Weighing in on Health Care

National Health Care. It's a topic on many people's minds. Typically, the most vocal either strongly approve of a entire system overhaul, with a public option available, or vehemently oppose such actions in the name of a free market with little or no government control, involvement, spending, etc.... Where do I stand? At one point in my life, it would have been a no-brainer, landing solely on the side of the free market. However, after some life experience, I've gotten to where it is a no-brainer on the other side. I read a very interesting opinion the other day by Nicholas Kristof, which is summarized succinctly in this paragraph:

"Throughout the industrialized world, there are a handful of these areas where governments fill needs better than free markets: fire protection, police work, education, postal service, libraries, health care. The United States goes along with this international trend in every area but one: health care."

That needs to change. It's time to dump the entire profit-driven system for a patient-driven system. Right now, as an active-duty member of the US military, we have excellent health-care benefits that focus on the patient, and not on making dollars. The result is my family is healthier than we've been in years. In fact, before joining the military, due to lack of insurance options that were affordable, our family went for 7 years without any insurance. We are very lucky that there were no major illnesses or accidents that would have left us with a lifetime of financial ruin, an all too common tale in this amazing country, and in fact one of leading causes of bankruptcy. To me, this issue is not monetary, but moral. It is not at all surprising that many of the people voicing the biggest complaints about this needed reform are those who would be losing out on health-care related profits. To those who don't want government involvement, this is a system that is already highly subsidized by the government, with heavy tax breaks given for employers offering health-care to their workers, and insurance companies reaping the profits. To conclude, another quote from the same article referenced above:

"I just don’t understand why we may be about to reject health reform and stick with a dysfunctional system that takes away the health coverage of hard-working Americans when they become too sick to work...America may reject reform and stick with a system that drives families into bankruptcy when they get sick. Let’s hope we won’t miss this chance. A public role in health care shouldn’t be any scarier or more repugnant than a public fire department."

All of the opposition is bewildering. And unfortunate.

Finally back blogging

It's amazing how much free time I don't have anymore. During the last couple years of my PhD dissertation, I would start an experiment, and at times have 3-4 hours of waiting for it to be finished. This was quite conducive to blog writing. After finally completing all of my data collection, I was then "writing" my dissertation for 4-5 months, which meant hours of my day were spent sitting at my desk, staring at my laptop, wanting to shove a pencil into my eye, and instead wasting time surfing the internet and writing my blog. So now, I've got a real job. I'm using my education and truly love what I'm doing. And now, not as much time to blog. But, as I looked back on previous posts, I found them humorous, cathartic, and sometimes very narrow minded and realized that I needed to have this outlet again. Plus, any type of writing practice is good. This year is flying by. I have been extremely busy at work up until a couple weeks ago, and I leave tomorrow for 2-weeks of vacation. After that, things will be fairly hectic until the end of the year. I'm approaching several milestones in life. In the next 8 months, my son will turn 12, which means he officially moves from being a kid to a pre-teen. When he first asked me for a cell phone (when he was 7), I told him he had to wait until he was 12. And trust me, he hasn't forgotten my promise. Also, my youngest starts kindergarten. This means all of my kids are in school. For the first time in 12 years, my wife will have no children at home for several hours each day. She will really miss having the kids around, but is also looking forward to her new found freedom. A third milestone is my 35th birthday. I mean, that's old. I don't feel that old. Though I suppose I'm not sure what I thought being 35 would feel like. Working at a university, it is easy to feel young. I'm surrounded by 18-22 year olds. It really hit me the other day how long it's actually been since I was that old when I saw some pictures of a high school acquaintance who was attending their own kids graduation (granted, this woman got pregnant our sophomore year, but still). But, I look at what I've got. Degrees from two great universities. A loving wife of nearly 13 years. Three great kids. A job that the longer I'm here, the more it feels like the job I always dreamed of. Life has been good to me these last 16 years since I left home. To celebrate all of these milestones, I've decided to run a half-marathon. The last couple of months, I've been re-building my cardiovascular fitness and at the same time losing the bulk of my dissertation weight. Starting at the end of August, I will really start training, with the race on October 31 in Miami Beach. I have set a goal of 1 hour 45 minutes, which means I'll have to run 8:00/miles for 13.1 miles. This is definitely feasible, but I need to stay focused on my training and my nutrition. Well, next time will come sooner and I hope to start talking about all of these amazing issues that we're facing as a nation - health care, investing, caring for the poor, weapons of mass destruction, and so many other interesting things. Until then.

I'm Charlie Brown, a die-hard BYU football fan

Well, they did it again. BYU football brought me in and then punched me in the stomach. I feel like Charlie Brown after he was fooled into having Lucy hold a football for him, flat on his back wondering how the hell he allowed himself to be sucked in yet again. This love affair began so long ago. In 1983, my dad moved our family from California to Provo, UT, where he worked on his master’s degree for two years. This put us in Provo for the 1983 and 1984 football seasons. At the time, I was 8-9 years old and just starting to enjoy watching sports. My father graciously took me to most of the games where BYU football was ingrained in my soul. It just so happens, that this was also a time of resounding success for BYU's football team. In 1983, the team went 11-1, finished ranked 7th in the nation, and featured Heisman trophy runner-up Steve Young, a future NFL Superbowl MVP for the San Francisco 49ers. During one memorable game, I even got Steve Young's autograph, a piece of memorabilia that I treasure to this day. Than came 1984. For those of you who despise the BCS system as much as I do, much of the blame falls on this season, squarely on the shoulders of BYU's success. You see, BYU finished 13-0, the only team undefeated in the nation, and were voted as the number one team in the nation by both the AP and the Coaches poll. Yes, a team from the Western Athletic Conference was the undisputed national champion. Well, at least undisputed in the polls. Many, many people were upset at this and it set in motion the exclusive BCS bowl club we have today, that shut's out the mid-major schools in an attempt to preserve traditions of exclusivity of past years of big-name programs like Oklahoma, USC, Michigan, Ohio State, Notre Dame, Penn State, etc.... Now, for a nine-year-old kid living in Provo, UT, I didn't hear any of these rumblings until years later, and was blissfully cocooned in the aura that accompanies a national championship. A few years later in 1990, I watched as BYU upset then #1 ranked Miami and in the same season saw Ty Detmer win the Heisman trophy. A few more years, I was there myself, as an 18-year-old freshman, residing in the dorms and living the dream of attending every home game with a great group of friends. That year, 1994, BYU finished #10 in the nation after trouncing Oklahama in the Copper Bowl 31-6. After a two-year mission, I returned in 1996 to witness Steve Sarkisian lead the team to their first and only New Year's Day bowl game, a 19-15 win over Kansas State in the Cotton Bowl, which ended a 14-1 season ranked #5 in the nation. As the son of an alum, and now an alum myself, there's not much that gets my blood moving like sitting down for BYU football. But recently, it's been so depressing to be a fan. Every time I get my hopes up, they are quickly dashed, leaving only emptiness. In 2000, our legendary coach Lavell Edwards retired after a mediocre 6-6 season. The next season brought with it promise, and the Cougars delivered, started off 12-0 under new coach Gary Crowton. There were talks of being the first non-BCS school to receive an at-large bid to a BCS bowl. And then, they lost the final game of the season, missed out on a BCS bid, and landed in the Liberty bowl, where they got pounded by Louisville. This stomach-punch end to the season is something that fans still haven't overcome. It's been difficult to. 2002 was the first losing season in 29 years, followed by another in 2003, which ended with a crushing shutout at the hands of hated rival Utah (final score: 3-0), which was the first time BYU had been shutout since 1975. In 2004, Crowton led the team to its third losing season in a row, and much to the appeasement of the Cougar fan base, resigned. At this point in my fandom, I was cautiously optimistic about the future of the program. The current coach has done well to bring back the winning seasons, yet the teams seem to fail when the stakes are highest. On paper, 2006 looks great, with a 10-2 record, but to lose to medicore BCS teams Arizona and Boston College? Then, similar things in 2007, with a loss to dreadful UCLA and then to Tulsa to start the season 1-2, only to end up rebounding for a second undefeated conference schedule. So now, I'm coming to the conclusion that BYU can beat up its conference opponents at will, but against even mediocre schools from the BCS conferences, they can't hang. And that's depressing. And I keep getting sucked in, only to be thoroughly disappointed. It happened three times this season, which started out as the "Quest for Perfection", a theme adopted by the team, knowing that to be included in the BCS party, they would have to go undefeated. They started out well, trouncing UCLA 59-0, followed by another shutout a week later of Wyoming 44-0, eventually making it to 6-0, ranked 8th in the nation. Then came the first real test of the season, conference opponent TCU ranked #24, which blasted BYU 32-7 in a nationally televised Thursday night game. Ouch. So much for perfection. After that humiliating loss, BYU won the rest of its games and was set for a showdown with Utah. BYU had climbed back to 14th in the rankings with a 10-1 record. Utah was sitting at #7 at 11-0, poised to secure its second BCS bid with a victory. What a better time for BYU to rise to the occasion and play spoiler against their biggest rival. The outcome? A painful 48-24 ass kicking, sending the Cougars to the corner with their tail between their legs while watching the Utes ride off into the proverbial sunset, receiving a Sugar Bowl bid to play against national powerhouse Alabama. The shock of this loss, and not just the loss, but also the way BYU was trounced, was like a kick to the groin. The reward? Another Las Vegas Bowl bid against University of Arizona, a very mediocre Pac-10 team, unranked with a 7-5 record. What a better way to get the ugly taste of the Utah game out of our mouths than to go out and crush a BCS team from the Pac-10. This was literally my mind set leading up to the game. I was not hoping for a victory, but a crushing win, something like 42-10. And shoot, the 16th ranked team in the nation with a 10-2 record should be able to do this to a 7-5 middle of the road BCS conference team, right? Once again, I had convinced myself. Arizona 31 - BYU 21. And once again, I was crushed.

Hail to the Chief!

Today, ODS really started. And I thought being woken up by someone yelling in the hallway outside my door was unpleasant. That was downright peaceful compared to what happened this morning. Sometime between the hours of 3 and 4 AM, I was abruptly shaken from my slumber by what I thought may have been artillery fire. This loud, booming, shaking was accompanied by shouting which can only be described as guttural. I was out of bed, but still mostly asleep, and completely disoriented. It took me what felt like forever to slip my shorts on and find my arm-band. I felt this sense of panic rise up inside of me that was both uncomfortable and unfamiliar. After taking a few deep breaths in a fruitless attempt to calm myself, I was about to get outside and stand in the hall with the other members of my company, when I thought a bomb went off outside my room, followed by bellowing, "If you're not outside this door in 30 seconds, you will regret it for the rest of your life." Now, I don't know about you, but this definitely did not increase my motivation to leave the room. As I slowly opened the door, I noticed what must have been my mistaken bomb, a distinct shoe scuff that had been applied with a well-timed kick to get us out in the hallway. The only reason I identified this mark so quickly is because I soon witnessed this tactic in use on another member of my company's door. Soon, we were all standing outside at the position of attention, listening to this man bark commands at us. I took this opportunity to slowly scan the hallway, and observed that everyone looked as disheveled as I felt. The poor guy across from me even had his shorts on backwards. As I was slowly coming to, I started to actually listen to the man bellowing at us. Found out he was a Navy Chief and would be in charge of our sorry states for the next 5 weeks. At this time, I actually was able to relax and see the humor in this situation. I mean, when you look at it, here's this funny looking dude, marching up and down screaming his head of at nothing in particular, and he expects us to call him "chief". Up until this point in my life, on the rare occasion that I had referred to someone as "chief", it had not been a term of endearment. So, the use of "chief" for this guy making an ass of himself in an attempt to intimidate, seemed very appropriate. I even got to the point that I had to hold back laughter at this entire ridiculous situation. Here I was, standing outside my hallway in Navy PT clothes, watching this funny man pace back and forth yelling orders at us. In a sense, I felt like I was in 7th grade gym class again. Luckily, I did manage to hold in my laughter, someone a company mate of mine did not quite do. In what seemed like 15 milliseconds, chief was in his face screaming, "IS THERE SOMETHING FUNNY ABOUT THIS?" To which he replied, "NO, SIR!" Uh-oh. This was NOT the right thing to say. Apparently, an officer is to be referred to at "Sir/Ma'am", but saying this to a chief is almost considered derogatory. The correct reply was , "NO, CHIEF!" But, he didn't give this response. The volume of chief's voice went up 10-fold and the saliva started to fly when he started, "SIR???? I AM NOT A SIR!!!! I WORK FOR A LIVING!!! NEVER CALL ME SIR!!!! YOU WILL REFER TO ME AS CHIEF!!! YES, CHIEF; OR AYE, AYE, CHIEF; BUT NEVER SIR!!!!" Now, to someone new to the military, it was a bit difficult to tell who was an officer and who was a chief, but making this split second decision became a crucial one for each of us to make. Chief would drop up on our face quicker than you can say, "YES, CHIEF!" and have us doing push-ups until we wanted to cry. If we really pissed him off, we would head to the infamous sand pit. This looked like a beach volleyball court, but without the nets and girls in bikinis. And, the sand seemed to be specially formulated for jaggedness, as kneeling in the stuff would slice up your knees quickly. Trips to the sand pit were threatened often, but luckily rarely carried through. After a morning with chief, we collectively got our sh*t together and did pretty well to stay out of trouble for the rest of our time there. We had seen what chief could become that first morning, and during a particularly memorable trip to the sand pit, and wanted to avoid this at all costs. Turns out, he was a pretty cool guy when you caught him during off hours or later off base when we were finally allowed some liberty, but don't mess with him while you're supposed to be doing military things, or watch out! As time went on, our quality of life slowly improved. We still had to march everywhere, carrying our ridiculous water bottles, and attend hours and hours of terribly boring powerpoint lectures, but evenings and weekends we were given our cell phones back and at times even allowed to go off base and get a decent meal. Aside from push-ups when we got in trouble, we did very little organized PT, which was very disappointing. I was hoping to have ample chance to work-out as a group and use this time to get in better shape. This did not happen, though due to the quality of food, I still lost 15 lbs while I was there. For the most part, I think the important information could have been passed on in about a weeks time, not the 5 weeks that we had to endure. I made some wonderful friends, but was happy to get out of there upon graduation, 5-long weeks later.

First few days of ODS

Any feelings of contentment I felt that first night quickly evaporated at 4:45 the next morning (yes, that’s not a typo – 4:45 AM) when we were awakened by someone in the hallway outside our rooms yelling to get up. I was warned by some of the members of my company with prior military experience that this may happen, yet wasn’t fully prepared to be woken up that early by being yelled at. Because it was our first day and we hadn’t been issued uniforms yet, we had to wear these smelly, blue, one-piece jumpsuits. Turns out, the guy who woke us up was a naval officer who was in charge of us just for that day. He was actually a fair, kind guy that I was sad to see go. I learned a few things quickly that morning. When anyone in a position of authority enters the area in which you’re occupying, be it a classroom, hallway of our barracks, whatever, the first member of the company to notice the authority figure shouted loudly, “Attention on deck!” This meant to stop whatever you’re doing and stand completely still awaiting instruction. Now, if no one noticed a person of authority and we carried on doing our business, this was a bad thing – as in, you’ll do push-ups until you cry if someone doesn’t notice quickly. This got so bad, that we started posting a lookout just to make sure and call, “Attention on deck!” whenever someone of authority entered. Soon after our instructions, we were taken to breakfast, or “chow” as they call it in the Navy. This seemed odd to me, as I always associated the word “chow” with animal food, like Purina Dog Chow. Little did I know, though should have had the foresight to see this, it turns out that “chow” is actually a very appropriate name for the food you receive in a Navy cafeteria. After a breakfast of runny, powdered eggs, “sausage” patties (they tasted vaguely like sausage, but were more like jerky than any sausage I’ve had before), “pancakes” (though, I never have had crispy pancakes) with syrup, and a tall glass of watery orange juice. Thankfully, they also had a fresh fruit/salad bar, which over the course of my 5 weeks would become the source of most of my meals. After morning chow, we were shuttled back to our barracks to weigh in and have our heights measured. Keep in mind, we still had these terrible jumpsuits on and had just eaten a fairly large breakfast. I weighed in at about 10 lbs more than I was expecting to. Nearly everyone was in the same situation, with heavy jumpsuits and full belly’s. It soon became apparent that this was their way of padding the statistics – if they showed that our company lost a good amount of weight during our time there, they could declare their fitness regimen a success. What a better way than start with inflated weights of each company member. The first day was a blur, we went through a lot of administrative stuff, started our classroom studies, were issued two sets of Navy physical training (PT) gear, some Navy sweats (the old-fashioned kind that your dad wore in the mid 80s to go jogging in), and a blue water bottle. These PT clothes would be our sole uniforms for the first week, as our real uniforms weren’t going to be ready until the next weekend. This meant two things; first, we could ditch the stinky jumpsuits. Second, we had two t-shirts and two pairs of shorts to wear for the remainder of the first week. That didn’t really hit me until day three when I had nothing but smelly clothes to wear. In addition, we were instructed that our water bottles always needed to be at least half-way full and we must carry them with us at all times. There was no exception to this rule, unless we enjoyed push-ups until tears, as we found out when someone didn’t take their water bottle into the bathroom with them. The afternoon was also spent in class and we went straight to evening chow. Evening chow was consistently disappointing, even by cafeteria standards. I would stomach a few bites, choke it down with some salad, and drink a lot of water, our only allowed beverage except blue Powerade. After dinner as was the case every evening, we were free, though free is a very relative term. Not free to call home. Not free to go off base for a decent meal. Not free to visit any of the restaurants on base. Not free to even work out. We were instructed to study for our classes, under no circumstance change out of our PT clothes, and drink at least 4 bottles full of water, as we had urinalysis the next morning. Now, that’s 4 liters of water right before bed (which is just more than a gallon). I must have gotten up to pee 5-6 times that night. We were woken up the next morning at 3:45. Yes, that is 3:45 AM. I don’t think I have ever seen the clock say that until this morning. We had to stand in huge line and receive our pee bottles, then enter the bathroom 3 at a time and fill them up. Not too difficult a task normally, but as this was essentially our drug test, we had to be supervised as to not swap urine or whatever. And supervise they did. They physically had to see the urine exiting your body and entering the bottle. This meant I had a guy staring at my penis while I was attempting to pee into a tiny bottle. This may sound humorous, and looking back it is, but at the time I got stage fright so bad that I could not pee. I had to pee. Badly. 1 gallon of water before bed will do that to you. But I couldn’t. I stood there for nearly 15 minutes, the entire time having this guy staring at me. I was pushing so hard I thought I was going to tear something. I finally relaxed when I thought about what a ridiculous situation I was in and how funny it would be later. I started laughing to myself and finally, I started to pee. I filled up my bottle and got out of there quick. That day, we did the physical readiness test (PRT), which includes push-ups (max in 2 minutes), sit-ups (max in 2 minutes) and a 1.5-mile run. I got through it and managed to pass. Surprisingly, nearly a quarter of our class didn’t. At first, this made me happy, as we would get to do more PT. Once again, this place had a way of disappointing me. After more classroom time, we were done with another day. We were told that those who didn’t pass the PRT were required to go and workout at the gym every night, while the rest of us had to stay in the barracks and study. So, if I would have slacked off during the test, I could have gone to the gym every night? Instead, I busted my butt and my reward is study time in the barracks? This place blows. Little did I know what was coming next.

Reporting to Officer Development School

Part of me has always been intrigued with the military. I consider myself quite patriotic and am internally filled with pride whenever I see someone in military uniform or hear songs that celebrate our great nation. I never really considered actually joining the military until recently, mainly because I don't deal well with what I like to call Idiots In Charge (IIC). It's hard enough to work for someone who you can mentally run circles around, but when that person also screams in your face and will make you do push-ups until you puke, let's just say that I would not have handled this well. I've never attended military bootcamp (well, until recently, but I'll get to that in a moment), so I had no personal experiences from which to draw, but all accounts I've received have been similar to my fears, that is some IIC screaming at you for whatever he/she felt like. So, instead of joining the military, as some of my friends did, to take advantage of things like the GI bill to attend college and so forth, I put myself through undergraduate and graduate school, along the way having amassed enough student debt to fund a small nation, and set out to find a job. And I did. I found a great job - doing something I enjoy, good pay, excellent benefits, even paying down some of this student debt. The thing was, I had to join the military. The Navy to be specific. This frightened me at first, not because I may be called upon to give my life in the service of our nation or move to various locations around the world, but I really didn't know how I would handle boot camp and IICs. I was assured that since I have an advanced degree and would be starting off my bootcamp as a high-ranking junior officer, I would have nothing to worry about. My recruiter even went so far as to call what I had to go through, "Camp Cupcake." As non-manly as this may sound to many, I was perfectly okay with this, but in the back of my mind, having IICs screaming at me scared me to death. Not because they are particularly scary, but because I had heard that the military doesn't take too kindly to recruitees who tell the IICs to "shut the hell up" or say "I'd be pissed too if I spent the last 10 years sanding the deck of a ship and I spent mine getting an education and you outranked me" things of that nature. I tend to not hold my temper or my tongue, especially with IICs. This has gotten me in trouble on several occasions in my life, and I didn't think it would mix well with the military. I looked at what bootcamp entailed - first off, for someone with an advanced degree like me, they called it Officer Development School. It was a 5-week indoctrination program in Newport, RI. We were to be schooled in military history, etiquette, bearing, uniforms, etc....also, an intense physical fitness regimen (this actually sounded great) 5-weeks? I can probably bite my tongue for 5 weeks. So I did it. I actually signed on the dotted line 11 Sept, something unplanned but very fitting. I reported to training, without my wife and kids, on 14 Sept and checked into this dreary old place called King Hall. For the first time in many years, I had a roommate who wasn't my wife. We were given a whole list of things - things we couldn't do and things we had to do. Couldn't do - cell phones, go off base, wear civilian clothes, hands in pockets, speak during meals, eat dessert, talk in class, talk while marching, etc.... Had to do - rooms spotless with beds made just perfectly at all times, march to class, march to meals, eat only during meal times (yes, I lost like 15 lbs. in 5 weeks), stay with a buddy at all times, stay on base. Uh-oh. This was going to tougher than I thought. I'm 33 years old, have a PhD, three children, and you're going to treat me like a 5-year-old? When we're finished at night with everything you're telling me I can't my kids and say good night? Who do you think you are? And then, I reminded myself, it's only 5 weeks. If you're going to get all worked up the first day over these petty rules, you're not going to last 1 day, let alone 5 weeks. So I bit my tongue and pressed onward. There were 36 of us assigned to my company, and from what I could tell, most of the people were great individuals. We had a get to know you session on the first night and I went to bed feeling like I just may be able to make it.

Been awhile, misc. ramblings

I haven't written in too long. The last few months, I've been extremely busy, but things have settled down now just in time for the presidential election so I hope to be posting more frequently. For the first time in my life, I don't know whom I'm going to vote for. As I discussed in an earlier post, I am still feeling very betrayed by the Republican Party. Before the vice presidential picks, I was quite certain that I would vote for Obama. However, I do not like Biden, and I really like Palin, which is starting to swing me back to possibly voting for McCain. I do feel like John McCain is completely out of touch with the struggles average Americans face on a daily basis, but the same can be said about nearly every politician. Having personally lived at or below the poverty level my entire adult life, I have great empathy for those living there. Contrary to what many believe, I do not think that all those who live in poverty are lazy or choose to stay there. I've seen too many people working multiple jobs, 80-90 hours a week, year after year, and barely manage to make ends meets, to share those views. I guess my internal struggle is based on the question of the role of government in our lives. I have been raised to believe that all government intervention is bad, save the military. However, life experience has taught me otherwise. I literally would not be where I am today without help from the government, in the form of grants, health-care for my children, subsidized student loans, state-subsidized education (both for myself and my children), and many other things. On the other hand, I also know that the government does not have all of the solutions to life's problems. I do believe that a super-strong central government can be very dangerous. So, what am I going to choose? Still not sure. On one side, I am personally very conservative on social issues. Abortion as a form is contraception is evil and will some day be punished by God. So will homosexuality. But, I feel the same way about any sexual relationship outside the bonds of marriage, in addition to drinking alcohol and using tobacco. So, my question to the republicans, where's the constitutional amendment on cohabitation? Why is no one pushing to have alcohol repealed once again? It's this selective moral outrage on issues of political convenience that really bothers me. Which gets me back to another point I made previously - I feel more and more that the government should not legislate religious beliefs. And when I look at the above list of things that I morally disagree with, they are all rooted in my religious beliefs and I want the government as far away from my religion as possible. I also feel very strongly about helping my fellow man. Christ spent his entire life helping to elevate others, both spiritually and temporally. In a perfect world, everyone would be doing there own part to help each other and the government would not need to be involved. But, I personally have benefited immensely from government assistance, allowing me ultimately to move on to a different station in life. So, even though government is not the best possible option, are there any better ones available? To this question, I don't have an answer.

Universal Health Care?

Rarely do I agree with anything that is posted on the opinion page of the NY Times, but having lived exactly what he's described ever since I left my job to come back to school, this piece really hit home:
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/11/opinion/11krugman.html?ref=opinion
I can't imagine what I would have done during the past 6-7 years if something really terrible would have happened to my wife since she hasn't had any health insurance. I know that we've had similar conversations about taking her to the ER, especially with some women's health issues that she deals with (Yes, I know that I should go to the doctor, but we can't afford it). I couldn't agree more that something needs to be done. In this great country, with so much opportunity and affluence, we should do better than we do. I've taken solace in the fact that our situation is temporary and that soon we'll be covered and she can finally get sorted out, but I think that I would really be in despair if there was no end in sight. Being the land of opportunity, it was my choice to leave a job/health insurance and continue my education for the hope of a better future for my family. Rarely do I consider the government the best option to solve a problem, but I can't think of anything better. I think a comprehensive program that included not only health care, but also preventative measures, such as avoiding smoking, alcohol, obesity, and others, would be very beneficial to this nation. Free-market competition has not led to cheaper health-care, but it sure has made a lot of insurance company executives, attorneys, and physicians wealthy. Part of any health-care plan must include provisions to severely punish frivolous lawsuits, which in my opinion is the main reason things are so out of control. I saw another study, which used the Mayo Clinic as a prime example of what to do correctly, in which doctors are paid a salary for their work. Top notch care was received, even some of the best in the nation, but for almost half of the cost that patients at John's Hopkins pay for treating similar ailments. The difference in cost? Doctors at John's Hopkins are not paid a salary, but by the amount of procedures/tests/etc... that they perform. So, at Mayo, doctors do everything they think is relevant to help patients. At Hopkins, doctors help patients, but also are padding their paychecks by doing more than may be necessary. In my mind, it's time for a change. It's time every American has access to affordable health care. It's time we stopped smoking, drinking, and overeating our way into deadly circumstances. It's time that lawyers started getting charged for bringing damaging lawsuits against hard-working physicians. It's time that Americans stop wanting to make a quick buck on anything, especially at the expense of the doctors who provide such a valuable service. For those without health insurance (which some estimates are as high as 40% of adults), something must be done.

Abstinence

I've been thinking about this topic for awhile, wanting to approach the topic from a completely secular viewpoint. I will do this in detail eventually. For now, this is a really good start:

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/30/magazine/30Chastity-t.html
?_r=1&ref=magazine&oref=slogin

http://www.hcs.harvard.edu/tlr/

The betrayal of a Party

I sent a shortened version of this blog to the Daily Universe, the BYU student newspaper. If it gets published, I’ll put a link up. This is something that’s been on my mind for several months now, and in speaking to some friends, I’m not the only one feeling this way. I’ve been a life-long, straight-ticket voting Republican. I’ve dismissed past criticisms that the Republican party is bigoted and racist as vicious attacks by political adversaries. And then Mitt Romney came along. If you were to change nothing on his resume, with the exception of his religion, he would likely be the Republican nominee for president today. If Mitt, with his stellar reputation for superb leadership and change, were a protestant, or even better, a Southern baptist, he could have won the nomination in a landslide. But he’s not. He’s a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, or as many know us, a Mormon. You think Mike Huckabee would have even entered the race if Mitt were a good-ol Southern baptist? Doubtful. Because of his religion, the Republican party has declared that Mitt is not fit to lead this nation. With all of the strides the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints has made recently in being more understood and accepted as a mainstream religion, there is still a long way to go. Calling the Republican party as a whole bigoted and racist is stereotypical and unfair, as I know many party members who are not, but the actions observed during this primary season speak louder than any press release. I hope that members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints across this nation will step back and re-evaluate their blind allegiance to the party which was declared that Mormons are second-class citizens because of their faith. Does this mean I’m now voting Democrat? I don’t know. I still can barely stomach the thought. It’s humbling to be reminded of the persecution that our ancestors faced and see that in many areas of this country, it’s still alive and well. It’s sad that in this land of supposed tolerance that someone can be denied the highest echelons of politics because of religion, but the stark reality of the situation is clear, and magnified in the Republican party. You think Harry Reid has been held back as a Democrat because of his religious beliefs? I dare say that any persecution Sen. Reid has faced has come from members of the church who are Republicans in some form of, “How dare you be a practicing Mormon and a high-profile Democrat. That borders of blasphemy.” To me this way of thinking is absurd. So, why are many Mormon’s Republican? I’ve heard many answers, but the two most common are attributes Mormon’s hold dear - family values and fiscal responsibility (both personal and national). Well, as evidenced by the growing deficit, the Republican party can’t be counted on anymore to be small-government or even fiscally responsible. If you’re going to cut taxes, then cut spending. Anyone with any training in accounting (or 4th grade math) can tell you that if you don’t have as much coming in, you can’t spend as much. So, how about family values? By this I mean supporting laws that uphold and strengthen the traditional family unit and opposing laws that attempt to undermine and negate the positive impact of a two-parent, husband-wife (male-female) led household. I feel these traditions and beliefs are vital to the success of our nation, but like all religious beliefs, are best taught in the home and church with little or no government involvement. Getting the government involved brings the ability to legislate religious beliefs, which I feel is fundamentally dangerous. Yes, it’s all well and good when a religious belief you hold is one that is being legislated, but what happens when it’s not something that you believe in and a law is about to be passed forcing you to comply with or abstain from something you don’t believe in? For example, many Mormons will agree with a law defining marriage as a union only between a man and a woman, but what about a law that forces all secret/sacred societies and rituals to be exposed and allow unfettered access to anyone? How would Mormons feel about that violation of religious freedom? Some feel that the “family values” type legislation violates their personal beliefs and freedom in a similar fashion. Legislation of religious beliefs can become a slippery slope that leads away from freedom and towards intolerance, not unlike a society that mirrors one the pilgrims had to leave hundreds of years ago in search of religious freedom and tolerance that played a major role in the founding of this nation. In summary, I’m at a political crossroads. In one sense, I’m very apathetic towards the whole process in general, but I’m also feeling betrayed and am not sure where to turn.

lessons from vomit

Last night was difficult. Tracy and Cameron were up all night throwing up. Michael decided to join the puke party around 3 AM. On three separate occasions last night, my sweet daughter lulled me into a false sense of security, only to teach me an important lesson. I went to the store late last night to get some ginger ale, as Tracy uses it to settle an upset stomach. Whether I think it works or not is irrelevant. And I don’t. Anyways, Cameron slept most of yesterday afternoon on the couch. When I got home with the ginger ale, Tracy thought it would be wise to wake her and have her take just a sip of it. Cameron didn’t want to take it. Poor thing had been dry heaving all day. I did my best as a loving daddy to get her to drink some and she finally assented. After taking a sip, she decided she wanted more. I was hesitant, but thought that Cameron might be pulling through this bug and was reaching the stage where she would become ravenous with thirst and hunger after nearly 30 hours of fasting. She had perked up and was acting as if she was feeling better. I reluctantly got her some more ginger ale, around 6 ounces, which she heartily drank. She ran around a little more, laughing and skipping, and finally asked if she could snuggle me on the couch. This is one of my greatest joys as a father, so I quickly agreed, tucked her in tightly beside me, and enjoyed the moment. I quickly grabbed the “throw-up bowl”, which had become standard fare that afternoon, just in case. Cameron saw the bowl and said to me, “Daddy, I’m feeling better. I’m not going to throw-up anymore. I’m not sick.” I figured if she was well enough to drink the ginger ale, skip around the room, and then lucidly tell me that she’s just fine, then she must be. I put the bowl away and went back to our snuggling. Not 30 seconds later, from my armpit to my hip, I was covered in vomit. After the first round of vomiting, she continued, first on my lap, and then finally into the bowl for which I was frantically grabbing. I guess she was in fact still sick. I cleaned her up and brought her into bed with us. About and hour-and-a-half later, she woke me up saying she was thirsty and needed some water. In my half-awake state, I got her a cup of water, not clearly remembering the events of just a few hours earlier. Again, she chugged the liquid. Again, she wanted to curl up next to me and sleep. And yes, again, I ended up with puke all over me. You would think I would have learned my lesson after getting thrown-up on two times in as many hours. After the second incident, I got a towel, mopped up most of the vomit, and laid down a couple of other towels, vowing to get to it in the morning. Instead of moving beds, I was so tired I just turned around, meaning I put my head near the footboard and feet by the headboard. I went to sleep. As I mentioned earlier, Michael decided to join in all the fun and around 3:30 AM, we awoke to the sound of heaving and the distinct splat of four half-digested hot dogs being expelled from Michael’s stomach and onto to the tile floor. Since I had already been puked on twice and was getting very grumpy about being woken up again, Tracy got up and helped Michael. She is such a sweet wife and I’m a lousy piece of crap - remember, she’s also sick. I just laid there in bed trying to sleep, frustrated with being woken up again, and I let my sick wife get up to help our other sick son. My guilt caused me to toss and turn until Tracy came back to bed. I noticed that the commotion had woken up Cameron. She asked very nicely for a glass of apple juice. Now, I’m slow at times, and being 4 AM doesn’t help matters, but I did not want to have "Cameron Throws Up on Daddy III." I got her a small sip of juice. She wanted more. I refused. She begged. She pleaded. She used all of her wiles against me. I caved. I got her a glass of cool apple juice. She drained it. At this point, I laid her down on the stack of towels with her bowl wanting no part of what I knew must be coming. I returned to my makeshift sleeping area at the foot of the bed and said goodnight. Soon, Cameron came to join me. She said that she just wanted to be with me and snuggle so that she could fall back asleep. She assured me that she was feeling better. The apple juice had really helped. Not forgetting her wily ways, I brought the bowl down to the foot of the bed and the towels. I knew it was coming and didn’t want to get in its way this time. Cameron was now adamant. “Daddy, I’m better now. Thank you for the juice.” I was afraid. I was exhausted. She sounded so sweet and sincere. She didn’t want the bowl or the towels, they were just for the sick people and she was all better. All she wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep, right next to her daddy. How could I refuse? She had used her charm and I was powerless. I’m sure you’ve deduced what happened next. Within a minute of succumbing to her pleading, I was once again covered in puke. I swore. I knew it was going to happen and let my guard down long enough so that it did. I wasn’t mad at my daughter for being sick and wanting the comfort of her father. I was upset with myself for failing to avoid a situation that I knew would make a huge mess. Three times a sweet little girl seduced her daddy into believing that all is well. Three times, I end up with vomit all over me. What are the lessons here? I'll let you decide.

Dad, what's .......?

My oldest son is making a habit of asking me questions that cause me to give an extended verbal, “Ummmm….” while my mind races for an answer and yet all I can think of is, “I wasn’t expecting that question for a few more years.” He initially did this to me when he was only six. A little background on this is needed for more understanding; in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, the church leaders provide a broadcast twice a year, mainly for inspiration and training. On occasion, new or updated guidelines are extended as well. Back to the example - one of these broadcasts had recently occurred, during which we received some counsel regarding tattooing. This was the first time in my lifetime, perhaps ever, that the leadership had counseled during the broadcast against getting a tattoo. I knew at the time, since I had gotten a tattoo for my 18th birthday, that this would be an issue someday with my children. At the time I heard it, I considered getting it removed before they would become aware of that I had it as I always want to set a good example for my kids. Being my oldest was only six, his brother 4, and the youngest just turned one, it would be good to do it sooner rather than later. My oldest only intermittently watched, spending most of his time playing in his room or watching a video on our other television. Imagine my shock when a few days later he approached me and asked, “Dad, didn’t President Hinckley [church leader] say we’re not supposed to get a tattoo?”
“Ummmm……” I replied, “Yes son, he did say that.”
“Then why do you have one?”
“Ummmm…… I think I need to get it removed.”
“Yeah dad, that would be a good idea.”
Just yesterday, he did this to me again. He’s nine now and just started 4th grade. He came into my room just as we were all getting ready for bed and said, “Dad, my friend at school asked me if I’ve ever had sex. What’s sex dad?”
“Ummmm…..” quickly looking at my wife, hoping for an epiphany, but only getting the same blank stare I was making returned, “well son…..” then turning it back on him in an attempt to buy more time, “Who did you say asked you this?”
“My friend at school,” he quickly replied. “Dad, what’s sex?” he repeated.
“Ummmm…..” and I went into an explanation about love and affection and how people who really love each other sometimes show that affection by having sex. I stressed that sex is only okay once you’re married. I also explained the differences between a kiss that you give your mom and a kiss that you give a girlfriend. How sometimes, like maybe you’ve seen in the movies, boys and girls have special kisses if they’re in love.
“Oh, so having sex is just like those long kisses in the movies then?” he asked.
“Ummmm…..” realizing that I wasn’t going to be able to escape this conversation without either lying to my son or telling him the basic nuts (no giggling) and bolts of intercourse, and then going on to explain it in terms I thought he would understand. I explained something elementary using “girls privates” and “boys privates” (thank goodness he has a sister and knows there’s a difference) and the private parts fitting together. I also emphasized that sex is a wonderful thing, sex is the way that babies are made, and that in order to have sex, you have to be married.
“Dad, that’s disgusting. I’m never getting married.”

I couldn’t believe that I was already having that discussion with my nine-year-old son. I really want to be there for him whenever he encounters difficult questions, hoping that I can be the best source of information for him, but also getting quite uncomfortable with questions like the one he posed last night. I always figure that honesty is the best policy and if I blow him off or try to postpone answering tough questions, he may seek answers elsewhere and that might yield responses that I would rather not have him obtain.

As challenging as it can be at times, I love being a father. It is a myriad of learning experiences that assails you with things that you could never dream of. It’s the greatest life education I’ve ever received and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

back to school

The kids went back to school today. My oldest starts 4th grade. I can't believe he's turning 10 in a few months. He continues to be an avid reader and has shown a recent interest in learning how to golf. I hope to be able to get him lessons. That would be such a fun thing to be able to do together with him throughout the years. Since he's so much like his father, I also hope he has the patience and humility to actually learn to play, instead of following the path I did in which I was sure I knew how to play after several minutes instruction. My middle son starts 2nd grade. This makes it easier on my wife, as both of the boys now are finished with school at the same time, whereas previously the younger one would get out an hour earlier. He was very excited this morning and I'm sure will do well. He is a diligent worker and makes friends easily. His teachers typically adore him. My little angel starts school as well, beginning her daily pre-K at the Methodist church across the street from our home. She is very excited. She is such a sweet little thing, always wanting to help out around the home. She spoils her daddy. I am so lucky to have such wonderful kids. They've been so patient with me and my quest for higher education. We spend quality time together every day. They teach me so much about life and about myself. I'm so glad that all of my kids question my decisions and call me out when I'm not treating them as well as I should. My goal as a parent has always been to raise independent children who think and act for themselves and allow them to make decisions on their own, learning lessons along the way. I hope that my children and I will continue to have a good relationship as they approach and enter their teen years so that we can rationally discuss the torrents of life and make sound decisions based on reason together. This of course is the best-case scenario, but as a realist I hope to be somewhere close to that. By fostering their independence and teaching life lessons along the way, with rewards for obedience and work well done, instilling in them a strong work ethic, they can see for themselves the way to an abundant life. Most of the credit for the amazing children I have lands fully on my dear wife. She is an amazing mother whose kindness and compassion are unparalleled. Together, we make a great team. I'm so fortunate to be able to spend my life with her.

Beckham, welcome to America. America, welcome to soccer.

During the summer of 2006, I spent a considerable amount of time watching the soccer world cup. It was the first time since watching the Africa cup of nations tournament in 1996, while at the time I was living in The Republic of South Africa, that I had really watched soccer. The Africa cup of nations had a profound effect on me at the time. I grew to not only appreciate, but also really like soccer. It certainly helped that I was living and working among black South Africans, watching the love they had for their team, playing with them in the dirt fields of their townships, and then joining in the celebrations that ensued upon South Africa’s championship run. The jubilation was more than anything I had experienced sports related. Everyone was happy. You see, I grew up in Northern and then Central California in the 80s and early 90s as a die-hard San Francisco 49ers fan. I knew the thrill that came from seeing my team win the ultimate prize on multiple occasions. If you’re a frequent reader of my blogs, you’ll also quickly realize that I’m a huge Los Angeles Lakers fan, meaning that I have seen my share of championship basketball runs. Additionally, for the past four years I’ve been living in Miami and have seen the city celebrate both a World Series title and an NBA championship. Although I’m not a fan of these teams, the atmosphere in a city where a championship has been won is palpable. That said, it was nothing compared to being in South Africa when Bafana bafana (the nickname given to the team) won the Africa cup of nations. The world cup last year rekindled my passion for soccer. I loved the games. I started playing pickup soccer again on Saturday mornings. I even chose an English Premier League (EPL) team (Tottenham Hotspur) and followed them closely, via the Internet and Fox Soccer Channel, during last season.

While watching the world cup last year, I selected some favorites to follow. Of course, the United States topped my list. Unfortunately, they were quite disappointing. They were clearly out of their league. I also chose to cheer for Germany, the country my ancestors once lived, Argentina, the country that many of my dear friends are from, and England, if only because I knew that some of the best soccer in the world is played there. Watching Germany play the opening game of the tournament against Costa Rica and score four goals, one of which was one of the most beautiful goals I’ve ever seen (Torsten Frings’ rocket from about 40 yards out), I was immediately hooked. It was fun to see Germany go on and place third. It was fun to watch the Argentines appear to dance with the ball, almost as if they were stars in a musical. They play beautiful soccer. Watching England, who was ultimately also a bit disappointing, was good, but mainly for one reason – David Beckham. Nearly every good thing that England did in the world cup last summer was a result of something he did. His passing is superb. His free kicks are legendary. I remember hearing that he was washed up and past his prime, but after seeing him play, thinking that he was still an amazing player.

This brings us to why I chose this time to reminisce about last years world cup. David Beckham is now playing for the Los Angeles Galaxy, which plays in Major League Soccer (MLS), America’s version of the EPL. Now, I freely admit to watching several MLS games and being VERY unimpressed. After following the world cup closely last summer, then a full season of EPL, the MLS is very second rate, and possibly third or fourth rate. If you’re familiar with Major League Baseball, I would place the MLS around the AA level when compared with the EPL. With Beckham playing for the Galaxy, I must admit that my curiosity got the best of me and I decided to give watching another attempt. The other night, I saw Beckham’s first start, in a super liga match against another MLS team, DC United. This DC United team, as far as I understand, is one of the better MLS teams and had quite handily beaten the Galaxy just a few weeks prior. With Beckham on the field however, the team played well. Beckham scored his first goal as a member of the Galaxy with one of his famous free kicks, then followed that up with a precision pass to a streaking Landon Donovan to put the Galaxy up 2-0, which would be the final score. His intensity and energy were apparent early and often and seemed to be an inspiration to his teammates. His aggressive play even earned him a yellow card, exhibiting even more of his competitive fire.

I’m not naïve enough to think that somehow, David Beckham will bring soccer to a level that could rival the NFL, MLB, or the NBA, but I do think that he will be good for soccer in this country. He will definitely show Americans how elite soccer is played. He may even inspire others to come here and raise the competitive level of the MLS to at least be respectable to the rest of the world. To David Beckham, I say welcome to America. Here is one American who is very glad that you’re here. To America, I say welcome to soccer. It is a fantastic sport that truly captivates the rest of the world. Getting acquainted with soccer will be easier when we are able to watch a master, David Beckham, at work in our own backyard.

Go Barry Go

Saturday, Barry Bonds tied what has been called the most hallowed record in sports history. Against the team that had given up more of his home runs than any other, Bonds blasted his 755th home run to left-center field in Petco Park in the 2nd inning against Clay Hensley. Although Bonds has a mountain of circumstantial evidence pointing to use of performance enhancing drugs, he has vehemently denied knowingly taking steroids and thus far his tests have been clean. In a twist of irony, Hensley in fact was suspended 15 games in April 2005 for steroid use as a minor leaguer. Commissioner Bud Selig was on hand to witness the historic home run and responded with disgrace. Bud was asked to stand up, and grudgingly did so and pointedly thrust his hands into his pockets without a hint of applause, exhibiting his displeasure with an unsurprising passive-aggressive gesture.

As this event comes to a climax in the next few games when Barry hits his 756th home run to overtake Henry Aaron, the talking heads and pundits that typically write about these things will take umbrage that such a hallowed record can be surpassed in a cloud of suspicion. You will hear much about asterisks, steroid fueled recovery, the reaction of the commissioner, the reaction of Homerin Hank, the stuffy baseball writers debating whether or not Barry should go to the Hall of Fame, but what you will not hear is a tribute to the greatest baseball player ever, Barry Bonds. I want to pay a meager tribute to him now. Meager because I am no one anyone in baseball will take seriously, not because of the man I want to honor.

I must preface by declaring that I am a San Francisco Giants fan and have been since I was a young boy watching games in chilly Candlestick Park. I will not dazzle you with statistical knowledge because I don’t have any, but I do know that Barry Bonds is the most feared hitter in his lifetime, possibly ever. He has been walked, intentionally or not, more times than I have ever seen. I also know that he is confident and doesn’t have much patience for the media. I don’t know how much patience I would have if I were hounded day in and day out either. He could even be described as moody, surly, and temperamental, as many of us can be described on occasion. Does he have his faults? Of course. Does he seem a bit immature at times? Yes, but again, how many grown men do you know that don’t act immature at times? Barry should be every mans hero, but he isn’t. Why not?

The easy, although I say the incorrect answer, is suspected steroid use. The cry of “he cheated!” resonates, but as a society do we really care about cheating? Cheating is rampant in this nation, from college exams to shady business deals. This does not excuse it, but softens the issue for many. When San Diego Chargers linebacker Shawne Merriman was suspended for 4 weeks last season for steroid use, the only negativity expressed was because fans couldn’t wait for him to return to the field. And what really constitutes a performance-enhancing drug? Only recently “greenies” were outlawed (and also until recently it wasn’t again baseball rules to use steroids), the amphetamines many ball players, including a great like Mike Schmidt, would take to get through a double header and they were arguable enhancing performance. What about the cortisone shot Kurt Gibson got just before his famous home run in the playoffs years ago. If that drug didn’t “enhance performance” by allowing him to walk to the plate when he previously wasn’t able to, then I don’t know what performance enhancing is. The feigned outrage expressed is said to be about cheating and about steroids, but if you really get down to it, it is neither of these reasons. The bottom line is people don’t like Barry Bonds and are vilifying him. He is being used as a scapegoat for the rampant use of steroids by many baseball players, but this is not because people are upset with steroid use; it is a convenient way to express displeasure with the man many don’t like who is breaking the most hallowed record in sports. This man is overtaking Henry Aaron, who in contrast is a man who was and is beloved by many. Suspicion of steroids just gives people an outlet for expressing their dislike of a grumpy ball player that lacks universal appeal.

I say celebrate Barry Bonds and his accomplishments. He is an amazing baseball player and it has been a great time to be a Giants fan. He has carried my team for so long and done so many wonderful things. I like Barry Bonds. We’ve been privileged to witness one of the best baseball players ever to play to the game during these past 20 years and it will sadly soon come to an end. Thank you Barry.

Mormons = Christians?

Saw a disturbing documentary this weekend entitled “Jesus Camp”. Seeing this reminded me of something that has been on my mind for ages. I spent the last few years of my childhood and the whole of my teenage experience in Clovis, a California suburb near Fresno. I always knew that my religion set me apart. I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, which is commonly known as the Mormon Church. I was born into the church and have attended nearly every Sunday my entire life. I know that as a child, both at home and at church, I was taught that I am a child of God, that we should follow the golden rule, and that God loved us so much that He sent His Son to die for us. I learned all about the life of Jesus Christ, including His miraculous conception and humble birth in Bethlehem, the beginning of His ministry at age 12 in the temple, His baptism by John the Baptist, His temptations in the wilderness, His parables and teachings, and culminating with His suffering for our sins in Gethsemane and cruel death on the cross at Golgotha. Not only did I believe in Christ, but I knew about Him and His life and I loved Him. I had been taught these things and others for as long as I can recall. This is perhaps why the experiences I’m going to relate next had such an impact on me.

When I was a freshman in high school, I was playing on the high school water polo team. I saw an advertisement for an organization called the Fellowship of Christian Athletes and noticed that they were going to have a meeting and would be serving lunch. Now, as most growing 14-year-old young men, I was always up for a free lunch. I also thought it was cool that there were other athletes who knew about Christ, for most of my teammates didn’t seem too excited about following the standards that I been taught to follow. I really thought this would be a great thing for me to meet some people who shared my beliefs and my standards who were also athletes. I walked in the door and was quickly greeted by some smiles and kind words. As a freshman at a large high school, this is a rare and cherished experience. What sport did I play? Are you hungry, the food is over here. Eventually came the, “Which church do you go to?” My answer, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.” This answer, as usual, was met with blank stares, to which I quickly added, “I’m a Mormon.” Silence. Not a quiet reverence, but something colder, almost hateful. Then the remarks, “Mormons aren’t Christian. What are you doing here?” and “You don’t worship Jesus, but some guy who was a treasure hunter.” also “You don’t believe in the Bible cause you’ve got your own.” These were not questions but statements, and they were not accompanied by the smiles and kind tones that had greeted me moments earlier. These were accusations that I was different, I didn’t belong with them, and I wasn’t welcome. For the first time that I can remember, I felt discriminated against. I was not wanted simply for what my religion is. These people didn’t know me at all, all they knew was that I was a Mormon and that was a good enough reason to quickly change from kindness to cruelty.

As a 14-year-old, I was struggling with many things internally. I had grown 8 inches in a year and was lanky and a bit awkward. I had minor acne issues. I had loving parents and a great family, but at 14, instead of turning to them for strength, I had everything figured out already, at least I thought I did. I didn’t share problems with anyone when I had them; I still don’t for that matter, but prefer to deal with them internally. I was a bright kid. I could figure anything out. This is a product of a quick mind and fierce independence, traits that are both genetic and have been ingrained in me since my birth. Now, my religion, my very soul, was the subject of ridicule at the hands of some “Christian” athletes. I soon came to realize that my high school was full of “Christians” who, once they found out I was Mormon, immediately went into attack mode, like I was the product of something evil and must be shot down. I didn’t handle this very well. Instead of being proud of what I was and sticking close to the religion that at the time I held dear, I distanced myself. I found myself telling others, when religion came up, that I was a Christian in order to avoid the attack. I tried hard to not let others know that I was a Mormon. I was doing exactly the opposite of what I had been taught – I was ashamed of who I was and what I believed in (Romans 1:16).

In spite of this, my high school experience was pretty good in most aspects. I ended up with decent grades and good SAT/ACT scores, good enough to earn me academic scholarships to several schools. I became captain of the water polo team and played in the valley all-star game as a senior. I found that I have a knack for math, science, and photography. I had several girlfriends and enjoyed going to winter formals and proms. All aspects of my life were good, except for the religious things that I had been neglecting since my freshman year to avoid discrimination and ridicule. This neglect was internal in its nature, as I continued to attend church with my family every Sunday and even managed to attend the high school scripture-study course every morning before 1st period. All of this I did in action only. My heart was far from it. I had distanced myself from these things. I still managed to live the standards that I had been taught, mainly because most of them seemed logical to me. I’d seen enough drunk friends passing out and vomiting everywhere to not have any desire to drink. Being kind always seemed like the right thing to do, and though I wasn’t a saint, I was a pretty nice kid most of the time. The one standard that was tough for me was morality, but I didn’t have a steady girlfriend long enough to be too tempted to have sex either. I had been taught to save sexual relations for marriage and luckily ended up doing so. I firmly believe that the reason I didn’t ever have the opportunity is because I wouldn’t have been able to resist it (1 Corinthians 10:13).

My senior year of high school, the subject of our early morning classes was the life and teachings of Jesus Christ and His apostles, namely the New Testament. I wanted to know – am I Christian? Well, I believe in Christ. I believe He died to save us from our sins. He set a perfect example about how to live. Why wasn’t I Christian? What exactly was the definition of being a Christian? I looked it up. Here’s what Webster says: Christian – a person who has received Christian baptism or believes in Jesus Christ or his teachings. Well, I had been baptized when I was 8 and believed in Jesus Christ and His teachings. According to Webster, I qualified. Why didn’t I qualify in the eyes of many of my peers at school? I researched this problem further and came to a realization. In their eyes, I wasn’t a Christian because my understanding of the nature of Jesus Christ mainly, and some of his teachings, are so different than their own. I believe in the version of Jesus Christ from the New Testament. He was born of Mary, but begotten of God the Father. Somehow, Mary became pregnant with baby Jesus. He has a mortal mother and an immortal perfect father, who is God the Father. This gave him power over death, but the important quality of being able to die if he so dictated. This also means to me that God the Father and Jesus Christ are separate and distinct personages. This was manifest also at the baptism of Christ, when he had come up out of the water, the voice of the Father was heard declaring that He was pleased. Jesus Christ was killed on the cross at Golgotha, and three days later he rose again, a perfect, immortal being. He showed Himself to many people. He ate food and people touched him – in short, He had a physical body. Eventually, he ascended into Heaven to join His Father. He did not leave His body here – it went with him. This is the Jesus Christ I know and love. This is not the Jesus Christ that “Christians” worship. I don’t know exactly how to describe what they believe Jesus Christ is, but I know it is different than my view. Our differences are doctrinal, but most of the things Jesus Christ taught we all believe in. I still don’t understand where the hate comes from. Actually, I have a strong suspicion where this malice is rooted.

Since my time in high school, I’ve served a mission for my church. I lived in Southern Africa for two years preaching about Jesus Christ. I have become fully converted to my religion by following the teachings of James 1:5 and John 14:26, where I asked God by prayer whether the things I had been taught were correct. I received an answer by the Comforter that in fact what I had learned is true.

I live in Miami now, so I don’t encounter many “Christians”. Miami is very Catholic, Jewish and atheist. Seeing Jesus Camp this last weekend reminded me of the experiences I had when I was younger and it was not pleasant. I’m happy to be here where although I’m still in the religious minority, I’m not persecuted or discriminated against. When people find out here I’m Mormon, the comments and questions I get are never mean spirited. People are curious and kind. They are very tolerant and accepting of others beliefs. Living in Miami has taught me many things. I’m not only in the religious minority, but there are not many tall, non-Spanish speaking men of European descent here either. I have become a more tolerant and loving person as a result. My empathy for others has increased. I have experienced diverse cultures, customs, and food and have been richly rewarded. In sum, I have become more like the Man I wish to emulate, more full of love. If I could only use one word to describe Jesus Christ it would be love. That is what He is. That is what He promises. That is what I’m striving to become. That is not what I felt when dealing with “Christians” in my past or what I felt when watching Jesus Camp. I do not refer to myself as a “Christian” anymore. I want to dissociate myself as far from that group as possible. I declare proudly that I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I’m a Mormon.

Happy 4th of July!

Happy Independence Day! This is one of my favorite holidays of the year. I love meeting in the morning for a breakfast with friends. I love spending the afternoon swimming and enjoying family. I love lighting the fireworks you can purchase and then gathering on a blanket to watch a professional fireworks display. I love the music celebrating this great nation. And I love this country.

For two years of my life, I lived outside of the United States of America. You’ve heard the expression that you don’t truly appreciate family until you’ve lived away from them and I can say the same thing about America. I can also say that living here in Miami is more like living out of the country than in it. Every time I visit somewhere besides Miami, even a place as close as Ft. Lauderdale, I am reminded how much I love America and can’t wait to move back.

The United States provides opportunities to speak your mind about nearly every issue without fear of being thrown into prison or killed. You can go on national TV and criticize the job the President is doing and you will not be punished, and may be celebrated depending on the President. Freedom of speech is guaranteed, regardless of how offensive it can be to certain groups. When discussing something my father and I had heard that was offensive, my father said, “We may not agreed with that, but should be willing to die to protect his right to say it.”

I am very grateful for the freedom of religion, one of the tenets upon which this country was founded. As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (the Mormon Church), I have found that this freedom doesn’t necessarily mean freedom from persecution. Now, the government is not supposed to favor any religion above another, or above no religion at all, and I have not been subject to this form of persecution. Persecution by members of different religions, on the other hand, has been plentiful, both for me individually and the church collectively. In fact, I would say that throughout the history of this country, our church has been one of the most persecuted. Typically, this comes at the hands of “Christians” as I’ll generically label the disparate protestant sects and is generally on points of doctrine that we differ, not necessarily moral values. In recent years, many Mormons have united with “Christians” on moral issues, especially politically, to elect representatives that will use government to uphold values that we find to be not just important, but vital to the continued prosperity of this great nation. This unification to gain political power seems to be a one-way street. The “Christians” are happy to get our votes for their candidate(s), but be damned if they’re going to vote of one of ours.

I’m thankful that I can walk down the street reading what I wish, that I can choose any career that suits me, and then change it on a whim whenever I feel like it. I’m happy that I may one day own a part of this nation, that my children can grow up here away from the pain and turmoil that faces so much of the world. I’m thankful for a political process that never focuses too much power in one area, that respects privacy, and that would rather let a hundred guilty men walk free than imprison one innocent one. Freedom is a special thing that many of us take for granted. In the immortal words of a classic song, I will conclude – “I’m proud to be an American, where at least I know I’m free. And I won’t forget the men who died who gave that right to me. And I’ll gladly stand up next to you to defend Her still today. ‘Cause there aint no doubt I love this land, God bless the USA.”

I got a trophy and an NBA wrap

First off, the great news. I competed in a sprint-distance triathlon (1/4 mile swim, 12 mile bike, 3 mile run) a few weeks ago and placed 3rd in my age group, and so doing received the first trophy of my adult life. That was really cool and I enjoyed it more than I imagined I would. I really enjoy the smaller triathlons, but I came away from the big one that I did unfulfilled, so I'm doing another 1/2 ironman (1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike, 13.1 mile run). Throughout the run of the 1/2 ironman I did in March, I was upset at myself for not training properly. I could have done better than I did. My training, nutrition, overall health, and aerobic fitness needed improvement. This time around, I'm building a solid cardiovascular base. I bought my first heart-rate monitor and I've been training with it, ala Dr. Maffetone. It's really quite interesting - to monitor progress, you run a specific distance (in my case 5 miles) at a predetermined heart rate (again, for me 148 BPM - you get this by subtracting your age from 180). You do this every three weeks. If you're training properly, your time should go down with each test as your body slowly starts to work more efficiently at a lower heart rate, thus allowing you to speed up a bit and still not break the 148 barrier from aerobic to anaerobic training. For the next two months, I've got to do a lot of running, cycling, and swimming, but I can't go over my threshold. The 148 BPM is run specific - take 10 off for the bike and another 10 for the swim. After the two month building phase, I can only break through to anaerobic levels for less than 10% of my total training time, allowing me to maintain my aerobic base but also allowing some race-specific work. My training is dramatically different than what it was before. I found out that I've been running too fast, but swimming and biking too slow. I've increased my mileage, but I feel much better. So far, I'm pleasantly surprised with my new regiment. Where I really struggle is my nutrition. I like eating fatty foods. I love red meat. I love ice cream. I really like soda. These are not ideal triathlon training food items. I try to avoid them, but sometimes I just need to go to Outback and enjoy a Bloomin' Onion, a Ribeye, a warm brownie, all washed down with an ice-cold Coke. My diet has improved immensely over the past few years, but I don't see myself ever giving up these things entirely. Plus, I'm not a professional triathlete, just some former swimmer who enjoys being in shape and participating in triathlons.

The NBA finals are over and like I predicted, the Spurs are world champions. See what I meant about knocking the Suns around? That's all you need to do to beat them. The Cavs? Please. They are horrible and wouldn't have gotten out of the first round in the west. My attention now jumps to this off-season where it is becoming more likely that Kobe Bryant will not be a Laker much longer. This is a tragedy. Mitch Kupchuck has run this organization into the ground since Jerry West stepped down and will soon be known as the idiot GM who traded away both Shaq and Kobe. It's no wonder Kobe is pissed. He's playing in the prime of his career at a level that rivals any NBA great and he's got no help. Magic had Kareem and Worthy. Jordan had Pippen. Shaq had Kobe. Bird had McHale, Parrish, and DJ. Kobe has Kwame Brown and Smush Parker. The best-case scenario here is the Lakers get a deal done that brings either KG or Jermaine O'Neal to LA to play with Kobe. I think if Mitch could get that done, Kobe would back off of his trade demands. Problem is, I don't trust Mitch to get it done. He's too incompetent. This means Kobe will be leaving and the Lakers will be stuck getting some some garbage from the Eastern conference like they got in the Shaq deal. And here's your starting lineup - Lamar Odom, Luke Walton, Smush Parker, Luol Deng, and Ben Wallace. In the west that roster equals about 30 wins. If the Lakers trade Kobe and retain Mitch, I may have to break up with the Lakers - and this would bring my father immense joy, as he considers the fact that I'm a Laker fan one of his greatest failures as a parent. Needless to say, this off-season looks like it will be much more interesting than the NBA finals were, and that's not a good thing.

my brother, guns, and the playoffs

My brother is moving back to California with his family. I'm jealous and hope to move back myself in the next few years. He's going back to school and wants to eventually get on with the FBI. It is my dream to live close to one of my siblings (more than one would be even better). It looks like I'll be able to live next to my other brother eventually, as we both hope to end up in San Diego (he at San Onofre and me at Pfizer).

The tragedy at Virginia Tech is a chilling example of what happens when law-abiding citizens are forbidden from carrying their concealed firearms, even though they have a permit to do so. This madman would not have got through 30 people if someone could have been carrying their own protection. Isn't it obvious that all of these mass shootings occur in "gun-free" zones? These people are crazy, not stupid. They don't want people shooting back.

The NBA playoffs are underway. My beloved Lakers are likely done. Phoenix is just too good and the Lakers are too bad. At least they didn't get swept. They do however, need to knock Barbosa and Nash on their ass every time them come into the lane. I don't know why they don't do this. Those little guys would be more hesitant to come in and lay the ball up if they knew they were going to knocked down every time they tried. Hopefully they get some help this summer (KG, KG, KG, KG, KG!) The eastern conference is bad. Three sweeps in the first round? The winner of Detroit vs. Chicago will go to the NBA finals. Also, Go Warriors!!! I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Dirk is not an MVP. He's a wuss and a whiner. He will not be "the man" and lead a team to an NBA championship. He should not be the MVP. I don't know if he's going to win it, but he shouldn't. If you had one game to win and had to pick one player in the league to lead your team, who would you pick? I'd pick Kobe, but I'm biased. Wade would also be a good choice. But Dirk? I don't think so. The western conference is shaping up to be interesting. San Antonio and Phoenix will be good, but SA should win. They know to knock Steve Nash on his ass. The other side of the bracket, with hopefully Golden State and the winner of the Utah/Houston series, will be fun as well, but I don't any of those teams beating the Spurs. It will probably be a San Antonio vs. Detroit finals, which will a slug fest with teams barely breaking 70 ppg.

Imus

Since everyone is weighing in the Imus situation, I want to as well. I’ve read a few articles over the past week regarding this topic. All make good points. All agree that his comments were very inappropriate and should not have been made. People disagree over the action that should have been taken. Jemele Hill writes that Imus’ comments hurt all women, especially black women and that he should have been fired on the spot. (http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=hill/070410). Jason Whitlock basically says, “Who’s Imus?” and wonders why there isn’t similar outrage over the exact same type of language that is very common among hip-hop vernacular (http://www.kansascity.com/182/story/66339.html). I wonder how many people would have even heard about this incident if the national media hadn’t spread it around to everyone. It would be interesting to find out how many people were actually listening to the Imus show at the time the comment was made and compare that to how many people have heard about it now thanks to the media making a circus of this issue. Michael Wilbon says that Imus has a pattern of spouting offensive things, especially to black people (http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/04/10/AR2007041001891.html). LZ Granderson did a fantastic job. His analysis was right on. His article is entitled, “Hate is hate, no matter the target”. Like the others, he agrees that this language is deplorable and shouldn’t be tolerated, but goes on to wonder about certain groups that would typically be up in arms over a statement that is considered offensive to them. You see, people look out for their own, but don’t care much about others, no matter how offensive the language may be. For example, is you use the word faggot, the gay lobby is upset, but you don’t hear much from the NAACP. He also cites an example of when he gave Michael Irvin a free pass after saying, in regards in Tono Romo’s athleticism; “He’s athletic because his grandmother had sex with a slave.” He then goes on to speculate, “Had Mike Ditka said the reason that Donovan McNabb is intelligent is because his grandmother had sex with a slave owner, I’d have been looking for blood.” (http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=granderson/070409&sportCat=ncw) Forget Mike Ditka, imagine Rush Limbaugh making that comment on his radio program. Why the double standard? If language is inappropriate, it should be color-blind. I know that with our attitude of politically correctness, some things have been labeled “extra offensive.” To me, political correctness is a form of censorship – trying to silence voices that you would rather not hear. This is the land of freedom of speech. If Imus offends you with his racially charged language, then don’t listen. Isn’t that the same argument we hear for Howard Stern and his sexually charged show – you don’t like it, don’t listen to it. The same people who would defend Stern and his right to spew what many consider to be filth, are the same who are calling for Imus’ head over a different form of filth. In my book, filth is filth. If you don’t like it, don’t listen to it. I’m a firm believer of speaking with you wallet. If no one is listening, there is not going to be a radio show around for too long (look at Air America). I think that this situation can be used to open some needed dialogue. Is an apology appropriate? Only is he means it. Should he have been fired? Absolutely not. You don’t like him or what he says? Neither do I. That’s why I don’t listen.