Woes of a Pinstriped Democrat

This November 5th feels a bit different for me than it has in recent years. Two years ago on this day, I drove around town buying as many different newspapers as I could in order to save all accounts of Barack Obama’s election the day before as 44th president of the United States. Last year, I did the same thing in order to save all accounts of the New York Yankees’ 27th world championship the day before against the Philadelphia Phillies.

But oh, what a difference a year or two makes. There was no reason to hit up the delis for newsprint today. Unless, of course, I want to chronicle the rise of Marco Rubio for my children. Or share the detailed accounts of the San Francisco Giants’ victory parade.

For a man who has found much inspiration from the slogans “Yes We Can” and “Let’s Go Yankees,” November 2010 is a rather downcast month. The Republicans are back in power and rarin’ to dismantle the president’s policies. And the Giants used rock-solid pitching to overpower a Texas Rangers team that had easily dismissed New York’s superstars a week earlier.

So what’s a Democrat in pinstripes to do?

I could join the crowd, turn on Obama and chide him for any number of reasons – from failing to turn around the runaway economic train in time for the midterm elections, to failing to communicate as effectively as he did while campaigning, to being too moderate/centrist/liberal/socialist (pick your label, then spin away). I could watch the cable stations, listen to the pundits, and let their words become my own.

As for the Yankees, I could blame manager Joe Girardi for his playoff pitching decisions. I could blame the overpriced hitters who didn’t hit in the postseason. Or I could chalk it up to a shortage of pitching, and hope that the teams spends the equivalent of a developing country’s entire GDP on Texas Rangers starter Cliff Lee.

I could complain, lower my head, and remind myself that fairy tales don’t last forever. I could retreat to cynicism, that safe harbor where we all can drop anchor and protect ourselves from ever having the audacity to hope. It’s an eerie place, that harbor, one where everyone hides inside a shell only to pop out every so often to shoot a spitball at somebody else.

I could go there, sure. But every April, when a new baseball season begins, I find myself unable to do such a thing as lose hope. I can’t ever stop believing in the Yankees, no matter what the lineup looks like. You simply can’t associate yourself with such a long, hard, unpredictable sport unless you’re willing to pour all the hope you’ve got into your team. The game will break your heart far more often than not, but the heartbreak is all worth it if you’ve followed those balls and strikes with passion.

Our nation’s government is exponentially more important than a baseball game. But the sport’s rhythms can serve as a guide for this cold November rain I’m feeling right now. When you’ve felt inspired and deeply moved by the words and ideas of an elected official, a few months of disappointment and defeat cannot be enough to turn your hopes into hardened bitterness. Like baseball, politics is a game of seasons, and when one season ends that simply means another is on its way. In between those seasons, we witness adjustments and reevaluations. We hear about new game plans, new supporting players, and new energy.

There have been very few politicians in my 39 years who have inspired me to become a better person through their words and leadership. Two years ago, I voted for one of those select few. I have hung my hat on President Obama, and that hat is staying right where it is. He is retooling now in the White House, just as the Yankees are doing in the South Bronx. The next season will differ from the previous one. The road map toward change looks different now, but that’s a result of the democratic process.

I stopped into a deli today and checked out the front pages: A few stories about the Tea Party. A feature on Conan O’Brien. Obituaries on Sparky Anderson, the legendary baseball manager. The post-election stories explained quite clearly that our political landscape looks much different than it did two days ago. But the remaining stories reminded me that life has gone on. There is still a country to lead, and still a need for inspiring guidance and encouragement.

This is not a time for quitting. Not for the president, and not for those who have placed their trust in him. You pick your head up, you look ahead, and you keep hoping. Can we at least do that? Yes, of course we can.

Love & Haiti

Over the years, I’ve taught several students whose families hailed from Haiti. I’ve been continuously impressed with the pride all of these teens have shown for their heritage. All were either born in Haiti or had parents who were born there. The students had all spent time in the country, and would tell you about Haiti in a heartbeat. They’d share with you the beauty of the land, language and culture, as well as the struggles and poverty that have plagued the small Caribbean country.

Of course, I pray that all of these former students and their families were in the United States on Tuesday afternoon. I know that their hearts are torn, and that they are trying desperately to contact loved ones. I know they are feeling a sense of helplessness, as the last thing they can do right now is go to Haiti to help. Yet, a part of them surely wants to be there with food and bandages in tow.

Here in the Northeast United States, we’ve been complaining lately about the cold weather. We’ve watched some juicy news accounts of Conan O’Brien’s feud with NBC. We’ve heard about the Jets’ playoff hopes, and about Mark McGwire’s belated steroid confession. Interesting stories all.

But none are quite on the level with human beings trapped beneath rubble, thousands being buried in a mass grave, and a frantic attempt to bring antibiotics, water and high-energy biscuits to a nation overwhelmed with disaster.

We can make a donation. We can hope, pray, and wish for the best. We can talk about it and read about it, and watch the television news reporters who are often at their best when covering emergencies of this type.

But it’s hard to feel as though we can really do anything about it all. Helplessness, frustration and depression are common emotions when learning about suffering of this magnitude. Natural disasters can wipe out so many lives that it seems inconceivable to process it all.

So we turn, for inspiration, to the wisdom of youth. Today, I asked my high school seniors to write a journal responding to Margaret Mead’s famous quote about making a difference. The quote reads: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.” We discussed the sentiments in Mead’s words, and students shared their reactions to it. One of my seniors smiled and explained that these words connected deeply with her own personal ambitions. “I want to be part of one of those groups someday,” she said. I nodded my head, and told her that was truly great.

It may just be a donation. But donations fund relief aid. And to save a life is to change the world. May we all find the thoughtful, committed places inside of us, and give Haiti some love in January 2010. It’s ready and waiting.