Do we understand why some language can be hurtful?

By Will Brown

A bank teller had a gun put to her head. In a moment of stress she uttered language she would later come to regret.

A yuppie at a Kenny Chesney concert had a cell phone camera stuffed in his face. In a moment of stress he uttered language that he would come to regret.

Both people, both millionaires, are white Southerners who used the n-word. One was born in Albany, Georgia and became a celebrity chef. The other was born in Oklahoma, reared in Clearwater, Florida and makes his money as a professional football player.

The First Amendment gives Americans the freedom of speech. It does not protect people from the consequences of their speech.

In an age of gotcha journalism, around-the-clock news cycles and ever-present surveillance it’s doubtful few things can be uttered in private anymore. It means if someone is a bigot, homophobe, Anti-Semite, xenophobic or some other poisonous elixir of ignorance it will eventually be unveiled.

In some ways groupthink is just as insidious as the venom spouted by Paula Deen and Riley Cooper because individuals are led to believe what they are told, and do not come to their own conclusions.

Groupthink tells people the n-word is not an appropriate word to use; whereas, an individual would know why the n-word is not an appropriate word to use. It may not seem like a significant difference, but with most of us receiving our information from a screen — whether it’s television, computer or smartphone — we sometimes do not bother to get the context of a situation. It’s easier to just believe someone said an epithet, not understand what led them to say it in the first place.

The Nashville-based First Amendment Center appropriately had a Ralph Waldo Emerson quote on its homepage as its quote of the day Wednesday: “Speech is power: Speech is to persuade, to convert, to compel. It is to bring another out of his bad sense and into your good sense.”

This is not to excuse Cooper, or anyone else who uses ignorant language. But before people pick up their politically correct pitch forks, we should at least examine why some speech is insensitive, rather than taking anyone’s word for it.

Laughs and liveliness,

-Wb

How does one live an unconnected life?

At times the interstate in Florida can be one outstretched tease of the paradise that is ahead. But, on that Saturday afternoon pellets of rain pelted it with perfunctory precision. Dashing through the drops my wife and I were making our way to Miami for a family reunion.

With the rain providing the dour drumbeat, the music muted and my wife submerged in her stationery business I had plenty of time to think. One such thought was to see whether I could remain off social media for a week.

I have Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, LinkedIn, and Youtube profiles. I dabbled in mediums like Banjo and Snapchat and Shazam. But, the plan was to go a week without paying attention to any of them.

Then George Zimmerman was acquitted of murder. And I was in Miami.

The temptation to tweet was so strong my wife snatched my phone. She assumed I was bound to say something reckless. She believed the vitriol online would seep into me. In short she wanted to save me from myself.

Rather than tweeting my shock, I sent snarky text messages to my friends before writing an essay.

The experiment was over in 72 hours because a close friend needed me and social media was a big part of our communication. But, it led me to wonder how many other people withstand the urge to share on social media.

It was a search that was completed in two weeks.

My wife has a handful of family members who choose to live untethered to social media. Her older sister is one.

Though we are 13 months apart, when it comes to social media we are worlds apart. She hasn’t posted anything on Facebook in months, while my sabbatical earlier this month was the first time in years I had an extended break from all social media.

Spending a weekend with my wife, her sisters and much of her extended family on a vacation was an experience in how rewarding an unconnected life may be. All of us were hundreds of miles away from our typical stressors. The genuine time spent conversing, eating and relaxing made me wonder how authentic our relationships are in this social media age.

Well before our twin trips south on the Florida interstate, my wife mentioned that we have been on Facebook for nearly a decade. Initially, I figured she was mistaken, but a quick look back revealed I have been a member since April 2005.

More than 80 percent of people my age use social media. Facebook is by far the most popular medium for online adults. LinkedIn is a distant second while Twitter, Pinterest and Instagram are further behind.

But, is it worth it? After spending an extended weekend with my wife’s sister I admired her ability to stay away from the online tumbleweeds. It takes a certain level of maturity and sense of self to own a smartphone, but acknowledge that online profiles are not for them.

Even if I wanted to live an untethered life, my career requires I interact with the public.

But once I turned the data off on my cell phone over the weekend, and the only way people could contact me was through a call or text message, my connection to the world seemed quieter than an uninhabited island in the Florida Keys. Both were things to marvel at from a distance, but not anything that required additional attention.

At least I was not alone. An overwhelming percentage of Facebook users have admitted to taking sabbaticals from the most popular social medium. Their decisions to depart from online life were varied.

As for my reason for retarding my social media consumption: a hallelujah chorus is an excellent ego accelerant. But, too frequently that chorus conjures a sound more monotonous than raindrops in paradise.

Laughs and liveliness,

-Wb

Is there a better way to pass time in the summer time?

By Will Brown

Baseball is the national pastime because it’s a wonderful way to pass time.

With some of the best minor league prospects a short drive away, it was the perfect opportunity to get an intimate look at the Baseball Grounds of Jacksonville for the first time. Watching baseball beat watching game shows in the suburbs and getting some of the answers correct.

A record 9,373 people watched the 2013 Southern League All-Star game Wednesday night. We occupied four seats in the grandstand down the right field line.

As we made our way to our well-lit perch a familiar face threw out the first pitch. When Hall-of-Fame outfielder Andre Dawson fired home, most people in the stands yelled “Hawk” in homage to his nickname. Being the baseball fan that I am, instead of yelling Dawson’s nickname, I shouted out his alma mater—“FAAAAAAAAAAAMU!”

It’s possible some were lured by the fireworks show promised at the end. Whatever the motivation there were not too many empty seats when David Holmberg, a farmhand of the Arizona Diamondbacks, fired the first pitch a few minutes after 7 p.m.

The teams were separated into the North and South divisions. As the South started out hot, it led to hilariously inappropriate jokes about the Civil War from my wife’s father. Holmberg held the North hitless in his one inning of work. He fanned Joc Pederson to end the inning.

David Holmberg and Bradin Hagens both pitch scoreless innings for the South to start the All-Star Game!

— Mobile BayBears (@Mobile_BayBears) July 17, 2013

North batters failing to get good wood on pitches

was a common theme throughout the night. The South scored two runs in the first to lead them to a 6-0 victory.  The longer the North went hitless, the more my wife’s dad attempted to use levity to inspire their bats.

It turns out baseball players must be flattered to perform—even if there is no way they can hear the compliment. When Seattle Mariners prospect James Jones walked to the plate in the top of the fifth, my wife noted how “cute” he was.

On cue the right fielder lined a double right over first base for the North’s only hit of the entire night.

In the top of the ninth, with the game essentially over, and most of the dynamite prospects out of the game, Jones had one more at bat. After picking on my wife for her newfound crush, Jones made me, and a few thousand others, happy by flying out to left field to end the game, which meant the much anticipated fireworks were soon to come.

Justin Greene made the running catch to end the game. He was named the game’s MVP because his 2 RBI triple in the first opened the scoring. The award presentation was one more obstacle between the fireworks show that was as advertised.

#southernleague all-star game MVP Justin Greene pic.twitter.com/YPiuMc2YfA

— Chris Porter (@ChrisPorterFCN) July 18, 2013

Fans were treated to a salute to the home run, which interestingly included Mark McGwire hitting his steroid-tainted 62^nd home run in 1998, as well as Chris Hatcher’s 2010 home run that clinched the Southern League title for the hometown Jacksonville Suns, before the explosions began.

At first the fireworks seemed as potent as the North’s offense. But as the 15-minute show wore on the explosions became bigger, louder and a celebration of baseball. Two boys standing on the concourse kept yelling “Merica!” when they were not singing along with Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the U.S.A.” which was being played over the loudspeaker.

First pitch to final out was over in less than three hours. Had a bevy of relievers not come in to make a brief showing in the final four innings, the game would have breezed along. Wednesday was a wonderful day to pass time, watching our past time.

Laughs and liveliness,

-Wb

What do maggots and teachers have in common?

A friend of mine dropped a Lord of the Flies reference right in the middle of a recent conversation about her working environment.

My pithy response was not forthcoming because I remembered reading the book in 10^th grade English, but I was bored to sleep. I retained none of the book, which was my loss.

What I did remember was my teacher that year, his insistence we read classic works like The Odyssey and The Iliad and that the Isle of Lesbos is how we now have the term “lesbian.” Unfortunately, I couldn’t accurately spell his name.

The staff directory at Booker High School noted he was no longer working at the school. Eventually an internet search revealed I did spell Mr. Kulikowski’s surname properly.

That internet search led me to look at whether other teachers I remembered were still working at the schools they taught me. Though I hardly kept up with any of them, and it’s very likely they have forgotten about me, it seemed like a fun exercise.

Teachers may be undervalued and underpaid, but they have immense value in our society. It seems incomprehensible that the starting teacher’s salary is just $35,672. What’s worse was the legislatures that used the recession as cover to slash funding for schools, eliminate classroom positions and devalue public education.

Not every teacher is a memorable one, or someone worth exalting. There are parasites in every profession.

But as I looked back at the four public schools I attended I saw many of the people who molded my life are still molding the lives of others.

My fifth grade teacher, Dwana Washington, is still teaching at Emma E. Booker Elementary as a data coach. My seventh grade Social Studies teacher, who was the son of one of my Sunday School teachers, has probably been teaching my entire life and is still at Booker Middle School. Mr. Kulikowski is gone, but there are others who still remain at Booker High School. Meanwhile Skip Arrich, the hilarious physics teacher and very accomplished soccer coach — who once promised to let me start at striker if I aced his test — has been at Rockledge High School for at least 35 years.

The 90s seem like an eternity ago to me. To those professionals, it was probably back when they had fewer gray hairs and more control over their classrooms, but I digress.

Thinking about spending a couple decades at the same place is a bit mortifying. Though a handful of people have suggested I become a teacher, I immediately respond I’m not mature enough to teach.

I like learning, but was not a great student. I like sharing ideas and information, but abhor the prospect of teaching. Longtime journalist Bill Moyers may have summed up my attitude earlier this week in a conversation he had on “Charlie Rose” when he said “journalism has been a continuing course in adult education.”

Not all of us can be, or want to be, journalists. But Moyers struck a chord. Those of us who care to learn something every day should thank those who initially made learning fun — teachers.

Laughs and liveliness,

-Wb