Archive for December, 2014

A Disappeared Family

December 18th, 2014

A college chum made his family vanish in his self-written obit. A wife and four daughters vanished in his detailed recap of life and kin.

I feel a double connection. I introduced, really connected, him and the woman he’d marry….first Then over 20 years later, he’d ask me to be a witness in the bizarre and hypocritical Roman Catholic annulment tribunal.

It’s not my thought to demean any religion’s dogma or processes. Yet from a post written at the time of the declaration-of-nullity proceeding, I clearly was stunned at the acrobatics involved. Likewise, reading the obit he wrote, I marvel at the duplicity.

His second wife, also Roman Catholic, insisted on an annulment, so they could marry in their church. Her will be done. Meanwhile, while he pressured me to fill in the complex tribunal questionnaire from the Savannah diocese, I was and remain uneasy.

As requested in the tribunal cover material, I did check the papers and answers with a local priest. He heads one of the region’s largest parishes and certainly understands his church’s rules, if not MA history.  He nimbly clarified the how and why of the process. To this UU, he was an animated FAQ on nullity. While I still see it very much as a game and a fund raiser, annulment is not otherwise part of my life and that is not my church.

The puzzlement comes when the theater extended to my friend’s death statements. The RC Church is careful to claim a nullified marriage did in fact exist when it occurred and that any children resulting did not become illegitimate as a result of the declaration. With his heart conditions and knowing his end was at hand, he could not drop the ruse.

The longest paragraph in his obit lists his relatives, sort of. His second wife’s folk abound. She is “the great love of his life.” Her parents, children, grandchildren, siblings and appendices all appear. On his side, his late father appears in the previous résumé-style paragraph. At the very bottom of the survivors he mentions his late brother.

Invisible are his aged mother, his very alive sister, his first wife and his four daughters. I can surmise that he was estranged from his family, perhaps as a result of his leaving, divorcing and getting that annulment from wife #1. I can imagine wife #2 insisting he drop contact with his birth and previous family.

I’ll likely track down and call his first wife. That will mean confessing my role in the nullity process, which she may already know. That would probably be good for my psyche.

My erstwhile chum seems to prove the idea in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Last Tycoon that “There are no second acts in American lives.” My old buddy avoided the complications and development of his personal play, going directly to the resolution, comfortable if delusional.

 

Oh, glänzenden Weihnachtsbaum (Shiny Christmas Tree)

December 16th, 2014

A huge shock of my late teen years was to make the annual pilgrimage to my grandparents’ West Virginia home to find…an aluminum Christmas tree in the living room. My very bright, stern but rational grandmother had her reasons.

That was a betrayal on numerous levels. Yes, yes, it was her home, but it was also mine. I moved every few years throughout my childhood. A constant was summers and holidays in the eastern panhandle of WV, now known amusingly as the Potomac Highlands.

Among the state’s abundances are mountains and trees, lots of evergreens. In fact, the small house itself sported two gigantic blue spruces that were wee when my grandfather planted them or his three then tiny children. He still decorated them with those old-style big light ropes. Inside we always had a fresh local tree. I remember going with family fried and relative by marriage old Charlie Long to cut a tree from his land. That was back in the days when you changed a pickup truck to four-wheel drive by hitting the hubs into position with a hammer…by cracky. Charlie was older than Granddad but he still liked Christmas trees and was delighted to help me pick, cut and load one.

2013treeIt turns out Baba, as my older sister had named our grandmother, had been plotting all those years. When the grandkids were in college, the new living room order would take charge.

Note that she had had her way with the heating system a few years before. Her children and then grandchildren had grown to big sizes with a coal furnace. The work fell to her husband, then her son, then to me. Of course, I did not enjoy lugging the gigantic galvanized cans of slag and powder remains to the curb. Likely the trash guys didn’t like their role either. I did like, no love, stoking the furnace. It was a fair dragon, with roaring mouth of flame and heat begging for more food. I was happy to oblige.

When she could Baba badgered her husband into converting to a very tame gas boiler. Boo.

Her underlying motivation though was simple. she never liked the faint smell of the coal heat in the vents. She absolutely hated cleaning off the faint gray smudges above the living room vents that appeared after a month or two of heat.

Honestly, killing the dragon for a few wisps of residue?

It turns out the Christmas tree ran afoul of similar sins. Her children, grandchildren and husband had always provided and mounted the tree. We had climbed into the attic and retrieved the balls, tinsel and lights. We had decorated to the sweet and dreadful strains of Lawrence Welk and other seasonal shows providing carols and show tunes of the season.

Baba, however, was affronted by violations of her space.

Worst was the profusion of needles. On the wooden floor, on the carpet and rugs, in the presents, somehow spreading like hair from some gigantic green cat. There was also the tinsel…Granddad had to have tinsel on the tree. It too seemed to reproduce and leave spoor even beyond what we had purchased and draped.

Apparently in a curtain lecture, she had let her husband know that when we were all in college, there’ d be no more living, shedding trees in her very own living room.

Baba’s folly aside, in our 35 years in Boston, we have had trees. We are down to two of our three sons  — one is off on that other coast and a father himself — living with us. We have decorations that go waaaay back. My late mother-in-law Sylvia made us a pottery creche. My late mother for years bought personalized ornaments for her grandsons. Our sons produced their own ornaments at preschool. Friends have brought tree baubles which we hung and maintain.

The tree above from last year is typical of our garish display. It includes numerous strands of NM chili lights too.

One son is off visiting his ridge-runner fiancée this holiday. The first  son spent Thanksgiving with us including his wife and toddler. He’ll be with his in-laws for Christmas.  Yet the three of us have the non-metallic evergreen yet again. We have made one concession, dialing it down a notch from roughly 8 feet to maybe six and one-half. I’m not sure we can jam all the ornaments and lights on. We shall try.

Ho ho.

Four Things About Marky Mark

December 6th, 2014

First let us be plain. The teen Mark Robert Michael Wahlberg was a racist punk. By police records, he was caught over 20 times in various violent or drug acts. By his own admissions and court findings he attacked black school kids with rocks (and slurs) as well as beating two Vietnamese Americans with sticks, one so viciously he lost the sight of one eye.

Second, he has applied for a pardon from our commonwealth. He wants a clean record, apparently to make his business dealings easier (the hamburger restaurant biz).

Third, despite his fame, wealth and connections, he has made no effort to find, apologize to or make any restitution to his victims.

Fourth, on the other side of it all, our goofed up culture of perpetual punishment mocks the paid-his-debt-to-society construct.

Cynical plea

The news stories of his pardon request an even his Wikipedia page are not terribly convincing. He returns to the idea that as he has done positive things that should settle the matter. Done and done. He loves pointing to this egotistically eponymous wahlfoundation to help poor kids.  (Pic note: image adapted from his foundation site, for which I claim fair usage.)

Not so fast and easy, underwear boy.

Let’s consider the moral and even religious angles here. Massachusetts in general and Boston specifically are largely Roman Catholic in culture, except for the WASP laws. That’s key to the likes of pardons and criminal records.

Sure Catholics are used to confession and absolution. The stereotypical “Say 10 Hail Marys and five Our Fathers” does not conflate with the Protestant secular laws and regulations. Catholics may get a clean bill from the Church, but Protestants carry their sins around for their whole lives…and they wrote the laws around here.

Now that we are all paying attention again, I’m betting he’ll hear a lot about this. I’m also betting that he’ll have minions track down some of his victims, maybe the former kids he terrorized or the two men he beat with clubs while calling them racial slurs. Then he can make a display of atoning before them. They are likely to be harder sells than a priest, as it should be.

Pardon? Pardon me.

He doesn’t deserve a pardon though. He was caught fair and square numerous times. Who knows how many racist and violent crimes he got by with?

While sentenced for two years for beating that blinded man, he served only 45 days in jail. That is a small price to pay for permanent, life-altering injury. What’s to pardon for a vicious, intentional crime?

The big however is the inherent vindictiveness in the records laws. We know from thousands of instances that CORI papers prevent ex-offenders from getting jobs, putting them at economic risk and holding them down in society. We are slowly reforming that stigma system.

In some few cases it makes sense, such as the sex-offender registry. Where mentally, emotionally disturbed types are likely to commit those crimes again, the stigma makes sense to society.

On the other hand, consider Wahlberg. He has his stacks of money and an overhauled reputation, replete with over a decade of good deeds. We have zero reason to suppose he’ll pick up a big stick and go into a racist rage while beating this or that person of color.

The only point of the alleged character laws is perpetual punishment. Again, it comes back to the Protestant concept of only God can cleanse you and only on Judgment Day. If you pardon the expression, what a hell of a way to write laws.

No. Wahlberg does not deserve a pardon to pretend he never did the dreadful racist attacks. However, his point of the unfairness of stenciling his life perpetually with a stencil from his 16-year-old sins is crazy.

Yes, he should forever he known for his bad deeds as he wants now to be known for his good ones. But the business regulations should not add perpetual real-world punishment to the shame.

Assuming Wahlberg really wants to do some good, he can lobby (or pay someone to lobby). Go to the new governor and a few key legislators. Reform the post-conviction system so that pointy-headed, rules-are-rules bureaucrats can’t perpetually harm former offenders in unrelated aspects of their lives. That would help thousands a year, not just make opening more hamburger joints easier for one guy.