John Allen Fiske is the name on my birth certificate but a name I never gave too much thought to growing up, save for the times of unfairness in a child's life: when I had to clean my room, do my laundry or was made to finish my brussle sprouts with a side of liver and onions. That all changed when I, unbeknownst to me, let slip information that I thought to be common knowledge: that I was adopted.
This would not normally be cause for concern or excitement but it happened that I had divulged this information to a friend who possesses two personality characteristics that either bode well or spell doom for my sanity: she has an inordinate amount of free time and loves research. Faster than I could explain the "why" she was asking for my birth name and date of birth, along with any other information I may have had and spearheading a search to find my biological mother, "because I am sure she misses you every day".
The very next morning I find out she has been leaving messages for Florida native who, unfortunately for this Floridian, shares the name and age of my biological mother and happened to come from a military family. Can you imagine the cojones it takes to make that call? "Excuse me, you don't know me, but, in doing some research I notice your father was in the military in Japan. Any chance you had a child you gave up for adoption?" Lo and behold my friend did get through and, sadly, the quest continues.
I've always wondered about my biological parents, much for the same reasons I would surmise all adopted kids spend time pondering: were they superheroes, do we have any crazies running rampant in our genetic pool, why is my nose so big? For the more obvious reasons of finding out a little more about my medical history and finally figuring out why my personality grates on most in that special way, I am glad my friend is researching for me. I've always wanted to know yet, I've always been scared to death to check. I guess I've always rationalized that if my biological parents wanted to know me they'd come looking for me. I've recently come to the conclusion that they may just be sitting at home thinking the same thing.
The dilemma now is how to go about it. Thus begins the journey. It helps having a co-pilot.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Sunday, February 18, 2007
"Flags of our Fathers"
I cannot imagine watching as my best friend takes his last breath in my arms or having to watch in helpless anguish as a helicopter is shot out of the sky, the soldiers inside burning to death as I can do nothing but watch. I cannot imagine playing cards with friends one night knowing that the next day there is a great chance I could lose half or more of them to bullets and shrapnel. I cannot imagine having to look into the eyes of a child and realize that I have to kill him solely because I am fearful that he will kill me first.
I understand pain and death but cannot fully fathom all that the atrocities of war have etched into the memories of the soldiers fighting the endless battles. We hear about war all the time, be it in history books, on television or in conversation, but I don't know that any of us actually understand exactly what war is, and how evil it can make a heart, unless we are unfortunate enough to have experienced it ourselves.
Over 3000 American (not to mention over 50,000 Iraqi) lives have been lost in the current war. 3000. I understand the reasons for war: greed and false idealism being two of the most prevalent. I also get that some wars have to happen, or at least some level of involvement in quelling arguments between angry factions. But what I fail to understand is how easily the lives of the individuals fighting the wars are minimalized, becoming, in essence, numbers rather than humans.
Have you ever thought about what those minds contained? I wonder how many Einsteins, Pasteurs or Fords have been lost. I wonder the how many life altering ideas, cures for illness, new methods of transport, smarter ways to live life, died with those soldiers, not to mention the altered the lives of those left behind, struggling to find the why in death, understand the need for the sacrifice.
At what point in the existence of humankind do we begin to seek peace rather than gain? At what point will it be safe for everyone in the world to walk late at night, or to enter a room full of different skinned yet like minded people and see the striking commonality all humans possess rather than the minute differences, to know what it feels like to strive for change and growth rather than power and corruption?
How many have to have their lives sacrificed far short of their potential before the leaders of this world, the ones who actually possess the power realize life should be about living, and that each life in this world is as valuable as every other life. To aspire to live for the sake of taking in the beauty of the world around us rather than scheming, plotting and sacrificing others in their name for accrued wealth is truly a life worth living. Every number has a story, it is sad that many stories are ended before the plot fully develops.
I understand pain and death but cannot fully fathom all that the atrocities of war have etched into the memories of the soldiers fighting the endless battles. We hear about war all the time, be it in history books, on television or in conversation, but I don't know that any of us actually understand exactly what war is, and how evil it can make a heart, unless we are unfortunate enough to have experienced it ourselves.
Over 3000 American (not to mention over 50,000 Iraqi) lives have been lost in the current war. 3000. I understand the reasons for war: greed and false idealism being two of the most prevalent. I also get that some wars have to happen, or at least some level of involvement in quelling arguments between angry factions. But what I fail to understand is how easily the lives of the individuals fighting the wars are minimalized, becoming, in essence, numbers rather than humans.
Have you ever thought about what those minds contained? I wonder how many Einsteins, Pasteurs or Fords have been lost. I wonder the how many life altering ideas, cures for illness, new methods of transport, smarter ways to live life, died with those soldiers, not to mention the altered the lives of those left behind, struggling to find the why in death, understand the need for the sacrifice.
At what point in the existence of humankind do we begin to seek peace rather than gain? At what point will it be safe for everyone in the world to walk late at night, or to enter a room full of different skinned yet like minded people and see the striking commonality all humans possess rather than the minute differences, to know what it feels like to strive for change and growth rather than power and corruption?
How many have to have their lives sacrificed far short of their potential before the leaders of this world, the ones who actually possess the power realize life should be about living, and that each life in this world is as valuable as every other life. To aspire to live for the sake of taking in the beauty of the world around us rather than scheming, plotting and sacrificing others in their name for accrued wealth is truly a life worth living. Every number has a story, it is sad that many stories are ended before the plot fully develops.
Random thoughts
I wish I was in High School again, but this time with the knowledge I currently possess; the "wisdom of the ages" we can call it. This seems to be a common desire, to go back in time and become something we weren't, or at least be better than we were.
I marvel at the fact that I seem to always wish I could change the past instead of looking at the present and realizing what can be changed for the future. If I spent half the amount of time I spend looking back at my failures instead looking at how simple they are to change, I wonder what I could be, or at least what I would be doing.
I think the hardest thing in life to do is just that, to change, especially if life is simple and comfortable. That is my biggest problem right now, I work 20-30 hours a week and make enough to live comfortably. My jobs are, in all respects, fun, filled with good people, active and altruistic. I teach Physical Activity Courses at a local college; basically they pay me good money to play sports with college kids. I also coach soccer and counsel kids and adults on life, college recruiting and athletics. By all accounts, and in comparison to many, a great life, but it lacks fulfillment.
I find that the feeling of something lacking comes from an absence of intellectual stimulation, both real and perceived. And that therein lies the problem, I have a number of ideas that would be of great benefit to me, on a monetary as well as psychological level, but they all involve risk. Risk to take a chance, risk to fail, risk to succeed.
The question I struggle with the most is which is more detrimental? To risk failure for the hope and possibility of a better life, or to risk losing the one I know?
I marvel at the fact that I seem to always wish I could change the past instead of looking at the present and realizing what can be changed for the future. If I spent half the amount of time I spend looking back at my failures instead looking at how simple they are to change, I wonder what I could be, or at least what I would be doing.
I think the hardest thing in life to do is just that, to change, especially if life is simple and comfortable. That is my biggest problem right now, I work 20-30 hours a week and make enough to live comfortably. My jobs are, in all respects, fun, filled with good people, active and altruistic. I teach Physical Activity Courses at a local college; basically they pay me good money to play sports with college kids. I also coach soccer and counsel kids and adults on life, college recruiting and athletics. By all accounts, and in comparison to many, a great life, but it lacks fulfillment.
I find that the feeling of something lacking comes from an absence of intellectual stimulation, both real and perceived. And that therein lies the problem, I have a number of ideas that would be of great benefit to me, on a monetary as well as psychological level, but they all involve risk. Risk to take a chance, risk to fail, risk to succeed.
The question I struggle with the most is which is more detrimental? To risk failure for the hope and possibility of a better life, or to risk losing the one I know?
Friday, February 9, 2007
First day of the rest of my life
I turn 32 tomorrow and perhaps that serves as the inspiration for beginning a process that seemingly everyone else has already jumped into long ago, blogging. I don't really think that anything in my life truly separates me from anyone else, at least not enough to make what I may write worthy of reading, but, for a long time, I have wanted an outlet for my thoughts, and so this serves my purpose. Add on to that the fact that the Oregonian is supporting an outlet for new blogs to be presented and critiqued, I figured I would begin one, as writing and inspiring has always been of interest.
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