That's Not a Small Tree

This weekend, we went to a Christmas tree farm near our house. It sits at the end of a long, winding drive through towering evergreens and it's truly magical, opening up to an expanse of 17 acres of trees of various sizes and species, each sitting neatly within a seeminly endless grid. The boys had insisted on choosing the tree, but no sooner had we stopped the truck did they pile out, taking off through the rows of trees in a frenetic game of tag. As Shayne and I wandered through the groves, we could hear the shouting and see streaks of color from a far distance as they zipped in and out of the thickets. It was great. Open space, free range young 'uns. Because we have unopened boxes of kitchen cabinetry (waiting for our endless kitchen remodel), we'd planned on a small tree of no more than 6 feet. An hour later, we were tying down a 16 footer and it now stands beautifully in our living room.

I received a call Saturday morning from Rich Rusk, the son of former Secretary of State Dean Rusk (under JFK). He'd received my manuscript to review and wanted to call and congratulate me. He and I met briefly at the unveiling to the Clayton, Jackson, Mcghie memorial in Duluth in October of 2003. He's active in civil rights in the south, a member of the Moore's Ford Lynching Memorial Committee out of Athens, GA. We had a great talk; he's truly a man of strong character, dedicating his life to making the world a better place. It evokes a bit of meloncholy, causing one to look back at an era when we really did look ahead optomistically to better days. He told me he shared my sense of purpose, of embracing the "sins of the father." He said that his father was a wonderful, loving man, but that he (Rich) still carries the legacy of Vietnam and that drives him to stand today as a proponent of human rights. I think that must be the hardest thing of all, to recognize that those people--even people who, in the past, did horrible, far-reaching acts--often made those decisions under circumstances that caused them to feel that they were making the absolute, necessary choice. They thought they were right and it's only years later, when the dust has settled and we see through clearer eyes that we know it was the worst possible thing that could have been done.