Print Alexandria, VA Some, perhaps many readers here will know that I learned much of what I know of political philosophy — and, much of my understanding of life — from one of the most wonderful men who has trod the earth, Wilson Carey McWilliams. Professor McWilliams — who taught at Rutgers University for thirty years, in addition to some years at Oberlin and Brooklyn Colleges and stints at Haverford, Harvard, and Fordham — was a legendary teacher, lecturer, and raconteur. He was a mentor and good friend during my formative years of young adulthood, and I would doubtless be doing something very different than what I do now but for his guidance and encouragement.
November 11, There was a poignant story in the sports section of the Detroit News a couple of weeks ago about Bill Freehan, the Detroit Tigers time All-Star catcher and gentle giant behind the plate for its World Series championship team. The year-old Freehan is in hospice care these days, unable to process his thoughts, due to the cruel realities of severe dementia.
The story hit home on several levels. Emotionally, the piece caused me to reflect back on the cognitive struggles of my parents, both of whom suffered from dementia before they died.
Not only did my father not know me at the time of his death, it was clear that he did not know himself when he looked into a mirror. However, the story, by Lynn Henning, my favorite sports writer, also caused me to dwell on something that everyone my age thinks about as we round third base and head for home: Louis Cardinals in seven gamesit was the first time Detroit had done so in 23 years.
When I read that I began to think, man, when I was young—after collecting baseball cards, playing ball in Dearborn and faithfully following the Tigers for years after that—it seemed like forever until the Tigers finally won the Series.
Well, it was forever, at least for a year-old like myself at the time. Those 23 years between World Series championships covered percent of my life up to that point. But in retrospect, at age 71, it constitutes only a fraction of my lifetime.
In, say, when I was 12 years old and in the sixth grade, time dragged until I became a teenager in On the other hand, for me, has flown by.
I can hear my wife now: A day is still a day. A year is still a year. We visited Woodsfield recently to check in on my mother-in-law who had just undergone heart surgery and to attend the wedding of my niece.
As I walked up to the register there was a conversation going on between a young female cashier and the customer ahead of me, obviously an employee of the store. He had a clear plastic container in hand with something from the deli and a candy bar on top of that.
From what I could gather the man was explaining that he needed to go home during his break to take care of a few things. I heard him say that his cow had just given birth to a calf and that he needed to get back to the barn to see how it was doing.
My mind started to race. Was the young man married or single? Did he have one cow or a heard? Was he doing okay or just scraping by? Did he have one job or three?
While my brain was in search mode the young man put his charge card or debit card into the reader.
I completed my transaction at the register. Out the door I went. As I walked through the parking lot to my car, the cash-register experience of a young couple I know back home who have a son with Down syndrome entered my mind.
They had finished their meal at a restaurant one day, got up to pay their bill and were informed by the cashier that an older couple ahead of them had already taken care of it. For a couple of bucks I could have done a random act of kindness for that young man.
Maybe even dispelled some stereotype he may have had of me—the old, gray-haired guy in the Chicago T-shirt behind him in line at the store that day. Or to anyone else, for that matter? October 10, I was sitting in a humanities class during my sophomore year in college when I had one of those linebacker moments—the sort of hit that lasts a lifetime.
The professor was discussing nationalism when she used a word I had never heard before: I often think of that youthful moment and how it has helped me to better understand what it must feel like to be the only black on the job.
Or a non-English-speaking person trying to make it in America. Or a woman who has suffered sexual assault. Or someone who looks at a political issue from a perspective different than my own.
Sad to say, but I estimate that during the course of my life I have experienced empathy from a physician little more than 60 or 65 percent of the time. I have always had relatively good health, but when I tally up all the doctors I have encountered over the last seven decades—due to sports injuries, bad knees, moving from one locale to another, changes in health insurance coverage, etc.dad taught and those that my mother supported.
I spent thirty-five years in Texas public schools and feel that this is a proper conclusion and a new beginning.
I. INTRODUCTION. Edith Stein was born in Breslau, Germany, on October 12, , the youngest of eleven children of a devout Jewish family. Her ancestors, from Posen and Upper Silesia were hard-working, ambitious merchants, with large families nurtured on the spirit of the psalms.
the academic arena and value the exposure to those who instruct/motivate learners, young and During the past 5 years Cyndy never once doubted my ability to complete the program nor did she let me deter from the work required My mother has always told me to .
The essay should be entitled, "The Most Influential Book That I Read During My Formative Years and How It Has Impacted My Life." The author will need to briefly summarize the book's contents and significance, state how and why the book has influenced their life, and state why the book deserves to be read by a wider audience.
There is not space here for a systematic account of my varied experiences during almost five years in Japan, but together they had even a greater formative influence on my young life than my .
I was born in Hawaii, lived in Japan, and moved to Germany for most of my formative years, all while visiting stateside family in Minnesota and Washington every summer.
The plurality of my childhood made establishing my personal identity difficult.