The Pink Brick

This past weekend was Pocatello Pride.  The gay pride celebration was held at the Old Town Pocatello Pavilion from 3pm-11pm on Saturday.  I attended the event from about 4:30-5:30 and then headed up to Pebble Creek for their annual Wildflower Festival. The Wildflower Festival is one of my favorite events in Pocatello that combines views of the valley I love, people who love them too, live music, burgers and beer. If I’m in town, I NEVER miss the fest.

My time at Pride was brief but pleasant. I ran into a few members of the local GLBT community that I know well as well as some that I only know in passing. I ran into a number of allies in attendance and also manning various booths. I chatted with my junior high band director and the former art teacher who were helping at the Falling Rock Productions booth. (Falling Rock makes custom t-shirts and I’ve worked with Brandon on my 20yr high school reunion shirts as well as the turbine project commemorative tee’s years ago. The guy rocks!)

One of the organizers encouraged us to stay, but I explained that the sunset from the top of Pebble was a skosh more romantic and calling me. After I left Pocatello Pride, they handed out a few awards.

I later heard that there was a specific award—a painted pink brick—presented to Ralph Lillig for bringing the people of the LGBT and allies together. Mr. Lillig has been the chief opponent of the Fair Pocatello campaign and Pocatello’s non-discrimination ordinance. He is the one who called for the vote recount and either paid the ~$4,000 out of his own pocket or solicited donations through his own “Yes Pocatello” campaign.

I have SUCH mixed feelings about this.

It’s clever. It’s funny. It’s a perfect application of my life-guiding metaphor to see the rainbow amidst the rain. I really did meet some fantastic people throughout endeavors with the ordinance “fight” (I don’t like fighting) and in it all, I became a regular and recognizable columnist in our local paper.  That’s allowed me to get a few things off my chest and share my personal perspective on many topics including and beyond GLBT issues.  I’ll reiterate a phrase there…my personal perspective. So here is my personal perspective on the pink brick.

So wait. Is someone really giving the pink brick to Mr. Lillig?  Please don’t physically give the brick to him. That gesture would bear a whole new meaning that makes me very uncomfortable.

Someone posted a picture of the brick on Facebook. My gut reaction was, “don’t throw it!” Throwing bricks through windows is an intimidation tactic from the civil rights conflicts in our country years ago. That lone brick—even though it’s a pastel pink—in the context of our own controversy, evoked the imagery of bricks through windows and Molotov cocktails and burning crosses.  I found it immediately threatening.

And how would it go? Getting the brick to Mr. Lillig? Would someone show up at his house? Ring his doorbell? How would any member of the GLBT community feel if Mr. Lillig showed up on your doorstep?  It would scare me. I would imagine he wanted a confrontation. It would make me angry. I disagree with many, many of his words and I think his weekly talk show on channel 12 is deplorable, but I’ve not felt physically threatened by him. Showing up at his house would be just that type of harassment, in my opinion, and I would hate to see any member of our community engage.

So, if it’s not hand-delivered then what? Anonymously leaving it on his door step?  Noooooo! [face palm]  That is definitely harassing and threatening. If it were a spray painted trophy or a stuffed teletubby (while still petty and uncool), it would not contain the connotations of a brick.

Are you going to call him? Ask him to meet?  And what will be gained by this? Nothing.  It would only serve as a “poking of the bear”.  The time and effort in bear-poking could be better spent volunteering somewhere in our community or going on a nice walk and taking in the beauty around us rather than focusing on the ugly he wishes to perpetuate.

Whoever has that pink brick now…how about this?  Keep it.  Hold it. Take note of the violence and ill will that it is capable of but also that it could be a piece of something wonderful. A house. A building, A path. A monument.  A memorial. A school. A church. (There are many who welcome the GLBT with open arms, you know.) So many things could be built with that brick, but nothing will be built if it is given to Mr. Lillig.

In choosing to disengage with Mr. Lillig, the GLBT community can be the better person. We need to be the better person. 

Goodbye, Big Orange I

When I was a kid, I engaged in all sorts of dialogue with inanimate objects. They came to life in my busy, only-child mind. I talked to Angel, our Christmas tree topper. I greeted the Abraham Lincoln bust atop our console TV each day with a "Good Morning, Abe." And, when we moved to Pocatello, Mom introduced me to the Big Orange "I." In the days before she enrolled me in ISU's Early Learning Center, she took me to Red Hill and told me the "I" was there to watch over me. Kids are never to young to learn about puns.

Angel is barely held together with a creative kluge of hot glue, nails and a rubber band, and Abe's head fell off in the 90's when he took a tumble off the TV during a wind storm. Mom glued his head back on and tied a Christmas bow around his neck to hide the scar. Abe spent a few years in storage, but I brought him back to the living room a couple years ago. He's such a rich, fanciful and fragile part of my history. So, has been the Big Orange "I"

I've known for years that the "I's" days are numbered. Just like Angel's, Abe's and mine. Angel and Abe won't make it much longer than I do because time is treating them like it treats everything. They are also my traditions and won't be appreciated by next generations. That makes me a little sad, but I don't always need to fix sadness. A lot of times sadness is unavoidable and can only be waded through.

I tracked down some former ISU engineering students whose senior design project over a decade ago assessed the "I". Their conclusion unsurprisingly stated that it was unsafe and would eventually need to be removed. Even my untrained eye could arrive at that conclusion without intense analysis and mind-numbing formulas, but I was curious about their assessment of a replacement.

They explained that the "I" was contributing to erosion as the concrete diverted water and prohibited vegetation that could thwart further erosion around and below it. The surrounding hillside would experience the same erosion over time with another concrete slab. The slope of Red Hill with no vegetation would just result in the same problems with the same risks. Darn.

What about a large-scale design modeled after the Price is Right game Plinko? Rock climbing holds could be scattered all over the face which would be perfect for diverting water and double as an excellent outdoor climbing wall. Put me on a committee, ISU, and I can come up with many more insurance nightmares enshrined in school spirit.

I try not to be one who complains about a problem without bringing a solution to the table, but I don't know that there is a solution as visible and bold as the "I."  So, I guess I'm not complaining here. I'm just wading through my own sadness in saying "goodbye" to the Big Orange "I". Thank you for watching over me all these years.

Three F-words for Success

I meet young people all the time who express an interest in sports but think because they didn’t have a pair of cleats to complement their diapers or because they didn’t play with a club or league, it’s too late. It is NEVER too late to try!

My most inspirational and influential coach is Century High School health teacher Alice Heberlein.  Alice was inducted into the ISU Sports Hall of Fame in 2008 after being a standout volleyball player from 1980-1984. She was my coach in 1990 when Poky won the state volleyball championship and then for two years later when I played at ISU. I got to coach alongside her at both Poky and Century, and my years with her in the gym, on long bus rides and at the receiving end of hundreds of her serves, sets and spikes led to my conclusion of three F-words for success: fire, fundamentals and fitness.

The most successful athletes posses a mighty measure of all three, but at a middle or high school level, students can get their foot through the door and onto the court or field with any two.

First there has to be a fire. Alice got cut from the seventh grade team when she was a kid and didn’t try out again until she was a junior. During her first year playing, she made the all-state team in California! She had skipped a grade, so she was only 15 years old, but she had a fire in her heart for the sport.

What does a “fire” mean?  It means getting up early to run, lift weights or do sit-ups. It means riding your bike to the batting cages if you don’t have a ride. It means finding ways through odd summer jobs or keeping your room clean to earn money for equipment or camps that can help, and finding time to work on dribbling with your non-dominant hand or tossing a football with someone. Coach Alice always said, or rather yelled, “You gotta want it!”

The second F-word is “fundamentals.” I am a naturally athletic person. I can catch and throw and run and jump and have always had a natural court or field sense. I’m not talking Olympic-quality natural ability. I’m talking enough athletic fundamentals to be confident when I try a new sport and I have a great time playing.  So what if you don’t quite have a natural flair, but you still want to play? Fundamentals can be developed with practice and that fire I was just talking about.

The final F-word is “fitness”.  A lot can be accomplished with a strong core, stamina, speed and agility. Run, jump and play!

 Other F-words like financing and fundraising will come later but fire, fundamentals and fitness can all be enhanced over a summer. Light that fire, refine some fundamentals, and get fit! The fun will follow.

The Summer Session

My only experience with summer school was a US Government class in ’92. I remember the year because it was an election year and we discussed the candidates ad nauseum and because I was on academic probation needing an A to keep my scholarship. That summer session was stressful and intense.

Although our school system runs formally for nine months of the year, students still learn when they aren’t enrolled in a summer session. So do I.

A few days ago, my friend, her two young sons, and our dogs went to ISU’s Bartz Field to enjoy the setting sun and let the kids and canines run.  The boys bickered and played. The dogs bickered and played, and it was a picturesque scene of summer bliss.

When all energies were amply drained, we loaded the drooling parties into the truck bed and got the boys situated in the back seat. The youngest uses a booster car seat and it takes him longer to buckle. I always pull away before his seatbelt clicks and his mom always reminds me to wait. I need to remember that things take longer with kids. I learn it over and over.

It took him a few tries that night, but by golly I waited before hitting the gas. When I heard the click, I hit it. And then BAM! I slammed right into one of the boulders lining Bartz field. With the shock of the impact, I started swearing up a blue streak.

My parents were good at cursing. I learned that it was something suitable for adults only and should be used sparingly and appropriately. This seemed like an appropriate time.

I got out to assess the damage and could hear the boys in the back seat antsy to see. I realized their mom wanted to throw herself between her sons and my rage, so I took a deep breath and said, “It’s fine. I’m fine. They can get out.”

They were more enamored with the swarm of ants under the dislodged boulder and wanted me to “look, look, look!” So, I quit looking at my dented, soon-to-be old bumper and crouched with them by the ants until they were ready to leave.

Thankfully, the truck was drivable, and as we drove down the hill and into the sunset, I told the boys I was sorry if I scared them. The eight year old said, “Yeah. You did. The crash scared me but your swearing was even scarier because you don’t usually behave like that.” Ouch.

I learned that swearing really upsets this kid so when I got the bill, I swore privately. I hope he learned not only that I sometimes swear but that apologizing is possible and important and that I care about his feelings.  What will you and the kids in your lives learn from each other this summer session?