Don't Gel Too Soon

I Don't Know Why but This Just Makes Me Happy

 

Planned Parenthood is offering them on pre-order.  It's enough to make you move to VA, no?

Thanks to the one and only PunditMom for tweeting this.

Is There a Draft in Here? Should There Be a Draft?

 I can't believe I missed it!  Yesterday was the 40th anniversary of the first United States draft lottery drawing,  Every young man my age and many older and younger waited in front of their TVs with sweaty palms and pounding hearts (I'm not kidding) as the numbers came out of the barrel.  And those in this photo were the "old white guys" who did it.  The one drawing the number is Republican House Armed Serviced Chairman Alexander Pirnie (R-NY) and the man to his right is the (then) despised Chairman of the Selective Service (the Draft) General Lewis Hershey.

OH and one more thing:  just beyond that camera, over to the left, was me.  Sitting with a telephone and reading each drawn number to the CBS News studio where the number was then posted on the screen.  Each number was a birthday, and the order in which they were drawn determined the likelihood that the men in the list would be drafted and, most likely, go to Vietnam.  First birthday drawn - lottery number 1.  Last birthday drawn - lottery number 365.

As I read the numbers into the phone, I was reading death warrants.  Of men my own age.  And I knew it.  

Every number, every birthday, could be someone I knew - an old boyfriend, a cousin, someone's brother, a high school classmate, a teacher, another someone's son.  The war was real in a way it hadn't been before, even though there had always been a draft.  Up until the lottery, college students and graduate students were deferred and so were married men.  In fact, there were more than a few weddings to keep boyfriends home.  

Many of these rules, which were, after all, based on class since there were so many more white middle class men in college than other groups, were wiped out when the lottery began.

That meant that on a theoretical level, I should have been proud.  My country was spreading the risk, spreading the pain - and even if I opposed the war, I knew that others were not being asked to fight it for me and my peers anymore.  Those we loved were also at risk.  All I felt though was fear, and anger, and despair.  Which is probably not a bad way to feel when loved ones are about to be drafted to go fight in a "dirty little war" in Vietnam.

So today, after the President's speech last night, I wonder.  We know the military prefers a volunteer military even with all the re-deployments and disruptions.  It's building a "military class" in our country of people who know things we don't - won't learn.  And they're proud to be there, scared or not.  It's effective.  But is it fair?  Is it even productive, when it insulates so many of us from an imminent sense of loss?  When we never have to fear the husband in a wheel chair, the son whose PTSD will not fade and, worst of all, that dreaded knock at the door, 

Sisters and Aunts and Daughters and Nieces and Holidays

Thanksgiving always makes me think of the people who are missing.  By now that's almost an entire generation: my parents, aunts, uncles and grandparents.  We all came together at our house.  As the oldest cousin, I got to help in the kitchen and set the table. Sounds lame but it felt very grownup.  Not that that lasted for long.  Over the years we went from three to six to nine cousins, producing plays to perform after dinner, playing Sardines and Murder, telling secrets and wreaking civilized havoc.  

My favorite memory, though, was time with the sisters: my mom and my aunts.  One lived nearby but the other came with her family from Cleveland so when they were all together they wanted to talk.  They'd sit in my parents' room for ages; they let me hang around too.  In a way, all of us gathered on the bed those afternoons, and later in the kitchen after dinner, washing dishes, is women passing along stories and traditions, preserving the wisdom of the tribe.

I had no idea then of the value of those times.  It wasn't just being treated like "one of the girls," it was the sisterly warmth, the laughter and sudden emotion, eye welling up, when one aunt spoke of living so far from "home."    Now, probably 50 years later, I can see her leaning against the wall, her sisters looking toward her with understanding sympathy.  I can hear them talking about their parents, my grandparents, one difficult, both disappointed with their lives.  For a little while, the burden of worry lifted a bit as they shared it.

They were part of what is literally another world; hats and gloves, scars from the Depression, government service during World War II, an abiding sense of appropriateness.   Like Betty Draper, they left careers to stay "home with the kids."  Their lives were so different from ours, constrained and regulated -- lives that many daughters went to work to insure against.  

What we forget is that, even then, there was sisterhood.  Maybe it wasn't as powerful and certainly it wasn't as organized, but for me it still modeled a solidarity, loyalty and love of the company of women that I still cherish.  And it's so exciting to see us all now, taking that example along with the many farther afield, to enhance our larger community - still a family of sisters - from one end of the Internet to - well - to the whole wide world.

Cross-posted at BlogHer

So You Say You're Married, Eh?

Yesterday I went to a birthday party.  It was a serious birthday, a landmark, and even for a successful young mother with three kids, it had an impact.  So what did her sweet husband do?  He made her a present, with the help of his 5 year old son.  I don't want to violate their privacy with a description; just know that it was something that only someone who knew her well could have given her.

It was quite moving to watch her open her gift; presented in the 12th year of their marriage.  I kept thinking that I was already married for three years when she was born; that their journey still has such a long way to go and that we had learned so much in the years still before them.

We've been through chronic disease and heart disease, financial crisis and seven moves, two children, the loss of all four of our parents, extraordinary travel, deep friendships, huge lifestyle changes and daily complications.  And every one of them added a brick to the house.  Every child's birth, and birthday, and graduation and wedding; every torn knee, broken shoulder or opened heart -- all the things that make up a life -- they're what a marriage is made of.

Not very profound, but true.  The power of a shared history is the foundation - or at least a foundation, of a good marriage, and it gets stronger with every day.  That's all.

Except that those two on the left are celebrating their wedding, September 12, 1971.  And I'm one of them

Anti-Aging Clinics, Short Sleeves and Chocolate - Hit Blogging Boomers Carnival #139 and See Why

You may (or may not) have noticed my absence lately; I've been too slammed to sit down and write respectably.  Even so I could not, in good conscience, skip my turn to offer the wisdom of so many of my favorite baby boom bloggers -- all part of the Blogging Boomers Blog Carnival.  They range from Environmental activism to an old old joke.  So here they are, in all their glory:

Barbara Weibel at Hole in the Donut produced a video to show us the good work being done by the Peace River Wildlife Center in Punta Gorda Florida, where they educate humans as well as rescuing animals.

There are a several posts dealing with aging this week, too.

The FDA is concerned about the growing use of testosterone by anti-aging clinics seeking to restore youthfulness to Baby Boomers and by the abuse of such drugs in sports.  SoBabyBoomer.com tells us that it's no surprise the FDA is being so vigilant. 

Beware! At Writing Without Periods l, Jenny warns of the tricky seduction of mini-chocolate bars in "My Name is Jenny And I'm a Chocoholic."

There's something about aging that makes us feel more vulnerable.  Laura Lee has a great guest post this week about those kinds of feelings.

Then LifeTwo discusses recent study that has found that a woman is six times more likely to be separated or divorced soon after a diagnosis of cancer or multiple sclerosis than if a man in the relationship is the patient. In short women stand behind their man but the opposite isn't true.

And what about those in business?  For many small businesses, cash flow is a constant issue. Andrea J. Stenberg at The Baby Boomer Entrepreneur might have the answer for you when she asks Do customers owe you money?

Meanwhile, over at Contemporary Retirement, Ann has a 10-step guide to finding your passion:

And when you need some fashion therapy, the three-quarter length sleeve jacket is a gorgeous addition to any wardrobe, but there’s a lot of confusion about what to wear with it. The Glam gals have the answer at Fabulous after 40. 

Vaboomer tells us:  You always remember your First Kiss!  Read more at :

Next, try this:  sounds like a joke, but it’s not. An old guy walks into a bar…

Finally, my own post - a meditation on my youngest child's thirtieth birthday.

More next week.   Check in at Vaboomer to see what's going on.

When Kids Grow Up: Their Landmark Birthdays and Mom's Heart

My baby turned 30 on Saturday.  He's a remarkable man and has been independent and away from home (across the country, actually) for a long time.  But he's still my only youngest child. 

It was a landmark for him, and he had a great day, I think, while I spent much of that day in a state of astonishing gratitude.

That face would be enough, right?  The amazing thing is that for every smile, grin, laugh, great story, amazing artwork, funny home-made Halloween costume (How many second-graders dress up as Agent Cooper from Twin Peaks, after all?) there are a hundred more.  He's a wealth of wonders.

I have so many friends who are close to his age, or younger, and I've often tried to describe what it feels like to see a beloved boy grow into a fine, honorable, creative, funny, loving and talented man.  But they're worrying about preschool and OT and nannies and play dates and work-life balance and it sounds so far away - probably frighteningly so.

So, as I have so often before, I'm telling you instead. There are few honors more moving than noting a day like this with joy. Look at this photo - a moment of pure eloquence as a young man toasts his big brother at his wedding.  You can see how much they like each other; that's a gift too.

I could tell many stories about the little boy up there and the man, too, but they are his stories to tell.  I'm here, rather, to tell you, and myself, one more time, about my own sense of the pure honor of being a parent and riding along as our kids find their way.  Through good times and bad, success and ... not so much .... their presence is a blessing. 

So.  Here I am, in adequately trying to tell people -- who already know the wonders of parenthood -- about someone they've never met.  Because, as he enters his 31st year, I'm just so glad I know him.

Happy birthday Dan.

The Vietnam Moratorium, 40 Years Ago Today

It wasn't that long ago - not really.  Thousands of us singing "All we are saying, is give peace a chance" on the Mall in Washington.   It all started when Sam Brown, David Hawk, David Mixner, Marge Sklenkar, John Gage and other peace luminaries, many of whom were veterans of the failed McCarthy and Kennedy campaigns, decided to call a "moratorium on the war in Vietnam" and ask everyone to come to Washington to support it.  It was a great idea: a kind of strike against the war, but with manners.

And 250,000 came, followed by at least 500,000 exactly a month later, during the November Moratorium that followed.   But on this day, a manageable and peaceful crew assembled.  My memories of the day are scattered.  I worked for CBS News by then and my job was to keep track of the march, marchers and plans for all the peace activity going on in the capital.  There was plenty, in a wide spectrum of militancy and affect. 

I wish I could describe for you some of the more radical "peace houses" I visited; collectives with tie died cloth covering the windows and mattresses on the floor - working for a much tougher way to oppose the war. 

Organizers and participants in this march , though, slept in church basements and the homes of local people who made room for them.  Everyone who lived in Washington didn't have a spare bed or couch - or inch of space on the floor.  You know this, but just to remind you, listen to what the BBC says about that time "in context:

American combat troops had been fighting the Communist Viet Cong in Vietnam since 1965.

Some 45,000 Americans had already been killed by the end of 1969. Almost half a million US men and women were deployed in the conflict, and opposition to the war was growing.

The Moratorium for the first time brought out America's middle class and middle-aged voters, in large numbers. Other demonstrations followed in its wake.

I guess that song is what I remember most - that, and members of the Chicago 7, out on bail as they awaited trial, addressing the crowd and pulling off wigs to show how their jailers had cut off all their hair.  For some reason, I can still see that - it felt to me like such a violation.  A less than friendly observer asked me later "How did you like what they did to "your friends" huh?  They weren't my friends; I barely knew them, but the question was a punch in the gut.  So many things stood for other things then. Long hair on men meant rebellion and outlier. 

Anyway, it's yet another 40 year anniversary and I didn't feel that I could let it go un-noted.

If you have never heard the Lennon song "Give Peace a Chance" here are John and Yoko singing it with a crew of friends during a peace "bed in" in, I believe, Amsterdam.  Happy Anniversary

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Happy Mountain Day - and May There Be Many More

 
When you're nineteen or twenty and living in a college dorm in western Massachusetts life is beautiful.  Especially in the morning.  There's something about a New England morning that feels like a new beginning.  If you're in the country, that's even more true.

So today, when I received my "Happy Mountain Day" message, I found myself hurtling back to those mornings- once a year - when the fall foliage was at its best and mid-terms were coming, when we'd awaken to the sound of bells and know it was Mountain Day.  Classes were canceled, box lunches were waiting in the dorm dining rooms, and the day was ours.  The idea was that we take our bicycles or the bus or someone's car and go see what a New England autumn was all about. 

Smith College was way before its time in many ways: educating women, educating the whole person (maintaining a healthy body AND a healthy mind), advocating for an equal role for all of us.  It's no accident that Gloria Steinem and Betty Friedan along with Julia Child, Molly Ivins, Jane Harman, Madeleine l'Engle and hundreds of other remarkable women studied there. 

You didn't teach at Smith to get famous or publish best-sellers.  University professors got the attention, even though those who taught us were certainly as knowledgeable.  Somehow though, people who taught "girls" were considered lesser beings.  Of course there were rewards:  eager, grateful students who reveled in learning and arguing and growing toward success, students who returned to say thank-you, and a lovely, civilized environment.  When we wanted to start an African-American studies curriculum, we just found a professor who was willing to supervise us, and we had one.  Faculty members were expected to come to dinner when they were invited, and eat with a table of curious underclasswomen.  We spent enormous amounts of time hanging around with professors, and one another, figuring out everything from the meaning of pacifism to the puzzles that were Stan Brakhage films.

As women, we formed a sisterhood that lasts.  Meet another "Smithie" and there's a bond - a grateful understanding of what we've shared.  I know that happens in lots of schools, but women's colleges have a special understanding - because we made a choice to study with one another in a specific environment that enriched and strengthened us.

And Mountain Day?  Well, think about it.  Seasons, beauty, nature, a sense of priorities, self-education, fun, friendship.  All enhanced by ringing bells, box lunches and the oranges, reds and yellows of a New England fall.  Reminding all the ambitious, capable and very busy women who came to and left to remember, as they moved forward, to ring the bell once in a while, go outside and look at the leaves. 

Memories of Peter, Paul, and Mary Travers

The first time I ever heard Peter Paul and Mary I was 15 and spending the summer at a writing program at Exeter Academy - the first year they ever let "girls" into the school at all. I remember loving Blowin' in the Wind, If I Had a Hammer and of course, Puff.   I remember visiting another student's home in Concord where her older brother, already in college, told me that the three were just "popularizers of Bob Dylan songs" and scornfully complaining  that I should be listening to Dylan not them.  (I didn't find Bob Dylan until later - junior year, I guess.)  I thought he was nuts  To me, Peter Paul and Mary were an introduction to  music that was about things I cared about: civil rights, war, peace and love --  from a more political perspective.

From then on, through high school, into college and "out into the world" Peter Paul and Mary held a special place in my life.  We seemed to cross paths often.  We played their music all the time, of course.  My sister and I saw them at a summer concert in Pittsburgh (my long-suffering mom driving us, of course.)  I remember watching them sing at the 1963 March on Washington,  and later seeing them at Wolf Trap with a blind date.  And, most profoundly, I remember seeing them quite literally, save lives in Grant Park at the Democratic Convention in Chicago in 1968.  Hordes of demonstrators were coming over a bridge into the part of the park right outside the Hilton.  There had been trouble, lots of trouble, for at least days and this would be another terrible confrontation.  Then, from nowhere, Peter, Paul and Mary started to sing.  The demonstrators slowly converged around their platform, diverted from certain misery.  It was quite a thing. 

Here's what else I remember.  Mary Travers herself, who died today.  She was a powerful model: not just her deep, resonant voice but also her powerful, sure presence, on stage and off. She was brave and funny and looked amazing.  We all knocked ourselves out trying to have straight hair like hers: ironed it, slept with it wrapped around orange juice cans.   She was a powerful presence. 

Of course, part of her power, and that of Peter and Paul was their commitment.  Where they were needed, they came.  Civil rights marches, peace marches, the McCarthy presidential campaign, even regional and local union struggles.  It was a signal to the rest of us: if we can show up, so can you.  And we did.  As another friend wrote to me tonight:  "I just saw the news story.  Can't believe how much of our history was tied up with them."   

Making my way out of my office, thinking about writing this, I started singing to myself: "Leavin' on a Jet Plane." But I couldnt finish.  I was close to tears.  It's happened so often this summer - icons of my life fading from view.  Teddy Kennedy, Walter Cronkite, Robert McNamara, Don Hewitt, Ellie Greenwich, Patrick Swayze just yesterday, and now Mary.  Each representing so many lives; so many memories.

I keep writing here because somehow I don't want to stop.  This ought to do it, though.  (The other guy is John Denver)

So Long Patrick, and Thanks

Does anybody not love Dirty Dancing?   At least for the many of us who were the darling Frances "Baby" Houseman, the idealistic, embryonic 60's activist, Daddy's girl for her brains, not her looks, the film is a misty, wonderful time capsule.  And so,  it may be, in essence, a women's film - so romantic and sexy in a new-at-sex kind of way.  But it wouldn't have worked without the sweet, gifted Patrick Swayze, who died today.  Although as Johnny Castle he gave us a young man who tried to present a weary, streetwise persona, he also brought us a man as idealistic as the rich girl who fell for him.  The perfect first lover.  Swayze, with grace and generosity, was all that and more.

This was a class story and coming-of-age story and a Times They Are A-Changin' story, evocative in ways that are difficult to express.  Baby, like us, was riding the cusp between the 50's end of the 60's and the Sixties that were to come.  Her relationship with Johnny was the bridge between those times, and so he meant even more than his lovely self.  I've always thought Swayze underestimated anyway but as I decided to write this I began to realize just how underestimated.  Without the right Johnny, Frances would not have mattered.

I, at least, could look at her and know her future.  Because it was mine.  Like Baby I never hated my parents.  Most of what I did that they wouldn't have liked, I hid.  Defiance was never a goal because I loved my parents and they loved me.   We just didn't see things like love and sex the same way so I decided just not to tell them.  There were many other things we saw differently too, but they changed their minds because they listened to us as often as we changed ours by listening to them.  We respected each other. 

So I did all my overnight disappearing on campus and kept my mouth shut about it.  And went home as the Cindy they knew -- more political and determined, but with no desire to blow up the neighborhood or leave the people I'd loved -- and still loved -- behind.  Like Frances, I responded to the Civil Rights movement and President Kennedy and longed to be part of what was to come.   Like Frances I had a "Johnny" though mine didn't dance. 

Of course, Swayze went on to make Ghost, which I think was at least as successful and even more of a fairy tale.  He appeared in gritty films like Road House and, as a tribute to his fellow dancers, many of whom died of AIDS, in drag in To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar.  And which role we choose to remember most probably depends on gender, and even more on age.

But for me, gratitude for the gift of memory, of the same sense of romance, in a way, that Twilight offers another generation, that's tough to beat.  And the gift, the reminder of the girl I remember and the hopes and dreams she took with her to college, that gift was from Patrick Swayze too. 

9/11 Predicted the Role of Bloggers (I'm Not Kidding)

I don't know about you, but 9/11 footage still wipes me out.  It doesn't get any easier to watch.  But this morning MSNBC was running the first few hours of coverage from the TODAY SHOW in real time and I watched a couple of hours.

It was like watching a horror movie as Katie and Matt started out so cheerily, then began reporting a "small plane" flying into the first Tower.  Then, gradually, the awful reality began to emerge.  And for a good long time, and intermittently thereafter, it was "eye witnesses" and "neighborhood residents" and other information "civilians" who delivered the best information. 

I listened as a young woman on the telephone, on her way to work at a downtown hotel and having just emerged from the subway just below the Trade Center, described the early sights of the attack.  She calmly detailed what she saw, at least until the second plane hit when she responded with understandable emotion.  Even then, she was able to carefully report developments - even putting her questioners on hold to check with a local policeman.  No seasoned reporter could have done it better.

Later, other eyewitnesses appeared, one after the other.  They used words like "reportedly," were very careful as they described what they saw, and offered careful, tempered accounts.  This went on all day.  Of course those closer to the real product of the attacks, the bodies, the people jumping out of the windows - civilian and reporter alike - were deeply moved and it showed. 

So fast-forward to today.  As the mainstream media fights for its life, as programs like my alma mater (9 years) the TODAY SHOW move more and more toward infotainment, the serious, thoughtful and original journalism is done as often on blogs as it is anywhere else.  Of course there are impulsive writers and rumor mongers and gossip tramps but that's true everywhere and, as the witnesses demonstrated eight years ago, you don't need a network paycheck to deliver reliable and well-presented information.  The citizen army of bloggers today is validated every time a caring and thoughtful eyewitness offers mainstream media a sane, helpful description of what's happening, or has happened.

So next time you hear someone going on about "those bloggers" and their untrustworthy nature, take it from a long-time broadcast journalist turned blogger:  it's the content of character, not the brand of employer, that makes a journalist.

Photo via Creative Commons by macten

Now That Wasn't So Bad, Was It? The President and the Kids

I'm going to post the entire Obama schools speech because it's so ridiculously safe and regular and parental and sweet -- perfect evidence of how insane this whole battle has been. See for yourself.

Prepared Remarks of President Barack Obama Back to School Event Arlington, Virginia September 8, 2009  

The President: Hello everyone – how’s everybody doing today? I’m here with students at Wakefield High School in Arlington, Virginia. And we’ve got students tuning in from all across America, kindergarten through twelfth grade. I’m glad you all could join us today. 

I know that for many of you, today is the first day of school. And for those of you in kindergarten, or starting middle or high school, it’s your first day in a new school, so it’s understandable if you’re a little nervous. I imagine there are some seniors out there who are feeling pretty good right now, with just one more year to go. And no matter what grade you’re in, some of you are probably wishing it were still summer, and you could’ve stayed in bed just a little longer this morning.

I know that feeling. When I was young, my family lived in Indonesia for a few years, and my mother didn’t have the money to send me where all the American kids went to school. So she decided to teach me extra lessons herself, Monday through Friday – at 4:30 in the morning.   

Now I wasn’t too happy about getting up that early. A lot of times, I’d fall asleep right there at the kitchen table. But whenever I’d complain, my mother would just give me one of those looks and say, "This is no picnic for me either, buster."

So I know some of you are still adjusting to being back at school. But I’m here today because I have something important to discuss with you. I’m here because I want to talk with you about your education and what’s expected of all of you in this new school year. 

Now I’ve given a lot of speeches about education. And I’ve talked a lot about responsibility.

I’ve talked about your teachers’ responsibility for inspiring you, and pushing you to learn. 

I’ve talked about your parents’ responsibility for making sure you stay on track, and get your homework done, and don’t spend every waking hour in front of the TV or with that Xbox. 

I’ve talked a lot about your government’s responsibility for setting high standards, supporting teachers and principals, and turning around schools that aren’t working where students aren’t getting the opportunities they deserve. 

But at the end of the day, we can have the most dedicated teachers, the most supportive parents, and the best schools in the world – and none of it will matter unless all of you fulfill your responsibilities. Unless you show up to those schools; pay attention to those teachers; listen to your parents, grandparents and other adults; and put in the hard work it takes to succeed. 

And that’s what I want to focus on today: the responsibility each of you has for your education. I want to start with the responsibility you have to yourself. 

Every single one of you has something you’re good at. Every single one of you has something to offer. And you have a responsibility to yourself to discover what that is. That’s the opportunity an education can provide. 

Maybe you could be a good writer – maybe even good enough to write a book or articles in a newspaper – but you might not know it until you write a paper for your English class. Maybe you could be an innovator or an inventor – maybe even good enough to come up with the next iPhone or a new medicine or vaccine – but you might not know it until you do a project for your science class. Maybe you could be a mayor or a Senator or a Supreme Court Justice, but you might not know that until you join student government or the debate team.

And no matter what you want to do with your life – I guarantee that you’ll need an education to do it. You want to be a doctor, or a teacher, or a police officer? You want to be a nurse or an architect, a lawyer or a member of our military? You’re going to need a good education for every single one of those careers. You can’t drop out of school and just drop into a good job. You’ve got to work for it and train for it and learn for it.

And this isn’t just important for your own life and your own future. What you make of your education will decide nothing less than the future of this country. What you’re learning in school today will determine whether we as a nation can meet our greatest challenges in the future. 

You’ll need the knowledge and problem-solving skills you learn in science and math to cure diseases like cancer and AIDS, and to develop new energy technologies and protect our environment. You’ll need the insights and critical thinking skills you gain in history and social studies to fight poverty and homelessness, crime and discrimination, and make our nation more fair and more free. You’ll need the creativity and ingenuity you develop in all your classes to build new companies that will create new jobs and boost our economy. 

We need every single one of you to develop your talents, skills and intellect so you can help solve our most difficult problems. If you don’t do that – if you quit on school – you’re not just quitting on yourself, you’re quitting on your country. 

Now I know it’s not always easy to do well in school. I know a lot of you have challenges in your lives right now that can make it hard to focus on your schoolwork.

I get it. I know what that’s like. My father left my family when I was two years old, and I was raised by a single mother who struggled at times to pay the bills and wasn’t always able to give us things the other kids had. There were times when I missed having a father in my life. There were times when I was lonely and felt like I didn’t fit in. 

So I wasn’t always as focused as I should have been. I did some things I’m not proud of, and got in more trouble than I should have. And my life could have easily taken a turn for the worse. 

But I was fortunate. I got a lot of second chances and had the opportunity to go to college, and law school, and follow my dreams. My wife, our First Lady Michelle Obama, has a similar story. Neither of her parents had gone to college, and they didn’t have much. But they worked hard, and she worked hard, so that she could go to the best schools in this country.

Some of you might not have those advantages. Maybe you don’t have adults in your life who give you the support that you need. Maybe someone in your family has lost their job, and there’s not enough money to go around. Maybe you live in a neighborhood where you don’t feel safe, or have friends who are pressuring you to do things you know aren’t right. 

But at the end of the day, the circumstances of your life – what you look like, where you come from, how much money you have, what you’ve got going on at home – that’s no excuse for neglecting your homework or having a bad attitude. That’s no excuse for talking back to your teacher, or cutting class, or dropping out of school. That’s no excuse for not trying. 

Where you are right now doesn’t have to determine where you’ll end up. No one’s written your destiny for you. Here in America, you write your own destiny. You make your own future. 

That’s what young people like you are doing every day, all across America. 

Young people like Jazmin Perez, from Roma, Texas. Jazmin didn’t speak English when she first started school. Hardly anyone in her hometown went to college, and neither of her parents had gone either. But she worked hard, earned good grades, got a scholarship to Brown University, and is now in graduate school, studying public health, on her way to being Dr. Jazmin Perez.

I’m thinking about Andoni Schultz, from Los Altos, California, who’s fought brain cancer since he was three. He’s endured all sorts of treatments and surgeries, one of which affected his memory, so it took him much longer – hundreds of extra hours – to do his schoolwork. But he never fell behind, and he’s headed to college this fall. 

And then there’s Shantell Steve, from my hometown of Chicago, Illinois. Even when bouncing from foster home to foster home in the toughest neighborhoods, she managed to get a job at a local health center; start a program to keep young people out of gangs; and she’s on track to graduate high school with honors and go on to college.

Jazmin, Andoni and Shantell aren’t any different from any of you. They faced challenges in their lives just like you do. But they refused to give up. They chose to take responsibility for their education and set goals for themselves. And I expect all of you to do the same. 

That’s why today, I’m calling on each of you to set your own goals for your education – and to do everything you can to meet them. Your goal can be something as simple as doing all your homework, paying attention in class, or spending time each day reading a book. Maybe you’ll decide to get involved in an extracurricular activity, or volunteer in your community. Maybe you’ll decide to stand up for kids who are being teased or bullied because of who they are or how they look, because you believe, like I do, that all kids deserve a safe environment to study and learn. Maybe you’ll decide to take better care of yourself so you can be more ready to learn. And along those lines, I hope you’ll all wash your hands a lot, and stay home from school when you don’t feel well, so we can keep people from getting the flu this fall and winter.

Whatever you resolve to do, I want you to commit to it. I want you to really work at it. 

I know that sometimes, you get the sense from TV that you can be rich and successful without any hard work -- that your ticket to success is through rapping or basketball or being a reality TV star, when chances are, you’re not going to be any of those things. 

But the truth is, being successful is hard. You won’t love every subject you study. You won’t click with every teacher. Not every homework assignment will seem completely relevant to your life right this minute. And you won’t necessarily succeed at everything the first time you try.

That’s OK.  Some of the most successful people in the world are the ones who’ve had the most failures. JK Rowling’s first Harry Potter book was rejected twelve times before it was finally published. Michael Jordan was cut from his high school basketball team, and he lost hundreds of games and missed thousands of shots during his career. But he once said, "I have failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed." 

These people succeeded because they understand that you can’t let your failures define you – you have to let them teach you. You have to let them show you what to do differently next time. If you get in trouble, that doesn’t mean you’re a troublemaker, it means you need to try harder to behave. If you get a bad grade, that doesn’t mean you’re stupid, it just means you need to spend more time studying. 

No one’s born being good at things, you become good at things through hard work. You’re not a varsity athlete the first time you play a new sport. You don’t hit every note the first time you sing a song. You’ve got to practice. It’s the same with your schoolwork. You might have to do a math problem a few times before you get it right, or read something a few times before you understand it, or do a few drafts of a paper before it’s good enough to hand in. 

Don’t be afraid to ask questions. Don’t be afraid to ask for help when you need it. I do that every day. Asking for help isn’t a sign of weakness, it’s a sign of strength. It shows you have the courage to admit when you don’t know something, and to learn something new. So find an adult you trust – a parent, grandparent or teacher; a coach or counselor – and ask them to help you stay on track to meet your goals. 

And even when you’re struggling, even when you’re discouraged, and you feel like other people have given up on you – don’t ever give up on yourself. Because when you give up on yourself, you give up on your country.

The story of America isn’t about people who quit when things got tough. It’s about people who kept going, who tried harder, who loved their country too much to do anything less than their best. 

It’s the story of students who sat where you sit 250 years ago, and went on to wage a revolution and found this nation. Students who sat where you sit 75 years ago who overcame a Depression and won a world war; who fought for civil rights and put a man on the moon. Students who sat where you sit 20 years ago who founded Google, Twitter and Facebook and changed the way we communicate with each other.

So today, I want to ask you, what’s your contribution going to be? What problems are you going to solve? What discoveries will you make? What will a president who comes here in twenty or fifty or one hundred years say about what all of you did for this country?  

Your families, your teachers, and I are doing everything we can to make sure you have the education you need to answer these questions. I’m working hard to fix up your classrooms and get you the books, equipment and computers you need to learn. But you’ve got to do your part too. So I expect you to get serious this year. I expect you to put your best effort into everything you do. I expect great things from each of you. So don’t let us down – don’t let your family or your country or yourself down. Make us all proud. I know you can do it.

Thank you, God bless you, and God bless America.

OK So I'm Mad

It's been a lazy weekend.  Both Sunday papers got read.  The COSTCO run was made (but not the bed.)  We went out for three different meals so cooking was minimal.  But the news is really pissing me off.

We've reduced the President of the United States to a propaganda tool.  I've worked in school TV.  I know what will happen when the President speaks on Tuesday.  Teachers who disagree with Obama will talk during the speech; others will just turn off the TV.  Remember the story of the kids in Dallas who cheered when President Kennedy was killed?   They were too young to have an informed hatred.  It was generated in them.  And now, with a President whom we all know faces more danger than most, the President's enemies are willing to do it again.

OK lets go from there to health care.  With a calculated harshness these same people have managed to stir up every frightened, confused voter in the country by convincing them they're in infinite danger.  For the elderly it's nearly a promise to send them all out to die on an ice flow.  For others it's the promise that they'll have to wait forever for care, that they'll never be able to pick their doctors and that their care will lose quality.  And let's not forget the screaming madness that forever polluted the revered American tradition of the town meeting.

I'm writing this as Labor Day draws to a close.  Cranky and sad, I wish for a renewed commitment, as we honor those who, mostly, work with their hands, that a miracle will move the battling legislators to "man up" and make something happen so that no worker, or any other American, will spend next Labor Day worrying about what they'll do if one of their kids falls off his bike on the last day of summer and breaks a leg.

For Ellie Greenwich, Who Really WAS Leader of the Pack, With Thanks

When our kids were little, we used to sing.  All the time.  And early on, many of the songs they loved were written by this woman:  Ellie Greenwich. She was a tough cookie I think.  She was also one of the great song writers of her generation.  Ever heard Be My Baby? ("Bee my, bee my bay bee, my one and only baybee...")  Chapel of Love? ("Goin' to the Cha pull and we're gonna' get ma a a reed") River Deep, Mountain High ?("Do I love you my oh my, river deep, mountain high" that was Tina Turner.)  Ever hear of girl groups?  Then you've heard of Ellie Greenwich.  There's a reason she's in the Song Writers Hall of Fame.  She died August 26, the same day as Senator Kennedy, so I'm a little late, but I have a lot to thank her for.

Freshman year we lived in a dorm with a big porch facing Seelye Hall, the main classroom building.  We'd put our stereo speakers in the windows over the porch and blasted  whatever we liked at the time, especially in the spring, as the snow melted and spirits rose.  One of our classics was "Leader of the Pack."  All of us, the Gang of Four as we were then, could re relied upon, for no reason, to belt out "Hey there, where'd you meet him?"  to which another would reply (in song, of course, and I know you know this) "I met him at the candy stoh - ore."   It sounds so silly, doesn't it?  But it wasn't. 

The tribal music Greenwich gave us was alive with the spirit that was all of us, before the War tore everything apart, when we just had fun and our minds were full of ideas and ambitions, and songs, and romantic daydreams, and songs, and learning how to be grown ups (slowly) and songs.  And her songs were so universal, so full of a love of living and living for love - way before we even heard of our sister alums Gloria Steinem and Betty Friedan.  Somehow, as things became more serious, Doo Wa Diddy Diddy Dum Diddy Doo didn't flow off the tongue so easily.  That's why I was so glad when a Broadway musical, Leader of the Pack, opened in the 80's and gave us another chance - and a great cast album, full of many of her greatest songs.

My own favorite is all tangled up in a memory.  It was a sunny fall day and my six-year-old and I were walking down a street someplace in the Village.  And we were arm-in-arm.  And our walk had a rhythm - right feet at the same time, left feet at the same time, just the two of us.   And the rhythm?  It came because, together, crossing the nearly 30 years between us, together, we were singing -Da Doo Ron Ron." 

Not quite this great, but not bad, either. So thanks Ellie. And the rest of you - see for yourselves.

The Amazing Don Hewitt: CBS News, Conventions, 60 Minutes and Me

You probably saw the 60 Minutes tribute to Don Hewitt last night; I had meant to write about him when he died, got distracted and then, last night, realized I couldn't not (if you forgive the double negative) recall him a bit.  The photo you see here was during the production, I think, of an interview with President Kennedy.  It shows him in action, rather than in a cute photo so it's the one I wanted to use. 

I was a kid when I first met Hewitt - 21 and new to the CBS Washington Bureau.  It was late 1968 and he'd come down from New York to get everyone excited about his new show, 60 Minutes.  That's right - it's almost 41 years old.  He was introduced to me as "the only producer who could make you proud that you were the only one who'd gotten the recipe for Tricia Nixon's White House wedding cake."   It was that infectious sense of competition -- the joy of it, not the rest of it -- that inspired the rest of us.  Oh - and it was only later that I learned he had also been the producer of the Kennedy-Nixon presidential debates, the first ever to appear on TV.

Of course he could also drive you crazy - pushing, making last-minute changes, taking forever to finally appoint women as  producers (his long-time secretary became one of the best) and, like all people of great energy, sometimes yelling.  Really yelling.

I had the most to do with him at the presidential nominating conventions, which used to run "gavel to gavel" - from the moment the convention began until the moment it ended, live on TV.  Four "floor correspondents" wandered the convention hall searching for stories.  Each, and later each two, had a producer.  And these correspondents were the top talent, showcased in the pressure cooker of 8 - 12 hours of live television.  Over the years I worked with Roger Mudd, Mike Wallace, Ed Bradley, Leslie Stahl and Dan Rather, among others.  No shrinking violets here.  And, presiding over them all, in his control room above the floor, was Don.  When you had a story to offer you would go to a "floor phone" and call the booth.  Someone would take your offer and relay it to Don (sometimes you'd tell him yourself) who would accept or reject it.  Remember at the same time he was dealing with Walter Cronkite in the anchor booth and all the live guests who showed up there, "remotes" out in the convention city and hometowns of about-to-be nominees and more.  For all those hours, he'd make decisions.  Sometimes you could argue, but usually you lost.  With all the incoming data, he kept things flowing for four days (and evenings.)  And he did it all with the same sense of "story telling" that he described as the secret behind the success of 60 Minutes.  And it was a blast.

So there you are.  Another "legend" gone - and he was a legend who transformed the news business for the better and kept it that way for a long time before commerce made it much harder to sustain the kind of quality he demanded.  Except on 60 Minutes, of course.