HELP HAITI

Corey, one of my 8th grade students at Golden Valley MS, was in my office a few days after the earthquake in Haiti last month. He was with a handful of his classmates, and with just a few minutes before the bell would ring for the next period I asked them which country they would want to visit if they could go anywhere in the world. I heard typical responses at first like Hawaii, Italy, Japan, etc. When it was Corey's turn, he said "Haiti". I asked him why he would want to go there, and he said he wanted to help the people affected by the earthquake.

Corey's response made a lasting impression--it resonated in my heart for days. Corey is a naturally gifted leader--elected president of the Peer Assistance Leaders group on campus, captain of the basketball team, enrolled in high-achieving GATE classes, etc. He is also a deeply spiritual young man, and is known to be found in church 2 or 3 evenings a week--and more--not because his parents say he has to--but because he has an intense longing to be there whenever possible.

Within the last couple of weeks, he has been in my office much more than usual--not because he needs counseling or is in trouble, but because he is leading an effort on campus to sell t-shirts to students and staff that say "HELP HAITI" on the front, with all profits to be donated to Compassion International. Today we dealt with the usual district garbage about following correct accounting procedures, etc. Last weekend he went to Stater Brothers with his father to see about setting up a table in front to sell the shirts (the space is reserved through March for Girl Scout cookie sales), and was in my office this afternoon with a few other PALs composing a letter to be faxed to the Stater Bros headquarters. He is also talking about starting a website thru which these shirts (black fabric with either hot pink or teal graphics--very striking!) could be sold world-wide.

Yesterday, I prayed with Corey in my office. I pray for my students all the time while driving to work in the morning; but that was the first time I remember actually praying over a student while I've been a public school counselor (ok, go ahead, fire me), and I'm thinking it will not be the last. He and 3 of his closest friends began asking me more about Compassion International. They knew I sponsored a child from Ecuador, because I have Andres' picture on my desk. Before I knew it, they were hovered around my computer scouring through children in the Dominican Republic who were in need of a sponsor. (Their first choice was a Haitian child, but Compassion has suspended child sponsorships from that country until the situation has become stabilized). They realize that for $38 a month, they could pool a portion of their lunch money and begin a "joint" sponsorship.

As I sit at my computer at home on this Friday evening, I am exhausted. Along with working as the "advisor" for this effort, I have a full plate of the usual counseling duties. But, as it always has been, the zeal of youth is contagious. I feel so incredibly blessed to have been placed in the path of such a passionate individual. True, he is looking to me for leadership. But I am looking to him for inspiration. And I am truly inspired . . . .

unexpected blessings

This past May a mom came into my office with her 12-year-old son. He was a GATE student who had just done a pretty dumb thing on campus and his mom was looking for some answers so it wouldn't happen again. I began asking some basic questions, and while we were talking Ana (the mom) looked over at some pictures of my past tennis teams sitting on a table and said "Oh, my son plays tennis". "Really", I replied, "that's great". "No, I mean, Andrew's really good--he plays tournaments." I said something like I'd love to see him play sometime, we finished our meeting, mom left campus and I gave Andrew a pass back to class.

Within a few weeks, Ana had emailed me the tournament schedule for the summer. I printed it out, checked my calendar and determined I would make a trip out to Lakewood the weekend following the close of Andrew's 7th grade year. Mom was right--the kid was good. I spotted him playing on the first court next to the bleachers, and there was mom up at the top watching intently. He dismantled his opponent easily. By that time it was about 1:00, and he was scheduled to play his next match around 3:30. So, I decided I would stick around. They had brought a couple blankets to throw onto a nearby grass area, I offered to go out and bring back some lunch so we hung out for a couple hours until his next match, which he also won.

Andrew is now 13 and is in 8th grade at Golden Valley Middle School in San Bernardino, where I am the 8th grade counselor this year. Since that weekend in June, I have spent nearly every weekend with Ana and Drew traveling to tournaments all over Southern California. She is a single parent, he is an only child. As the year has progressed, our time has expanded beyond the tennis court to include birthday parties, trips to Santa Monica pier, Big Bear Lake, and plans in the works for a Clipper game, Santana concert in Vegas and a trip out to the desert in March for the BNP Paribas Open tennis tournament at Indian Wells.

I am perhaps most excited about spending Christmas Eve at their house helping (learning as I go) to make tamales. I have decided that all blessings are good; but the unexpected kind--those are supreme . . . .

Soundtrack of Life, part IV: U2

The first time I saw U2 live was in 1983 on their "War" tour. They played the L.A. Sports arena, and the opening band was The Alarm. I went with a tennis playing friend from the University of Redlands, Rich Frederick, and until that night, we really had no idea who The Alarm was. At one point during their opening set, they were singing a song with lyrics that went "come on down and meet your maker, come on down and make the stand". At one point we looked at each other and were like "are they singing what I think they're singing?!?" Sure enough, we would later find out that The Alarm was the real deal, and would end up seeing them countless times, soaking up their songs, interviews and concerts like a sponge. As for the headlining band that night, because the "floor" of the arena had no chairs, the crowd up front was so out of control the concert had to be delayed about 30 minutes because of the pushing and shoving. It was nuts! Then, during the concert, midstream, Bono disappeared from the stage--right in the middle of a song--only to reappear in the upper deck across from where we were standing (no one sits at a U2 concert). He was then lowered--carefully--by fans back down to the lower level, and slowly made his way back to the front of the stage to finish the song.

In the decades that have followed, U2 has been the one musical constant in my life. I believe tonight at the Rose Bowl will be the 14th time I've seen them live--haven't missed a tour since that first show in '83. The last three times I have seen them have been in Las Vegas with my best friend from college, Brian Stomski. In the late '90s in a large outdoor venue for the Popmart tour (my least favorite of them all) when Rage Against the Machine opened. Then, in November of '01, they played the basketball arena on the UNLV campus. This was a couple months after 9/11, and was an intensely emotional evening. The band had changed up their show following the twin tower attacks, making the last encore song "Walk On" a memorial to those who lost their lives. Behind the band, as they were playing, a screen with the name of every victim scrolled down behind them. Pretty sure there was not a dry eye in the building. Then, four years ago, they played the arena inside the MGM (where they have all the big prize fights). I almost decided not to go--this was just a couple months after I had lost my mom to cancer. Lots of dry eyes in the crowd--but mine weren't cooperating.

Fast forward to tonight. Rose Bowl. Pasadena. My hometown. Spent the summer there clearing out the house my parents' lived in for 45 years following my father's death in January earlier this year. So, once again, U2 will be the backdrop for another chapter turn in my life, a soundtrack full of joy, full of pain, and once again, I will be joined by friends and strangers (although strangers at a U2 concert are a lot like friends) who might wonder why tears are streaming down my face. Funny thing is, I really don't care anymore. I am thankful those tear glands are in working order. Bring it on. Something very freeing, cleansing, even comforting about releasing one's emotions. I have never met Bono, The Edge, Larry and Adam (and probably never will)--but I count them as family, and always will.

Soundtrack of Life, part 3

After 15 years of Reality Rock radio programs, concerts, etc., I spent 7 years teaching 9th and 12th grade English at Cajon High School. Music continued to play a major role (although in unxpected ways) as I entered, for the first time, a public school classroom in which I was the "teacher". Forty--and sometimes more--against one--it is fair to say my students had perhaps just as much influence on me--or more--as I had on them. They schooled me in sports, fashion and, yes, music. Hip-hop was pretty much the prevalent art form at the time, and it didn't take long for my CD player to become loaded with mix CDs from some of my students. "Here, Mr. Smeby--this is dope--you'll like it!" More often than not, they were right. Tupac, Snoop, Puff Daddy, Mase, Warren G, Nas--these were just a few of the names of rappers who were rhyming about life on the streets--a life many of my students were familiar with first hand.

I began to incorporate some of these lyrics in a poetry unit. On some days, I would turn down the lights, have students get out a piece of paper and listen to a variety of instrumental selections. Their assignment: to write about (or sometimes draw) what the music made them see, feel or imagine. Listen, write, share. On more than just a few occasions, tears were shed as students would share about a song that reminded them of a loved one who had passed or a place they had to move away from. (Looking back on those times, it does not surprise me that teaching English led me into my current position as counselor--the English classroom was a great training ground in many respects.)

Now, in my 8th grade counseling office, my CD player is usually home to any number of mixed tapes, with a healthy dose of praise and worship songs. While it is true to say I work with a population of "high risk" students, it also true that a great deal of them attend church services/youth groups, and will instantly recognize many of the songs I listen to. And, of course, I play them not just so I can listen--but so they might, as well. I might not be in a position to read the Bible to my students. But through my actions and speech--as well as through my CD player--I trust that God continues to use my life for His glory--in whatever position in life (tennis coach, teacher, counselor) He chooses. As Bono sings in "Magnificent", "I have no choice but to lift You up."

Musical transformation

During our junior year, my college roommate and I decided to enroll in a radio class, which led to landing a 4-hour slot Saturday mornings from 2 am until 6 am on 89.1 KUOR. That began my career in radio. Even though we realized we had like maybe 3 listeners, we thought we were the coolest thing since sliced bread. Pretty much played anything we wanted, and what we wanted was rock and roll.

The tennis player who had led me to Jesus the year before suggested I include a Christian artist named Phil Keaggy--specifically, a song called "Time". So I did! After awhile, I got "promoted" to the coveted Friday night shift from 10 pm - 2 am, and actually, along with another classmate--Bob Ricks (who also had a late night shift on KCAL at the time)--developed quite a listenership.

The fraternities and sororities on campus started asking if we did parties (DJ music). "Sure" was our initial response, and booked our first gig for $50. We did this Friday night frat party in the pouring rain using albums from the radio station, setting up equipment on a pool table that would cause the song to skip each time someone danced up against it. From there, we graduated to all-school dances, formals out in Palm Springs, and at the height of the disco craze became quite the campus celebrities.

After graduating in 1981 I landed a job in the development office of the University and pretty much the radio shows and parties disappeared. My faith began growing in leaps and bounds, and Contemporary Christian music began to be a force to be reckoned with. I was encouraged to ask KUOR if I could have a one-hour slot to play Christian rock--they said "yes", and the Reality show was born. At first, I didn't really have much music to play, and was VERY liberal with what could pass as "Christian". Bob Dylan's Slow Train Coming, Santana, some pretty questionable songs like the Doobie Brother's "Jesus is Just Alright" would occupy those 60 minutes right alongside Phil Keaggy, Randy Stonehill, Rez Band and Paul Clark.

All the while, I was still struggling with what to do with all my secular albums. I still liked listening to them, but felt a strong pull to get rid of them. It was either dump them in the trash or sell them; I chose the later, justifying my decision by reasoning that I could use the money to purchase more Christian music, which I did. After awhile, that one hour turned into a 4 hour (9 pm-1 am) program on Monday nights, and about that time bands like Undercover, Stryper, Altar Boys and The Choir were making quite a stir in Christian bookstores across Southern California, and beyond. Berean Christian Store in Colton became Reality Rock's first radio sponsor.

Interestingly enough, right about the same time (early/mid '80s) an amazing band called U2 burst onto the music scene. The big question of the day was "is U2 a Christian band?" Regardless of how one answered that, they were a force to be reckoned with--both inside and outside the church. They influenced a slew of bands who recorded on secular labels, played in secular places but whose lyrics were full of biblical/scriptural/spiritual references--The Alarm, Simple Minds, The Waterboys, The Call, Face to Face, and many others who in turn influenced countless other bands and artists--including ones recording in the Christian "industry", which had really become just that--new record labels and bands were popping up seemingly everywhere.
Reality Rock basically jumped on a surf board and rode this wave for most of the '80s and well into the '90s. It was quite a ride, to say the least.

This post is part two of a three part series! More to come . . .

Soundtrack of Life

During my high school years in the mid 70s, aside from tennis, my passion was music. It seemed like I upgraded my stereo system every 6 months, and when I bought my first pair of Koss headphones, it was as if I was transported to a different dimension. Led Zepplin's "Houses of the Holy", The Who's "Quadrophenia" and
Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon" would constantly fill my ears and led an exhaustive list of vinyl masterpieces that are now part of the "classic rock" genre.

I will never forget my first concert. I was a junior at Blair High in Pasadena, and Kevin Cherniss asked if I wanted to see Roxy Music at the Hollywood Palladium. Looking back, I am still a bit amazed that my parents said "yes". As we walked through the lobby doors and into the concert hall, the stench of marijuana smoke was overwhelming. Pretty sure everyone in that auditorium--including the band--was high, except for me. All my friends smoked weed--I abstained due to my other addiction--tennis.

As I made the transition from high school to college, my passion for music only grew stronger. In the early 80s, I added The Who, Springsteen and Genesis to my concert experiences, to name a few. And then in the dorm room of one of my teammates at the University of Redlands, I reluctantly began studying the book of John. Glenn Cunliffe had invited me to join him and his roommate, Joaquin Gonzales--also on the tennis team--to a weekly bible study. Most people have a date--a time--an event--where they answered the call, cried out to God, and became a Christian. Not so with me. All I know is, at the beginning of the study, I was not a believer. By the end, I was fully convinced that yes, Jesus was God, He came to redeem sinners, and the hole in my life I had been aware of for quite some time could only be filled by Him. (I would actually "go forward" to countless altar calls in the years that would follow--Easter sunrise services with Greg Laurie, Keith Green concerts, Harvest Sunday evening services--if someone were counting, I probably got saved about 17 times!)

Initially, my newfound faith affected my tennis. While in high school I was a whiny, racquet throwing brat on the court. As my faith matured, my demeanor on the court followed suit. I would begin (silently) praying during changeovers. I even remember going through a period where I questioned if competition was biblical. If God is love, is it okay to want to defeat an opponent (in any sport)? I was in college, and if I wasn't tackling the Big life issues in literature class, I was opening just about any Pandora's box placed in my path. Life became one question after another, and I wasn't about to "settle" for easy answers.

Music was the last frontier for my faith to conquer, and to cover that process in this blog would be overkill. Part two to follow . . .

Race Relations

A few weekends ago I was invited down to Westminster (next to Huntington Beach) for some tennis with a player I formerly coached in high school. Afterwards he treated me to Thai food at one of his local favorites. You could sort of tell how authentic the food was by not only the cooks in the kitchen, but also the people (wall to wall on this day) savoring the delectable cuisine. Can't wait for seconds . . .

Before heading back to the IE's triple digit temps, made a detour to Newport, strolled down the pier and along the beach and was struck by the complete mix of races along the sand--happy families young and old, brown, black, yellow and white seemingly without a care in the world. A refreshing reminder of how this country can really show its true "colors" . . .not sure which was more satisfying--the wet sand beneath my feet, or this vision of racial reality which the media so often doesn't report on the evening news.

Fast forward to later that evening as I headed into the sanctuary for Sunday evening church. They say that Sunday church is the most segregated hour of the week in America, and while this might not be true in all cities at all churches, this seems to be true where I worship. I was reminded of the time one of my freshmen in English class, Chuck, had shared that his father was a pastor at a church in San Bernardino. I decided to visit one Sunday morning well over a decade ago. As I walked through the parking lot and into the sanctuary, I was greeted by smiling, joyful women in their Sunday best hats, surely wondering who this visitor was, and why had he chosen to join them on this particular day. As I took my seat in middle of the pews, I couldn't help but notice that I was the only white person in the entire church. At that moment, I realized what it must feel like for a person of color to be in a setting where they realize that they are "alone". Of course, in the comfort of a church, it was a feeling which brought not tension or apprehension at all--just an acute awareness of my "differentness". At one point the pastor, Chuck's dad, asked if there were any visitors that morning, and if so, would they please stand and introduce themselves. Sure enough, I was the only one. When I explained that I was Chuck Jr.'s English teacher, I remember soft chuckles rippling through the building--almost a collective sigh of relief to understand that no, this was not some high-ranking official of the Aryan Nation infiltrating our worship. I thoroughly enjoyed the three (!) hours we spent singing, laughing and praising God together.

In a few weeks I will return to my office as the 8th grade counselor for Golden Valley Middle School in San Bernardino. There is a very good reason why educators are given 3 months of vacation, and it is because I am about to enter into 9 months where the collision of white, latino, asian and black families, teachers and students will not always be peaceful. Yes, even with a mixed president in the White House, I am bracing for plenty of "action" during the upcoming school year.

Last year during a student gathering at my school called "Unity Forum", we showed the "I Have a Dream" speech by Martin Luther King. Afterwards, a student asked if I felt we had finally realized that dream of racial equality in America. My answer was simple: "As long as we live in this country, and as long as this country welcomes people of all cultures into its arms, we as a people will always struggle with the issues that racial diversity bring. Racial harmony is not a destination; it is a journey." Ok, I am paraphrasing my own words here, but that was basically how I answered this student's question. And it is nothing more than my own opinion; surely many might disagree.

In the aftermath of Michael Jackson's passing, I have, more than ever, come to appreciate his song "Man in the Mirror". The sentiment of that song, I believe, is crucial to landing a seat along this journey of race. Not sure about you, but I'll start with a long hard look in the mirror . . . .