Dude. My bad.

'Tis the season for outdoor recreation. The recent weather in South Bend has been ideal for breaking the surly bonds of indoor exercise, and taking advantage of the city's underrated trail system. And I have.

Though the next time I do, I think my fellow outdoorsmen would like a heads up.

It was a picture-perfect day for a run. I was blazing along my normal route on Riverside Trail. As any runner can tell you, there's a cathartic freedom that comes from the activity. For me, it's freedom from distraction. It's a chance to clear the head. Some days, that feeling is especially powerful. Even when sharing the trail with a host of other people, I can literally feel like it's just me and the asphalt. 

And my music.

And that's a problem.

Trail of tears.
Credit

I had just crossed the halfway point of my route, and I was in a zone. A groove. Another place. I approached a stretch of Riverside that bends precariously close to the St. Joseph River. So close, in fact, that sediment will often wash up onto the trail after a period of heavy rain, not unlike the one we experienced recently in Michiana. 

I normally keep to the right of the trail as I run - no need to be European about it, after all. But the ebbing of the river had left a pile of crud directly in my path. Naturally, I veered left to avoid it. 

And then it happened.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a rollerblader falling flailing completely losing all dignity as he fell - and rolled - in the grass. Oh, how he rolled. His shoulder-length hair visually amplified the sheer violence of the event as it went akimbo with each rotation of his unsuspecting body. And while I am admittedly not the fastest runner, it is worth noting that for approximately five yards, the pace of the blader's fall was equal to that of my jog. The obvious difference being that I was traveling by foot, and he was traveling...by everything else.

I stopped, out of concern for my fellow trail blazer. He gathered himself on all fours, and looked up at me, panting.

"You didn't hear me yell, 'Pardon me?'"

Whoops. Apparently my little leftward veer had an unintended consequence. I cut directly into his path, and caused the ensuing barrel roll.

"Uh, no. Sorry. Are you ok?"

"You really didn't hear me?" 

In hindsight, I don't know why he asked again. Was he hoping I'd say, "Yes, but dude, I was in a zone. I figured better to keep pace and you risk certain death than break stride"? Also, while I appreciate good manners as much as the next guy, who yells "Pardon me" on a trail?

Nevertheless, in the moment, I restated the obvious. "No, I didn't. Sorry about that."

"Guess we both had the music going," he said. Indeed.

He lumbered upright, and examined the deep mud stains on his arms, legs and clothes. I let him leave the scene first. No need to risk that again. He slowly began along the trail again, examining his body while he coasted for the next 50 yards or so, no doubt pleasantly surprised he still had everything he started the trail with.

I kept a safe distance in following. 

There's probably some metaphorical lesson on life here, but the whole thing was just too jarring for circumspection. Let it be enough for this to be a cautionary tale: Please practice safe jogging. Middle-aged rollerblading men with long hair are depending on you.

You feel me?

AF

A dim view of "Bright Young Things"

(Photo credit: Steve Rhodes)

I'm a parent first, and a marketing communicator second. Sometimes the knowledge of the latter disturbs the former.

Marketing, from a certain perspective, is about communicating to your audience the ways you'll solve their problems. It's a well-crafted, attractive set of solutions, offered sometimes in response to problems we didn't know we have, other times to those with which we are all too familiar. Marketing isn't a blindfolded throw of a retailing dart at the bullseye of customer demand. With few exceptions, it's a carefully researched strategy of effective itch-scratching. Especially when the marketer in question is a major, multi-billion dollar brand.

All of this is important to keep in mind as you consider the new campaign to broaden the appeal of Victoria's Secret's Pink line, a series of loungewear and underwear ostensibly marketed to college-age women. It's wildly popular among that set, to the tune of $1.5 billion a year.

But the only thing better than a billion dollars is a little more. This week, the company's CFO Stuart Burgdoerfer hinted that Victoria's Secret is after the girls who want to be the girls wearing Pink. Specifically, Burgdoerfer mentioned 15 and 16-year olds. What he knows and what we all know is that girls start wishing they were older long before age 15. So if the implied objective is to capture the imagination of young girls who want to be older, Burgdoerfer is really saying they'll target any girl near the onset of puberty. It explains why the company hired Justin Bieber to perform at its fashion show. The company says the new tagline to accompanying the strategy shift is "Bright Young Things."

To be clear, selling underwear to girls isn't intrinsically sinister. Target, JCP, Wal Mart - they all do it. And if Victoria's Secret were simply peddling innocuous undergarments, there wouldn't be a debate. But when news spread that the garments in question at VS included thongs and cheeksters with provocative messages such as "Feeling Lucky?" among other things, the entire complexion of the issue changed. Gone was any pretense this is about selling clothing. This is about selling a solution to that most glaring problem faced by our young girls today.

The problem, of course, is the painful insecurity that can come from simply being a girl in 2013 America. There is a hovering feeling of inadequacy that haunts at every turn: at school, in the magazine section at the grocery store, in television, in movies, and so on. Everywhere girls turn today, it seems someone is getting attention for being thin and beautiful... and sexual. The solution - as peddled by the likes of Victoria's Secret, apparently - is to join in. The attention these other girls receive could be yours, if you just make yourself thinner, older, more available, more sexual.

Which is where the parent in me steps in. In about five years, my oldest daughter will be squarely in the crosshairs of companies like Victoria's Secret who urge her to hit fast forward on her life by becoming more sexualized. My middle daughter will hit that age about three years later. And so on. My daughters' list of top concerns at present includes navigating the imminent long division that will come in grade school and whether we have enough Honey Comb in the house. While I'm not naive enough to believe it could or should stay this way, I am certain I don't need more of the kinds of messages communicated by "Bright Young Things."

This photo was taken
four years ago. I
know times change; I just
want to ensure it's for the
better.

Because this steps beyond just marketing. Selling the promise of enhanced maturity by equating it with sexuality has consequences that will last long beyond Victoria's relatively short-term sales bump. If we allow our girls to be taught that their self-worth is dependent not just on what others think of them, but also on the degree to which they are sexually attracted to them, we'll reap the whirlwind in the decades to follow. A generation of women who are trained to think of themselves as sexual beings first will struggle to find meaning or fulfillment in their professional or personal lives.

Am I reading too much into an otherwise innocent marketing strategy? Possibly. Perhaps this whole thing is a result of clumsy spokesmanship on the part of a CFO. And it seems Victoria's Secret has already responded to the backlash over "Bright Young Things" by pulling some of the racy items. But it seems there is so much that is so damaging demanding the attention of our young girls, that at some point, it warrants over-caution.

We know the problem. Here's to finding a solution.

You feel me?


AF

Newtown, Predictability and Resolve

Friday, December 14, I heard a remarkable story. I relay it now recognizing I can't do justice in a re-telling of the account.

A woman who seemingly had it together found herself very quickly in despair. She lost her husband through divorce, became ill, and moved to South Bend, IN. with her children to stay with family. Unable to find a job or any kind of traction in life, eventually, she wore out her welcome.

One day she took a walk to gather her thoughts. She came to a busy road in the city, and paused. She found herself studying the pattern of the traffic, and noting the frequency and kinds of vehicles that used this street. She spent some time there, seemingly an eternity.

Her observations were not the manifestation of some random curiosity. Her purpose was all too real: She was calculating the number of steps it would take to walk into the path of an oncoming truck and end her life. She knew if this was going to work, it had to work on the first try. Finally, she summoned the nerve to put her desperate studies into practice. As she began to shift her weight from one foot to another to take that first step, she happened to look across the street, where she saw a simple sign on a bus bench.

It was a sign for St. Margaret's House, a center that provides help for women in South Bend. And for reasons known only to God, she stopped mid-step. She found her way to St. Margaret's, where she found the help she needed.

While it may sound overreaching for a marketing guy to say this, it's true: a piece of advertising likely saved a life. Something so small turned out to have the greatest impact possible.

I admit that I only heard about half of the above story as it was told during a Christmas reception at work. The other half of my attention was fixed on my phone, shaking my head as I consumed update after heart-breaking update on the tragedy in Newtown, CT.

Writers far better than I struggle to describe the unprecedented jarring nature of the reality of the Sandy Hook massacre. Maybe it's the fact I'm a father of a first-grader that makes it hit so close to home. Of all the senseless mass shootings in recent memory, this one makes the least sense. For all our vices as a society, the thought of violently ending 20 young lives this way shakes us to the core. Even with the security of our schools on the national radar since at least 1999 (and in urban areas long before that), what happened at Sandy Hook seemed unthinkable. Up until December 14, it seemed unpredictable.

Which is why it is so disappointing to me that our national response has been utterly predictable. We've heard the same old arguments, set forth to cover the same ground. Many say now is finally the time to talk seriously about gun control in America. (We already have.) There are those whose national self-loathing causes them to declare that crimes in this category are on the rise, and that violent crime in general is a uniquely American problem. (They aren't, and it isn't.) Others say the time has come to round up all the guns, as if it was as easy to do as to say. Still others say that a citizenry with more guns would actually decrease the number of mass shootings, or at least the number killed in those incidences, as people would be able to defend against an indiscriminate killer in a public place. (While that certainly appears to have borne out in the recent Oregon mall shooting, the conclusive data to prove this seems to be lacking.)

 (Photo credit: SkinheadSportBiker1)

We've heard all these ideas before. Debating these positions has yet to produce the kind of collective solution for which most of us are striving. They fail because legislation will never be comprehensive enough to account for each singular individual intent on doing evil.

So where does that leave us? In a rather predictable spot, I'm afraid. But if we agree the status quo is no longer acceptable, then it is time to resolve to do something that has been, up to this point, unpredictable. Perhaps it is appropriate that this is when people vow to make changes in the new year. And in that spirit, risking crude simplicity in light of the horror of Sandy Hook, here's a suggestion for a resolution for us all in 2013:

Take care of each other.

It sounds like such a trite and naive thing to say in the wake of a tragedy like this. That is, until you start to recall some of the things that have become all too predictable about the perpetrators of these mass killings. To one degree or another, they were people who led lives cut off from society. They withdrew into themselves - or were aided into the withdrawal and subsequent loathing for all that's in this world. Their isolation fed an apparent disregard for humanity and must have contributed to their capacity for carrying out their attacks.

Too often, we see the warning signs in hindsight. "He was kinda a loner." "He mostly kept to himself." "He spent days at a time in his room."

So in addition to supporting action that may work toward our desired end through the means of the state, I propose being the means that lead to the end ourselves. Is it possible that there could have been enough inclusion, enough "Hey, come sit with us!" to have made a difference in Lanza, Cho, Harris, Klebold, and others? Could there have been enough, "No, how are you really doing?" to save Javon Belcher and the mother of his child? No one knows for certain. But at least one individual, with a better grasp on the mindset of the Adam Lanzas of the world than most of us, seems to think it's a good place to start.

As a society, we are moving deliberately away from the pursuit of real relationships, aided by a digital age that engenders and emphasizes surface-level interaction, and a culture that moves at breakneck speed in which there is often little time to figure out what is troubling people, to paraphrase Belcher's teammate Brady Quinn.

There will never be legislation that mandates genuine caring for our fellow man. We may indeed cobble together a tightly woven legal safety net around the guns and ammo we feel are at not safe for mass possession. But it is up to us to pick up where the letter of the law leaves off, and enact a deterrent to evil that is derived from the unwritten law of human compassion.

As we've seen, even the smallest acts can have a monumental impact. I'm not privy to the marketing discussions that led to the placement of that St. Margaret's House sign on that bench, on that street, at that time. But I'm willing to bet no one said, "We'll save a life if we put a sign at X and Y." Similarly, you never know what your act of kindness will touch off in a soul. By choosing the unpredictable path of consistent kindness and genuine heartfelt empathy for those who cross your path, you may find out your action began to bring someone back from the brink.

Now that's a story I want to re-tell.

You feel me?



AF

Related articles

• Shooter risk factors: rejection, bullying

Be not afraid

Zechariah & the angel (Photo credit: Lawrence OP)

We've heard the biblical Christmas story so many times that we can miss some of its nuance. Or even some of its obvious appeal.

Worse would be keeping the story to ourselves, somehow thinking that we are the rightful custodians of the narrative, that others would be incapable of grasping its gravity.

To me, an often missed theme of the Christmas story is also what gives it its global appeal: That is, the assurance that we need not be afraid. On no fewer than four different occasions, God apparently sends angels to tell characters in the story not to fear. We first are told of the angel's encounter with Zechariah, then Mary and Joseph, and finally, on that first Christmas night, the shepherds in the fields.

If we're not careful, we can read too quickly and accept the characters' fear as just an extraneous detail in the story. But that would be a mistake. The element of fear makes the Christmas narrative imminently relatable and provides the ultimate reason for the angels to characterize their news as "good." Fear would be a natural reaction, not only for coming face-to-face with a supernatural being, but also because of what that meeting often meant. It would have been perfectly expected for anyone to assume such a visit portended punishment, even death. But in fact, just the opposite was the case. Hence the angels' reassurance.

English: Holy Family, Mary, Joseph, and child Jesus (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Christmas is the ultimate declaration that we no longer need to be afraid in the presence of God. From the prestigious among us (like Zechariah) to the lowliest (like the shepherds), none have reason to fear.

But I also believe the repeated command to reject fear in the Christmas story applies to everyday life as well. To be sure, there was much to fear at the time of Jesus, just as there is today. In either time period, it could be easy to miss the presence of God in day-to-day affairs. Whether Roman persecution or the manifestation of pure evil that we saw in Newtown, CT this month - it is easy for our belief in the omnipotence of God to be shaken, and for fear to creep in.

Which makes it all the more important to observe Christmas in all its applicable facets each year. We need to be reminded that there is no reason to fear. From that old Christmas carol:

"Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: God is not dead, nor does he sleep. Wrong shall fail, and right prevail..."

Be not afraid.

You feel me?

AF

'Tis the season...

I have no actual experience in ballet. But the toework involved in raising my three girls rivals anything you'll find in The Nutcracker.

Their latest act involves a flat out rejection of child-order roles. This Christmas, what I'd expect from the oldest, I see in the youngest. And the middle child plays both parts.

Exhibit A: Aislynn and Santa Claus.
My oldest daughter has never really believed in Santa. It's nothing we've really forced one way or another; she just never seemed all that interested. Until this year.

On a recent car trip, Aislynn informed her mother that she is now among the children who believe Santa is real, as if it was some kind of conversion experience. This after several years of relegating Santa to the status of, "a fun character we like to pretend about." (Her quote, not mine.)

Even if she wanted to, Mrs. Fuller didn't need to provide the counterpoint to this sudden about-face. That was supplied by Isla, Aislynn's younger sister.

"Aislynn," Isla said bluntly, "you know he's not real. Don't be silly."

Boom.

The eldest tried to mount a vigorous defense, but Isla was having none of it. In a plot twist worthy of Crichton, the younger sister sought to convince her older sibling there was no Santa Claus. Perhaps it's because Isla's been the victim of a role reversal herself.

Exhibit B: The Blame Game.
My youngest daughter, Brynn, is age two going on ten. She's never one to be left out of what the older sisters are doing, nor is she about to take blame for something an older sibling could have done.

To wit: the mysterious broken angel Christmas tree ornament.

One day, Mrs. Fuller was in the kitchen when she heard a shattering sound from the living room. Immediately she heard Isla call, out, "Brynn!"

Then she heard the sound of little footsteps coming toward her. *Pat pat patpatpatpatpatpat.*

It was Brynn, running to inform mommy of this unfortunate turn of events. Brynn walked with her mom back to the living room, then stood over an angel ornament which now had one less wing. In a tone of voice that can only be described as most convincing piece of acting performed by a two year old, Brynn disappointedly told her mom, "Look what Isla did."

At this, Isla came unglued. Aside from the obvious injustice of being blamed for something she didn't do, Isla also instinctively knew she should be the one getting her younger sister in trouble, not the other way around.

Fortunately, the wife was able to see through Brynn's attempt at a Houdini-esque escape and justice was restored once again in the Fuller house. (Though it did serve as an opportunity for the Mrs. to remind me I minored in drama in college, thus Brynn's little performance was likely the result of my genetic contribution.)

They say there is a season for everything, and this holiday season, 'tis the season of changing roles for our girls. And yet, the roles of the Mrs. and I stay the same: detective, philosopher, judge, jury, you name it. And that's the fun of it.

But check back in about nine years. If this keeps up, the notion of "fun"...may have a new role itself.

You feel me?

AF

Nauseated by words

I've spent a good deal of my life finding just the right words. In the news world, the right words supported the moving pictures that informed and compelled. In politics, the right words had a cumulative contribution in swaying voters to vote. In PR, the right words are often tasked with building trust and changing behavior.

Words are important, to be sure. The written word and the spoken word have the capacity to capture the beauty and power of the human spirit. They can inspire, educate, empower. Words have driven revolutions, helped structure civilizations, and served to bookmark moments in history.

But to be honest, I'm a little tired of words as a means to an end.

Do not depend on the hope of results.  When you are doing the sort of work you have taken on, essentially an apostolic work, you may have to face the fact that your work will be apparently worthless and achieve no result at all, if not perhaps results opposite to what you expect.  As you get used to this idea, you start more and more to concentrate not on the results but on the value, the truth of the work itself.  And there, too, a great deal has to be gone through, as gradually as you struggle less and less for an idea, and more and more for specific people.  The range tends to narrow down, but it gets much more real.  In the end, it is the reality of personal relationships that saves everything.  

You are fed up with words, and I don’t blame you.  I am nauseated by them sometimes.  I am also, to tell you the truth, nauseated by ideals and with causes.  This sounds like heresy, but I think you will understand what I mean.  It is so easy to get engrossed with ideas and slogans and myths that in the end one is left holding the bag, empty, with no trace of meaning left in it.  And then the temptation is to yell louder than ever in order to make the meaning be there again by magic.  Going through this kind of reaction helps you to guard against this.  Your system is complaining of too much verbalizing, and it is right.

The above is an excerpt from Thomas Merton's Letter to a Young Activist. (There was a time when I read a great deal of Merton, but it's been a while. It's probably time I became re-acquainted.) It was shared during a recent meeting at work as a way of contextualizing the work of communicators. The point: as savvy, progressive, creative, eloquent our words and messages can be, they will ultimately fall flat if we don't first value their recipients.

The great writers and speakers in history had a way of connecting individually even as their work was published en masse. Like in Merton's letter, the personal messages are the ones that resonate with the widest audience. It's the irony of mass communication: compelling the multitude starts with relating to the individual.

Which is where our focus should be, initially and unwaveringly. In the economy of relationships, the supply of words far outstripped its demand long ago. Your words will always ring hollow if they're not supported by an underpinning of consistent, selfless, intentional action toward building caring relationships. It's time to move. Sacrificing your own comfort and vain happiness to provide stability and nurturing to others - that is the type of movement that is sorely lacking in so many lives. A work of love shown by action is a much greater gift to the world than an attempt at profundity shown by words.

Sincerity in deed is your most eloquent advocate. It's time to forget about finding the right words. Find the right actions instead.

You feel me?

AF

Remembering on Memorial Day

Here's a speech I wrote for my boss back in the press secretary days. Of all the duties of that job, writing speeches for the congressman was my absolute favorite.

This speech was delivered at the dedication of a memorial to a living veteran, so it may be more appropriate to post on November 11. Still, it's worth remembering the sacrifice of all veterans - those who came home, and those who didn't - on Memorial Day, Veterans Day, and year round.

As prepared for delivery, the speech of U.S. Rep. Jerry Weller at the dedication ceremony of the Kasler-Momence Veterans Park, Momence, IL, September 15, 2007.

As a Member of Congress, you are invited to attend a number of different events in a number of different places on various occasions. But it is an especially meaningful engagement when we can honor the sacrifice of our heroes in the military.

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Throughout my career I've learned that veterans usually continue their service to their country at a local level. Back in 1996, I worked with a group of local veterans who helped bring the Abraham Lincoln National Cemetery to our area. It was included in the Illinois Land Conservation Act, which authorized the redevelopment of the Joliet Arsenal. As many of you know, the Arsenal was the leading producer of TNT for U.S. Army in World War 2 through Vietnam. Now because of the hard work of local veteran volunteers, that site which was once used to make war...is now a place of peace for those who have died defending our country.

We're gathered here today in the same spirit to dedicate this park in the name of those who have bravely worn the uniform of the United States armed forces, and to honor a local hero whose courage and sacrifice is a testament to the kind of people who make up the greatest fighting force in the history of the world.

Colonel James Kasler represents the uncommon courage that is found in our military men and women. His distinguished record of service includes 76 awards for valor and service, and Colonel Kasler has the distinction of being the only person in our country's history, dead or alive, to receive the Air Force Cross three times.

His career as a decorated combat pilot began as a B-29 tail gunner over Japan in World War 2. He went on to become a jet ace in Korea, and showed remarkable bravery volunteering for bombing runs in Vietnam.

On his 91st mission, Colonel Kasler was shot down while covering for his wingman. He would go on to endure 6-and-a-half years in a Vietnamese prison camp, and would become a role model for his fellow prisoners, including Senator John McCain of Arizona.

It is this model of self-sacrifice, leadership, and bravery under excruciating circumstances that we honor with the dedication of the Kasler-Momence Veterans Park. It is fitting that we honor Colonel Kasler in this way, because I believe when we honor one veteran, we honor them all.

James Kasler is the face of the valor that all our veterans demonstrated when they put on the uniform of our armed forces. So today we also honor all those veterans who served and those future veterans who are currently serving. Hundreds of thousands of military personnel go about their task every day without complaint, often far from their families and in hostile conditions - and too many don't make it home. Their service keeps us free.

Their families make the sacrifice too. Spouses, children, parents, brothers and sisters - with their prayers, letters and packages - stand solidly behind their family members. How many of us have watched the tearful goodbye of a mother to her son or daughter in uniform at the airport, train, or bus station? This park is also for those who supported our veterans at home.

The Kasler-Momence Veterans Park will be a reminder to future generations of the sacrifice made by the men and women who keep us free, and their families. Years from now, youngsters will come to this park with their parents and grandparents and ask about the statue of James Kasler. And the adults will have a chance to share with the younger generation the true meaning of dedication, honor, and patriotism.

We dedicate this park today in thought and prayer for our military men and women who have served before us and those who serve today, and those who gave the ultimate sacrifice for their country. America is a special place made possible by our veterans and military. It is because we are the Home of the Brave that we remain the Land of the Free. Thank you.

 You feel me?