Secret Asian Man- One Nation Under God

I grew up saying the Pledge of Allegiance.  My version included “under God” which was added in 1954.  As a kid, I never knew it any other way, so I thought it had always been that way.  

We said it every morning in school. Some kid, who was never me, got chosen to lead the school in the pledge over the PA system.

I was in Cub Scouts.  We learned about the flag and the pledge.  We got badges or something for memorizing the pledge and properly demonstrating our two finger salute. I practiced in the mirror with my little beanie.

Same with the National Anthem. We learned it in primary school. We read the story about Francis Scott Key watching the Battle for Baltimore in 1812. As a kid, it’s a pretty compelling story.  What with its staying up all night and watching things blow up.

And winning! By the dawn’s early light, America won. In the world of an 8 year old, winning was pretty important.

They played the song at all the high school games. I went on to play it in the band. All would rise, we’d play, then play ball.  It seemed to become rather rote.  Stand, Sing, Sit, Play, Repeat.

Colin Kaepernick seems to have changed all that. In our time away, a lively debate has arisen about what the national anthem represents and what patriotism means. When I sing to the flag, am I honoring the fabric or am I honoring the American Ideal?  And what is the American Ideal, anyway?  Is it freedom of speech, and equality? Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness? Or is it something else? The Flag? Veterans? Jesus?

Tastes great? Less Filling? Two great tastes that taste great together?  Does it have to be one or the other?  Ah, well….

What better way to reconnect with American values than to go to a baseball game? On a warm summer’s eve, Mrs. S.A.M. and I attended a farm team ball game.  It was lightly attended even though it was “Kids Eat Free!” night. That’s a pity because it was a good game, rooting for the home team, peanuts and crackerjack and all that stuff.  

The singing of the Anthem was noticeably different compared with a couple years back. In previous years, the anthem approached background chatter.  Now, when the announcer comes on, a hush falls over the crowd. It is deathly quiet. Hats and hands to chests, turning, like sunflowers, to the flag in centerfield.  

A large man, with the presence of the fourth Three Tenors, acapellas his way through the Star Spangled Banner, culminating in a torticolis rendering high note. O’er the land of the free!” He had a great set of lungs, but Man!, was he flat!

Homage we paid to whatever the song represents to us. From the homeless Vet, begging on the street, to the Somali vendor selling me an Italian sausage. From the Irish cop to the Dominican relief pitcher. One nation under God.

Secret Asian Man- Art in America

Took a walk the other day.  Searching for seeds of optimism.  Not surprisingly, I found some within a few blocks.  Tucked away in artwork displayed on the curb.

Found these outside a house. Maybe this was a summer project.  Maybe a summer parent, a month into summer, trying to keep her kids away from the screen. But it was a nice little display. A sign that the kids are watching. The kids are hopeful. They’re making plans.

 

Then I found another artist.

This is Malvin.  He makes art.  And he’s made art since he was 9 after he saw a Vincent Van Gogh exhibit.  His family couldn’t afford to get him any oil paints, but he had a job sweeping out a general store for a holocaust survivor. That Christmas he found a box of paints under the tree. Without any training, he’s been painting ever since.  

He was planning on going to college, but got called away to Vietnam at age 18. He didn’t think he was going see 19.  Three days after he returned his dad was killed in car accident.  So it was up to he and his brothers to care for his mother.  

He met a caucasian woman and fell in love. They were disowned by parts of both sides of their families, but got married anyway.  He planted a tree in the front yard of his house and has stayed there for 40 years.  

After 29 years with a local bank, his job was outsourced to India.  He retired 2 months ago.  

“You know, I could probably be angry about a lot, but with guidance from friends and God, I’ve mellowed out. People ask me if I’m religious and I tell them, ‘Well, I believe there’s something guiding us. I’ve spoken to the angels and I think that God and I are pretty close. None of us own anything thing in life.  We’re just renting this space. So, I watch my grandkids, I tend my garden and I sit on my porch and I paint what comes out of my head. I got a whole basement full of stuff. I think the best way to sell it is just put it out in the yard and see what sells.  I’ve met the most interesting people just walking by!”

Also, he’s sumo wrestling fan. “It’s the championship today!  I’m gonna knock off early and catch it on NHK TV!”

You can find more of his art on the corner of Indianola and Milford in Columbus, Ohio  or at…

www.artbymmarcus.com 

Secret Asian Man- God Is My Insurance Carrier

At dusk the other day, I was driving down the Jordanian motorway.  Three of the four cars in front of me had no working tail or brake lights. I had no warning when they were slowing.  They’d just loom closer.  

The same motorway a few weeks ago, I rapidly came up on a goat-laden pickup backing up toward me. No reverse lights functioning of course. Maybe the goats chewed through the wires.

I’ve seen a several toddlers standing on their parents’ shoulders with their heads poking out of the sun roof at speed.  Arms and hair flapping in the wind

We were in a fender bender in a roundabout. There were lots of cars moving real slow and suddenly, THUMP!  We were hit! The driver was a complete gentleman. He apologized and said he got distracted by his toddler who jumped from the back seat to the front seat.  

“I needed to catch him and I got distracted. My foot lifted off the brake.”

I greatly wanted to ask him if he knew of a way to prevent this.  If he knew that his Cadillac Escalade had straps, likely wedged deep between the seat cushions, which could be used either alone or with a special chair, as a restraint against jumping toddlers in moving cars. I feared my point would be lost. My car sustained no damage. His would require some pretty extensive repair.

Predestination is a tenet belief in these parts. It is the idea that on the day that you are born, the day of your death is already known. It is kept in a book in God’s vest pocket along with a pocket watch. Nothing you do during life can change this day. When it's your time, it's your time. This, I believe, is how many people live their lives.

Given this knowledge why would I replace my taillight bulb? Why would I pull my toddler in from the sunroof? My concern for safety has no bearing on my death or that of others. I am freed of personal responsibility. 

I thought of this freedom when, not far from where my fender bender occurred, I saw a man in a wheelchair, rolling down the middle of 3 or 4 lanes of traffic. His arms a-whir as he tried to match the speed of the cars. He was a double amputee.  

Did he wake that morning, like he did most mornings, and think.  “God, done took my legs, I just don’t think today’s my day to die!”? 

And then he wheeled off down the road.

Swedish Meatballs in the Promised Land

This likely won’t be the first time you hear this from me. I know I won’t solve anything. I know I won’t say much that hasn’t already been said many times over thousands of years.

I won’t even understand the depth of the problem in the Middle East. I’ll just dip my toe into the ignoramus wading pool.

This weekend we went to visit Mt. Nebo which in Arabic translates loosely to the place of the prophets.

After leaving Egypt, Moses and his flock are wandering around the desert.  He’s got his main orator and older brother, Aaron with him.  

When they get close to present day Petra, God comes to Moses in a dream and tells him that it’s time for Aaron to die. Aaron is 120 years old already.  It’s time.  Moses, himself, is 118 or 119.  God says, the two of them have to get to the top of this particular mountain before it can happen.  

So, Moses, does as he’s told. He and Aaron and a nephew climb to the top of this mountain.  They take in the view, find a nice cave.  Aaron lies down for a nap and kicks it. You, dear reader, can go there now to Jabel Arun, where there is  monument.  We hope to go there one day.

Moses comes back down and they start wandering again. They make their way north for about for a year and 350 kms. They come to the Madaba area and they take a rest.  It’s arid and people are starting to get thirsty.  Moses asks God for some help and God tells him to strike the ground with his stick.  He does, and water spews forth.

There is still a spring there.  Under a big, old eucalyptus tree. We’d need a car to get down there, so we’ll save that for next time.

The flock spends some time there and God comes around again and tells Moses to Climb to the top of Mt. Nebo.  Moses is now 120 years old and he know which way the wind is blowing, but he trudges to the top of the mountain 817 meters high.

Once he got to the top, God tells him to look out to the East and promises his people all the land that he can see. But, sadly Moses won’t be able to go there.  He has to stay behind.  It’s time.  And, so, shortly thereafter he died and was buried somewhere there on that mountain. Moses’ assistant, Joshua takes up the reins and leads his people into the promised land.  

Prophets have been traipsing around here without maps or GPS for centuries after. Elijah, Jeramiah, John, the Baptist, Jesus.  Often their stories have them scaling some high place and looking down on Jerusalem, known as the gate to heaven.

600 years after Moses, the Prophet Mohammed has his revelations and has started his branch of religion.  He’s on his own spiritual journey and winds his way up from Arabia. He, too, finds a spring and he, too, climbs a mountain and looks down into Jerusalem and wants to go there.

It’s on the Temple Mount that Mohammed goes to visit heaven for a few days. He has some high level consultations with John, the Baptist, Moses, Elijah, Jesus and Yahweh itself. Apparently, it was Moses who urged Mohammed to go back to God and renegotiate the number of times people need to pray per day down from 50 to a, more manageable, 5 times a day.

Mohammed comes back down to earth at the Temple in Jerusalem and decides this would be a good place for a mosque. Thus, a conflict was born. I don’t have any knowledge about why this promised land was given to Mohammed, or if Moses had any input during their high level talks.

Back in the 21st century we took our tour bus to the top of Mt. Nebo. There’s a basilica there that they

uncovered in 1933 and have been restoring for a while. It reopens later this month. There are some wonderfully preserved stone mosaic flooring that are promised.

We walked around and toured the small museum and at the highest point we looked down into the promised land.  Amman, Jericho and Jerusalem before us.  

I wondered about the promise of of such an arid looking land. It's rocky. It's water poor. And, there's a giant life sapping salt sea. But, after 40 years of trudgery, I’d probably cherish it if someone told me it was mine. But, really, it doesn’t look like it’s worth fighting so hard over. I mean crusades and terrorism. Battles fought near and far, over the aged beliefs of all these enlightened and special people.

The following day, in the search of some household goods, we headed to IKEA very near the Madaba area.  It’s set up like every other IKEA, snaking you around the myriad of ways you can decorate your space cleanly and inexpensively.

We stopped mid-way for some lunch at the cafeteria. It was a bustling time to eat. There were a couple of other Americans there. We heard some Spanish speakers. Mainly, thought, there were Jordanians. Some in shorts, some in ripped blue jeans,  Many of the women in burkas or very conservatively covered.

It struck me there in the cafeteria line. If you strip away all the dogma and the dress codes, I wonder if we’d all be happier with functional, inexpensive furniture, lighting solutions and some Swedish meatballs with lignonberry jam.