I spent last weekend at the Landmark Forum. Now if you aren't familiar with Landmark you can
Google it and get all kinds of information. It's not a cult.......I swear.
How I got talked into attending this thing is a long and kinda boring story. I'll just say that someone came into my life who saw something in me that I couldn't see and she reached out to me. At first I could not wrap my head around why she would do that, but after I sat through the Forum, I got it.
It was a roller coaster ride for sure. In fact the Forum leader guarantees it will be.When I first got there I was less than excited, trepidatious even, unsure of the purpose. I morphed into my usual reticent wall hugging self, lurking about with my judgements and opinions. Muttering my complaints among the other socially challenged attendees, who agreed with me that we were all a little uncomfortable. But for some reason, I trusted my friend who had led me here that the outcome would be worth it. So even though I thought I might not go back for Saturday, I got over it and went back anyway.
Now you are probably asking yourself what the outcome was. I wish I could explain it and I can't really. It's something that you have to "be", that you have to "get". What I can tell you is that there has been a shift in my thinking. The voices in my head are still there but some of them are actually making sense, revealing to me the world's untruths. I have also become acutely aware of my own integrity. It's hard to notice all those tiny little lies we tell. Since the Forum I notice them all! And I hate it and I know I can't go back.
Once I know something, I can't go back to not knowing. I can pretend I don't know, but I still know what I know. I know my life comes down to actions vs. reactions, truth vs. lie, integrity vs. division. It is what it is. Can't go back and don't really want to.
If you ever have the opportunity to ride the Landmark roller coaster.......... do it!
Friday, February 27, 2015
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Rocket Man
When I was around 12 years old I built my first "rocket". I constructed it from 2 steel pop cans and duct tape. Alcohol was the fuel and a tennis ball was the "rocket". I worked in tandem with my neighbor from across the street. He showed me how to cut the pop cans and tape them together. We had no adult supervision. Needless to say, I could have put an eye out or worse with this tennis ball cannon. Thankfully, no one got hurt.
Many years later during my teaching years, I attended a mini space camp. These seminars were designed to help science teachers integrate the merits of the US space program into their classroom curriculum. They included tons of teacher resources including building model rockets. I built and launched several rockets including a shuttle replica.
When I mentioned to my father how I liked the rocket building, he told me that he had built a few rockets when he was a young man in West Virginia. That was as far as the conversation went. Why my dad didn't decide to divulge his rocket laden history at that moment, puzzles me to this day. However, Dad seldom discussed his childhood and I was aware that his youth was no picnic. So I didn't ask too many questions.
Nearly twenty years later, my father informs me about a book called Rocket Boys. Rocket Boys tells the story of my father's high school friends and their quest to build and understand rockets. They overcame a world of obstacles to win a national science fair. The book's author, Homer Hickam, went on to work for NASA. My father went on to major in Chemistry and become an engineer.
For my dad, Rocket Boys was a chance to reconnect with his friends from high school and to become a bit of a celebrity. In his semi-retired state, he toured about with other Rocket Boys speaking at science and engineering fairs for young people and entertaining with his tales at model rocketry clubs all over the country. He even visited the movie set of "October Sky," which is based on the book, and met the actor who played the character based on him.
For me, Rocket Boys was a window into my father's youth and my family's heritage. He never talked about the rockets or the science fair. He did encourage my interests in science. Sometimes he was helpful with schoolwork, but mostly he wasn't. He didn't know about my taped up pop cans, or the time I synthesized contact explosives in the college lab, or about the time I tossed a rather large chunk of sodium metal into a bucket of water just to see it go boom. I never told him about the time I blew large soap bubbles and filled them with natural gas from the hoses we used to connect Bunsen burners and casually lit them on fire. (Amazing, but not recommended!) There was something in us both that made us want to blow stuff up!!
Thankfully my desire to explode things has waned with the maturity which brings mortality into focus. Not so dear dad, who still lights up a cig next to his oxygen tank.
He's still building the rockets in his head, trying to design a better nozzle, finding just the right style and size of motor, and concocting the best fuel. He collects the motors and other rocket stuff. He's documenting his work in a manual for the next generation of people who want to blow things up.
Our relationship hasn't always been a cake walk. And I wish I had known about the rockets as a kid........maybe we could have bonded over some rocket launching. When I visited him a few weeks ago, of course, we talked rockets. I flipped through the manuals with genuine interest. He bestowed upon me some of his rocketry souvenir shirts and a few beer worthy stories. I longed to blow something up with this rocket man (other than the oxygen tank) but it was cold and raining. So we just stayed in and talked about it. And it was all good!
Peace! lw
Many years later during my teaching years, I attended a mini space camp. These seminars were designed to help science teachers integrate the merits of the US space program into their classroom curriculum. They included tons of teacher resources including building model rockets. I built and launched several rockets including a shuttle replica.
When I mentioned to my father how I liked the rocket building, he told me that he had built a few rockets when he was a young man in West Virginia. That was as far as the conversation went. Why my dad didn't decide to divulge his rocket laden history at that moment, puzzles me to this day. However, Dad seldom discussed his childhood and I was aware that his youth was no picnic. So I didn't ask too many questions.
Nearly twenty years later, my father informs me about a book called Rocket Boys. Rocket Boys tells the story of my father's high school friends and their quest to build and understand rockets. They overcame a world of obstacles to win a national science fair. The book's author, Homer Hickam, went on to work for NASA. My father went on to major in Chemistry and become an engineer.
For my dad, Rocket Boys was a chance to reconnect with his friends from high school and to become a bit of a celebrity. In his semi-retired state, he toured about with other Rocket Boys speaking at science and engineering fairs for young people and entertaining with his tales at model rocketry clubs all over the country. He even visited the movie set of "October Sky," which is based on the book, and met the actor who played the character based on him.
For me, Rocket Boys was a window into my father's youth and my family's heritage. He never talked about the rockets or the science fair. He did encourage my interests in science. Sometimes he was helpful with schoolwork, but mostly he wasn't. He didn't know about my taped up pop cans, or the time I synthesized contact explosives in the college lab, or about the time I tossed a rather large chunk of sodium metal into a bucket of water just to see it go boom. I never told him about the time I blew large soap bubbles and filled them with natural gas from the hoses we used to connect Bunsen burners and casually lit them on fire. (Amazing, but not recommended!) There was something in us both that made us want to blow stuff up!!
Thankfully my desire to explode things has waned with the maturity which brings mortality into focus. Not so dear dad, who still lights up a cig next to his oxygen tank.
He's still building the rockets in his head, trying to design a better nozzle, finding just the right style and size of motor, and concocting the best fuel. He collects the motors and other rocket stuff. He's documenting his work in a manual for the next generation of people who want to blow things up.
Our relationship hasn't always been a cake walk. And I wish I had known about the rockets as a kid........maybe we could have bonded over some rocket launching. When I visited him a few weeks ago, of course, we talked rockets. I flipped through the manuals with genuine interest. He bestowed upon me some of his rocketry souvenir shirts and a few beer worthy stories. I longed to blow something up with this rocket man (other than the oxygen tank) but it was cold and raining. So we just stayed in and talked about it. And it was all good!
Peace! lw
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
Somebody's Homecoming
Last week I went back to my home town of Amarillo. I haven't talked to so many people (outside of my job) in one week - EVER. I wrote that I was going to go there like I wasn't ever doing it again, and that anyone who wanted to see me was free to find me. They found me! No kidding! I was so found!
What floored me the most was that people wanted to find me. It's not like they have been sitting around for the last 18 years worrying about me or even wondering where I went. However, presented with the opportunity to hear a story, they came.
Students I taught over 20 years ago appeared beaming to show photos of their children. Some even brought their children. Co-workers from the school and the "bomb factory" showed up talking of retirement and some even enjoying it now. Friends from my 20's and early 30's appeared again talking of old times like it was last year. Almost everyone brought regards from someone else who couldn't make it to the appointed gatherings. If you wanted to know why they came, you would have to ask them. I had already decided that it didn't matter why they came, only that they stopped what they were doing, and took part in a long overdue homecoming.
What struck me the most was the phone call I received from a former student who couldn't make it to the mini reunion. She was determined to talk to me anyway and when we met, she recounted how she followed a path similar to mine, majoring in chemistry and becoming a science teacher at the school where I had taught. I heard it said from another former teacher that she was the best science teacher that school had employed since myself (and I was pretty awesome despite my moodiness). She wanted me to know that the often moody, idealistic, young science teacher had not been forgotten and was a positive influence. She wanted to understand why I left, so I told the story, now tempered with a more reserved and mature tone then when I had originally lived it. We agreed not wait another 20 years to resume communication.
As I ran ( and I use the term run loosely) to make my connecting flight back to Portland, I was reminded of my youth when I still believed that if I just ran faster or worked harder than the other guy, I would be somebody. Looking back, it's pretty clear that even as an idealistic twenty-something, I already was somebody.
We are all somebody to somebody. Let today's journey allow you to embrace your inner somebody with a thankful heart for the somebodies in your life who have helped you along the way to being that somebody, whoever that is.
Peace! lw
What floored me the most was that people wanted to find me. It's not like they have been sitting around for the last 18 years worrying about me or even wondering where I went. However, presented with the opportunity to hear a story, they came.
Students I taught over 20 years ago appeared beaming to show photos of their children. Some even brought their children. Co-workers from the school and the "bomb factory" showed up talking of retirement and some even enjoying it now. Friends from my 20's and early 30's appeared again talking of old times like it was last year. Almost everyone brought regards from someone else who couldn't make it to the appointed gatherings. If you wanted to know why they came, you would have to ask them. I had already decided that it didn't matter why they came, only that they stopped what they were doing, and took part in a long overdue homecoming.
What struck me the most was the phone call I received from a former student who couldn't make it to the mini reunion. She was determined to talk to me anyway and when we met, she recounted how she followed a path similar to mine, majoring in chemistry and becoming a science teacher at the school where I had taught. I heard it said from another former teacher that she was the best science teacher that school had employed since myself (and I was pretty awesome despite my moodiness). She wanted me to know that the often moody, idealistic, young science teacher had not been forgotten and was a positive influence. She wanted to understand why I left, so I told the story, now tempered with a more reserved and mature tone then when I had originally lived it. We agreed not wait another 20 years to resume communication.
As I ran ( and I use the term run loosely) to make my connecting flight back to Portland, I was reminded of my youth when I still believed that if I just ran faster or worked harder than the other guy, I would be somebody. Looking back, it's pretty clear that even as an idealistic twenty-something, I already was somebody.
We are all somebody to somebody. Let today's journey allow you to embrace your inner somebody with a thankful heart for the somebodies in your life who have helped you along the way to being that somebody, whoever that is.
Peace! lw
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