Tag: Lewis T

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Empathy, by Lewis T

History is replete with examples of leaders who may have been brilliant empire builders but whose lack of empathy made them brutal tyrants whose legacy was one of despicable cruelty–Genghis Khan, who was responsible for the killing of 11 percent of the world’s population; Tamerlane the Great (aka Timur, who is believed to have beheaded 90,000 people and built more than 1000 towers out of the rotting skulls); Vlad the Impaler; Ivan the Terrible; Belgian King Leopold II; and Pol Pot of Cambodia—to name but a few.

Compared to those tyrannical lunatics, our President is, thankfully, a consummate underachiever. He does share one trait with the aforementioned, however: he is totally lacking in empathy.

Empathy is a more powerful emotion than sympathy. While expressions of sympathy signify the speaker’s awareness of someone else’s emotional pain, empathy suggests that the individual shares that pain. Lesser animals than humans clearly are capable of feeling a sense of loss when a mate or offspring dies. That feeling may linger for days, weeks, or even longer. But I have never known or heard such a creature to demonstrate empathy for the loss of another of its species.

Science and art are the manifestations of humans’ great intellect. The limits seem boundless. Generation after generation, we humans achieve greater and greater means of advancing civilization. Leonardo de Vinci, who was both a scientist and an artist (and a genius at both), has expressed what I consider the most moving example of how empathy is a connection between the human and the Divine. Having created Man and Woman and seen that they were both good, the God of the book of Genesis extends his index finger to a reclining Adam in what appears to be a blessing, a sign of empathy between the Loving and the Beloved.

My gut feeling is that our current POTUS may never have felt thus blessed by his father. His older brother, Freddy, “who died at the age of 43 in 1981 of alcoholism, was apparently unable to conform to a family dominated by a driven, perfectionist patriarch and an aggressive younger brother”, Donald. [Citation: Jason Horwitz, New York Times, Jan. 2, 2016]. Instead, Donald learned that pleasing father meant being tough, never touching alcohol, and always—ALWAYS—coming out on top.

For our President, a person’s worth is determined by their wealth, fame, and influence. There is no place for empathy, the payoff for which cannot be measured in those terms. Showing empathy will not improve your golf score or get you seated at the best table at the Gramercy Tavern but it can do wonders for your human relationships and—who knows—it might even get you into Heaven.

© 27 Nov 2017

About the Author

I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were basically on their own and I wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth. Soon after, I retired and we moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13 blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE Creative Writing Group was there to light the way.

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Patriotism, by Lewis T

· “See the USA in your Chevrolet.”

· “See America first.”

· “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America.”

· “On my honor, I will do my best to do my duty to God and Country.”

· “Duty, honor, country.”

· “Loose lips sink ships.”

These are all valid expressions of love and loyalty to our native or chosen country. It is natural and normal and expected that we feel some sense of obligation to the people and places that nurture and sustain us. That is why we sometimes refer to the United States as our Mother Country. It is why we usually react more strongly to reports of patricide, matricide, and, especially, infanticide than to other murders. How could anyone do harm to those who have given so much to us–freedom, opportunity, sustenance?

· “Love it or leave it.”

· “My country, right or wrong.”

· Manifest Destiny

· American exceptionalism

· Genocide

· Religious intolerance

· Prejudice

These are manifestations of extreme forms of love and loyalty to those places and people that have nurtured us. There is a flip side to that coin. Just as we love the nurturer (and, perhaps, question how worthy we are of that love), we tend to distrust the stranger, who may not be disposed to see us so favorably. In long ago times, it was the tribe to which we owed our loyalty. It was Arian against the Jew, the Montagues against the Capulets, the Hatfields against the McCoys. All others were with the favored tribe or against it. The “Other” was deemed less than human, disdained by God, fit only to be slaughtered and their bodies left to rot in the sun or be picked clean by vultures.

Thus, America can wage a geopolitical war on Viet Nam or Iraq on the pretext of threat to the homeland while counting only the American dead and wounded and ignoring the order-of-magnitude greater losses on the other side. We systematically and mercilessly brought the Native population of the United States down by 95% over 400 years–an estimated 11-3/4 million people, almost double the number of Jews murdered during the Nazi Holocaust. Every year we hold a celebration in honor of the white man who “discovered” America but about the near extermination of an entire race of humans we are silent. During World War II, we built concentration camps for 110,000 Japanese-Americans, 62% of whom were American citizens.

What constitutes a “tribe” these days is changing. Some Americans have figured out that there is a lot of money to be made by exploiting the very human capacity for pitting “us” against “them”. Thus, the NFL has become a multi-billion-dollar industry which uses human beings as the raw material, violence as the lure, and attachment to a geographical place as the motivator. Only within the past ten years or so have we begun to understand the toll that “cash cow” has taken on its gladiators.

Homo sapiens is almost unique in its capacity to devour its own. No wonder so many are unwilling to acknowledge the fact that we evolved from the primordial slime. How, if true, could we then think of ourselves as the “chosen people”? How, then, could we call others “gooks”, “slopes”, “niggers”, “redskins”, or “chinks”?

In the final analysis, we have to ask ourselves a few questions. Why is it so important to engage in countless hours of tedious research to be able to show that our ancestors came over on the Mayflower or, still less likely, Noah’s Ark? Wouldn’t it be more worthwhile to really get to know our relatives in order to understand whether they were worth giving them the time of day? What I want to know about a person is what they are like on the inside, not the outside. What things were like for them growing up, not where they grew up.

What does their soul look like, not their skin. What makes us unique and wonderful cannot be seen with the eyes or learned from examining their DNA. If you must classify something, measure the temperature of their heart, the depth of their compassion, and the breadth of their wisdom. If these things measure up, then I don’t care if they come from Uranus.

© 11 November 2013

About the Author

I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were basically on their own and I wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth. Soon after, I retired and we moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13 blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE Creative Writing Group was there to light the way.
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Pets, by Lewis


After initially thinking I would describe a litany of the pets I have owned over my lifetime–from a dog to a hog-nosed snake to a squirrel to a parakeet–I soon became aware that I had tapped into a very deep well of sadness. More than a moment of grief, it felt as if I had broken the seal on a bottle of “despair Drambuie” that had been corked for sixty years.

Of all my pets, my most dear was the only dog I have ever owned, a mixed fox terrier puppy named Skippy. He was a gift from my maternal grandfather–the only grandparent I have ever known–on a day in May of 1955 that was totally unremarkable. There was no “occasion”. I simply arrived home from another day in the 3rd grade at Morgan Elementary to find a puppy running around the kitchen. I was told by my mother that the puppy was a gift from Granddad Homer, who was living with us but at the time nowhere to be seen.

This was not unusual for my grandfather. Although extremely generous with his money, he was a five-star miser when it came to communication. I do not remember a time when we shared a conversation, laugh, or tender touch. When he gave gifts, he always did it through a surrogate– our first TV magically appeared in our living room, my first bike was delivered by a Sears van as I sat on the front lawn, my first gun–a .410 gauge shotgun–was handed down from him through the hands of my father. When he died, approximately six months after bringing Skippy into my life, I was not allowed to attend his funeral. Since when does a 9-year-old need closure?

At first, I resented the duties that came with owning a dog. When still a puppy, I attached a leash to his halter and swung him around in the back yard as if he were on a merry-go-round. But soon, Skippy became my trusted and loyal buddy.

On Columbus Day, 1961, I was sitting at my desk doing homework after school in my bedroom. I was 15 and a high school sophomore. Mom was the TV Editor for the Hutchinson [KS] News and hadn’t yet come home. I heard Dad come in the front door and could tell something was wrong. Dad had found Skippy lying in the street dead, apparently hit by a car. His body was unmarked except for a tiny tear in his skin.

I could tell Dad was sorry for my pain. I asked him what we should do. He said we should find a spot to bury Skippy in the back yard.

Dad grabbed a shovel and I carried my dog as gently as my shaking arms would allow. We looked around for an appropriate place of internment. Somewhat baffled, Dad–who could have been the prototype for Jimmy Olsen of Superman fame–said, “Where can we bury that damn dog, anyway?” I had already steeled myself against showing one whit of emotion and his comment only steadied my resolve. We did agree on a final resting place and I placed Skippy into it, along with a piece of my heart.

I never owned another dog as long as I have lived. The pets I have had have not been of the type that one would describe as “cuddly”. They were either reptiles or amphibians, except for one brief turn with a wounded baby squirrel.

Lately, as I have been giving more thought to the notion of once again being “in relationship”, I ask myself, “What kind of person would I be happiest with?” It seems to me that the process is a lot more like selecting a breed of dog to purchase as a pet that some people might think. Am I looking for a guard dog, a lap dog, or a dog to play “fetch” with? Why, I ask myself, are most of my friends women? Why do the men I know mostly seem to be narcissists who talk only about themselves and NEVER ask a question about my life?

At the suggestion of a newly-acquired male friend, I took the online Enneagram Personality Test. I found out that I am a Type 2–The Helper. I am told “people of this type essentially feel that they are worthy insofar as they are helpful to others. Love is their highest ideal. Selflessness is their duty. Giving to others is their reason for being. Involved, socially aware, usually extroverted, Twos are the type of people who…go the extra mile to help out a co-worker, spouse or friend in need.”

Not too bad an assessment, I would say. The description of a Type 2 goes on to say, “Two’s often develop a sense of entitlement when it comes to the people closest to them. Because they have extended themselves for others, they begin to feel that gratitude is owed to them. They can become intrusive and demanding if their often unacknowledged emotional needs go unmet.”

I recoiled from this accusation upon first reading. The idea that I could become “intrusive and demanding” seemed like a ridiculous fantasy. But upon further contemplation, I had to admit that I do have “unmet emotional needs which go largely unacknowledged”. The suddenness of this realization flooded over me like a loss every bit as painful as the death of a beloved pet.

Still, some men I know do engender a powerful resentment in me. These are the ones I labeled a bit ago as “narcissistic”. The conversation is all about them with never a thought about me. This trait among the men I know is so pervasive as to explain why it is that I much prefer the company of women. It’s not that I feel that “gratitude is owed to me” as much as I feel that I am an interesting person who deserves equal time. I don’t think that is too much to ask of a friendship. If all I cared about was caring for and pampering the other, I would go out and buy a cat. Alternatively, I’ll just have to learn how to extend myself less or be more open about verbalizing my own need for caring. Anybody know any Type 2’s out there?

© 18 August 2014

About the Author

I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were basically on their own and I wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth. Soon after, I retired and we moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13 blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE Creative Writing Group was there to light the way.

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What Makes Homophobes Tick? by Lewis Thompson

The easy answer to this query would be that “homophobe” means “a person with an irrational or obsessive fear of homosexuals”, according to Wikipedia. But it would be important to dig a little beneath the surface to examine not only where the “irrational or obsessive fear” arises from but also why it seems to persist over many years.

Any American born in the last century almost certainly spent their formative years being inculcated with certain “inalienable truths”. Among these were–

* To be white is better than to be a person of color;

* To be male is better than to be female;

* To be a female is better than to be a male who wants to become a female (if a female wants to become a male, well, who can blame them?);

* To be rich is better than to be poor;

* To be rich and a crook is also better than being poor;

* To be a Christian is better than to be a non-Christian;

* To be a non-Christian is better than to be an atheist;

* To be an atheist is better than being a homosexual because, at least usually, you’re not an embarrassment to your relatives;

* To be conservative is better than being liberal (because all of the Founding Fathers were conservative, otherwise, they would never have written the Second Amendment);

* To be black, female, liberal, a non-believer, and gay is the worst thing that can possibly happen to a person and they surely should be imprisoned at birth and executed as soon as their politics, non-believer status, and sexual orientation become manifest.

So, we can readily comprehend that homophobia is the natural outgrowth of a society based upon gender, race, religious and countless other biases. It is endemic, almost akin to fluoridated water, which, as we all know, was responsible for the rise of the John Birch Society.

© January 12, 2015

About the Author

I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were basically on their own and I wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth. Soon after, I retired and we moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13 blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE Creative Writing Group was there to light the way. 

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Clubs, by Lewis T

I was never a bridge
player.  My parents played bridge but
they never made an effort to teach me how (and I never asked).  Poker, yes, bridge, no.  I seem to remember that clubs were the runt
of the litter when it comes to suits. 
Maybe that’s why the symbol for clubs was the three-leaf clover,
something that constantly gets stepped on, unlike diamonds, hearts, and spades (the
latter of which can be used to uproot clover).
Clubs could also be a
weapon in the olden days.  In fact, they
were the weapon of choice of the cave man and were often used to find a
suitable mate — or, at least, a compliant one.
There used to be
something known as a “club foot”. 
I don’t hear much about them anymore. 
Perhaps they went away as spinach became more popular.
The GOP used to be a
party.  Now, they seem to me to be more
like a club.  Political parties used to
be fairly welcoming, as long as you were old enough to vote and have an opinion.  To join a club, you needed something more–a
characteristic that branded you as an “insider”.  My dad used to be something called a
Kiwanian–a member of the Kiwanis Club. 
Unlike Moose or Elk, Kiwanians did not have to drink a lot of beer and learn
to make strange noises in order to be accepted.
Judging from the list of
potential presidential candidates among Republicans these days, I would guess that
among those traits that make one a stalwart is the belief that conviction is
more important than knowledge.  Texas
Senator Ted Cruz demonstrated this marvelously recently when he made his
announcement as a candidate for President of the U.S.  Raising his right arm in the air and
gesturing toward heaven, much like the Nazi salute but without the starchy
uniform, he said, “Our rights do not come from man, they come from
God”.  I have no doubt that the God
he had in mind was the Old Testament God. 
I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Thomas Jefferson’s.  Cruz’s club would not be a safe place for
liberals, gays, scientists, non-believers, intellectuals, philosophers, people
born in the U.S., and members of the middle class.  All others would be luke-warmly welcomed.
© 26 Mar 2015 
About
the Author 
I came to the
beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the
state where I married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my
native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two
children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married
to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was
passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were
basically on their own and I wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very
attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that
time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth.
Soon after, I
retired and we moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13
blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to
fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE
Creative Writing Group was there to light the way.
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Flowers, by Lewis T

Roses are red;

Violets are blue;

Unless and until

They come into contact

With Lew.


Oh, I do have a green thumb; it’s about the color of swamp water. Laurin was the horticulturist between us. I used to fill the watering can and lift the 20-lb. bags of potting soil. He made the magic happen. When I order flowers online, they usually arrive pre-dead. A year ago, my ex-wife, who knows me well enough to know better, sent me an amaryllis. Somehow, I was able to keep it alive until it had finished blooming. I followed the directions to the letter as to how to “winterize” the bulbs and preserve them for the next blooming season. In early January, I was supposed to replant them and keep them watered until they bloomed again. I still haven’t done that. I’m afraid that they may actually recover and then I would be on the hook to watch over them for another nine months. If anyone would care to lift this burden from me, I would be happy to give them to you.

© 13 February 2017

About the Author

I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were basically on their own and I wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth. Soon after, I retired and we moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13 blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE Creative Writing Group was there to light the way.

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Hair, by Lewis

Off the top of my head, I have very little to say about hair. It and I have had a major falling out over the past fifteen years or so. In fact, I first sought out a dermatologist about my receding hairline when I was in my mid-20’s. He gave me this black ointment that smelled like axle grease to spread on my forehead while showering in the faint hope that it might slow down the recession. As with my hair itself, he and I quite soon had a parting of the ways. As I have related here before, even at the tender age of eight, an encounter with ringworm left me with a premature bald spot that forever after made me a huge fan of the old Carl Anderson comic strip, “Henry”.

[Conversely, I regularly shave my body as the random and sparse nature of my hair there put me squarely in the middle between bear and twink (the term “blink” comes to mind).]

In summation, when it comes to my appearance, hair has always been an issue. At least here and now I can say that I have perhaps gotten a little of my frustration off my chest.

© 25 January 2016

About the Author

I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were basically on their own and I wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth. Soon after, I retired and we moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13 blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE Creative Writing Group was there to light the way.

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Keeping the Peace, by Lewis T

…IN EIGHT EXTREMELY DIFFICULT STEPS
(OR LEWIS’ RULES OF ORDER)

1. Don’t interrupt your adversary. Listen fully until you understand completely their position.

2. Say back to him or her what you think they said. “Did I get that right?”

3. If they say, “That’s not what I said (or meant)”, ask them to repeat. If they say, “Yes, that’s right”, continue.

4. Tell them specifically why you disagree. Ask them to repeat what you just said.

5. When the area of disagreement is clear to both parties, then: a) agree to disagree, or b) agree to break off the discussion until another day or until a mediator can be brought in or until areas of disagreement can be clarified or fact-finding takes place.

6. Never shout, threaten, or resort to ad hominem attacks.

7. Never make the argument personal or ego-centered.

8. Apologize if you step over the line. [Never be afraid to admit that you are wrong.]

9. Remember, above all, that cutting the baby in half is no substitute for lacking humility.

© 10 June 2013

About the Author

I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were basically on their own and I wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth. Soon after, I retired and we moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13 blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE Creative Writing Group was there to light the way.