2019: A Very Short and Basic Review

Reflecting back on 2019, I honestly think my greatest accomplishment was convincing my son to decorate his room in Spider-Man. (Here are some pictures demonstrating how it turned out, but I could have just described it to you with one word: Spider-Man.)

This was not my only “win,” though. I changed the faucet in the kitchen sink without any help. I survived a jelly fish attack down in Alabama, and I drove to Colorado without losing my family.  The Spider-Man décor, however, besides just being cool looking and fun, also reinforced the idea that my son and I have much in common.

Yes, he does take after his mother in most respects. He’s great at math, singularly focused, and has learned how to tune me out, but he also shares many of my interests as well. This year we said “good bye” to Iron Man, Captain America, Luke, Leia and Rey. We went on multiple bike rides on the TREC trail near our house. We had many catches in the back yard, we watched the Cardinals finally make it back into the post-season, and, if it wasn’t for his persistence, I would likely have waited a few more days before subscribing to Disney +.

In closing, I like my other two kids, too. They’re great, we’re all great, but I did not see either of them decorating their room with any of the cultural icons from my youth, so, to them I say, “Maybe next year.” In the meantime, my son and I will be watching The Mandalorian (the hype is real; it's awesome) and waiting for Marvel’s Phase Four.

A Precise Memory from a Recent Hike

So there we were, miles into the Meramec wilderness and still an hour out from camp. I was bringing up the rear of our tiny expedition while my old friend Todd had the lead, our two ten-year old daughters sandwiched between. We had just explored the entrance to a nearby cave and were trying to make it back to our tents before a drizzle became rain. Suddenly, the boisterous singing that had punctuated the journey so far changed to a shriek.

“Spider! It’s a giant spider!”

Sure enough, in the middle of the trail scrambled the largest, hairiest spider any of us had ever seen outside of a zoo.

“It’s a tarantula!”

“No way!”

“Tarantulas don’t live in Missouri, do they?”

We discussed the size of the creature and took some pictures as it escaped. Soon it disappeared into the brush and we returned to the trail, paying a little more attention to where we stepped. The only other wildlife we saw—perhaps unsurprisingly, considering our singing—was a startled armadillo and a few insects back at camp.

A light sleeper even in the best conditions, I was never able to completely fall asleep on the forest ground, and I admit to checking the tent for relatives of the huge arachnid more than once. At dawn we crawled out of our tents and started packing things up, the girls eager for hot chocolate and some last minute exploration. Soon we were trekking out of the woods; a half hour later we were back on the highway heading home, the giant spider now a curious segment of a larger, more relaxed memory.

A few miles out of St. Louis Todd texted me a picture of a Texas Brown Tarantula, also known as an Oklahoma tarantula, or, in our case the Missouri Tarantula. Sure enough, this spider, by far the largest in the state, is indigenous to the region and loves to hang out exactly where we found it, along rocky forest glades. (Apparently Missouri was once much warmer and drier than it is now, which is likely when this guy’s ancestors crawled into the place. This species still finds the southern portion of the state hospitable enough to thrive, but the Missouri River has kept the tarantula from migrating into the northern counties. In case you’re wondering.)

So that was that. The spider wasn’t at all aggressive, nor interested in hanging out with us at all, but it did provide us with a shaky video and a very precise memory.

On the Road

Annaka put hundreds of miles on her car seat this past summer, especially on Interstate 70. In mid-June we went west to visit two sets of friends: one in Morrison, outside of Denver, and the other couple in Colorado Springs. Annaka traveled well to both places, thanks to the portable DVD player on her lap and the portable potty seat below her feet. The biggest challenge, as always, was feeding her and making sure she drank at least forty ounces of fluid.  (The antirejection medicine she takes twice a day is rough on her kidneys, which is why she has to drink so much and also why we, unsurprisingly, drive around with a practice toilet in our car.)

Later in June we went back on the same road, this time heading east. Annaka made it all the way to Pittsburgh in one day, arriving mid-afternoon with plenty of time to enjoy the hotel pool. The next morning we drove a few miles up the street to the Children’s Hospital for her annual checkup. She put on a brave face for a lengthier-than-usual blood draw (they needed plenty of fluid for multiple tests) and also tolerated over an hour of doctor visits from various specialists. Her lab results came back good and her doctors continue to be happy about her overall progress.

She enjoyed other basic warm weather traditions--swim lessons, slide climbing, baseball and softball watching-- but one of the best summertime memories is what we avoided, which was spending a single night in the hospital! It seems we spent half the summer of 2016 in St. Louis as her liver slowly failed, and in 2017 and 2018 we were admitted so she could battle various infections. This year, though, thankfully, we’ve been spared such a trip, although she does like to spend time playing doctor. (Her accident-prone Paw Patrol figures have gone through hundreds of Band-Aids these past few months, and she has recently conjured up a game where she has to surgically remove a three foot long plush snake from your belly.)

Although she enjoyed about a month of morning preschool last spring, this year she’s attending  four-days a week in the afternoon and even goes to a morning preschool on Mondays and Wednesday. Logistically it’s a challenge--for her, for everyone--particularly when it comes to getting her the needed fluid each and every day and for keeping her safe from her myriad food allergies. (Thanks once again to the grandmas for making such a schedule possible and for her teachers for keeping her safe.) She loves school, though; she loves her teachers and her friends and even seems to enjoy the bus ride afterwards.

In other words, she is making excellent use of the wonderful gift her lifeguard Nancy gave her two and a half years ago, and as October is Liver Health Awareness month, we thought it would be fitting to give everyone an extended update on how she is doing. The old adage rings true: “no news is good news,” and it seems we have reached a place, thankfully, where we have plenty of that no news to share.

Maintenance: A New Beginning

Two years ago I wrote a series of columns about the School Facility Sales Tax proposal, which will once again be on the ballot in Effingham County next month. Like most columns about taxes, they were infuriating. Taxes make people mad, regardless of what kind they are, and, considering our history, perhaps these feelings are understandable. One might argue that this disdain for taxes is in our cultural DNA, going all the way back to the mid-18^th century.

Not all taxes are created equal, however, and controversial issues often lend themselves to misinformation. This column, then, will be devoted to hopefully clearing up some questions about the tax in general, as well as countering some arguments against it.

Question: How much is this thing going to cost?

Answer: That’s impossible to answer without knowing a person’s particular spending habits, but keep in mind that this is a one PENNY tax on each dollar spent for specific items. Groceries and medicine—the stuff we need to actually live—are not taxed. Farm equipment and cars are also not taxed. Dining out is taxed. Retail merchandise is taxed. Gasoline is taxed. For every dollar we put into our gas tanks, an extra penny will go to help keep local school buildings up-to-date. For every dollar we put into our wardrobes, one penny will go toward giving our students a competitive edge for their future. 

Question: Why should we help pay for teacher and administrator salaries? 

Answer: We’re not; at least not with this tax. The money generated cannot be spent on salaries or curriculum; it can only be spent on building-related costs. This covers a wide range of expenses, from electrical updates to roofing needs, from wheelchair accessibility to building security. 

Question:  Why are we being threatened with higher property taxes if the sales tax proposal fails?

Answer: It might be easier to answer this question with an analogy from the outdoors. If you are in a raft going down a river and there is a waterfall fifty yards downstream, the guy telling you about the waterfall is not threatening you with a waterfall. If you are floating down a river, you might get wet.

Thus, people who live in communities with public schools may see their property taxes increased on occasion to help keep those schools viable, particularly if that same community exists in a state as sorely governed as ours. That’s not a threat; that’s just geography. Regardless, the Schools Facility Sales Tax is partially designed to alleviate the need for an increase in property taxes.

Question: Aren’t we just financing poor stewardship? Why do these schools need so much upkeep in the first place?

Answer: Entropy. Everything in the universe, regardless of how well you maintain it, eventually needs to be replaced and/or updated. Effingham Junior High School, for example, was built in 1939; many of our county’s schools are close to the same age. These schools are testimony to both the craftsmanship put into them originally and the dedication shown to them over the course of decades. To imagine that a school district has someone “allowed” these buildings to just “deteriorate” is both an exaggeration and a bit insulting to the generations of good stewards who have helped keep the doors open this deep into the 21^st century.

Question: Won’t this tax drive away business?

Answer: That’s a stretch. Even if this sales tax passes, Effingham County will still have one of the lowest sales-tax rates in the region. The idea that someone will drive past Effingham as they travel along I-57 or I-70 so they can save some pocket change is unlikely.

Question: My grandkids don’t even attend public school. Why should I help pay for a school in which I have no vested interest?

Answer: From an ideological standpoint, one might suggest that helping out your neighbor’s child is simply our shared ethos put into practice. Pragmatically speaking, however, the stronger “your” schools are—and I use the possessive pronoun “your” to indicate any school—public, private, parochial—that exists within the same geographic region in which you live—the stronger your community will be. 

Strong and dynamic schools act as magnets for dynamic people, drawing them into your community, keeping them there from one year to the next, from generation to generation. Dynamic people work hard, they give generously, they create jobs, and they teach their children to do all those things, too. If that is the kind of community in which you want to live, then it stands to reason that you actually do have a vested interest in ALL of the schools in that community—all of them—from preschool to post-secondary opportunities.

In closing, it has always confused me why we, as a society, will claim to value our young people and make vague claims like, “the children are our future,” but then run for the pitchforks whenever someone talks about providing them with good schools. What is it about maintaining these buildings, anyway, that makes some of us so mad?  

Local Man Wears Blue Tie...Again

High school English teacher and two-time Sectional Champion Scholar Bowl coach Joshua “J-Dawg” Robison knows a thing or two about wearing ties. He’s been around them all his life.

“I grew up in a house with multiple closets.” Robison mentions. “I know that at least one of those closets had ties. My dad wore ties on occasion. His dad wore ties. They weren’t weird about it. It was just something they did at socially appropriate times, like at church.”

Robison’s approach to tie-wearing, however, is anything but not weird. Case in point?

Operation: Tie-land

“Operation Tie-Land came about last August.” Robison continues. “I was looking at my tie collection, wondering which tie/shirt/khaki combo I would start out with. I noticed I had some ties I hadn’t worn in years, so I thought, ‘What if I tried to go through my entire tie-collection in one school year?’

This simple question started Robison out on his unsimple goal.

“After I wear a tie I put the tie on a rack, away from the other ties, signifying that that garment had already been worn. Could I do it? Could I go through the whole collection in one academic year? I came up with a clever name and started posting progress updates on social media. Basically it was an instant, viral hit.”

Not everyone, however, agrees.
            “No.” A fellow English teacher, who agreed to be interviewed on terms of anonymity, explains. “No one really cares. Very little of what he explained to you about this thing is accurate. And I think calling it ‘Operation: Tie-Land’ is a bit insensitive, regardless.”

“I think he’s just very unaware of how he’s seen by the average person.” Another fellow educator added. “The idea that anyone would even be remotely interested in what ties he’s worn or how many he has left to wear...it’s just nonsense. I wish he would just focus more on his job, his actual job, the one that affects the people around him. Like me.”

Regardless, Robison himself remains undaunted.

“I’m confident I can wear each of my ties to school before May 23rd.” Robison explains, referring to the last calendar day of student attendance, barring any more snow days. “It might be a challenge, because some of them are just really ugly. Some have stains. It’s a process. This is my blueprint year doing it, so expectations are fairly low.”

Considering the fact that it’s February, however, one has to ask: Has he really gone the entire school year so far without wearing the same tie twice?

Robison smirks and shakes his head. “No, not quite. There was a blue tie. A solid blue tie I did wear with a shirt that just wasn’t going to work without it. You know, a solid tie can bring some balance, some integrity, to a shirt with alot going on. I have no regrets, though. It was in my color wheel and I have no regrets.”

The Natural

While it might seem strange to discuss baseball in January, consider this. If a rookie ended his season with a .325 batting average, fans would say the kid can hit. If he ended his second year above .330 and walloped a few dozen home runs in the process, again, most would say, “Wow. That guy is going places.”

Imagine this same ball player went another five years hitting above .300 and belted out forty or so home runs on average per season.

This player would be sought after as a slugger and opposing pitchers would fear him. They would study his performance and try to develop a strategy to at least contain his success. Depending on the game and the spot in the season, some might even just pitch around him and move on with their day.

Let’s say this batter ended his hall of fame career with a .318 batting average. He’s in the upper echelon in total home runs and R.B.I.’s. Without question, he’s one of the best hitters to ever play the game.

Right?

Stats don’t lie. The guy was a champion, and so now it’s time to write a book about him. Continuing with this hypothetical scenario, imagine you’re the sports writer for the job, and you decide, “Hey, let’s talk to the people who knew him best: former teammates, old coaches, and, for a particularly interesting chapter, opposing pitchers.”

You secure interviews with 250 of the top pitchers in the game and sit down and ask them the same question. (Yeah, that’s a lot of interviews, but you like to travel and you know how to use Skype.)

“What made this guy so good?”

The vast majority of the pitchers tell you some version of what you expect:

“Remarkable reflexes; great anticipation.”

 “A student of his opponents.”

“Tremendous work ethic.”

A few guys, though, tell you something odd. They conjure up a story that, all things considering, doesn’t really make any sense.

“I threw him my easy stuff.”

“He really wasn’t that great.”

“He got lucky.  A lot. I mean, like, a lot a lot.”

Stranger still, these few pitchers go on to make a startling accusation.

“Everyone who pitched against him was throwing him meatballs.”

“What?”

“Yeah, just straight down the pipe.”

“For nineteen years?”

“Sure.”

“The game footage doesn’t really seem to ….”

“Forget the footage. Forget what you know, or think you know. The guy was a fraud. He couldn’t hit; at least not at our level. We all just got together and threw him easy stuff. This idea that he’s one of the best hitters ever? It’s a hoax.”

“A hoax?”

“Yep, it’s a conspiracy.”

“Whaaaat?”

“Absolutely, yes. All the pitchers were in on it. Only I and a handful of others are willing to admit it.”

After making sure you’re still recording the interview, you take a deep breath and continue.

“So, to clarify, you’re telling me that out of the hundreds of pitchers who faced him throughout his career, men whose very livelihood and reputation hinge on their ability to strike people out, you’re telling me that they all chose to go easy on this one batter, jeopardizing not only that particular contest but their entire season, just so he, as an individual they barely knew, could make it to the hall of fame?”

“Sure.”

“Wow. OK. I think this interview is over. Thank you for your time and enjoy the rest of your day in Crazytown.”

Kind of farfetched, but that’s basically what is happening with climate change. Thousands of scientists—men and women whose very livelihood depends on interpreting data—have come to the same conclusion: The climate is warming up, humans are, at the very minimum, exacerbating it, and, if we don’t slow it down, the results will be increasingly catastrophic.

 Yes, there are a handful of detractors, but the idea that all of the scientists who have come to the same basic conclusion are conspiring in an effort to curb economic growth makes about as much sense as the idea that a career’s worth of pitchers went easy on one single batter, just so he could make it to the hall of fame.

It’s absurd, and regardless of our politics, we should know better.

Scientists love to debunk each other. It’s their thing; that’s how science works. Researchers are constantly debunking each other’s ideas in all kinds of places, but the vast majority of climate scientists tend to agree that human-induced climate change is a serious problem that needs urgent and global attention.

Although not related to climate change, about two months ago an instrument on the Voyager II deep space satellite noticed a significant decrease in the amount of solar wind, suggesting it had finally left our solar system. Launched in 1977, this vessel has less computing memory than a cell phone, yet it continues to send back information to scientists millions of miles back on Earth.

About one month ago, NASA landed a much more sophisticated vessel on Mars. This machine, named InSight, also sends information back to Earth. Stationed about 300 miles away from another human-made robot, the Curiosity rover, this instrument is designed to record seismic activity.

These stories are pretty amazing, and I mention them to highlight very obvious examples of multiple scientists working together to get it right. Yes, scientists are humans and they make mistakes, and I’m certainly not suggesting we deify science or, much less, the humans doing it.

However, if our Creator has gifted us with not only the ability to ask hard questions but to also collect the data needed to offer reasonable answers, why are we often so hesitant to accept what we find out? Why do we so often ignore the batters we don’t like?