Yesterday was my birthday. As I prepared to celebrated the 30th anniversary of my 28th year, I decided to google “1952” and see who else shared the same momentous day as me. It was an interesting search. I found great actors like Pierce Brosnan and Jeff Goldblum, Pee Wee Herman and Mr. T. (OK, not all so great) There were two subjects of my adolescent crushes, Angela Cartwright and Isabella Rossellini (actually Isabella still does it for me!). I wonder if Ed Case knows Vladimir Putin was born in the same year as he was? Two women of substantial journalistic fame, Amy Tan and Maureen Dowd, came into this world at the same time as Sydney Biddle Barrow, the “Mayflower Madam”, and Marilyn Chambers who lived “Behind the Green Door”. And one of TVs famous couples, Roseanne Barr and John Goodman, were both born in 1952. And it is those last two that bring me to my latest bone of contention.
[Disclaimer: As someone who has battled the scale for most of my life, I promise no unbiased opinion here. Hey! You try and get picked last in dodge ball for your entire grade school career and then be open-minded!]
Roseanne might be described as “zaftig” and John as “portly”. Even “plus sized” might work. And while you may not appreciate their finely honed thespian abilities, do me a favor and don’t label them as “that Fat B*%#1*” or the “porky slob who can’t act his way out of a paper bag”. If you want to downgrade someone’s abilities or skills, go ahead, but don’t equate their incompetence or lack of talent with their weight. When Charlie Weis was sending Notre Dame to the bottom of the rankings, it was one thing to read about his lack of coaching ability. It was another to listen to people yell “YOU FAT PIG!” and “YOU SUCK, CHUBBY BOY!” Mark Mangini, former coach at Kansas, seemed to always be photographed with his ample waistline fully displayed in an unflattering profile when an article criticized his team’s losses. And then, we come to the recent annoying decision by Beautiful People.com to drop some of their members from their website because their photos showed they were putting on weight.
We are still a society of fatists. Sure, we fight racism and sexism, but we seem to be winning those battles (I hope). Stand up at a football game and scream “STUPID N$#&^@!” to an African-American”, and see what reaction you get. But point at a big woman and say “YO! TUBBETTE! EASE UP ON THE PORK CHOPS!” and I’ll bet those around you join in your mirthful moment without hesitation.
You want to scream at a coach? How about “YOUR 3-4 DEFENSE BITES, CHARLIE!” Think someone has an abrasive personality? Try “GEEZ, YOU ARE AN IRRITATING HUMAN BEING, ROSEANNE!” Drop someone from your online dating service because they like long walks on the pier and rabid pit bulls, but not because they went up a notch on their belt.
Ease up, people! Stop with the sticks and stones. If you prick us, do we not bleed?...OK, maybe it’s gravy instead of blood, but c’mon!
'I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.”
With those words, Ebenezer Scrooge began the miraculous transformation from a life totally focused on himself to one that looked to others' needs first. Can a similar conversion of heart take place across our State as Christmas approaches, and in the days beyond? Can we wake up to the reality of a place that often turns its back on the less fortunate or the voiceless? Can we stop closing parks in the name of sanitation and cleanliness when what we really want is to get “those people” out of sight and out of mind? Can we cease the unbelievably shortsighted furlough follies and look for other, perhaps more painful, cuts that don’t penalize the smallest among us? Can we develop laws and regulations that protect those whom we minimize and discriminate against? Can we even begin to make these changes of heart?
And let’s not just point the finger at the institutions that have failed us in this perhaps quixotic quest for justice. How many Marys and Josephs do we turn away at the doors of our own lives? What example do we set for our children when we denigrate the immigrant or the mentally ill or the one whose lifestyle does not fit our way of thinking? Where do we put our treasure? Where does our heart lie?
It took an overnight visit from three ghosts to turn Scrooge’s life around, so maybe it’s too much to ask an entire state to change its ways, but wouldn’t it be a truly joyous Christmas morning if we woke up, looked out our window, and said to the world, “God bless Us, Every One!”
College sports are both exhilarating and nauseating. I was in Maui recently to cheer on my alma mater Gonzaga as they captured the Maui Invitational. The smallish Lahaina Civic Center exploded with chaotic school pride. Anyone who was at Aloha Stadium when the Warriors beat Navy can attest to the “chicken skin” moments of that victory. Between the lines, college competition is one of the most thrilling and invigorating experiences you can have.
But leave the court or the field, and you stumble immediately on cynicism and hypocrisy. When June Jones told us, “It’s not about the money”, we knew it was. Brian Kelly stands before his Bearcats, looks them in the eye, and says, “I love this place. I’ll never leave.” Next stop, South Bend.
And it’s not only coaches. Players leave for the NFL or the NBA before their college commitment ends, taking with them the investments of time and money bestowed upon them.
And don’t tell me it’s a business. I know that. But businesses are supposed to operate ethically. College is supposed to bring out the best in people, not the worst. Minds are sharpened. Lives are shaped. The world gets better.
I don’t know. Maybe I’ve watched “Pollyanna” and “Rudy” a few too many times. But this just makes me want to puke.
There’s a popular commercial running right now that gently pokes fun at the rituals developed by men as a means of greeting one another (fist bumps, “man hugs”, etc.). I doubt that any male of the species who watches it will be able to deny using at least one of those displays of manhood. Short of marking our territory (and aren’t you glad the commercial didn’t go THERE?!), we men have a seemingly endless supply of social preening, grunting, and complex body maneuvers.
While watching a recent basketball game on TV, I observed a coach pat a player not once, not twice, not thrice, but four times on the derrière before sending him back onto the court. That set me to wondering if that would work in other sports? Wouldn’t you love to see Tiger Woods’ caddie swat him on the rump several times just before a crucial putt?
“Well, Brent, I call that my ‘tush push’. Keeps him focused.”
Since we’re on the subject of Tiger Woods – Hey, you brought him up! - Do you think he chest bumped the doctor as he left the ER? If he did, he’s not talking about it. The doc, on the other hand, will probably show up on Nancy Grace sometime this week.
And another thing (OK, now you’ve got me going!)… Why did three different radio hosts this morning have to tell me that what Tiger does in his private life is his business and there is no need to keep talking about it? Of course, they told me this repeatedly for over thirty minutes.
“No story here, people, and let me tell you again for the fiftieth time why we are not going to talk about it.”
I swear I heard one of them high five his producer as they went to a commercial.
Michael Weaver, an educator in Hawaii's Catholic Schools for over 30 years, is currently the High School Principal of Damien Memorial School in Honolulu and a 1970 graduate of Damien.
