Do You Remember September 10, 2001?

We all remember Tuesday, September 11, 2001 vividly. What about Monday, September, 10, 2001? What were you doing on that day. What was going on in your life up to that point before the events of the next day occurred? I had to think pretty hard. A search of USA Today September 10, 2001 returned these news items:

• Worst year for wild fires, nearly 3 million acres burn.



• Politicians argue about the Bush tax cut.



• Bombings killed 5 over the weekend in Israel.



• The Bank of New York foreclosed on rapper Juvenile's house in Louisiana. No mortgage payment had been received since April.



• Barry Bonds had hit 3 more home runs the day before closing in on Mark McGwire's record.



• NFL Week 1 was in the books and the topic of discussion at office water coolers that day.



• The Department of Transportation was seeking a 3 million dollar fine from Northwest Airlines for breaking laws regarding the disabled.



• The US power grid was being upgraded with several new power plants scheduled to be online in a month or so increasing the country's production capacity 18%.

In my home that evening I had no idea a few Middle Eastern men were eating at a Pizza Hut and shopping at a Wal - Mart, spending the last night of their lives before taking part in the murder of 3,000 people. How did the 3,000 who died spend their last night? How would they have spent it had they known it was their last night? No doubt the phrase "I love you" would have been spoken and whispered into the ears of their loved ones.



The events of the next day would alter so many things. Lives would end, lives would be forever changed, military actions would follow. Our sense of safety was about to be shattered. In a few hours the actions of a few would impact so many. It is difficult to comprehend there are people in the world who hate me and want me dead and do not even know me. I did not hate anyone on September 10, 2001. I was about to experience that very emotion within a few brief hours along with a kind of fear I had never known.



I was headed for a values check and a realignment of my priorities, but according to my computer directory I was downloading music September 10, 2001. Whatever else I did that evening was not memorable or noteworthy.



The next day would bring the death of innocence to my generation. We would then stand along side those who lived through the Great Depression and World War II and understand them a little better. We too would have to divert resources both human and financial to ensure our safety and our freedom.



I went on to bed that night like everyone else in America. Unbeknownst to us all we were about to change. We never know what tomorrow will bring. I certainly did not on September 10, 2001.



Until the next time

John Strain

Influences Part Two

Keeping things on the lighter side, I have described a few events and people that have influenced my life. These represent the tip of the iceburg. Who and what has influenced you?

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Over the hill: When I was a seminary student in New Orleans in the early 80's my roommate and I were avid runners. I still am and in a moment you will see why. It was January and between the regular sessions. Most of the regular students were away from the campus and hoards of mini term attendees took their place. I was 24 and in good shape. Not only did I run, but I worked on the seminary ground crew so I got extra exercise pushing a lawn mower and carrying a weed eater. As Richard and I walked out of the dorm we had to pass through a small convention of rather rotund middle-aged men. They had convened to determine where they would eat dinner. Making our way through the maze of Old Spice wearing, pop bellied preachers one of them said, "it must be nice to be young and full of vim and vigor." Without hesitating, Richard replied, "yes, and it will be nice to be old and full of vim and vigor too." As we continued on, we broke into our warm up stride and listened to their retorts fading in the distance behind. In a knowing confidence they were saying with mixed laughter, "that's how I used to feel. . . you'll see, ha ha ha. . . you'll be like us some day. . . ha ha ha." Those words have both haunted and motivated me ever since.

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The Sheep Lie! and so do advertisers: An old joke goes like this: A ventriloquist was traveling around the country. It was getting late so he asked a farmer if he could stay for the night. The farmer agreed and let the ventriloquist bed down in the barn. In the morning the ventriloquist decided to have some fun with the farmer. When the farmer came to check on the man and inquire about his night's sleep, the man replied, "Oh, I slept fine and did you know you have some remarkable animals here?" The farmer said "they seem pretty ordinary to me, what is so special about them?" "They can talk," said the ventriloquist. "Go on," the farmer said waving his hand at the ventriloquist in disbelief. "They really talk - just let me show you." The ventriloquist walked up to the cow. "How are you today Bossy?" "Fine," she said. "How does your farmer treat you?" asked the ventriloquist. "Pretty good," she said, "he milks me everyday and gives me food to eat." The farmer was dumbfounded. "I don't believe it," he said, "my cow can talk." The ventriloquist continued, "that's not all" he said walking toward the chicken coup. "Hey chicken," he said, "how does the farmer treat you?" The chicken answered him, "fine, he gives us chicken feed and hay for our nests." Even more astonished the farmer was getting excited. "Wow, not only my cow, but my chickens can talk too." The ventriloquist continued the charade, "There is more," and he walked over to one of the sheep. "Hello Mr. Sheep, how does the farmer treat you?" Before the sheep could answer -the farmer interrupted nervously, "now wait a minute," he said, "the sheep lie."



I was young, probably 7 or 8. Because my legs were turned outward at birth I went through braces and corrective shoes. I do not remember the braces, but I do the shoes. Tennis shoes were out of the question until everything was fixed. When I finally got my first pair of Red Ball Jets I was really excited. I had watched the advertisements and knew that with these shoes I could run faster and jump higher. Those were two things I wanted. Imagine my disappointment when I came home with the new white tennis shoes promising almost superhuman powers. I laced them up then headed outside to enjoy my new speed. I ran around the front yard for a test, but it did not seem much faster. Then I tried to jump high and again my powers were mainly unchanged. The commercial lied. The seed of skepticism germinated in me on that day. This guy had a similar experience.

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Laughter: I value humor and laughter. I learned a lot from The Three Stooges and Warner Brother's Cartoons. Bugs Bunny was my hero and I enjoyed all of the Warner Brothers characters. I think in "cartoon" at times. If I am stressed I sometimes imagine what Bugs Bunny would do or what Moe would say in my situation. It happens in my head, I can laugh about it and hold my temper. I call it cartoon thinking. This is closely related to "after hang-up messages." AHM's are what people say after they hang up the phone. It cracks me up to hear someone on the phone talking professional, but change when they hang up. I am sure you have heard it in your office. It goes something like this: "Yes, yes, yes sir. . .I. . .I. . . yes, yes sir - OK sir, OK, Goodbye." Then the phone hangs up, then you hear, "asshole!" "Bitch" and "asshole" are probably the most widely used AHM's. Other early fuel for the development of my humor was MAD Magazine.

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Therapeutic philosophy: Albert Ellis and his REBT (Rational Emotive Behavioral Therapy) is what has most influenced how I work with people. REBT is more than a therapy, but a complete philosophy of life. Albert Ellis is in his 80's. I saw him last year at a confernence in Baton Rouge. He still travels and carries a case load. He is down to earth and practical. One phrase he used several times was, "why do people do (fill in the blank??) . . . because they are out of their f****ing minds." He kept the place in stitches while teaching very useful things. If I said something like that at a conference I would hate to imagine the results. He says it and everybody laughs. My hero.

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Until the next time

John Strain

Influences

The social sciences have debated the role of"nature and nurture" in personality development for years. Today the consensus is that many if not most personality attributes are biological. What we experience in life combines with this collection of biological attributes, traits, and preferences to form our personality.



Let's say you had 500 different varieties of seeds. If they were all put in potting soil at 75 degrees and exposed to direct sunlight, many would germinate and grow. Some of these seeds might fare better in a warmer temperature or a cooler temperature. The amount of water is a factor, while sunlight is another influence. This is how our personalities are. We have seeds or possibilities within and our experiences and nurturing determine what grows or develops.



The frontal lobes of our brains do not fully develop until age 20 or 21. Studies have shown how brains can become structurally different based on experiences, particularly abuse. Jonathan Pincus' research explores the link between child abuse and violence. His book Base Instincts: What Makes Killers Kill is an interesting read.



I would never say that a person's behavior is not their fault. I am not willing to give people a pass on personal responsibility. However, I work with people I am convinced lack insight and the ability to exercise good judgment. What we are born with and how we are raised is out of our hands. Poverty, abuse, starvation, and neglect may influence people but not in the same way. Some overcome while others are destroyed.



If you wake up every day and go to work, if you have good relationships in your life, if you have interests and pursue them, then you are one of the lucky ones. In part you were born that way. In part you were nurtured that way. The hardships you experienced taught you and probably made you better somehow.



I have been thinking about the people and events that have influenced me. Tomorrow I will write about them. It is an interesting exercise I would recommend. Just reflect about the people in your life that stand out. Who was most influential in your life? Who was the next most influential person? What events (positive or negative) most shaped your life? What do you value? Why? After you have identified some of these influences, bask in a little gratitude. If it is at all possible - if that influential person is still alive - let them know. Too often we do not acknowledge these "shapers of our lives" until they have died.



Until the next time

John Strain

Free Associations

The only thing these topics have in common is they are in this blog entry.

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Computerized Crack: Blogger was down most of the day yesterday for some reason and I started going through withdrawals. I was reading a blog this morning and the author said something like this: "Blogging is like computerized crack." I would agree. He went on to say he had been unable to blog for a week and had been "jonsing." Another author of a blog commented that she just waited for interesting things to happen to her so she could write about them. My own friends are getting paranoid. When anything happens they will say, "I bet this will show up in his blog tomorrow." It just might, so watch it. I can see myself at a 12 step meeting, "BA" Bloggers Anonymous - My name is John and I am a blogaholic. . .

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The Taste Dogs Love You've heard the dog food commercials claiming their dog food is the taste dogs love. My dog does not seem to have a discriminating pallet. I have seen him eat his own barf, lick turds, and his own schlong. He would lick his nads, but Barbara had them cut off. I had nothing to do with it. If they really wanted to make something dogs liked how about, cat flavor, or mailman flavor, or gas meter reader flavor.

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Love Bugs: In May and September in Louisiana and other Southern States the love bugs fly. These bugs live for about three days and all they do is hump. They do not sting or infest crops, but are a royal pain in the rump. They are "doing it" while flying. Follow the link to see love bug porn shots. Their favorite position is locked up facing away from each other. I guess that way they can fantisize about other bugs. Anyway, these little devils can render a windshield opaque. I avoid little kids when it is love bug season. I do not want to have to answer the question, "what are they doing?"

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Could this be the Chief's year??? I hope so. Thank God for Direct TV and NFL Sunday Ticket. I get to see every game. If you are a sports fan you understand. I remember one time I had been out of town and returned on a Sunday afternoon. I was surprised to find Barbara asleep on the couch with a football game on the television. I said to her, "I didn't think you liked football." She replied, "it just seems more like Sunday with the game noise in the background." I agree. As I write this LSU is abusing Arizona 38 - 0. Have a laugh on me with some of these football jokes.

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Happy Birthday Ben: This is a picture of John and his three best friends. Ben just turned 19 and is the one seated. Josh has the long hair on the left, Will is standing behind Ben and John is on the right. The picture was taken at Morton's after polishing off some good seafood last Thursday in celebration of Ben's birthday. Some of the gifts Ben received was some fuzzy Homer Simpson slippers, a box of condoms, a box of Summer's Eve, a box of bikini briefs, a tacky glass candle with a black Jesus on it and other gag gifts from Wal-Mart. I am sure they will be life long friends. The stickers they are wearing are to endorse Marty a friend and local politician for the upcoming Parish Council election in October.

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Have a great Sunday and go chiefs! and Saints!



Until the next time

John Strain

Airport Security Pre 9/11

Our family utilizes air travel so infrequently it is usually fun and adventurous when we do. John was 5 and we were all flying from New Orleans to Kansas City to visit my family and go to a couple of baseball games.



It is always hectic preparing to leave for a few days. To compound things, I had selected an early flight. My reasoning at the time was we would get to our destination earlier and not spend the day waiting to leave. All of the last minute things were getting done. Setting the thermostat, turning off the ice maker, watering the plants, feeding the fish, blah, blah, blah. I was tending to that stuff and Barbara was getting John ready. We were scurrying around getting everything completed and though hurried, got everything done and out the door in time.



Barbara hates to fly. She worries we will all die, but mostly she worries she will die. My logical attempts to comfort her are ineffective. Her fear is not what I would call a phobia, but close. She learned that a Xanax or a glass of wine made flying tolerable. I usually say things like, "if we crash and burn, I want you to know I love you." This technique is an attempt to use exaggeration to get her to see her fear humorously and a way for me to exercise my sadistic side.



The drive to the airport was about 30 minutes. We left the car at a "Park and Fly", then hopped a minibus to the departure area. A sky cap checked our bags at the curb and we walked inside. Airport security in those days was painless. They did not even ask questions like, "did any terrorists give you a bomb to blow up your flight?" or "did you leave your bags unattended, but still manage to notice a stranger implant some explosives into your things and you forgot to remove them?" In New Orleans, like most other airports I suppose, one places their carry on items on the conveyer belt then walks through the metal detector doorway. There was a short line at the security area. As we were standing waiting our turn, Barbara said almost as an afterthought, "I hope that gun in John's bag does not cause any trouble." "WHHAAAT!", I replied. Now I was getting nervous. We were about two people away from the x-ray conveyer. "Just before we left I grabbed the toys he was playing with and put them in his backpack. One toy was his cap gun," she said. "Are you crazy," I asked rhetorically. I was thinking to myself - "this could be bad." To my amazement the purple Sesame Street backpack rolled right through without so much as a raised eyebrow. "There, you see," she said, "they can tell if it is a toy or not." Amazed, I agreed and we continued to the gate - which was the farthest geographic point in the airport from the curb where we were let out. In those days, John liked to be carried part of the time, so going a distance with a kid in your arms and all of the carry on paraphernalia made that trek a form of exercise on a par with a spinning class.



John was still at that "cute age" that drew attention from strangers. On the plane the flight attendants made a small fuss over him and showed him the cockpit and gave him the plastic wings to pin on his shirt. He was mesmerized and over stimulated by the whole experience. The take off was like an amusement park ride and the view was something he had never seen. I love to look out the window of the plane. I especially like it when it is overcast. The plane takes off and at some point breaks through the clouds. The bleak, dark day ends and all of a sudden you are enjoying sunlight and looking down at a white, fluffy, cotton like carpet of clouds.



The flight from New Orleans to Kansas City usually has a stop somewhere and today it was Memphis, Tennessee. Usually, when one has to change planes it is the next gate over, but since I had to carry John and tons of carry on luggage the gate was in another concourse. That meant having to go through security again. For a Saturday, the Memphis airport was pretty busy. We had just enough time to get to our plane, but I was nervously checking my watch anyway.



Finally, we got up to the x-ray conveyer. We set our things on it and waited for them to pass the scrutiny of the security official. When John's purple Sesame Street backpack entered the machine the conveyer belt stopped. The lady at the controls said something to the male official next to her. He turned to us and said, "I must ask you folks to step over here." He was motioning to the side of the area where there was a table and a couple of chairs. He led the way while talking on his walkie talkie. I heard his last two exchanges. "We have a code 7", (can't recall the exact number) then he said simply, "it's a gun."



I knew it. I knew it was a bad thing to bring anything resembling a gun to an airport. I knew you could not even joke about guns or bombs, but here I was being detained by security because of a toy gun grabbed in haste. I said to the security official, "It's a toy gun, my wife put it in there not thinking." I rolled over on her fast. I would take a bullet for her, but I did not want some dude thinking I would be dumb enough to bring a toy gun into an airport. Let me be clear. I am not saying she was dumb because she did it. This is one of those things where if a guy does it HE is dumb, but a woman gets a pass - oh she did not know. Conversely, if a guy ruins a load of laundry he is just a guy, but if a woman did the same thing she would be an incompetent woman.



The security official said in his monotone cop voice, "sir, we have to check it." I like the way police can be so polite. Sir, I am going to have to arrest you. Sir, here is a ticket. They have you thanking them for locking you up and having to pay a $300 fine. This man was polite. Well, in about 30 seconds there were five or six more polite policemen at the scene. They were all wearing those big coats with huge yellow letters spelling the word POLICE. So here we are in Memphis, a line growing longer because the family over there has something suspicious in the x-ray machine, six cops and other security officials around the machine. One brave officer slowly reached in the machine and pulled the purple Sesame Street backpack out. It looked so small and unthreatening in his hand. What a contrast - cop, gun, police coat, and little purple backpack. He unzipped it and pulled out the weapon. A pearl handled six-shooter no cowboy would be without.



Fortunately, John was oblivious to the whole thing. He could have been crying for his backpack, but there was enough stimulation to keep him busy. The security staff quickly assessed the situation as more of dumb travelers than a terrorist threat. They resumed the line saving us from certain lynching by the ever growing restless throng of travelers. On top of all of this we had a plane to catch. The polite security official continued his monotone conversation,"sir, you are going to have to come with us downstairs and fill out some paperwork." "Is this going to take very long," I asked, "we have a connecting flight leaving in twenty minutes." The security guys talked for a moment out of ear shot then returned. "If you want to surrender the weapon you can place it in our amnesty box or you will have to go downstairs and fill out some paperwork. The weapon will be returned to you when you arrive in Kansas City." "I'll go with the amnesty box," I said, "just don't let my son see you throw it away." We were released on our own recognizance.



I had Barbara so good I could sit back and not even have to say, "I told you so." She apologized all over the place and I let her. But it wore off pretty quick. Thank God that happened pre 9/11 or I would be writing this blog from "Gitmo".



Until the next time

John Strain