Its A Small World After All

It was the fall of 1972 and I was about to enter the US Navy.  The war was continuing in Vietnam and I expected to serve in the Western Pacific.  In fact I had requested it when I enlisted.  I had wanted to return to the Philippines and the wonderful people I'd served while on a mission there.  When I enlisted I was single and had expected to be so for the foreseeable future.

Then one day, about three weeks before I was to report to Boot Camp I happened upon the girl of my dreams. We went on our first date and really hit it off.  In fact on that date, I felt impressed that I must marry her.  That notion was quite alarming to me.  Not because I was afraid of marriage; but because I'd put in for WestPac and expected to be away from home for the entire two years of my enlistment.  I couldn't imagine marrying this wonderful girl, only to leave her behind.

The day following our first date I had a notion that I'd like to see my brother.  Brad and I had been best friends all our lives and we hadn't laid eyes on one another for over three and a half years.  I'd gone on my mission in 1969 and he had left for his a few months before I got back.  Now I was bound for Vietnam, or so I thought, and might not see him for an additional two years.  I couldn't bear the thought.

With an attitude of nothing ventured nothing gained, I called his Mission President, President Rex C. Reeve Jr. and explained my situation. I told him that I had a regulation hair cut, plenty of white shirts and ties, the discussions memorized and a current Temple Recommend.  Then I plead, "Can I please come out to South Dakota and spend some time with him?"  There was a long silence on the other end.  Finally, he spoke and said he'd have to take the matter to the Lord.  I agreed and hung up the phone.  It wasn't two hours later the phone rang and it was President Reeve.  He had found a bother in the local area to be Brad's companion's companion and said I could come if I would be my brother's companion and serve as a missionary by his side.  I was ecstatic!  He made it clear that this was not a time to play around, but that he expected me to be a missionary and to follow mission rules.  I promised I would.

The next morning I jumped in the car and headed for the Rosebud Sioux Reservation in South Dakota, where my brother was serving.  It took twelve hard hours to drive there.  It was a difficult journey.  I spent almost the entire twelve hours in prayer.  I was determined that marriage was not the answer.  I had every excuse in the book.  It was too late.  There was not time for preparations.  There was not time to get acquainted.  Who in their right mind would marry a man she hardly knew and who was about to leave to war for two years.  The list went on and on.  All the way to South Dakota I plead with the Lord to excuse me from what appeared to be my destiny.  All the way, I got no relief from His expectation of me.

There was some respite upon my arrival.  A happy reunion!  And a wonderful opportunity to be missionary companions for something just shy of a week.  We worked hard and kept the rules, except one.  We couldn't get ourselves to go to sleep on time.  Too much catching up to do.  It was a very different mission than the one I had experienced.  Rather laid back.  The Elders wore white shirts and ties and blue jeans.  They drove a pickup truck.  Brad explained that we might be called upon to haul hay or do some other chores as we loved, served, fellowshipped and taught these wonderful Native Americans.  This was not new to Brad and I.  As young men our family had been called to serve a two year mission among the Ute Indians of Utah, not far from our home.  We loved the Indian people and do to this day.  Their great hearts, sweet testimonies and profound faith, coupled with a cheerful nature and terrific sense of humor, make them fond brothers and sisters of ours, for life.  I won't go into too many details except to say that these were precious days and a sweet gift from a kind Father in Heaven.  I will always be amazed and grateful that we had such a blessed time together as missionary companions.

One highlight, though, is the reason I'm writing this now.  My brother's companion in South Dakota was Elder Sion Latu.  He was from Tonga and a giant in body and in spirit.  I loved getting acquainted with him and after nearly 40 years, still have not forgotten his name.  I remember what a great cook he was and that his cooking not only represented quality, but quantity.  Easily, he ate more than I and my brother combined.  And we had great appetites ourselves!  Elder Latu was jovial and warm hearted and really made a big impression upon me.  I only got to see him briefly each morning and again in the evening but I loved being around him.  He had that famous Polynesian charm and talent and it was just a joy to get to rub shoulders with him.  Actually, I might have had to stand on a chair to do that, but you know what I mean.  On the other hand, most Polynesians I know are larger than life and should you actually take their measurements, you might be surprised that they are not as giant sized as they seem.  Part of me wishes I had such a personality.  Of course if such wishes could be granted we'd all be Polynesians!  Wherever you find them, they are the leaven of the loaf!

A couple of weeks ago I met a wonderful girl from the Islands.  Her name is Kika and she told me she was Tongan; though she'd only visited there.  I thought I might ask her if she happened to know Elder Latu.  I'd forgotten his first name - if I ever knew it.  I decided not to.  You know.  Different generation.  Lots of Tongans.  What are the chances?

Since then, Kika has visited my blog, and in a comment, she signed her name Kika Latu.  I wrote her a note and asked what I should have when we met.  Sure enough!  Last night I got my answer.  Kika is Sion's very own daughter!  It is indeed a small world after all.  Kika is a walking breathing tribute to her father.  Wonderful in every way.  I loved watching her play with the children and engaging with the others at our Book Blogger's Summer Social.  She may not be in the islands, but the islands most certainly are in her!

I feel so blessed to make connections from my remote and neglected past.  God is so good in that regard.  You'll remember another, quite similar post from this past spring - I Don't Believe in Coincidences and also Remembering to Trust or Meet Joe Hapi.  I was able to track down Joe through Facebook a couple of years ago!

All I can say is a little prayer to my Heavenly Father, "Malo 'aupito!"




Post Script:

I drove home with another prayer in my heart.  One of faith and courage and trust.  Qualities encouraged by my brother and received by contagion from Sion Latu.  I asked Sweetie out the day after my return and that night made a proposal of marriage.  Miracle of miracles, she accepted!  The next week I went to boot camp, came back at Christmas, and married her in the Provo Temple.  We spent the next two years together, stationed in San Diego, California.  We lived in a ward leavened with one third Polynesians.  Life is so good!

How's That For A Saturday

Yesterday, I was up early to help Betty with Whitey.  He was pretty stiff and uncomfortable and each time we turned him today, he seemed pretty sore.  It sure hurts Betty to see him suffer so.

Then it was down to Mom's to sit with her for the morning.  Steve had spent the night and was up photographing flowers when I arrived.  He'd been out to get the paper and found a great shot of his long shadow across the drive that turned out great.  Note to self:  Don't ever go any where without the camera.  Steve's eye is attuned to the photographic opportunity of every moment.  He has trained his eye to see beauty and interest in the smallest of things.

Steve had no sooner gone home to bed when Mom began to stir.  Determined to remain as strong and active as possible, she opted for the walker over the wheel chair.  She takes her time and is careful, but oh, how weak she's become.  I fixed her a little oat meal, but she only managed to eat a couple of spoons full.  I wrote and we chatted here and there.  She kept insisting that I go spend time with my family.  I kept insisting that I'd hear nothing of it.  Her cancer is taking it's toll and none of us want to be far from her side.

Wayne and Susan had been here for a week and left yesterday.  The previous weekend, Mark and Susan had attended to Mom's needs.  Before that two granddaughters and a grandson were here helping as well.  We locals enjoyed a bit of rest and some good company, but are happy to be back to taking our turns.  We cherish these inspiring moments by her side.

Alyson arrived in the night from Vegas.  She's here to spend a few days with family and to be near her grandmother.  She and Katie came to Mom's around ten.  After a chat, they announced they were headed to Jeff's volleyball games.  Mom insisted I go with them.  He played two and scored a few points.  His coach is my long time friend Raedean.  I was impressed with the number of volleys these 8 and 9 year olds could get going in a row!  Darn good little players.  Jeff's family had spent the morning at a 5K Fun Run in celebration of Josh Graham's Birthday.  Josh's widow, and our good friend Toni had organized it in his memory.  John and Jen had helped with the logistics and Jeff had walked and run the entire distance with Cooper and Josh's daughter, Celestia.  Keaton, Toni's oldest, honored his father by winning the race in 21 minutes!  I'd like to have participated as well, but had other priorities this morning.  Jeff's team won one and lost one.  Good times.

On the way back to Mom's riding in Aly's new Maxima we decided to swing by the Cemetery and see the newly placed headstones.  Annie's has been there a few weeks but none of us had seen it yet.  It is lovely and certainly represents Eric's great love for her.  Mom and Dad's arrived just a day or so ago.  Steve and Cheya took Mom up to see it yesterday.  She was pleased and remarked how nice it was to get out of the house for a bit.  We were pleased too.  I love how they listed their children on the back of the stone.  Dad's military plaque remains there as well.

Cheya had arrived at Mom's just before we arrived.  She'll have the afternoon and evening shift.  Mom is most comfortable with her.  Tired from a morning sitting up doing crosswords and trying to eat, she went back to bed.  We're all thankful for lap tops as our computers go back and forth with every trip.  I had done my morning's writing while there.  Cheya will continue her quest to scan family photos and identify the people and record the dates.

I headed for home and spotted Lynn selling melons on Main Street.  He does this every year.  He runs to Green River and brings back a trailer load of the best ripe melons around.  I got a nice one for $4.00.  He's trying to move them fast so he can get home to watch BYU play Air Force.

Back at home, I found John and Ronnie digging up John's backyard to replace the sewer line.  We did mine three years ago.  Thankfully, Ronnie is a master at operating a backhoe and makes that difficult task look like child's play.  I'm so glad to finally have sons and love rubbing shoulders and working along side them.  We have the rented hoe for the weekend.  Gratefully they only charge for the time that's recorded on it's hour meter.  Ronnie's skill cut that time way down.  We started digging last night by hand but our lots are over an ancient riverbed of cobble rocks making shovels nearly useless.  There still remained some shoveling at the ends of the trench.  I was grateful to the periodic breaks to run over and help Betty care for her ill husband.

The old Orangeburg pipe was in horrible shape.  It was completely plugged with roots and debris.  It had been installed at way too steep a grade and its a wonder it made it this long.  The pipe was brittle and about to disintegrate.  After cleaning things up and assessing the needs, we found a couple of sticky problems.  I walked down to Kirk's for some advice.  He did his the year after I did mine.  He came down and we deliberated over solutions for a while.  He had an idea and he and I went back to his place to make a special tool for the job.  How glad I am for good neighbors and friends.  That problem solved, John and I went to Lowe's for materials while Jen and Megan went for Pizza.  She took some down to Cheya too.  The rest of us, including Ronnie and Kristi, Aly, Katie, John, Jen, Megan and Jeff ate at our picnic table.  How nice to have our homes back to back.  Every grandfather's dream and I'm living it.  Ronnie and Kristi brought some tomatoes from their garden, so be began planning for BLT's for dinner tomorrow.  How good to have all our children together for the weekend.  Aly and Kristi have been to the store to buy matching T-shirts for everyone so we can take a family photo tomorrow.

Jen headed for the store for groceries while John and I got the pipe all hooked up with two new clean-out locations added.  We all celebrated with a flush!  Everything worked great and soon the washing machine and dish washer were catching up and John was in a much deserved hot shower.  We still have the trench to back fill, but at least the plumbing is back in service.

When I went over to Betty's to help settle Whitey in for the night, she announced that she'd made arrangements to cover my afternoon tomorrow so I could spend some uninterrupted time with the family.  What a sweet thoughtful friend she is.

You know?  I guess you'd look on a day like that and think, "What's so great about a life where loved ones are dying and sewers go bad and money runs out and daughters live far away and headstones are needed and muscles are aching and widows are mourning and the ground is full of rocks?"  "People, that's what's so great about it!"  "Neighbors and friends, teammates and coaches, daughters and sons, mothers and fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers, grandsons and granddaughters, runners and walkers, workers and players; not to mention computers and adjustable beds and wheel chairs and backhoes and back rubs, and fancy new cars and toilets that flush!  That's what's so great about life!"

A Little 9-11 Perspective

This day will long be etched in our minds, not only in America, but across the world.  It is right that we pause a moment and remember those who are fallen.  It is appropriate to place a wreath at a grave, to shed a tear and to mourn a loss such as this.  It is appropriate for those, whose business it is, to be about he business of preventing it from happening again.  It is also appropriate for the rest us, to put our hats back on, to roll up our sleeves and get back to the business of living.

Here is a quote from President Boyd K. Packer that illustrates what I mean:

I recall not too many years ago riding to the office one morning and turning on the radio as they were excitedly announcing that someone had placed a bomb at the temple. The front doors of the temple had been blown off. Remember that? Most of you don't because it is just not that important it isn't worth remembering. We were then using the parking lot north of the Relief Society building; and as I went to the office, I glanced across the street. There was a lot of action around the temple people, police cars, fire trucks, and everything. But I was late to a meeting; so I had to resist the temptation to go over and see what was going on. I was in meetings with combination of the Brethren all day. As I went back that night about 6:30 or 7:00, there was no one at the temple; but there were some big sheets of plywood over the place where the doors had been. Then it struck me. All day long in meeting with the Brethren, not once, for one second, was that thing ever brought up. It wasn't even mentioned. And why? Because there was work to do, you know. Why be concerned about that?

Samuel Johnson wrote something that I think has an application here that we ought to remember. A fly can sting a stately horse and make it wince, but one is still a stately horse and the other, well. There is the temptation always to get excited and, like the old Indian, jump on your horse and ride away in all directions. Don't, don't do that. Just stand steady. If there is anything that the youth of the Church need in perilous times like these, it is somebody who can stand secure and steady and serene, even when it's raining, and even if the lightning begins to strike right close. So my second suggestion is to stand steady; don't be in a panic; be secure. 

This came from a talk Elder Packer gave to Church Education System teachers in the Summer of 1970.  I encourage you to read the entire talk.

We live in troubled times but there isn't time to be distracted by the trouble.  There are people and systems in place to deal with the trouble.  Most of us however, have other tasks to do.  Let us be about those opportunities.  Let us be about carrying on with our lives.  Let us be about building the Kingdom of God.  Let's, you and I, resolve on this day, not to run off in every direction, flailing our arms in alarm and despair.  There is work to do.  Worthwhile things to be accomplished.  Things to build.  The best thing you and I could do to disarm the wreckers in the world is to ignore them and keep on building.

Just When I Thought There Was Nothing Left To Write About... Along Comes Bobby McFerrin

I have a number of instruments made on the Pentatonic Scale.  Without going into too much detail; most of us are familiar with the Chromatic Scale.  The Do Re Mi Fa So La Ti Do Scale.  Most songs are written in that scale because of it's broad versatility.

The Pentatonic Scale, while in some ways more restrictive, is, in another very important way more liberating.  You see, in the Pentatonic scale, there are no sour notes.  Every note is in complete harmony with every other note on the scale.  I have a simple xylophone built on the Pentatonic Scale which I love to play.  It is called a Wing and can be found on line.  I love to finish a day playing it.  I make up the music as I go because, remember there are no sour notes.  It is so soothing and meditative to quietly make music with no conscious thought.  I've even been known to sleep while I'm still striking the keys.  There are two mallets, so you may also strike two keys at a time, guaranteed that any two keys on the instrument will harmonize beautifully.

Most Native American Flutes are also built to be played on the Pentatonic Scale.  I have several in a number of keys.  These are my favorite for meditation and winding down after a busy day.  A well made Indian Flute is easy to play and well worth owning.  Even a novice can play on the first day.  Again, because there are no sour notes.  Obviously, the sky is the limit on how well and beautifully they can be played.  You need to remember that you can't play Yankee Doodle Dandy or She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain in the Pentatonic Scale.  Almost all popular music is written in the Chromatic Scale.  Still, music of your own, random creation can lift and inspire you and can be unique as you are.

So, what has all this to do with Bobby McFerrin?  Watch this little video and see for yourself!


World Science Festival 2009: Bobby McFerrin Demonstrates the Power of the Pentatonic Scale from World Science Festival on Vimeo.

A Case Against Elitism

Robert Fulghum once wrote of speaking to a Kindergarten Class during which he asked the students how many could draw.  All of them raised their hands enthusiastically.  "How many of you can dance?"  Same response. "Who here can sing?"  Again everyone excitedly volunteered that they could!  Some time later Fulghum found himself before a University audience.  He asked the same questions,  "Who here can draw?"  Only a few hands went up.  "Sing?"  Very few.  "Dance?"  Hardly any.  Then this favorite writer of mine, posed the same question I am interested in asking, "Why?"  What has happened between Kindergarten and College to rob these students of their enthusiastic confidence?  I suppose the primary reasons are criticism and ridicule.  Does that tell us anything?  It should.

Another cause, in my view is opportunity.  In Kindergarten, everyone is issued a box of crayons.  Everyone is expected to sing and to dance.  Everyone is expected to want to.  No one is criticized for less than stellar performance.  Gradually, though, our schools and other cultural systems take license to criticize and ridicule and slowly but surely we weed out all but the finest.  Why do we do this?  Why do we insist on competition and comparison?   I think the fundamental emotion driving this phenomenon is greed.

Last night I watched the results of America's Got Talent.  It is thrilling to see the best of the best, doing their very best.  The whole concept of the show is to find the finest talent in the land.  I think they do pretty well at it.  There are some inherent problems in the format however.  It is not necessarily the act that has the best talent or who has worked the hardest that moves forward.  I don't think anyone would argue that Fighting Gravity had anywhere near the talent, depth of preparation or longevity of determination displayed by Studio One Beast Society; yet Fighting Gravity won.  Why?  Because they had a more unusual, entertaining, idea.  Level of talent, strength of preparation, magnitude of difficulty are all, in the end, trumped by what is most crowd pleasing.  They are also trumped then, by what will draw the most attendance and make the most money.  Greed.

It happens locally as well.  We begin with enormous numbers of children playing soccer, baseball, basketball, wrestling and playing football.  We begin with large numbers of children taking dance and other music lessons.  Then we promptly weed them out and eliminate opportunities to continue participation for all but the very best, or at least the most crowd pleasing.  I asked the kids at the Detention Center one day, "What could our community have done that might have kept you out of trouble."  More than half of the kids said, "They might have continued to make sports available to us."  Several said that they had lived for sports as children.  They'd played little league and soccer, but when they got older those opportunities were offered only to the All Stars, so to speak.  This, at the most critical time in their young lives.  The time when they are trying to develop their own personal identities, part of what they've always identified as - an athlete, gets jerked out from under them.

I think it is time we remodeled High School sports.  We hear, all the time, complaints about the expense of busing our teams all around the state to games.  We hear complaints that the process takes players out of the classroom an inordinate amount of time.  Still we don't do a thing about it.  Why?  Greed.  Sports, even at the High School level equates to revenue.  Couple that with the motivating dream of ascending to the College level and then on to the Pros and everyone, player, coach, parent has had their motivation tainted by greed.  The greed to money,  The greed of bragging rights.  The greed of superiority.  Elitism.

May is suggest an alternative model, that might actually satisfy all, even those who seek elite status?

How about building High School sports around an intramural program.  Anyone who wishes to play may be on one of the teams.  Coaches and parents will take a vested interest in broad participation.  The intramural activities could culminate in a tournament to give each team something to shoot for, something to motivate excellence.  Then at the end of the season an All Star team would be chosen from the best in all the teams.  The All Star Team would then participate in Regional and then Statewide tournaments where the best from each school could still have their day in the sun before recruiters and glory hungry parents and coaches.  There are problems with the model.  But they're surmountable ones.  They are also less surmountable than the problems with the current model.

An Intramural model would save considerable funds in busing teams all season.  It would involve significantly more children in sports with all the developmental advantages that has to offer.  And it would still provide advancement opportunities for the most gifted participants.  I will guarantee that there are children today who are not currently participating who are potential stars.  They would be much more likely to be discovered under an intramural based program than the are in the current scheme of things.

When I was in High School a group of us, who'd not qualified for the basketball team and who were weary of being expected to go the gym and worship those who had; decided to create and organize an new game.  We called it Szhungaelzee.  It involved kicking a roll of masking tape around a gym floor, like a hockey puck.  Instead of using sticks we used our feet.  We chose a night that didn't conflict with High School or Church activities and held a tournament.  Eight teams formed up and entered.  We arranged a location and adult supervision.  Still, the sports establishment in our community felt threatened and after three weeks of good clean fun, they pulled the plug on us.  We were shut out of every venue in town.  I bring this up to illustrate how clearly anxious we were to be participants instead of onlookers.  Why did they stop us?  Greed.  They feared that gate revenues at the High School games would plummet.

I've seen the same thing happen in Church sports.  Our Ward had enough interested young men who wanted to play basketball to field three teams.  Rather than distribute the talent equally among the three teams, or even to have an older, younger and youngest team; it was determined to put the best talent on the first team, the second best on the second team and the poorest players on the third team.  Greed.  Winning was more important than participation.  The result?  The second and third teams languished into non-existence, while the elite team went on the trounce all comers.

We need to reconsider what it is we hope to accomplish here folks.  We will probably always have the elite among us.  Does than mean everyone else must be relegated to the audience?  When Sweetie and I were in Newfoundland and Cape Breton we found a society where everyone participates.  What a refreshing culture to enjoy.  They have no spectators in their society.  Up until recently, they've had no television or radio.  They gather to sing and everyone sings!  Everyone dances!  Young, old, talented or not, beautiful or not, everyone is a participant, there are no spectators!  All who run may win the prize!