I Have a Story: Humility and Religion

In San Jose, California, after a Meetup.com casual dinner. Seated at a table with one Latin-American male born in America, half-Mexican, half-El Salvadorian; one white, blonde-haired, blue-eyed American; one American female of undetermined ancestry; and me. All of us appear to be in our 30s. Someone mentioned speed dating, and now people are discussing relationships. 

Woman 1: "I need support, I need to feel protected, I need..." 

Me: "Just have a good time. What's wrong with having a good time and going from there?"

Woman 1: "I'm not looking for a good time, at least not the kind I think you mean."

Woman 2: "Aren't you looking for something deeper, something meaningful? I think when women have sex without meaning, it causes damage, physical and psychological."

Me: "I haven't actually described what I thought a good time was. A good time is whatever makes people happy, as long as everyone involved is transparent and honest. Why would you be against having a good time? And who are we to judge? 

The more I travel, the more I realize Americans make things too complicated. I'm guilty of overthinking myself, but I'm trying hard to get rid of that habit. People in other countries may have fewer opportunities than us in many ways, but they still manage to be more content, partly because they have fewer options, but also because they go with the flow. 

The women in other countries I've met are more practical. They tend to want someone who is employed, who is kind, and who treats them well. I've never heard a woman in a foreign country talk about relationships by saying she 'needs' something." 

Woman 2: "I think if you talk to women--and really have a deeper conversation with them--you'll see they have the same expectations as Americans. They may not be in a position to get what they want, so they just internalize the gap between their expectations and their reality." 

Me: "If American women have relationships and happiness figured out better than non-American women, why are Americans the ones taking prescription drugs and anti-depressants at the highest rates in the world?"

Woman 2: "I think those women need to work on themselves before dating, and many women should figure out how to be happy by themselves before getting into relationships. Now that I'm in a good relationship with another Christian, I'm 100% sure he will be there for me when I need him." 

Me: "'I'm not 100% convinced of anything. The whole point of dealing with human beings is recognizing we're imperfect, and because we're imperfect, we cannot predict our future with 100% certainty. When you say you are 100% sure that your relationship will work out, I really question your brand of religion, because you're putting yourself on the same level as an omnipotent being. Religion, when done right, should make you more humble, not less. 

Let me ask you something. Right now, you and I could exit this restaurant and get hit by a car and suffer severe injuries for life. Do you think your relationships will stay the same if you, God forbid, became a paraplegic tonight?" 

Woman 2: "I am 100% sure my friends and my boyfriend will be there for me." 

Me: "I saw a documentary where someone just like you was severely injured in a car accident. After a year, her friends stopped visiting her. One reason you, your friends, and boyfriend are together is because you all share many of the same traits--you go to the same church, you believe in the same God, etc. A severe physical accident will make you different, will weaken the similarities that bind you together. Aren't you being arrogant in thinking you can predict the future with 100% certainty, even when circumstances change vastly?" 

Woman 2: "I have no doubt they will be there for me, and that my boyfriend and I will be together." 

Me: "You know, about 50% of Americans who get married in a church end up getting divorced. All of them thought just like you--that their relationships would work out. Do you think you're special in ways those people were not?" 

Woman 2: "I don't think I'm special. I just know my friends." 

Me: "The women in the church aisle who later got divorced, if you had asked them before the moment they said, 'I do,' would they have said they also knew their boyfriends?" 

Woman 2: "But 50% of the women who got married stayed together. Personal traits matter, too. If I have integrity, why wouldn't my relationship work out and be part of the successful 50%?"

Me: "I think we're all looking for permanence in a modern world geared towards impermanence. People want to to think they'll always be together with someone, not because they're necessarily afraid of being alone or being unhappy, but because they want something permanent. A wedding ring isn't valuable because it's expensive--it's much sought-after because it represents hard-to-get permanence. That desire for permanence is the underlying basis of your opinion, your certainty. 

When I speak to religious women in other countries, I'm always humbled. A Latin grandmother might have only a tiny cross somewhere in her small house, but when you talk to her, you can feel her faith. You don't need to ask her anything about it--you'll just feel it. She'll never say she 'needs' anything or that she's 100% sure of anything except her own belief in God. She won't say she knows what another person would do, but she will tell you believes in God, and that will be the end of the discussion. It doesn't even enter her mind to say she's 100% sure about the future of other human beings. She believes in God, and God will do what is right by her. That's the kind of faith that leaves no room for logical argument because it's genuine. She'll have a fraction of my education, of my knowledge, but she'll be the one who humbles me because her faith is worth more than all of my knowledge." 

END SCENE. 

I Have a Story

[This post first published in 2014]

East San Jose, CA -- Thanksgiving

I HAVE A STORY. I don't like Thanksgiving. I don't like turkey, and while I like pumpkin pie, eating an entire pie in one sitting isn't a great feeling. So I go out for pho in East San Jose, and afterwards, a nicely dressed 75 years old man (I'm guessing the age, b/c it's hard to tell the age of black adults) with a cane asks me, "Do you know where the Alum Rock station is?"

Me: "The VTA? No, but let me look it up on Google Maps. You're going to walk there? [He nods] Well, it's 35 minutes."

Him: That's fine.

Me: I'll take you there.

Him: Ok.

[Talking in car]

Me: What do you do?

Him: I'm ex-military.

Me: Which branch?

Him: Marine Corps.

Me: Were you stationed overseas?

Him: [chuckles] Yeah. Southeast Asia.

Me: I'm guessing Vietnam.

Him: Two tours.

Me: [not sure what to say] You know, most of what I know about that, b/c of my age, is from movies and documentaries.

Him: [silence]

Me: [changing subject] You like the restaurants around here?

Him: Yeah, but they can't cook as well as me.

Me: Oh yeah? What's your specialty?

Him: Everything!

[We somehow end up at a dead end. I decide I'll just take him to his destination.]

Me: You got kids?

Him: 7 kids. [He lists all their names and states they live in] One's a cook, youngest one's out here, she's not sure what she wants to do, and then [voice becomes exasperated] there's my other son. Every family gotta have an outlaw. He did 6 months in jail.

[We arrive at Veteran's Housing in East San Jose, near James Lick High School. I drop him off right at the door. We exchange goodbyes. Waiting outside and enjoying the night air is a man in a wheelchair with no legs.]

END SCENE.

Los Gatos, CA -- North Dakota

I HAVE A STORY. I visited a Medicare-funded physical rehab clinic. I saw an older lady with a walker outside on the sidewalk and asked directions to the entrance. She asked me about the room number and then said, "I'll walk with you if you like." I said, "Sure."

Her: I've been here for 17 years. Who are you visiting? I had a brain aneurysm, and I've been living here since.

Me: Are you originally from here? What caused the aneurysm?

Her: They don't know, but they think it's genetic. I came here from North Dakota. I guess you can tell by my accent. [giggles]

Me: Sounds like Minne-so-ta.

Her: They always exaggerate it in movies. We don't talk quite that bad! And we don't say, "Oooh" at the end of every sentence. [imitates exaggerated accent][Stops, checks walkie talkie, confirms something with the speaker]

Me: You ever miss North Dakota?

Her: My friends are here. I've gotten used to it. But when people get old, they get mental issues. I had someone say he was a terrorist and he threatened to kill me. But he was asking me a question! I was just responding to his question! [smiles]

[We walk inside, she reaches up and touches the top of a low hanging ceiling.]

Her: You've got to watch out for this. Some people have hit their heads. Oh, is that your friend's room? How do you pronounce the name?

END SCENE.

Sunnyvale, CA -- Wrestling

I HAVE A STORY. I have a Groupon for $25 for sushi. I go in after I have coffee nearby, and the owner tells me, you need to have 2 ppl. I tell him it's my first time, and whether I bring two ppl or just myself, I'm only going to order 2 rolls. He argues with me. I say 2 ppl isn't in the requirements section (though it's in the title "Sushi for 2"). And logically, doesn't he want me to try the sushi and let people know if it's any good? He says it has to be 2 ppl. Even though we're going to order 2 rolls either way? Apparently, yes. I tell him he's not being logical, and he tells me I'm not being logical. I write a slightly negative Yelp check-in comment.

I walk back to the coffeeshop and ask a random high school guy to come have sushi with me for free. He's with two girls, but he's done studying and comes with me. We sit down, and some idiot waitress comes by and asks how many we are. I say "Two." (The record is silent as to whether I add a large smirk.) The girls text the guy, telling him they think it's "sketchy." He says everything's cool...but it gets better. He's a wrestler! And a big fan, too. We talk about the top H.S. teams now (Gilroy, Fremont, Wilcox) and about Olympic contenders like Jordan Burroughs (apparently he actually lost to a Russian!). The owner stops by and is now polite. The high school guy is so nice, he only has two pieces of sushi and asks if we can bring some for his two friends. We bring back sushi for the two girls. He's a hero, I've had my sushi, and I've made a new friend I can talk wrestling with.

I'll say it again--wrestlers are a class apart.   

END SCENE.

Campbell, CA -- Military

HAVE A STORY. I meet with a long-time friend for coffee at Starbucks. We are outside and talk about dating, life, careers, and the usual. An older man, casually dressed, about 5'8" and in his 50s with a "beer belly" approaches us. He politely says, "I don't mean to interrupt your conversation with her, but I have a request."   

Him: "I have a Starbucks gift card. It has $18.58 on it. You can check it inside if you want. It's valid. My daughter has cancer, so my fiance and I came here from Arizona to see her. We need some gas money to get back. You pay me whatever you want for it."   

Me: [to friend] "You drink more Starbucks than me. I usually get my coffee at McDonald's and my espresso at indie coffee shops. Sounds like a good deal--$15 for $19?"   

Him: "You can go check it."   

Her: [takes card, goes inside to check it]    

Me: "Where in Arizona are you from?"   

Him: "Nearby Phoenix...place called Glendale. I'm ex-military."  

Me: "I know about Glendale. An acquaintance of mine owns some houses there."

Him: [takes out his driver's license, shows it to me--it's from Arizona] "I used to own houses there, too. I used to have a county job."

Me: "Where did you serve? What was your rank?"

Him: "I served in Iraq and Afghanistan, three tours. I was E-8(?). I killed people." [the last few words are said shakily, with a mixture of hesitation and resignation]

"I have this hernia..." [lifts shirt and shows it to me--though I've never seen a hernia, it is in the lower middle of his stomach and looks serious.]

Her: [comes back, puts gift card on bench] "It has $18.68 on it."

Him: [laughs] "See, I lied. It's got ten cents more than I thought!" [Note: in my experience, lower-level ex-military personnel are generally honest.]

Me: [to friend] "Do you want to buy it?"

Her: "Hmmm, not really." [I realize she was checking the balance for me, not herself.]

Me: "Thank you, but it looks like she doesn't want it."

Him: [takes gift card back, walks away, goes inside, comes out, makes same pitch to someone reading outside, but it doesn't work. Sits next to his fiance and says, with a tinge of frustration, "She [my friend] changed her mind about it." The fiance, a slender woman, calmly motions for him to sit next to her.]

[My friend and I say goodbye.]

Me: [I head inside to break a larger denomination bill, but the line is really long. I take out all the small bills I have, which is less than $10. Unfortunately, I forget that my friend had given me some smaller bills earlier. I come out and hand the bills to the man.] "Hey, sorry about this, but these are all the small bills I have." [I start to walk away after giving him the bills and wave goodbye.] 

Him: [immediately gets up, puts hand in his pocket to get gift card]

Me: "Oh, keep the card. It's cool. I don't want it."

Him: [surprised] "Hey, thank you." [Walks up to me, gives me a firm handshake and then a big hug. I realize immediately he may not be in the best shape, but his arms are still very, very strong.]  [We are still embracing, but are now face-to-face. At this point, I'm mentally not there anymore. I can't process why such a small gesture is causing this level of appreciation. I tell him it's not that much money. He continues speaking and lifts up his shirt sleeve to show me a tattoo on his arm.] 

"This is of my daughter...I have another one of the American flag on my back..." [I am smiling, but I no longer hear him because I don't understand his response to such a small gesture. And then this happens.]  "I love you, man." 

Me: "Hey, don't worry about it, man. It's all good. Take care of yourself." 

[Me, trying to find my car, having a really hard time. Finally find my car, which is about 15 yards in front of the Starbucks. I sit down in my car. I think about going back and just giving him the larger denomination bill I have, but I'm discombobulated. I don't know whether he'll even accept my money. After a few minutes, I drive away. After a while, I realize I don't know where I'm driving. I go to McDonald's to get some coffee, thinking that reading a book will help clear my head. It does not. I head home.] 

END SCENE.

Follow-up: I am used to video-game tough guys berating me online for being anti-war. I am used to stories where people like Chris Kyle (aka American Sniper) are presented as idealistic heroes capable of doing no wrong and who have no regrets about whom they killed. Until today, however, I never met anyone who made me realize the victims of the United States Military are not just innocent civilians living abroad, but many of our soldiers themselves.

I don't know this man's full story. I wish I'd gotten his information. Some ex-service members are not necessarily proud of killing others, but they had a task to do and they did it. When we praise all soldiers or the military in general, we sometimes forget that the individuals who return home may not have themselves believed in the mission. In addition, when we attack those who criticize the military, we forget that all of us have the same objectives--security and long term peace, which cannot be achieved by an unlimited budget, a poorly defined long term plan, or perpetual war. Most of all, we forget that some Americans did what they were told to do, and they deserve more than mere words or unthinking veneration. Men and women who return from war deserve a public who, at the very least, will send them back only if necessary, and who despise war and what it does to everyone involved.

Update: Another friend thinks this might have been a scam. It appears like a perfect sob story--daughter with cancer, etc. But I think I finally understand his disproportionate response to my small gesture: I believed him. Most people thought he's trying to scam them. Now his desire to show me evidence--the AZ license, the tattoos...it all makes sense.

I felt terrible and uneasy after this situation.  The idea that only a few dollars would make a man--who has a seemingly nice woman and who once had a good job--so happy really unnerved me.  Only when I figured out the possible reason for his disproportionate reaction--that I believed him where so many others had not--was I able to settle down. 

S.F. -- on the way to a movie, Don't Think I've Forgotten

Me: [on busy SF bus, sees older man move through] "Would you like my seat?"

Him: "No thank you. One time, someone offered me his seat because he thought I was 72. Do I look 72?"

Me: "No. You look 64."

Woman: [taps my shoulder, smiles] "You're in dangerous territory with age."

Him: "I'm 62."

[Seats open up as people leave, he sits next to me.]

Him: "I'm a Marine. Served in Vietnam. Got out in 72."

Me: "I'm going to see a movie about Cambodia tonight."

Him: "The Cambodians were killing millions back then. You know, I just found out my ship (USS Paul Revere) was exposed to Agent Orange. [Shows me computer printout.]

I have PTSD. Can't even fill out a job application. But I got a disability pension of $2900 a month. Without it, I'd probably kill myself. My dad is a WWII vet. Doesn't want to give his son the credit he deserves.

Hey, she looks Cambodian. [Points to a young woman on bus.] I think she's looking at you. [Big laugh.] You single?"

Me: "Yes."

Him: "My wife is Indo-Chinese. Met her at a bus stop. She'll find you someone. Call me. [Gives me his number.] Semper Fi."

Me: "Semper Fi."

END SCENE.

Santa Clara, CA -- Coolest Professor Ever

Me, to my law school professor: Did you experience any discrimination in your life?

Him: I was the only Latino in my law school. I get asked that question often. I tell people, "My friend's grandmother was very racist. She told me all the time, 'Be careful of white Americans. They are unclean and lack manners.'" 

Later, when I was working with rural legal aid, the police picked me up along with some undocumented farmworkers. I was dressed in the official uniform of a legal aid lawyer: jeans and a shirt. I showed the officer my bar card. He looked at it, didn't know what it was, and told me he didn't care. I then remembered my friend's grandmother: "White Americans lack manners." 

END SCENE.  

Toronto, Canada -- Manners 

In Toronto's St. Lawrence Market. Looking for a place to sit. Hands full with food and a drink. Older man motions for me to sit across the table in an empty plastic chair.

Me: "Where are you from?"

Him: "I come from a country that no longer exists."

Me: "Yugoslavia?"

Him: "No. Let me tell you a story. When I was younger, I would help Madam [motions to his French wife] any way I could. One day, I assisted a woman who was famous, but I didn't know her. When I finished helping her, she asked me the same question, and I gave her the same response."

Me: "Why doesn't your country exist anymore?"

Him: "I'm Egyptian. I'm Christian. When I was growing up, people had manners."

Me: "But the old always say the same thing about the young, in every generation. Did anyone bother you growing up in Egypt?"

Him: "No one bothered me. They wouldn't dare. You see, in old Egypt, people would address each other by titles or by Mr. and Mrs. No one would take a tip. I would offer sometimes, but no one would accept in Egypt. I miss the common decency of the common man in the street."

Me: "You're right. You were the only person who motioned for me to sit down." [Gets up to leave.]

Him: "Good luck to you."

San Jose, CA -- Computer Problems

Me, day after after helping cousin with laptop: "I just remembered. Did you turn on your firewall?" Younger cousin: "Yes. I turn it off?" Me: "What? No! You are supposed to turn it on. What the hell? This is why you have viruses. You don't know what a firewall is?" Her: "Oh come on, of course I know." Me: "Then why did you say you were going to turn it off?" Mom, interjecting: "What is a fireball?" Me: [doubling over in laughter] END SCENE. 

Krakow Airport -- Immigration (2017) 

Me, with Polish guy in airport. He’s friendly and in his late 20’s. Me: “In America, we heard 60,000 people marched in Poland recently against refugees and also chanted, ‘Poland for white people.’” Him: “Not true. They [the majority] never said such things. The TV spreads something a few people said. We do not want economic migrants. They just want cash [welfare]. If you want to work, you are welcome here.” Me: “When the Germans invaded Poland, many Poles fled to America, especially Chicago. Even though they were poor, America accepted hundreds of thousands of them. Now, Poland is part of NATO, and NATO initiated a war in Syria, causing Syrians to flee. But you won’t accept them?” Him: “We like anyone who works. You work hard, we like you.” Me: “Ah, so the Poles who went to America worked hard, which is true. But do you remember 5, 10 years ago, the EU did not want Polish workers. The UK unions and people said the Poles work too hard, for less money, and they are lowering our wages.” Him: [Looks surprised] Me: [Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. People everywhere fear change.] END SCENE.

More Airport Stories (2017)

Me, to German man on my airline, after discussing his Indonesian wife: "What's love to you?"

Him: "Someone is [always] waiting for you."