Thursday, May 2

Brought Back By Another Big Birthday

By Christian

The last day, the very last precious moments of my twenties, rolled along with a single thought reverberating in my head: what has been the greatest thing I’ve learned from the past decade?  Part of this focus is a desire to, in someway, close one chapter of my life, while part of that focus has to do with the game of “thirty things you’d do in the first thirty days of being thirty” we played at the bar the previous night, which led me to think, even further, that there must be something learned, there must be some great revelation from the last ten years of life that I can take to the next ten years.  So, in the beautiful clarity of the first day of May, the first true day of spring this year, with cloudless blue skies, mild temperatures on the rise, and tulips at their brightest yellows and pinks yet, finding the nugget of truth, the one sentence I could encapsulate ten year’s worth of experience into, seemed easy.

Thinking.  Thinking. Thinking.

Louis_D_Says_GoodbyeQuickly, the morning passed.    As I walked to work, listening to the new Fall Out Boy album, strumming an air guitar not too aggressively to illicit morning glares, the nugget wasn’t coming as easily as I thought it would.  Maybe the nugget had something to do with the night before.  After hearing that the play, Shipwrecked: The Amazing Adventures of Louis De Rougmont (as told my himself), New Haven Theater Company was currently producing and in which I got to play the title role, the most substantial and exciting role I have had to date, would no longer be produced because of a bureaucratic technicality , I was numbly devastated.  Two months of labor, the most dedicated, thoughtful, consistent love I had shown for just about any endeavor, all for not.  At least, all for not in the immediate.  This tremendous let down had me bellowing to my best friend, Ma,“If life is constantly full of failures, finding the silver linings, and small victories, I don’t want any part of it.”  Soon after, I gave the sheetrock a few solid jabs.

Did I really mean that?  Apparently I wasn’t emotionally numb at all, which is why I decided that this couldn’t be the nugget—it came from an emotional place of immediate frustration.  Once, in my early twenties, I would have believed it, and thus gone a few rounds with the sheetrock (which always win), but now I know better.

As the workday progressed, so did my thoughts on where the nugget of truth lay hidden.

“Damn, Christian, you old.  And you don’t have a woman yet!?”

“At least you don’t look too old.  We got to find you a girl for tomorrow!”

“When are you getting married?”

934967_10151449456481843_2005949760_n My students always do have a way of, um, tactfully speaking truth; maybe the decade’s truth was hidden in love.  As I listened to their words, and to the arguments over the subtexts of texts, and their subsequent relentless questions, fill the air of my office, I thought back to my own love life as I entered my twenties.  While texting wasn’t pervasive (still blows me away how far technology, and our ease and accessibility with it, has come in the last ten years… wait, is that the… never mind), I was brought back to my own ridiculous arguments and miscommunications over words never said.  I celebrated the not so momentous “turning twenty” birthday in my New Hampshire hometown.  I should have been in college, but I had decided to participate in the whole time off from school to get my head right on why I’m continuing an education sabbatical.  This was true, I was no longer sure why going to school matter.  Soon after I got home and realized the real world outside of the comfort of school is fucking hard, I knew why I needed school.  But, part of my motivation to move back home was her.  We had been in a long distance relationship, and I didn’t want that any longer.  After all, we were going to get married.  I never said that out loud, but it seemed implied.  And, just as soon as I moved home, and formed that incredibly solid relationship, I started to wonder, “what else is out there,” which of course was never spoken out loud either.  We didn’t get married.  A few year’s later, a met another her, this her I was sure was the woman I was going to marry.  Again, those words never openly shared. We “dated” for six and a half years, and the whole time, while forging what was the strongest relationship I knew beyond the relationship I have with Ma, I always pondered, “Is there better out there?”  We did not get married.

Now, being in the dating scene for the first time as an almost thirty-year-old man, I can say that all that wondering has brought me to the sometimes not so wonderful land of the dating world.  Had I learned, was the nugget of truth that the grass may be greener on other lawns, but its important to truly embrace the lawn I stand on?  Had I learned that full commitment involves patience, trust, honesty, and growth together, and above all, communication of intentions?  Yes, I understand all of this now.  But, I think I always did.  I just didn’t put it into practice.  And yet, there is also a stubbornly optimistic notion from my twenties that lingers, that keeps the belief alive that, with love, really with everything in life, the best is yet to come.   I have faith that some of the best comes in the 3-0.

The last day of being twenty-nine, and still no nugget of truth to take with me into tomorrow.  So, as the sun began to set, I did what I often do in times of confusion and frustration—ran.  As I trotted through the first five miles of my run, thoughts changed with every step, until I got to…

“Maybe the nugget is the words of wisdom I keep in my wallet, all those years ago from Counselor Kenny.  Maybe I’ve truly understood that ‘the only journey is the journey within.’”  I began thinking about how in the past decade that while all of the events of love, loss, success, failure, in the nine different addresses I’ve called home, the greatest journey has been when I’ve taken the deep breaths, the deep spaces, stopped to write and reflect, and taken the journey inward.  My clarifying concentration was soon broken by a man, close to my age (he seemed to be in his thirties, which, to say now we are the same age is still going to take some getting used to),  turned onto Whitney Avenue a block ahead of me.  I knew that royal blue shirt with the yellow accent stripes.  It was a Boston Marathon shirt.  Without a thought, my legs began to pump harder, my breaths shortened up. I began to make up ground and keep pace with the man.  He was a formidable challenge.  I thought, being the young, I mean younger-looking man, I would catch him within a quarter mile.  But that quarter mile turned into a mile.  By a mile and a half, at the start of a steady incline, the competitive edge kicked into fifth gear.  Soon, he was nowhere in sight.  And as the sun set, and I walked into the light panting with pride, the last rays of lighted highlighted the fact that, at least for today, the greatest journey was taken out doors, because a man turned onto Whitney Avenue ahead of me.

So, with mere minutes until I turn thirty, I do not have my nugget of truth.  I know some things have changed, love has come and gone, failure has been more frequent than success, and yet, I’m still rocking out to rebellious rock anthems.  What I do know is that I am nowhere near the twenty-year-old kid from Kingston, New Hampshire.  I am something greater, and will continue to be something greater.

Wait, was that the nugget!?

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Monday, December 24

The Most Silent of Nights During the Christmas Season

By Christian

Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays!  As with the past few years, I’ve written a poem to make sense of this season.  The last few years, the lines have been a way to make sense of rather selfish ends- not being able to afford the right amount of presents, trying to find the Christmas spirit as an adult when it once was so easy to find as a kid, overcoming adversity during the holly jolliest of times… petty things, really.  And, by the end of each poem, I’ve been reminded of just how special this time of year is.  Even if it’s only for one day, maybe for one week, amidst the long lines at malls and road rage on the streets, I am reminded of the best of humanity.

But, this year, the challenge for holiday cheer is much greater.  Whether it’s my own age (getting close to thirty), or what seems to be a greater amount of societal tragedy (or at least awareness of it), this year, this season feels like a turning point.  At least, I hope it is.  Hope. (Oh, and if you listen to all the links, you get a pretty sweet playlist of Christmas songs)!

Silent Night…

I don’t hear your celebratory words.
All quiet along highway ninety-five,
Only the echo of shots heard.
Seasons past I’ve strummed Lennon’s chords—
A yearly reminder of our spirit,
“War is over, if you want it,”
But now I wonder is that merely a lyric?
Wham, it hits,
like the winter’s bitter wind to the chest,
I previously penned finding hope by the end,
“You’ll never fool me again,” a lie, I confess.
O, little town of Bethlehem
You’ve been replaced by bedlam
In Aurora, Happy Valley, Newtown and beyond
Our world’s a lion without the lamb.
My question aren’t of our carols
But of our care—
Occupied with one birth in a manger once a year,
Or do we truly want every child’s star to glare?
No longer just the weather outside that’s frightful,
But the TV like fire when you get too close.
Once warmed up to claymation Santas for comfort,
Now pundits and politicians are the cartoons we see most.
This is a black and blue Christmas
Even the sweetest crooning ain’t disguisin,’
The red and greens bulbs don’t illuminate enough,
Even letting it snow ain’t purifyin’.
So, this December twenty-fifth,
I’m searching the sky for more than a guiding north star,
I’m searching for a sign that we’ll rise not fall
That these are the darkest nights, the morns are not too far.
So, this season
I mourn more than celebrate birth.
Yes, this season
No gifts to ease pain, no frankincense and myrrh.
In the words of Mama Mariah
All I want for Christmas is you,
Christmas,
Your innocence
Your spirit
Your hope
Your humanity—
For the rest of our days to come.

…That’s the song I’m waiting to hear tonight.

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Saturday, December 15

The words spoken after a tragedy

By Christian

OurheartswithNewtown“How do we go back to work on Monday, put smiles on our faces, and tell children everything is going to be alright?”

Over the last twenty-four hours, I have seen this message, or some version of it, scattered across the news, Facebook statuses, and tweets.  Along with it have been images of parents crying, video of children wide-eyed, and blurry photos of a killer, now dead himself after killing his mother, twenty elementary school students, and six staff members at Sandy Hook Elementary school in Newtown, Connecticut.  I myself was in a school that day, a high school in Downtown New Haven, when I heard the news.  I understood that something was different about this day by an e-mail from a friend.  “Hold your loved ones tight tonight,” he wrote as his closing message.  A strange message to end an e-mail with, although a sentiment that should be spoken more often between friends, and not just reserved for tragedy.  Within seconds, I say the images, and I read the news with shock.

The worst horror of it all, however, has been the reaction of friends, acquaintances and the national media.  And, my own reaction.  As I sat at a table with three of my students, taking pause during our game of crazy eights to share with them the devastation, we took a moment of silence, a moment of personal confusion.  For one student, Malcolm, it shook him more than the others.  “How could someone… to little kids… damn, man,” he muttered.  He was a bit off for the rest of our hour together.  I felt similarly, although I did my best to hide it and keep upbeat.  I couldn’t conceive how anyone, of any age, from any family, in any country, in this world, regardless of mental functionality, could deliberately kill children. First graders.  I remembered back to when I was a student, a sophomore at Sanborn Regional High School, when Columbine happened and subsequently started a generation of school shootings.  Then, and even now, there seemed to be some rationality behind Columbine—Student is pissed about the way he/she is treated in school, finds no other way to deal with this other than taking lives of the people he/she sees every day.  That sounds ridiculous to even write, but as much as it was heinous, there was the tiniest bit of the tragedy that sort of made sense.  Let me be clear, Columbine, Newtown, and all the instances in-between, are senseless acts of violence.  I can’t, however, make any sense of this newest school shooting.  And, I cannot quite make sense of how I feel.  Back in 1999, I remember feeling sad for a community that was thousands of miles away, feeling scared even of the world around me and how it had changed.  Now, today, December 14, 2012, I am left more in confusion than ever, because in some ways, I feel nothing.  This sort of thing, these school shootings, the exponential growth of how heinous these crimes become, has become commonplace.  I am horrified, yet I am not surprised.

So, how do we go back to work Monday?

I could rant on for pages about the what/why/how we need reform in the mental health care industry and how we need gun control reform.  That would, however, politicize what I want to be the most heartfelt message of hope.  However, regardless of your political/personal beliefs, please understand this—the argument over mental health issues and gun control issues continues to move to a space in which we deem any instances of mass civilian gun violence coupled with mental illness “isolated instances.”   In the last two years, we have seen major acts of this kind of violence, homegrown mind you, in Tucson, Aurora, Happy Valley, Newtown, and beyond.  These towns are scattered across great country.  They are not isolated to one city, town, region—this is a national problem.  And we cannot continue to create a civilized society in which there is such a great ease in securing firearms all in the name of a three hundred year old document and the opportunity to hunt.  We are living by doctrines and practices that were created to protect us during a different time, an era in which our country was in its infancy, invaders were imminent, and we still, as a majority, hunted for much of our own food.  Our country has matured over three hundred years, and as such, our laws and perceptions of what is practical for a civil society need to mature.  We are better than this.

Okay, I spent a bit more time on that last part than I anticipated.  But, it does bring me to my core argument—we are better than this.  Over these last twenty-four hours, I have seen such widespread vitriol for the killer and his wrongly accused brother, political pandering, and an all to invasive “news” media.  What has it done for us?  In many ways, it keeps us fearful yet comfort, and superficially engaged.  Yet, there is hope.  There is always hope.

Through much of Friday, until 3:00pm, I saw what makes us so great.  I saw twenty students I work with cross lines of unfamiliarity and hardship, between each other and within their own lives, come together to present the work they will undertake in the new year to transform our school so that it is not merely a school, but a place by the students, for the community.  I heard young men and women who often silence themselves step into the spotlight and captivate their audience—an audience of over thirty faculty and staff members.  I saw the excitement of students and staff alike, and a community coming together to reach such great new heights.  And, I got to feel the gratitude, and unspoken promise, of genuine high-fives.   Yes, December 14, 2012 will forever be yet another date in our nation’s history filled with terror and evil, but, just thirty miles away from Newtown, in New Haven, I was reminded of just how great our society can be.  It is great when we come together, face-to-face, not lead by politicians or news pundits, to work with our similarities and through our differences, shaking eachother’s hands in solidarity, and putting those hands to work.

So how do we go back to school, back to work, on Monday, and tell everyone it’s going to be alright?  Simple—We tell them that we, I, Christian Shaboo, am going to work to make this world a better place.  And, I need your help.  Now, let’s do it. 

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Tuesday, November 27

The day Superman met Kryptonite

By Christian

“Umm, so I have to tell you something.   Everything is okay, or it will be, but I talked to the doctor today.  I have breast cancer.  They found two lumps.  They don’t think it has spread to my lymph nods, but it is still too early to tell.  I’m going to have surgery next Wednesday.  They will run some tests, I’ll have radiation, maybe chemo… but I don’t want you to worry.”

“Umm.  Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah…”

Silence.

“This is the hardest call I’ve ever had to make.”

This was the day Superman met his kryptonite.

In this case, Superman was Mom, and the kryptonite was cancer.  It was a Monday.  I don’t remember the first time I realized Superman was in many ways more man than he was super.  And although I was not able to fully articulate it as a kid, I remember realizing that there was a stronger force than Superman—nature. That was the moment when I realized, when we all realize, that superheroes are not super because of their powers.

Publicly, I admit that superheroes do not exist. But, since I was a young boy turning the pages of Iron Man and beyond, I have continued to maintain the belief that there is a human capacity to be superhero-like.  It’s because of her, Mom.  She always makes the morally, ethically, albeit maybe not always the most practical, decision, even if it is not in her best interest.  She would not only tolerate, but often love, Dad even when he was being unreasonable, unfair, and downright douchy.   She would stick up for other peoples’ kids, even opponent’s in sports, if someone was being unfairly treated or fouled.  She instills humanity and humility with the simplest gestures of charity.  She has the speed of the Flash, always able to get whether she needs to go… fifteen minutes early at that.  She has the strength and energy of Thor, once able to summon the energy needed to hold down three jobs yet still make every track meet, play, and awards ceremony.   And, she has the intuition of Jean Grey, always knowing what was on my mind, and always knowing the best and most subtle way to deal with the deepest of worries.   And, much like Wolverine, she always seemed to heal quickly, never having a cold or flu for more than a day.  Never ailing.  Until now.

But, is she no longer a superhero?

I’d like to say that there is a silver lining, an optimistic side (yet another heroic like principle instilled thanks to her) to this kryptonite, this cancer.  After all, Superman almost always found a way to outsmart whatever villain tried to utilize his weakness.  And, this is certainly an opportunity for Mom to demonstrate even greater superhero-like qualities, being able to overcome and beat the next great threat.  But the reality is, well, this is reality.  We are human.  We are frail.  We are scared.  And, this situation sucks.  We both knew that, as the phone convo continued.

“It would be great to have you there but if you can not be I totally understand.  I know you’ve got…”

“Do you want me there?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Okay.  You know, you sound pretty calm about all this.”

“I’m scared, but I’m optimistic.  I’ve got you and Bud, Why be anything else?”

Although I made it a priority to make numerous boob jokes to make both of us laugh, more so for my own sanity, the uncertainty of what lies ahead is scary.  The long-term implications, which clearly we did not discuss, are overwhelming.  Yet, she remained optimistic.  Perhaps the defining quality of a superhero is not that they stand alone in their great talent and power, but rather, their greatest moments are when they confront their humanness and frailty, knowing they beat the greatest threats with the support, care, and power of others.

I’m confident that far past Wednesday, you will be a superhero, Mom.

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Friday, November 16

…This Time I’ll Thrive

By Christian

Last year, I fulfilled a simple dream.  Although It took a soul-shaking break-up, and the subsequent desire to accomplish things to feel meaningful again, I finally ran the Men’s Health Urbanatholon and survived the grueling ten-mile, twelve obstacle race.

Fast forward one year later, October 2012.  After a full year of intense interval training and hour-long gym sessions, although I will admit that the training slipped off a bit in the last month, I was ready to not only survive this year’s race, but thrive in it.  The goals?

  • Rank in the top twenty-five runners.
  • Improve my time by being ten minutes faster. 

Spoiler alert.  I did not meet these two goals.  Yet, in the midst of day-of missteps and lack of complete preparation, I still thrived.  How?

6:30 am: Awake.  Having slept on James and LeAnn’s couch, I woke up stiff and fatigued.  I should’ve slept on the floor.

6:45 am: Without enough time planned for the “required” amount of  stretching, I warm-up by running to the rental car two blocks away.  Just a few days ago, I decided to rent a car so that I would be free to move about Jersey City , Manhattan, and Queens in route to the race.  After all, flexibility is key for any race.  Having a car meant I had more time to sleep, less travel time, and more time to prepare in the moments before the race would being.  I’ll get there 7:15, Get my packet, stretch, use the portapotty, stretch again, banter a bit with other racers, use the portapotty one more time, and away I’d go to glory.

7:30 am: Traffic as at a complete, I repeat COMPLETE, stop on the Williamsburg Bridge.  Signs up ahead say “Road work ahead.  Right two lanes closed.”  I’m not even in Queens yet and the race starts in thirty minutes!  As I’m thrashing around in the rental car, exhibiting the highest levels of self-induced road rage (isn’t most road rage self-induced) I stop my clinched white hands from ripping of the steering wheel.   Thanks Mom for the pep talk.  Sorry I was such an ass.

“Honey don’t worry, you’ll get there.  I have faith.  Good luck.”

She right.  It’s alright.  I just won’t get to stretch as much.

7:49 am: I missed the exit!  How could I miss the F$%#@! exit for Citi Field!?  That’s it.   It’s over. The race starts in 10 minutes.  I’m not going to get there in time.

7:55 am:

“Here’s your packet.”

“Thanks… um, wait, do you have any safety pins?”

“No.  Sorry.  Next.”

“What?”

“Sorry.”

“How will I finish properly?”

“Sorry.”

“Alright.  Do you have some place to put my wallet and stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“…Where?”

“There.”

“Great.”

“But you need a big to put it in.”

“Do you have any bags.”

“Nope.  Sorry.  Next.”

No pins.  No stretching.  Finishing?  As I stood at the starting line, there was only one thing I could contemplate.

Where are the portapotties?

I stepped away from the first wave, the silver wave, the best of the best runners’ wave that I had qualified for last year, not knowing if I would even compete this year.   What’s the point?  I’m not stretched, I’m not composed, I haven’t gotten comfortable with the crowd, and I’m tight with sharp bladder pains.

8:05 am:  I’m relieved!  Runners are still warming up; the race hasn’t started yet.   As I sprinted across the distance, I can hear the megaphone preach:“Racers, we are going to start the race in two minutes.  The NYPD is doing they best they can clearing the roads for your safety.”

As I give a few nods to anxious runners, I’m frantically fixing  my bib number to the front of my well-decorated shirt (thanks students at HSC) with one lonely pin found on the asphalt by my nervous feet.

“Do you want help with that?”

“No… yeah, actually.”

“Here, let’s pin it in the middle, like so.”

“Thanks, and you’re—“

“You can have one of my pins too!”

“Wow.  Thanks.  I’m Christian.”

“Annie.  Is this your first race?”

“Nah, I ran it last year in that awful storm.”

“Me too!”

“You must have run fast last year?”

“No way!  I barely finished.  But I applied super early to this year’s race and I think they just mistakenly put me in the silver wave.”

Huh.  The silver wave wasn’t completely filled with the elite.  Rather, some folks were the early ones, the prepared ones.  Suddenly, I see an intimate link between being early and achieving elite status.

Yet, I was fortunate.  My lateness was not punished.  Rather, in a way, it was rewarded.  I made the race.  Even better, I didn’t have enough time to overthink it, to pysch myself out as I often do.  All I could do was respond to the here and now; to adjust to the situation and just go.  As the starting gun sounded, I ran without all of the goals in mind, all of the measures of success I had set.  I ran to run…

It just so happens that I cut over four minutes off last year’s time and finished 47 overall.  Even better, only eight minutes separate myself and the first place finisher.  If last year was just about finishing, this year’s Urbanathalon was about competing, next year’s race will be about winning.  But, success won’t be left up to timing.  And while preparation will be important, training faster and stronger will be a must, these won’t be the deciding factors either.  It will be about responding to the here and the now.

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Friday, October 26

The Beginnings of a President?

By Christian

It’s that time of the year again:  The leaves are turning from vibrant greens to rich reds and oranges, the air has crisped up to an invigorating chill, and the public discourse has changed from glorifying and demonizing POTUS to, well, still glorifying and demonizing POTUS but also now his challenger.  This scene happens only once every four years, and it is scene I am thrilled to watch—the presidential election season.  Like TV’s pilot season, it is filled with hits, misses, gripping dialogue, and so much exposition that Aaron Sorkin has plenty of material for the next four years.

In the last election, I found myself sipping the warm glass of hope and altruistic leadership poured by then senator Obama.  This year, I can taste the weariness that has grown not only for a President that has faced the greatest national challenges of the last fifty years, but for an entire country.  Yes, I will be voting for him, again, and I was reminded why in his debate performances as an entire body of work.  Monday, while texting with Colby, we came to the conclusion that:

Obama’s greatest asset is also his greatest hindrance during the election season, even during his presidency—he is a great leader, an even better orator, but he is not a good politician…

Alright, fine, at the time of the debate it was more like this—

“Obama is owning him right now.”

“ ‘We also do not have has many horses and bayonets’!?! LOL”

“Wow, and that’s the sound bit!!!”

“He is much better when he has to think on his toes.”

“Yeah, dude.  And Peyton… nice.”

_________
Two years ago, almost to the day, I undertook a documentary project that utilized Jon Stewart’s Rally to Restore Sanity as an opportunity to get people back on their soapbox about politics and what really mattered to them. Yet, during the filming and production, and even the year after it was released, never once did I get on my soapbox.  And during this debate season, more than the two previous ones, I have grown tired of being a passive participant, watching the debates, commending one side while condemning the other, yet doing nothing else (except expecting to vote) during this process.  I fear far too many of us give in to the ease of being entertained by politics, debates, and elections, but never actively participate in the process.  So, I decided to get on my soapbox.  My hope is that someday, this speech will live beyond this blogpost.  Perhaps, some day, I will be saying this as your candidate (probably more substantially developed since I do not currently have a room filled with the brightest minds for foreign, economic, or social policy):

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.  First, let me thank you for being here tonight.  In the words of poet, rapper, entrepreneur, not to mention a close friend, Sean Carter, you could’ve been anywhere in the world, but you’re here with me,  you are here with us, and I appreciate that.  For many of you, the time you are taking this evening to watch this debate is time that could be dedicated to your family, you work, and the many other duties that occupy your every day.  You are taking this time to connect with two people, one of which you are hoping to connect with on more than a superficial, sound-bite basis, feeling safe enough to cast your incredibly important vote for someone you hope will be the very best leader of your country, and a prominent advocate for you throughout the world.  Whether you agree with me or not, I thank you for your time.  But I ask of you, whether you are my supporter, my detractor, or undecided, to take a moment of your time this evening to get your spouse in the room, gather your children, or text a friend, and get them to tune in.  We will always need a more informed, and involved, electing body, for it is the only way we can truly live into our founding words—We the people, in order to form a more perfect union, and advance the greatest good…

Over the last few months, particularly the last few weeks and days leading up to this debate, you have heard the media and our campaigns spew hundreds of numbers and policy points that are meant to elevate one of us as the candidate with the most consistent ideology and track record.  The reality is, in a democracy that fundamentally supports only two political parties, it is inevitable that no matter how altruistic a candidate is, the politics of this system will create an us-vs-them dynamic.  This is a painful, exhausting, and inconsistent with the true value of democracy, for, while there are many voices yelling, there are often only two messages being heard.  And, in traveling this great country over these last few years, I know there is more diversity in our messages and in our values.  Thus, as president, one of my first actions will be to restructure our political finance system so that corporations will not be given the voice of a person, so that the wealthy will not be the greatest benefactors of the politics of our country simply because they give the most money, and more than two parties will be adequately supported and represented.  This may not be a sexy hot-topic-of-the moment, swing state grabbing issue, but it is one that is foundational to country and how we do business.  Simply put—we are a uniquely diverse country, and we need diversity in voices, messages, and representation.

One message that has been resounding and universal on this campaign trail has been “We want change, we want to be a part of it, and we want to make it.”  I have heard you.  All of you.  That is why, tonight, I am asking for all of you to help.  Yes, I am asking for your vote, but more than that, I am asking for you to vote for shared sacrifice.  Why?  Well, the reality is that for decades, politicians have gotten on stages like this one, and made beautiful promises to specifically targeted interest groups and lobbyists, so that they can win an election.  Many of them have kept their words and followed through with these promises.  However, these promises have not been for the betterment of our country in its entirety.  Now, we find ourselves on the precipice of the graves dug by the past.  If we continue to function as we have, looking out for only specific groups given the political cycle, we will be buried.  But, we can turn this around.  We can all join together, dig new ditches to pour a sturdier, stronger, sounder foundation for the 21st century and beyond.

Tonight, I am asking every one of you, rich, poor, working class, middle class, black White, Latino, Asian, and beyond to be responsible for our past, present and future.

How?  Those of us, myself and my family included, who have great monetary and tangible resources, I’m asking us to apply those resources to pay down our collective debt and to open up new jobs in our companies.  Are you solely responsible for our national debt? No.  But, you, we, are indebted.  We have reached great heights.  I stand before you a man, whom as a child, if it were not for the countless hours and opportunities given to me by loving teachers, family, and communities in New Hampshire, Massachusetts, and Connecticut, I would have never had the opportunity to stand before you tonight.   We reach such great heights because of others, albeit what they’ve built for us in the past, or if they continue to allow us to stand on their shoulders to see something greater.  I know that for Mrs. Belmonte, for Coach Saunders, for my mom, and many others, they will never want personal repayment, but rather they would want me to do whatever I can to serve others, and to serve our country.  I am asking you to do the same.

Speaking of service… the young people of our country, I am asking you to serve.  Perhaps you’re in college now, or perhaps you have recently graduated.  I understand that entering the job market, given the current unemployment challenge we face, yet given your advanced degrees, entering the working world is a frustrating experience.  We will make this better.  But, right now, you can do something very meaningful and helpful.  I am asking you to find one of the many great communities of our country and serve it now.  Become a coach.  A teacher.  A community organizer.  A big brother or sister.  Or create something new that enriches communities that are desperate for innovation and a fresh perspective.  Rather than letting that youthful spark you carry be dimmed, I am asking all of you to take the energy and ingenuity you possess and serve our communities.

For those of us who have families, I ask you to utilize our safety nets that our country offers, but do not abuse them.  I ask you to be responsible for the greater good of your family and your fellow man.  Get insured.  Make health a priority for you and your kids, and your neighbor’s and their kids.  Many of our fellow Americans are still looking for work.  I ask you to support them in any way you can. But for those Americans looking for work, I ask you to help yourself too.  I promise you we will bring jobs back to the US, and create new jobs in the technology, service, and green sectors.  By any means necessary, I ask you, if you are looking for work, and are welling to get trained in these sectors, do so.  We will need hundreds of thousands of Americans to fill these jobs.  Even if it’s a profession you did not see yourself fulfilling, I ask you to do so.  For your own betterment, for your family’s betterment, and for your country’s betterment.

In closing, I want to be clear about something.  I am not offering immediate gratification.  If you are looking for a president that is going to say we can get out of this ditch of debt and mistakes easily, I am not your guy.  Yes, I am indeed asking for great sacrifice from all of us.  And, sacrifice often comes with more hardship.  But make no mistake, if we do this, together, yes we will experience the darkness of the night, but the dawn that awaits us will be more magnificent than we ever could have imagined.  Because we will have stuck together, as Americans do, and will have sacrificed together, yet never yielding, never sacrificing one thing—our hope and passion for a greater tomorrow.  Let’s start today.

Thank you.

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Monday, October 15

The Standing O

By Christian

In just a few hours, I will begin a journey with my first batch of Future Fellows with The Future Project.  In the midst of the organized chaos that has been recruiting students, recruiting young adults to work with said students, match them up and plan events, I had yet to think of how I would officially begin our time together in our first workshop.  But yesterday, in the midst of the pilot episode of Freaks and Geeks, I suddenly remembered what day would follow, what day would be the first workshop- October 15.  And, so begins the speech:

October 15 is a day that will always hold great significance for me.  Well, at least for the last seventeen years it has.  Back in 1995, before some of you were even born, it was the day I drove to a hospital to say goodbye to my Dad.  It was a Sunday.  He died that day.  The days before it were filled with the frustration of a sometimes absent father, and the days after it were filled with, well, the frustration of an absent father.  But October 15 always offers me a day to be reminded not of what has been absent but instead what has been profoundly present from that day— community.

The week after his death was one filled with great silence.  I took a week off of school.  Actually my mom, whom you’ll all get to know this year and whom is where my strong sense of community begins, pulled me out of school for the week.  I don’t remember much from that week off beyond spending time with a few family members and trying to ignore the obvious void.  It was impossible to ignore, but it seemed easier knowing my world was only a few people.  So as you can imagine, on that Monday, going back to Sanborn Middle School to reenter the “real world,” felt like it would be an overwhelming reminder of this new loneliness.

I sat silently through my first few classes before our mid-morning assembly.  It was an assembly I was supposed to be an integral part of.  For the first month of school, I had been part of an artist in residence program that brought an African drummer to our white community to give us insight into African culture.  I loved it.  But, since I had missed the week of rehearsal and preparation, I could not be a part of the performance.  Mrs. Zakian, the teacher in charge of the project, was nice enough to allow me to sit with the group and be acknowledged.  I knew she was well intentioned, but, seeing as it was my first day back into the “real world,” being in front of the entire school felt more like a punishment than a reward.

I anxiously awaited hearing my name called. I watched as the audience cracked jokes at the other “geeks” that had been a part of the project.  “Christian Shaboo.”  My soul froze.  All I could do was shyly raise my arm to acknowledge that I was in fact there, although I had done my best to hide behind the group.  Yet, as I peeked out from behind the heads and shoulders of my fellow geeks, I saw students standing up.  I saw the same people that had been laughing rise with a sense of urgency.  Before I knew it, the entire school was giving me a standing ovation.   My community came to their feet for no other reason but to support me.  And, although I did nothing in that moment to acknowledge their support, I have known from that very moment, that their support, that the support of community, is the reason we not only survive, but that we thrive.

So why am I telling you this?  Well, many of you have heard me say that my goal this year is for HSC to embody the very word it says it is—community. Thus, I’m going to ask you, the Future Fellows, to give a lot of yourself for the Community.  I too will have to give a lot, so consider this story my first offering for our community.  More importantly, I want you all to understand that we all have challenges.  Look around this room.  During interviews and our short time together thus far, I have heard many of you express the challenges you face.  We all face challenges.  And, we get through those challenges not only because of who we are, but also because of the community that supports us.  More than anything this year, I am asking you to be that community for each other—I’m asking you to be the audience that gives the standing ovation—For yourself, for each other, for this community.

If we do this, will we achieve our dreams right now?  No.  This is not a guarantee.  But what I can guarantee is that with each other’s support of our dreams, goals, and who we are as people, we will not only survive our challenges, but we will thrive.  We will get closer to our dreams.

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