Transition

This appears to be a good time, a special time, in the history of our country and our culture. In three days, Americans can elect a President who (I hope) has the personal and political skill to unite those of us who are willing to be united. Having said that, I have to honor the dissident voices, and their only realistic choice on the ballot: John McCain.

McCain is a true American hero. When you think about the sacrifices he has made, on our collective behalf, you have no choice but to honor him for his service.

But distinguishing yourself in uniform does not mean you belong in the White House, at least not since Ike. Let's be truthful with ourselves. Our country has not fought any war since World War Two that was clearly justified.

Every major war since -- Korea, Vietnam, Iraq -- has been a highly questionable incursion into Third World countries where the argument for our commitment of forces is vulnerable to the charge that we have been more interested in securing resources than in defending freedom.

It's time for smarter leadership.

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Happy Halloween, My Grandsons

I decided to skip this particular holiday, mainly because I am exhausted from a challenging week at work. But I do have some photos of my two little grandsons, up in Portland, to share.



The littlest among us are our future. They will move into the world we leave them, both in trivial ways (like dressing up and collecting candy) and in profound ways.



Like most grandparents, my love for my (so far) two grandsons is unconditional. If I live long enough, I hope and expect that they will challenge my assumptions, and help educate me as to how they view the world.

I know this much. With such a short time left, compared to what they deserve to expect, I will listen to James and Luca, once they develop political opinions, with a special attentiveness.

Every time we vote, as is our right, we more or less vote what we believe to be our self interest. But, as an old man, I also hope to cast my remaining votes on behalf of my grandchildren.

(My children will vote according to their own views.)

Each generation has an obligation to the future. At my age, I no longer much care about my own needs. I'll be fine. More importantly, I will be long gone before the consequences of my votes are felt. The people I cast votes on behalf of do not yet have a voice. They are in these photos, many years away from when they first enter a voting booth.

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How Many Republicans Will Obama Pick For His Cabinet?

One thing that web surfers discover, when they first land at Predictify, is that there are opportunities to get engaged with the news in ways that traditional media simply cannot provide.

Take one of today's top news stories playing on our site, which asks how many Republicans Barack Obama will appoint to his cabinet, should he win the Presidency next Tuesday. Users from all over the web have been flocking to questions like these lately.

While the mainstream media remain focused on the "horse race," i.e., who is going to win the election, many Americans (as well as people overseas) are much more interested in considering the consequences of an Obama victory, which many now assume is inevitable.

Will he choose to govern from a place of partisan advantage? This is one option for Obama, as Democrats seem poised, if you believe the polls, to score big gains in the House and the Senate.

But perhaps the most fascinating aspect of this particular candidate is that he seems utterly disinterested in playing hardball partisan politics of the style we've become (so sadly) familiar with in Washington, D.C. This may be pure speculation on my part, but my gut sense of this man is that he wouldn't be pleased if Democrats won a Super Majority in the Senate, i.e., 60 seats.

Why? Because the only advantage accorded his party by a Super Majority would be stick it to the GOP the way Dem's feel they've been treated during many years of Republican dominance. They would finally have the power to stifle the GOP's right to filibuster when they feel so strongly about an issue that they choose to keep talking about it 24/7, hoping the majority party pulls back from over-riding their concerns.

The hardcore liberals hoping for this scenario actually are nervous, because they realize that Obama, who, while willing to attack the failed policies of the Bush Administration, is not running an ideological campaign for the White House. He does not attack conversatives; rather he honors all belief systems.

The truth is he is running as an agent of change -- a person who understands how sick we all are, regardless of our political persuasion -- of the pointless bickering between the right and the left when what we need at this point in our history is a unified approach to deal with global issues that we as a species, not just Americans, have never before realized to matter as much as science now documents they do.

Luckily, Predictify's user base understands this, on some collectively conscious level, as do millions of people searching the web for answers to questions like the one this blog is devoted to.

Most news sites are devoted to today and yesterday. Not Predictify: We are focused on tomorrow. To quote Fleetwood Mac, "Don't Stop Thinkin' About Tomorrow!"

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One Day in One Family's Life

Yesterday was one of the six special days in my family's year -- one of my kid's birthdays. But it was also the last 1.5 mile race before the championships for the city's private school kids this fall, and I had two entries.

The first was my 12-year-old "non-athlete" (his words). In fact, Dylan has always been able to fly when it comes to running. He seemed pretty loose pre-race, smiling and joking with his cohorts.

The other was the kid every coach tells me is a natural athlete, 14-year-old Aidan. He doesn't only fly; he is so fast none of my camera settings could catch what I witnessed yesterday. He's a competitor, and thus was nervous before the race.



As start-time approached, all the runners stretched.



The venue was KDBS, an elite private girls' school out near Land's End. My older daughters, Laila and Sarah Daisy, went there for several years in the '80s, so returning there triggered a ton of memories.

The little girls still wear the traditional green plaid uniforms my girls wore. The older girls wear a more informal blue and white uniform, unchanged for decades.



We'd gotten there very early, so before the race began I took a walk around the route the runners would be taking. Suddenly, I was face to face with a powerful memory, one that requires elaboration.

My Dad's favorite things in life, I think, were golfing and fishing. This is a shot of the fairway next to San Francisco Bay on the public golf course just above KDBS. When I took him there, during one of his visits to San Francisco, one of us (probably me) hit a ball that disappeared over the trees.

As we went to contemplate where it might have landed, we encountered a steep cliff down to the Pacific, churning far below.

This is Land's End.

My Dad probably told that story 1,000 times to his friends. I'd forgotten all about it until finding myself once again there yesterday.



Back at the school, I spotted a little street sign for the driveway onto the KDBS campus: "David Fleishhacker Way," honoring the Headmaster who was there when my girls attended. Another wave of nostalgia engulfed me. David was not only a great leader of this school, he was, like me and the girls' Mom, a former Peace Corps Volunteer in Afghanistan.

My first son Peter was a terrific runner. When he was a very little boy, maybe 3 or 4, long before he became the fastest 100-yard-dash kid in Marin County's middle schools, I found him building what looked like an airplane out of Legos one day in our flat on Ashbury Street.

"What's that?" I asked.

"A Fleishhacker," he replied.



All of a sudden, my memories had to give way to the present. The runners had to climb these steps three times and circle the school along the golf course and through city streets two times before re-entering the school grounds to reach the finish line.



My 14-year-old started off in the top 5 and my 12-year-old was in the top 20.



I awaited their arrival, as they were far out of sight, somewhere way out on that course.



Suddenly, two boys roared around the final turn and into sight. My 14-year-old Aidan racing with his friend, Jose, toward the finish line. No one else was near. He came across the ribbon as #2, a terrific performance. But, then, my little "non-athlete" showed up, finished strong as #18. All 17 runners ahead of him, like his big brother, were older, bigger, and by his definition, more "athletic."

I wasn't sure which one to be prouder of, so I decided just to be equally proud of both of them. I only wish my Dad could have witnessed this race.



After all of this (not to mention an intense workday before and then after all of this family activity), the day's main event took over. My youngest daughter Julia's tenth birthday! When I called her in the morning she said she definitely felt "older and bigger" when she woke up than she had felt the night before. (By today, these feelings had worn off. She said she didn't really feel any difference being ten.)

She chose the venue for her dinner party with her brothers and Mom and me: Chevy's downtown. We had a very nice dinner.



As I left the restaurant to retrieve my car and drive all them home to Bernal Heights, the downtown night spoke to me. It said something hard to discern, but what sounded like: "Memories matter, David. Family matters. Place matters. Keep telling strories like this one until you die."

So, maybe I will.

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Long Live McCain-Palin

What I appreciate more than anything else in a politician is a sense of humor. If you haven't seen their performances this past week, John McCain and Sarah Palin have delivered A+ acts. Consider the following:





Who can object to people like these?

I support them both! Because, anyone who can laugh at herself is admirable. But, of course, that doesn't mean they'll secure my vote....

Because there is the small matter of policy.

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Birds and Me

I have always loved birds. As a child, I kept track of the various species that migrated through my native Michigan. Robins, Orioles, Cardinals, Bluebirds, Sparrows, Red-Winged Blackbirds, Canadian Geese, and on and on.

It's no different out here in California. Yesterday I was trying to catch a tender little hummingbird hovering in and around my fruit trees, but all I came up with was a blurry abstract version of the habitat, not the hummingbird.



Today, far overhead, I spied a red-tailed hawk.

This is the essence of a lonely hunter. Sort of like a journalist, whose friends and family reject him for doing what he needs to do. On the other hand, much like a killer, hovering dangerously overhead; that is, if you are a mouse.

"The truth shall set you free." Maybe, but the truth-teller has to be killed. That is the ancient wisdom from Plato. I understand my relatives' and old friends' loathing for a message that offends their sensibilities. Perhaps because I am still as one with them, my words scar more deeply than those of an unknown writer.

But I am who I am. A loving family member, but also a black sheep. Always have been; always will be.

Go Wings!

At least there is something we might agree upon.

But, alas, it is time for me to move on. I'm like a hawk, seeking new prey upon which to inflict my unwelcome attention.

Or, more kindly, a "free bird."

Goodbye, sweet past. I shall never be returning to you. I'm gone, carried by winds and tides to places where you would never venture.

Still, I hope to find a good Scottish meat pie sometime soon. And I still root for the Wolverines, Tigers, Lions (ugh), Pistons, and Wings, whether my version of loyalty is appreciated or not.

Sunday at Dad's

This place bustles with energy when my three young children and I get a good long stretch to experiment with all the activities any of us can imagine.



Today, while my oldest son (27) slept, I was having breakfast in the Castro with my Japanese companion. Afterward, went to Japantown, where she purchased a lovely bonsai tree for a friend who recently got married.



Back at my house, with the kids, the windows and doors are once again open, the heat continues, but today a hint of breeze conveys the idea that Fall indeed looms.



I'm quite sad that my lovely housemate has decided to move out. She is restless, and wants to travel overseas again. A new couple is poised to move in.



If this post seems to be going all over the place, there's a reason, which I'll get to presently.



I miss Michigan, my home state. Lately, whether by design, accident, or pure bad luck, several of my more pro-Obama posts have been circulated to a large list of Midwesterners, many of whom clearly feel quite differently about the candidates and the issues than those of us on the coasts do.

The amount of hate mail this has flooded me with is truly stunning.

Of course, none of these people, whoever they are (and I recognize almost none of their names) know me at all. They have never taken the time to read my ten-part series, "The Three E's in This Election," which cumulatively amounts to a 7,500 word essay about the serious economic, energy and environmental issues confronting our next President.

But some of the names I easily recognize, because they are my family members. I love them without qualification, but their comments cut me deeply, leaving me feeling utterly disenfranchised from my roots.

What is it about my voice that has so offended all of these good Americans.

If you do not know that I am a deeply conservative person, with deep family values, and an unending commitment to my society to help it become better, fairer, kinder, and more inclusive, than you truly do not know who I am.

If you do not know that I am a free-market entrepreneur, a defender of small business, and an opponent of Big Government and Big Business, than you have not been paying attention.

Finally, if you don't know that for me, family always comes first, and that I miss my dead parents with an unending pain, you have zero idea who I am. I love Michigan. I love America. I devoted my youth to my country's service as honestly and with as many serious health consequences as any military veteran.

The pain these messages have caused me is ineffable. I am like a voice screaming silently in an empty wilderness of neglect, my words not falling on receptive ears at all, but only inciting some of the cruelest and crudest language I have ever witnessed (even in a newsroom.)

God forbid any of my posts ever again reach these people. I cannot help fearing what they would do to our country if they ever again gained control of the federal government. On the other hand, I guess we all know what would happen, because we have just lived through the worst eight years in our lifetimes.

Do you like living in a country fighting a worthless and unjustified war? Do you like seeing your life savings disappear? Are you happy that climate change threatens your children and grandchildren's very survival?

If so, you truly do not know who David Weir is. But I love you just the same.

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Playoff Saturday

My guy was excited to get to Silver Terrace for the 1 pm contest.



But it was hot, really hot!



Didn't seem to bother the kids.



But we adults mainly clustered in the one slender strip of shade along the western edge of the pitch.



The boys stuck in and played tough defense and offense all game.



It was very close to the final minutes, when our guys got an insurance goal.



The final was 4-2, and kids and adults alike put up a throaty cheer.



The coach moved his after-game talk, wisely, to the shade.

It's hot day after day in San Francisco, even though this time of year usually brings cooler weather, some fog, and even rain.

None of that for us yet. No complaints.

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