Joe Dennis

Democracy and Doughnuts

Like millions of Americans, I woke up today distraught to learn the election results.

After briefly absorbing the news, my first thought was, “Maybe I should get doughnuts this morning.”

I promised my 60 students I would get them doughnuts if we attained 70% completion on academic adviser evaluations. They missed the mark by nine points. Done deal. No doughnuts. You snooze. You lose.

However, I knew several of my students would be hurting this morning, feeling hopeless after the election. Maybe I should get them doughnuts anyway? Perhaps just mini doughnuts? Or maybe some doughnut holes? But then a random text came through from a former student — an alum with whom I haven’t chatted in several months — “You better get your students doughnuts today.”

It was settled. Doughnuts it is — full-size doughnuts. To be sure, I stopped at both Dunkin and Krispy Kreme. Six dozen doughnuts total (or “donuts” if they’re the Dunkin variety). It was the right call. Students immediately converged on my office, grabbing a donut and sharing their feelings. At one point seven students crowded into my office, expressing their fears, venting their frustrations, airing out their anger and cracking jokes about their impending doom.

I dismiss the notion that politics aren’t personal. If you were eavesdropping on my office this morning you’d hear an undocumented student fearing deportation, a gay student worried about losing their right to marry, a student anxious that her special-needs brother would lose his government assistance. These are all very legit concerns based on the future President’s agenda, and they are highly personal issues to these students.

But the country voted. And the majority voted for a candidate whose policies, if enacted, will definitely impact these students. I can’t do anything about that. But as these seven were gathered in my office, I realized in that moment I could be the most important person in their lives. I can listen. I can hug. I can emphathize. I can show them that they matter, regardless of where they were born, who they love or the color of their skin.

By demonstrating Christlike love, I can have a direct impact on the people around me, regardless of the hate surrounding them. Of course that doesn’t mean I’m stopping my fight against sexism, racism, nativism and heterosexism — that will be especially important in the years to come. But for now the best thing I can do for those feeling hopeless is to create a safe environment for them, and let them know I genuinely care.

And maybe occasionally, provide them doughnuts.

Another school shooting … and I feel nothing

When news of the Apalachee school shooting happened yesterday, I felt nothing. I checked to make sure none of my contacts worked at the school and checked in on a friend who graduated from there, but the sad truth is that I didn’t feel emotion.

Even though the school is just 30 minutes from my home, and I’ve been on that campus several times, and I know several people who went to Apalachee, I was emotionless. And it’s not that I’m an unemotional person — I cried during Sandy Hook. I cried during Parkland. I cried during Vegas.

But now, I’m just numb.

School shootings in America are like fatal car accidents — for those directly involved, it’s unexpected, it’s tragic, it’s devastating. For everyone else, there may be a fleeting moment of sadness, some “thoughts and prayers,” but then it’s back to normal until the next tragedy.

In America, more children die as a result of gun violence than from any other cause, including vehicle accidents and health issues. We are the only wealthy country in the world that has this epidemic, but instead of doing something about it, our leaders wear it like a badge of honor.

Two-thirds of the Supreme Court possess an incredibly broad interpretation of the 2nd Amendment … so much so that they even overturned President Trump’s sensible ban on bump stocks. Members of the Republican Party are so afraid of the NRA that they won’t even consider proposals that even a majority of Republican voters support, like raising the minimum age to purchase a gun or requiring mental health background checks for gun ownership. And we have politicians — including the governor of Georgia — who continuously downplay the seriousness of guns by using them as props in campaign commercials.

Over the next few days, pundits will be quick to blame first-person shooter video games or violence in movies (like the summer’s top movie, Deadpool vs. Wolverine) while ignoring the real problem. Although such fictional works may play some role in normalizing guns in society, it’s a reality that we as Americans accept real gun violence. Other first-world countries share our affection for fictional violence, but only in America do we replicate that violence. The correlation couldn’t be clearer — those other countries have sensible laws preventing their citizens from owning weapons of mass destruction. America does not. And when people point this out, we’re chastised by some for making this political.

But the Apalachee school shooting was political. Because policy could’ve made it preventable. Uvalde was preventable. Parkland was preventable.

Canada, France, Germany, Australia, the United Kingdom — and every other first-world nation — has demonstrated that school shootings are preventable. Until a certain segment of the population decides to value life over guns, we will continue to add more children to the list of preventable deaths when another school shooting happens.

And when the next school shooting happens, we’ll go through the same steps of confirming to see if anyone we know was impacted, perhaps have a moment of sadness, and offer our “thoughts and prayers” before going about our day. But if we’re being honest, that rote pattern repeated after every preventable tragedy is on par with the same emotion I will likely feel again — nothing.

Who’s to blame for the mess in Afghanistan? Mostly, you and me.

Republicans (and some Democrats) are blaming Biden. Democrats are blaming Trump. The truth is we all — including you and me — share blame for the brutal Taliban takeover of Afghanistan.

Here’s the facts:

Biden inherited a horrible deal the Trump administration made with the Taliban in which we agreed to pull out all our troops by summer 2021. With that said …
Biden did not need to honor that deal. He’s the U.S. President now. He’s reversed several other Trump policies (as Trump did with Obama’s Iran deal), and could’ve done so on this one.
Biden decided to honor the deal and pull out of Afghanistan, a decision supported by Trump, the majority of Congress and 73% of Americans at the time. It was a bold decision after 20 years of the status quo. However …
Biden completely botched the American withdrawal. And his explanations to us have been horrible, casting the blame to Trump. The world is watching, and the U.S. looks really bad and unreliable.
The Taliban not only has power and will undoubtedly return to its inhumane treatment of its citizens (especially women), but also billions of dollars of military equipment that the U.S. gave to Afghanistan.
Russia has already assisted the Taliban fight the previous Afghan regime, and they will likely become allies now. China likely will, too. This will be a huge problem for the U.S.
Trump, Biden and 73% of Americans — including myself — were wrong about Afghanistan. For the future protection of our own country, the U.S. should not have pulled out of Afghanistan. Unfortunately …
We can’t turn back time. However, our country owes asylum to the Afghan people who helped the U.S. over the years. Not only should we maintain control of the airport, but troops should enter Kabul and rescue the dissidents, who will most likely be executed by the Taliban.
This horrendous situation is not just the fault of the Biden and Trump administrations. They were both acting on the will of their constituents (remember that 73% of Americans wanted troops pulled out). It’s our fault. It’s one of the few issues that united us. The overwhelming majority of Americans, including myself, did not bother to educate ourselves on the nuances of the Afghanistan situation. We saw things in black and white. We were ignorant. But how could we have known? …
The media (broad term) failed as well. Our news media is so focused on conflict and immediacy with “click-bait” headlines so stories can be shared easily on social media feeds. There’s no room for nuance. Our politicians have adapted to this, and if something can’t be explained in a headline, a 10-second soundbite or a funny meme, then it’s not a point worth arguing. Americans have rewarded this type of “journalism” with clicks and views. Our social media-driven short attention spans can’t handle more. Shame on us.

Afghanistan is Biden’s fault. And Trump’s fault. And the media’s fault. But ultimately it’s our ignorance that allowed this to happen.

I asked God to find me

Originally published Feb. 18, 2021 as a Lenten Devotional on oconeestreetumc.org

Deuteronomy 1:31
“There you saw how the Lord your God carried you, as a father carries his son, all the way you went until you reached this place.”

Footprints (author undetermined)
An elderly man, who had lived his life and left this world to go and meet his Maker asked the Lord a question.

“As I’m looking down on the paths I’ve trod, I see two sets of footprints on the easy paths.

But down the rocky roads I see only one set of footprints.

“Tell me, Lord, why did you let me go down all those hard paths alone?”

The Lord smiled and simply replied, “Oh, my son, you’ve got that all wrong!

I carried you over those hard paths.”

It had already been a long week, even though we were only two days into it. I had not been connecting with the most important people in my life, and was already overwhelmed with work, family, church and baseball commitments.

I woke up yesterday to find my work calendar was filled with back-to-back-to-back-to-back meetings, the earliest of which I was already running late for.

Both my personal and work inbox were littered with requests for action items that needed to be finished immediately.

Somehow, I received more than a dozen texts in the span of six hours between 2-8 a.m.

My youngest children were relentlessly arguing. My dog was incessantly barking. And Carla was gone.

I rushed out of the house and into my car, only to find my eldest child left me a near-empty tank.

And halfway through my 50-mile trek to work, the check engine light popped on.

Every mountainous twist on HWY-441 brought fantasies of driving off the cliff. As someone who has learned to successfully live with clinical depression (through decades of therapy), I knew the path I was headed down was dangerous.

I asked God to find me.

The next eight hours were a blur. I know I successfully taught a class. I was told I impressed a VIP from the governor’s office in one of my morning meetings. I even received a “thank you” email from the parents of a prospective student to whom I apparently spoke with around noon. I managed to successfully lead a very long and potentially contentious faculty meeting. And in between everything, I somehow finished multiple reports that have been sitting on my invisible “to-do” list for weeks.

It was after 4, and I was eager to drive back to Athens to announce the opening day baseball game for Clarke Central and watch Jaydon get his first opening day start with varsity. I’ve announced several sporting events in my lifetime, but this one was special — I never imagined I would have an opportunity to introduce my child in a game.

First pitch was scheduled for 5:55, so I had plenty of time. Walking to my car, I checked my text messages for the first time since the morning. A message at 10:38 a.m. from coach read, “Game moved to 5 p.m. and will be a doubleheader.”

Surprisingly, this did not impact me like my morning did. I accepted that I would be late. I was sad that I would likely miss his first at-bat, but knew there were several other competent parents who knew how to talk into a microphone and do the job for me.

When I arrived at the Clarke Central baseball field, I rushed into the press box and as luck would have it, the first batter I got to announce was, “right fielder, #8, JAYDON DENNIS.”

It gave me goosebumps. And I watched with great pride as Jaydon beat out a grounder up the middle, stole 2^nd and 3^rdbase, and eventually scored the first run of the season for the Gladiators, as the team swept Oglethorpe County.

As I reflected on my day, I remembered asking God to find me. God not only found me, but carried me throughout the day, and dropped me off at one of the most memorable moments of my life.

Prayer: God, thank you for finding me. Thank you for carrying me when I was struggling to walk. Thank you for gently setting me down to fully experience the goodness of life.

Kuya Egor was a cool dude

Kuya Egor with baby Matthew.
Kuya Egor with little Jaydon.
Kuya Egor with baby Jackson.
Kuya Egor with little Matthew.
Kuya Egor with baby Maddie and Matthew.
Kuya Egor with Ate Regie, Mikki and Layuh (Mikki’s fiancee).
Kuya Egor with the family (2016).

Kuya Egor died last week, one of thousands of victims of coronavirus.

My Kuya Egor was a really cool dude.

Growing up as child in a first-generation American Filipino family, it seemed I was meeting a new family member at every gathering — and there were A LOT of family gatherings throughout the year. When I first met Kuya Egor, who had recently married my Ate Regie, I instantly fell in love with him. It was the late 1980s and much to the dismay of my parents, I was getting into the “heavy metal” music of the era and simultaneously was discovering my passion for radio, and like every Chicago boy was a huge fan of Michael Jordan. Kuya Egor talked to me about music, popular Chicago morning man Jonathan Brandmeier and the Chicago Bulls, and I knew this was one cool dude. He always made a point to check in on me at family gatherings, offering advice and encouraging me to pursue my dreams. I didn’t think much about it then, but now I realize how much that meant to me.

Being a cool dude, it’s not surprising that Kuya Egor made our supersized Christmas gatherings extra fun. I always enjoyed going to the home of Kuya Egor, Ate Regie and my supercool cousin Mikki. As karaoke was booming in the Philippines (to this day, the karaoke capital of the world … at least according to an episode of The Amazing Race), Kuya brought karaoke into the family, etching it into family tradition. When it was my turn, he would always have a Guns N’ Roses or Bon Jovi track that he purchased just for me. Kuya Egor was also very generous with his gifts, and would frequently attach a $2 bill to gifts for kids. A highlight of the adult white elephant gift exchange was finding Kuya’s gift, because we knew there was a good chance of some extra cash hidden in there. And for the kids, he would literally make it rain money into the living room from the upstairs loft in his home.

My favorite memory happened when I was “around 21” and my Kuya Bong was visiting from Switzerland. At Kuya Egor’s house, we met up with Ninong Ver and Manong Jun — and we all drank whisky until the next morning. That was the moment when I crossed the threshold to become one of the “Filipino men” of the family. I don’t remember much about that night, but I swear for the first time I started to understand Tagalog!

Although my interactions with Kuya Egor grew less and less over the years as I moved to Georgia, he always reconnected with me when I went back home. And he was the first member of my extended family to visit us in Georgia, dropping by for a visit en route to taking his family to Disney.

Looking back for photos of Kuya, it’s not surprising that the only ones I can find (besides shots of the whole family) are ones of him interacting with my kids as they were growing up. Jaydon, Jackson and Matthew instantly connected with him, as is evidenced in the photos.

That’s not surprising, because Kuya Egor was a really cool dude.