being frank

I was going through old photographs when I ran into this one:

It was taken over ten years ago when my beloved and I purchased our farm. We had been looking for a place where we could enjoy beautiful surroundings with a quiet atmosphere while working towards our retirement. The day we signed the papers, we drove straight to the farm; we were that excited.

Along the way, we stopped at a local hardware store to look for garden implements we would eventually need. Right outside the store, they had these plastic Adirondack chairs. CeCe and I looked at each other; it would be an impulse buy, but the occasion called for it. Without saying a word, we went in and told the cashier that we wanted two of them. We also picked up a little bird feeder that reminded us of our ‘new’ home. We loaded everything into the car and continued on our new journey home.

When we got there, we put up the bird feeder and filled it up with a small bag of seeds we purchased. We placed the feeder in the back yard near a bird bath that came with the farm. We grabbed the chairs and placed them where you see them in the picture. We then sat down and enjoyed the sounds of silence for over two hours while we contemplated the adventures we would have in our forever home.

As I looked at the photo, I thought about that day and what it meant. It was so wonderful to know that after years of searching, we had finally found our place. A place that gave us that feeling of home, comfort and security. A place we could call our own and build a future for ourselves after retirement.

As I was relishing the connective thread between heart and home, I realized how our connection to that parcel of land was the key that opened up our lives to possibilities. And if you really think about it, those are some of the very same reasons people have pondered when they first contemplated coming to America. Many who live here today are from families of immigrants who arrived in the United States in search of a future brimming with opportunity, comfort and security; a place where they could build a future and a legacy. It was the premise established by those who founded this nation, and one upon which successive generations would build the foundation of their legacy.

They knew it wouldn’t be easy. But it was the stories of countless early settlers that demonstrated the rewards awaiting those unafraid to build a future on the principles of hard work, honesty and opportunity. These days, people often talk about the joys of home ownership, but hardly anyone talks about the land upon which those houses are built. It’s literally the land of opportunity. The vast majority of us are descendants of such familial dynasties. Yet the disagreements that have festered over this issue aren’t what concern me; it’s how easily most people have forgotten their origin story by paving it over with a thick veneer of human indifference. I would venture to guess that the families of most of the people working at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue have followed that very same path.

That last thought shifted my mind to an experience I had as a young child when out with my grandfather. Whenever we went downtown, I could be assured to receive a wondrous ice cream cone from my granddad’s favorite soda shop. As we were walking down the sidewalk towards a small park, we came upon two men having a spirited conversation. They weren’t angry, but it was clear that there was an unmistakable difference of opinion. Suddenly, one of the men pointed their finger at the other while using the cadence of his voice to accentuate the movement of his finger; each thrust accompanied by every word the man was saying. My grandfather saw that I was watching the exchange intently. He turned to me and said:

Frank, always remember that when you point your finger at someone, there are three other fingers pointing back at you. That is a sure fire way to know that the person pointing is either lying or expecting an argument.

In that instance, my grandfather opened my eyes to the world of nonverbal communication. Over the years, I’ve watched countless people engaged in conversations and began to see how the exchanges adjusted as the discussions evolved. The way people used body language; how they averted or directed their eyes, the way they used their hands to focus attention on a given point, or when they realized that their argument didn’t hold water yet they couldn’t give up their ground.

When we point our finger at someone, were generating an outward accusation. But in doing so, we reveal three other fingers pointing back at ourselves. You may see that accusatory finger-pointing as a way to deflect a logic stronger than your own. But you’re also subliminally pointing your other fingers inward in recognition of the change in the conversation’s dynamic while trying to find ways to escape the miscalculations in your own argument.

For example, take a minute to observe whenever people confront one another concerning the issue of immigration. The encounters range from discussions about who belongs where, to pretentious name-calling that when mixed with fear and unprovoked intimidation, surely lead to dangerous and often tragic consequences. One side will argue the merits of being a citizen and therefore hold some unspoken right to tell the other person (with a healthy dose of finger-pointing) that they don’t belong. With all due respect to these disconcerted people, I don’t see how anyone in this country has a right to carry that argument with the exception of native American Indians. Almost everyone who lives here today owes their relatives a great deal of thanks for the liberties they enjoy today. Those family members who years ago came to America with more dreams than money; more courage than sense. But it was their ambitions for freedom, opportunity, and the chance to give their descendants (that’s you) a better life that caused them to leave everything behind in search of a better future.

Final Thoughts

Funny how the mind works, isn’t it?

This article was sparked by that old picture that got me recalling a quiet backyard moment shared with the person I love. It then led to a memory of an argument I witnessed with my grandfather decades ago, and then surreptitiously slipped into a thought about a nation still trying to understand what We, the people was actually designed to tell us. I’ve written several times about the power of words. Unlike videos, graphics or photographs, words allow you the time and opportunity to savor every piece of the context being delivered. The weight of each word can be felt, and they often call to us – demand of us – that we read them again to take in the gravity of their meaning.

The US Constitution opens with those three words, yet most have only had a fleeting encounter with them in classrooms, courtrooms or arguments. Yet now more than ever, we need to take a closer look at that simple phrase and understand where those words belong. They need to be a preamble to everything we wish to talk about or discuss involving our nation. We need to use them daily so we remember what it is that we’re trying to defend:

We, the people.

We need them as a prologue to every question we pose; every demand and every plea we wish to convey to our representatives so they understand – they remember who gave them their voice:

We, the people.

We need to preface every argument, every point of contention with those words in order that the people listening to us – whether it be an individual across a picket line, a group, or a nation beyond our borders – that what we say comes from one voice but represented as a chorus; they’re the very heartbeat of a nation:

We, the people.

When we use words – not violence – to convey that which feeds our passion and lessens our fears, we turn an ordinary point in time into a transformative moment. It may never make the news, but it does define our lives. Every memory we have (like the ones I shared) become the moral center of our existence. They become visceral reminders of what all the discussing, arguing and protesting is looking to protect:

We, the people.

During these fractious times when the light of reason is overshadowed by the darkness of brutality, we need to focus our words to reengage our passions and clarify our social alignments. We need to pay closer attention to those details that will help us identify patterns that aim to distract and disassemble what and who we are. All of us from athletes to welders need to stop acting like children stumbling around in the dark. Never forget that the person staring at you from a mirror or through the bars of a detention center have one thing in common that was made unalterable by the countless generations that came before you; the people who wrote, believed and died for those three words. They don’t need to be shouted or even demanded; simply remembered as the essential foreword to our lives.