Paul Simon's "Sounds of Silence"

What a great song! A few weeks ago, my professor for an online course asked the class to take a look at its lyrics and respond to it. No one took him up on his request except me, so I'm not sure if my response is what he's looking for. Nevertheless, the English major in me took over when I finally got a chance to look at the lyrics. I have no idea if I'm close to the mark, but I just had a great time analyzing these lyrics! I got something like this out of it:

Verse #1:Hello darkness, my old friend / I've come to talk with you again / Because a vision softly creeping / Left its seeds while I was sleeping / And the vision that was planted in my brain / Still remains / Within the sound of silence.

In the first verse, the speaker talks of darkness, his old friend. This darkness is the result of a world saturated in empty, mindless "crap" that is produced today. Since Paul Simon is a musician, I assume he's talking about contemporary music (of the 1960s perhaps). The darkness isn't an absence of all light, so to speak; rather, it's an absence of the light that results from music of substance -- quality music. Darkness is his old friend because it's been around a while for him; he feels an association with it. The paradox of the sound of silence is similar to the darkness metaphor. A light that cannot be seen, a song that cannot be heard.

Verse #2:In restless dreams I walked alone / Narrow streets of cobblestone / 'Neath the halo of a street lamp / I turn my collar to the cold and damp / When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light / That split the night / And touched the sound of silence.

The next verse talks about the speaker walking alone in his dreams, the birthplace of so many creative ideas. There's a contrast between the halo of the street light (which guides the way on a journey) and the flash of a neon light (which guides someone into a terminus -- a bar, store, etc.). In the darkness, the flashing neon light gives comfort because one can assume shelter or safety lies within. A street light offers a way to go, but no terminus in sight. So, which is more important -- the journey or the destination? This metaphor takes the idea of light and further defines it as different types of light. The speaker sees an absence of a guiding light, yet there is probably a plethora of neon lights that lure people in and halts their journeys. The music that the speaker is talking about is more like the neon lights.

Verse #3:And in the naked light I saw / Ten thousand people maybe more / People talking without speaking / People hearing without listening / People writing songs that voices never shared / No one dared / Disturb the sound of silence.

The next verse brings in the image of the multitudes of people out there -- people who talk without speaking / listen without hearing and people who are too afraid to voice their songs. The first group puts forth a paradox that make sense in today's world -- look at some of the pop songs out there (*cough-*cough, Justin Bieber -- *cough). People pretending to take in the words of others, but there are two problems. One, the words of others are empty. Two, the people listening care only about themselves. The second group puts forth the idea of people being too afraid to say what they really feel. They're afraid for some reason or another. Whatever the case, these people are hesitant to disturb the peace and speak out.

Verse #4:"Fools," said I, "you do not know / Silence like a cancer grows / Hear my words that I might teach you / Take my arms that I might reach you" / But my words like silent raindrops fell / And echoed in the wells of silence.

Verse four establishes a crazy metaphor -- a powerful one. I can't figure it out, however. Is the speaker saying that the silence is like a cancer and it will kill humanity? Or, is he saying that the silence spreads quickly like a cancer and that's the extent of the analogy? But this verse is the first time the speaker directly addresses someone. His words, however, fall like silent raindrops. This is a recurrence of the silence metaphor, but also the addition of the rain metaphor. Rain is symbolic of healing, nourishment, and cleansing... which is just what the people need, but they cannot accept because they do not see that they need it.

Verse #5:And the people bowed and prayed / To the neon god they made / And the sign flashed out its warning / In the words that it was forming / And the sign said "The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls / And tenement halls / And whispered in the sound of silence.

The final verse reflects the importance that people have put on the neon lights -- the terminus, the objective of happiness -- they're like neon gods. In its flashing light (which is how the neon light attracts attention) it is also being ironic. It says one thing to the masses: "Come on in, you'll be happy, it'll feel good," but to the other people who truly listen, it says another thing, a warning: "I'm just a simple, pretty flashing light, nothing more." It tells the listener, the one who would find happiness on the journey, that the true words of wisdom are where you least expect to see them: the graffiti on the walls of the subway station (another metaphor for the journey) and on the halls of the tenements (the passages that lead to the homes of the meek). How often do we listen to the poor and uneducated for wisdom? How often do we look for deep messages in the simplest of writings?

With the convergence of all of the different media (internet, television, radio, print, etc.), there's more and more "crap" (sorry for the lack of more intelligent-sounding word... but when it comes down to it, "crap" is the best word to describe crap) placed in front of us. Where do we look for quality messages? More importantly, where do we find it? People are afraid to put their ideas out there for lots of reasons. They don't want to offend anyone else. They don't want to be attacked. They don't want to be marginalized or categorized. They don't want to reveal themselves in a world full of diverse thoughts. They don't want to compromise their insecurities.

Whether this was Paul Simon's message or not, I don't care. It's a good song, I found some meaning behind it, and life goes on.

Escaping from the Crib

This past weekend, the last thing I expected to see at 1:00 in the morning was Brody walking toward me, crying, and holding his arms out for me to pick him up, yet when I was dragged from a deep sleep by the sound of distant crying, that's exactly what I saw. It turns out that the distant sound of his cry was due only to the depth of my sleep state, and not the actual distance between his room and mine.

I picked him up and set him down on the bed. Emily, who'd been sleeping just as deeply, had this look of confusion on her face. It was the look that clearly said, "I have no idea what's going on!" I didn't have any clue, either. I stumbled downstairs to see what I could find out. I must have still been asleep, because one of the first thoughts I had was that I was slightly annoyed because someone had let my toddler out of his "kennel" (honestly, we do have him sleeping in a crib, not a kennel). Then, when my consciousness began to surface and I realized that it was son, not a dog, I went to make sure that there hadn't been a malfunction with the side of the crib or that he hadn't broken it with his massive toddler strength.

I found nothing. He simply stretched one leg up over the edge, slid over, and fell to his feet below. Climbing out of his crib last night must have taken some serious goal-setting and determination. I'm proud of the little fella; his daring escape from his crib was much like the escape of the Count of Monte Cristo or the escape of Andy Dufresne, except without the unjust imprisonment.

The next morning, after trying to figure out whether or not it had been a dream to wake up and find that Brody had climbed out of his crib and up the stairs to our bedroom, I found myself sitting in church hearing a sermon about goals. It seemed to be a fine coincidence. Our pastor addressed the idea of goals and how everyone should have them. Goals are the things that provide motivation for us in our daily lives. Life is truly made of dreams, for without dreams or goals, what is the point of it all?

Our pastor based his sermon on Paul's epistle to the Phillipians (3:12-14). In this letter, Paul writes of how he is always pressing forward in his pursuit of "perfection." As Christians, we are all constantly pursuing the same goal of a relationship with Christ. Each of us may get closer and closer at various points in our lives, but none can truly achieve our goals. The question isn't so much of can we, but should we ever be able to reach our goal of a relationship with Christ? What would we then do, once that ultimate goal of all goals had been attained?

Being a coach sitting in church listen to a sports-minded pastor, I has an easy job understanding the exact metaphor he was giving us. Pastor used baseball as the basis of his comparison, but with baseball being a sport with which I'm not all that familiar, I find myself able to discuss it in terms of wrestling. I can't take credit for the originality of this metaphor; it's just my personal take on an incredibly pertinent sermon.

Essentially, there are three types of wrestlers: those that make it happen, those that watch it happen, and those that wonder what the heck just happened. The first group are those who set goals and pursue them passionately. The second group are those who may have some talent and may have seen some success, but mostly, they have seen a lot of luck. The third group are those who are simply utterly clueless; perhaps they don't care about their participation that much.

All three groups co-exist in any sport, but the common thread between them is not necessarily just their respective sport, but more importantly the presence of a coach.

In the same way athletes make errors in matches, we make errors in life, but it is Christ who allows us to recover. It doesn't matter if we're the type of person who makes things happen, watch things happen, or wonder what just happened; Christ loves us all and acts as the coach to whom we all should listen.

To further adapt the Pastor's metaphor, life is like a wrestling dual -- one team against another. Most people think of wrestling as being an individual sport, but once a person becomes involved in wrestling, it is clear how strong the team element really is. In this metaphor, there are three things to remember:

1) We're all on a team, so each of us needs to be a team player. Whereas life isn't an individual effort, we all do our individual parts to win the competition. Each move in each period of each match contributes to the overall team score.

2) We have a coach, so we need to listen to him. The Pastor asked a great rhetorical question: "Why call him 'coach' if we're not going to listen?" It's when my wrestlers stop listening to me and they begin doing their own thing that things typically fall apart -- technique wanes, frustrations soar, and strategy goes right out the window, along with the probability of winning the match.

3) We may get hurt in the match, but we need to get over it. The idea is to hop up and shake it off, and we must know the difference between an "injury" and an "ouchie," to quote Coach Kit Harris. Pain is as much a necessary element to the sport as is the mat, the shoes, the singlets, and the headgear. The same goes with life.

These comparisons between life as a Christian and being an athlete serve to remind us of our humanity, as well as our intended purpose in life. Sure, there will be errors along the way; we won't always be team players, at times we'll fail to listen to our Coach, and we will frequently feel the sting of injury.

The Apostle Paul discusses the pursuit of perfection. In setting this goal, he steps forward on a journey of growth and shows us all how one should seek atonement with Christ.

It's easy for me, as a coach, to understand this message from the Bible, especially with how clearly the pastor has conveyed it. However, it's not always going to be that clear to me, and it's not always going to make sense to my son Brody, especially in his early years. The other night, he achieved his previously-set goal of escaping from his crib. He had no team to consider or to cheer him on, he had no one coaching him along the way, and surely he must have felt something painful when he landed, yet he met his goal (and put his parents in a panic to find him a suitable toddler bed).

Goal-setting is as much a part of life as is breathing, eating, and sleeping. We have been programmed to do this from the very beginning. Christ enables us to start off enjoying the game on our own, but sooner or later, we all have to discover the rules of the game. We can go through life wondering what happened -- that is, why we achieve some goals and why we fall short of others. We can also set our goals at a minimum level, hoping that our low bar is easily overcome. Or we could set our goals high and do what it takes to achieve them.

In order to fully achieve our earthly goals, and to then be able to set focus on our goal of perfect relationships with Christ, we must work together, heed our coaches, and bounce back from whatever adversity tries to keep us from our dreams, whether it's escaping from the crib or finding true happiness in life.

Standing in Cold Branson Water

I close my eyes and listen to everything happening around me. The water rushes past and its roar can be heard above all else as it cascades down into the main channel. Because of the higher elevation of Branson, Missouri, my ears are still clogged and popping periodically, so it really is all I can hear. I open my eyes to see that down in the water below, the rainbow trout are swimming all around me no browns are visible, just rainbows. An older man wades into the water a dozen feet from me, but I can't hear his splashing; I only catch the movement out of the corner of my eye. Out here, there's an aroma of purity in the air. There's no stagnation from standing pools, nor is there any trace of dead fish, fish food, or stink bait. Little beads of mist are all around me as I take in great breaths of that fresh air.

The setting seems to be just right. Even though there's a little bit of a crowd and it looks like more will be joining us as the day goes on, I feel great about the upcoming fishing. The atmosphere is perfect, but for some reason I start back up with my fishing doubts.

I think that I have all the necessary gear. I have the waders, the vest, the forceps, the clippers, the fly boxes, the angler's bag, the reel case, the Ketchum release tool, the polarized sun glasses, the net, dry flies, wet flies, terrestrials, etc. Pretty much the only thing I still "need" is a boat of my own. The waders do just fine for now. I'm decked out in all my gear; anything I need is in one of the myriad vest pockets and the rest is stowed in my bag. I look like a pro, like I belong out there, yet I feel slightly off kilter.

Then it dawns on me that I have no clue what I'm doing out there on the water. I feel like it's my first time fly fishing again, waiting for Dr. Gene Decker to walk by and make some recycled joke about my technique. "I've never seen someone catch a fish with their fly in the air like that!" "Are you trying to whip the trout to death?" "There you go, catch some brush on the bank, take it home and eat it while the rest of us catch some fish."

As I glance up and down the channel, I see what looks like scores of veterans, young and old, who appear to know what they're doing. Teenagers and twenty somethings, guys my dad's age and fellows who must have been fly fishing since before my dad was born.

I've got a gray scud tied on, just like Darryl, a family friend, had instructed me. Having just switched from a buckskin worm that had done me no good, I'm feeling even more doubt. I wade out a little bit, creating a new eddy around me the trout are supposed to flock to the new structure in the water wait for a moment, and then back out. I'd been told to dip my line, let it float, keep my sights on the strike indicator, and then set the hook at the slightest disturbance. The only disturbance I feel, however, is my presence in this cluster of easy fishing.

It's such a beautiful scene. Fog covers the river, and mist rises up from the water. In the background all I can hear is the rushing of water as it cascades down into the river.

All it seems I can do is just sit there, pretending to know what the heck is going on and pretending to know what I'm doing. I stop to look out of the corner of my eye and observe the others. There's a little outlet coming from the hatchery into the bigger river, and scores of trout have gathered around the structure. Lots of anglers have gathered there, too. They each have no more than twelve feet of line out, including their leaders, dipping their flies in the water right where outlet meets river. Every once in a while, someone snags a trout, but usually it's nothing worth keeping, though. It looks so easy, like shooting fish in a barrel.

This type of fishing just doesn't seem right to me. It's not that the others are doing anything wrong; it's just not what I think of when I imagine fly fishing! Where is that artful strategy and technique of fly fishing that I've been reading about in books and watching in videos? I'd been hoping to see artists at work with their perfect casts set to tempos in the metronomes of their minds. What I see is too much emphasis on catching. It seems that the day's worth will be measured by how many fish have been duped into taking easy flies, and not on casting, understanding the fish, and careful observation. It's easy pickings for the anglers. They strap on their waders in the parking lot, tromp down to the riverbank, carefully walk in, and go to work. The first few people have scads of luck, but the rest are just standing by, waiting for someone to move on so they can take their shots.

Across the channel, however, I see something that gives me hope, something that redeems the fly fishermen in my mind. It looks like a real fly fisherman out in the waters off an island. I wondered how he got out there on that island with the units running from the dam and the water flowing rapidly. He casts, back casts, shooting the line forward. The current catches his fly as he makes a quick mend. Down the channel it goes. He picks up his line and casts it back up the water. No one is around him no one sight fishing or looking for the easy catch. I watch for five minutes and he's caught nothing. It doesn't matter. He's in the open, he's casting. It's so peaceful that it makes me want to stomp on across the channel and to go out there, too. Forget the current and the depth of the channel I want to be away from the rest of this fishing and to join a true artist.

You have to understand something about me. I've got this natural tendency to glamorize and romanticize things in my life. I wouldn't say it's a problem, but sometimes I build up these prejudices in my mind; prejudices created from reading books and magazines, watching movies, and plain old daydreaming. Because of a lack of exposure to what fly fishing really is, I have all of these fancies flittering about in my head and they are much different from the reality I'm watching in front of me.

So, what is there to do about it? Hopefully I will be able to go back and fish these waters. Someday soon, I hope to make a trip to the wilderness, having to hike miles to a naturally stocked stream, like Ernest Hemingway does in "The Big Two Hearted River" or in The Sun Also Rises.

Maybe someday in the future I'll be able to get out to the Appalachian Trail, to hike it through, like my father has done. I'd carry a box of flies, a rod and reel, and some minor tools on my pack. Each state I entered, I'd be sure to buy a fishing license and whatever tags were required by law. My "trail name" (moniker used while thru hiking to identify who you are) would have something to do with fishing.

I've found that fly fishing brings me peace, isolation, concentration, and repetition many of the same things I love about the sport wrestling. However, it seems that I can gain these things from fishing without the bloodshed, pain, and need for a partner. It's the therapy I sometimes need to help me exorcise ghosts. Could regular fishing provide these things, too? Who knows?

I've been looking forward to this vacation for months now, allowing myself to build up great expectations for lots of good fishing while down in Branson. It dawns upon me later in the trip that it's not the catching of fish that I've been looking forward to; it's the taste of life, the refreshing slice of life that I'll be getting out there.

Thoughts on Parenting

I heard Joel Osteen on television say, "If you don't tell your children who they are, then someone else will." Giving a child a sense of identity is such an important job for a parent, yet kids spend an incredible amount of time searching on their own, wondering who they are. They look everywhere for this identity, when all along, their parents have been trying to keep it in plain sight. Emily and I have no clue who Brody will be, what kind of student or athlete he will be, or what his passions will be. Someday, he'll come to us and ask us what kind of child he was. What would we tell him?

My wife and I haven't filled out Brody's baby books near as well as we've been sure to make posts and notes about him on Facebook. There are all of these memories of various firsts that we don't want to forget; the baby books are never handy or convenient, but FB never fails to be a great forum for us to use in bragging about our son. There are so many images of Brody that are difficult to capture with words, so I've been good about capturing pictures on my cell phone. My screen saver at school is a slideshow of his childhood to date. The point is that I love him with all my heart and I would do absolutely anything for him. He is our flesh and blood, a life created from our love with the grace of God.

I've come to realize that as human beings in this day and age, our models for parenting are our own parents (the good, the bad, and the ugly), what we see on TV or in movies or in books, and the parents with whom we interact on a daily basis. These models come together in our minds to form the ideal parent, the "Super-dad" or the "Mega-mom." We hope and pray that we will do well as parents, and we cross our fingers that our children won't hate us or run out on us. We sit back and look at the problems of other parents and make our judgments. It's sad that we make these judgments, but it's also so easy to make these judgments and to condemn people for their parenting sins. As a teacher and a Christian man, I truly pray that God gives me the wisdom to know better than to make the mistake of prejudging too much from the outside.

I heard a story the other day about a woman who was with her daughter at church camp. One day they were doing dome horseback riding. The woman held her 3-year-old daughter in front of her as they rode. The horse bucked, throwing both mother and daughter. In order to protect her daughter, the mother held her closely, dropped her own shoulder, and used her own body to bear the brunt of the impact. Her hip was broken in two places, she had a couple cracked ribs, and her shoulder was dislocated. The little girl had just a couple scrapes and bruises. She was told that it would be an excruciating road to recovery. The poor woman acted in such a way that any parent should act. After all, who wouldn't want to protect their child in such a manner or in such a situation?

With every bit of my heart, I know fully that I would do just that to protect my son, and I would do much more to protect him. At some point during parenthood, a parent truly realizes how much he really needs to do to put the child before himself. I'm sure that if anyone were to offer the subtlest suggestion that a parent felt any other way, then this parent would be on his feet shouting and punching the air with his clinched fists. But I've seen it too often in the seven years I've been a teacher and coach. Something changes along the way, and people forget to put their children ahead of them.

Somewhere, the questions are no longer "What is best for my son?", "How can I make things right for my daughter?", and "What do I need to do to protect my children?" The questions become "Why isn't my son more like so-and-so?", "How am I going to deal with this mess my daughter has created?", and "What will they think of me as a parent?" For some people, life happens too quickly or too suddenly and before they know it they find themselves stuck in a whirlpool of self-centered thinking.

I hope to never get caught in that swirling vortex of self-centered compulsion. It's nearly impossible to escape once you have become wholly consumed by how things affect you. You naturally find yourself needing to know why things are happening to you, when you are supposed to deal with things, or who might happen to be judging you. Perhaps above all, you constantly ask how on earth you're going to be able to deal with these things. The uncontrollable obsession with yourself becomes a piece of driftwood. It keeps you afloat and allows you to get gasps of air, but you're still being sucked toward the center of the eddy, your submersion becoming more and more inevitable.

As parents, we all run that risk of falling into the whirlpool. We could accidentally swim too close to its current--we'd have had no intention of becoming so self-centered, but we couldn't control it. What is it then that we can do if we should ever become caught? It no longer becomes a question of who's undermining your authority or stepping on your toes, and it's not about how you look as a parent. The question needs to once again come back to what's best for the child. The mother or father must place the child before themselves.

Coming back to the story of the mother who got bucked off the horse with her daughter, I don't think she ever cursed the horse for undermining her authority and pushing her into the control of gravity. Nor do I think she considered how to land safely so that she didn't hurt herself. Instinct took control and she protected her daughter, much the same way I pray that I will always watch out for Brody. May God give me the strength, wisdom, and guidance, and by putting Him first--truly first--I will have no problem in doing so, and Brody will know that he has always been a key component of the most cherished part of our lives--our marriage. He will know--whether it's from his baby books, our online blogs, or the affirmations we say to him--that his identity has always been blessed with our love.

On the Redistribution of Wealth

Call it naivete... big oil, drug companies, and Wall Street are the targets of those who think our economic system is flawed, but why don't they ever target the entertainment industry? Seriously, are there any bigger crooks than those at the top of pro sports, film, and music?


It kinda makes me laugh when politicians start spouting off about the business maneuvers of college sports, too. How about redistributing the multi-million dollar deals these folks are making? Oh yeah... heroes don't make good scapegoats. When you try to crucify those whom our children, our neighbors, and our peers look up to as heroes, you make them martyrs.

I used to ask the question, "Why do pro athletes make so much money?" The football, baseball, hockey, basketball, etc. players have such obscene contracts that it seems ridiculous and absolutely insane to think that someone could actually make seven or eight figure salaries just for a game when those who heal the sick, teach our children, and protect our streets make so little.

I used to think about how stupid it was for someone to leave college to enter the NBA draft early. My old government teacher explained it perfectly. They enter the draft early because they can. Because they're the best at what they do. Because this may be their only chance to make that kind of money. They can go back to college at any point they decide to do so, but the chance to play pro could vanish quickly for them. But why do they make so much money? I wondered how much this phenomenon affected public perception of the value of higher education and loyalty to a team or school. Why such gross salaries? Because people want to see them play. They want to see their teams win. They want to wear their heroes' jerseys and to play their avatars on video games. These pro athletes make people happy.

The government would never enter the pro sports realm to regulate or take over the business. Pro sports entertain and distract the people. Think about it -- all of the people who shell out big bucks to sit high up in the arena or stadium or those who brave rainy or below-freezing weather for hours -- what impels them to do this? Think about all the times government has taken time to hold hearings regarding sports (steroids in baseball, NCAA conference disputes, etcm) yet they never actually take charge of anything. No, the pro sports realm is untouchable.

The real crooks are those in big business -- the bankers, the oil men, drug makers, and all of those other capitalists who rake the little people over the coals just to make a profit. Nevermind the unethical pro athletes and how they have warped the minds and expectations of the youth of America. Nevermind the huge presence of gambling behind the scenes with sports. Nevermind the drastic impact that pro sports have on the bodies of its athletes. People make choices -- they choose their idols, they choose to gamble, and they choose to enter into a dangerous profession. They make their choices knowing the risks. Some come out on top and some dither away at the bottom after having crashed and burned.

Choices are made and risks are taken in the world of pro sports and its neighboring spheres. Consequences are and rewards are reaped by those who enter into this realm. Those hurt in the process are collateral damage. But what's the difference between this form of capitalism and the forms that the radicals and progressives are targeting? Like I said before, pro athletes aren't good scapegoats.