Happy Birthday Mr. Rogers Or How I Learned To Pray

I never much cared for Mr. Rogers. I mean, I didn't dislike him or anything*, I just didn't really care for him. His message, every day, was a pretty simple one, to my reading – You are loved. It was a good message, but it was one I heard every day from my parents and I didn't need it from someone on TV. That changed when I met a young boy I'll call Jeff.

See, I was a bit of a rarity. As a teenager, I liked and was liked by children and was willing to babysit, and had some experience and faculty with working with “special” kids. I mean, I've had very little formal training with it, but I kind of enjoy working with kids that are hyperactive or “troubled” and find it really quite rewarding.

Jeff was one such boy. It was summer, and his mother called in the mid-afternoon and asked if I could watch him for an hour or so while she ran a few errands. Jeff was a foster kid and had already developed a reputation as a bit of a bully and a jerk. He even scared some of the older kids but, as often happened, he and I got along quite well. I said, “Sure,” and drove over.

His foster mom met me at the door with the usual litany of instructions and directives and rules he had to follow** and hurried out the door, telling me she'd be back in, “An hour – less than an hour,” which I knew wasn't true. It would be at least two hours, but that was fine. I had plans to take Jeff to the park and play some Let's Pretend. The last time I'd watched him we'd started up a fine space pirate adventure I was keen to get back to. He was in the TV room right now, though, watching Mr. Rogers.

I stood at the doorway and watched him sitting in the middle of the living room floor for a minute before saying anything, trying to see the kid I knew and the kid everyone else seemed to know at the same time. He was still young, only ten or eleven, but already had a broad, muscular frame. His arms were ropy and strong under his long-sleeved shirt, and his neck was corded with muscle. He was leaning forward intently with his legs crossed and his hands in his lap, just like any other kid his age watching their favourite show.

Finally, I spoke up, asking him what he was watching.

“Mr. Rogers,” he said. “He loves me.”

I smiled. It wasn't my show, but I was glad he had it.

A few weeks later, I was at a local park when I heard shouting from the playground. I got up and moved toward it to find Jeff in the sandbox with another kid. Jeff was sitting on his chest and doing his best to fill the kid's mouth with sand. I pulled Jeff off the other boy. As soon as he felt my hands on his arms, he went slack and I carried him off without struggle. After everything else got sorted out – the other boy had apparently called Jeff a “fag,” and apologized, Jeff apologized for beating him up – it was just me and Jeff.

“Thanks for grabbing me, Jim,” he said, “I was gonna do something stupid.”

“You were doing something stupid, Jeff. Didn't your mom teach you better?”

He laughed. “No, my mom didn't teach me anything. She just liked to burn me.” I assumed he meant “burn” the way my friends and I used it – his mom, his first mom that he'd been taken from, used to insult him a lot. I turned on my lecture mode.

“That's too bad, Jeff. It's never fun to be made fun of . . .“ Jeff pulled up his shirt-sleeve and showed me the underside of his arm. It was a network of scar tissue, most of them small, round welts about the size and shape of a cigarette.

“No, Jim, she burned me.”

In 1997, Mr. Fred Rogers, everybody's neighbour, taught me how to pray. See, praying is something we direct to God, but it's not just saying words for the sake of being heard, it has to do with how we are and how we live.

I Thessalonians teaches us to pray continually, but it teaches us that just doing this isn't enough. Here's the whole thing:

But we request of you, brethren, that you appreciate those who diligently labour among you, and have charge over you in the Lord and give you instruction, and that you esteem them very highly in love because of their work. Live in peace with one another. We urge you, brethren, admonish the unruly, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient with everyone. See that no one repays another with evil for evil, but always seek after that which is good for one another and for all people. Rejoice always; pray without ceasing; in everything give thanks; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus. Do not quench the Spirit; do not despise prophetic utterances. But examine everything carefully; hold fast to that which is good; abstain from every form of evil.

You could spend a year of Sundays talking about just this passage and hardly get the end of it, but “pray without ceasing” is in there next to all the rest of it. Praying is about how you live every single day.

In 1997, Mr. Rogers accepted a Lifetime Achievement Reward at the Emmys. He's how he accepted it.

You might not have noticed it, but that was a prayer, and, if you live your life as Mr. Rogers directed you to right there, it's never going to cease. I never got the chance to learn this from Mr. Rogers until Jeff had moved on out of my life. I hope he learned the same life and that he's healed from his scars.

I still pray for him. Continually.

Happy birthday, Mr. Rogers. And thank you.

* If someone actually dislikes Mr. Rogers, I have a hard time trusting them. It's like finding someone regards “joy” as a negative.

** I'm keeping Jeff's true identity anonymous as much because of how often I ignored his foster mom's rules as anything else.

Virtual Choir

So, I'm kind of in love with NPR's TED Radio Hour for giving me things like the below video. A conductor and composer made a video of him directing one of his pieces and put that up along with the music. He then requested that vocalists submit videos of them performing the piece. Someone then synced them all up and then . . . well, listen.

It can feel at times as though there's a shortage of beauty in the world, but the truth is that there is only ever a shortage in our ability to find it.

A night with the burlap people

The campaign I'm currently running, using the Pathfinder rules, is set just after a major war between the otherworldly demonic armies and the races of man. A lot of refugees arrive at one of the few major metropolises left standing only to find that its inhabitants, the high elves, have vanished, leaving only the newcomers to reclaim the city and find a balance of power. The PCs are mercenaries that pick and choose their missions from the various factions. On a typical week, I present them with three missions. Any unused missions end up getting discarded, their monsters and dungeons recycled and reused in later missions.

Because of this structure, I can get pretty experimental with my narratives, so long as I keep them relatively brief – a single three hours session, typically. For this reason, it seemed ideally suited to test out a new kind of monster: the burlap people.

On RPG.net's Tangency Open forum*, a poster named teucer discovered that across from his work were two really creepy burlap people.

Yeah. Creepy. The original plan had been to have the group investigate a carnival, but, seriously, how can a decent DM look at those things and NOT put them into a session?

So, while heading home from wiping a nest of goat demons, at around nightfall they come across a small village of yeoman farms about to celebrate their Firstwinter Feast. At the end of harvest, and preferably before the first fall of snow, they create burlap of effigies of the remembered dead, attaching a small token from that person's life to each of them. Each effigy is hung up with twine, and if you pull on the ends, they dance. At the height of the Feast, they're burned on a bonfire.

Gavin, the party's cleric**, concludes that this ritual actually makes a kind of sense – undead happen when a person's spirit comes back and is neglected, so having some mind paid to them would help them pass on peacefully. A bad idea though: a recent innovation from the village's head, Goodman Gregor – the creation of burlap effigies for all the unremembered dead. Unfocussed sympathetic magic could be disastrous. This seems like really bad news to Ojka, a hungry ghost monk who knows something about how to properly focus life energy.

While the party's settling into the traveller's hovel, under the good graces of Gregor, he's confronted by Audra, the village witch, a crazy woman dressed in rags and tatters. Before the group can talk to her, Gregor whisks her off to help with the preparations for the Feast.

The group has a plan – Tanaquil***, as a high-Charisma woman, is quite capable of distracting most of the village as she distracts the menfolk and keeps the women busy getting back their attentions while Gavin and Subra**** talk to the witch Audra. Last year, she says, Gregor went to the big city for a few weeks to arrange the sale of some livestock and when he came back he had this new idea, based on a book a priest had given him.

Subra sneaks into Gregor's house and steals out the book, which has the symbol of the Tolling Bell, the icon of a chaos cult, the bell that tolls down to the end of all life. Meanwhile, the rest of the group confronts Gregor who gives a confused confession – the man who'd given him the book was a chaos priest the group killed a few months ago, who'd implanted the idea in the man's head and sent him back to the village hexed.

As he finished his tearful confession, he was silenced by twine lashes reaching out from the darkness. Subra found herself facing off against a small platoon of the burlap people while Ozca jumped into the bushes to save the Goodman while Gavin, Tanaquil and the witch fought off the largest bunch of them. The villages fell like wheat before the scythe, only to rise again, their movements now under the control of the eerily graceful burlap people who created them.

Before he died, the Goodman was able to choke out that there was an altar in his basement. Subra, still close to the house, and Ozca, who found his fists practically useless against the burlap people, ran into the house while Gavin and Tanaquil continued to fight, trying to save as many villagers as possible (or, in the case of Gavin, get rid of as many burlap people as possible while avoiding any obvious villager deaths).

In the basement, Ozca took out the altar with a single flying kick. But that only finished the ritual. The spirits of the dead villagers along with the spirits freed from from the burlap people coalesced into a horrid human form, that of the dead chaos priest. The battle went well, but with so much magic being thrown around in the basement of a house not much better than a shanty, the building soon collapsed. The party escaped, but so did the priest, vanishing into the night.

The burlap people were quieted, and the surviving villagers solemnly, wordlessly, threw them on the bonfire, along with the bodies of their dead. Before the party went back to their home, hoping to catch a few hours sleep before leaving the next morning, Audra said to them, “If you see any, let us know – next year we'll need more cloth than ever before.”

* I'd link to it, but you can only access the forum if you have an account there.

** Human cleric of chaos and mercantile expert.

*** Yes, like the drug.

**** A sylph burglar, modelled after Parker from Leverage.

On Having An Awesome Mother

About two weeks ago, this dialogue happened in the Roberts household. I can’t say this is 100% accurate, but there’s one line I’m sure of, and that I’ve highlighted:

Graeme: Hey, Dad, tomorrow I’ll need your copy of the Marvel book and five dollars.

Me: You got it bud. What do you need it for?

Graeme: [Classmate] said that there isn’t a superhero called Defensor and I know there is. He bet me five dollars I can’t prove it..*

The reason I remember this line so well is because almost immediately after I said it, I thought of my mom. See, from a pretty early age, when I asked for something, it was always her first instinct to tell me I could have it and then ask why I needed it. She trusted me, first and foremost, and that inclined me to try to be as trustworthy as possible, and meant that when I broke that trust I was almost as crushed by it as she was.

That’s my mom. She’s awesome like that.

Whenever she comes down to see us, the first thing she does is hugs. Me, my wife, my kids, the cats, whatever mammal she’s familiar with that happens to be nearby. Her first instinct when she sees people she loves is to touch them, or to show them affection in some way even if all that’s appropriate is a kind word. And she loves a lot of people.

That’s my mom. She’s awesome like that.

One last thing – some of my church friends may have their eyelids twitching at my use of the word “awesome” to describe someone other than God. Well, if it is true that to love another person is to see the face of God, then when I look at my mom, I’m not sure I could see anything other than God. When it comes to the people who’ve shown me how to live a good and godly life, she’s up near the top**.

That’s my mom. She’s awesome like that.

* No, he didn’t go to school with five dollars. While I appreciate his entrepreneurial spirit, I’m pretty sure betting goes against school policy. He did go to school with the book that has Defensor in it – he’s a South American hero dressed like a conquistador whose superpower is being unusually durable. No, really.

** The others are, in no particular order, Will Nicholson, my dad, Kermit the Frog and Deitrich Bonhoeffer.

The only thing that stops a bad guy with a gun . . .

Is talking to them.

http://edition.cnn.com/2013/01/10/us/california-school-shooting/?hpt=hp_t2:

Earlier Thursday, Youngblood said the teacher and campus supervisor "engaged in a conversation that talked him into putting that shotgun down. ... (The student) said, 'I wasn't aiming at you,' and said the name of the student he was aiming at."

 Shooting someone dead doesn't stop them, it ends them. There is a difference.

In other news, water still wet

Wayne LaPierre said something that was simultaneously simplistic and annoying:

"The only thing that stops a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun.”

These words annoyed me the moment I heard them, but it took an off-handed comment to understand exactly why. When I linked to a news story about this*, and read back that sentence, he smiled wryly and said, “Yknow, I'd accept help from a second bad guy who hates the first one, in a pinch.”

And that's it. There's this common thought that the world is set up like a movie – more specifically, like a Western – where there are such things as bad guys and good guys. As Terry Pratchett once said through one his best characters, “I believe you find life such a problem because you think there are good people and bad people. You're wrong, of course. There are, always and only, the bad people, but some of them are on opposite sides.”** Or, to go straight-up biblical, “The heart is more deceitful than all else and is desperately sick; who can understand it?”

Reduce that sentence a little: “The only thing that stops a bad guy is a good guy.” Take away the whole firearms issue, and you're left with what sounds like a middle schooler explaining his Batman short story to his teacher.*** It's reductive and silly.

So, let's see if we can save it.

“One of the primary things that stops an aggressive attacker with a gun is another trained attacker.”

Okay, this I can work with. It doesn't make my eyelid twitch with cognitive dissonance. It's a little long and and complicated, but inarguable, right? Well . . .

Crisis negotiation began in 1972 as a way to resolve conflicts between law enforcement and civilians without using lethal force. While it's effectiveness is debatable, it is inarguable that violent crime has, despite what you might hear, gone down, and many credit crisis resolution techniques with that reduction.****

The best possible solution to anyone attacking with a weapon is, of course, to prevent it happening in the first place. Needless to say, this is rarely going to involve gunplay.

So, we're left with another rephrasing:

“Once prevention and negotiation have failed, an aggressive attacker can be stopped by another trained attacker.”

And this is the problem with press conferences and soundbites. Try getting a single article written about your speech when you say something that boring and dry. Still, we have to try. We have to have a conversation about this, where we're willing to talk using our big-people words, where we speak not in absolutes and certainties, but try to use the study and work of others to help us come to a solution, knowing that any solution we find will not be permanent and will not end violence.

Because this isn't bad guys versus the good guys, and it never, ever has been. There are no white hates, and no black hats, just shades of grey. And, well, some taupe and ecru, for some of the truly exceptional. We're all in this together. All of us. It's high time we started acting like it.

*For those who don't know, NRA President Wayne LaPierre said these words at a press conference, in follow-up to the Sandy Hook shootings. I'm not interested in talking about gun control here, but in case you need that context, there it be.

** Lord Vetinari in “Guards, Guards” – really, the book's a perfectly adequate introduction to Pratchett's Discworld. I prefer to start people off with Small Gods as it's nicely self-contained, but, well, just get started somewhere.

*** Of course, I've now just implied that Batman is a good guy – ooog. Just pretend I said Green Lantern instead. Wait, what's that? He helped the Guardians hide the creation of the Manhunters and hindered their prosecution. Oh, sod. Captain America, then. No, wait, he went directly against a federal order in opposing the Superhuman Registration Act. Huh. Even comic book morality is more complex than Wayne LaPierre's.

**** I have cites for this. Fans of statistics and analysis can check out http://www.eisf.eu/resources/library/hostage_negotiation.pdf. Fans of anecdotal evidence can read http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/09/12/answers-about-hostage-negotiation-part-1/. Or read both. The former's dry, but the latter's a good read. There's tons more out there, and anyone looking into what they want to do with their life, or for a second career should take a look.

Ingredients for a fall meal

Hardware
long serrated bread knife
butter knife
measuring cups and spoons
potato masher
sharp knife*
cast iron skillet
tongs
apron
stove
Adele's "21"**
tissues***

Adele's "21"
1. Place CD in player.
2. Press "Play."

Bread
1 store-purchased loaf of bread (gotta save time somewhere)
butter****

1. Slice up loaf.
2. Spread on butter

Squash
3-4 cups of chopped squash*****
1 tbsp butter
1 tsp pumpkin pie spice******
1/4 tsp cinnamon
1. Four months prior: plant squash seeds, water and weed as necessary.
2. Bring water to a boil the stove (use a pot that's one size larger than what you think you'll need).
3. Boil for 6-8 minutes, until the pieces fall apart when pierced.
4. Drain and mash in with all the ingredients

Steak tips
1-2 pounds of steak tips
1. Prepare with your favourite marinade, probably a day ahead or so.*******
2. Set stove temp to 350 degrees and your hottest burner on high.
3. Put your skillet on for at least 5 minutes (up to 10 if an electric stove).
4. Put your skillet in the oven for five minutes.
5. Wrap in foil and let the meat rest for five minutes before cutting.

If you start the water for the squash and the pan heating at the same time, they'll be ready at around the same time as well.

Last ingredient:

Family and/or friends (Substitute strangers as required).

* Seriously, a very sharp knife. It might seem kind of scary, handling a very sharp knife, but the nastiest cuts I've received are from dull knives.
** Can substitute any Motown.
*** May be needed, depending on how well you can handle "Someone Like You."
**** If it's a particularly cold day and your butter's hard-set, put it next to the stove when you start cooking. Near. Not on. Near.
***** Squash should be boiled as little as possible to preserve flavour, texture and nutrition. Cut it up in 1/4 inch cubes.
****** You can substitute trying to measure out a 1/4 tsp of allspice, ginger, cinnamon and nutmeg but, really, why?
******* I recommend either this recipe or the house tips from The Sterling Cleaver.