My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
The Olympics Are Coming
The Olympics are coming and while there is homage paid to the sharing of an experience and the gathering of peoples, the issue quickly turns upon winning, and not only winning but also the beating of someone else. There will be the counting of medals and defining of 'them vs. us,' the implication not always so implicit that we should win since we are good and they are foreign. Maybe it cannot be other than it is. Maybe it is another event unable to limit itself to what might be better.
Labels:
limitations,
Olympics,
politics,
sports,
winning
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