On Heroes

It seems daily we are faced with the moral failures of our species. Turn on any radio or TV, open any newspaper or magazine and you will be faced with countless stories of people doing unspeakable things. And I’m not talking about the criminal element, I’m talking about everyday people doing things that only a few years ago would make our jaws drop, but today they seem all but commonplace. Our elected officials verbally bully each other in the name of running for office, lie consistently to whatever group they happen to be in front of, and then in a perfect example of “the pot calling the kettle black” point at their opponent. The current Presidential campaign makes me sad for our country. "How low can you go” has taken on a whole new meaning. It is win at all costs and the costs are high, very high.

Then there is our sporting world. I just read an article and watched the accompanied video of a Utah high school girl viciously kneeing her downed opponent in the face after a dead ball. She walked away like she had every right to do so, not even breaking stride. She was not given a yellow or red card, in fact, the whistle was never blown. No one said anything. Only after the video was presented to both schools was something done. She was verbally reprimanded and said she was “sorry”. I’m assuming she was “sorry” that someone caught it on video, not for her actions.

There are countless examples of parents’ harassing coaches, referees, and other parents in everything from t-ball to college sports. The creepiest incident is where one parent started stalking a twelve year old rival of his son. Stalking a twelve year old hoping to intimidate him enough that he would lose his edge and then his own son would succeed. Ick.

Then there is Lance. Sigh. He is the latest in a long line of sports “heroes” who have fallen from grace due to doping. Today he announced that he is stepping down from his Livestrong foundation. As more evidence by his teammates comes to light, it is all but certain the whole world will acknowledge that he doped, and I wonder, will he finally confess? I just heard there is video evidence, but for years now he has proclaimed his innocence. Not only proclaimed it, but built a business on it.

There’s a word, huh? Innocence.

And it’s that saying again, “win at all costs”. I wonder how people can feel good about “winning” when they know they had to cheat to get there. How is that winning? I’m here to state the obvious: it’s not winning, it’s cheating.  If you had to physically harm someone or stalk them or take drugs, you didn’t win, no matter what the score says. And you’ve diminished the very thing we love about sports; the idea of who is best. Who can run fastest, or hit the ball with the most finesse, or ride their bike the longest. Who, by hard work and God given talent, can go out there and thrill us with their feats. And here is where innocence comes in; it’s the innocence of sports that has always drawn me in. The child-like joy and wonder when hard work and circumstance collide. Olga’s bar routine. Any race Pre ever ran. Ali and Fraser. Jon log rolling across the finish line in Kona. In those moments you are filled with wonder and inspiration and someone becomes your hero.

Heroes, or the notion of them, are in every culture. The movies or stories we love most come with a clear hero and villain. Harry is a hero; Voldemort is not. Luke, Leia, and Han? Heroes. Darth and the Emperor? Not. I think these books and movies are so successful because we all need a good hero; someone to root for, someone to remind us that we need to fight for what is good, someone to emulate.

Which brings me to Felix Baumgartner and his free fall from space. On Sunday morning I had gotten ready for church and had some time to spare so I jumped on Facebook. My friend Dan had posted the live feed for a guy jumping from the stratosphere and although I had heard something about the jump earlier in the week, I had no idea what it was all about. I clicked on the link and was instantly spellbound. What I saw was a man in a tiny capsule ascending into the air by a specially made balloon. The man was in a space suit and as I listened, I learned he would be ascending to approximately 120,000’, would then step out of the capsule, and free fall back to earth. Is this guy insane? I was scared out of my mind, but I couldn’t stop watching.

Suffice it to say, I missed church.

As I watched, they spoke of how dangerous the jump was going to be. No one had ever ascended that high in a balloon before, no one had done a free fall from space, and the list of potential problems was long. They showed graphics of the position he would need to reach; head first, surprisingly enough, and said that tumbling head over heels would be okay and expected, but a flat spin would be very bad. As the balloon ascended past 120,000' and kept climbing, I was on the edge of my seat.

When the balloon leveled out, ground control took Felix through a detailed check list. My anxiety grew as he seemed to not respond to their commands and when he did he seemed lethargic and punchy. Finally, they made it through the check list and he opened the capsule door. After a few more checks, like taking off his restraining harness, which he didn’t readily do, causing me to fall into prayer for him, his poor Mom they kept flashing to, his equipment, and for myself, as my heart was in my throat, he stepped out onto the skateboard size landing.

The words he spoke were these “I wish the world could see what I can see ... Sometimes you have to go up really high to see how small you are.” And then he jumped.

Watching him fall through space was horrible and I found myself shouting prayers. When he started to tumble I was beside myself. The tumbling seemed to last forever, and then, just as if he had planned it all along, he got himself into the head down position and continued to rocket toward earth. The cheers from mission control were jubilant and after another minute or so of freefalling, his chute opened. I cheered like crazy, jumping up and down and crying. The screen then went from grayscale to full color and it showed him soaring towards earth. His touchdown was amazing…he lightly stepped out of the sky, his chute trailing behind him, then he fell to his knees and lifted his hands into the air.

And it got me thinking about heroes and cheats. And here’s the thing, Felix couldn’t cheat. There is no way to cheat jumping out of a tiny capsule from 128,100’. There is no drug you can take to be successful for a jump like that. You can’t beat up anyone or stalk someone to ensure success; you just have to work hard, really, really hard. You have to dream big, have unspeakable courage, and then you have to put the time in. You have to invent the needed equipment; you have to test the equipment by making test jumps, each higher than the last. You have to be mentally in shape, physically in shape, you have to know your craft. He had an incredible team around him, of course, and he said straight out he could not have gotten to where he did without them, but it came down to him and the stratosphere. At the press conference afterward a reporter asked him what he was thinking just before he jumped. He said, “I was thinking, ‘Please God don’t let me down.’ But if you are standing in His Son’s arms, there is nothing that can go wrong in that moment.”

He is the definition of a hero.

he•ro [heer-oh]     

noun, plural he•roes; 1. a man of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his brave deeds and noble qualities. 2. a person who, in the opinion of others, has heroic qualities or has performed a heroic act and is regarded as a model or ideal.

And I for one am thankful that in a week of continued political bickering, Lance’s further fall from grace, and the constant negativism that surrounds us, there was a guy with a dream, the courage, and the unbelievable skill to step out of the sky and fall with grace.

On Driving

My first car was named Howard. He was a rust colored Toyota Corona that I inherited from my parents when I was seventeen. Now, I love Toyotas, but Howard was a lemon. He had all sorts of problems that I just got used to; I swear there was a 16 point check list to just start him up. He was a mini station wagon (sigh) but, boy could I pack my friends into him. In high school, people would pile in and away we would go. Boonie party? No trouble. Driving over parking blocks because Kimmy was sick, no big deal. Howard got t-peed on more than one occasion, had rabbit pellets and a chocolate bunny dumped on him for Easter, and people would write me messages in the dust on his back windshield.  So, by college, he was even worse for the wear. The hood would fly up while you were driving and stay stuck open; it leaked oil; it wouldn’t start unless the seatbelts were fastened and even when they were it would say they weren’t. No AC. The headliner would hang down on everyone but me.

Howard got his name at college, too. I ran track at Pima and after one particularly difficult workout, we were running our two mile cool down and we were a little, um, giddy. One of my favorite movies is “What’s Up, Doc?” w/ Barbara Streisand and Ryan O’Neil. The late, great Madeline Kahn has a wonderful part and she drones all her lines in this perfectly nasally voice. So, I was mimicking the lines…”Howard? Howard Banister?” and we were laughing and cracking ourselves up. We finish our run, shower, change, and head to the parking lot for the long ride home and there is my Toyota Corona and we all scream together, “Howard!” And from that day forward, my car was Howard. As much as I hated that car, I cried the day I traded it in for a POS Geo Metro. The dealer gave me $750 as a trade in, which was about $749 too much. I now drive a 4runner and I think some times that it is really just a matured Howard. All this to say, we get attached to our vehicles; they are our homes away from home. We spend a lot of time in them and they do become important to us.

In our homes on wheels, we drive around in our own little cocoon w/ climate control, our own music, our own DVDs. Our seats are cushioned and comfortable. We have visors to block the sun, tint to give us some privacy, and gps to tell us where we are going. The vehicle we pick is an extension of ourselves, too. Trucks, sports cars, sedans, vans. What you drive, whether we like it or not, says something about you. I have an aversion to vans. I never, ever want one, and on the occasions I’ve had to drive one, I hang my head a little. I remember recoiling in horror the day my Dad called and proudly said he had purchased a van. What?! “Why, Dad?!” I wailed into the phone.  “Well, it has room for my planes and my golf clubs and when the whole family gets together, we can all go in one vehicle.” I shouldn’t have been surprised; his previous car was a station wagon, complete w/ the wood panels on the side, and of course, Howard was a station wagon. What did this say about my Dad? That he didn’t give a flip what anyone thought. Marines are like that. He had been in intelligence and jumped out of planes. He didn’t need to prove his manhood w/ a vehicle. Van? Good enough for him.

But, something happens when we get behind the wheel. Since we are in our own cocoon, we think we can do whatever we want and that no one else matters. I have seen perfectly respectable people turn into Tasmanian Devils when they get behind the wheel.  They tailgate; they speed; they weave in and out of traffic; they yell at other drivers. And it’s always a little shocking, right?

What also is shocking is what happens to me. Something happens to me when I get behind the wheel. I find myself getting angry at people. I find myself yelling at them; “What the heck are you doing?!” “Hang up your freakin phone and drive!” “Are you freakin kidding me?!” They can’t hear me of course, unless I am driving w/ my window open and I yell, “He-llo!” w/ all the irritation I can muster when someone doesn’t turn right when the light turns green. And it turns out to be someone who lives a few houses up from me. And she wasn’t turning because there was someone in the crosswalk. Ouch. My face turned red and it started me wondering what it is about driving that turns me into someone I don’t like very much? I mean, I can go from singing along to a praise song on Air1 to screeching at someone is 0.5 seconds, and then resume my singing without batting an eye.

Now, there are numerous things that make me crazy about Tucson drivers, but first and foremost are the people who drive below the speed limit. I don’t get it. Why? Why are you driving slower than the speed limit on a crowded street? And always in the left lane? You are not on a country back road somewhere; you are in a thriving metropolis. If this happens I will spell out the speed limit for you while shouting, “45! The speed limit is 45!” and no, this has never made anyone speed up, but it makes me feel better somehow. When I used to have to drive around for claims, this would all but send me over the edge. And, of course, now a days, the reason someone is driving too slow is because they are texting. Don’t get me started.

So, here we are driving around in our homes away from home and we are so absorbed in our little comfy bubble, that it is hard for us to think about anyone else. Are there other people on the road? But, I’m on the road! It never fails to crack me up when I see people come roaring up to a stop sign on a side street and they are truly irritated when there is traffic on a main road. They throw their hands up in the air and roll their head around because they actually have to stop. Really? At 7:50 am you don’t think others are also going to be driving to work, too? Apparently not. Or have you ever turned right? I mean, turned right not from a right turn lane? 99% of the time, if you look in your rear view mirror, you will see Cruella de Ville back there giving you the death stare because they had to slow down. Except when you are the 99%, right? Come on, admit it! You have been Cruella giving somebody the evil eye for causing you to slow up a bit. I know I have.

And I guess, I just wonder why? Why do I get so angry? Why does everyone get so angry? What do I care if they are texting, or driving too slow? Or tailgating me to the point I can see the color of their shirt? Because I could get hurt? Yes, that is part of it. Goodness knows 15 years of adjusting auto claims has shown me what can happen to you by all these infractions. Or is it that we are angered by the lack of caring doing these things shows we have for one another?  If I choose to speed and text at the same time, in a sense, I am saying, I have no regard for you. My need to send or read a text is more important than you are. I am more important that you are. And, that is what makes us mad.

Because we are a rude society, right? The rudeness we see on a daily basis is so much the norm that when someone actually does something nice, it stands out. We have the “pay it forward” concept of doing something nice to someone else, but really, it just means it’s because we don’t normally do that sort of thing. And I mean “we” as a society. We are an oblivious society…oblivious to one another. And when we drive, in our own little world, we don’t see past the hood of our car. So, if I want to speed, or cut you off, or text and drive slow, or turn right on red while you are making a U-turn, that’s my prerogative. And, there is nothing you can do about it but get mad and stew. Or make hand gestures out your window.

So, as the angry driver, what am I to do? I don’t want to be angry every time I get behind the wheel. I like driving for the most part and I don’t want to continue screeching at people from the driver’s seat. As with everything, the change must come from me. I’m not going to change that people are rude and oblivious, but I can change how I react to people being rude and oblivious. It’s my choice to let things get to me while driving. It’s my choice to not be graceful to people. Jesus teaches us to forgive others who have wronged us and to treat others as we want to be treated. I’m pretty sure that extends to being in a car. I don’t stop believing His teachings just because I’m behind the wheel, although at times it feels like that. Love your neighbor is also something Jesus said, and, darn it, a neighbor isn’t just someone who lives next door. They are the person in the car who is driving slow or speeding or texting or cutting me off. But, one of the good things about Jesus is…He is there to help. Because goodness knows He is the only one who can turn me from Cruella back into me when I’m driving these ridiculous Tucson streets.

So, happy driving, and for the love of all that is good, at least go the speed limit!