This column originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on June 4, 2012
Last week my wife and I celebrated our 35th wedding anniversary. Well, “celebrated” may be a bit of an exaggeration. We spent the day volunteering for our church by working at a Gillette Stadium concession stand during an NCAA lacrosse tournament, followed by Chinese takeout because we were too tired for a restaurant experience. Who says I’m not a romantic?
But despite our rather pathetic observation of this landmark moment, we both appreciate the fact we have made it this far together. Marriage is a lot of things, but easy isn’t always one of them. While I’m sure there are many storybook couples who spend endless days staring dreamily into each others eyes, we are more likely to be found arguing over the checkbook, or what to have for dinner, or whatever I happen to have done wrong that day.
But we don’t care if our marriage conforms to the standards others may have. What we have works for us, and our love is as deep and lasting as I can possibly imagine. We have raised two great sons, are enjoying two perfect grandchildren, and live our lives according to what makes us happy rather than what may be expected of us. To us, that’s what marriage is truly all about.
So perhaps that explains why we are so puzzled by the great debate going on in this country. It is difficult to get into a political discussion today without treading on the topic of “gay marriage” and whether or not it should be allowed. In fact, President Obama recently changed his position and became the first sitting president to formally endorse the concept. Frankly, we don’t understand that either.
Maybe it’s because we live here in Massachusetts, where marriage is an inclusive institution rather than a restrictive one. In the Bay State we believe it is more important to celebrate marriage than to define it. We don’t have gay marriage, or straight marriage, or religious marriage, or marriage of any particular race, creed or color. We just have marriage. It is the same for everyone, with no regard to your race, religion, sports team affiliation, favorite color, or sexual preference.
And yes, there are some obvious and important common sense restrictions on marriage that are enforced. You can’t wed your sibling, or your dog, or your car, or any of the other silly and foolish examples often mentioned in an effort to defend discrimination in this great institution.
But here marriage needs no defending. In fact, it is flourishing. In Massachusetts people who love each other and want to commit to their relationship are all given the same legal and social rights – except where the federal government prevents that from happening, of course. Here we don’t judge those who marry, beyond perhaps wondering why you might want to get yourself entangled in this wonderful yet complicated institution.
Here we don’t try and stop people from getting married if they so desire. It always amazes me when some feel the need to protect the value of their relationship by lessening or diminishing the value of the relationship of others. Some folks extol the virtues of marriage – but only if you believe as they do. If the integrity of your relationship is somehow dependent on the relationship of others, you may want to rethink marriage. And that goes whether your partner is of the opposite sex or the same gender.
I don’t claim to be any sort of an expert on marriage. My 35 years as a part of one is much more a testament to my wife’s patience than any abilities I may possess. Our marriage – for better or worse – is based on our personal commitment to each other and the life we have built together. The only marriage rules we follow are the ones my wife lays down – er, I mean the ones we mutually agree on after much sharing and discussion. I hope I got that right.
Marriage is about telling your spouse what to do, not about telling others who they can marry. And that’s the way it should be everywhere. Just ask my wife – she’ll explain it to you. She had no trouble explaining it to me…
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and can be emailed at aninsidelook@aol.com and followed on Twitter at @Billinsidelook.
AN INSIDE LOOK - Commentary and opinions on local politics and life in general in Southeastern Massachusetts! Featuring the writings of Bill Gouveia, newspaper columnist for the Sun Chronicle and local cable TV talk show host. Feel free to read, comment and enjoy!
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Veggies and Bookies - the Eternal Struggle
This colum originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on April 16, 2012
The Attleboro City Council is a very busy group charged with creating and maintaining city ordinances, making important budget decisions, and ensuring the voice of the public is heard loudly and clearly inside City Hall. They are a formidable and powerful collection of citizen politicians.
The councilors must stand up to many groups. They are consistently being targeted by the police lobby, the fire lobby, the school lobby, the construction lobby and many other influential and persuasive organizations. Through it all they must be fair and forge alliances that benefit the city.
But some special interest groups are just too powerful, even for this distinguished board. This council has survived angry employees, enraged private citizens, belligerent department heads, even stubborn and determined mayors. But recently they met their match as they ran headlong into a veritable cornucopia of political pluck and power they simply could not handle.
The Attleboro City Council became the latest victim of that coalition that has shaken lawmakers from Beacon Hill to Capital Hill, from the shores of Boston Harbor to the banks of the Potomac. They came to Attleboro and planted the seeds of revolution. That’s right – the city council has been beaten into submission by the incredibly influential “Vegetable Lobby”.
The Veggies (as they are known in smoke-filled backrooms all across this country) play for keeps. They are not afraid to use the dirt they dig up for their own purposes. They have left many a soiled politician in their wake, the growth of their movement obvious as they have spouted up here in Attleboro.
The Veggies recently harvested the councilors like a good crop, monopolizing their meeting on the Attleboro Farmer’s Market for three hours and 15 votes one night and four hours and 19 votes on another. Not since deciding the weighty question of what color to paint the meeting room walls has the council been this confounded by a situation. The aroma of fertilizer seems to linger yet today like a cloud over City Hall.
In the end, the Veggies appear to have been victorious. They have earned the right to gather peacefully in a city parking lot on Saturday mornings next to the library, and seem to have weeded out any serious opposition. To do so, they had to overcome the concerns and political strength of another strong organization, known as the Bookies. The early money was on the Bookies to prevail and add yet another chapter to their long and storied success. But it appears the book has been closed on this ongoing dispute as the council has turned the page in a novel approach.
There is no doubt this has been a political hot potato for both the city and the organizations involved. During their meetings the councilors debated many half-baked proposals before whipping up the eventual solution. They designated the Police Chief to act as their shield – er, representative – when it comes to deciding if the Veggies need to hire an officer to manage traffic wishing to visit their gatherings. The Bookies are worried those gatherings may make it difficult for their clients to reach them, and sought some sort of compromise which could allow both groups to grow and flourish.
But the confused councilors could only manage a bushel full of motions, some that even the makers wound up voting against. At the end they were pretty much where they started, plowing little new ground in the long-running debate. There was many a beet red face in the chamber by the time all was said and done, but the Bookies position seems to be on borrowed time as the council made a decision that was long overdue.
That begs the question – why is it so hard for these two fine groups to get along? Given their ultimate goals, they would seem to be two peas in a pod. But whenever the bean-counters get involved, it can leave a bitter taste in many mouths. Yet it would be nice if everyone could come together and simply reflect on a higher purpose and a common goal. So let’s gather in the parking lot, join hands, and begin the healing process.
Lettuce pray…
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist who loves both vegetables and books. He can be read on these pages, fed almost anytime, and reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
The Attleboro City Council is a very busy group charged with creating and maintaining city ordinances, making important budget decisions, and ensuring the voice of the public is heard loudly and clearly inside City Hall. They are a formidable and powerful collection of citizen politicians.
The councilors must stand up to many groups. They are consistently being targeted by the police lobby, the fire lobby, the school lobby, the construction lobby and many other influential and persuasive organizations. Through it all they must be fair and forge alliances that benefit the city.
But some special interest groups are just too powerful, even for this distinguished board. This council has survived angry employees, enraged private citizens, belligerent department heads, even stubborn and determined mayors. But recently they met their match as they ran headlong into a veritable cornucopia of political pluck and power they simply could not handle.
The Attleboro City Council became the latest victim of that coalition that has shaken lawmakers from Beacon Hill to Capital Hill, from the shores of Boston Harbor to the banks of the Potomac. They came to Attleboro and planted the seeds of revolution. That’s right – the city council has been beaten into submission by the incredibly influential “Vegetable Lobby”.
The Veggies (as they are known in smoke-filled backrooms all across this country) play for keeps. They are not afraid to use the dirt they dig up for their own purposes. They have left many a soiled politician in their wake, the growth of their movement obvious as they have spouted up here in Attleboro.
The Veggies recently harvested the councilors like a good crop, monopolizing their meeting on the Attleboro Farmer’s Market for three hours and 15 votes one night and four hours and 19 votes on another. Not since deciding the weighty question of what color to paint the meeting room walls has the council been this confounded by a situation. The aroma of fertilizer seems to linger yet today like a cloud over City Hall.
In the end, the Veggies appear to have been victorious. They have earned the right to gather peacefully in a city parking lot on Saturday mornings next to the library, and seem to have weeded out any serious opposition. To do so, they had to overcome the concerns and political strength of another strong organization, known as the Bookies. The early money was on the Bookies to prevail and add yet another chapter to their long and storied success. But it appears the book has been closed on this ongoing dispute as the council has turned the page in a novel approach.
There is no doubt this has been a political hot potato for both the city and the organizations involved. During their meetings the councilors debated many half-baked proposals before whipping up the eventual solution. They designated the Police Chief to act as their shield – er, representative – when it comes to deciding if the Veggies need to hire an officer to manage traffic wishing to visit their gatherings. The Bookies are worried those gatherings may make it difficult for their clients to reach them, and sought some sort of compromise which could allow both groups to grow and flourish.
But the confused councilors could only manage a bushel full of motions, some that even the makers wound up voting against. At the end they were pretty much where they started, plowing little new ground in the long-running debate. There was many a beet red face in the chamber by the time all was said and done, but the Bookies position seems to be on borrowed time as the council made a decision that was long overdue.
That begs the question – why is it so hard for these two fine groups to get along? Given their ultimate goals, they would seem to be two peas in a pod. But whenever the bean-counters get involved, it can leave a bitter taste in many mouths. Yet it would be nice if everyone could come together and simply reflect on a higher purpose and a common goal. So let’s gather in the parking lot, join hands, and begin the healing process.
Lettuce pray…
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist who loves both vegetables and books. He can be read on these pages, fed almost anytime, and reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
Debate No Longer a Real Part of the Process
This colum originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on February 27, 2012
I really long for the days when government was a place where ideas were discussed rather than methodically executed, when the outcome of legislative sessions were determined during the actual process and not before it, when people went to Town Meetings to decide rather than dictate.
I miss the bygone era when debate – true debate – was a meaningful part of our political process.
We rarely engage in actual discussion of important issues anymore, even in towns where Open Town Meeting is billed as the last vestige of true democracy. Instead, we seem to make immediate decisions on our goals and who stands in our way of achieving them. Then we do our level best to destroy the opposition and their credibility, because we can’t take the chance the majority opinion might actually not ultimately agree with our own.
Recently members of t
he Massachusetts legislature bemoaned the fact no one listens to debate on the floor of the House or Senate anymore. Members give speeches for the record or the cameras, while their colleagues ignore them in favor of rude private conversations or worse yet don’t even bother staying in the room. Most bills are decided in private by the leadership, away from the prying eyes of members and the public. Any debate is strictly for show, and plays little part in the actual decision-making.
Nationally, you can pretty much predict how most votes will go by simply looking at the list of party affiliations. It is a system that allowed a newly-elected senator from Massachusetts to become one of the most influential members of that historic body not by giving his party a majority, but by simply allowing them to consistently stop the opposition from accomplishing anything. Regardless of party, the minority today always seems more interested in being the majority than in representing the true will of the people.
At the small-town level the lack of civility and unwillingness to listen is less, but still all too prevalent. It doesn’t exist everywhere, but rears its ugly head whenever the issues to be decided are personally important enough to those involved. A prime example is the current situation in Foxboro, where local government and politics have been buried in a tsunami of casino gambling possibilities. The usually calm and respectful town political climate has been turned into a churning mess of political maneuvering, with many claiming they must do whatever it takes to implement their own version of what is good for the future of the community.
There is a significant portion of the Foxboro population that does not even want to hear about the possibility of a casino being located in town, despite the fact it could put $10-$15 million per year or more into the town coffers. While this could conceivably lower the property taxes and increases services, they rightfully point out it could have a detrimental effect on the quality of life in the town’s neighborhoods. They are so convinced of the merits of their argument they have urged selectmen to refuse to even contemplate placing the issue before the voters and allowing them to decide.
In other words, they don’t want to debate the actual question at hand. They are unwilling to risk even the chance a majority of voters could pass any proposal put forth. They would rather debate the issue of whether or not to debate the issue. The goal here is to win by never letting the “other side” really get into the game.
This is not a new strategy. It has probably been around since the first group gathered in a cave to talk about rules to govern their society. But today it is more and more becoming the norm rather than the exception. Politics today is all about winning, rather than debating and deciding.
Don’t get me wrong, I like to win. But I also am an admirer of the dying art of true debate. I miss the days when political candidates actually answered questions during debates, when negativity was an ineffective policy, and when people went to Town Meeting because they felt a civic duty to do so.
Ok, now everyone can tell me that I’m wrong. Welcome to the system.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and a longtime local town official. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
I really long for the days when government was a place where ideas were discussed rather than methodically executed, when the outcome of legislative sessions were determined during the actual process and not before it, when people went to Town Meetings to decide rather than dictate.
I miss the bygone era when debate – true debate – was a meaningful part of our political process.
We rarely engage in actual discussion of important issues anymore, even in towns where Open Town Meeting is billed as the last vestige of true democracy. Instead, we seem to make immediate decisions on our goals and who stands in our way of achieving them. Then we do our level best to destroy the opposition and their credibility, because we can’t take the chance the majority opinion might actually not ultimately agree with our own.
Recently members of t
he Massachusetts legislature bemoaned the fact no one listens to debate on the floor of the House or Senate anymore. Members give speeches for the record or the cameras, while their colleagues ignore them in favor of rude private conversations or worse yet don’t even bother staying in the room. Most bills are decided in private by the leadership, away from the prying eyes of members and the public. Any debate is strictly for show, and plays little part in the actual decision-making.
Nationally, you can pretty much predict how most votes will go by simply looking at the list of party affiliations. It is a system that allowed a newly-elected senator from Massachusetts to become one of the most influential members of that historic body not by giving his party a majority, but by simply allowing them to consistently stop the opposition from accomplishing anything. Regardless of party, the minority today always seems more interested in being the majority than in representing the true will of the people.
At the small-town level the lack of civility and unwillingness to listen is less, but still all too prevalent. It doesn’t exist everywhere, but rears its ugly head whenever the issues to be decided are personally important enough to those involved. A prime example is the current situation in Foxboro, where local government and politics have been buried in a tsunami of casino gambling possibilities. The usually calm and respectful town political climate has been turned into a churning mess of political maneuvering, with many claiming they must do whatever it takes to implement their own version of what is good for the future of the community.
There is a significant portion of the Foxboro population that does not even want to hear about the possibility of a casino being located in town, despite the fact it could put $10-$15 million per year or more into the town coffers. While this could conceivably lower the property taxes and increases services, they rightfully point out it could have a detrimental effect on the quality of life in the town’s neighborhoods. They are so convinced of the merits of their argument they have urged selectmen to refuse to even contemplate placing the issue before the voters and allowing them to decide.
In other words, they don’t want to debate the actual question at hand. They are unwilling to risk even the chance a majority of voters could pass any proposal put forth. They would rather debate the issue of whether or not to debate the issue. The goal here is to win by never letting the “other side” really get into the game.
This is not a new strategy. It has probably been around since the first group gathered in a cave to talk about rules to govern their society. But today it is more and more becoming the norm rather than the exception. Politics today is all about winning, rather than debating and deciding.
Don’t get me wrong, I like to win. But I also am an admirer of the dying art of true debate. I miss the days when political candidates actually answered questions during debates, when negativity was an ineffective policy, and when people went to Town Meeting because they felt a civic duty to do so.
Ok, now everyone can tell me that I’m wrong. Welcome to the system.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and a longtime local town official. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
Welcome to the Family Avery Elizabeth!
This column was originally published in the Sun Chronicle on March 23, 2012
Almost four years ago I became a grandfather for the first time. My grandson (did I mention his name is William?) was born in 2008 on Cape Cod. I wasn’t at the hospital when he made his debut, but I did make it within an hour of his arrival. It was a memorable night.
This past Monday was an equally unforgettable evening as I became a grandfather for the second time. But there were a couple of major differences, aside from the fact it was the younger of my two sons who was the proud father. First, he and his wife live more than 300 miles away, so driving there and arriving moments after the birth was simply not possible. And second, this child is a beautiful baby girl.
Avery Elizabeth Gouveia was born on March 19 in Maryland. She will have to wait until later this evening to actually meet her proud paternal grandparents, who as you read this are winging their way down Interstate 95 towards a moment we have been anticipating for a long time. After two sons and the world’s most amazing grandson, we have a little girl. I have a granddaughter. I’m not sure that has fully sunk in yet.
Our vigil for her birth was more agonizing than the one for her cousin because of the distance. Four years ago I was awaiting the okay to jump in the car and drive to my new grandchild. The call announcing it was time seemed to be the beginning of that night rather than the end. It spurred me into action, gave me an outlet for all the pent-up emotion of the process of becoming a grandparent.
This time the call was the climax of the evening, every bit as welcome and as exciting as the first. The joy was incredible and the happiness unbelievable. Thanks to the amazing technology existing in the area of communications today, we were able to watch our beautiful granddaughter live from the comfort of our own home.
But after we hung up, there was no trip to take that night. I was left to try and go to sleep when all I wanted to do was hug my new granddaughter and tell the world of her arrival. Despite the late hour I texted all the people I knew wouldn’t kill me for making their phone beep late at night, and then tossed and turned until it was time to go to work.
Of course, during that uncomfortable period I thought about my long-awaited granddaughter. I have this irrational fear that I won’t know how to act around this precious little princess. I know it is an imaginary problem, and will no doubt disappear the first time I hold this little angel in my arms. But I still worry I will be clumsy and unable to convey just how much I already adore and cherish her.
I can’t say I ever really ever thought too much about never having had a daughter. I did luck out and acquire two wonderful daughter-in-laws, both of whom have put up with me and all my quirks and idiosyncrasies. I love them both very much, though we will never know how I would have fared if I had been their parent during the years they were growing up. That’s probably a good thing.
But now any questions I had about having a granddaughter will be answered. And not because of this mental image I have had in my head all these many months. I no longer have to imagine what it will be like to have a granddaughter – I actually have one. And tonight I get to hold her in my arms, tell her how much I love her, and how I have dreamed about her for so long.
Avery Elizabeth - Grandpa is on his way. He may not be too sure just how to handle you yet, but he has no problem loving you with all his heart. You are surrounded by family who will always stand by you, and that makes you a lucky little girl. But this grandfather feels like he is now officially the luckiest person in the world.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and the proud grandfather of Avery Elizabeth Gouveia. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
Almost four years ago I became a grandfather for the first time. My grandson (did I mention his name is William?) was born in 2008 on Cape Cod. I wasn’t at the hospital when he made his debut, but I did make it within an hour of his arrival. It was a memorable night.
This past Monday was an equally unforgettable evening as I became a grandfather for the second time. But there were a couple of major differences, aside from the fact it was the younger of my two sons who was the proud father. First, he and his wife live more than 300 miles away, so driving there and arriving moments after the birth was simply not possible. And second, this child is a beautiful baby girl.
Avery Elizabeth Gouveia was born on March 19 in Maryland. She will have to wait until later this evening to actually meet her proud paternal grandparents, who as you read this are winging their way down Interstate 95 towards a moment we have been anticipating for a long time. After two sons and the world’s most amazing grandson, we have a little girl. I have a granddaughter. I’m not sure that has fully sunk in yet.
Our vigil for her birth was more agonizing than the one for her cousin because of the distance. Four years ago I was awaiting the okay to jump in the car and drive to my new grandchild. The call announcing it was time seemed to be the beginning of that night rather than the end. It spurred me into action, gave me an outlet for all the pent-up emotion of the process of becoming a grandparent.
This time the call was the climax of the evening, every bit as welcome and as exciting as the first. The joy was incredible and the happiness unbelievable. Thanks to the amazing technology existing in the area of communications today, we were able to watch our beautiful granddaughter live from the comfort of our own home.
But after we hung up, there was no trip to take that night. I was left to try and go to sleep when all I wanted to do was hug my new granddaughter and tell the world of her arrival. Despite the late hour I texted all the people I knew wouldn’t kill me for making their phone beep late at night, and then tossed and turned until it was time to go to work.
Of course, during that uncomfortable period I thought about my long-awaited granddaughter. I have this irrational fear that I won’t know how to act around this precious little princess. I know it is an imaginary problem, and will no doubt disappear the first time I hold this little angel in my arms. But I still worry I will be clumsy and unable to convey just how much I already adore and cherish her.
I can’t say I ever really ever thought too much about never having had a daughter. I did luck out and acquire two wonderful daughter-in-laws, both of whom have put up with me and all my quirks and idiosyncrasies. I love them both very much, though we will never know how I would have fared if I had been their parent during the years they were growing up. That’s probably a good thing.
But now any questions I had about having a granddaughter will be answered. And not because of this mental image I have had in my head all these many months. I no longer have to imagine what it will be like to have a granddaughter – I actually have one. And tonight I get to hold her in my arms, tell her how much I love her, and how I have dreamed about her for so long.
Avery Elizabeth - Grandpa is on his way. He may not be too sure just how to handle you yet, but he has no problem loving you with all his heart. You are surrounded by family who will always stand by you, and that makes you a lucky little girl. But this grandfather feels like he is now officially the luckiest person in the world.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and the proud grandfather of Avery Elizabeth Gouveia. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
Finding New Hope in Alzheimers Battle
This colum originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on March 5, 2012.
It is pretty much impossible to speak with local resident and successful author Brad Pitman without fully engaging your thought process (meager as my own may be). He’s a man who makes you think.
These days the life-long Attleboro resident is widely known as the author of “Ma Is Back! Memoir of an Alzheimer’s Discovery Restoring My Mother’s Memory”, self published through ICAN Ltd of Attleboro. The book is the story of Pitman’s time caring for his elderly mother who had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease, and his tireless efforts and intelligent approach which ultimately led to her transformation from being helplessly trapped by dementia to once again functioning as the mother he knew and loved.
But it is not Pitman’s story-telling skills that have earned my admiration and respect over the years. Rather it is his simple approach to life, his ability to utilize common sense where the rest of us seem determined to insert complicated processes. Brad sees things many overlook, a skill widely lacking today.
Of course, he is a bit of a throwback. If you look up the term “Yankee” in the dictionary (not the baseball Yankee, but the original usage of the term) you most likely will find Pitman’s picture next to it. A born and bred New Englander, he brings a certain style and simple elegance to anything in which he becomes involved, along with a burning intensity and a focused vision, something he has utilized successfully throughout his life and beyond his precious time with his mother.
As remarkable as the story of his mother is, what struck me was the approach her son took in determining her care. While making sure she had topnotch medical care, he refused to simply rely on what doctors and others constantly reminded him they did not know. He was already painfully aware of what he and they did not know. So he made a conscious decision that worrying about this lack of knowledge would not help the situation.
Instead Pitman did something so stunningly simple that it confused many and caused them to dismiss his efforts. He concentrated on what he did know, and what he saw. He refused to be bound and restricted by conventional wisdom, choosing to rely instead on first-hand experience and give it equal weight in his long-term consideration and planning. He didn’t think out-of-the-box, as the popular phrase goes. He simply refused to disregard the significance of anything he found inside the box.
When his mother would seem just a tad more responsive and be having a “good day”, he didn’t only believe it a blessing and merely be grateful for it. He considered the possibility it may have been caused by something she did or was exposed to, in the same way he knew some of her “bad days” were caused by certain other things. If she seemed better after eating tomato sauce or corn, he wondered why. He did not dismiss the positive changes he himself observed. He quite logically figured if it worked in one direction, it could also work in the other.
So many today are conditioned to simply accept certain unpleasant realities in life. We tend to focus entirely too much on the complex things we don’t know, and ignore the more mundane but sometimes equally or more important things we do know. We look for fast and simple cures to our problems. We want a pill, a website, a certain behavior that will cure what ails us physically or otherwise.
Yet often our problems require that we analyze our situations and study our own behavior. We can’t always “cure” whatever our target is, be it disease or something else that stands in our way. But if we concentrate on the facts and information we do have, instead of bemoaning all that we do not know, we greatly increase our odds of success.
Brad Pitman’s book stands on its own, and each reader can judge its worth. But the general philosophy behind it is one we would all do well to more often work into our daily approach to life. Even if I am fortunate enough to never have to deal with Alzheimer’s Disease in my family, I have learned that important lesson from both Brad and his mother.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
It is pretty much impossible to speak with local resident and successful author Brad Pitman without fully engaging your thought process (meager as my own may be). He’s a man who makes you think.
These days the life-long Attleboro resident is widely known as the author of “Ma Is Back! Memoir of an Alzheimer’s Discovery Restoring My Mother’s Memory”, self published through ICAN Ltd of Attleboro. The book is the story of Pitman’s time caring for his elderly mother who had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease, and his tireless efforts and intelligent approach which ultimately led to her transformation from being helplessly trapped by dementia to once again functioning as the mother he knew and loved.
But it is not Pitman’s story-telling skills that have earned my admiration and respect over the years. Rather it is his simple approach to life, his ability to utilize common sense where the rest of us seem determined to insert complicated processes. Brad sees things many overlook, a skill widely lacking today.
Of course, he is a bit of a throwback. If you look up the term “Yankee” in the dictionary (not the baseball Yankee, but the original usage of the term) you most likely will find Pitman’s picture next to it. A born and bred New Englander, he brings a certain style and simple elegance to anything in which he becomes involved, along with a burning intensity and a focused vision, something he has utilized successfully throughout his life and beyond his precious time with his mother.
As remarkable as the story of his mother is, what struck me was the approach her son took in determining her care. While making sure she had topnotch medical care, he refused to simply rely on what doctors and others constantly reminded him they did not know. He was already painfully aware of what he and they did not know. So he made a conscious decision that worrying about this lack of knowledge would not help the situation.
Instead Pitman did something so stunningly simple that it confused many and caused them to dismiss his efforts. He concentrated on what he did know, and what he saw. He refused to be bound and restricted by conventional wisdom, choosing to rely instead on first-hand experience and give it equal weight in his long-term consideration and planning. He didn’t think out-of-the-box, as the popular phrase goes. He simply refused to disregard the significance of anything he found inside the box.
When his mother would seem just a tad more responsive and be having a “good day”, he didn’t only believe it a blessing and merely be grateful for it. He considered the possibility it may have been caused by something she did or was exposed to, in the same way he knew some of her “bad days” were caused by certain other things. If she seemed better after eating tomato sauce or corn, he wondered why. He did not dismiss the positive changes he himself observed. He quite logically figured if it worked in one direction, it could also work in the other.
So many today are conditioned to simply accept certain unpleasant realities in life. We tend to focus entirely too much on the complex things we don’t know, and ignore the more mundane but sometimes equally or more important things we do know. We look for fast and simple cures to our problems. We want a pill, a website, a certain behavior that will cure what ails us physically or otherwise.
Yet often our problems require that we analyze our situations and study our own behavior. We can’t always “cure” whatever our target is, be it disease or something else that stands in our way. But if we concentrate on the facts and information we do have, instead of bemoaning all that we do not know, we greatly increase our odds of success.
Brad Pitman’s book stands on its own, and each reader can judge its worth. But the general philosophy behind it is one we would all do well to more often work into our daily approach to life. Even if I am fortunate enough to never have to deal with Alzheimer’s Disease in my family, I have learned that important lesson from both Brad and his mother.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
Women, Catholics, and Birth Control - Wow!
This column originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on February 17, 2012
As a local columnist, I generally leave the debate over national policies and issues to others. But the recent discussion on health insurance and contraceptive coverage is simply too outrageous to overlook, and the effect on women and families in our area too profound to ignore.
It has become the latest hot-button national political issue. The Obama administration has backtracked on a part of the new healthcare law that would require employers including hospitals and other institutions owned or operated by religious organizations to offer health coverage that includes birth control. The compromise says religious groups do not have to pay for that part of the coverage. Employees can go directly to the insurance companies and they must provide the service at no additional cost.
Now the US Conference of Catholic Bishops has come out against the compromise, saying it has “serious moral concerns” over the revised policy. They point out contraceptives would still be paid for out of revenues earned in part from the religious organizations.
I was born and raised Catholic. Baptized, First Communion, Confirmation, seven years of CCD classes, Mass every Sunday until I was about thirteen, being an altar boy – I lived it. It gave me a keen appreciation and a proper respect for the Catholic religion and those who practice it.
But this position I do not view as valid, and polls show most American Catholics do not either. This is not about exercising religious freedom, but rather about exerting religious control. It is not about preserving any group’s religious rights, but about imposing them on others. This is about elevating religious dogma over individual liberties. And it most definitely is not an attack on any church.
Despite claims to the contrary, no one is forcing the Catholic Church or any other religious organization to abandon its beliefs or compromise its principles. In fact, the law extends to them protections and privileges not available to their competitors who employ people. But that apparently is not enough, and that stance smacks of arrogance, greed, and a lack of respect for others.
We are not talking about forcing religious hospitals or facilities to fund abortions here. The topic is allowing Americans the right – if they choose – to access basic contraceptives with insurance coverage. This means birth control pills and other things that have been common practice and are preventive in nature, which reduces health risks and costs. That this is even up for debate in this day and age is sad.
It is also sexist. As has been said before, if men could get pregnant we would be handing out birth control pills like candy on every street corner. But in part because our government and religious organizations are primarily run by men, we get positions such as this.
The term “serious moral concerns” lacks some sincerity when used by the same organization that shifted pedophile priests from parish to parish in order to avoid public and financial ruin. This is a matter of conscience to them, but that was not? Yes, that is in the past. But then, like now, the real issue was not morality but money.
Imagine for a moment there was an organized religion that devoutly believed antibiotics to be immoral, that they altered God’s plan for our bodies (and for all I know, such a religion exists). Would we allow them to run a hospital where workers were not covered by insurance for antibiotics simply because it offends their employer’s religion? It sounds ridiculous, but is it any more absurd than the current situation?
The compromise solution should be accepted and reproductive care provided for those who work in good faith for these religious institutions or hospitals, Catholic or otherwise. Workers should not have their reproductive needs dictated by the religious or social beliefs of their employer.
I am a defender of the right of the Catholic Church to proudly embrace any moral standard it wishes, even if that standard is regularly ignored by most Catholics. But I draw the line at allowing the Church to impose that same religious standard on those it employs in the secular world. The health and safety of people is worth far more to me than the “conscience” of the US Conference of Catholic Bishops.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and a longtime area town official. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
As a local columnist, I generally leave the debate over national policies and issues to others. But the recent discussion on health insurance and contraceptive coverage is simply too outrageous to overlook, and the effect on women and families in our area too profound to ignore.
It has become the latest hot-button national political issue. The Obama administration has backtracked on a part of the new healthcare law that would require employers including hospitals and other institutions owned or operated by religious organizations to offer health coverage that includes birth control. The compromise says religious groups do not have to pay for that part of the coverage. Employees can go directly to the insurance companies and they must provide the service at no additional cost.
Now the US Conference of Catholic Bishops has come out against the compromise, saying it has “serious moral concerns” over the revised policy. They point out contraceptives would still be paid for out of revenues earned in part from the religious organizations.
I was born and raised Catholic. Baptized, First Communion, Confirmation, seven years of CCD classes, Mass every Sunday until I was about thirteen, being an altar boy – I lived it. It gave me a keen appreciation and a proper respect for the Catholic religion and those who practice it.
But this position I do not view as valid, and polls show most American Catholics do not either. This is not about exercising religious freedom, but rather about exerting religious control. It is not about preserving any group’s religious rights, but about imposing them on others. This is about elevating religious dogma over individual liberties. And it most definitely is not an attack on any church.
Despite claims to the contrary, no one is forcing the Catholic Church or any other religious organization to abandon its beliefs or compromise its principles. In fact, the law extends to them protections and privileges not available to their competitors who employ people. But that apparently is not enough, and that stance smacks of arrogance, greed, and a lack of respect for others.
We are not talking about forcing religious hospitals or facilities to fund abortions here. The topic is allowing Americans the right – if they choose – to access basic contraceptives with insurance coverage. This means birth control pills and other things that have been common practice and are preventive in nature, which reduces health risks and costs. That this is even up for debate in this day and age is sad.
It is also sexist. As has been said before, if men could get pregnant we would be handing out birth control pills like candy on every street corner. But in part because our government and religious organizations are primarily run by men, we get positions such as this.
The term “serious moral concerns” lacks some sincerity when used by the same organization that shifted pedophile priests from parish to parish in order to avoid public and financial ruin. This is a matter of conscience to them, but that was not? Yes, that is in the past. But then, like now, the real issue was not morality but money.
Imagine for a moment there was an organized religion that devoutly believed antibiotics to be immoral, that they altered God’s plan for our bodies (and for all I know, such a religion exists). Would we allow them to run a hospital where workers were not covered by insurance for antibiotics simply because it offends their employer’s religion? It sounds ridiculous, but is it any more absurd than the current situation?
The compromise solution should be accepted and reproductive care provided for those who work in good faith for these religious institutions or hospitals, Catholic or otherwise. Workers should not have their reproductive needs dictated by the religious or social beliefs of their employer.
I am a defender of the right of the Catholic Church to proudly embrace any moral standard it wishes, even if that standard is regularly ignored by most Catholics. But I draw the line at allowing the Church to impose that same religious standard on those it employs in the secular world. The health and safety of people is worth far more to me than the “conscience” of the US Conference of Catholic Bishops.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and a longtime area town official. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
Monday, January 16, 2012
A Look Back at Popular Baby Names
This column originally appeared in The Sun Chronicle on Monday, January 16, 2011,
In about two months, my youngest son Nate and his wife Melissa are going to have a baby. This much-awaited child will be my second grandchild, and my first granddaughter. And she will have a name. That is as much information as I can glean or am allowed to reveal about the situation at the moment.
You see, my son and daughter-in-law tend to be private people. In fact, that's a bit like saying the CIA likes to keep things quiet. Unlike some members of our family, they do not publicize nearly every aspect of their lives in one medium or the other. I know, it's strange - but I hear some people are like that.
They actually have discussed with us some of the first names under consideration. There is nothing firm, and no clear-cut favorite. I would share them with you good readers, but I am convinced a lightning bolt originating from the Baltimore area would immediately descend upon me and wreak havoc and destruction.
But the whole thing got me thinking about baby names. I did some research and looked at the most popular names from my year of birth (yes, they did keep stone tablet records back then) as well as the era when my kids were born. Then I added 2008 when my grandson (did I mention his name is William?) arrived, as well as the most popular monikers of 2011.
In 1956 when I was born, the three most popular names for each sex were Michael, James and Robert - along with Mary, Debra and Linda. William was a lofty 6th that year. I was quite pleased to find it had even been in the top 10.
When my son was born in 1979, Michael was still the most popular boys name followed by Christopher and Jason. On the female side there had been a complete change with Jennifer, Melissa, and Amanda now topping the charts. When son Nate arrived in 1981, Jennifer was still number one with Jessica now in second just ahead of Amanda. Michael was still king on the male side, followed now by Christopher and Matthew. William had inexplicably and unfairly been reduced to 15th place. By the time grandson William made his triumphant appearance in 2008, that noblest of names had rebounded to 8th place. Jacob was now number one, followed by the incredibly resilient Michael and newcomer Ethan. The distaff side had been completely reshuffled, with Emma, Isabella and Emily now leading the pack. And new names were appearing high on the list, such as Jayden, Aiden, Chloe and Mia.
Finally, a check on the year just ended shows Aiden, Jackson, and Mason as the three most popular boy's names. Sophia, Emma, and Isabella are now the top three girl's names. And in the unkindest cut of all, William has been relegated to 22nd place. I have already demanded a recount.
Ahead of William on the male side are names such as Brayden, Caden, and Jayden. Is rhyming now required to be in the top 20? Noah is number nine, and with all due respect to my cousin Noah - that name is 13 spots ahead of William? Something is clearly wrong here. Heck, even Caleb was at number 11.
But of course, my concentration needs to be on the female names. After all, this is my little princess who is on her way to join the family. Not that I have any say in naming her, nor should I. But I still feel a responsibility to at least be conversant in the names of the day. You never know, I could be asked for my opinion. For a man married nearly 35 years, that is a rare occurrence. You have to be ready.
I'm fairly confident whatever name our kids pick for this special child will not be one of the more out-there names. To the best of my knowledge, they did not have to revise their list when "Blue Ivy" was used by Beyonce and Jay Z. My son has told me the only thing I can be absolutely certain about is that the new baby will not, under any circumstances, be named William.
I guess I'll just have to learn to live with that.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist, proud grandfather, and a supporter of the name William. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
In about two months, my youngest son Nate and his wife Melissa are going to have a baby. This much-awaited child will be my second grandchild, and my first granddaughter. And she will have a name. That is as much information as I can glean or am allowed to reveal about the situation at the moment.
You see, my son and daughter-in-law tend to be private people. In fact, that's a bit like saying the CIA likes to keep things quiet. Unlike some members of our family, they do not publicize nearly every aspect of their lives in one medium or the other. I know, it's strange - but I hear some people are like that.
They actually have discussed with us some of the first names under consideration. There is nothing firm, and no clear-cut favorite. I would share them with you good readers, but I am convinced a lightning bolt originating from the Baltimore area would immediately descend upon me and wreak havoc and destruction.
But the whole thing got me thinking about baby names. I did some research and looked at the most popular names from my year of birth (yes, they did keep stone tablet records back then) as well as the era when my kids were born. Then I added 2008 when my grandson (did I mention his name is William?) arrived, as well as the most popular monikers of 2011.
In 1956 when I was born, the three most popular names for each sex were Michael, James and Robert - along with Mary, Debra and Linda. William was a lofty 6th that year. I was quite pleased to find it had even been in the top 10.
When my son was born in 1979, Michael was still the most popular boys name followed by Christopher and Jason. On the female side there had been a complete change with Jennifer, Melissa, and Amanda now topping the charts. When son Nate arrived in 1981, Jennifer was still number one with Jessica now in second just ahead of Amanda. Michael was still king on the male side, followed now by Christopher and Matthew. William had inexplicably and unfairly been reduced to 15th place. By the time grandson William made his triumphant appearance in 2008, that noblest of names had rebounded to 8th place. Jacob was now number one, followed by the incredibly resilient Michael and newcomer Ethan. The distaff side had been completely reshuffled, with Emma, Isabella and Emily now leading the pack. And new names were appearing high on the list, such as Jayden, Aiden, Chloe and Mia.
Finally, a check on the year just ended shows Aiden, Jackson, and Mason as the three most popular boy's names. Sophia, Emma, and Isabella are now the top three girl's names. And in the unkindest cut of all, William has been relegated to 22nd place. I have already demanded a recount.
Ahead of William on the male side are names such as Brayden, Caden, and Jayden. Is rhyming now required to be in the top 20? Noah is number nine, and with all due respect to my cousin Noah - that name is 13 spots ahead of William? Something is clearly wrong here. Heck, even Caleb was at number 11.
But of course, my concentration needs to be on the female names. After all, this is my little princess who is on her way to join the family. Not that I have any say in naming her, nor should I. But I still feel a responsibility to at least be conversant in the names of the day. You never know, I could be asked for my opinion. For a man married nearly 35 years, that is a rare occurrence. You have to be ready.
I'm fairly confident whatever name our kids pick for this special child will not be one of the more out-there names. To the best of my knowledge, they did not have to revise their list when "Blue Ivy" was used by Beyonce and Jay Z. My son has told me the only thing I can be absolutely certain about is that the new baby will not, under any circumstances, be named William.
I guess I'll just have to learn to live with that.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist, proud grandfather, and a supporter of the name William. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Shooting Shows Need to Revise Hunting Laws
The column below originally appeared in The Sun Chronicle on Friday, January 13, 2012.
When off-duty state trooper John Bergeron of Norton went hunting in the woods not far from his home on the last day of 2011, he had no idea his life was going to change forever in one awful moment - along with the life of Cheryl Blair. And now residents of Norton and other semi-rural communities are wondering how safe it is to venture far from their backyards.
Just as hunting season was coming to an end, Bergeron fired his weapon and struck Blair, a 66-year-old grandmother out walking her two dogs in a wooded area in her neighborhood. As this is written, she remains hospitalized with a bullet wound to her body and is fighting infection and complications. She has undergone at least two surgeries and her condition remains serious.
Bergeron called 911 for help, and stayed with the shooting victim until paramedics arrived. He told police he thought he had fired at a deer. He was remorseful during the 911 call and apologized profusely to the wounded woman while on the phone.
Local police investigated along with Environmental Police. Norton police were quick to declare it an accident and announce there would be no charges filed - too quick for some, who wondered if the state trooper was receiving preferential treatment. Norton police have said no such treatment was given. The Environmental Police investigation is still under way at press time.
There can be little doubt this was an accident, a case of shooting at the wrong target without any intent to cause harm to another human being. But should the shooter face charges of some kind? Do hunting regulations in Massachusetts need to be revised for safety reasons? Is it reasonable to expect a state trooper, who carries a gun as part of his job, to exercise better judgment than Bergeron did in this case?
The legal issue is certainly complex and requires a careful review and understanding of the law. But the facts here cry out for some type of corrective action. A grandmother walking her dogs near her own home was shot by a trained trooper who by his own admission mistook his target. That simply cannot be chalked up as an unfortunate accident and forgotten.
I am not a hunter, nor a "gun person." But I understand and appreciate the right of hunters to legally and responsibly practice this ancient art, even if I am not a fan. I also appreciate the right to bear arms, although I do not believe it extends as far as many others do.
But when you hunt in the local woods you assume a grave responsibility. You simply cannot discharge your weapon unless and until you are 100 percent certain of your target. You need to know you are shooting at a deer and not a golden retriever. And yes, that can be tricky and difficult. But when you are a licensed hunter and step into the woods with a dangerous weapon, you accept that burden.
There is also a responsibility to avoid walking in hunting areas without reflective clothing. But seriously - should we all be afraid to walk more than 500 feet from our homes at the risk of being shot? Is being able to hunt that close to dwellings so important that we risk the lives of people like Cheryl Blair?
I grew up in Norton when kids often played in the woods, and hearing gunshots was not unusual in the fall and winter. I live in a wooded section of Norton now, and my kids grew up knowing to be careful of wandering too far. But today, Norton is not a small country town. It is a community with 20,000 people jammed into 27 square miles. And like it or not - things have to change.
It is fair to say hunters have fewer places to go now than in the past. It is also a fact the overwhelming majority of them practice their hobby safely. This incident appears to be the result of a bad hunter, not an indictment of hunting itself. Yet the rules for all hunters may have to change.
If that results in even one fewer grandmother getting shot, I'm all for it.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and a lifelong resident of Norton. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
When off-duty state trooper John Bergeron of Norton went hunting in the woods not far from his home on the last day of 2011, he had no idea his life was going to change forever in one awful moment - along with the life of Cheryl Blair. And now residents of Norton and other semi-rural communities are wondering how safe it is to venture far from their backyards.
Just as hunting season was coming to an end, Bergeron fired his weapon and struck Blair, a 66-year-old grandmother out walking her two dogs in a wooded area in her neighborhood. As this is written, she remains hospitalized with a bullet wound to her body and is fighting infection and complications. She has undergone at least two surgeries and her condition remains serious.
Bergeron called 911 for help, and stayed with the shooting victim until paramedics arrived. He told police he thought he had fired at a deer. He was remorseful during the 911 call and apologized profusely to the wounded woman while on the phone.
Local police investigated along with Environmental Police. Norton police were quick to declare it an accident and announce there would be no charges filed - too quick for some, who wondered if the state trooper was receiving preferential treatment. Norton police have said no such treatment was given. The Environmental Police investigation is still under way at press time.
There can be little doubt this was an accident, a case of shooting at the wrong target without any intent to cause harm to another human being. But should the shooter face charges of some kind? Do hunting regulations in Massachusetts need to be revised for safety reasons? Is it reasonable to expect a state trooper, who carries a gun as part of his job, to exercise better judgment than Bergeron did in this case?
The legal issue is certainly complex and requires a careful review and understanding of the law. But the facts here cry out for some type of corrective action. A grandmother walking her dogs near her own home was shot by a trained trooper who by his own admission mistook his target. That simply cannot be chalked up as an unfortunate accident and forgotten.
I am not a hunter, nor a "gun person." But I understand and appreciate the right of hunters to legally and responsibly practice this ancient art, even if I am not a fan. I also appreciate the right to bear arms, although I do not believe it extends as far as many others do.
But when you hunt in the local woods you assume a grave responsibility. You simply cannot discharge your weapon unless and until you are 100 percent certain of your target. You need to know you are shooting at a deer and not a golden retriever. And yes, that can be tricky and difficult. But when you are a licensed hunter and step into the woods with a dangerous weapon, you accept that burden.
There is also a responsibility to avoid walking in hunting areas without reflective clothing. But seriously - should we all be afraid to walk more than 500 feet from our homes at the risk of being shot? Is being able to hunt that close to dwellings so important that we risk the lives of people like Cheryl Blair?
I grew up in Norton when kids often played in the woods, and hearing gunshots was not unusual in the fall and winter. I live in a wooded section of Norton now, and my kids grew up knowing to be careful of wandering too far. But today, Norton is not a small country town. It is a community with 20,000 people jammed into 27 square miles. And like it or not - things have to change.
It is fair to say hunters have fewer places to go now than in the past. It is also a fact the overwhelming majority of them practice their hobby safely. This incident appears to be the result of a bad hunter, not an indictment of hunting itself. Yet the rules for all hunters may have to change.
If that results in even one fewer grandmother getting shot, I'm all for it.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and a lifelong resident of Norton. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
Monday, January 2, 2012
The Great Ironic Foxboro Casino Debate
This column originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on Monday, January 2, 2012
As part of the Great Casino Debate, Foxboro is involved in a serious discussion concerning free speech. Ironically, folks are clamoring to be heard on the topic of denying others the right to be heard. Alas, no one ever said irony was fair.
At a selectmen’s meeting last week, many sought to speak and express their opposition to a resort casino suggested for near Gillette Stadium. They wished to publicly state their opposition to allowing any such proposal to be put on the ballot for all Foxboro voters to decide. They urged selectmen to not allow or engage in any discussion with the proposers on the topic.
Selectmen initially allowed ten minutes for public comments, but expanded that to almost an hour when many wished to speak. One woman opposed to the casino was told time had expired and the meeting was moving on. She angrily demanded the right to be heard. Many in the crowd chanted “Let her speak!” She went on to urge the casino proponents be given no consideration, and received a loud ovation.
Perhaps the irony of people invoking their right to speak in an effort to prevent others from being heard was lost on some there. Hopefully it will become clearer as the heat of that moment slowly dissipates. But that might be unlikely, given the recent penchant for explaining away bad behavior in Foxboro.
The casino issue has been blamed for bringing out the worst in some citizens on both sides. Many have stated the very concept is tearing the community apart and pitting friends and neighbors against each other. There have been accusations of sign stealing and vandalism. Town meetings have been interrupted by shouting citizens seeking to influence town officials and others. All this in peaceful Foxboro, described almost universally as a warm, friendly community.
Foxboro is indeed a great town, full of good people. Those residents are too good to use this issue or any other as an excuse for intolerance and ignorance. Issues don’t behave poorly – people do. It is time everyone in Foxboro – on all sides - started assuming responsibility for their own actions rather than passing them off as the inevitable result of a complicated and emotional debate.
Most residents of Foxboro are doing just that. They are allowing the system to work as intended, supplying their input and opinions when and where they deem it necessary and proper, and respecting their fellow citizens. It is a shame the actions of a vocal few are unfairly casting the community in a bad light.
Those proposing the casino (and it does no good to call it a “resort destination”, it is still a casino) must be sensitive to the feelings of the Foxboro residents. This matter strikes right to the heart and character of a community, or at least people’s perception of those things. It is difficult to walk into town and propose something along the scale of this project without raising great fear and trepidation.
When you do polling, or lobby officials, or put a video on local cable access television – all perfectly legitimate and proper things to do – you have to know some will treat it as though you are dictating rather than appealing. You are going to be the bad guys in this little morality play, and there is little you can do to change that perception.
But having a difficult decision placed before them is not an excuse for the behavior some in Foxboro have exhibited. Granted, the casino is a political topic and will eventually need a political solution. But attacking the integrity of those who present the concept and town officials who support listening to them, intimidating officials with none-too-subtle threats of political retribution, and acting like spoiled three-year-olds at public meetings is not the way to go. Although in truth, it does seem to have been politically effective thus far. Is that really what matters most?.
Communities sometimes have to make tough decisions. Those decisions should be informed ones, made after full and careful consideration. If individuals on either side of this contentious debate continue to cross the line with their behavior, the blame is on them – not the issue at hand. A little less irony, a little more reason…
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and a longtime area town official. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
As part of the Great Casino Debate, Foxboro is involved in a serious discussion concerning free speech. Ironically, folks are clamoring to be heard on the topic of denying others the right to be heard. Alas, no one ever said irony was fair.
At a selectmen’s meeting last week, many sought to speak and express their opposition to a resort casino suggested for near Gillette Stadium. They wished to publicly state their opposition to allowing any such proposal to be put on the ballot for all Foxboro voters to decide. They urged selectmen to not allow or engage in any discussion with the proposers on the topic.
Selectmen initially allowed ten minutes for public comments, but expanded that to almost an hour when many wished to speak. One woman opposed to the casino was told time had expired and the meeting was moving on. She angrily demanded the right to be heard. Many in the crowd chanted “Let her speak!” She went on to urge the casino proponents be given no consideration, and received a loud ovation.
Perhaps the irony of people invoking their right to speak in an effort to prevent others from being heard was lost on some there. Hopefully it will become clearer as the heat of that moment slowly dissipates. But that might be unlikely, given the recent penchant for explaining away bad behavior in Foxboro.
The casino issue has been blamed for bringing out the worst in some citizens on both sides. Many have stated the very concept is tearing the community apart and pitting friends and neighbors against each other. There have been accusations of sign stealing and vandalism. Town meetings have been interrupted by shouting citizens seeking to influence town officials and others. All this in peaceful Foxboro, described almost universally as a warm, friendly community.
Foxboro is indeed a great town, full of good people. Those residents are too good to use this issue or any other as an excuse for intolerance and ignorance. Issues don’t behave poorly – people do. It is time everyone in Foxboro – on all sides - started assuming responsibility for their own actions rather than passing them off as the inevitable result of a complicated and emotional debate.
Most residents of Foxboro are doing just that. They are allowing the system to work as intended, supplying their input and opinions when and where they deem it necessary and proper, and respecting their fellow citizens. It is a shame the actions of a vocal few are unfairly casting the community in a bad light.
Those proposing the casino (and it does no good to call it a “resort destination”, it is still a casino) must be sensitive to the feelings of the Foxboro residents. This matter strikes right to the heart and character of a community, or at least people’s perception of those things. It is difficult to walk into town and propose something along the scale of this project without raising great fear and trepidation.
When you do polling, or lobby officials, or put a video on local cable access television – all perfectly legitimate and proper things to do – you have to know some will treat it as though you are dictating rather than appealing. You are going to be the bad guys in this little morality play, and there is little you can do to change that perception.
But having a difficult decision placed before them is not an excuse for the behavior some in Foxboro have exhibited. Granted, the casino is a political topic and will eventually need a political solution. But attacking the integrity of those who present the concept and town officials who support listening to them, intimidating officials with none-too-subtle threats of political retribution, and acting like spoiled three-year-olds at public meetings is not the way to go. Although in truth, it does seem to have been politically effective thus far. Is that really what matters most?.
Communities sometimes have to make tough decisions. Those decisions should be informed ones, made after full and careful consideration. If individuals on either side of this contentious debate continue to cross the line with their behavior, the blame is on them – not the issue at hand. A little less irony, a little more reason…
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and a longtime area town official. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Thank a Veteran in your Town Today
This column originally appeared in The Sun Chronicle on November 11, 2011.
Today is Veteran’s Day. And each and every one of us should go out of our way today to personally say “thank you” to a veteran we know in our community.
The public perception of veterans seems to vary from generation to generation. As our wars change, so has how we look at the men and women who fight them. But the courage, the dedication, and the personal sacrifice these brave soldiers exhibit is timeless. Our appreciation of it must be also.
The two World Wars this country fought were battles for global supremacy. We weren’t just attacked, we were threatened with extinction. Most existing nations were involved. It was country against country, government against government, military against military. The other side wore uniforms, we knew who they were. We had a clear goal and purpose.
Then things changed. We sent troops to Korea for a “police action”. My father and others went to a country half a world away because they were having a civil war. Suddenly we were fighting but not trying to win. We were asking our armed forces to protect but not attack, to defend but not offend. Victory became more of a concept than a clearly achievable objective.
Then came Vietnam, and we lost our national focus. We were embroiled in a war to stop Communism in a country few here at the time even recognized. We sent thousands of young people to die in the jungle for a “cause” that a growing percentage did not believe in or respect. And for the first time in our history, we began to blame the soldiers for the unpopular war. We took out our frustration on them.
When the Vietnam War ended, we did not win. There was no joyous celebration like there was for WWII. We did not welcome the veterans back with open arms, we merely brought them home and sent them off to fend for themselves. As a nation we were a bit embarrassed, and these honorable soldiers were unfairly and wrongly seen as a symbol of our failure.
Then came the Gulf conflicts, more undeclared wars in nations far away. They were precipitated by terrorist attacks against us, the attack in 2001 being on our soil and shaking us to our core. But this was not country against country. The other side did not wear uniforms and once again the goals and objectives for our gallant soldiers were vague and unclear. We were fighting a very real terrorist threat, but unsure just who it was we were blaming and chasing.
World War II lasted about five years. It has now been nearly a decade since we sent troops into Afghanistan and Iraq. Our wars are getting longer and more difficult, and we are expecting and demanding more from our personnel. We are extending terms of service, keeping citizen/soldiers away from their families for increasing periods of time. We are subjecting them to horrors unimagined by their predecessors with the awful yet effective technology and power we possess today.
Yet through it all, one thing has not changed. The American soldier remains the most effective, committed and reliable weapon ever to walk the face of the earth. That is not because they have superpowers or maniacal devotion to cause or can bring about mass destruction with a single keystroke or radio call. It is because those soldiers have managed to keep in perspective their duty to their country, a country that isn’t always clear about its duty back to them.
Get out into your city or town today. Talk to the folks you see and know in the coffee shops, stores and town halls. Make a point of thanking them again for their service, be it from 1944 or 2011. Tell them you appreciate all they did, even if it was long ago. Seek them out, make the effort. It pales in comparison to the efforts they have made for all of us.
I never served in the military, so I have no real idea of the sacrifice of those who did. But I know my family is safer today because of them, and that alone is reason to extend them my never-ending gratitude. Happy Veterans Day.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and a grateful American. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
This column
Today is Veteran’s Day. And each and every one of us should go out of our way today to personally say “thank you” to a veteran we know in our community.
The public perception of veterans seems to vary from generation to generation. As our wars change, so has how we look at the men and women who fight them. But the courage, the dedication, and the personal sacrifice these brave soldiers exhibit is timeless. Our appreciation of it must be also.
The two World Wars this country fought were battles for global supremacy. We weren’t just attacked, we were threatened with extinction. Most existing nations were involved. It was country against country, government against government, military against military. The other side wore uniforms, we knew who they were. We had a clear goal and purpose.
Then things changed. We sent troops to Korea for a “police action”. My father and others went to a country half a world away because they were having a civil war. Suddenly we were fighting but not trying to win. We were asking our armed forces to protect but not attack, to defend but not offend. Victory became more of a concept than a clearly achievable objective.
Then came Vietnam, and we lost our national focus. We were embroiled in a war to stop Communism in a country few here at the time even recognized. We sent thousands of young people to die in the jungle for a “cause” that a growing percentage did not believe in or respect. And for the first time in our history, we began to blame the soldiers for the unpopular war. We took out our frustration on them.
When the Vietnam War ended, we did not win. There was no joyous celebration like there was for WWII. We did not welcome the veterans back with open arms, we merely brought them home and sent them off to fend for themselves. As a nation we were a bit embarrassed, and these honorable soldiers were unfairly and wrongly seen as a symbol of our failure.
Then came the Gulf conflicts, more undeclared wars in nations far away. They were precipitated by terrorist attacks against us, the attack in 2001 being on our soil and shaking us to our core. But this was not country against country. The other side did not wear uniforms and once again the goals and objectives for our gallant soldiers were vague and unclear. We were fighting a very real terrorist threat, but unsure just who it was we were blaming and chasing.
World War II lasted about five years. It has now been nearly a decade since we sent troops into Afghanistan and Iraq. Our wars are getting longer and more difficult, and we are expecting and demanding more from our personnel. We are extending terms of service, keeping citizen/soldiers away from their families for increasing periods of time. We are subjecting them to horrors unimagined by their predecessors with the awful yet effective technology and power we possess today.
Yet through it all, one thing has not changed. The American soldier remains the most effective, committed and reliable weapon ever to walk the face of the earth. That is not because they have superpowers or maniacal devotion to cause or can bring about mass destruction with a single keystroke or radio call. It is because those soldiers have managed to keep in perspective their duty to their country, a country that isn’t always clear about its duty back to them.
Get out into your city or town today. Talk to the folks you see and know in the coffee shops, stores and town halls. Make a point of thanking them again for their service, be it from 1944 or 2011. Tell them you appreciate all they did, even if it was long ago. Seek them out, make the effort. It pales in comparison to the efforts they have made for all of us.
I never served in the military, so I have no real idea of the sacrifice of those who did. But I know my family is safer today because of them, and that alone is reason to extend them my never-ending gratitude. Happy Veterans Day.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and a grateful American. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
This column
Monday, November 8, 2010
The Nursing Home Experience
This column originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on Saturday, November 6, 2010.
AN INSIDE LOOK
By Bill Gouveia
Over the past few weeks my family has had the responsibility of placing a loved one into a nursing home facility. While an unavoidable part of life for many, it is also heartbreaking and patience-trying.
My step-dad is almost 82 years old, and his health has taken a turn for the worse recently. A widower, he simply could not continue to stay in the assisted living facility he called home for the last year. So my brother and I began the long journey into the federal and state bureaucratic mess most face when this life phase comes along.
The first step was locating a facility that had room for him and that we believed provided an appropriate level of care. Neither of us has much experience in such matters, and it certainly opened our eyes. I don’t care how good the nursing home you find is, it is still a nursing home. Unless you are independently wealthy and can afford expensive private care, you wind up settling in some way for less than you would have hoped.
When we found a good facility with an opening, we began to wade into the paperwork that can quickly overwhelm the average person. There are applications to fill out for various state and federal agencies, financial information to be gathered and submitted, and long and tedious phone calls to be made. Medicare and the related insurances are not among the easier things to understand in this world.
But that is nothing compared to what the poor person going into the facility must endure. I have come to the conclusion there simply is no way to explain to an elderly man or woman you love why you are leaving them in a place they do not want to be. You can have all the facts on your side, be secure in the knowledge you are making the only good decision available – and still feel as if you are betraying the trust placed in you.
Forget what it does to you, the guilt and the sorrow and heartache of leaving your family member with strangers for what will be the rest of his/her life. What it does to the elderly person himself/herself is what you worry about. The desperation and pain in their eyes the first time they beg you to “go home” is exceeded only by the same look the many subsequent times they ask.
You leave them knowing they will spend most of their hours alone with their thoughts. You leave them knowing the staff will treat them well, but that they cannot respond instantly every time they are summonsed. You pray they know you love them, and would not do this unless it was necessary.
You know in your head and in your heart you have done the best you can for him/her. Yet you constantly question yourself, your judgment, and whether or not you could have and should have done more. Your force yourself to channel the guilt that wracks you into energy that propels you. You remind yourself the person you love depends on your ability to do the job you have been entrusted with and accepted.
You also remember this does not have to be a totally negative experience. You think of the other families you have met who fondly attend to their loved one, and you look to the example of the sweet and independent residents you have met in the facility you chose.
At the same time, you remember the poor lost souls who have no one to visit, no one to bring them shakes and sandwiches, no one to advocate on their behalf and protect their interests. And you are glad you could be there for your family member and provide some assurance and protection. You realize in the end that is their greatest comfort in their darkest hours.
And you gaze into the future and see yourself. You know you should save more money. You worry about burdening your own children or family in the future. And the chill you feel running down your spine is because you see yourself in that bed someday, begging family to “take me home”.
And you pray you will handle it with dignity.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
AN INSIDE LOOK
By Bill Gouveia
Over the past few weeks my family has had the responsibility of placing a loved one into a nursing home facility. While an unavoidable part of life for many, it is also heartbreaking and patience-trying.
My step-dad is almost 82 years old, and his health has taken a turn for the worse recently. A widower, he simply could not continue to stay in the assisted living facility he called home for the last year. So my brother and I began the long journey into the federal and state bureaucratic mess most face when this life phase comes along.
The first step was locating a facility that had room for him and that we believed provided an appropriate level of care. Neither of us has much experience in such matters, and it certainly opened our eyes. I don’t care how good the nursing home you find is, it is still a nursing home. Unless you are independently wealthy and can afford expensive private care, you wind up settling in some way for less than you would have hoped.
When we found a good facility with an opening, we began to wade into the paperwork that can quickly overwhelm the average person. There are applications to fill out for various state and federal agencies, financial information to be gathered and submitted, and long and tedious phone calls to be made. Medicare and the related insurances are not among the easier things to understand in this world.
But that is nothing compared to what the poor person going into the facility must endure. I have come to the conclusion there simply is no way to explain to an elderly man or woman you love why you are leaving them in a place they do not want to be. You can have all the facts on your side, be secure in the knowledge you are making the only good decision available – and still feel as if you are betraying the trust placed in you.
Forget what it does to you, the guilt and the sorrow and heartache of leaving your family member with strangers for what will be the rest of his/her life. What it does to the elderly person himself/herself is what you worry about. The desperation and pain in their eyes the first time they beg you to “go home” is exceeded only by the same look the many subsequent times they ask.
You leave them knowing they will spend most of their hours alone with their thoughts. You leave them knowing the staff will treat them well, but that they cannot respond instantly every time they are summonsed. You pray they know you love them, and would not do this unless it was necessary.
You know in your head and in your heart you have done the best you can for him/her. Yet you constantly question yourself, your judgment, and whether or not you could have and should have done more. Your force yourself to channel the guilt that wracks you into energy that propels you. You remind yourself the person you love depends on your ability to do the job you have been entrusted with and accepted.
You also remember this does not have to be a totally negative experience. You think of the other families you have met who fondly attend to their loved one, and you look to the example of the sweet and independent residents you have met in the facility you chose.
At the same time, you remember the poor lost souls who have no one to visit, no one to bring them shakes and sandwiches, no one to advocate on their behalf and protect their interests. And you are glad you could be there for your family member and provide some assurance and protection. You realize in the end that is their greatest comfort in their darkest hours.
And you gaze into the future and see yourself. You know you should save more money. You worry about burdening your own children or family in the future. And the chill you feel running down your spine is because you see yourself in that bed someday, begging family to “take me home”.
And you pray you will handle it with dignity.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
That's My Boy!
As a proud father, I have to pass along this video of my son Aaron at what I believe to be one of his very finest moments. If you read the post prior to this, you know about the situation. Here he confronts abortion protesters who yelled awful things at Aaron and his wife as they went into a medical facility for the worst day of their lives:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jEFWDYB0rWo
This has now received over one-half MILLION hits on Youtube!
I am very - VERY - proud of my son and his wife!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jEFWDYB0rWo
This has now received over one-half MILLION hits on Youtube!
I am very - VERY - proud of my son and his wife!
Friday, July 30, 2010
The Grandchild I Never Knew
Abortion – it’s an ugly term. It has a deservedly harsh connotation to it, conveying an untimely ending and something gone horribly wrong.
My son and daughter-in-law had to make a decision to terminate their pregnancy recently, a pregnancy nearly four months along. They chose to do it, although in reality there was no choice. But it was still incredibly difficult.
Their baby – my grandchild – had a rare and fatal congenital birth defect called Sirenomelia, otherwise known as Mermaid Syndrome. Due to a vascular malfunction, the baby’s legs were fused together. The baby had no bladder, no kidneys, and no chance of surviving. The defect occurs once in about every 100,000 births.
The pain this caused my son and his wife, who very much wanted this second child, is indescribable. You cannot possibly fathom the depths of their despair unless you have been in a similar position. And while nowhere near as bad, the pain of having to watch our children go through this is something my wife and I pray we never have to experience again.
Our kids handled their situation with all the class, dignity and responsibility human beings can be expected to muster. We are so proud, even as our hearts break for them. Their strength and devotion to one another and their two-year-old son is the stuff of legends.
But their ordeal was made even more unnecessarily awful by the politics and social controversy surrounding the abortion issue. On one of the worst days of their lives, they became victims again – this time at the hands of those trying to do God’s work while in fact doing just the opposite.
Although my daughter-in-law was treated at a major Boston hospital, the time-sensitive nature of the procedure necessitated it be done at an affiliated establishment. After she and my son mustered the necessary courage and emotional strength to get where they had to go, they were met by something they had not considered in their grief – abortion protestors.
Two women were picketing outside the establishment, carrying signs and “communicating” with women walking in the door. One carried a sign of religious symbolism. As my son and his wife tried to enter the building where they would lose the baby they already loved so much, they were approached by the women.
“You’re killing your unborn baby!’ was the remark they would remember most as they walked past. They were both furious and devastated, but held their tempers and concentrated on what needed to be done. But once my daughter-in-law was in surgery, my son decided to take on the protestors.
In a calm but firm tone, he told them of his wife’s condition. How they had accosted her at the most vulnerable point in her life. How they had hurled accusations when they had no idea of the circumstances. How they claimed to be protecting, yet seemed more intent on hurting. And better yet, he recorded the entire conversation on his cell phone and posted it on his internet blog.
These particular protestors care about the unborn, but apparently are not concerned with those who have already come into the world. They made no attempt to discover the circumstances and just assumed this was a couple ending an unwanted pregnancy. To them, my kids were simply collateral damage in an ongoing war – the price to be paid for later success.
This column is not about a woman’s right to choose, although I have my own opinions on that matter. It is about the culture of hatred and disrespect that people today foster when they single-mindedly focus on one goal to the exclusion of nearly all else. It is about allowing the end to justify the means.
I am so proud of my son, and perhaps even more proud of his wife. At a time of great personal turmoil, they did not just retreat inside their own grief – though no one would have blamed them.
Rather, they cared enough to take the time to explain to these people how their actions can destroy others. How their words can scar forever. How nothing is ever as clear or as simple as it seems.
I love them dearly, and I will never forget the lessons they have taught us all.
My son and daughter-in-law had to make a decision to terminate their pregnancy recently, a pregnancy nearly four months along. They chose to do it, although in reality there was no choice. But it was still incredibly difficult.
Their baby – my grandchild – had a rare and fatal congenital birth defect called Sirenomelia, otherwise known as Mermaid Syndrome. Due to a vascular malfunction, the baby’s legs were fused together. The baby had no bladder, no kidneys, and no chance of surviving. The defect occurs once in about every 100,000 births.
The pain this caused my son and his wife, who very much wanted this second child, is indescribable. You cannot possibly fathom the depths of their despair unless you have been in a similar position. And while nowhere near as bad, the pain of having to watch our children go through this is something my wife and I pray we never have to experience again.
Our kids handled their situation with all the class, dignity and responsibility human beings can be expected to muster. We are so proud, even as our hearts break for them. Their strength and devotion to one another and their two-year-old son is the stuff of legends.
But their ordeal was made even more unnecessarily awful by the politics and social controversy surrounding the abortion issue. On one of the worst days of their lives, they became victims again – this time at the hands of those trying to do God’s work while in fact doing just the opposite.
Although my daughter-in-law was treated at a major Boston hospital, the time-sensitive nature of the procedure necessitated it be done at an affiliated establishment. After she and my son mustered the necessary courage and emotional strength to get where they had to go, they were met by something they had not considered in their grief – abortion protestors.
Two women were picketing outside the establishment, carrying signs and “communicating” with women walking in the door. One carried a sign of religious symbolism. As my son and his wife tried to enter the building where they would lose the baby they already loved so much, they were approached by the women.
“You’re killing your unborn baby!’ was the remark they would remember most as they walked past. They were both furious and devastated, but held their tempers and concentrated on what needed to be done. But once my daughter-in-law was in surgery, my son decided to take on the protestors.
In a calm but firm tone, he told them of his wife’s condition. How they had accosted her at the most vulnerable point in her life. How they had hurled accusations when they had no idea of the circumstances. How they claimed to be protecting, yet seemed more intent on hurting. And better yet, he recorded the entire conversation on his cell phone and posted it on his internet blog.
These particular protestors care about the unborn, but apparently are not concerned with those who have already come into the world. They made no attempt to discover the circumstances and just assumed this was a couple ending an unwanted pregnancy. To them, my kids were simply collateral damage in an ongoing war – the price to be paid for later success.
This column is not about a woman’s right to choose, although I have my own opinions on that matter. It is about the culture of hatred and disrespect that people today foster when they single-mindedly focus on one goal to the exclusion of nearly all else. It is about allowing the end to justify the means.
I am so proud of my son, and perhaps even more proud of his wife. At a time of great personal turmoil, they did not just retreat inside their own grief – though no one would have blamed them.
Rather, they cared enough to take the time to explain to these people how their actions can destroy others. How their words can scar forever. How nothing is ever as clear or as simple as it seems.
I love them dearly, and I will never forget the lessons they have taught us all.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Senator Brown's bill is just wrong
This column originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on Saturday, May 14, 2010.
“Those who would give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety” – Benjamin Franklin.
This famous quotation leapt to mind recently when Massachusetts Senator Scott Brown announced his co-sponsorship of legislation entitled the “Terrorist Expatriation Act”. This bill would expand State Department powers to strip Americans of their citizenship under a 1940 law, if the government determines they have joined or supported a terrorist-type organization.
These Americans would not have to be convicted of any crime. They would have the right to appeal the government’s determination - after the fact - through the court system. The Senator’s bill was filed largely in response to the recent car bombing attempt in Times Square by an alleged naturalized US citizen from Pakistan.
“We continue to defend our nation against shadowy extremist enemies whose tactics are ever-changing and evolving, but their goal of destroying our way of life remains the same," explained Brown, the country’s newest senator. “It is critical to our homeland security that we adjust and adapt our defense measures to keep terrorism out of our country.”
The law Brown seeks to expand was created as America was about to enter the war in Europe and battle the Nazi government. When Senator Joseph McCarthy started hunting Communists in the 1950’s, the law was given more teeth in response to the fear gripping the nation.
But it has rarely been used or enforced because the Supreme Court has consistently ruled citizenship can only be given up voluntarily. And that is as it should be, because citizenship is the single most important protection Americans have against unfair persecution, particularly by those in positions of governmental power.
The idea a senator from Massachusetts, where American liberty was conceived, could sponsor a bill that would strip citizenship from those merely accused of crimes or associations is frightening and ridiculous. The fact many well-known politicians from both parties are hesitant to immediately oppose it speaks to the political climate which today has politicians pandering to prevailing public opinion, rather than standing up for the principles upon which this great nation was founded.
There are strong laws and penalties in place for those who would commit terrorism and/or treason. But citizens of this country have certain rights, even if alleged to have committed criminal acts. Those rights were fought for and secured with the blood of patriots over the last 234 years. They belong to the people of this country - not its government.
Yes, the rights of American citizens sometimes make it difficult to provide for our security. Democracy and freedom are not easy. Maintaining them means forever balancing the rights of the individual against the needs of society. It is what separates us from most of the rest of the world.
Thomas Jefferson – hardly known as a liberal zealot – said: “Rightful liberty is unobstructed action according to our will within limits drawn around us by the equal rights of others. I do not add 'within the limits of the law' because law is often but the tyrant's will, and always so when it violates the rights of the individual.”
People have the right to be safe in their homes. Those who violate the laws of our land should face the appropriate punishments. And those convicted of plotting the violent overthrow of our government should be dealt with to the extreme, be they US citizens or not.
But proposals such as the one put forth by Senator Brown are as clearly political and self-serving as they are unconstitutional. Brown’s proposed law brings back sad memories of the way this country treated Japanese-Americans during World War II. It may well be popular in the current political climate, and it might earn him some votes. But it will also lose him a great deal of respect.
If we are willing to devalue American citizenship in order to protect ourselves, then the terrorists have already achieved their major goal – to begin the destruction of our way of life from within. We cannot allow that to happen.
Old Ben Franklin was absolutely right in what he said. And despite the best of intentions, Senator Brown is dead wrong in sponsoring this un-American piece of awful legislation.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist who – contrary to popular belief – did not know Ben Franklin personally. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
“Those who would give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety” – Benjamin Franklin.
This famous quotation leapt to mind recently when Massachusetts Senator Scott Brown announced his co-sponsorship of legislation entitled the “Terrorist Expatriation Act”. This bill would expand State Department powers to strip Americans of their citizenship under a 1940 law, if the government determines they have joined or supported a terrorist-type organization.
These Americans would not have to be convicted of any crime. They would have the right to appeal the government’s determination - after the fact - through the court system. The Senator’s bill was filed largely in response to the recent car bombing attempt in Times Square by an alleged naturalized US citizen from Pakistan.
“We continue to defend our nation against shadowy extremist enemies whose tactics are ever-changing and evolving, but their goal of destroying our way of life remains the same," explained Brown, the country’s newest senator. “It is critical to our homeland security that we adjust and adapt our defense measures to keep terrorism out of our country.”
The law Brown seeks to expand was created as America was about to enter the war in Europe and battle the Nazi government. When Senator Joseph McCarthy started hunting Communists in the 1950’s, the law was given more teeth in response to the fear gripping the nation.
But it has rarely been used or enforced because the Supreme Court has consistently ruled citizenship can only be given up voluntarily. And that is as it should be, because citizenship is the single most important protection Americans have against unfair persecution, particularly by those in positions of governmental power.
The idea a senator from Massachusetts, where American liberty was conceived, could sponsor a bill that would strip citizenship from those merely accused of crimes or associations is frightening and ridiculous. The fact many well-known politicians from both parties are hesitant to immediately oppose it speaks to the political climate which today has politicians pandering to prevailing public opinion, rather than standing up for the principles upon which this great nation was founded.
There are strong laws and penalties in place for those who would commit terrorism and/or treason. But citizens of this country have certain rights, even if alleged to have committed criminal acts. Those rights were fought for and secured with the blood of patriots over the last 234 years. They belong to the people of this country - not its government.
Yes, the rights of American citizens sometimes make it difficult to provide for our security. Democracy and freedom are not easy. Maintaining them means forever balancing the rights of the individual against the needs of society. It is what separates us from most of the rest of the world.
Thomas Jefferson – hardly known as a liberal zealot – said: “Rightful liberty is unobstructed action according to our will within limits drawn around us by the equal rights of others. I do not add 'within the limits of the law' because law is often but the tyrant's will, and always so when it violates the rights of the individual.”
People have the right to be safe in their homes. Those who violate the laws of our land should face the appropriate punishments. And those convicted of plotting the violent overthrow of our government should be dealt with to the extreme, be they US citizens or not.
But proposals such as the one put forth by Senator Brown are as clearly political and self-serving as they are unconstitutional. Brown’s proposed law brings back sad memories of the way this country treated Japanese-Americans during World War II. It may well be popular in the current political climate, and it might earn him some votes. But it will also lose him a great deal of respect.
If we are willing to devalue American citizenship in order to protect ourselves, then the terrorists have already achieved their major goal – to begin the destruction of our way of life from within. We cannot allow that to happen.
Old Ben Franklin was absolutely right in what he said. And despite the best of intentions, Senator Brown is dead wrong in sponsoring this un-American piece of awful legislation.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist who – contrary to popular belief – did not know Ben Franklin personally. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
The Under-Appreciated Father of the Groom
This column originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on Saturday, May 8, 2010.
If you see me hanging around looking useless, you might assume that’s just the natural state for newspaper columnists. But no, I am merely readying myself for the final performance of a role I have played once thus far in my life.
My youngest son is getting married early next year to a wonderful young lady (I get in trouble when I call her “The Doctor”, but I’m very proud of her). So next March 12th I will don whatever finery I am instructed to wear, go where I am told, and pretty much stay out of the way. Such is life for the least important, nearly invisible participant in many weddings – the Father of the Groom (or FOG).
Each wedding participant usually has a clearly defined role. The Mother of the Bride is escorted down the aisle at the beginning of the ceremony. The Mother of the Groom gets to have that emotional dance with her son at the reception. And who among us has not shed a tear watching the Father of the Bride dance with his newly-wed daughter before the cheering crowd?
The Maid of Honor stands next to the bride as she is wed. The Best Man is entrusted with holding the wedding rings and gives the much-anticipated toast. The bridesmaids and groomsmen escort each other down the aisle to take their place of honor.
But the Father of the Groom does nothing. He stays in the background, guards his wife’s purse, and maybe occasionally gives guests directions to the restroom. If your attention is called to the FOG in a wedding, it is usually because something has gone horribly wrong.
In fact, he is not even considered capable of escorting his own wife down the aisle. Instead, he trails behind as though he came in late and has to catch up. His only responsibility is to remain upright and not step on his spouse’s dress from behind.
Since my son is marrying a doctor, let me put it in a medical perspective. The FOG is the appendix of the wedding party. Should he become inflamed he can be removed with virtually no damage to the wedding itself.
Sure, in some ceremonies the FOG is tossed a bone. Maybe he gets to light a candle before the service actually starts. Perhaps he can do a reading of some obscure scripture. Or in some cases, he might get to tell the caterer the final count of how many vegetarian dinners are actually necessary. But there seems to be no traditional role for this under-appreciated, under-utilized parental unit.
Of course, wedding days are not about other people. They are about the happy couple and giving them a day to remember as they start down the path to marital bliss. It is about their commitment and love, not about making sure their loved ones have played an important role in their day.
I don’t know who said that, but obviously it was not a Father of the Groom.
My oldest son was married just over four years ago, and his ceremony and celebration were amazing and wonderful. I played my role as FOG as well as could be expected. I wore the proper clothing, made the lonesome walk behind my wife as she was escorted to her seat by my other son, and made sure she did not trip coming off the altar when we jointly went up and lit a candle. Obviously, I could not be trusted alone with an open flame.
And it was one of the happiest days of my life, as March 12, 2011 will be also. I can’t wait to watch my youngest child exchange vows and officially join the ranks of the married. His spouse-to-be is specializing in geriatrics, and frankly I’m figuring the timing is just about right for me.
But as I sit watching it happen, I think I’ll keep an invitation in my pocket in case I have to prove I’m supposed to be there. Remember, it’s all about me.
If any of you faithful readers have suggestions for this anxious FOG, I’d be more than happy to listen. After all, what else do I have to do?
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and a soon-to-be two-time FOG. You may send suggestions to him at aninsidelook@aol.com.
If you see me hanging around looking useless, you might assume that’s just the natural state for newspaper columnists. But no, I am merely readying myself for the final performance of a role I have played once thus far in my life.
My youngest son is getting married early next year to a wonderful young lady (I get in trouble when I call her “The Doctor”, but I’m very proud of her). So next March 12th I will don whatever finery I am instructed to wear, go where I am told, and pretty much stay out of the way. Such is life for the least important, nearly invisible participant in many weddings – the Father of the Groom (or FOG).
Each wedding participant usually has a clearly defined role. The Mother of the Bride is escorted down the aisle at the beginning of the ceremony. The Mother of the Groom gets to have that emotional dance with her son at the reception. And who among us has not shed a tear watching the Father of the Bride dance with his newly-wed daughter before the cheering crowd?
The Maid of Honor stands next to the bride as she is wed. The Best Man is entrusted with holding the wedding rings and gives the much-anticipated toast. The bridesmaids and groomsmen escort each other down the aisle to take their place of honor.
But the Father of the Groom does nothing. He stays in the background, guards his wife’s purse, and maybe occasionally gives guests directions to the restroom. If your attention is called to the FOG in a wedding, it is usually because something has gone horribly wrong.
In fact, he is not even considered capable of escorting his own wife down the aisle. Instead, he trails behind as though he came in late and has to catch up. His only responsibility is to remain upright and not step on his spouse’s dress from behind.
Since my son is marrying a doctor, let me put it in a medical perspective. The FOG is the appendix of the wedding party. Should he become inflamed he can be removed with virtually no damage to the wedding itself.
Sure, in some ceremonies the FOG is tossed a bone. Maybe he gets to light a candle before the service actually starts. Perhaps he can do a reading of some obscure scripture. Or in some cases, he might get to tell the caterer the final count of how many vegetarian dinners are actually necessary. But there seems to be no traditional role for this under-appreciated, under-utilized parental unit.
Of course, wedding days are not about other people. They are about the happy couple and giving them a day to remember as they start down the path to marital bliss. It is about their commitment and love, not about making sure their loved ones have played an important role in their day.
I don’t know who said that, but obviously it was not a Father of the Groom.
My oldest son was married just over four years ago, and his ceremony and celebration were amazing and wonderful. I played my role as FOG as well as could be expected. I wore the proper clothing, made the lonesome walk behind my wife as she was escorted to her seat by my other son, and made sure she did not trip coming off the altar when we jointly went up and lit a candle. Obviously, I could not be trusted alone with an open flame.
And it was one of the happiest days of my life, as March 12, 2011 will be also. I can’t wait to watch my youngest child exchange vows and officially join the ranks of the married. His spouse-to-be is specializing in geriatrics, and frankly I’m figuring the timing is just about right for me.
But as I sit watching it happen, I think I’ll keep an invitation in my pocket in case I have to prove I’m supposed to be there. Remember, it’s all about me.
If any of you faithful readers have suggestions for this anxious FOG, I’d be more than happy to listen. After all, what else do I have to do?
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and a soon-to-be two-time FOG. You may send suggestions to him at aninsidelook@aol.com.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Don't Pity the Pope
This column originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on April 17, 2010
It is generally unwise to write an opinion column on religion. So I won’t. But I am going to offer an opinion on the recent political and legal actions – or inactions – of the Catholic Church.
It has been a rough few weeks for the Church worldwide. The difficult and emotional issue of child abuse allegedly perpetrated by priests and ignored or covered up by Church officials has once again raised its ugly head. But this time accusations of a cover-up have not only reached the Vatican, but extended to the religious leader and Vatican head of state – His Holiness Pope Benedict.
Files recently made public as a result of a lawsuit against the Archdiocese of Milwaukee show Vatican officials were made aware of alleged abuse committed by a priest at a school for deaf children in Wisconsin. The case in question was handled by the Vatican’s Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, led from 1981-2005 by Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, who later became Pope Benedict.
The priest in question, the late Rev. Lawrence C. Murphy, was never dismissed by the church. Nor was he ever prosecuted by civilian legal authorities. He was transferred by church officials to a diocese in northern Wisconsin where he served his final 24 years of life working freely with children and parishioners.
Vatican and church officials have quickly rallied to defend Pope Benedict, strongly denying he ever had personal knowledge of the abuse situation. Many have denounced the accusations against the then-Cardinal as an attack on the Catholic Church, with one high-ranking official comparing it to anti-Semitism. Lawyers for the Vatican have also indicated the Pope has status as a secular Head-of-State, and therefore would have immunity from being forced to testify in any legal proceedings.
It is unfair and wrong to associate these horrible acts by criminal clerics with the core beliefs and faith of the Catholic Church. If that is indeed what some critics are doing, they should be ashamed of themselves.
But the actions of individual men and women – even in the name of religion – are indeed open to not only criticisms but legal action. You cannot and should not be allowed to abuse children nor hide the actions of any abuser without becoming liable for the consequences.
Thus far it appears the Catholic Church hierarchy is utilizing the “They’re Picking On Us” defense in battling the most current scandal. They are circling the wagons and attempting to portray those critical of them as anti-Catholic. And indeed, it is likely some of them actually are.
But it is not the faith or beliefs of the Catholic Church that are being questioned and tested here. Rather, it is how the flesh-and-blood people who run the multi-billion dollar entity that is the business end of the Church have conducted themselves and that business.
That should not be cloaked in religious terms. Just as the accusers should not indict an entire religion for these alleged horrific acts, the church organization itself should not seek to deflect attention from its own mistakes by questioning the integrity of victims and others unfairly.
Catholics in this area are many and devout. In Norton, a new St. Mary’s Church will open this month with a joyous celebration involving the entire community at a time when some churches are closing or consolidating. Throughout the area, Catholics remain firm in their faith and secure in their beliefs.
But it is hard to imagine they do not question the actions of some Catholic officials. It is hard to believe they approve of Cardinal Law remaining protected in Rome rather than facing investigation here. It is certain they are appalled by a priest who allegedly molested deaf children being transferred rather than disciplined by the Church or prosecuted with the Church’s help.
Can we clearly differentiate between the faith of a religion and the system created by the human beings who run it? I believe we can, I believe we should, and I believe we must.
This is dangerous ground, and those who believe their church leaders to be the infallible continuation of God on Earth will no doubt take issue. But on the list of those being treated unfairly right now, the Catholic Church doesn’t even make the top 10.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist who can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
It is generally unwise to write an opinion column on religion. So I won’t. But I am going to offer an opinion on the recent political and legal actions – or inactions – of the Catholic Church.
It has been a rough few weeks for the Church worldwide. The difficult and emotional issue of child abuse allegedly perpetrated by priests and ignored or covered up by Church officials has once again raised its ugly head. But this time accusations of a cover-up have not only reached the Vatican, but extended to the religious leader and Vatican head of state – His Holiness Pope Benedict.
Files recently made public as a result of a lawsuit against the Archdiocese of Milwaukee show Vatican officials were made aware of alleged abuse committed by a priest at a school for deaf children in Wisconsin. The case in question was handled by the Vatican’s Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, led from 1981-2005 by Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, who later became Pope Benedict.
The priest in question, the late Rev. Lawrence C. Murphy, was never dismissed by the church. Nor was he ever prosecuted by civilian legal authorities. He was transferred by church officials to a diocese in northern Wisconsin where he served his final 24 years of life working freely with children and parishioners.
Vatican and church officials have quickly rallied to defend Pope Benedict, strongly denying he ever had personal knowledge of the abuse situation. Many have denounced the accusations against the then-Cardinal as an attack on the Catholic Church, with one high-ranking official comparing it to anti-Semitism. Lawyers for the Vatican have also indicated the Pope has status as a secular Head-of-State, and therefore would have immunity from being forced to testify in any legal proceedings.
It is unfair and wrong to associate these horrible acts by criminal clerics with the core beliefs and faith of the Catholic Church. If that is indeed what some critics are doing, they should be ashamed of themselves.
But the actions of individual men and women – even in the name of religion – are indeed open to not only criticisms but legal action. You cannot and should not be allowed to abuse children nor hide the actions of any abuser without becoming liable for the consequences.
Thus far it appears the Catholic Church hierarchy is utilizing the “They’re Picking On Us” defense in battling the most current scandal. They are circling the wagons and attempting to portray those critical of them as anti-Catholic. And indeed, it is likely some of them actually are.
But it is not the faith or beliefs of the Catholic Church that are being questioned and tested here. Rather, it is how the flesh-and-blood people who run the multi-billion dollar entity that is the business end of the Church have conducted themselves and that business.
That should not be cloaked in religious terms. Just as the accusers should not indict an entire religion for these alleged horrific acts, the church organization itself should not seek to deflect attention from its own mistakes by questioning the integrity of victims and others unfairly.
Catholics in this area are many and devout. In Norton, a new St. Mary’s Church will open this month with a joyous celebration involving the entire community at a time when some churches are closing or consolidating. Throughout the area, Catholics remain firm in their faith and secure in their beliefs.
But it is hard to imagine they do not question the actions of some Catholic officials. It is hard to believe they approve of Cardinal Law remaining protected in Rome rather than facing investigation here. It is certain they are appalled by a priest who allegedly molested deaf children being transferred rather than disciplined by the Church or prosecuted with the Church’s help.
Can we clearly differentiate between the faith of a religion and the system created by the human beings who run it? I believe we can, I believe we should, and I believe we must.
This is dangerous ground, and those who believe their church leaders to be the infallible continuation of God on Earth will no doubt take issue. But on the list of those being treated unfairly right now, the Catholic Church doesn’t even make the top 10.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist who can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
Grandson Will Turns Two!
This column originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on April 3, 2010.
My grandson (did I mention his name is William?) turns two today. So yes, I’m writing about him again. Deal with it.
His birthday falls one week after my own and one day before his mothers’, which effectively renders both those birthdays meaningless. So Happy Birthday also to my beautiful daughter-in-law, now forever burdened with being the mother of the world’s most perfect child.
There is nothing more boring than a grandparent bragging about their grandchild. The simplest accomplishments become landmark achievements. We forget our own kids did this stuff, and that we laughed mightily when our parents created a fuss over the most mundane events.
But of course, that was THEIR grandchild. When it is YOUR grandchild, the rules are completely different.
We have already had a party for Will, complete with all the toys his parents politely asked us not to get. He got clothes from Grandma, but she also helped me pick out the motorized toy forklift he loves, like the real one Grandpa lets him sit on at his work. Needless to stay, that noisy toy is living at Grandpa’s house.
Two is a wonderful though certainly challenging age. Will is much more verbal now, which is both good and bad. While hearing “I wuv you Poppa” just makes my day, the constant requests for “outside” and “go car” can sometimes be a bit much. And as you might imagine, when visiting Grandma and Grandpa he tends to get what he asks for.
We get the fun stuff, leaving the more serious and difficult tasks to his parents. That’s the true joy of grand-parenting. It is a loophole I complained about constantly when it came to my own kids and their grandparents, but one I am fully enjoying these days.
But a few weeks ago something happened to put things in perspective. A couple we know encountered a situation that made me stop and appreciate just how fortunate I am, and how quickly that can change in ways simply unthinkable.
These folks have grandchildren, and one of those precious youngsters recently had a sudden and serious medical situation requiring both risky surgery and ongoing difficult treatments. This is complicated by the fact the kids and their parents live a considerable distance away.
As our friends rushed to the side of their stricken grandchild (who right now is doing fine, thank goodness) I was overwhelmed with concern and worry for this small child I have never met. While any seriously sick kid is something that concerns me, knowing the child’s grandparents put the whole thing in a new and different light.
The thought of anything serious happening to my grandson is absolutely paralyzing. I know as he grows there will be the inevitable cuts and scrapes, broken bones, and other injuries that are just a part of growing up. But the idea any type of serious disease could be lurking out there waiting to attack this little person I adore is almost enough to make me look for one of those plastic bubbles you read about in the science fiction stories.
Of course, I can’t do that – and I really wouldn’t want to. I want my grandson to grow up, deal with the serious issues in his life, get over the first time someone breaks his heart, and enjoy the balance that makes life worth living.
I’m so lucky to be able to enjoy him. I am sure in the future I will have the pleasure of experiencing more grandchildren, and I will love them all just as much (even when their names aren’t William).
But I pray I have never have to face that moment of fear our friends have, the fear that must be all-consuming and life-altering. With great love comes great risk. I know I signed on for all of it, the good and the bad. It is worth it in the end, but forgive me for selfishly hoping I can skip the really hard parts.
Happy Birthday to my grandson (his name is William, in case you were wondering). I know you are the birthday boy here, but you are also one of the greatest gifts I have ever received.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and has a grandson named William – in case you hadn’t heard. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
My grandson (did I mention his name is William?) turns two today. So yes, I’m writing about him again. Deal with it.
His birthday falls one week after my own and one day before his mothers’, which effectively renders both those birthdays meaningless. So Happy Birthday also to my beautiful daughter-in-law, now forever burdened with being the mother of the world’s most perfect child.
There is nothing more boring than a grandparent bragging about their grandchild. The simplest accomplishments become landmark achievements. We forget our own kids did this stuff, and that we laughed mightily when our parents created a fuss over the most mundane events.
But of course, that was THEIR grandchild. When it is YOUR grandchild, the rules are completely different.
We have already had a party for Will, complete with all the toys his parents politely asked us not to get. He got clothes from Grandma, but she also helped me pick out the motorized toy forklift he loves, like the real one Grandpa lets him sit on at his work. Needless to stay, that noisy toy is living at Grandpa’s house.
Two is a wonderful though certainly challenging age. Will is much more verbal now, which is both good and bad. While hearing “I wuv you Poppa” just makes my day, the constant requests for “outside” and “go car” can sometimes be a bit much. And as you might imagine, when visiting Grandma and Grandpa he tends to get what he asks for.
We get the fun stuff, leaving the more serious and difficult tasks to his parents. That’s the true joy of grand-parenting. It is a loophole I complained about constantly when it came to my own kids and their grandparents, but one I am fully enjoying these days.
But a few weeks ago something happened to put things in perspective. A couple we know encountered a situation that made me stop and appreciate just how fortunate I am, and how quickly that can change in ways simply unthinkable.
These folks have grandchildren, and one of those precious youngsters recently had a sudden and serious medical situation requiring both risky surgery and ongoing difficult treatments. This is complicated by the fact the kids and their parents live a considerable distance away.
As our friends rushed to the side of their stricken grandchild (who right now is doing fine, thank goodness) I was overwhelmed with concern and worry for this small child I have never met. While any seriously sick kid is something that concerns me, knowing the child’s grandparents put the whole thing in a new and different light.
The thought of anything serious happening to my grandson is absolutely paralyzing. I know as he grows there will be the inevitable cuts and scrapes, broken bones, and other injuries that are just a part of growing up. But the idea any type of serious disease could be lurking out there waiting to attack this little person I adore is almost enough to make me look for one of those plastic bubbles you read about in the science fiction stories.
Of course, I can’t do that – and I really wouldn’t want to. I want my grandson to grow up, deal with the serious issues in his life, get over the first time someone breaks his heart, and enjoy the balance that makes life worth living.
I’m so lucky to be able to enjoy him. I am sure in the future I will have the pleasure of experiencing more grandchildren, and I will love them all just as much (even when their names aren’t William).
But I pray I have never have to face that moment of fear our friends have, the fear that must be all-consuming and life-altering. With great love comes great risk. I know I signed on for all of it, the good and the bad. It is worth it in the end, but forgive me for selfishly hoping I can skip the really hard parts.
Happy Birthday to my grandson (his name is William, in case you were wondering). I know you are the birthday boy here, but you are also one of the greatest gifts I have ever received.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and has a grandson named William – in case you hadn’t heard. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
Monday, October 5, 2009
The Youngest Son is Leaving
This column originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on October 3, 2009
My youngest son Nate is moving to Baltimore next week. He is moving in with his longtime girlfriend (a doctor no less) and will be starting a new job.
He is almost 28 years old, and it is perfectly normal that he leave to begin a new life. He is in love with a wonderful girl. It is what parents wish for their children.
So could somebody please explain to me why I am so sad?
Of course, next to my wife I appear ecstatic. She is trying her best to appear positive and cheerful, but it is hard when you are constantly in tears.
You see, Nate is very much his mother’s son. While he and I love each other deeply, Nate and his Mom are simply connected in a way I cannot possibly comprehend. Nate speaks “Mom”, and Mom speaks “Nate”. It’s actually rather humorous yet intimidating to watch.
Nate finishes his mother’s sentences. He knows what she is going to say before she does. When my wife is dropping the ubiquitous hints she so loves to torture me with, it is usually Nate who translates them into English. They have a love and understanding, a bond that goes well beyond the normal mother-son relationship.
My wife truly is happy for Nate, and loves his girlfriend. She was constantly sending him job postings in the Baltimore area, and even forwarded listings for condos and homes they might be interested in down there. She has known for some time this day was coming.
But now it is actually here. Next week he will be leaving. And this time he won’t be coming back except for visits and holidays and the many things we plan to drag them both back for. It’s not like the four years he spent in Virginia going to college, or the couple of years he lived in Boston. This time, it’s for keeps.
In truth, my wife is dealing with it much better than I am. This surprises me, though apparently not her. Nate and I have a somewhat different relationship from the one I share with my oldest son. While I love both equally, Nate is much more of a challenge because he is so different from me in so many ways. And the fact he is much like his mother has not always worked to our advantage.
Nate is a private person (which is why he will absolutely hate this column). Where I tend to tell everyone everything, he tells no one anything. Where I make decisions somewhat impulsively, he makes every choice like it is a life-changing process. You never make the mistake of asking Nate where he wants to go to dinner – unless you have an hour or two to properly discuss the options.
But my son is one of the most honorable people I have ever met. He is strong of character, has a big heart, and inherited his mother’s understanding of the value of family. He is smart, polite, charming and friendly. He is the kind of friend you want to have – loyal, understanding and reliable. He is every bit the man his mother and I have always wanted him to be.
I will miss going to all the Celtic games with him. I will miss rushing home to watch the Red Sox or the Patriots in our family room with him on the couch holding his laptop. I will miss him constantly proving to me he knows more about sports than I do now.
But more than that – I will miss my boy. I will miss seeing him regularly, hugging him often, and arguing with him playfully. I will miss his smile, his laugh, and his disapproving look when I mess up. I will miss my son.
We have warned them we will be visiting often and expect them back for some holidays. I will continue to tease him about taking his stuff with him when he goes. And I have asked for a written agreement that any kids he and the doctor may choose to have must be raised as Boston sport fans.
My son is moving away next week. That doctor in Baltimore is one very lucky girl.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist who feels awfully old today. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
My youngest son Nate is moving to Baltimore next week. He is moving in with his longtime girlfriend (a doctor no less) and will be starting a new job.
He is almost 28 years old, and it is perfectly normal that he leave to begin a new life. He is in love with a wonderful girl. It is what parents wish for their children.
So could somebody please explain to me why I am so sad?
Of course, next to my wife I appear ecstatic. She is trying her best to appear positive and cheerful, but it is hard when you are constantly in tears.
You see, Nate is very much his mother’s son. While he and I love each other deeply, Nate and his Mom are simply connected in a way I cannot possibly comprehend. Nate speaks “Mom”, and Mom speaks “Nate”. It’s actually rather humorous yet intimidating to watch.
Nate finishes his mother’s sentences. He knows what she is going to say before she does. When my wife is dropping the ubiquitous hints she so loves to torture me with, it is usually Nate who translates them into English. They have a love and understanding, a bond that goes well beyond the normal mother-son relationship.
My wife truly is happy for Nate, and loves his girlfriend. She was constantly sending him job postings in the Baltimore area, and even forwarded listings for condos and homes they might be interested in down there. She has known for some time this day was coming.
But now it is actually here. Next week he will be leaving. And this time he won’t be coming back except for visits and holidays and the many things we plan to drag them both back for. It’s not like the four years he spent in Virginia going to college, or the couple of years he lived in Boston. This time, it’s for keeps.
In truth, my wife is dealing with it much better than I am. This surprises me, though apparently not her. Nate and I have a somewhat different relationship from the one I share with my oldest son. While I love both equally, Nate is much more of a challenge because he is so different from me in so many ways. And the fact he is much like his mother has not always worked to our advantage.
Nate is a private person (which is why he will absolutely hate this column). Where I tend to tell everyone everything, he tells no one anything. Where I make decisions somewhat impulsively, he makes every choice like it is a life-changing process. You never make the mistake of asking Nate where he wants to go to dinner – unless you have an hour or two to properly discuss the options.
But my son is one of the most honorable people I have ever met. He is strong of character, has a big heart, and inherited his mother’s understanding of the value of family. He is smart, polite, charming and friendly. He is the kind of friend you want to have – loyal, understanding and reliable. He is every bit the man his mother and I have always wanted him to be.
I will miss going to all the Celtic games with him. I will miss rushing home to watch the Red Sox or the Patriots in our family room with him on the couch holding his laptop. I will miss him constantly proving to me he knows more about sports than I do now.
But more than that – I will miss my boy. I will miss seeing him regularly, hugging him often, and arguing with him playfully. I will miss his smile, his laugh, and his disapproving look when I mess up. I will miss my son.
We have warned them we will be visiting often and expect them back for some holidays. I will continue to tease him about taking his stuff with him when he goes. And I have asked for a written agreement that any kids he and the doctor may choose to have must be raised as Boston sport fans.
My son is moving away next week. That doctor in Baltimore is one very lucky girl.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist who feels awfully old today. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Parent of a 30 year old
This column originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on August 15th, 2009
My oldest son turns 30 this week. How did this happen?
Sure, he’s married and has a beautiful son. That makes me a grandfather (did I mention my grandson’s name is William?) and that’s something I take great pride in.
But a 30 year-old son? That can’t possibly be. I demand a recount. It was only yesterday I turned 30. At least, that’s the way I remember it.
On August 17, 1979 I was a nervous 23 year-old husband expecting his first child. My wife was three weeks past due, and I was sure she was delaying just to make me miserable. She assured me carrying around an extra person through the very hot summer qualified her as the miserable one, but I remained convinced she was just punishing me.
That morning we had indications the long wait might actually be over. I rushed her to Sturdy Hospital, remembering to take our bag that had been packed for two months. It was 6:30 am when we got there, and I recall thinking the hospital parking lot was as empty as I had ever seen it. I rushed my wife upstairs to the maternity ward, sure she would be giving birth any second.
Nine hours later we were in our “Birthing Room” waiting for our son to make his appearance. I say son, but in fact we did not know the sex of the baby beforehand. But I was positive it was a boy. I refused to consider it might not be. We had the name picked out, and I would not consider a girl’s name. This was going to be my son, and his name was going to be Aaron Christopher.
I hung on the doctor’s every word whenever he made an appearance. Sensing my interest, he gave me a very important job. I was handed a pad, and told to write down the time of every contraction and how long it lasted. I did so for the next several hours, knowing the fate of my baby hung in the balance.
When the doctor returned to say the time was drawing near, I proudly presented my detailed record. He told me he had just given me that duty to keep me occupied, and threw the pad away. Thus began a lifetime distrust of the medical profession.
Finally, it was time. I scrubbed up and was allowed in the room for the delivery. As we were waiting impatiently, the public address system in the hospital blared a message that caught my attention:
“Will the owner of a grey Chevy Chevette, registration number ------ please move your car immediately, or it will be towed.”
I could not believe it – they were going to tow my car. I was told I had some time, so I ran to a hospital phone and called the front desk.
“They said they are going to tow my car, but I can’t move it now – I’m in labor!” I told an obviously confused clerk. While expressing sympathy with my plight, she explained that in my haste that morning I had failed to notice there was a sign posted in the parking lot saying it was being paved that day. So I had to get out of my scrubs and move the car, all the while muttering threats about what I would do should I miss the actual birth.
But I made it back, and at 7:04 pm my son Aaron made his debut at a whopping nine pounds, one ounce. I will forever remember the nurse walking towards me and saying “Here Dad – hold your son.” I did, and it was a feeling I have had only one other time since, when his brother was born two years later.
Now my first-born son is turning 30. He’s now taller than me, but I have forgiven him that. I am as proud of him today as I was the first time I held him, and I love him even more.
But someone is going to have to explain to me how this happened. Only old people have kids who turn 30.
I’m going to have to have a long talk with his mother.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist who wants to wish his son Aaron a very happy 30th birthday. The elder Gouveia can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
My oldest son turns 30 this week. How did this happen?
Sure, he’s married and has a beautiful son. That makes me a grandfather (did I mention my grandson’s name is William?) and that’s something I take great pride in.
But a 30 year-old son? That can’t possibly be. I demand a recount. It was only yesterday I turned 30. At least, that’s the way I remember it.
On August 17, 1979 I was a nervous 23 year-old husband expecting his first child. My wife was three weeks past due, and I was sure she was delaying just to make me miserable. She assured me carrying around an extra person through the very hot summer qualified her as the miserable one, but I remained convinced she was just punishing me.
That morning we had indications the long wait might actually be over. I rushed her to Sturdy Hospital, remembering to take our bag that had been packed for two months. It was 6:30 am when we got there, and I recall thinking the hospital parking lot was as empty as I had ever seen it. I rushed my wife upstairs to the maternity ward, sure she would be giving birth any second.
Nine hours later we were in our “Birthing Room” waiting for our son to make his appearance. I say son, but in fact we did not know the sex of the baby beforehand. But I was positive it was a boy. I refused to consider it might not be. We had the name picked out, and I would not consider a girl’s name. This was going to be my son, and his name was going to be Aaron Christopher.
I hung on the doctor’s every word whenever he made an appearance. Sensing my interest, he gave me a very important job. I was handed a pad, and told to write down the time of every contraction and how long it lasted. I did so for the next several hours, knowing the fate of my baby hung in the balance.
When the doctor returned to say the time was drawing near, I proudly presented my detailed record. He told me he had just given me that duty to keep me occupied, and threw the pad away. Thus began a lifetime distrust of the medical profession.
Finally, it was time. I scrubbed up and was allowed in the room for the delivery. As we were waiting impatiently, the public address system in the hospital blared a message that caught my attention:
“Will the owner of a grey Chevy Chevette, registration number ------ please move your car immediately, or it will be towed.”
I could not believe it – they were going to tow my car. I was told I had some time, so I ran to a hospital phone and called the front desk.
“They said they are going to tow my car, but I can’t move it now – I’m in labor!” I told an obviously confused clerk. While expressing sympathy with my plight, she explained that in my haste that morning I had failed to notice there was a sign posted in the parking lot saying it was being paved that day. So I had to get out of my scrubs and move the car, all the while muttering threats about what I would do should I miss the actual birth.
But I made it back, and at 7:04 pm my son Aaron made his debut at a whopping nine pounds, one ounce. I will forever remember the nurse walking towards me and saying “Here Dad – hold your son.” I did, and it was a feeling I have had only one other time since, when his brother was born two years later.
Now my first-born son is turning 30. He’s now taller than me, but I have forgiven him that. I am as proud of him today as I was the first time I held him, and I love him even more.
But someone is going to have to explain to me how this happened. Only old people have kids who turn 30.
I’m going to have to have a long talk with his mother.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist who wants to wish his son Aaron a very happy 30th birthday. The elder Gouveia can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
Three Deaths
This column originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on August 8th, 2009
Sometimes death can teach you a lot about life. At least, that’s what it has done for me this week.
I was touched by three deaths that occurred within the last month. The three people who died were different ages and personalities, and to the best of my knowledge never met each other. And truth be told, I didn’t know any of them all that well. Yet I found myself thinking about them, and learning lessons from each.
Ted Tausek died July 25th in Brewster at the age of 99. For the last 12 years of his life he lived in an assisted living facility on the Cape, and spent much time entertaining people with his musical abilities.
In the 1960’s he was a teacher at the LG Nourse school in Norton, and I was a student in the 6th grade. Mr. Tausek was my social studies teacher, and the first to install in me a love of current events and government. He was loud, he was opinionated, and he was enthusiastic. He definitely made an impression.
So much so that when I got married nine years later, the Ted Tausek Trio played at our wedding. We didn’t really pick him (he came with the country club) but it was a kick to have him there. I hadn’t seen him since that day 32 years ago, but his passing made me sadder than I expected.
Robert Legg of Norton died July 31st at the age of 76. I only met him a handful of times, but I was struck by his desire to help others and his willingness to put himself out there. A disabled veteran, Mr. Legg was a person who didn’t make excuses – he just worked hard to get what he wanted or needed.
I moderated a selectmen’s debate a few years ago when Mr. Legg threw his hat into the political ring. I can’t tell you he did well either in the debate or at the ballot box. His answers were rambling and hard to understand, and he finished dead last. But his enthusiasm, his dedication to veterans, and his courage in stepping forward when others would not stuck with me. I liked him, and I was somehow strangely proud of him.
Michael Hoyle of Norton died on July 28th at the far too young age of just 24. His death was a sad and tragic loss – a life ended not by old age or illness, but by demons that beset far too many young people. I know Mikey’s parents, though I didn’t know Mikey himself very well.
As I sat in the pew at his funeral, I looked around at the other attendees. I saw the grieving family members, and many of their friends and neighbors. And I saw many of Mikey’s friends – young people looking confused, upset, sad and hurt.
As I gazed at their faces, I wondered if Mikey might have more effect on some of these kids in death than he did in life. I wondered if the mistakes he may have made might become learning tools for these young men and women. I wondered if somewhere, somehow, a life might be saved because someone would remember Mikey – and that would make a difference.
There is nothing sadder than the death of a child or someone still in their early youth. It is not just the loss of the person we mourn, but the loss of all the potential contained in that person. There truly is no sadder phrase than “what might have been.”
Ted Tausek, Robert Legg and Michael Hoyle should serve as examples to us all. They each did some things well, other things not so well. But each will be remembered, and each will serve to inspire people who knew them.
When I remember Ted Tausek, I will remember a man who made others happy with the gifts he was given. When I remember Robert Legg, I will remember a man who was unafraid to step up when he believed he could make a difference. When I remember Michael Hoyle, I will remember that potential is not just an asset, but also a burden.
And I will remember what I learned from each.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
Sometimes death can teach you a lot about life. At least, that’s what it has done for me this week.
I was touched by three deaths that occurred within the last month. The three people who died were different ages and personalities, and to the best of my knowledge never met each other. And truth be told, I didn’t know any of them all that well. Yet I found myself thinking about them, and learning lessons from each.
Ted Tausek died July 25th in Brewster at the age of 99. For the last 12 years of his life he lived in an assisted living facility on the Cape, and spent much time entertaining people with his musical abilities.
In the 1960’s he was a teacher at the LG Nourse school in Norton, and I was a student in the 6th grade. Mr. Tausek was my social studies teacher, and the first to install in me a love of current events and government. He was loud, he was opinionated, and he was enthusiastic. He definitely made an impression.
So much so that when I got married nine years later, the Ted Tausek Trio played at our wedding. We didn’t really pick him (he came with the country club) but it was a kick to have him there. I hadn’t seen him since that day 32 years ago, but his passing made me sadder than I expected.
Robert Legg of Norton died July 31st at the age of 76. I only met him a handful of times, but I was struck by his desire to help others and his willingness to put himself out there. A disabled veteran, Mr. Legg was a person who didn’t make excuses – he just worked hard to get what he wanted or needed.
I moderated a selectmen’s debate a few years ago when Mr. Legg threw his hat into the political ring. I can’t tell you he did well either in the debate or at the ballot box. His answers were rambling and hard to understand, and he finished dead last. But his enthusiasm, his dedication to veterans, and his courage in stepping forward when others would not stuck with me. I liked him, and I was somehow strangely proud of him.
Michael Hoyle of Norton died on July 28th at the far too young age of just 24. His death was a sad and tragic loss – a life ended not by old age or illness, but by demons that beset far too many young people. I know Mikey’s parents, though I didn’t know Mikey himself very well.
As I sat in the pew at his funeral, I looked around at the other attendees. I saw the grieving family members, and many of their friends and neighbors. And I saw many of Mikey’s friends – young people looking confused, upset, sad and hurt.
As I gazed at their faces, I wondered if Mikey might have more effect on some of these kids in death than he did in life. I wondered if the mistakes he may have made might become learning tools for these young men and women. I wondered if somewhere, somehow, a life might be saved because someone would remember Mikey – and that would make a difference.
There is nothing sadder than the death of a child or someone still in their early youth. It is not just the loss of the person we mourn, but the loss of all the potential contained in that person. There truly is no sadder phrase than “what might have been.”
Ted Tausek, Robert Legg and Michael Hoyle should serve as examples to us all. They each did some things well, other things not so well. But each will be remembered, and each will serve to inspire people who knew them.
When I remember Ted Tausek, I will remember a man who made others happy with the gifts he was given. When I remember Robert Legg, I will remember a man who was unafraid to step up when he believed he could make a difference. When I remember Michael Hoyle, I will remember that potential is not just an asset, but also a burden.
And I will remember what I learned from each.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Mom's Passing...
This column originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on June 13, 2009.
I have never really felt old - at least, not until this past Sunday. Now I'm feeling a bit more mortal, and more than a little lost and lonely.
My Mom died in her sleep Sunday night, a peaceful way to pass from this world. She was 73 and not in the best of health, so while it was not a total shock it nonetheless was a crushing blow to our entire family.As I sit here preparing for her funeral and trying to figure out what to say about the person who brought me into this world, I have been reflecting on my own life. I suspect that is what people do when their last surviving parent dies, and they suddenly realize they are now the oldest generation in their family.
Mom taught me early on about the power of unconditional love. It was from her I learned that no matter how mad I got at my family members, they were still my family. She taught me that even if awful things were said and done between us, we still had to love each other.
And believe me, we tested that premise over the years. We were different in many ways, but we shared a common trait of stubbornness. Neither of us liked to lose an argument, and both of us knew how to throw that particularly cutting phrase in at the end of a battle. Of course, when you fight with your mother, even if you win you still lose. It took a long time for that lesson to sink in.
My parents split up when I was 12, and I became very protective of my mom. As I got older, I wanted to be out with my friends. But Mom needed me home to watch my younger brother and sister while she worked, because affording a babysitter was difficult. That led to many spirited discussions, and usually wound up with me sitting at home. Mom had a job working in the school cafeteria and later in the superintendent's office. That meant she was at my school often, and it was very difficult for me to get away with anything.
After I got married and had children, my mother discovered her true niche in life. She was born to be a grandmother. She loved my two boys with a passion and dedication that was as pure as it was strong. And she told me early on that life was short, and she had no intention of wasting any time.
"When I die, no one is going to be able to say I didn't enjoy my grandkids" my Mom used to say all the time.
Mom spent every moment possible with those boys. She took them places, played video games with them, refereed their indoor wrestling matches, and pretty much allowed them to do anything they wanted. At Christmas time, the toy stores would open early just to get my mother's business. My kids adored her, right up to the day she died.
And when my son gave her a great-grandson last year (did I mention his name is William?) my mother's life was truly complete. Although she knew him for just one short year, he captured her heart completely. Just when she thought she had given all the love she could, she found she had even more to give.
Now Mom is gone, and I'm a grandfather. All the things she did with her grandchildren that sometimes irritated me so much as a parent, I intend to do with my grandchildren. I'm not going to let anyone say I didn't enjoy my grandkids either.
The next time grandson Will does something amazing, I know I will catch myself reaching for the phone to tell my mother all about it. It will be at that time the true impact of this past week's events will truly hit home.
I'm now the oldest surviving member of my immediate family. It is now my turn to complain about high prices, the younger generation, and how the kids hardly ever call anymore.But I know I will never be able to do it all as well as Mom did. I love you, Mom.
BILL GOUVEIA is a local columnist, and the proud son of the late Patricia (Houghton) Keeler. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Grandson Will writes a column
This column originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on May 2, 2009.
I hope you readers will bear with me, because this is my first newspaper column. My name is Will Gouveia, and I just turned one year old – but please don’t hold my youthful inexperience against me.
My Grandpa Bill Gouveia usually occupies this space on Saturday mornings, but I asked Grandpa if I could borrow his column because I have a few things I want to say. He’s doing most of the typing.
I want to talk about relationships. Not the mushy kind, with all that romantic stuff. Remember, I’m only one. I want to talk about the importance of family relationships. Who knows more about that than someone who is completely dependent on them for daily survival?
Mom and Dad have to take care of me. It’s their fault I’m here at all (even though I’m not real clear yet how that happens). But I think I’m pretty lucky, ‘cause I’ve got really cool parents. It’s hard to imagine people who would love me more than they do. They tell me all the time – even when I’m screaming at three o’clock in the morning.
Mom works at something called a bank. All I know is lots of people go there, and they have lots of money. She’s a boss there, and tells people what to do – just like at home. Dad writes for a newspaper. I know what that is, because I love pulling them off the couch and crunching them up.
I want to say thanks to Mom and Dad for making my life so great. To be sure, they haven’t done everything right. Dad should have kept me away from that evil goat at the Petting Zoo, and Mom has dressed me in some pink stuff. But overall they are amazing, and I wouldn’t want anyone else for parents.
Since this is Grandpa’s column, I have to mention him. My full name is William George Thomas Gouveia. I’m named after my three wonderful grandfathers. Grandpa Bill thinks it is a really big deal my first name is the same as his. He tells everyone about it – and I mean EVERYONE!
Grandpa talks to me and tells me stories. He signed me up for Red Sox Kid Nation when I was two days old. He’s promised me one of his Patriot season tickets someday so I can go to a game – although he insists it will be the ticket he usually gives to Dad.
But he also talks to me about stuff I really don’t understand yet. He tells me how important it is to be involved with my family and friends as I get older. He introduced me to Uncle Rick, who isn’t really my uncle but has been Grandpa’s friend since they were in the first grade – which I think was back in the 1800’s sometime. He tells me that a person who has friends and family around him will always be rich, even if they don’t have any money. He says I should be happy I have so many uncles, aunts, and great-uncles and aunts too – not to mention great-grandparents.
The best part about spending time with Grandpa is getting to see Grandma. She taught me how to humor the old guy and get what I want. She apparently has been doing that a long time. She is extra-special in her own right. I learn so much from her, and next to Mom she gives the best hugs in the whole world. Grandpa is a lucky guy.
Grandpa has what he calls his “Golden Rules” and has taught them to me. They are: One – your family is always your family regardless of how much they tick you off. Two – always treat people the way you want them to treat you. And three – never, ever leave Fenway Park until the game is over. Grandpa is a guy who has his priorities straight.
Thanks for reading my first column. Now I’m going to have Grandpa get me some juice. I’m not really thirsty, but it makes him happy to think he did something for me. Dad and Uncle Nate say he wasn’t this way when they were kids. I guess they just didn’t have my charisma.
And neither of them was named William.
Will Gouveia’s grandfather Bill Gouveia is a local columnist, and can be laughed at by emailing aninsidelook@aol.com.
My Grandpa Bill Gouveia usually occupies this space on Saturday mornings, but I asked Grandpa if I could borrow his column because I have a few things I want to say. He’s doing most of the typing.
I want to talk about relationships. Not the mushy kind, with all that romantic stuff. Remember, I’m only one. I want to talk about the importance of family relationships. Who knows more about that than someone who is completely dependent on them for daily survival?
Mom and Dad have to take care of me. It’s their fault I’m here at all (even though I’m not real clear yet how that happens). But I think I’m pretty lucky, ‘cause I’ve got really cool parents. It’s hard to imagine people who would love me more than they do. They tell me all the time – even when I’m screaming at three o’clock in the morning.
Mom works at something called a bank. All I know is lots of people go there, and they have lots of money. She’s a boss there, and tells people what to do – just like at home. Dad writes for a newspaper. I know what that is, because I love pulling them off the couch and crunching them up.
I want to say thanks to Mom and Dad for making my life so great. To be sure, they haven’t done everything right. Dad should have kept me away from that evil goat at the Petting Zoo, and Mom has dressed me in some pink stuff. But overall they are amazing, and I wouldn’t want anyone else for parents.
Since this is Grandpa’s column, I have to mention him. My full name is William George Thomas Gouveia. I’m named after my three wonderful grandfathers. Grandpa Bill thinks it is a really big deal my first name is the same as his. He tells everyone about it – and I mean EVERYONE!
Grandpa talks to me and tells me stories. He signed me up for Red Sox Kid Nation when I was two days old. He’s promised me one of his Patriot season tickets someday so I can go to a game – although he insists it will be the ticket he usually gives to Dad.
But he also talks to me about stuff I really don’t understand yet. He tells me how important it is to be involved with my family and friends as I get older. He introduced me to Uncle Rick, who isn’t really my uncle but has been Grandpa’s friend since they were in the first grade – which I think was back in the 1800’s sometime. He tells me that a person who has friends and family around him will always be rich, even if they don’t have any money. He says I should be happy I have so many uncles, aunts, and great-uncles and aunts too – not to mention great-grandparents.
The best part about spending time with Grandpa is getting to see Grandma. She taught me how to humor the old guy and get what I want. She apparently has been doing that a long time. She is extra-special in her own right. I learn so much from her, and next to Mom she gives the best hugs in the whole world. Grandpa is a lucky guy.
Grandpa has what he calls his “Golden Rules” and has taught them to me. They are: One – your family is always your family regardless of how much they tick you off. Two – always treat people the way you want them to treat you. And three – never, ever leave Fenway Park until the game is over. Grandpa is a guy who has his priorities straight.
Thanks for reading my first column. Now I’m going to have Grandpa get me some juice. I’m not really thirsty, but it makes him happy to think he did something for me. Dad and Uncle Nate say he wasn’t this way when they were kids. I guess they just didn’t have my charisma.
And neither of them was named William.
Will Gouveia’s grandfather Bill Gouveia is a local columnist, and can be laughed at by emailing aninsidelook@aol.com.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Fighting the Furniture War
This column originially appeared in the Sun Chronicle on March 7, 2009.
The war in Iraq seems to be going better lately, the war in Afghanistan worse. But the biggest shift has been in the Furniture War being waged in my humble household.
One of the most basic rules of engagement is never become involved in a war you cannot win. Despite this valuable advice, men continue to marry women at a dizzying clip. Over time, the losses begin to pile up.
The Furniture War started when the first Caveman dragged home the first comfortable rock chair, and the first Cavewoman made him put it out of sight in the basement. Nowhere are the differences between men and women, or husbands and wives, more clearly displayed than in their furniture preferences.
That is not to say I am completely without victories in the furniture arena. We have a large-screen TV in our family room that if my wife had her way would not be there. Our previous living room furniture was bought over her objection when I got a deal from a friend in the business, and used my then-young children as pawns to gain my evil way.
But my wise and patient wife is in this for the long run. After nearly 32 years of marriage she has clearly developed the upper hand with regard to furniture (and most everything else). Currently she is in the midst of an aggressive offensive, clearly establishing her control of the Gouveia furniture empire.
It started a few years ago when it became time to replace our sectional sofa. We discussed what we wanted, but I had an ultimate goal. I was willing to sacrifice color, style, perhaps even comfort on the sofa purchase. But I was fixated on and prepared to hold out for what I considered one critical yet practical necessity.
I wanted cup-holders. You know, places to put my drink while watching TV. I was willing to compromise and accept cup-holders hidden in the foldable arms, but I really considered cup-holders to be a vital and necessary piece of a functional sofa.
My wife reacted as if I had suggested selling advertising on the couch cushions. She told me cup-holders were for a frat house, not her house. I thought I could wear her down. I brought my youngest son with me during shopping to help plead my case. But in the end, it was simply a hill my forces were unable to secure. Today my beverages sit alone on the coffee table, hopelessly and helplessly out of my easy reach.
So I changed my strategy. I began to work on the coffee table itself. I saw these tables that rise and move towards you, then lower back to their original position. I considered this to be a wonderful compromise. I sent a peace emissary to my wife, and we began negotiations towards a non-violent settlement.
She showed some signs of weakness here. She actually went with me to the store, and eventually agreed to allow me to purchase a table she could “live with if I have to”. But she raised some valid points about the integrity of the table’s construction, and her attitude sent the message that a victory here would most likely cost me dearly in another yet-to-be-determined arena. I meekly surrendered my position, living to fight another day.
But she recently pulled off a major coup in the war. On our way back from the Cape one day, she slyly suggested we stop at a furniture store having a huge sale. It was not for us, she insisted, but rather to look for something her sister was seeking for our nephew. I fell for it.
Half an hour later we left the store – with a new kitchen set. I had not been aware we needed one. It consists of high wooden chairs that narrowly fit my ever-widening rear end. I am a beaten man.
I have informed my wife that should I spill a beverage on her carpet or couch, it is not my fault – I have no cup-holder. She merely shakes her head, and goes back to plotting her next move.
War is Hell. Now where did I put that drink?
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and a thirsty veteran of the Marriage Wars. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
The war in Iraq seems to be going better lately, the war in Afghanistan worse. But the biggest shift has been in the Furniture War being waged in my humble household.
One of the most basic rules of engagement is never become involved in a war you cannot win. Despite this valuable advice, men continue to marry women at a dizzying clip. Over time, the losses begin to pile up.
The Furniture War started when the first Caveman dragged home the first comfortable rock chair, and the first Cavewoman made him put it out of sight in the basement. Nowhere are the differences between men and women, or husbands and wives, more clearly displayed than in their furniture preferences.
That is not to say I am completely without victories in the furniture arena. We have a large-screen TV in our family room that if my wife had her way would not be there. Our previous living room furniture was bought over her objection when I got a deal from a friend in the business, and used my then-young children as pawns to gain my evil way.
But my wise and patient wife is in this for the long run. After nearly 32 years of marriage she has clearly developed the upper hand with regard to furniture (and most everything else). Currently she is in the midst of an aggressive offensive, clearly establishing her control of the Gouveia furniture empire.
It started a few years ago when it became time to replace our sectional sofa. We discussed what we wanted, but I had an ultimate goal. I was willing to sacrifice color, style, perhaps even comfort on the sofa purchase. But I was fixated on and prepared to hold out for what I considered one critical yet practical necessity.
I wanted cup-holders. You know, places to put my drink while watching TV. I was willing to compromise and accept cup-holders hidden in the foldable arms, but I really considered cup-holders to be a vital and necessary piece of a functional sofa.
My wife reacted as if I had suggested selling advertising on the couch cushions. She told me cup-holders were for a frat house, not her house. I thought I could wear her down. I brought my youngest son with me during shopping to help plead my case. But in the end, it was simply a hill my forces were unable to secure. Today my beverages sit alone on the coffee table, hopelessly and helplessly out of my easy reach.
So I changed my strategy. I began to work on the coffee table itself. I saw these tables that rise and move towards you, then lower back to their original position. I considered this to be a wonderful compromise. I sent a peace emissary to my wife, and we began negotiations towards a non-violent settlement.
She showed some signs of weakness here. She actually went with me to the store, and eventually agreed to allow me to purchase a table she could “live with if I have to”. But she raised some valid points about the integrity of the table’s construction, and her attitude sent the message that a victory here would most likely cost me dearly in another yet-to-be-determined arena. I meekly surrendered my position, living to fight another day.
But she recently pulled off a major coup in the war. On our way back from the Cape one day, she slyly suggested we stop at a furniture store having a huge sale. It was not for us, she insisted, but rather to look for something her sister was seeking for our nephew. I fell for it.
Half an hour later we left the store – with a new kitchen set. I had not been aware we needed one. It consists of high wooden chairs that narrowly fit my ever-widening rear end. I am a beaten man.
I have informed my wife that should I spill a beverage on her carpet or couch, it is not my fault – I have no cup-holder. She merely shakes her head, and goes back to plotting her next move.
War is Hell. Now where did I put that drink?
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and a thirsty veteran of the Marriage Wars. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Sign of the Times
This column originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on February 28th, 2009
“Sign, sign, everywhere a sign
Blocking out the scenery, breaking my mind
Do this, don’t do that, can’t you read the sign?”
- Five Man Electrical Band
Is it a sign of the times, a sign of trouble, or a sign of things to come? That remains to be seen, but the attitude of Norton officials towards some local businesses is a bad sign in general.
The Norton Planning Board is currently considering a ban on certain types of illuminated signs in town. You’ve all seen the signs – the ones that look like small television sets displaying not only words but actual animation.
The concern of Norton planners (and I use the word “planners” loosely) is twofold. First and foremost, they are concerned about safety. Some believe the signs are too distracting for motorists, particularly at night, and could cause accidents and injuries.
Secondly, the signs offend the delicate sensibilities of some officials and residents. Selectman Bob Kimball summed that attitude up saying “It kind of takes away from the small-town look of things. It kind of gives it a Vegas look.”
Yeah, just the other day a motorist on Route 123 in Norton stopped to ask me how to get to Caesar’s Palace. The signs along the roadway had obviously convinced him he was on the downtown Vegas strip. You know how we locals are easily confused.
It is not my goal here to make light of safety concerns or the wishes of many to live in idyllic rural bliss. But in a town with a record and reputation of being as anti-business as Norton, it would seem officials would have a lot more important things to do than cracking down on good taxpayers who are just trying to survive and make a living.
Norton did not have zoning until 1974. It does not have a clearly defined “downtown”. It is a large town area-wise, consisting of almost 30 square miles. It contains one supermarket, five donut shops, four banks, five schools, two car washes, a small industrial park, a PGA golf course, and a whole bunch of small businesses trying to stay afloat in these oppressive economic times.
Some of these businesses have embraced technology and utilized eye-catching signs. The signs are helping their businesses. The signs are conspicuous (which is what signs are supposed to be) and draw attention.
But are we to believe in this day of cell phones, CD players, GPS devices and car speakers the size of Rhode Island that an illuminated sign on the roadside is a threat to the public? Drivers are capable of safely looking at a GPS screen in their car, but an outside sign advertising a car wash might force them off the road?
Norton has never been a business-friendly community. There was a McDonald’s in Moscow before there was one in Norton. A pizza delivery company was not allowed to locate in the Roche Brothers plaza because of traffic concerns. A Dunkin Donuts near the alleged center of town has been denied a drive-thru by the Planning Board, but homeowners living on tiny residential lots in a Water Protection District have been granted permission to raise chickens on the premises.
Our federal government recently passed an $800 billion economic stimulus package to revive our failing economy. Yet Norton continues to make things as difficult as possible for those small businesses that make up the backbone of our economic system.
I’ve lived in Norton virtually my entire life. I’ve watched it grow from 6000 residents in 1965 to close to 20,000 today. I loved the town I grew up in during the 60’s, and I love the town now.
But I’m able to recognize those are two different towns. The rural Norton of my youth has gone the way of my late grandparents’ Norton farm. It’s still there – it just doesn’t look the same anymore.
To those who are offended by the illuminated signs, I ask – would you be happier with normal signs proclaiming “Out of Business”? Would those signs make your town better and safer? Reasonable regulations on illuminated signs are fine, but don’t ban them.
Norton has many problems requiring prompt action. Illuminated signs are not one of them.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and longtime Norton resident. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
“Sign, sign, everywhere a sign
Blocking out the scenery, breaking my mind
Do this, don’t do that, can’t you read the sign?”
- Five Man Electrical Band
Is it a sign of the times, a sign of trouble, or a sign of things to come? That remains to be seen, but the attitude of Norton officials towards some local businesses is a bad sign in general.
The Norton Planning Board is currently considering a ban on certain types of illuminated signs in town. You’ve all seen the signs – the ones that look like small television sets displaying not only words but actual animation.
The concern of Norton planners (and I use the word “planners” loosely) is twofold. First and foremost, they are concerned about safety. Some believe the signs are too distracting for motorists, particularly at night, and could cause accidents and injuries.
Secondly, the signs offend the delicate sensibilities of some officials and residents. Selectman Bob Kimball summed that attitude up saying “It kind of takes away from the small-town look of things. It kind of gives it a Vegas look.”
Yeah, just the other day a motorist on Route 123 in Norton stopped to ask me how to get to Caesar’s Palace. The signs along the roadway had obviously convinced him he was on the downtown Vegas strip. You know how we locals are easily confused.
It is not my goal here to make light of safety concerns or the wishes of many to live in idyllic rural bliss. But in a town with a record and reputation of being as anti-business as Norton, it would seem officials would have a lot more important things to do than cracking down on good taxpayers who are just trying to survive and make a living.
Norton did not have zoning until 1974. It does not have a clearly defined “downtown”. It is a large town area-wise, consisting of almost 30 square miles. It contains one supermarket, five donut shops, four banks, five schools, two car washes, a small industrial park, a PGA golf course, and a whole bunch of small businesses trying to stay afloat in these oppressive economic times.
Some of these businesses have embraced technology and utilized eye-catching signs. The signs are helping their businesses. The signs are conspicuous (which is what signs are supposed to be) and draw attention.
But are we to believe in this day of cell phones, CD players, GPS devices and car speakers the size of Rhode Island that an illuminated sign on the roadside is a threat to the public? Drivers are capable of safely looking at a GPS screen in their car, but an outside sign advertising a car wash might force them off the road?
Norton has never been a business-friendly community. There was a McDonald’s in Moscow before there was one in Norton. A pizza delivery company was not allowed to locate in the Roche Brothers plaza because of traffic concerns. A Dunkin Donuts near the alleged center of town has been denied a drive-thru by the Planning Board, but homeowners living on tiny residential lots in a Water Protection District have been granted permission to raise chickens on the premises.
Our federal government recently passed an $800 billion economic stimulus package to revive our failing economy. Yet Norton continues to make things as difficult as possible for those small businesses that make up the backbone of our economic system.
I’ve lived in Norton virtually my entire life. I’ve watched it grow from 6000 residents in 1965 to close to 20,000 today. I loved the town I grew up in during the 60’s, and I love the town now.
But I’m able to recognize those are two different towns. The rural Norton of my youth has gone the way of my late grandparents’ Norton farm. It’s still there – it just doesn’t look the same anymore.
To those who are offended by the illuminated signs, I ask – would you be happier with normal signs proclaiming “Out of Business”? Would those signs make your town better and safer? Reasonable regulations on illuminated signs are fine, but don’t ban them.
Norton has many problems requiring prompt action. Illuminated signs are not one of them.
Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and longtime Norton resident. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.
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