WEAR IT, DECLARE IT, SHARE IT!

New Clothing Line Raises Awareness of Men and Women Serving in Our Military

My three nieces Kirsten (16), Connor (10) and Kaycie (8) sparked an idea that may make a big difference in our society. We were discussing our cousin Drew's service in Iraq and Afghanistan and what his family goes through while he is away for so many months. My three little girls had plenty to say about what it would be like if their fathers had to be away for that long. What it would be like not to have them kiss them goodnight, or read a bedtime story, or let them curl up in their lap watching TV.

One of my nieces blurted out that she didn't like war and the other two quickly agreed. According to them war is "yucky," "dirty" and "hurts good people." I seconded (fourthed?) their dislike of war and--in typical avuncular style--started into the theory of a "just war."

Big mistake. I knew I'd gone to far when little eyes glazed over and gum-filled mouths slowed and slacked as I waxed about the thoughts of Cicero, Augustine and Thomas Aquinas. "Uncle Dale," one of my nieces interrupted, "Are they your friends?" "Another asked, "Are they soldiers?"

Hmmm...I had fallen into the uncle trap. They were smart, but as I got into theory and philosophy I'd gone from cool guy to teacher in a flash. Instead of bore them any more, I decided to turn the conversation to what had sparked the conversation in the first place: the people in uniform serving in time of a war that has no boundaries and no definitive end point. I shifted the conversation to our cousin Ryan McGlothlin, a 26-year-old Marine 2Lt. killed in Iraq in 2005. Ryan was on a full ride fellowship to Stanford's doctoral program when he joined the Marines. After Sept. 11, he felt he needed to give back. He told his father, “Dad, I’ve been born into privilege, why should I ride on the backs of others?” He wrote to his family, “I know this war is not the most popular one back home, “but people must understand that to pull out before the Iraqi army is fully ready to assume responsibility for the security of their own country is not only irresponsible of us but would ensure the persistence of terrorism. If you walk through these cities and see how terrified Iraqi citizens are of the terrorists and how thankful they are that we finally came to their cities, you could not possibly consider doing this job incompletely.”

My nieces were riveted and I felt my heart slow and tears welling up as I recounted the story. Like most rural families, the McGlothins are close. We scratched out an existence in the hollows of Russell, Tazewell and Buchanan counties in far off fields and coal mines of southwestern Virginia. Ryan's death had affected all of us and I remembered the call from my dad when it happened. I sat back from my desk overlooking Conn. Ave in DC, then asked my assistant to hold my calls and meetings and walked around Dupont Circle for hours in a fog. I queried the girls: Did they know that about their cousin Ryan? That he'd given up his studies at Stanford to serve? Did they know that young people, men and women just a few years older than my oldest niece, were serving in Iraq and Afghanistan? Did they know that sometimes those young people who were doing their jobs because we ask them to, were wounded and killed? Silence fell over their little faces as they thought and thought about my questions.

One of the nieces finally broke the silence, "My friends don't know anything about Ryan. They don't think about anything but clothes and movies and the beach. Why don't we care more about good people like Ryan and Drew who serve in the army for us?" I didn't have an answer. "Uncle Dale, we should do something to get people to care about the boys and girls like Ryan and Drew who are in the war." The other two girls agreed. "We should make something so that people will remember them." Great idea! But what could we do?

That question consumed me for weeks. One morning as I was searching through U.K. coverage of the war, it hit me. It was right there in front of me--had been for years! The red poppy! Since I was a kid riding around our hometown with my grandfather I'd seen the VFW selling little plastic lapel poppies on street corners around Veterans Day, but as their numbers decline I've seen them less and less. In the U.K. and Canada, however, the poppy was everywhere. That was it! We could create a new look for the red poppy and create a line of clothing so that people could wear it to show they remember and appreciate the men and women in our military.

After a month or two of hard work we did it! Our line of tees, hooded sweatshirts and hats are now out and ready to roll. My nieces are so proud of them and are modeling the clothing for our website (which we hope to have up soon.) They are learning about costing, marketing, production, and design and the clothing will keep those marines, soldiers, sailors and airmen in people's minds and hearts.

We hope our new "rememberthem" logo really takes off and begins to appear everywhere. One of the girls suggested we give back too. So, for each item we sell, we're giving a percentage to the Fisher House--a nonprofit that provides a place to stay for family members of injured military personnel so they can be with them as they receive medical attention. Come on, wear "the power of the flower" and put on a Red Poppy to show you care about the men and women in uniform. This is not about whether you agree or disagree with the politics of war--it's about the sacrifice, dedication and service of people like Ryan and Drew. Yes, war is "yucky" and "dirty" and "hurts good people." But, the people who serve in our Armed Forces are our brothers and sisters, cousins, uncles, friends, neighbors, coworkers and even total strangers to whom we owe a debt. We must remember them. Above the din of anger and accusation and political rhetoric Remember Them!

HE EARNED IT!

I'd give this guy a buck

For creativity and his show of cajone-ness--I might even give him a fiver.

Priceless!

THE LION OF FALLUJAH

Remembering All Our Young Lions

I had dinner with my cousin Maj. Andrew (Drew) Warren and his lovely/lively wife Alice last night. I mentioned that just that morning I was in Barnes and Noble and happened upon a new book, Warlords, by 2LT Ilario Pantano, a Marine you may remember from the trial over his accusal of murder of two insurgents in the combat zone. Pantano had served under my cousin while awaiting trial and I found his acknowledgement in the first pages of the book: "To Maj. Warren for teaching us to 'be the hunter instead of the hunted.'"

We talked about Pantano for a bit then Drew asked if I'd heard of Maj. Doug Zembiec? I read and watch plenty of network and cable news, yet the name didn't ring a bell. He said he'd just returned from Zembiec's funeral in DC and wondered aloud why the media didn't make a big deal about the death of a man like Maj. Zembiec with whom he'd served in Kosovo, Afghanistan and Iraq. Zembiec was the commander of E Company, 2nd Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment. He has become known as the Lion of Fallujah, after a comment he made to the press after a fierce battle that his Marines "fought like lions..." but he was also given the name for his own personal tenacity and toughness.

I know Drew pretty well and when he (like most Marines) is impressed by someones character that person must be one heck of a leader. I found some stories about Maj. Zembiec and added them here so my readers will have a chance to know Maj. Zembiec and remember him for his service and sacrifice.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/05/16/AR2007051602860.html

http://www.militaryphotos.net/forums/showthread.php?t=112375

http://www.baltimoresun.com/news/local/annearundel/bal-soldier0514,0,3270173.story?coll=bal-local-arundel

Rest in Peace, Maj. Zembiec. Thank you for your service and sacrifice,
Wear a red poppy in remembrance of this lion and the others who serve for us.

ATTACKING THE ANGRY LOBSTER

Defeating the Big Things
Find your place to stand and you can move your world!

I was wandering around downtown Wilmington, North Carolina last week admiring the waterfront area with its restaurants, coffee houses, bars, antique stores, art galleries, and scores of other small businesses. I grabbed a cup of coffee from a local shop and stood admiring the water lapping against the wooden walkway that snakes along the waterfront giving visitors a great view of the spires and towers of the city's oldest attraction, the retired battleship North Carolina. I was lost--my mind numbed by repetitive slap, slap, slapping of the water against the wood. Suddenly someone touched my arm. I was so surprised I jumped, sloshing coffee all over the wooden planks. I turned to find a young man with a beard standing looking at me. While I was shocked by the encounter, he seemed nonplussed. I smiled to hide my embarrassment and he returned the smile as he apologized for scaring me. "Sorry bout that man!"

I did my best to play it off, but how often does a stranger actually touch you? I was in my own world one moment, the next a total stranger was inside my space bubble and touching my arm. Once I had my wits about me, I looked at the young man: he was dressed in dirty flip-flops and his feet were caked with grime. His shorts and zip-front sweat shirt had smudges of dirt and food drippings long-ground into the cotton fabric. His beard was scraggly and uncut for some time.

"Hey man, I'm trying to get one of those cups of coffee . . ." he pointed toward my half-full cup. "And I wonder if you might have a few extra coins . . . a quarter or two?" How often had I heard that line? I live in downtown DC where every twenty feet someone needs a little money "for bus fare just to get home," or "trying to get something to eat" or a "homeless Vietnam vet" trying to make do. Yet, this guy was different. First off he was young--maybe late twenties and most of the sidewalk and door frame panhandlers in DC are older.

In DC when asked for money for something to eat, I usually ask if I can get them something to eat at the closest fast food place. That usually ends the conversation as the person is not really going to use the money for food--I assume the real need is alcohol or drugs.

So, I offered to walk with guy back to the coffee shop to refill my cup and buy him one. To my surprise he accepted. As we walked I decided to strike up a conversation during which he was surprisingly open and frank. His name was Brian and he'd come to town a few years ago to attend college at UNC Wilmington but never graduated. He surfed. He worked as a "grip" in the local movie industry "sometimes." He was living in the apartment of a girl he'd met surfing at Wrightsville Beach a few months ago. He slept in his sleeping bag in the living room of the one bedroom apartment, but she was moving back to New Jersey and he was looking for another place. He was smart, articulate, and had a warm, kind smile. How could this guy be on the streets?

As he loaded his coffee with enough sugar to make a small cake I asked why he hadn't finished his studies at UNCW. "It was too big for me. I stood back and looked at it and it was just too much." He pointed his wooden stirring stick at me and said, "You probably think I'm a druggie, don't you?" I was stunned. I mean, yes I had assumed he did drugs and that was the reason for his current state, but his direct question threw me off and I couldn't answer. "Sure, you do. But, I'm not. I don't do drugs or drink alcohol. I just can't deal with the world, man. If you can't win, why play?" He laughed and turned to leave. "Thanks for the coffee man I'll pay you back one day." He winked and ambled on down Front Street

I spent the afternoon thinking about Brian's fear of the world; because as I see it that's exactly what it is: .Fear. That is so foreign to me--it's just not the way I look at things. I see a hurdle or challenge and roll up my sleeves and figure out how to take it on. Brian was a reality check. Hey, Dale, not everyone sees the world as you do. Not everyone thinks there's a monster under the bed and grabs the broom to see if it's true. Some people look at "big things" and think them too big. Some see an obstacle in their path and turn around and go back instead of taking it on. Some hide under the covers until they fall asleep or the sun comes up.

Not everyone is as afflicted by their fear as Brian. You may not be surfing and sleeping in someone’s living room, but perhaps you are afraid to go back to school to finish your degree, or change jobs even though you know it would better your life, or stop smoking, or lose weight, or even to stand up and let your voice be heard.

One of my favorite new books (I've mentioned this before) is Robert Greene's The 33 Strategies of War. In it there is brilliant example of how Brian and people like him who are afraid to take on "big things." A lobster looks intimidating. Can you imagine what a shrimp sees when it comes across a lobster? Imagine, if you will, a monster lobster--one the size of an RV. How would you see it? Huge? Well-armored? Scary? Here's how Greene describes it: "Its sharp claws quick to grab, it's hard protective shell, it's powerful tail propelling it out of danger." Intimidating? Sure it is. But, stop for a moment and think of its weakness. Think of the best way to defeat it. Flip it over. Yes, it's that simple. Underneath there is very little of the thick plating found on top. There is a soft underbelly. Many cracks and chinks in the thinned armor. Plus, the lobster on its back is helpless. All you need to defeat the lobster is a stick. A lever! As Archimedes (who did not discover the lever, but was the first to offer a mathematical explanation of how one works) said, "Give me a place to stand and I will move the world." With these simple things the monster lobster is not so "big." Not so intimidating. Not so scary. In fact, once you have it on its back, it's downright pitiful.

Find your place to stand!

IS IT FULL?

I don't usually pass along the many, many stories I receive via email each day, but this one is really worth it. My good friend Paul Overbay forwarded it to me and it really struck a chord. I've been traveling and working in NC and haven't had a chance to sit down to create a post in two long weeks. When I finally sat down this morning with the intention of whipping up a message, I first opened Paul's email with my coffee and it was so good I think I'll use it as the post. Thanks to those who passed it along and to Paul for passing it to me.

Priorities and Your Life Container
When things in your life seem almost too much too handle, when 24 hours in a day are not enough, remember the mayonnaise jar and the two cups of coffee.

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed it was.

The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full they agreed it was. The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous "yes."

The professor then produced two cups of coffee from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed. "Now," said the professor, as the laughter subsided, "I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things: God, family, your children, your health, your friends, and your favorite passions--things that if everything else was lost and only they remained your life would still be full.

The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house, and your car.The sand is everything else -- the small stuff. If you put the sand into the jar first," he continued, "there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls.

The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you. Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out to dinner. Play another 18 holes. There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal. "Take care of the golf balls first -- the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand."

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the coffee represented.The professor smiled. "I'm glad you asked. It just goes to show you no matter how full your life may seem, there's always room for a couple of cups of coffee with a friend."

GO INTO THE DARK

Are You Where You Should Be or Some Other Place?

A man walking his dog late one night in a dark parking lot spies another man on his knees under a lamppost. The man is swaying back and forth—obviously drunk. So, the man walks his dog over to the man and politely asks, “Excuse me, sir, can I help you find something?”

The man on his knees looks up with bloodshot eyes and replies with slurred words, “I . . . I’m looking for my keys. I think I lost them over there near the door to that bar.”

The man with the dog looks over to extremely dark area near the door. “Sir, if you lost them in over near that door why are you way over here under this lamppost looking for them?”

“Because, dummy,” retorts the drunk man. “This is where the light is.”

Are you where you want to be in your life? Where you need to be? The self-help market in this country is estimated to be worth almost $11 billion. That’s billion with a capital B! That figure seems to indicate that most people are not where they need to be. At least the people buying those books, CDs, and materials are searching, the rest are under the lamppost. We are where the light is instead of where the keys are lost—the place where the keys to our happiness and self-fulfillment lie hidden in the hard to see places. Why do we spend out time in the lighted place—where the keys are not—instead of the place where we must work harder, but where the keys certainly exist.

Hint: I just gave you the answer.

Because, it’s the place where we must work harder. Most of us don’t like difficult things. We like comfort and security. We value safety and the absence of conflict. We create cars that parallel park themselves, for goodness sake!

Now, don’t get me wrong, we are smart. Like the drunk man we know where the keys are, we choose to ignore it and go to the easy place. We pretend to search and work under the light knowing it will do no good.

QUESTIONS
1. Are you the person you know you should be?
2. The father/mother you should be?
3. The friend you should be?
4. The manager you should be?
5. Are you happy?
6. Do you like yourself?
7. Are you one of the best people you know?
8. Are your priorities in line with your quest to be one of the best people you know?

Now that you’ve answered these questions, ask yourself one more: Are you are in the dark where the keys are, or are you under the lamppost in the light? Are you doing the difficult thing that will certainly lead to being a better person, or the easy thing that requires no hard work—lets you stay in the comfort zone—and accomplishes nothing?

I offer the exact opposite advice of the diminutive, squeaky-voiced Tangina in the movie Poltergeist, “Do not go into the light! Turn away from the light! Do not go into the light!”

Get into the dark places, do the work and make yourself better. Find the keys to your happiness and then there will be no dark places.

PLOWSHARES INTO SWORDS

Confessions of a Modern Rebel

I am an avid reader. If it has words on paper (or on a computer screen;-) I want to absorb it. The pursuit of knowledge is a passion for me, so when I read a good book I pass it along to my ever-growing list of friends. I’ve been called a “pusher” because when I get excited about a book I let everyone know about it and “push” it on them.

I read one such book last year and find myself returning to it over and over: The 33 Strategies of War by Robert Greene.

I am a Christian, and for those of you who follow other faiths I think you too will find a good lesson here. I was reading the book this past weekend after attending the funeral of A.L Mitchell and ran across this quote from Matthew 10:34: “Do not think that I have come to bring peace on earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to set a man against his father and a daughter against her mother . . .”

That’s Jesus speaking. Surprised? It’s a dramatic departure from the gentle, peaceful Jesus most Christians picture. Most see Him as leading lambs and surrounded by children as popular picture books portray Him. But, this Jesus is a rebel. He is saying He isn’t here to bring peace or be part of the status quo, but to upset the tables of the moneylenders in the Temple, and disagree publicly with the teachings of the Pharisees . . . He doesn’t bring a plowshare, but instead brings a sword. He says He is here to upset the status quo.

A sword in our modern lives is whatever we are doing to stand up against things that are just not right. Theodore Roosevelt might have called it our “righteousness.” The sword is our backbone—our resolve—our determination and the actions it breeds to combat a bad situation and make it better. After the military disaster at Gallipoli in 1915, for which he was Lord of the Admiralty, Winston Churchill fell into the shadows, or as he called it, “the wilderness,” of British politics. He could have stayed there, or simply retired to life at his castle estate to paint and author books on history. Yet, when the rise of Bolshevism and Nazism scared others into silence, Churchill found his sword. He railed, almost daily, from 1933-1939 against placating Hitler and the Nazis. He was a thorn in the side of two Prime Ministers and even his own party. His long-winded and terse rhetoric against the Nazis and those who would bury their heads in the sand to them was summed up in his quote, "If a dog makes a dash for my trousers, I shoot him down before he can bite." Most people in Britain and Europe did not want to hear that. They were still rebuilding from the First World War, so they could not find the backbone to confront a new one—even though the Nazis and the fascists in Italy under Mussolini and the imperial Japanese made no efforts to hide their naked aggression. They saw it all, and simply closed their eyes hoping it would go away.

Churchill knew it would not go away on its own. He stood up and took a highly unpopular stance to goad the British people into finding their sword. Which they finally did in 1940 when he was chosen Prime Minster and the country finally took a stand against the Hitler regime and Nazi idealism. Churchill recognized the responsibility of his country drawing its sword, "But if we fail, then the whole world . . . will sink into the abyss of a new Dark Age made more sinister, and perhaps more protracted, by the lights of perverted science. Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves that if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand year, Men will still say: 'This was their finest hour'."

Have you drawn your sword or are you falling in with the crowd and going with the flow? Ever wonder where the flow takes one? Well, if water follows the path of least resistance, then the water is simple going where it is easiest to go.

Are you following the status quo? Taking the path of least resistance? In a comfortable place? Not wanting to rock the boat? Afraid to stand up against something/someone louder?

Being a rebel is not a bad thing when it’s doing the right thing.