There are times, especially during the Christmas season, when I can walk down the street or enter a room and almost reach out and touch the feeling around me.
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I spent the first 45 years of my life in Chicago, with only a few brief months living in California and studying in Mexico. I grew up immersed in political activity. There were weeks of nonstop “buzz” surrounding each and every election, so naturally, I thought that was how one was supposed to act during an election. And voting was an absolute must.
“That’s our house,” I hollered. I was referring to our very own City Hall. That building was my home for many years. I often spent more time in City Hall than I did in my own house.
You can disagree with me, but since we’re all human, and we live in societies governed by humans, we should attempt to discuss issues with each other. We won’t always agree, but we should take a stab at learning what we have in common before we refuse to take the time to dismiss each other’s positions.
I don’t know exactly how I heard about Family Promise of Las Vegas, a nonprofit organization that helps families move from the street, or their car, or crammed in with relatives or having the family separated and living in shelters. I do know that as each year passes, this organization and its volunteers bring comfort to many and enrich the entire community.
You know how we go through the day, and then someone does something really stupid, and we get angry? Let’s talk about some of those things.
The other day, while changing TV channels, I stopped when I heard a young woman announce that 60 percent of the American people don’t believe in the American dream. Now before you tell me to fact-check that number, forget about it. I want to take a look at the American dream.
Recently, I had a business meeting with a person who happens to be my friend. The conversation turned to people acting one way in their professional or work life and another way at home or with friends and family.
It never bothers me to share my age. Generally, I don’t think about turning 65, but there are times when it becomes quite apparent that I’m older than many folks I interact with on a daily basis.
Igrew up in a household filled with strong, realistic Italian-American women. Words of praise and encouragement did not flow freely from their lips. They called it the way they saw it, and there were no celebrations for getting all A’s on a report card or being chosen for the church choir. These women were about work and food and guilt.