Mondays with Mike: A powerful piece of writing

OK, first things first—Beth’s new dog:

Meet Speedo!

She’s a black Lab, 22″ tall and she weighs 54 pounds
Birthday: March 8, 2018

She’s Beth’s youngest and smallest dog to date. Her working name for public purposes remains Speedo for the foreseeable future. Beth says being back at The Seeing Eye is like taking piano lessons after you haven’t for a long while. You realize how many bad habits you’ve developed. All which reminds me that The Seeing Eye trains dogs…and people.

Now, back home.

I remain conflicted about social media, and given its corporate decisions, I don’t care a lot for Facebook. But I actually have to have an account for work purposes. And as with everything technology, I still hold that it’s human behavior that’s the issue.

All that said, the one unequivocal good that I have derived from Facebook over time is coming across great pieces of writing that I probably wouldn’t otherwise have discovered. They’re usually posted in good faith without some screed, often with a comment like, “Worth the read.” Which means, don’t worry, it’s not a rant.

Last week one such post appeared on my feed. Entitled, “My Semester with the Snowflakes,” I wasn’t sure what to expect.

Well, it’s by a former Navy Seal who became an unlikely freshman at Yale at the age of 52. Writer James Hatch is honest—he acknowledges having come from a culture that would call Yale and other Ivy League students “snowflakes.”

Here’s a taste:

Let me address this “snowflake” thing. According to the Urban Dictionary, a “snowflake” is a “term for someone that thinks they are unique and special, but really are not. It gained popularity after the movie Fight Club from the quote ‘You are not special. You’re not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You’re the same decaying organic matter as everything else.’ ”

I hear the term occasionally from buddies of mine who I love. They say things like, “How are things up there with the liberal snowflakes?”

Let me assure you, I have not met one kid who fits that description. None of the kids I’ve met seem to think that they are “special” any more than any other 18–22-year-old. These kids work their asses off. I have asked a couple of them to help me with my writing. One young woman volunteered to help me by proof-reading my “prose” and, for the record, I believe she will be the President someday. I recently listened while one of my closer pals, a kid from Portland, Oregon, talked to me about the beauty of this insane mathematics problem set he is working on. There is a young man in our group who grew up in Alaska working on fishing boats from a young age and who plays the cello. There is an exceptional young woman from Chicago who wrote a piece for the Yale Daily News expressing the importance of public demonstrations in light of a recent police shooting. She and I are polar opposites. I am the “patriarchy” at first glance, and she is a young black woman who is keen on public protests. Not the type of soul I generally find myself in conversation with. We come from different worlds and yet we both read classic works with open hearts and minds.

He goes on to weave what I found to be an inspirational read that reminded—not preached—of the power of respectful conversation instead of bumper-sticker anger.

You can read it here.

With that I’ll leave you with a favorite passage from the piece:

To me there is no dishonor in being wrong and learning. There is dishonor in willful ignorance and there is dishonor in disrespect.