Sound of a Train Whistle

Late at night, in Sacramento, after a lovely Thanksgiving with all six kids and all five grandchildren, now everyone's asleep but me.

I never seem to be able to sleep easily any more when I'm not at home. :(

As the teens were settling down, an Amtrak train was making its way eastward when it passed through this capital city, rumbling down the tracks toward the Sierra and up to the Donner Pass, before winding its way back down to Reno and on across Nevada.

To me, there's nothing quite like the sound of a train to ignite my imagination or fire my memory.

One of the kids mumbled, "What is that?" They never hear real trains in San Francisco, as all we have there are commuter lines. Those whistles are different, much more like car horns.

Johnny Cash understood train sounds, as does Willie Nelson.

I used to have this fantasy. In it, I would take off from San Francisco by train and travel the country, writing my way across the land.

In that fantasy, I would step off into little towns, spend some time there, get to know the locals, before moving on.

I'm sure this is a common fantasy, especially among writers, who fancy our ability to capture the pulse of the land, and yearn to do so.

But maybe the pulse of America no longer resides in the small towns or farms. Maybe, in fact, America has lost its own pulse and no longer knows how to locate its heart.

I think these seditious thoughts, from time to time, especially when I hear a train whistling by, Who even rides those trains any longer?

I've actually been on the trains all over this country, east, west, north, south. In the end I discovered no great wisdom there, just the sound of the tracks and the view out the window of the land, vast and mostly unsettled, passing by, as I sat trapped in a metal box.

I don't recall ever writing anything great on a train, either.

Maybe romantic fantasies are just that -- fantastic exaggerations built on the fragile shoulders of emotional moments?

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CONGRATULATIONS AIDAN WEIR!

There's my 18-year-old son with his favorite coach.

Tonight, we learned that he has been named as one of the top 11 soccer players in the in the city of San Francisco. This is an incredible honor, though one he dismisses with his typical combination of modesty and naivete ("I figured I would win it, Dad. Can we not brag about it?")

My next task is to figure out whether and how to use this news to help him get into college. Unfortunately, we had just sent off his applications to all the California schools a few hours before this news came in.

He also got his first acceptance -- from the University of Montana. It's an exciting time for this high school senior.

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Laughter

This is a topic I don't often write about, but what I love about getting my kids and grandkids together is how much laughter fills my house. Most of the time it's a quiet place, just me and the cat, who never smiles, let alone laughs.

Today's menu of castle-building, snacking, joking and jumping let to lots of laughs. It was great.

Tonight, a rainy night, it's good to be home.

I've often noted how easily and frequently young people smile and laugh. Old people, by contrast, often scowl or look worried. Our bodies hurt -- that's part of the problem. When I watch young people I don't know, I envy their apparent light-heartedness.

When I'm with the ones I know, I am much more likely to smile and laugh than when alone or with other elders.

I think I have a good sense of humor; when with others, I like to joke. But I'm rarely amused when alone. Then, it seems, only worries come to visit.

Tonight I am not alone. And I am smiling.

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Sore Loser

Mitt Romney is in the news tonight blaming his loss to Obama on "gifts" Obama gave minorities. What a sad end to what seemed otherwise to be a fairly honorable campaign. I've often posted, in the context of sports, how kids learn how to lose gracefully and to win gracefully. Kids never get a microphone to complain about their losses.

But billionaires do.

America is lucky to have avoided a victory by this sore loser.

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Meaningless Scandals

The massive media blitz about the David Petraeus sex scandal reminds us all of what happened in Bill Clinton's second term. On one hand, bad things were done. On the other, is investigating every little detail of these unfortunate events really the most important thing for us to be concentrating on?

It is now my belief that our economy and jobs are what really matters -- the fiscal cliff. Instead, we appear to be poised to be moving toward a sideshow. What a tragedy.

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One Day in Time

Every now and again it strikes me that since each of us is made up of such specific stuff, which is special and unique in so many ways, why can't we just all just accept the beauty of our fellow human beings and get on with the process of living and dying, and get rid of all of the strife, the violence, and the killing of each other's dreams?

I know this sounds hopelessly naive.

But I'm having one of those days. One of those days I've always had since I was young. A bit of free time opens up, time slows down, my mind begins to wander, and I revisit thoughts that have recurred over and over throughout my lifetime.

At moments like this one, everything stands out crisp and shiny, as if sunlight beams played the role of yellow highlighters in a book you were studying for class.

Human by human. We proceed through this life knowing people. They come and go. Some are kind to us and others rip us off. Some we become intimate with; most not. But when you sit back and think about them, peoples' voices and expressions and gestures return to you, even of at times you cannot recall their names.

I should personalize all of this. Today I took my car into the mechanic's shop for a tuneup. I walked back through the Mission to my house, and then later retraced the route to pick it up.

Along the way I passed many people, men and women, young and old, mainly Latino, but also some white, black or Asian. I spoke to no one and no one spoke to me. None of us know anything whatsoever about one another.

From appearances, who are any of us to draw conclusions or issue judgements?

I know in the eyes of anyone who may have noticed me today that I am an elderly white man, who now walks slightly bent, not quite as erect as even a few years back, a little uncertain at corners, worried about traffic, and ever so slightly disoriented as to where I am.

This is largely the product of living alone for too long, without a partner, or anyone to help me navigate through life. Although I think I am still strong, self-sufficient, and competent, I also know the pressures of life are getting to me, and self-doubt has crept into my world to an extent I never knew until now.

I have become cautious in the city.

Naturally, I wonder which struggles lie behind all of those other faces as we pass one another like ships in the dark sea. Are they like me? What are the stories that none of them ever will tell?

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When Your Kids Grow Up, You have To Too

Walked with my high school senior to a nearby cafe this morning, bought him a latte, and left him with my laptop to write an essay about Obamacare.

You never can tell what types of subjects will interest your child, no matter how well you think you know him.

My son has become intrigued by policy issues, government and economics this fall, partly due to an excellent course by an excellent teacher.

Thus, there he was, on a sunny day off from school, due to it being a federal holiday, quite contented to be doing research and writing a fairly long essay.

I returned home and when he showed up a couple hours later, he asked if I would like to read what he had written.

You bet!

I'm well-informed enough about the Affordable Health Care Act to have a few opinions. What surprised me about his essay, researched and written so quickly, was how he seemed to have captured all of the essentials of this exceedingly complex and controversial piece of legislation so succinctly and accurately.

He also gave a nod to the main Republican criticisms of the Act, noting their logic and essential simplicity, as opposed to the complexity of the system now in place.

Frankly, as a journalist, what he did and how quickly he did it, at his young age, stunned me. I didn't see this side of him coming -- a young man able to intellectually digest and analyze complex information about a public policy question so impressively.

Maybe he is ready for college!

Parents often underestimate their kids during transition moments. Lately, I've wondered how ready he is for the next stage of life he is about to enter.

Today, I realized my doubts are probably more about my ability to let him go, than his to move on.

As a long-time college professor myself, the paper he wrote today in my class wouldn't only be an A in high school, but an A in college as well.

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