The Grayness of Human Beings

A couple of months ago, a patron at a Chicago White Sox game made some very meanspirited and personal remarks to Arizona second baseman Ketel Marte, and the fan was subsequently banned from all MLB games indefinitely. Reports are that the 22 year-old was “very apologetic and remorseful,” which is promising; I hope he uses this unfortunate experience as an opportunity to recalibrate his life. I also hope that Major League Baseball doesn’t banish the fan for life, or even for a year, but rather invites him back to enjoy baseball with his regrettable indiscretion behind him.

People can be cruel. People can be dumb. The world is run by cruel and dumb people, for crying out loud. But I’d also like us to give people a little more leeway than what is often offered on social media, podcasts and YouTube. Lord knows that if I were held accountable for all the stupid shit I spouted as a 22-year-old, I’d be banned from all sorts of businesses, websites and homes – including my own! I’m wiser today, I’ve smoothed out some of the rough edges, and I try not to utter every stupid thought that pops into my brain.

As we look around the world today, on the news or on internet comments or social media, we’ll witness words and actions that exemplify the worst of humanity. If we look a little harder, we’ll also see words and actions that exemplify the best of humanity. It’s so easy to observe the worst in someone and use it to summarize their entire being. One false action, one slipup of a remark, one viewpoint that doesn’t correspond to our own, and WHAMMO! You’re now an asshole. A pariah. A “them.”

This isn’t the best way to go through life, for it too easily distills a complex human being into a one-word pejorative. I’ve had discussions with my children about this. There is a celebrity who’s done some amazing things but who’s also made some remarks that my children don’t agree with. This celebrity is now banished from their lives, relegated to the island of assholes who aren’t worth their time, which is unfortunate, because it doesn’t address the full human being; it cherry picks the one thing that they find abhorrent and ignores all the good they’ve done.

People are gray, sometimes impressing us with their words and actions, and sometimes letting us down. Goodness knows that I don’t always live up to my highest ideals. There are a multitude of words and actions from my past that I wish I could take back, but it would also be wrong for someone to take a few of those words and actions and make a blanket statement about who I am as a person. I am more than my missteps. I’m also more than a guy who holds a different viewpoint that you do about a particular subject. It’s OKAY to have an opinion that doesn’t align with yours.

People are numbskulls. People are geniuses.
People are despicable and amazing.
They’re pathetic and inspiring.
They’re disappointing and promising.
They’re mean-spirited and kind, cowardly and brave.
People are dishonorable and commendable, capricious and steadfast,
stingy and generous, hypocritical and trustworthy.
They’re hateful and loving. Weak and strong. Lazy and indefatigable.
They are painfully serious and side-splittingly funny,
They’re boring as hell and engrossing.
They are black and white and red and orange and yellow and brown and…
GRAY.

Let’s try to refrain from painting a broad brushstroke about someone’s entire being based on one or two things that we don’t appreciate. Okay?

A Modest Tribute to Wayne Disseler

My mom’s husband of twenty-two years died yesterday, and though words are never adequate to sum up a person's life, I’d like to at least pay a modest tribute to the man my kids called grandpa.

My earliest memory of Wayne is probably from 1992, when he drove me in his truck to downtown Milwaukee to pick up a recliner that I’d left behind at an apartment on Juneau and Van Buren.  This is actually a fitting memory, because more often than not, Wayne was helping someone.  He wasn’t happy relaxing – he wanted to be doing something.  As luck would have it, I was often in need of just such a person, both at my first home in Pennsylvania and again in Illinois, where Wayne helped paint my wife’s and my bedroom, build a broom closet in the kitchen, and insulate around the radiators.  Whenever he assisted, he was a master at handing me a tool before I needed it, like a gifted nurse to a surgeon, and now everywhere I look around my home, I see little improvements that Wayne helped complete. 

It was fortuitous that Wayne – despite having been raised outside of Wisconsin – was a Packer backer, often vocally so, for it helped solidify our relationship.  Wayne’s mood often rose and fell with Green Bay’s performance.  I have a funny memory from October of 1999, when Wayne and my mom visited my young family in Pennsylvania.  The Packers were playing Tampa Bay, and the Buccaneers scored a touchdown with less than two minutes to play in the 4^th quarter to take the lead.  In disgust, Wayne couldn’t take anymore and retreated to the spare bedroom.  And then Farve did the same thing he’d done in weeks 1 and 3 that year: he drove the Packers for a game-winning touchdown!

Wayne loved hanging out with my kids, and for many years my family flew annually to Texas (where my wife had lived years earlier, and where she had earned Wayne’s nickname for her: “Alice from Dallas”).  It was here that my daughter Sarah crawled for the first time, and over the years Mom and Wayne loved showing her, Jessica and Sam their recently adopted state, from the Kennedy Museum on a very blustery February day to the Stockyards on a very hot day in July.  Some days were more low-key, spent playing in the pool, enjoying Wayne's chilli, or playing the card game sheepshead, during which Wayne would harrumph about my mother’s poor play and accuse the kids of cheating when they took a trick.

I have many other fond memories, from our trip to Clearwater, Florida, to the time Wayne and Mom babysat my twins so that Alice and I could get away for a three-day vacation, to our seeing "Damn Yankees" on Broadway.  He was always joking, always loving, and always supportive.  My kids, my wife and I were blessed to have him a part of our lives.

So long, Wayne.  Peace.