saint Agnes if you’re of a mind.

Minnesota Is A Winter Wonderland For Dolts

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Og, one of the prehistoric inhabitants of the area that would become Minnesota turned to his wife one day and said, “It is cold. I never would have expected this when the days have grown so short.”

Og’s wife, Julie, said, “For the sake of your fat head, Og, it’s like this every year. You have been here many years, cold is followed by cool, then hot, then cool, and then cold again. EVERY year you babble about the unexpected weather. Go back to skinning your bear and leave me alone.”

This may, or may not have actually happened. But Og is alive and well in modern Minnesota.

I present as my evidence the fact that people “don’t expect a winter this bad” when it hits.

I have been around this neighborhood for over 90% of my life. Yet each year I am forced to deal with millions of others who appear to have slicked their memory banks from the previous year.

On Friday it zoomed down to -6 Fahrenheit during the day. I was ready for up to 20 minutes of exposure to the cold with multiple layers. That would allow me to exit the house/workplace when the bus-tracking software showed him 10 minutes out, and leave me some margin. I did not expect that the Metropolitan Transit Commission would fail to get a bus there in a 50 minute period. Yes, not 10, 20, or even 30 minutes, but 50 minutes between buses. My little toes got cold to the point of numb, and I started to shiver as I stood there, the big dummy I am, in the darkness waiting for my ride home. 4 other buses on the nearest route went by during that time. When I contacted the bus company, they said, “Oh. He’s not reporting any data. That’s not good.”

Seriously? You have two missing buses out there in sub-zero cold and you’re not aware of it? Nobody called in and said, “Hey, Mikey, I’m broken down on the east side. Send help.” Two of them off the radar and … well, I guess the MTC doesn’t plan on winter being an issue.

The same lack of preparedness goes for a lot of hipster types I see downtown. No hat, no heavy coat, no gloves. They dash from their office to the bus when it pulls up and board without the encumbering Carhartt coat. The’d best hope they aren’t on the bus that fails on my route.

Once the bus got me a few blocks from home, I had to navigate the ice-packed sidewalks on the way to my house. I am, admittedly, more than a bit OCD regarding winter preparations: I go to Menards in August and get my salt limit up to 20 bags. 10 on the front porch, 10 in the garage. This year I had 24 bags ready to go, and three 5 gallon pails that were already set to go! Consequently, I’m not very sympathetic when the “surprise” ice storm hits, and people say, “Well, they were out of salt at the store.”

Here’s a newsflash: the stuff keeps literally forever. A couple of the bags at the bottom of the pile are probably 10 years old.

Almost enough salt to make it through a Minnesota winter. This is my personal pile.

This wouldn’t be a huge deal if it wasn’t every year that the same mopes didn’t shovel/salt their sidewalk. This year, in some kind of bonus round to accompany the extreme cold, several downtown buildings (worth hundreds of millions of dollars) have failed to shovel their sidewalks/pedestrian plazas, and completely neglected the application of salt. Consequently, you are taking your life in your hands walking around the capitol city of Minnesota.

I do have a solution: appoint me the Czar of winter in Minnesota. In order for you to get your tax refund, or occupancy certificate, I must be satisfied that you have a good hat for your head, a decent shovel/snowblower (those broom things that just push the snow into the street will be outlawed), and 40 pounds of salt for every 50 square feet of sidewalk/steps. That should cover you for the full year.

In addition, as Czar, if you wish to drive between September and June, you must have new wipers, a battery that tests properly, tread on your tires, cold weather washer fluid in the tank, and 1/4 of a tank of gas at all times. You are also prohibited from operating your vehicle until the snow is removed from all windows, the hood, and the roof of your car.

Failure to comply will result in your car being crushed while you watch. With your groceries inside.

See, all this prep stuff I do each year is easy as can be. I can be very helpful if you’ll just let me.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go put on my long underwear and stocking cap: I’ve got a formal banquet to attend tonight.

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NEW BOOK IS OUT!

My second novel, Nicholas of Haiti, is now available. Go fetch your credit card for the Kindle, print, and audio book versions. This is not a sequel to Assault on Saint Agnes, but a unique book in the speculative Christian fiction world.

Audio book cover on the left, Kindle cover on the right.

Please follow me on Twitter, and “Like” the Facebook author page.

Don’t forget to subscribe (the box is on the right side of the page) to be eligible for free e-books and other benefits! Oh yeah – grab a copy of Assault on Saint Agnes if you’re of a mind.

This Review By Peter Younghusband Says It All

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Now and again you roll the dice as an author and leap in a new direction. Nicholas of Haiti was a nearly complete shift from Assault on Saint Agnes in genre. But it was a book on my heart, and one that I needed to get into the public eye.

That is sometimes death for an author, because your following rejects a different flavor.

Today I feel good about the shift: Peter Younghusband approves!

Peter, for those who are unaware, is a prominent book blogger in Australia. He was gracious enough to review Nicholas of Haiti and his review is at the link provided here:

Peter Younghusband Review

I would ask that you take the time to read it, and then purchase the book. If you have already taken the time to read the book, I beg you to go to Amazon and review it for me. Those reviews are priceless, and help in my sales ability with their algorithm.

Have an excellent day: I did!

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NEW BOOK IS OUT!

My second novel, Nicholas of Haiti, is now available. Go fetch your credit card for the Kindle, print, and audio book versions. This is not a sequel to Assault on Saint Agnes, but a unique book in the speculative Christian fiction world.

Audio book cover on the left, Kindle cover on the right.

Please follow me on Twitter, and “Like” the Facebook author page.

Don’t forget to subscribe (the box is on the right side of the page) to be eligible for free e-books and other benefits! Oh yeah – grab a copy of Assault on Saint Agnes if you’re of a mind.

Masculinity Is A Wonderful Thing

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There is always a fever gripping the nation about some stupid catchphrase. We’re seeing the rise of “Toxic Masculinity” at the moment. Mind you, if I wrote about toxic femininity, there would be a rush to the ramparts to pour boiling oil on my head. But it’s apparently okay to bash men in our culture.

I would like to share with you what I find good about classic masculinity. It’s a long list, so I’ll just dump a few things here for you to contemplate and toddle along home.

Men are biologically superior in strength and athletic ability. That’s a simple statement that’s borne out by science. I can lift more weight than a 59 year old woman my same height. I could lift more weight than a 20 year old woman my height when I was 20. Time and blubber diminish that ability. But over the course of time that has been the reality of this species.

As a consequence, men have been the builders, fighters, and bearers of heavy objects since the beginning of time. We also have the injuries and death rates that go with that honor. Technology has changed that to a degree, but in the main it still holds true.

I am proud to say that I have thrust myself between threats and the people I love. I have thrust myself between threats and total strangers. I hate seeing the weak being taken advantage of in my world, and won’t stand for it. That is evidently one of those traits that is toxic. Tough. I’m going to keep doing things the same way.

Men are taught to be strong emotionally. Okay. Sometimes that’s good, sometimes bad. But it has been my experience that when it has hit the fan, strong men lead the fight. I know some mighty strong women who do that as well. Being taciturn, stoic, and determined is not a gender item. But it is currently ascribed to men, so I’ll applaud it and take it for my own.

I’ve never been in a large group where I am an unknown quantity and been handed the job of thinking my way through the task at hand. But more than once I’ve been pointed at a pile of things and asked to move them. Furniture, dangerous items, you name it. And yet I would equally excel at the more cerebral parts of the endeavor.

I don’t grab women to possess them. I don’t cat-call in the streets. I don’t demean others because of their size, shape, color… etc. None of those things are part of masculinity. But we get tagged with that because it’s okay to slur an entire gender in the name of advertising.

I do barbecue. I love it. I also make jam, cookies, pies, and a pretty good chili. I’m at a loss how my liking to cook things over a fire makes me a toxic male.

I am a protector, and I nurture. Good men do both.

But when it comes down to the final mile, I’ll be picking up the sword to defend the things I love. You can’t take that away from me by shaming me with the behavior of others.

Leave men to be men. Teach little boys how to be good men, not how to be little girls with different bodies. Men need to be men, women need to be women. Doesn’t mean we aren’t equal, it just means we are different.

So, build the fires, get the pitchforks out, and boil the tar. That’s my line in the sand and I’m sticking with it until the end.

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NEW BOOK IS OUT!

My second novel, Nicholas of Haiti, is now available. Go fetch your credit card for the Kindle, print, and audio book versions. This is not a sequel to Assault on Saint Agnes, but a unique book in the speculative Christian fiction world.

Audio book cover on the left, Kindle cover on the right.

Please follow me on Twitter, and “Like” the Facebook author page.

Don’t forget to subscribe (the box is on the right side of the page) to be eligible for free e-books and other benefits! Oh yeah – grab a copy of Assault on Saint Agnes if you’re of a mind.