Pride Doesn't Make You Fall

There is a difference between being proud of something and being prideful.  It’s a small semantic difference but an important one.  One can be proud without hubris…..hubris makes us prideful.

The Proverb saying “pride goes before the fall of humanity” points to hubris, that feeling that we are high, strong, powerful and untouchable.  Pride, being proud, is not hubris, it is taking comfort in things with you and around you that make you feel worthy, that make you feel you are accomplished, not superior.

The things people take pride in can help you understand them, what drives them, what they spend their time on, what their priorities are.  We talk about the things we are proud of, we polish them, we groom them, we display them to give us part of our sense of worthiness.

Okay….I’m making these statements as proclamations of fact.  They are like a lot of my facts; they are facts to me until one of you convinces me differently.  Go ahead, make my day.

It helps you to know my bride, Marty, a bit when you understand and know the things she is most proud of, those things in her life that build her sense of being.  If you ask her she doesn’t think about it at all, the first thing is always, our children, Matt and Erin. 

 

Marty has always been proud to be a mother.  She was a natural, not perfect, but really really smart and loving with our kids. 

She is practically boastfully proud of both Matt and Erin.  If you ask her, what she is most proud of, they are the first and often the only thing she will offer.  When I asked her why she was so proud of them she answered very simply, “They have become very good people.”  That’s the perfect answer.

Marty is proud of her education, shoot we are all proud of her education.  I remember when she finished her dissertation and received her doctorate we all felt like we had accomplished something.  Yes, we all took credit for something that she alone achieved, but we, me, our kids, her parents, were all invested in Marty’s efforts.  She enlisted all of us in her pursuit and when she accomplished her goal we all were proud of her and the achievement itself.

Marty has always been proud of her heritage, she took pride in where and who she came from.  Her upbringing in the panhandle of Texas by a man who was a self made agricultural entrepreneur made her feel good about herself.  She always saw herself as someone who could do anything, which came from the parents who told her she could do and survive anything.  Guess what….she has survived anything.

This brings us to her taking pride in the seemingly simple task of surviving.  If you ask Marty about pride she talks about surviving the strokes, but it’s more than her just surviving the events.  She is proud of the fact she has survived the strokes but she also is proud that she has survived the procedures, that she has survived the indignities of intimate care with her dignity intact, that she has kept her humor when so many events were humorless and that she has survived the endless gauntlet of giving others control over her everyday life.  

Pride is not a bad thing; taking pride in yourself is not inherently bad.  The things we take pride in are clearly important to us, maybe the most important things in our lives, maybe they are the things that help define us to ourselves and to other people.

I’m proud Marty is still here, I’m proud we have made a life in the midst of this new normal, I’m proud of the care all of us, together, have provided for Marty. 

See, it works; you get a clearer picture of me too.

Learning About My Father the Warrior

June, 1950, North Korean soldiers poured across the 38th parallel, the arbitrary dividing line between North and South Korea. By the time they stopped they had smashed through the South Korean capital of Seoul and had the NATO and South Korean troops bottled up at Pusan, in the southern part of South Korea.

In March of 1952, my father, Marty’sHusband Senior, sailed across the Sea of Japan and made his way up the South Korean peninsula to the front lines just north of Seoul. My dad was a forward observer directing fire for the army artillery. His trip to the front took days, the months he spent in the holes, trenches and bunkers must have felt like years.

At the end of April 2011 I had the privilege of accompanying my father to Austin, Texas so the state senate could recognize and honor veterans, heroes of the Korean War. I stood in the Lt. Governor’s reception hall and ate breakfast with these men, these heroes of a war no one remembers and I was honored to be in their presence and proud that my father was a member of this brave and aging group.

My Dad, like so many soldiers, never really talked much about his experience in the war. I think he was so busy taking care of his family and his job that he didn’t have the time or bandwidth to remember what a life changing event the war had been for him. He very successfully managed to compartmentalize his memories until he retired and became involved with his own band of brothers.

After he retired he got involved with the national Korean War Veterans Association and helped found a chapter in Dallas. Through this veteran’s group and the South Korean government he took me to South Korea on a returning veteran’s trip in 1997. It was an amazing and eye-opening trip in so many ways. It was the first time I really understood how impactful this life event had been for him, it was the first time I saw my father as someone other than just my father, it was a chance for me to see him be a part of something larger than my family.

As we toured through South Korea I listened. I listened to my dad as he related to these heroes of a war that has too often been relegated to a somewhat erstwhile conflict instead of the awful, frightening bloody mass of men and women dying and being maimed. They all marveled at how Seoul had recovered and they talked about how this modern city of eight million was nothing but ruble when they had last marched through the city.

I listened as these old soldiers talked and enjoyed each other’s stories and company as they relived a time in their lives that will always separate them from those of us who have been spared the worst of war. I watched as they looked at maps and pointed to where they had been stationed, I marveled at how my own father, a warrior in a real war, looked for familiar spots and I felt pride as I watched him, along with the other veterans, accept an honorary medal from the South Korean army. It was one of those moments that expanded my view and understanding of my own father.

In the Texas Senate gallery I sat with my dad and his compatriots. When the time came for the proclamation recognizing the Korean War veterans several Senators spoke. In turn they each recognized the men surrounding me. Some read names, some spoke of the cold, the heat, the Chinese, the Chosin Reservoir, Pork Chop Hill, and Inchon. Finally they asked for the veterans to stand and finally they applauded, and applauded, and applauded. I felt a great sense of pride as I sat among these very ordinary men who had served their country in an extraordinary way.

As my father and I drove back to Waco from Austin we talked, or rather he talked the whole way home. I asked the questions I’ve always wanted to know and he told me about his journey to war and his time at war and for the first time, his feelings about what he had experienced. I drove up to my house feeling fortunate to have spent this day with this man.

As we drove into the driveway of my home I said I thought it was really nice for the Senate to recognize you guys. My dad said, “Yes, they didn’t have to do that, but it sure is nice.” I’ve always been proud to be his son.

Hailey Dunn is Missing

Hailey Dunn is missing. Dunn a 13 year old teenage girl went missing in my hometown right before the New Year. According to media reports she was reportedly walking to her father’s house and then to her friend’s house to spend the night. She never got there; the father and the friend reported they did not know she was supposed to be coming.

My home town, Colorado City, Texas, pronounced ColOrAdO, is a dry spot in a long straight I-20 in west Texas. In the late 19th century it was a railhead city and a boom town for a while. It’s now a small west Texas town with 4500 people surviving in the big country of Texas.

Most of the people who live there are very conservative and very Christian, though it’s a remarkably diverse group of people. They are good people, people anyone would call the salt of the earth. They are people who are proud of who they are, what they believe and where they live.

The live in Colorado City and it is their village, their community, their safety net and it hurts them in a very real way that Hailey is missing and they haven’t been able to find her or find out what has happened to her. They take it as a personal affront that this could happen in their village and it scares them that something bad like this could happen “even” in little Colorado City.

Marty and I both grew up in small towns in Texas and we have both in several small towns in Texas; thus we must be experts about small towns in Texas. All of these small communities are very different, but they all carry pride in their community, a security in their surroundings and a closeness we don’t often see in larger cities. Small towns take their communities and the closeness of their community very serious.

I haven’t lived in Colorado City for a long, long time but it is where I was sculpted, it was where my foundations began so I have some sense of understanding how the residents feel. I have been following the Hailey Dunn story through friends, Face book postings and the news and what I have heard and read feels very familiar. The town has taken loss of a child very personally and as a community have adopted Hailey and banded together to protect her. They have collectively taken umbrage at any criticism of their town, their people or their community leaders, it’s what we do in small towns, band together against those who don’t understand us.

The prayer vigil they organized attracted 750 people, praying for a child most had never met. The tiny six person police department is clearly stretched too thin and have called in and gratefully accepted help from countless outside organizations. There have been huge volunteer search parties organized on multiple days searching without success. They go out and search the town, the country, the city’s landfill, hoping they find life but ultimately grateful they are disappointed when they find nothing. The people of this small community have wrapped their collective arms around Hailey’s family praying what is ultimately discovered won’t break their hearts.

Of course there are complaints, of course there are, it’s what we do when we are scared, when we can’t control all things. Of course there are criticisms, back biting, accusations, and rumors; these are the fuel for small communities, it’s how they breathe.

As the clock has ticked since Hailey’s disappearance the police have gone from a runaway child to a missing person’s investigation. Now whispers and accusations and recriminations are starting to simmer. People are looking at the live-in boyfriend with jaundiced eyes; they are looking at the mother with disapproval for not checking up on the missing girl earlier. But really these things take a back seat to the real issue, where is Hailey, and how can they help her.

My hometown is going through the natural stages of grief right now. They are hopeful, they are denying, they are angry, but they are not giving up, they are not letting the worst of the world bend their west Texas spirit. From a long way away, from many years ago, I still see the substance, I still see the determination, and I still see the pride of that community. A little girl, Hailey Dunn, has rallied the spirit of my old community, I hope she gets to come home and see it.