Remember Those in Prison

On Friday, I gave a guest lecture to about 15 men who are incarcerated at Stateville Prison in Joliet, Illinois. This is the second lecture I have given there in the past couple of years. My interest in issues of incarceration relates to my work in education. In my work with Jerry Moreno we have looked at the issue of the disproportionate identification of Latino youth identified as having behavioral disorders. This identification as being a "problem child" becomes a slippery slope towards criminalization as the following graphic shows:

Related to the funneling of males of color toward the prison system is an educational system that does not provide engaging and meaningful opportunities for the children it serves. Some argue that the disproportionate representation of youth of color among those who receive disciplinary actions in schools is due to their own behavior or the deficiency of their families and culture. Even our own president, a self-identified black man, has made this argument.

The "culture of poverty" argument ignores basic economic investments that reveal our priorities about education, poverty, and race. We invest significantly more in prisons than we do in schools in all states. An article in The American Prospect from 2010 noted:

Nearly 75 percent of imprisonment spending happens at the state level, where dollars are drawn from a general fund that is meant to pay for a range of public needs, including health care, housing, public assistance, and education. Whether we look back over the last two decades, or just the last two years, education, in particular, has become a casualty of state budget battles. Analysis by the National Association of State Budget Officers shows that elementary and high schools receive 73 percent of their state funding from this discretionary fund; colleges and universities count on the fund for half of their budgets. However, $9 out of every $10 that support imprisonment come from the same pot of money. With tens of billions of dollars in prison spending annually, states are finding that there is simply less discretionary money available to invest in education, especially in these lean economic times.

So, with both prisons and schools receiving their funds from the same source, there is obvious competition for scarce state resources. Prisons are winning out because there is an increasing profit motive. Many prisons are now privately run and are for profit entities. They have contracts with states and thus there is a built-in incentive to first get the state money and then to make money on top of that. Simply, the motive is to keep the prisons full so there is a constant demand for their product.

 

There is also a disincentive to spend on services in prisons for both the for-profit and the state-run prisons. The state run systems simply have less money, and the private systems are reluctant to spend money on services that would reduce their profit margin. The narrative of undeserving prisoners who cannot be rehabilitated because of deficient morals and culture justifies this lack of services. One might say it is the "perfect crime." Starve schools of funds, watch students misbehave out of boredom and anger, arrest them and blame them for their behavior, imprison them, and make money off of it in the private prisons you own or invest in.

 

Teaching at a public university in Chicago that serves a diverse group of largely first-generation students of color at a relatively affordable price has allowed me to come into contact with students of many backgrounds. One group that has offered both hope and alarm are students who were formerly incarcerated. In my five years as a professor I have had over a dozen students who have done significant amounts of time in prison. This is a phenomena that I have noticed along with another professor at Northeastern, Erica Meiners, who has long been dedicated to the issue of the so-called "school to prison pipeline." Together we have begun interviewing our students about their experiences of education, being incarcerated, and higher education. This project has increased my already heightened awareness of the consequences of failing to provide resources, such as quality schools, positive adult role models, mentors, and teachers, and out of school opportunities to youth early in their lives. It has also made me aware of the need for education in prison in order to facilitate better outcomes when individuals are released, such as employment and reduced recidivism.

My visit was part of a larger project to provide such services to inmates by a group of extremely dedicated volunteers, many of them university faculty, writers, and artists. The
Prison + Neighborhood Arts Project or PNAP,

is a visual arts and humanities project that connects teaching artists and scholars to men at Stateville Prison through classes, workshops and guest lectures. Classes offered include subjects ranging from poetry, visual arts, film study to history. Classes are held once a week, on a 14 week semester schedule. Each course will result in finished projects—visual art, creative writing or scholarly works—with specific audiences/neighborhoods in mind. These works are exhibited and read in neighborhood galleries or cultural centers. Over the course of an academic semester, artists and scholars on the inside and outside address key questions: What can we learn from each other?; Who are our audiences?; What materials and methods best relate our concerns?; What can we say from inside a maximum security prison?

The historical context of this program is described on its website:

Over the last twenty years, an absolute defunding of programming in prisons has occurred. Between 1953 and 1994, state and federal grants made art and higher education available to people in prison. Since the 1994 Crime Bill Act barred funding to incarcerated students access to higher education for people in prison has been nominal. Today, non-profits and universities have stepped in where the state has retreated. In Illinois, even prison libraries have been defunded, leaving to volunteer groups the task of getting books to prisoners. Men at Stateville are left with few outlets for educational and creative inquiry. The prison has a population of over 1,800, but only three GED classes with a long waiting lists. In this context, Art and Humanities programming in adult state prisons is unique. 

While there I shared some of my own work, which involved facilitating an after-school arts program aimed at youth who were incarcerated, who were involved, or are currently involved in gangs, and those who seem at high risk of getting involved in gang activity. The program is called LuchArte and a youth can be seen describing the program here, along with some commentary by me.

This project was co-founded with my student Eddie Bocanegra, one of those who was able to successfully complete his bachelor's degree at Northeastern Illinois University and who is a quarter away from completing his master's degree in social work at the University of Chicago.

 

The hardest part about this work, despite successes such as having the youth present their work at art shows, them winning art competitions, and selling their art, has been the fact that many of the youth continue to be involved in gang life and art is really only a several hour respite from the negative aspects of their environment each week. One youth admonished me once, saying, "I hope you don't think that you're some kind of Freedom Writer" referring to the trope in films where an adult savior turns a troubled youth's life around in what is often a simplistic, sometimes even racist narrative, that doesn't fully acknowledge the complexity of change. I must acknowledge that the actual program on which the film is based does not have such a simple view, but that is frequently missed by the feel-good story that Hollywood tries to portray, that typically involves white people saving people of color from their perceived bankrupt culture.

As I shared these thoughts during my visit, the inmates seemed engrossed. They then shared how they also struggled to reconcile the structural forces that contributed to them being incarcerated, on the one hand, and them taking responsibility for the crimes they committed on the other. We ended up having one of the most thoughtful, passionate, and nuanced discussions of free will, determinism, and personal responsibility I have ever had. They have obviously had much time to think about their situation and society; in a tangentially related story, in explaining my work, I sarcastically shared that my job is to think and that it is such an integral part of a professor's work, that we get the privilege of having a full paid year off every six years to allow us to do so. When I shared this, one person laughed and said, "well, I have been on sabbatical for ten years. I have been doing a lot of thinking." We all laughed at this. At some points during our conversation we all seemed to struggle with whether there was any hope at all for change given the large barriers that people must overcome, especially if they are black or Latino, poor, and go to under-resourced schools. 

I shared with them that one lesson that I have taken away from my experience working with youth is that time seemed to be key. Simply "doing time" with them, showing up consistently, and genuinely caring, had the greatest effect. It did not change their lives, but it was the most appreciated. The best part of my visit occurred at the end when one by one all the men came to personally thank me and shake my hand. Several of them quietly said, "you should keep spending time doing your work; it does make a difference." I was touched as these men with whom I spent time, who are so deprived themselves, appeared to feel the need to validate me, my work, and my insecurity. 

Perhaps the wisdom is that doing time is what matters. That requires acknowledging and remembering those that are most vulnerable. They are worthy and very human. As one of my students shared on Facebook this Easter:

Continue to remember those in prison as if you were together with them in prison, and those who are mistreated as if you yourselves were suffering. Hebrews 13:3

Something worth celebrating? The case of Kwasi Enin.

Image from and available at The Independent.

I can understand why some people are excited, encouraged, or otherwise happy by the news of Long Island teenager, Kwasi Enin, earning admission to all eight schools in the Ivy League.  After all, the chances of any applicant getting into any one of them are slim at best.  Added to that is that Enin is a first-generation immigrant; meaning his parents came to the United States, likely looking for a better quality of life for their children.  Plus, he is a likable young man, evidenced by this interview.

Yet, it seems to me that applying to all of the schools in the Ivy League is either a sign of one 17-year-old's overwhelming arrogance or an indication of poor high school guidance counseling.  I tend to think it might be the latter, which raises a host of questions for me as to how many of our nation's students are being mismatched with their higher education aspirations - especially those with fewer means than those on Long Island.

The Ivy League's eagerness to accept Enin might also suggest the degree to which elite schools are beating the same bushes for outstanding minority students in response to public demands to diversify their student bodies.  I mean no disrespect to Enin nor do I mean to diminish his accomplishment.  I do wonder, however, why all eight Ivy League schools accepted the same student rather than each school finding eight separate deserving students to accept.

On a personal note, I do wish Enin the very best in his endeavors; which he undoubtedly can do by attending the University of Pennsylvania.

Misguided Outrage Over a TV Commercial

Most people by now either have seen Coca-Cola’s Super Bowl ad, “It’s Beautiful,” have heard about the outrage the ad has caused, or both.  In short, the television spot features people singing “America the Beautiful” in various languages over scenes of Americana – mostly families and friends enjoying themselves in everyday scenarios – with Coke’s products near at hand.  Apparently, the use of any language other than English to sing this particular song offended some.  In reading this morning’s news coverage of this so-called controversy, I do not know what makes me sadder – that people are upset at all by the commercial or that the people who are upset either are uninformed or confused over what has upset them.

First, it seems those now calling for a boycott of Coca-Cola’s products have misplaced their anger by approximately 40 years.  This year’s Super Bowl ad is just the latest attempt by Coke to use feel-good unity to sell its products.  Those of us of a certain age can recall the 1970’s “Hilltop” spot that featured a multicultural group of people signing about wanting “to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony,” while holding bottles with Coca-Cola with labels written in different languages.  What is more, some who took offense at this year’s ad lack a fundamental understanding of why they are upset, mistaking “America the Beautiful” for the United States’ national anthem.

Ultimately, Coca-Cola’s latest Super Bowl ad continues the tradition of conflating patriotism and professional sports to sell a product.  Beyond sales, however, I honestly do not understand that traditional conflation.  Having jets or helicopters fly over large scale sporting events at the end of the singing of our (actual) national anthem seems to be more of an institutionalization and normalization of the kind of militarism and nationalism that we as a county have criticized other nations - usually totalitarian and oppressive regimes – for displaying in the past (think Red Square on May Day at the height of the Cold War.)

Perhaps it is the institutionalization and normalization of shows of force prior to violent athletic competitions that suggests to some that they are allowed to be hostile to other people.  Ironically, it is ending that kind of hostility that undergirds Coke’s “It’s Beautiful” spot.  Unfortunately, the actions of those individuals who have responded negatively to Coke’s latest effort at promoting harmony suggest more hatred towards Americans than genuine love of America.

Super Bowl 2014: Sometimes a Mexican Has to Bet on Black

I have written before about the presence of Mexican-descent players in the NFL, particularly at the quarterback position. Just yesterday I learned that two members of the Broncos offensive line, Louis Vazquez and Manny Ramirez, part of an offense that is arguably the best in football, are of Mexican ancestry. Here in my hometown of Chicago, we have Roberto Garza, a Pro-Bowl center who is the child of Mexican immigrants, who has played here for years. This is a remarkable progression of Mexican-descent football players moving up in size from kickers, to quarterbacks, to being some of the biggest and toughest guys on the field. I think this sets a great precedent for young Latinos, showing them that they can be involved in the game at any level, at any position. Unlike last Superbowl where Mexicans weren't even invited to be part of the ads, even one where you think they would be prominently featured, given its focus on agriculture in the United States.

While my Mexican roots play prominently in my identity and how I view the world, I have other allegiances that motivate me as well. As someone with darker skin, I have found myself the recipient of discrimination and stereotypes based merely on my physical appearance. From being stopped by the police, searched multiple times by Homeland Security agents when traveling, being questioned about where I am from despite being U.S.-born, and being told how well I speak my native language English,  I have come to realize that dividing people by race is fundamental to American culture. And while Latinos like myself are sometimes treated as a distinct race, I believe that in our country it still really comes down to Black or White. As W.E.B. DuBois, the famed, Harvard educated, African American sociologist stated, "the problem of the color line," is the one that characterizes the United States. Striving for racial justice for all people, not just Mexicans or Latinos, then, can take the front seat in my worldview.

Race has come to be a big part of the narrative of this Superbowl with the interview that Richard Sherman gave after the Seattle Seahawks won the NFC Championship. First, there was this:

Actually, Latinos were slighted, because they were first on the scene when Spanish speaking media gave Sherman a lengthier, yet similar interview moments before the Andrews segment:

Twitter immediately erupted with racist views about the interview:

People were so put off by the fact that a Black man would behave with such bravado, that they vowed to root for the Broncos, and cited the clean cut and well-mannered Peyton Manning as a reason for doing so. This obviously set up a narrative of Black vs. White, "thuggish" behavior vs. being appropriate and polite.

Manning certainly is likeable:

But, people seem to forget that football is an aggressive, adrenaline-filled, violent and competitive sport, and even good old well-mannered Southern-folk have inappropriate temper tantrums:

I have to wonder if it just isn't that shocking for a White quarterback to berate a Black offensive linemen.

Other elite black athletes from violent, aggressive, and competitive supports have also become notorious because of their behavior:

We tolerate it to an extent, but when it crosses a perceived line, such as potentially threatening a White woman (Erin Andrews), or calling into question inconsistencies in U.S. policies, we rush to silence these points of view:

  

This despite the legitimacy of these views and the well-thought out ways in which they are articulated.

 

So, while I didn't have a strong vested interest in the outcome of the game initially, I think from a racial justice perspective (if it has to be racial-and I didn't say it did, but others do), this Mexican is betting on Black. Go Seahawks. 

Besides, who would trust a guy like this?

The Pastness of the Past, or the Past in the Present?

Among my professional responsibilities is teaching a methods course for aspiring secondary history teachers.  I customarily use the opening weeks of each semester to engage my students with open-ended, abstract questions, including “What is history?” and “Why study history?” believing that unless my students can answer these questions for themselves, they cannot help others – especially their own students – answer them.  To that end, I assign particular theoretical pieces for my students to read, helping them formulate their own responses to these abstract questions.  In preparing this semester’s syllabus, I was surprised to discover that this month marks the 80^th anniversary of the publication of a piece that has had a great influenced my own thinking about these questions.

Charles Beard’s essay, “Written History as an Act of Faith” appeared in the American Historical Review in January 1934.  Granted, this was the published version of his Presidential Address to the American Historical Association from the year before, but it is highly unlikely that any of today’s practicing historians heard that original speech, and so I choose to mark the anniversary of the essay's publication (AHR, 39:2, pp. 219-231.)  Despite the milestone, it seems that the 80^th anniversary of the publication of “Written History as an Act of Faith” seems to have passed with little fanfare.  That is too bad given the essay’s importance, which rests not only in Beard’s observations about the nature of history for the professional historian, but also for the layperson.  Beard successfully demystifies history to some degree and in so doing makes the discipline accessible to more than trained academics.

Charles A. Beard
(Image from Wikipedia)

In his essay, Beard argues for, “History as past actually [which] includes, to be sure, all that has been done, said, felt, and thought by human beings on this planet since humanity began its long career.”  Beard deconstructs that totality of the past first as “record…the monuments, documents, and symbols which provide such knowledge as we have or can find respecting past actuality,” and then “history as thought…thought about past actuality instructed and delimited by history as record and knowledge.”

In understanding the relationship between record and thought, Beard argues for three broad conceptions of history.  “The first is that history as total actuality is chaos,” Beard writes, suggesting further that people may not be able to understand or interpret that chaos, either objectively or subjectively.  “The second is that history as actually is part of some order of nature and revolves in cycles eternally,” such as the season of the year, election cycles, or similar rotating occurrences.  “The third is that history as actually is moving in some direction away from the low level of primitive beginnings, on an upward gradient toward a more ideal order...”

Beard qualifies each of these constructions, writing:

“The hypothesis of chaos admits of no ordering at all; hence those who operate under it cannot write history, although they may comment on history [original emphasis].  The second admits of an ordering of events only by arbitrarily leaving out of account all contradictions in evidence.  The third admits of an ordering of events, also by leaving contradictions out of consideration.  The historian who writes history, therefore, consciously or unconsciously performs an act of faith, as to order and movement, for certainty as to order and movement is denied to him by knowledge of the actuality with which he is concerned.… His faith is at bottom a conviction that something true can be known about the movement of history and his conviction is a subjective decision, not purely objective discovery.”

For Beard, then, “any selection and arrangement of facts pertaining to any large area of history…is controlled inexorably by the frame of reference in the mind of the selector and arranger,” or as he had stated earlier in his essay, “any written history inevitably reflects the thought of the author in his time and cultural setting.”

Such an assertion has led critics to accuse Beard of being a relativist.  I think this is an unfair characterization.  To demonstrate this point for my students, I use the example of U.S. history textbooks.  One could chart the development of such tome though their treatment of blacks, Hispanics, women, or other historically marginalized groups within their pages.  Clearly such texts provide evidence of how written history is informed by its authors' cultural times and settings.  (Two worthwhile defenses against charges of Beard as a relativist that I encountered recently are Jack W. Meiland’s “The Historical Relativism of Charles A. Beard,” History and Theory, 12:4 [1974], pp. 405-413; and Ellen Nore’s “Charles A. Beard’s Act of Faith: Context and Content,” Journal of American History, 66:4 [March 1980], pp. 850-866.)

For as much as I appreciate “Written History as an Act of Faith,” I am embarrassed to admit that I did not encounter Beard’s essay until my first semester of graduate school, in the Fall of 2001.  Such an admission suggests that I had graduated from Loyola with a history major and had been teaching high school history devoid of this fundamental understanding of the nature of history.  I have a better understanding now, however; and while I cannot change the past, I can use it to better inform the present for my students and their students yet to come.

Obama, School Discipline, Demanding the Back Door No More

This summer I had the privilege of teaching a course for our university’s summer bridge program. This program aims to help entering freshman successfully make the transition to college by spending six weeks prior to the start of the academic year taking workshops on writing, reading, study skills, and personal well being. The students also enroll in a tuition-free academic course for credit. Students receive the help of tutors, peer mentors, program staff and faculty during their time with us.

Students ultimately enroll on a voluntary basis, although they are recruited from a pool of students who did not place at the college level in either math or reading on their placement exams. Many of the students who are identified as candidates for the summer program come from Chicago Public Schools, which is roughly 90% Black and Latino, with a majority of students receiving free or reduced lunch, an indicator of poverty. While our urban high school system has made some improvements in recent years, increasing graduation and college-going rates, a significant number of CPS graduates still arrive to college not fully prepared to engage in college-level work. The students themselves are motivated and hardworking, but they are often simultaneously working to deal with numerous challenges that are personal, familial, cultural, and societal. All of these combined make doing well in school quite hard. This is fairly typical of most large urban school districts-I’ve lived and worked in schools in New York City, Boston, and Oakland, and the story is similar across them all. 

While these deeply engrained patterns across many locales suggest that something systematic and structural is happening that prevents young people from getting the academic preparation they require to successfully attend college, the cultural narrative to which we hold on as Americans is individualistic. If someone is not doing well in school, the responsibility rests squarely on his or her shoulders. Sometimes, when we are in a generous mood, we will lay blame on the individual skills of parents or the individual dedication or intelligence of teachers. Rarely do we acknowledge broader patterns and societal problems such as the unequal funding of schools that makes teachers’ jobs harder, the lack of job opportunities in certain neighborhoods that force parents to send their children to school hungry, or the disproportionate policing and incarceration of certain groups that ultimately change how families look and what they can accomplish. And the looming cloud that hovers above all of this is race, as it is largely Blacks and Latinos who are affected by limited resources and chances.

During my summer bridge class, which was an Introduction to Latino Studies, I introduced the idea that social policies, capitalism, and international politics have a lot to do with who migrates to the U.S. and how they fare once here. If we as a nation had economic interests, like bananas, in a Latin American country such as Guatemala, we might protect those interests with military force, which in turn would destabilize a country by damaging infrastructure and also affecting work opportunities. This would lead people to leave the country to a place with more stability and opportunity, such as the U.S. Depending upon how these already damaged individuals were received by the U.S., either as legal migrants or refugees, or as undocumented individuals without legal status, would be how they fared once here.

Given that these were freshman, I stepped away from this large political and historical discussion for a moment. I tried to make an analogy to show how structural issues affect individual behavior. I turned to the issue of dropouts among Latinos in this class where 13 of the 14 students were Latino. My hope was to connect them to the idea of structuralism more directly. I noted how many Chicago Public Schools high schools have metal detectors, armed security guards or police, and very strict disciplinary policies. I asked the students whether these felt welcoming or whether in some ways those policies and practices could even encourage dropout rather than discourage disruptive behavior. After all, who would want to be in a place so unwelcoming, so prison-like? Better to be at home or on the street, where you could feel free. I brought my point home by arguing that education should be liberating and that it was ironic that schools could be so limiting. I then told them that I hoped college could be a place where they could regain a sense of freedom through learning. Inspiring, I thought.

A student in the front row seemed to be taking what I was saying in and then shared an epiphany she had while I was talking. “You know you’re right. They don’t have metal detectors or guards here.” “Exactly,” I said, thinking that I had helped facilitate that connection for her, but then she continued. “That is really crazy. How can they just allow us to wander around here without checking us?” An interesting piece of our cultural narrative of meritocracy, “you get what you deserve,” is that at the end of the day, we all believe it, even if we are on the receiving end of inequality.

Yesterday, President Obama gave a speech on disciplinary policies in schools. He emphasized that zero-tolerance policies, the use of police, and expulsions and suspensions are not effective means to deal with student misbehavior. He then called for approaches to discipline that are more in line with what is needed in schools, that would restore a sense of justice and fairness for students. I agree that when student behavior is problematic that it should be dealt with in this constructive way; however, I disagree with the premise that a primary focus of schools should remain about behavioral discipline and control. Keeping the focus of schools on exerting power, even soft power, over students does little to create schools that are places for true growth, learning, and enlightenment.  This will not create a space where inequalities that exist outside the school can be addressed.

When I was studying social work in California I did my internship at a special public school in Oakland for children identified as having behavioral problems. In my social work classes I was learning about the power of providing unconditional positive regard to clients, about redressing disparities in resources, and about using my knowledge and skills as a way of giving power to others. One day, a young African American boy who was nine years old refused to sit in his chair after feeling that a teacher had treated him unfairly. While I don’t remember the details, I do remember feeling that perhaps he was overlooked for whatever recognition he initially wanted. In a span of less than five minutes, two special education teachers, three master’s level social workers, and the principal were called into the room, all because he would not sit down. Once the principal arrived, he shouted at her, probably used an expletive or two, which I can’t remember for sure, but at no point did he threaten harm or raise a hand or object toward anyone. The principal had a two-way radio and commanded that her secretary call the police. Literally within seconds, a police officer arrived, barked some orders at this nine-year old, twisted his arm behind his back and handcuffed him to a chair. 

I remember being fairly new at this time and standing by feeling inept as an intern during this whole incident. In our social worker meeting later that day I mustered the courage to say that what I saw was not right that it just foretold the life that this young black person would have in West Oakland; that the behavior did not justify that type of force. We were social workers, after all, who should have been working against such an injustice. I was met with some sheepish stares, but the ultimate response from my supervisor, was that sometimes these things just happened this way.

I think my worry about the fanfare around Obama’s speech and the accompanying paper that was put out by the Department of Education and Secretary Arne Duncan, is that it takes for granted that behavioral problems in school “just happen” as a regular occurrence. They don’t rethink the stresses such as poverty, joblessness, homelessness and racism that might contribute to behavior problems. The paper and the speech really just say, “don’t be so harsh.”

An area for hope is that when you really engage students and offer them an understanding and caring environment with plenty of resources, you can remove all of the metal detectors and security guards and have no problems at all. As a matter of fact, with the right types of resources you can overcome huge challenges. Our summer bridge program does just that as it has retention and graduation rates that beat our averages for our general student body. And this is not only true at our school. Likely, it would not be only true for college students either. After all, our students were once CPS students, and treating them more human and with more respect, along with providing them a great education helps them achieve great things.

New Year's Resolution and Roberto Clemente

Last night, New Year's Eve, after the kids were asleep, I found myself sitting with my in-laws watching the Times Square countdown coverage on Television. My two children and nephew, all under seven years old, had run the adults in the family pretty ragged over the few days prior. We settled in on the couch, having had a couple of drinks each during dinner, but rather than the typical reveling afterward, we took the opportunity to enjoy the calm of the house. Each settling in with our respective electronic devices on our bellies, we tuned in and out of the performances by Pitbull and Miley Cyrus and the commentary by Ryan Seacrest. We had already resigned ourselves to the fact that we would not be venturing out, but we initially prepared to be more social by stocking the house with beer, wine and champagne. After a very nice dinner cooked by my mother-in-law, and great conversation with my father-in-law, brother-in-law, and sister-in-law, we found ourselves winding down and it was only ten o'clock. Thinking about how I wanted to begin the New Year, I resolved to not waste time mindlessly trolling the internet on my iPad or standing in front of the glow of a television program that did not interest me in the least. Entering the year that I will turn forty, I thought that the best thing I could do was get a good night's sleep. Not so much because I felt older, but because I am slowly settling into the increasingly present responsibilities that I have as a full-fledged adult to think ahead and about my responsibilities to others; my wife and I planned already to return to Chicago from the suburbs of Virginia on January first, so I knew that I would feel much better traveling in our car if I were well-rested. So, I bid everyone goodnight, and by 11:00 on the East Coast, I was in bed.

I am not one to remember my dreams, but on the first day of the year I remembered a pretty vivid scene from the night before. I was walking through the corridor of a baseball stadium, under the stands, where vendors had their souvenirs spread out on the floor, much like you might find at an open-air artisan market in Mexico or South America. Their goods were still mass-produced, rather than the handmade items you would find in a market, but it was a unique setup given the hyper-commercialized nature of ballparks in today's era. One vendor's goods immediately caught my eye. The bright yellow and black hats were unmistakeably memorabilia from the Pittsburgh Pirates. I began trying on some of the hats. I wasn't sure that I was even in Pittsburgh or my home, Chicago, for that matter, but the Pirates' attire seemed naturally in place. The seller approached me and asked which hat I would like, as they had a whole variety, and the one I quickly chose, was the pillbox Pirates' cap that the players wore during their 1979 championship season. It was famous for it's unique design, the pinstripes around the hat, and the stars that adorned it, given as marks of recognition for great plays by Pirate player Willie Stargell. It was probably because of their World Series win that this became my first baseball cap as a five-year old. I was only ever vaguely aware of this connection until I began writing this post. The hat simply became something that I remember wearing frequently for a summer or two and then that sat in our Chicagoland home for years after without a clear reason. Back in the dream, I purchased the hat, feeling very satisfied, and remember nothing else.

So, when I awoke, I naturally thought the only connection was nostalgia for the hat. I lay in bed for a few minutes pondering the dream, which sat with me despite seeming pretty mundane; being that I rarely remember dreams, why this one?

I then found myself on my iPad, on Facebook, despite my previous night's hope to curtail my use in the New Year. A friend posted a photograph of Roberto Clemente, reminding us of the anniversary of his death 40 years ago on December 31st. At the tail end of an incredible career, the Puerto Rican superstar, in his late thirties, boarded a plane to Nicaragua, carrying supplies that he was donating to victims of an earthquake. The residents of Managua, Nicaragua were still recovering from its effects despite its taking place a full year before. Clemente decided to accompany the supplies because he had heard that previous donations he sent were intercepted by the corrupt Somoza government and never reached those that they were intended to help. As it approached its destination, the plane crashed and killed all those aboard.

Clemente is remembered as an excellent baseball player, with fifteen All Star seasons. But in my view he was more memorable as a man who broke barriers for Latinos and Latin American and gave to others to the end. In Chicago, his name has become synonymous with a high school in a neighborhood with a large Puerto Rican population and I sometimes wonder if the students there are fully aware of the pride that should be associated with their school's namesake.

As we enter the new year, a time when we make resolutions for ourselves to lose weight, drink less, or exercise more, I am going to resolve to follow the lead of Roberto Clemente, to focus on giving all I can to others; 40 years ago, ending his thirties, in a year that I turn 40, I resolve to willingly and happily give to others because I have been given so much; much more than my share. Perhaps it is an elusive dream, but it is one to remember.