What "God" Means to Me

Does God exist? Who has the "right" idea about God? These questions have been debated as long as anyone can remember, and even longer, and that does not look likely to change anytime soon. This bothers me. While I enjoy a healthy debate, unfortunately it too often ends up being destructive and even violent. It's just so unnecessary.

I was not brought up religious. Occasionally our family attended a Unitarian-Universalist church, but until later in life I had no idea what that meant. But for some reason I remained interested in religion and wondered why we didn't go to church anymore. In my teens I discovered an Indian spiritual guru named Ajaib Singh, who prescribed an ethical way of life, including the vegetarian diet, and a form of transcendental meditation as a way of getting closer to God. At that point I assumed I knew what God was, and that everyone believed in him. Any differences of opinion could surely be worked out, couldn't they?

I'm so grateful to my Mom and Dad for allowing me to forge my own spiritual path. As a result, I've been open to doing a lot of reading, and been open to listening to new points of view. Not everyone has that. At times, I think it would have been nice to have a firm, unquestioning belief, an answer to the question "what's going to happen to me when I die?" But I feel that I am so much richer and freer for being allowed to develop my own ideas.

So, do I think God exists? My simple answer to that is yes--it's not even a matter of belief. Now, whether there is an actual supernatural being who controls everything, I don't know. But it is self-evident that God exists as an idea, a very powerful idea, which exists, at least, in people's minds. I once heard someone coin the term "linguistic phenomenon," not specifically to describe God, but I think it fits very well. In the Christian Bible, the Gospel of John says, "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." So it occurred to me that God is right under our nose, in the language we speak. The "Word," as used in the Gospel of John, is not some mystical concept that can't be defined--it's something so mundane that we don't even think about it.

If you don't believe me, consider this: just look at all things that human beings have invented (or created). What do all those things have in common? They all started out as ideas, which were expressed in words. Sometimes ideas are so new that new words have to be invented. So what I'm saying is, words are human being's access to the creative power, which is often attributed to a supernatural God. Just imagine what's possible when two people with similar ideas get together and start talking. It could be, "Oh, that's cool, I didn't think about that; what about this?"(the ideas evolved!) And all of a sudden you have things, like cars and airplanes, that once would have been considered miraculous, but now seem mundane. That's the creative power of God at work.

Even though I don't see evidence for the supernatural, God is still a useful concept for me. I use it kind of as a representative term for all the "good stuff" in life, To me, these things are, truth, beauty, love, peace, creativity, brotherhood--the list could go on. And how did I come to these conclusions? I've had the good fortune to meet many people from different areas of the world. When I met them, instead of trying to convince other people of my ideas, I inquired about theirs, and got to look at things from someone else's angle of vision. When I do that, the reaction from the other person is never hatred or violence..It's always friendly, lighthearted, and I find relatedness, and the experience the feeling that we aren't all that different, after all.

Mom's Dad, Richard Leslie Bolton

It has taken me a while, but I am finally up to writing about my Mom's Dad, Richard Leslie Bolton. The information I'm writing about here was obtained in my last conversation with Mom, on 2 May 2015. I had intended to do more, but unfortunately that won't be possible.

Richard Leslie Bolton was born on 1/12/1907 in Liverpool, U.K., and died in March of 1971, when I was only 2 and a half, and Barry was only a few months old. Checking with my cousin Doreen, I found out that he was known to his grandchildren as Grandad (Grandma Bolton was Nan). Nan and Grandad came to the United States to visit after I was born, and they held me as a baby. God love him, Grandpa, my Dad's Dad, took a lot of home movies, and so there is movie footage of both my sets of grandparents together from that time.

Grandad's Dad also died young, when Grandad was 14, under tragic circumstances. So at that young age, he became the man of the house, having to go to work to support the family, which was unfortunate because Mom described him as a brilliant scholar. He was great in math, which proved very valuable to the Royal Liver Insurance Company, who hired him at that young age, and employed him all his life. Mom said he was never promoted, but he was responsible for auditing the books. He would have been of age to fight in World War II, but he had poor eyesight, so he was rejected.

On 27 August 1932, Nan (Lillian Wharmby Bolton, b.1908) and Grandad were married, and they had five children: Irene, David, Leslie, Sheila, and Margaret. I was fortunate to meet all but Irene, Mom's older sister, who also died young, of cancer. They lived for many years in a semi-detached at 43 Corwen Crescent, Huyton, Liverpool.

Grandad was a lay preacher in the Methodist Church, according to mom the same church attended by Liverpool soccer hero Billy Liddell. He also played the piano and organ. For many years, I attributed my interest in the piano to Grandma on my Dad's side, but mom's Dad played too, and Mom was proud of me because I was the only grandchild who learned to play. I am crying thinking about this because I had no idea how much that meant to her. Mom insisted that Grandad's piano is now in the possession of my cousin Eva in Wales, though Eva does not think so. I got to play that piano one day. Grandad was the first in church to play Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeed, which he learned to play by ear since the sheet music was sold out at Rushworth and Draper.

Mom spent her life taking care of other people, and she got that in large part from her Dad. Mom described a number of relatives, including Auntie Pearl, who were mistreated but Grandad took care of. Grandad, as I wrote above, began taking care of the family from a very young age. The circumstances of his Dad's death were very tragic--it was suicide. Mom didn't know the details, but said it was because of a business deal gone wrong. 

I wish I had had the chance to know Grandad better, but having had this final conversation with Mom, I am present to the impact he had on my life. Sometimes it's hard to see the impact events of the past have on you, but your life can be influenced by people you never even knew, who died years before you came along. Such was the case with my Grandad.

Losing Mom

Well, it's been a difficult month. On Sunday, 3 May, at about 8:45 AM, I lost my Mom. She was 73. Most people go through losing a parent--I say most because there are tragic cases where the offspring pass away first--and it's hard, even though I had the idea that it might possibly happen soon.

Mom had been in the hospital for a week before she passed, but I witnessed her decline over the last couple of years. The most recent photo I have of her was from last Christmas when she came to hear the Granite Statesmen perform. My quartet sang for her after the show, and we had someone take a picture, which I had forgotten about until the other day. Comparing that photo to the ones taken when she went to England a couple of years ago, I could see a huge difference. Mom was never big to begin with, but it was clear in the newer photo that she wasn't as healthy.

Mom was Mom right until the end. I was the last family member to have a conversation with her, and I was the one to call the nurse when she took her last breath. Saturday night, 2 May, I had a great conversation with her, mostly about her father. Her voice was the strongest it had been in the week she was in the hospital, and I thought that I was going to be able to follow through with my plan to write her memoir. I wanted to ask her about her other family members, becoming a nurse, coming to the United States, etc., all things I had probably asked her about before but had never taken notes on. During that week in the hospital, every time I left I had felt crushed, helpless, and I think she could tell that as I left her room each time. However, after that last conversation, I left feeling uplifted, as if things were going to be OK. I think she also saw that, and knowing that I was going to be OK, I think she decided that her work as Mom was complete, and she could pass away in peace. I think if she hadn't felt that way, she would have hung on some more until she did.

Unfortunately, it sometimes, maybe usually, takes someone passing away in order for people to come together. It ended up being my role to begin to contact family members and friends to spread the word. And although it was a sad time, I found it rewarding to have those conversations. Everyone has lost, if not a parent, then someone close to them, and sharing experiences with them helped me, a little bit, to be able to deal with the grief and sadness I felt. It was an unexpected way to find relatedness with other people. These situations are awkward, everyone knows that what they say or do can never completely fill the hole, or alleviate the pain, but it helps to know that people are there for you.

I don't know if there is an afterlife or not. I can't prove that there is, but I can't prove that there isn't one, either. I wish I could say for sure, like some do, that someday I'm going to see all my loved ones, such as Mom, Marcia and Joanna, Grandma and Grandpa, again, and that maybe I could get to know the relatives, like Mom's parents, who I didn't have to opportunity to know well. Appealing as that is, it just doesn't make sense to me. But then again, what is death, really? One idea that does make sense to me is someone is alive a long as there is someone who remembers them. So Mom is very much alive in me and in those who knew her. She'll be well remembered for a long time.

One other thing I've noticed: time goes by very fast. I'm writing on 25 May; Mom passed away on the 3rd, and we had the memorial service on the 16th. It seems like yesterday when Mom came to hear the chorus sing at Christmastime. But life does go on, and one certain thing is that Mom wouldn't want me to dwell on her passing for long. She was always about putting other people first, and I can only aspire to be half of what she was in that regard. 

I love you, Mom. I miss you, and I miss hearing your voice, and seeing your warm smile. Those will be with me always.    

Mom's Life Story

Over the coming days, I will be telling the story of my Mom's life. I started talking to her today a and got some excellent notes down, and I will be writing them up soon. This is the story of a courageous person who served in a challenging career field and also moved to a new country while she was still very young. I'm looking forward to sharing her story with you. This will be a work in progress. If there is anything you think I'm missing out would like me to ask, please feel free to let me know. I hope to make this available in a book or e-book to anyone who would like one.

My Attitude Toward Equality

Yesterday I had a conversation with someone very close to me about some of the troubles that are going on in the world, and this person expressed the opinion that "we are better than those people." And I thought, that's not what I believe in at all.

Over the years, I've been fortunate to meet a wide variety of people from all over the world, including area that the United States is in conflict with. Some people from those areas are really, really nice, while others are jerks and worse. And guess what? That's been my exact experience with people I know who are from where I'm from and have lived here all their lives. The vast majority of people are really great, but there are some jerks out there, too. Heck, at times I am a jerk, though I like to think of myself as a decent person. But treating others equally and giving them a fair chance is what I feel I was brought up to believe, no matter what someone looks like or where they're from.

To me, it seems that many people like to be around others who are like themselves. That might be OK for them, but it seems boring to me. I know and love who I am (wow, did I just say that?) so I don't need a lot of people around reinforcing that. I enjoy meeting people from different backgrounds, with different points of view. It may be that that person can help open my eyes to new ways of thinking, to help me learn something new about myself. And that makes my life rich.

The awareness that keeping a diverse set of friends also makes me feel when something is missing. For example, where I live in New Hampshire, African-Americans comprise about 1% of the population, and the Hispanic population is not that large, either. That makes two large groups that I have very little experience of, compared to people who live in other parts of the country. That seems limiting to me--because of this, I feel that my life is not as rich as it potentially could be. The same applies no matter what perceived difference there is between me and someone else, be it skin color, national origin, religion, or whatever it is.

Getting back to the belief that some people are better or more worthy than others, my feeling is that is the foundation for all the conflict that exists in the world. My religion is better than yours, my way of doing things is better, my country is better, etc.

What I do believe is peace begins with me. If I am not peaceful, the world around me is not going to be peaceful. But if I am peaceful, then I can start to share that so that other people have it, too. And it's totally free to give away--giving peace away only serves to increase the supply. And that contributes to the idea expressed in my first post where everyone wins--living can be a win-win game for everyone.

My Addiction to Pro Sports

I'm a sports fan. I remember the exact moment when I became aware of pro sports, and that I could watch them on television. I was 9. I was flipping through the channels on the first weekend of the 1978 baseball season. The Red Sox were playing the White Sox and were leading 10-1. "RED SOX," I exclaimed. I must have been aware of them prior to that moment, but that day is my first memory. From that time on, I was hooked. Being 9, I was not allowed to stay up and watch the games from the West Coast that started late, even during no-school times, and remember getting caught once. I remember Mom often providing the news in the morning that the Red Sox won, which they did often that summer, tragically losing in a one-game playoff to the hated Yankees after leading them in the standings by 14 1/2 games in July.

Since that time, there are few times that I can remember not being aware of the result of the Red Sox game. I follow the other Boston-area teams with varying degrees of intensity, but the Red Sox, and now Liverpool Football Club, take most of my attention. I watch and attend as many of the games as I can manage, read about them in the newspaper, listen to sports talk radio, and interact with other fans on Facebook and Twitter. I still have all my baseball cards. I've been to at least one Sox game every year since 1986, have traveled to see them on the road (I was there the night Roger Clemens struck out 20 in Detroit), and have been to Spring Training several times. Twice I've seen Liverpool play at their famous home ground, Anfield, and make an attempt to see a game somewhere when I travel. I've even been to an LA Clippers game.

Lately, however, I find my interest diminishing. Sure, I still love, love, love the actual games. But just about everything surrounding them is a turnoff. It seems every day there is a new scandal: performance-enhancing drugs, teams cheating one way or another, brawls, etc. Then when I consider the money that is paid to players, and charged to fans in terms of ticket prices and ever-increasing cable television costs, I begin to question what I'm doing it for. I remember going to the Fan Fest when the baseball All-Star game was in Boston in 1999. I thought, great, this is a chance for me to get some autographs, see some of the game's artifacts, etc. So I went, purchased a baseball, and waited in line with hundreds of people to get some autographs.

I think that day is when my attitude about following sports began to change, at least it was the seed of change. I had my one baseball, but there were people there in line with huge duffel bags filled with brand-new baseballs, there for the purpose of getting autographs in order to sell them for a profit. I guess I don't have a problem with that, and the event was probably a way for some of the guys who played before today's inflated salaries to make a payday, but it isn't why I follow sports. Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I still go for the crack of the bat and the roar of the crowd and seeing really talented people play the games I love.

So what I am learning to do is to pay attention to the stuff I like, and tune out the soap opera kind of stuff. (If I want to watch a soap opera, I'll watch General Hospital.) I choose exactly how much I do or don't pay attention, and I find friends who follow sports for the same reason I do. Plus, I get out and participate in the sports I enjoy, such as golf and cycling.

Early Childhood Education/Small Changes

Because of the reaction to my last post, it occurs to me to write a little bit about the importance of early childhood education. A business leader I admire says that what it set in motion, carries in motion. Once something is in motion, it's very hard to stop or redirect. And this is true whichever direction the path takes. If, for example, a child learns to love reading and education, you won't be able to pry a book out of that person's hand with a crowbar. On the other hand, if a child gets no exposure to books until arriving at school, as I'm told does happen, how is that person ever going to love reading? It's likely always going to be a struggle, and that child is not going to achieve as much, in school or in life, as the one who had exposure to reading. It's not impossible to change later, but I believe everyone would be much better off if everyone got a better start.

I was very fortunate to have parents who believed in education, and in fact, all my relatives did. , so no matter who was taking care of me, I was encouraged to read and learn. and indeed, no amount of convincing would keep me from picking up a new book, and I usually have about three going at the same time. Learning is a constant source of happiness and renewal in my life--I don't know what I would do without it.

Regarding what is set in motion being carried in motion, I discovered it is possible to make changes if I don't like what's going on, even to those things where I might rationalize, "It's just the way I am." My brother said once, if you don't like what's happening, do something different. Similarly my minister advised, start by making a small change, and the bid change you want to see happen will slowly start to look possible. And in fact that is turning out to be the case. In my situation, I've mostly been uncomfortable participating in large group situations. So my minister, by recruiting me to be a co-facilitator, in our small-group ministry program, gave me the opportunity to get to know other people and let myself be known in a safe situation. I wasn't great at it the first year, but in the second and third years I started to become a lot more comfortable. Now, in any situation, I can initiate the conversation, even with people I don't know, just by saying hello, and I enjoy it. This is still a work in progress, and I'm not where I want to be yet, but there has been progress and I'm a lot happier.

The Impact of Bullying

This is a paper I wrote for Psychology class when I was studying to become a Medical Assistant in 2012. The professor loved it, and since bullying was and remains an important subject to me, I am taking the opportunity to share it here. My teacher friend shared a story about a bullying situation in her school this morning, which reminded me I have this piece to share. I just cringe when I hear bullying being talked about, because it's so destructive and unnecessary.

Here it is:

Bullying is a subject that is gaining more and more attention in today’s popular media. It’s about time. What was often formerly dismissed innocuously as “kids being kids—they can be so mean to each other” (I wish I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that), is now being taken more seriously by parents and educators alike. More attention is being given to recognizing bullying when it is happening and taking appropriate actions in order to prevent the serious psychological and other consequences that it causes. The forms that bullying takes, and its short- and long-term impacts, will be the subject of this paper. This is a very personal subject for me, because the fact of being picked on and ridiculed as a young person has had a serious material impact on the quality of my adult life. In other words, I am still dealing with the issues, and expect to still be doing so for a very long time, maybe my entire life. In this paper I will deal with childhood bullying, but make no mistake, it does not automatically end when people turn 18. It happens to adults, too, but it is beyond the scope of this paper to deal with that now.

This is a very personal subject for me. I was bullied from about the time my family moved from Burlington, MA to Billerica, MA in April of my kindergarten year, the 1973-74 school year, until I was taken out of the public school system to attend the Sant Bani School in Sanbornton, NH after my one year in the local public high school, Winnisquam, in the fall of 1983. This bullying took a wide variety of forms: in Billerica, rocks were thrown at me at the bus stop; I was frequently picked on because of my name. In those days I  went by my middle name, Leslie, which was ridiculed as a girl’s name. It did not get any better when I switched over to Alex. Upon moving to New Hampshire and being introduced at my new school, Alex became “Alice” to one notorious bully, who I had a fistfight with a couple of years later. My last name was not free from notice, either. If it was not “Leslie is a girl’s name,” it was Flintstone, Deadstone, Bedrock, Dr. Livingstone, I presume (I still hear that one!) etc. I could not win. People will pick out anything they perceive as “different,” and they will not let you forget about it.

            The move from Burlington to Billerica was not a good one. In Burlington I had been in an open-concept classroom where I felt free to move around. I had friends, even a best friend who lived across the hall from us in our apartment building, and I have nothing but positive memories of those times. In Billerica, however, they had us sitting behind desks, and I apparently did not deal well with that, though I do not have any really specific memories of those couple of months at the end of that school year. I do know that something changed, however. One thing I do recall from my first or second grade year is that I had a good friend who happened to be a girl, by the name of Ginger Meek. I think she was in my first-grade class, and I even remember going over to her house, but I remember that being a source of ridicule, too, because boys that age are not supposed to talk to or like girls. I find it kind of funny that later in life I have all kinds of trouble finding and then keeping adult relationships with women, but I had a girlfriend in the first grade. I think her family moved away first—I seem to remember being sad because of it. After moving away to New Hampshire in the fall of 1978, I also lost contact with my best friend from Burlington, Joey Ambarik. I did not have another best friend my age until 1991, when I began attending Plymouth State College full time. I always had more relatedness with the adults.

            Mostly as a result of the treatment I received, I pretty much became a loner. I say “mostly” because I think there were a couple of other factors at work. One, when I was very young, so my Mom tells me, I was not allowed to play with the other little kids who were around—I may have been overprotected. Also, I did not have the advantage of nursery school, which my younger brother, who has had far fewer problems (in my estimation) did. I also started first grade about 5 weeks before I turned six, which I think would not happen today—I would have started a year later. Anyway, because I kept away from the other kids, either by choice or by being excluded, I did not develop the social skills I needed to have the success, both financial and otherwise, that I thought I should have. I have always had a brilliant mind, although my grades did not always show it, but it’s the way I dealt, and sometimes still deal, with people that has kept me from the advancement that I crave. Still I overreact to a perceived slight, even though by now I think I should know better.

            So what are some of the signs and symptoms that a child is being bullied? I think I have alluded to the major ones: slow social development and poor performance in school. In my case learning was happening—one year I needed to get an 88 on the final to pass English; I got a 96, which is still remembered by that teacher, Miss Blinn. Unfortunately, the adults have so many kids to watch, and it can be really difficult to see what is really happening, especially outside of school and with the advent of cell phones, Facebook, text messaging, etc.

            What can be done about bullying? Awareness of what bullying looks like has to be the first step, so that adults can intervene at an appropriate time, rather than waiting until it is too late. People have to keep talking about this issue and about the possible consequences of nothing being done. In my case, my Mom consistently went to the school administration to try to get them to do something, but they would not. In fact, I was often the one who got into trouble for retaliating when I could not take it any longer. Everyone has to be really vigilant, instead of sweeping the problem under the rug. Personally, I do not necessarily advocate severe punishment for bullies, though sometimes it is probably appropriate. Rather, every incident should be viewed as an opportunity for education about the long-term impacts on both parties. It is really costly. Often the person being bullied is the one who is brilliant, the one who stands out.

What is lost? My spiritual teacher, the founder of the Sant Bani School, said that we have something to learn from everyone, and that no one exists for nothing. I believe this wholeheartedly. What we cost ourselves when we push somebody around is the opportunity to ever have a real, trusting relationship with that person, and vice-versa. Great as either the bully or I might be, we will not get to experience that greatness. It is hard to describe what that might be like because we have never experienced it. In other words, bullying costs us life itself, because we do not get to experience everything that life has to offer.

Winning and losing

Yesterday I commented about wanting to create a world where everyone wins, where win-win situations are the norm. I mentioned this to my close friend who is a former Teacher of the Year here in New Hampshire, and she brought up our country's emphasis, bordering on obsession, with sports. Of course, sport is a subject that is near and dear to my heart. I follow pro sports, and college sports to a lesser degree; I have participated in sports all my life, and while I am not a great athlete, I enjoy playing and I try hard. The best compliment I ever received from a coach was that he wished he had 11 players on the pitch giving my effort. So, I love it, whether I win, lose, or draw (not that I don't care about the result). Any activity that involves chasing a ball around a field, I'm interested in at least finding out what's going on.

However, my teacher friend's point is that our culture values winning at all costs--the team losing the game is considered less valuable or inferior, and they are deemed to not have worked hard enough, when that may not be the case at all. Take it from me, it's frustrating to work hard on your game and still not have it come out the way I want it. I can work, work, work on my golf game and still when I get out on the course, I'm going to slice it into the woods. But I'm going to keep after it, no matter what.

The sad part about the over-emphasis on victory is that it makes people likely to quit. One time I did quit. In elementary school in Massachusetts I played football (soccer) for a while, but they always put me in goal, where it seemed to me that there was less to do, or I was less important, so I quit playing. Later on in my senior year in high school, I was watching our team practice and I thought, hey I'd like to try that--football is indeed the Beautiful Game. And what do you know, I became a goalkeeper, and while I was late coming to the game, I even played in college and for several years in an adult summer league after that. While I was never what I would consider "good," I went on to become a volunteer assistant coach at my high school, having learned enough to show young players the fundamentals.

I often think, what would have happened if I hadn't quit at that early age? Maybe I could have played NCAA Division 1, or even professionally. But even though I didn't accomplish those things, still I have to count myself a winner because I participated, while so many people are content to sit on the couch and watch TV. Because I played, I had so many experiences and developed so many friendships that I otherwise would not have, without which my life would be poorer.

Bienvenue!

Hi everyone, welcome to my blog! Several years ago, one of my friends in the Landmark Introduction Leaders Program suggested that I should write a book. My thoughts at that time were, "who, me?" and "what the heck am I going to write a book about?" But recently I've discovered that I have all these ideas floating around in my head, and I am not really recording them anywhere. At one time, I didn't really know what a blog, short for weblog, really is. But I've discovered that it's no different from keeping a journal, which I used to do many years ago but got out of the habit. So I had the thought that writing a blog would be a great way for me to put some of those thoughts down and maybe have some other people see them (scary thought!).

I'll be writing about any number of subjects here, anything that strikes me as important. I'll have thoughts about sports, religion, politics, books I've read, etc. Some may even be controversial! And maybe someday, I will have the genesis of the book that my friend Heidi Osborn suggested I write. My idea is that everything great in the world starts with an idea. I don't claim to have all the good ideas, but maybe someone will see one of mine and think, "that could lead to something," combine it with his or her own idea, and then suddenly the world is a better place. Everyone deserves a peaceful world to live in, and I hope that the seeds I spread here may contribute toward that end. We can have a world where everyone wins.