Christmas decorations abound throughout the mall this time of year. (They abounded just after the Independence Day decorations came down I think.)
Christmas joy is pushing its way through the crust of Ebenezer's spirit and even the Grinch's heart is swelling at least two times. Patrons of area businesses are doing their best to maintain their composure while unselfishly allowing others to get the last iPad on the shelf. Smiles abound on the faces of the children as they politely tell their parents to save their money and not buy that expensive toy this year.
At one end of the mall the real live Santa Claus takes time from his busy schedule and sits on his throne patiently waiting for the next cherub to find a spot on his knee and tell wonderful St. Nick what the elves should be preparing this year. The twinkle in the jolly man's eye lets us all know that he can already taste the milk and cookies.
This is the year that Santa is sure he will not be bitten by a dog, nor have his dry-clean only outfit soiled by a child in a dirty diaper, while pictures are taken to record this momentous event. He also knows that all of the children who are fighting that winter cold are sitting at home waiting until they are no longer contagious before they walk through the mall touching everything they want and snuggling up with the great bearded one. He wishes them all a speedy recovery.
At the other end of the mall, however, is where the true spirit of Christmas abounds. There you will find a tree that has no presents under it. A tree that is adorned with sadness for many, but a tree that is decorated with the pictures of those that gave the greatest gift of all - the gift of life through organ donation.
Take a moment and bring your children to see this tree. Please don't look on this tree with sadness. Instead look on it as a tree that, due to the unselfish nature of the individuals pictured upon it, has brought great joy to many other families across the country. Right now there is a family celebrating another Christmas with their wife, husband, mother, father, son or daughter thanks to the generosity of these donors and their families.
While the families of these donors would love to be spending the holidays with their own loved ones, it may offer some comfort to know that many others will be having their most wonderful Christmas ever.
I know it does for me.
Merry Christmas.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Dare to be the same!
We live in a world full of a large array of vastly different people. Now, I'm not talking about the difference between you and the resident of a Third World country. I'm talking about the differences you can find between you and your neighbor - or even someone in your own household.
I think sometimes we focus more on these differences than the things we have in common. Strife is often a result of looking at differences rather than similarities.
My vocation affords me the opportunity to talk to many different people each day. I also get to travel and provide continuing education for others in my industry. One thing I have noticed is that the person I am communicating with or the group I am lecturing to all respond favorably when I mention things we have in common. We all do it. Why else would we talk about the weather with an absolute stranger? Weather is the one thing we all have in common.
Can you imagine what it would be like if we focused more on our common ground and less on our differences when it comes to anything from politics to sports? What Democrat or Republican doesn't want the same thing - a better America? We just can't agree on the road to travel to get there. What if a conversation between two adversaries began like this:
Democrat: "Do you ever get the feeling like your car is still moving when you pull into a parking space at the mall and put your car in park right as the car next to you is backing out?"
Republican: "Yeah! I can't tell you how many times I have slammed my brake to the floor board thinking I have to stop my car."
There are so many things in our lives we have in common that we can talk about. For example, who hasn't banged the TV remote on their hand or coffee table trying to get every last drop of juice out of the batteries? Even further, have you tried "throwing" the signal or pressing extra hard on the remote buttons? Then, there are a few of us who will actually get up and walk closer to the TV with the remote until we can finally get the channel to change.
Perhaps we could all take some time and focus on our similarities this week. Maybe focusing on the common ground rather than our differences could make the world a better place to live in. Heck, if this works I think I might run for office with my own party. I'll call it the Weather Party. My name is Kevin Harrison and I approve this article.
I think sometimes we focus more on these differences than the things we have in common. Strife is often a result of looking at differences rather than similarities.
My vocation affords me the opportunity to talk to many different people each day. I also get to travel and provide continuing education for others in my industry. One thing I have noticed is that the person I am communicating with or the group I am lecturing to all respond favorably when I mention things we have in common. We all do it. Why else would we talk about the weather with an absolute stranger? Weather is the one thing we all have in common.
Can you imagine what it would be like if we focused more on our common ground and less on our differences when it comes to anything from politics to sports? What Democrat or Republican doesn't want the same thing - a better America? We just can't agree on the road to travel to get there. What if a conversation between two adversaries began like this:
Democrat: "Do you ever get the feeling like your car is still moving when you pull into a parking space at the mall and put your car in park right as the car next to you is backing out?"
Republican: "Yeah! I can't tell you how many times I have slammed my brake to the floor board thinking I have to stop my car."
There are so many things in our lives we have in common that we can talk about. For example, who hasn't banged the TV remote on their hand or coffee table trying to get every last drop of juice out of the batteries? Even further, have you tried "throwing" the signal or pressing extra hard on the remote buttons? Then, there are a few of us who will actually get up and walk closer to the TV with the remote until we can finally get the channel to change.
Perhaps we could all take some time and focus on our similarities this week. Maybe focusing on the common ground rather than our differences could make the world a better place to live in. Heck, if this works I think I might run for office with my own party. I'll call it the Weather Party. My name is Kevin Harrison and I approve this article.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
What brands you?
What do Harry Caray, Joe Paterno, and Sally Jesse Raphael have in common? Each of those individuals was often recognized by the eyeglasses they wore. Along the same lines as these well known figures, who can picture former Southern Miss president, Aubrey Lucas, without his bow tie?
The other day I noticed that Joe Pa had surgery to correct his far-sightedness. Instead of thick lenses in his heavy plastic frames he was shown sans spectacles. His trademark glasses were donated to charity where they raised $9000!
I often have children come in to my store and ask to see which tie I am wearing that day. I have become known for my colorful cartoon ties. From Warner Brothers, to Garfield, to Veggie Tales, I own about 50 of them and the collection is growing. When I went through a stretch at the store where I deemed it too hot to wear a tie, I had customers come up and ask me where my tie was.
Like the aforementioned individuals, I have evidently branded myself with something as simple as a tie.
In the wild west of the 1800’s ranchers would brand their cattle with a hot iron. Cattle thieves would impress another brand over the existing brand in an attempt to disguise the original. There was only one way to determine if the cow or horse had been rebranded. Slaughter it. Then strip the hide and look under it for the original markings. If the cow had been rebranded the two brands would not line up underneath the hide.
All of this has led me to wonder, if a tie brands me on the outside, what is it that really brands me on the inside? Am I branded as a man of faith? A faithful husband? A loving parent? A good brother or son? The outward signs of our actions show others who we really are below the surface. Look closely at the people you idolize. How would you say they are branded? I have several Cubs jerseys hanging in my closet, but not one of them lets me step on the green grass of Wrigley Field. Don’t let outward branding fool you. Look at the heart instead.
My prayer is that, after I am gone from this earth, people talk about my true branding. But is it too much to ask that I be buried wearing one of my trademark ties?
The other day I noticed that Joe Pa had surgery to correct his far-sightedness. Instead of thick lenses in his heavy plastic frames he was shown sans spectacles. His trademark glasses were donated to charity where they raised $9000!
I often have children come in to my store and ask to see which tie I am wearing that day. I have become known for my colorful cartoon ties. From Warner Brothers, to Garfield, to Veggie Tales, I own about 50 of them and the collection is growing. When I went through a stretch at the store where I deemed it too hot to wear a tie, I had customers come up and ask me where my tie was.
Like the aforementioned individuals, I have evidently branded myself with something as simple as a tie.
In the wild west of the 1800’s ranchers would brand their cattle with a hot iron. Cattle thieves would impress another brand over the existing brand in an attempt to disguise the original. There was only one way to determine if the cow or horse had been rebranded. Slaughter it. Then strip the hide and look under it for the original markings. If the cow had been rebranded the two brands would not line up underneath the hide.
All of this has led me to wonder, if a tie brands me on the outside, what is it that really brands me on the inside? Am I branded as a man of faith? A faithful husband? A loving parent? A good brother or son? The outward signs of our actions show others who we really are below the surface. Look closely at the people you idolize. How would you say they are branded? I have several Cubs jerseys hanging in my closet, but not one of them lets me step on the green grass of Wrigley Field. Don’t let outward branding fool you. Look at the heart instead.
My prayer is that, after I am gone from this earth, people talk about my true branding. But is it too much to ask that I be buried wearing one of my trademark ties?
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Questions
When my daughter was a toddler she reached that stage in her life where everything was a question. “Why is the sky blue? Why is that man dressed so funny? Why you gotta go to work?” My wife and I swore we would never resort to the answers, “Just because,” or its sister response, “Because I said so!” Eventually she grew out of that stage. Probably because, like most teenagers, she knew it all.
As I begin to top the crest of the middle-age hill I have started to notice that I am asking questions based on what I see around me. Driving through Hattiesburg I wonder, “Why are the push handles on the pull side of the door to Dickie’s Bar-b-que?” I also wonder why they don’t close off the west bound turn lane into Wal-Mart and make westbound traffic turn at the light? Wouldn’t that stop the traffic from blocking other intersections – especially at Christmas time?
My questions aren’t limited to the man-made things either. Sometimes I sit during my quiet time and say to God, “Bugs? Really?” Of course, I know that without bugs we would be missing an integral part of life – characters for Disney movies.
Now, I am just as much to blame for the questions as anyone. I have yet to figure out how I cannot feel my cell phone vibrate when someone calls but constantly feel it vibrate when it isn’t even in my pocket! As I get older I also wonder why I am prone to repeat myself.
I have plenty of other questions. Like, if the metric system is such a good idea, then why don’t we have metric clocks where the entire day is divided into 10 or 100 hours? Or, why don’t we make cars out of rubber? That way, if you hit someone you just bounce off them. And the windshields should all be made out of photochromic material so they would darken in the sunlight and lighten at night.
And what about strollers? Shouldn’t they make the strollers for the adults? The kids don’t want to ride in them anyway. They just want to push them. This would make shopping so much more pleasant for us guys.
I grew out of it when I was a toddler. Does it get any better as I get older? Or will I wonder why I am prone to repeat myself?
As I begin to top the crest of the middle-age hill I have started to notice that I am asking questions based on what I see around me. Driving through Hattiesburg I wonder, “Why are the push handles on the pull side of the door to Dickie’s Bar-b-que?” I also wonder why they don’t close off the west bound turn lane into Wal-Mart and make westbound traffic turn at the light? Wouldn’t that stop the traffic from blocking other intersections – especially at Christmas time?
My questions aren’t limited to the man-made things either. Sometimes I sit during my quiet time and say to God, “Bugs? Really?” Of course, I know that without bugs we would be missing an integral part of life – characters for Disney movies.
Now, I am just as much to blame for the questions as anyone. I have yet to figure out how I cannot feel my cell phone vibrate when someone calls but constantly feel it vibrate when it isn’t even in my pocket! As I get older I also wonder why I am prone to repeat myself.
I have plenty of other questions. Like, if the metric system is such a good idea, then why don’t we have metric clocks where the entire day is divided into 10 or 100 hours? Or, why don’t we make cars out of rubber? That way, if you hit someone you just bounce off them. And the windshields should all be made out of photochromic material so they would darken in the sunlight and lighten at night.
And what about strollers? Shouldn’t they make the strollers for the adults? The kids don’t want to ride in them anyway. They just want to push them. This would make shopping so much more pleasant for us guys.
I grew out of it when I was a toddler. Does it get any better as I get older? Or will I wonder why I am prone to repeat myself?
Sunday, August 22, 2010
The Great Blubberer
Over the years I have developed a fairly high tolerance to physical pain. I cannot remember the last time I shed tears due to suffering an injury. This includes sprains, broken bones, and even kidney stones. You also can’t speak poorly of me and expect me to cry. That ole “sticks-and-stones” thing has evidently stuck with me. With that being said, I will confess, I am a crier.
Who knows when this began, but it becomes very evident when I watch certain movies. Toy Story 3 and The Blind Side are recent culprits. Sports movies like Radio, Rudy, The Rookie, and We Are Marshall, not to mention Brian’s Song, are no escape. TV is guilty too as Home Makeover requires a box of tissues every week.
Grief is a given, but a variety of other emotions can turn on the taps. As we near football season I have to steel myself to the National Anthem being played as my patriotic heart swells and I think of all the men and women who have given their lives to make this country great. Tears of joy have also overcome me at times. It’s gotten to the point where I am being invited to parties. “Ladies and gentlemen, introducing the Incredible Crying Man.”
Tears come when I see a child hurting, a loved one suffering, or when I am overwhelmed by love and generosity. I cried watching the news reports of the 9/11 terrorist attack and the effects of Katrina on our own gulf coast. I cried even more witnessing the generosity of friends from across the nation as they attempted to help us recover.
I keep telling myself that crying is okay. It is a natural reaction. And, as long as it’s not in baseball, crying is acceptable (because everyone knows there’s no crying in baseball). I have now come to believe that crying doesn’t make me less of a man. It just makes me more of a human.
Musician and lyricist Bob Carlisle penned the following words, “When a grown man cries, you can feel the thunder. He can call down angels with signs and wonders. He’s a powerful man with a weary soul, and his tears can touch the very heart of God.”
Who’s Bob Carlisle? He’s the man who shared the story of his daughter growing up in the song “Butterfly Kisses.”
Yeah, that song gets me every time.
Who knows when this began, but it becomes very evident when I watch certain movies. Toy Story 3 and The Blind Side are recent culprits. Sports movies like Radio, Rudy, The Rookie, and We Are Marshall, not to mention Brian’s Song, are no escape. TV is guilty too as Home Makeover requires a box of tissues every week.
Grief is a given, but a variety of other emotions can turn on the taps. As we near football season I have to steel myself to the National Anthem being played as my patriotic heart swells and I think of all the men and women who have given their lives to make this country great. Tears of joy have also overcome me at times. It’s gotten to the point where I am being invited to parties. “Ladies and gentlemen, introducing the Incredible Crying Man.”
Tears come when I see a child hurting, a loved one suffering, or when I am overwhelmed by love and generosity. I cried watching the news reports of the 9/11 terrorist attack and the effects of Katrina on our own gulf coast. I cried even more witnessing the generosity of friends from across the nation as they attempted to help us recover.
I keep telling myself that crying is okay. It is a natural reaction. And, as long as it’s not in baseball, crying is acceptable (because everyone knows there’s no crying in baseball). I have now come to believe that crying doesn’t make me less of a man. It just makes me more of a human.
Musician and lyricist Bob Carlisle penned the following words, “When a grown man cries, you can feel the thunder. He can call down angels with signs and wonders. He’s a powerful man with a weary soul, and his tears can touch the very heart of God.”
Who’s Bob Carlisle? He’s the man who shared the story of his daughter growing up in the song “Butterfly Kisses.”
Yeah, that song gets me every time.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Health care fight
A lot has been made of the health care situation and I will admit that something needs to be done. Dealing with both the insurance company and healthcare provider can be a hassle. And now the well-oiled machine that is our national government is involved. And we, the patient/client have a ringside view of the fight.
Ladies and gentlemen, let’s get ready to rumble! In this corner we have the insurance company. An oversized necessity with what appears to be loaded gloves. In this corner we have the healthcare provider whose knowledge of his opponent has helped him stand his ground in previous bouts. And, finally, as this is a tag-team event, we have the patient ready to tag his partner and enter the fight.
Ding. The insurance company draws first blood with a cut to the “usual and customary” rates of the provider. The provider looks to be staggering but counters nonetheless with an increase in prices to offset their losses. And, just before the insurance company hits the canvas he tags his partner, the patient, who gladly steps into the ring. The patient takes a rate, and then another rate before the government steps in and calls an end to the first round.
Ding. It’s the second round and the patient begins by tagging their insurance partner who steps over the ropes and hits the provider with a roundhouse – automated provider phone lines. While the provider is parrying each blow with the press of a button the insurance company comes with a shot from out of nowhere – “Para Espanol, toce numero dos.” The provider drops to his knees and, as the insurance company pounces to put him away, the provider tags his partner, the patient. The patient dodges his new opponent while his new partner is treated in the corner… to a wonderful vacation by the pharmaceutical company. And, as the patient is trying to ascertain the best way to press any number with his fighting gloves on, the government steps in and calls an end to the second round.
Ding. The final round begins. The patient immediately begins with a shot of “pre-existing condition” which floors the insurance company, but not before they have the chance to tag their partner – the patient.
Self-inflicted wounds abound with no one to heal us and no one to help pay. Healthcare has just become Fight Club with no winner in site.
Ladies and gentlemen, let’s get ready to rumble! In this corner we have the insurance company. An oversized necessity with what appears to be loaded gloves. In this corner we have the healthcare provider whose knowledge of his opponent has helped him stand his ground in previous bouts. And, finally, as this is a tag-team event, we have the patient ready to tag his partner and enter the fight.
Ding. The insurance company draws first blood with a cut to the “usual and customary” rates of the provider. The provider looks to be staggering but counters nonetheless with an increase in prices to offset their losses. And, just before the insurance company hits the canvas he tags his partner, the patient, who gladly steps into the ring. The patient takes a rate, and then another rate before the government steps in and calls an end to the first round.
Ding. It’s the second round and the patient begins by tagging their insurance partner who steps over the ropes and hits the provider with a roundhouse – automated provider phone lines. While the provider is parrying each blow with the press of a button the insurance company comes with a shot from out of nowhere – “Para Espanol, toce numero dos.” The provider drops to his knees and, as the insurance company pounces to put him away, the provider tags his partner, the patient. The patient dodges his new opponent while his new partner is treated in the corner… to a wonderful vacation by the pharmaceutical company. And, as the patient is trying to ascertain the best way to press any number with his fighting gloves on, the government steps in and calls an end to the second round.
Ding. The final round begins. The patient immediately begins with a shot of “pre-existing condition” which floors the insurance company, but not before they have the chance to tag their partner – the patient.
Self-inflicted wounds abound with no one to heal us and no one to help pay. Healthcare has just become Fight Club with no winner in site.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Recognizing those in our past
Have you ever given thought to the people in your past that helped shape you into the person you are today? Not just your immediate family, but others who crossed your life’s path, even if only for a brief moment. Oddly enough, that person is probably totally unaware of the impact that he or she had on you.
Using one of the many social networking sites, I managed to come across a former high-school classmate. This particular classmate was oddly peculiar, which appealed to me. She bucked the trend when bucking the trend wasn’t cool. The way she lived her life made a simple change in mine. When she took notes in class, she wrote from edge to edge on the paper and, using neat lettering, in all caps, fit two lines in the space of one. It was unique and went against the norm of writing. I took what she did and used it to refine my own style of handwriting. I still only fit a single row on each line and I stay well within the margins, however, I now write solely in capital letters.
When I contacted this person who changed my writing habits some 25 plus years later, she responded with an endearing, “I’m sorry, but how do I know you?”
Each of us probably has people in our lives that altered our normal way of doing things the way TJ did for me. Many of those people are clueless to the change they affected. And several of those may not even remember who we are. But the simple change in my handwriting style proves that, even when you are not aware of it, people watch you, and your actions have an effect that you may not even be cognizant of.
I think this holds especially true when dealing with children. We all shape our own children into who they one day become. Our actions alone may cause unnoticed children to change – but what is the total effect of our actions? Are the changes positive? What legacy are we leaving?
I challenge you today to do two things. First, reach out to someone who has had a positive influence in your life and tell them thank you. Secondly, live your life so that one day you too will be getting a call thanking you for how you changed someone’s life. Even if it is just changing someone’s handwriting style.
Using one of the many social networking sites, I managed to come across a former high-school classmate. This particular classmate was oddly peculiar, which appealed to me. She bucked the trend when bucking the trend wasn’t cool. The way she lived her life made a simple change in mine. When she took notes in class, she wrote from edge to edge on the paper and, using neat lettering, in all caps, fit two lines in the space of one. It was unique and went against the norm of writing. I took what she did and used it to refine my own style of handwriting. I still only fit a single row on each line and I stay well within the margins, however, I now write solely in capital letters.
When I contacted this person who changed my writing habits some 25 plus years later, she responded with an endearing, “I’m sorry, but how do I know you?”
Each of us probably has people in our lives that altered our normal way of doing things the way TJ did for me. Many of those people are clueless to the change they affected. And several of those may not even remember who we are. But the simple change in my handwriting style proves that, even when you are not aware of it, people watch you, and your actions have an effect that you may not even be cognizant of.
I think this holds especially true when dealing with children. We all shape our own children into who they one day become. Our actions alone may cause unnoticed children to change – but what is the total effect of our actions? Are the changes positive? What legacy are we leaving?
I challenge you today to do two things. First, reach out to someone who has had a positive influence in your life and tell them thank you. Secondly, live your life so that one day you too will be getting a call thanking you for how you changed someone’s life. Even if it is just changing someone’s handwriting style.
I love technology.
Here it is ten years into the millennium and I am a little upset. I am still waiting for my hoverboard. You know, that skateboard without wheels we saw on the second Back to the Future movie. Granted, the “future” depicted in that movie was 2015, but I haven’t even seen plans or promotions for the hoverboard. By the time it actually does get here I’ll be too old to ride it!
I have been amazed at how technology has changed over the last 30 plus years. I remember standing around with some friends a few years ago and talking about how we would show pictures of our grandkids on handheld devices rather than carrying them around in our wallets. Little did I imagine that we would be able to make phone calls on those same machines.
Changing with the times we sometimes don’t recognize the changes around us until highlighted by a youngster. For example, my nephew rode with me in my totally un-automatic truck. No sooner had I buckled him into his child seat, he noticed the window cranks. His eyes got big and he said, “Does that open the window? Cool!” Another example was when a young lady was taking a picture of two cute girls at church. She had a disposable camera and was trying to use up the roll so she could get it developed. As soon as the flash cleared from the children’s eyes they rushed over and said, “I wanna see!”
Dealing with the youth as much as I do I fail to realize that many of these students don’t know what a record or a cassette tape is – much less an 8-track. They have never dialed a rotary dial phone or dealt with party lines. On a hot summer day they drink water from a bottle and not the garden hose. When they get called for dinner, mom doesn’t stick her head out the door and scream, she sends them a text.
My daughter has a quote on her Facebook page where she and her best friend predicted a future conversation. “Aw mom, not another DVD!! Why can't we watch the holographic 3D viewer?!” Check out her prediction by going to your local electronics store and ask to see the new 3D TV. Seriously! Meanwhile, I’m going back to the shop and work on my hoverboard. Christmas 2015 is not that far away!
I have been amazed at how technology has changed over the last 30 plus years. I remember standing around with some friends a few years ago and talking about how we would show pictures of our grandkids on handheld devices rather than carrying them around in our wallets. Little did I imagine that we would be able to make phone calls on those same machines.
Changing with the times we sometimes don’t recognize the changes around us until highlighted by a youngster. For example, my nephew rode with me in my totally un-automatic truck. No sooner had I buckled him into his child seat, he noticed the window cranks. His eyes got big and he said, “Does that open the window? Cool!” Another example was when a young lady was taking a picture of two cute girls at church. She had a disposable camera and was trying to use up the roll so she could get it developed. As soon as the flash cleared from the children’s eyes they rushed over and said, “I wanna see!”
Dealing with the youth as much as I do I fail to realize that many of these students don’t know what a record or a cassette tape is – much less an 8-track. They have never dialed a rotary dial phone or dealt with party lines. On a hot summer day they drink water from a bottle and not the garden hose. When they get called for dinner, mom doesn’t stick her head out the door and scream, she sends them a text.
My daughter has a quote on her Facebook page where she and her best friend predicted a future conversation. “Aw mom, not another DVD!! Why can't we watch the holographic 3D viewer?!” Check out her prediction by going to your local electronics store and ask to see the new 3D TV. Seriously! Meanwhile, I’m going back to the shop and work on my hoverboard. Christmas 2015 is not that far away!
Friday, January 8, 2010
Color by number
I’m a racist. I admit it. It’s true. I am partial to the Human Race over any other. That’s not to say that I don’t like other races. I’ve just never actually met anyone from another race, but I’ll take a relationship with someone from my own race any day.
Am I always proud of what other members of my race may do or say? Absolutely not. There are some very radical members of my race. And they come in a variety of colors. Other than that, I don’t really see any difference. Well, yes, there are always the things we use to identify another member of the human race to make that person stand out among others. We may call someone old or young, short or tall, thin or fat. Usually these descriptions are given to a fugitive from justice. A convenience store robber may stand 5’10’’ and weigh 175 pounds. The clerk knows the height of the perpetrator by the marking tape that is put on the door frame. Who knows how they guessed his weight. It’s not like there is a scale at the door… is there?
I mention this to bring up another point. Where do we get off saying someone is white or black? Open up your crayon box and pull out the white and black crayons. Do you know anybody that is THAT white or THAT black? I think we as a race are becoming more and more homogeneous. With the blending of the colors I think it is time to redefine colors as a means of identification. That’s why I recommend that we number code our colors. Think of the whitest skinned person you know. That person would be a 1. Now think of the darkest skinned person you know. That person would be a 10. The rest of us would fall in between.
Why not identify a person this way? Instead of being a white guy, I would be a 2 or a 3. The height strips on the convenience store doors could be color coded as well. Then the perpetrator could be described as 5’10’’, 175 pounds, and approximately 3 in color.
We could then sing, “Seven, five, nine and two, we’re all precious, even you...”
Does this all sound a little absurd to you? In its absurdity I would hope that it would make you realize the only thing dividing the human race is us.
Am I always proud of what other members of my race may do or say? Absolutely not. There are some very radical members of my race. And they come in a variety of colors. Other than that, I don’t really see any difference. Well, yes, there are always the things we use to identify another member of the human race to make that person stand out among others. We may call someone old or young, short or tall, thin or fat. Usually these descriptions are given to a fugitive from justice. A convenience store robber may stand 5’10’’ and weigh 175 pounds. The clerk knows the height of the perpetrator by the marking tape that is put on the door frame. Who knows how they guessed his weight. It’s not like there is a scale at the door… is there?
I mention this to bring up another point. Where do we get off saying someone is white or black? Open up your crayon box and pull out the white and black crayons. Do you know anybody that is THAT white or THAT black? I think we as a race are becoming more and more homogeneous. With the blending of the colors I think it is time to redefine colors as a means of identification. That’s why I recommend that we number code our colors. Think of the whitest skinned person you know. That person would be a 1. Now think of the darkest skinned person you know. That person would be a 10. The rest of us would fall in between.
Why not identify a person this way? Instead of being a white guy, I would be a 2 or a 3. The height strips on the convenience store doors could be color coded as well. Then the perpetrator could be described as 5’10’’, 175 pounds, and approximately 3 in color.
We could then sing, “Seven, five, nine and two, we’re all precious, even you...”
Does this all sound a little absurd to you? In its absurdity I would hope that it would make you realize the only thing dividing the human race is us.
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