She came out of nowhere...

...and sat right down next to me.

I was returning from GEOINT 2009, having boarded a plane in San Antonio destined for a two and a half hour layover in Phoenix. I sat in my cramped seat doing my best to pour over the writings of Sayyid Qutb, when I heard a bubbly female voice with an English accent ask me what I was reading.

I looked up to spot an eccentrically-stylish older woman with a big smile on her face craning her head to see. I'm often pretty eager to talk about my schoolwork as it allows me to assess whether or not I understand what I'm reading, but it's usually not a good idea to fess up to mature Caucasian ladies that you're reading the "feel-good" handbook for Islamic fundamentalists.

But she seemed so lovely and sincere that my eagerness to meet her request overran my usual discretion. I mumbled some broken explanation about the "Milestones" text and my study focus on terrorism and SE Asia. What happened next still makes me chuckle...

"Oh, REALLY? I'm sitting next to YOU!"
Plop. She fell into the middle seat right next to me and crammed her big bag of crazy (something that always seems to accompany eccentric gals) under her seat. She immediately started to chat me up. Who I was, where I lived, what my degrees were; anything and everything about my life.

I don’t mind a little conversation now and then, so I answered her as best as I could. I told her about my near misses in the Army, my family and my return to school. Inevitably, our conversation turned to topics about her and that’s when she wowed me.

Ms. Helen’s mother had fled the Nazis early in her life and then the whole family fled the rise of communism in Czechoslovakia in the 50s. This path led her them to England where she would then receive her calling to travel around the world in missionary/humanitarian service. A hard life to be sure, but somehow this lady took a bowl full of lemons and made herself one tasty glass of lemonade:
She’s visited 108 countries.
She’s written two books and is working on a third.
She travels all around the world, giving lectures on religious, social and economic issues.
Best of all, she and her husband are aiding a family of Pakistanis in securing a home in the US.

This brief bio does this woman little credit.
By far, the most valuable part of our conversation came from our discussion about the nuances and context of Muslims and their view of the western world.

In a nutshell, Ms. Helen and I discussed how the constant stream of media from the US into the rest of the world defined their perceptions of Americans.
We talked about how fundamentalist Islam isolates many Muslims into believing that Americans are violent, uncaring and oversexed heathens out to contaminate the rest of the world with our corruption. We also discussed how this same religion debases the value of women and becomes more and more orthodox and hard-lined the closer you get to Mecca. It was very enlightening.

But her greatest lesson to me was how I should endeavor to understand Islam and its practices before I judge the actions of extremists. Certainly, their violent actions and extreme views are unbecoming of a supposedly peaceful faith. But when I understand the motives, fears and reasons for their actions, I can think on their causes and analysis with a bit more academic clarity.

As an explanation, she offered this anecdote.

In a very remote village, there lived these two female Christian missionaries who served the community by providing some minor medical care. Each morning, these gals would wake up and mosey over to the local well to wash up and brush their teeth. The gals noticed that they always had a captive audience for their morning routine, so they took pride in the fact that they were demonstrating good hygiene to the villagers and a friendly demeanor by answering questions about who they were, where they were from, what they did, etc.

Helen explained to me that the villagers had a very different idea of these missionaries.

Every morning, these two pale foreign women walked to the village well to partake of their morning water rituals. The first ritual required them to pour water over their hands and faces. Afterwards, they enacted a second ritual where they would apply some cotton to the ends of sticks and then stab their faces until they frothed at the mouth and spat out.
Once they were done with their strange rituals, the village chief asked them about their origins. They lived together, but they weren’t mother & daughter, sisters or even relatives. Naturally, the villagers thought they were lesbians. But since they passed out the occasional band-aid and mostly kept to themselves, they were allowed to stay.

Context is everything.

She cautioned me to understand the factors that added up to the sum of their fears.
What is it that makes them so hostile? Would you be just as hostile if you were in their place?

It was a sobering epiphany. As a political scientist and geographer, I tend to think on a more strategic and empirical level of analysis. But this quirky little wordsmith reminded me to remember what it is that makes these people human.

Sadly, we arrived in Phoenix all too soon. We exchanged a quick farewell and she gave me a business card. And just like that, she vanished into the throng of the airport crowd.

What an experience. In just two short hours, this lady taught me to never forget that everyone has a human side and follows their own logical path. In her own witty way, she made me a better scientist.

I know a lot of smart people. But it is a rare occasion that I meet anyone who is genuinely wise.

Thank you, Helen.

San Antonio and GEOINT 2009...

I had the good fortune of winning a fellowship in the US Geospatial Intelligence Foundation.
One of the perks to this scholarship (other than the $$$) was free admission to their annual symposium, otherwise known as GEOINT.

Wow. What a spread.
Advertisers and defense contractors come from all around the world to schmooze gov't officials into dropping tons o' cash into their intelligence products. It's mind-blowing how much money goes into just networking.

More on that later.

This was my first experience with the City of San Antonio and I've got to say...it's absolutely beautiful. My Adviser and I are staying at the Marriott Riverwalk Hotel right across from the convention center. Best of all, it's right along the riverwalk, which I eagerly explored before our first GEOINT function.

Check it out:

The view straight down from our balcony.
Awesome.









These little barges are everywhere.
I'm going to try to hop a ride on one of these before I leave...if they aren't too expensive.









Once on the riverwalk, I was blown away by how pretty and clean it was.

Baby, we've got to come here at least once before we die.






The architecture encompassing the riverwalk is beautiful.









Not to mention the beautiful statuary.












After checking out the Tower of the Americas, I took a long walk down the riverwalk proper.








Apparently, San Antone is a big missionary town. There are several large catholic missions all throughout the city. (Makes me wonder why they decided to hole up in the Alamo.)










Best of all, the sidewalk runs right alongside the river in true "imperial" fashion...no handrails.








And the sidewalks are crowded, too.
I wonder how many folks have ended up in the drink?











Still, it's beauty cannot be denied.

Mighty Little Man...

Kids have a way of changing your life.
For better or for worse, they take everything you know and turn it on its ear, forcing you to rethink your entire existence, step outside of your comfort zone and make life-decisions on the fly.

They change everything...
And yet their innocence, wonder and unquestionable love for you fill your heart with pride and confidence in the hope that you can make a positive difference in this one little life.

My son turned ten years old today.

He has endured 10 years of life with a mind-crippling disease that has narrowed the potential of his fruition and defined his victory in life as simple survival.
10 years of living in a fog.

He has no friends his age and certainly no comrades who'll spend time with him for the want of his company.
10 years of solitude.

In this long decade, my boy has cried nearly once per day.
That's 10 years of tears.

My son has had an army of doctors, therapists, social workers and teachers try to slowly decode his mental condition in hopes of piercing the fog of his mind and finding that one thing that helps him advance cognitively...All to little avail.
10 years of trying.

And what about me?
This threshold in his life has served as a point of reflection in mine.
I look at him now and think about all the times I've been angry or frustrated with him.
Every moment that I've yelled at him or been forceful with him erupts into my mind's eye and I experience once more the guilt and self-loathing that came in its aftermath.
It reminds me of how wretched and imperfect I am.
It reminds me of how undeserving I am of his love.

And yet, he gives it anyway.
Regardless of how I've acted in the past, my boy still seeks me out for comfort and companionship. He still seeks me out for horseplay and hijinks. And whenever he's down and wants kisses and cuddles, he still looks for Daddy.

And I give it to him. Whenever he wants it and whenever I can, I hug that little man every chance I get. Can you blame me? I'd get on my knees and beg his forgiveness if I thought it would work. But instead I think he'd just climb on my back to play horsey.

I'll never be able to tell, but I want to believe that's his way of forgiving me for my faults.
His love and affection shows me that I still have worth in his eyes.
"Apology accepted, Dad. Now giddyap!"

As hard as Vincent's Autism has been for him, I think that it's been harder for Lisa and I. I mean, we're not the ones suffering the fate. But ours is a sad existence because we know just how hard the world can be for someone like him. I think that's why it hurts so much.

But through it all, my child has been unconditionally loved by a lot of people. Myself, Lisa, his grandparents, family and friends. The people who get to know him become strengthened and uplifted by his perseverance and good humor.

He makes people better.
What more could a father want from his son?

So let me just say thank you.
Thank you Vincent, for all the playing, dreams and laughter.
Thank you for being a shining star in your mother's eyes and for touching the lives of all you meet.
Thank you for being good to your sister and for being someone she looks up to.
Thank you for being a good boy at home and for working hard at school.
But most of all, thank you for constantly forgiving me of my foibles and making me a better man.

I love you so much, my Mighty Little Man.
Regardless of your cognitive state, you've given me an abundance of warmth, nurturing and care.
10 years of love.

Happy Birthday, Vincent.

A Matter of Geographic Perspective

I was recently tasked with reading and writing about chapter 20 of a book called "All Possible Worlds," by Martin. It was pretty interesting as far as academic reading goes. But it really did drive home some rather harrowing realizations about my chosen field.

Here's what I wrote:

When I first chose to become a geography graduate student, I shamefully admit that I had only a rudimentary idea as to how geographic research was conducted. I believed that a problem or interrelation of variables was postulated by hypotheses and afterwards tested by a collection of data and subsequent analysis. In a way, my rough “crayon drawing” of scientific inquiry was somewhat correct. But it was not until I completed my reading of Chapter 20 of All Possible Worlds that I truly understood the scope that is geographic research.

Geography as an academic discipline is as enormous as the planet that it studies. Its cardinal traditions are stippled together by countless sub-fields. These sub-fields are governed by the previous work of scholars through methods ranging from abstract theories and philosophies to hardened empirical mathematics. During my whole undergraduate career, I never realized how my chosen field blended all the hard and soft sciences into one distinct focus of study.

Unable to resist the temptation, I sought to match my undergraduate works my with the scholarly traditions and methods that best fit my study foci. As expected, much of my senior essays depicted me as Political Geographer and Area Studies Traditionalist who performed his analysis through the use of socio-political theory and a little empirical examination. This is of course, a generous categorization as my study processes were never as detailed as those described in the text. Nonetheless, I was somewhat proud to see that the methods I had utilized for an “A” class grade were those utilized to build scholarly knowledge. As such, it appears that I am on the right track.

I was also grateful to draw some pearls of wisdom from this reading as well. The section regarding the use of dichotomies and abstractions made me realize that not everything that I have read for geography may be true. The fact that the reading itself encourages students to question the age-old precepts of geographic thought really shed light on how scientific thought progresses. As an accent to the point, Haggett’s statement on how progress is marked “by the sound of plummeting hypotheses” drove this notion into my mind like an intellectual spike.

The other counsels and cautions that I gleaned from this reading stemmed from the “CONCEPTUAL STRUCTURE OF GEOGRAPHY” section starting on page 516. Percepts and Concepts, Patterns and Processes, Descriptions and Explanations; the meanings of these words were finally made clear to me along with the careful steps leading to the creation, measurement and implementation of geographic research. So vast were the concepts, methodologies and theories of geography that my initial sentiment at the completion of this reading was one of overwhelmed bewilderment.

Thankfully, this feeling would not last. After some time thinking on what I had just read, the information that I had synthesized from Chapter 20 of All Possible Worlds left me feeling encouraged and calm at the thought of pursuing a geographic career. I say this because after all the reading about disciplines, methods, fields and scopes, I became aware that the academic world of geography still had room for whatever I chose to write about. Thus whether my work is of ground-breaking importance or simply adds to the building of a body of literature, I too can contribute to the honored field that I have chosen to follow.

OH! About the move...

The move went off without a hitch.
We were loaded up, moved and unloaded in less than 2.5 hours! (Special thanks to all my friends and neighbors who helped!)

Now the worst part is all the unpacking and cleaning up.
Lis' ain't worried. This we can pursue pretty slowly.

Now comes Grad School.

Prelude to the Move

Yeah, I'm moving.

The current housing area that I live in is slowly strong-arming families into moving out so they can fill every apartment with single grad students.
More bodies = more money.

The last straw for us was the unannounced rent hike that put us within $12 of a three BR in the older family housing areas.


$12 for an extra bedroom in a family-friendly community? I'll buy it.

So we bought it.
On Saturday, the Fam & I will be moving.
As usual, the biggest pain in the ass is the packing and sorting.
Thankfully, the Mrs and I have been at it for about a month now.
Not bad, eh?

Now it's renting the U-haul, onloading, offloading and unpacking just to do it all over again in two years. Ah, the academic life.

I'll be sure to comment on how the move went later on.

Thanks to the army of folks who are coming out to help us move.
We couldn't do this without y'all.

Los Angeles: Monday, June 22

I wanted to do something special today for my last day in LA.

My Mom, the kids and I all loaded into the car and motored out to Marina Del Rey.

It’s just a quiet little beach that most folks know little about. But for me, it is a page torn right out of my childhood. You see…Back in the day, my Ma used to bring me to this beach (via bus) so I could splash and play at little risk from high surf due to the breakwater. We were frequent visitors to this spot up until my teenage years, when I foolishly became “too cool” to go to the beach with my Mom.

God, I was such a dumb-ass.

For my Mom, she had related to me an anecdote about dreaming herself onto our special beach to take her away from the pains of cancer treatment and chemotherapy. It was a small solace to her that was nearly crushed by her frail constitution. At her worst, Mom thought she would never see our little patch of seashore again.

This was true…until today.

We went.

We went and my children splashed and played.

We went and Mom got her feet wet again.

And while Amelia was somewhat distraught by the vastness of the ocean, she was able to conquer her initial fear of the waves with my Mom at her side.

It was a magical moment and easily the highlight of the trip.

At around 2pm, the lot of us went to the Fisherman’s Village to gnosh on some authentic fish ‘n chips and enjoy a cold beer. It was the perfect cap to the perfect day.

Or so I thought.

When we got home, my sister called up and told us she would be able to visit tonight along with my niece and her beau. That was great fun, considering my kids got along with her so well. Best of all, Vince got a free haircut thanks to the shearing prowess of his cousin!

Sadly, I was in a bit of a sour mood because I was trying to pack my suitcases to save time tomorrow.

But my sister’s visit was just like my brother’s in regards to the quiet gloom of inevitable separation.

Theirs too was a teary departure.

Now all that’s left is saying goodbye to my folks and making the “goodbye” trip to the airport with my bro.

Then it’s good ol’ SLC again and back to work. Yay.