Mourning the Loss of Grief

It's not lost on me. The redundancy of this title. A repetition of synonyms that describe one's reality when a loved one is no longer with us. However, sequenced as they are above, those words portray a very different reality--one that is simultaneously disconcerting and comforting. A reality that I can only describe as a conflicted sense of melancholy...recognizing that the pain of loss is no longer with me; not palpably at least.

Today marks the 3 year anniversary of my father's passing, and while his absence still touches my life in significant ways, those moments rarely carry the weight of loss that they once did. And for some reason, the healing that evolution represents feels a bit like betrayal, and I find myself wishing that loss would feel like...loss...rather than acceptance.

I've come to describe my dad as a man who never aspired for greatness; simply goodness. Those words are not intended as a slight but rather a deeply felt compliment. In my mind, goodness is the more selfless endeavor...a life's journey filled with humility, compassion, and service to others. I didn't fully appreciate this part of my father until now, but in some ways, that makes sense.

It's hard to truly reflect on the essence of someone's life when they're busy living it. It's difficult to fully embrace what makes them special...until you notice its absence.

My father was full of goodness...and that is what made him great.

Work Hard, Play Smart, Care Deeply, Be Awesome, Forward Ever

Below are my remarks last Sunday afternoon to the Class of 2018 and our transfer students at Birmingham-Southern College. I thought I'd provide a glimpse into who I am as a professional and why I do what I do. And yes, my former colleagues and students, you'll see a few recycled sentiments...as I state below, I am nothing if not consistent.

Good afternoon, everyone.

I’m Ben Newhouse, and I’m your Dean of Students. I emphasize “your” because that is how I truly see myself—a Dean dedicated to supporting and challenging you as an individual and the community as a whole. Now, as a fan of all things pop culture, I realize that Deans have rarely been cast in a flattering light in movies and television; but, I look forward to showing you that a Dean of Students can be so much more than a hard-nosed disciplinarian…or at least not pure evil…during your time at BSC. I and my colleagues in Student Development, whom you’ll meet tonight, are truly wonderful people, who love working with college students and supporting each of you on your educational journey.

If you’ve looked at your schedule at all (or my insightful twitter feed), you will know that this afternoon is dedicated to what is expected of you during your time on the Hilltop and perhaps more importantly what you should expect from each other. We can’t progress as a community without a common understanding as to what we want our community to look like. And we cannot begin to explore our own sense of self without creating a safe space in which we can learn, grow, and thrive.

So I thought it would be important to open with my thoughts on the matter…coordinating the Orientation schedule grants you some quality mic time…one perk of being the Dean.

For those who attended Summer Orientation, and I know you hung on every remark I uttered, you heard me say this phrase: “Work Hard, Play Smart, Care Deeply, Be Awesome, Forward Ever.”

I assure you that across these next four years, today will not be the last you hear me say these words. I am nothing if not consistent, especially if it’s something I’m passionate about. And there is nothing I have more passion for than your success, your well-being, your ability to flourish here at BSC, and the positive impact our community can have on each other and this world. That’s right, when it comes to you, I don’t mince words…so indulge me a few minutes to lay the foundation for our time together and to explain what I mean by Work Hard, Play Smart, Care Deeply, Be Awesome, Forward Ever.

On the WORK HARD front of things…well, that should be pretty obvious. You are here, first and foremost, to earn a college degree. Regardless of where you came from—location, economic background, high school rigor, once you stepped foot on this campus, you entered rarefied air. Access to higher education in this world and even in this country is by no means a given; and therefore, I hope you treat your time at BSC like the privilege it is and truly Claim Your Education. The late poet Adrienne Rich once said to an incoming class much like you, “you cannot afford to think of being here to receive an education; you will do much better to think of being here to claim one.” You are no longer a passive participant in your education. Going through the motions will leave you ill-equipped for the world beyond BSC. Your education deserves a far more significant commitment from you. Please understand, I know you have made and will continue to make sacrifices to get here, but many, many others have, as well. Honor their commitment to you through your dedication to your studies. A word of gratitude is nice, but the greatest act of appreciation awaits four years from now, walking across the stage, a graduate of BSC, ready to lay claim to the next stage of your life.

I know you’ve heard the phrase “Work Hard, Play Hard,” but I’ll always found that to be an uneasy if not flawed pairing. I get it…for smart, driven, dedicated students, there are times in which you need to put the books aside and blow off some steam…so don’t think your Dean is anti-“all things fun.” But as a person who gets to deal with the outcomes of drunken mistakes, regrettable decisions, and traumatizing incidents, I have seen the error of a Work Hard, Play Hard mentality. In my experience…

Work Hard, Play Hard causes smart people to make stupid choices.

Work Hard, Play Hard finds lives of promise stuck in the land of regret.

Work Hard, Play Hard results in people abandoning who they are in hopes of impressing others.

And finally Work Hard, Play Hard is that moment when you stop being part of the joke and become the butt of the joke.

For me, Work Hard, PLAY SMART is the better option. It allows you to engage in many of the activities that a “Work Hard, Play Hard” person would…minus the negative consequences of Work Hard, Play Hard mentality. College is filled with choices—whether to drink at all or drink to excess, whether to participate in the hook-up culture or seek a more stable relationship, whether to remember the good times or attempt to piece them together over the course of the next day…and believe me, the story you finally are able to craft is never so cool that it involves a baby named Carlos or Mike Tyson’s pet tiger. Real life is generally far more embarrassing, disconcerting, and sometimes tragic. So Work Hard sure, but Play Smart. That mentality will work different for each of you, but it will most definitely keep you out of my office…at least for reasons you don’t want to be there for.

The reason I harp so much about Playing Smart is because I CARE DEEPLY for each of you and for this community as a whole. I want your lives of promise to be fulfilled and for you to take your own caring nature and positively impact the world. To Care Deeply is to truly be in community with each other…when it’s easy and when it’s challenging and difficult. If you want a model for what it means to care deeply look no further than the Orientation Team. A week ago today we were 50 distinct and disconnected individuals…a team in name only…and by no means could I have envisioned what we have become. But by caring deeply for one another…motivated by our collective commitment to all of you…we created a safe space that allowed us to be ourselves—our sometimes awesomely vulnerable selves—and create the kind of community we envision for all of you. But that takes a willingness to care deeply about this place, each other, and yourself. So take care of your surroundings—clean up after yourselves and even each other, get to know your classmates, your professors, the dining services staff, and the dedicated individuals who clean and maintain our home, and please, please, please, do not forget to care deeply for yourself. You are precious to me and you are certainly precious to your loved ones back home. Treat yourself with the kind of care and respect others have for you. You are worth that...at least that…and so much more.

 If we have that kind of community, then you will truly be permitted to Be Awesome. As I said this summer, I don’t care what kind of label, be it flattering or not, you had in high school. Unless it represented your authentic self, then discard it and know…to Be Yourself is to Be Awesome. We are a family at BSC. That is hopefully why you chose this place, and to be a family is to accept those around you for who they are, just as they are...with no conditions. There is something freeing about being given permission to just be yourself. And it’s time to start living that both as an individual and as a community. Now that’s the tough part. Sticking up for someone else when they are being mistreated, demeaned or excluded. Being vulnerable with others you don’t know very well. Putting yourself out there not knowing if you’ll be accepted. Being willing to shut up and listen when someone is telling their story and treasuring that moment for the privilege it truly is. So let’s make a commitment to each other. Over the next four days, we are going to check our cool kid caps at the door, tear down our walls, and allow ourselves to be awesome. Just give it a shot. I think you’ll find it’s just what we needed.

And finally, forward ever. I love this phrase because it presents the world as full of potential, full of promise; always learning, always growing. It’s what your education should be about. And what BSC is always about.

So Work Hard, Play Smart, Care Deeply, Be Awesome, Forward Ever. That’s what I expect for you. If we live that, our next four years will be fantastic.

Thanks!

Boom Boom Pow-lice

Prepping for the show

If you follow my blog at all (you know, all 20 posts), you’ve read about my Father-In-Law’s predilection for fireworks. Side note: The word “predilection” gets a bad rap. It simply means, “a preference or special liking,” (thank you Google) but only ever seems associated with deviant behavior. You never hear, “My FIL’s predilection for fireworks led him to provide an annual show for underprivileged children.” Instead you’ll read, “Tyler man’s predilection for fireworks caused him to push underprivileged children to the ground in order to get to the fireworks stand first.” Of course, the latter is closer to reality, but in his defense, he had no way of knowing those children were underprivileged.

Which brings me to this year’s show. Thankfully, the underprivileged children were safe…not because my FIL has seen the error of his ways. Nope, he’s simply discovered online wholesale shopping. That’s right, folks, my FIL now buys fireworks by the pallet…because “by the suburban” could no longer satisfy his…well…um…predilection.

Truckload #2

You see…his bulk-buying plan was to shoot off some this year and save some back for the future. As a bona fide fireworks enabler, I told him that was the stupidest plan ever—not because firework storage is dangerous (though it is) but rather because a firework was made to entertain through explosive awesomeness, and besides, who are we to deny this inanimate object it’s God-given right to fulfill it’s full potential, especially on this day of celebration in which we honor our great nation and our freedom from the tyranny of firework oppression…or something like that…’Merica!

I won’t give you a blow by blow (pun very much intended) of the night’s show, but I will offer a couple of highlights that made the night particularly memorable.

As the Lead Firework Setter-Offer Guy, I have grumbled mightily about the presence of artillery shells in the show. In the Texas heat amid a mosquito-filled field, a single light for a single boom is pretty unsatisfying. So my FIL came up with a solution—cannon fuse! In a rack of 50 pre-loaded tubes, he spliced about five fuses together so that one light would yield five sequential booms…at least in theory.

Best laid plans

Here’s what really happened…I lit a single fuse and just as the first aerial lifted off, I noticed that the other 10 fuses were suddenly alight, as well. I looked at my FIL, and we telepathically communicated, “This is either going to be AMAZING (pause for effect) or we’re...about...to...die!” Thankfully, amazing happened, and I live to blog another day. Imagine 50 multi-shot aerials exploding in the night sky all at once. Other than unintentionally showcasing what should have been the grand finale 10 minutes into the show, it was pretty cool.

The second highlight took place just as the show was coming to a close. An aerial had just finished, and I heard my wife shout over the radio, “Ben, don’t light anything more. The sheriff’s here.” Of course, I register the warning just in time to see my FIL light a 9-shot, 500-gram aerial…in the words of Rick Perry, “Whoops!”

After the explosions ceased and the ground stopped quaking, the sheriff wandered out to chat with my FIL. In a priceless example of inopportune timing, I noticed a previously discharged firework had burst into flames. So as my father attempted to smooth things over, I stealthily made my way to the aforementioned hazard and began jumping on it like it was my own personal trampoline…a trampoline of fire albeit. Now, I don't know about you, but ending up in jail was not in my plans for the evening so I began crafting a better alibi than “My FIL made me do it!" or "What propane torch, officer?" Fortunately, the sheriff was simply responding to a call from a neighbor who apparently hates fun and in his assessment everything was Code 4--that's police for "not breaking the law." I even heard him use the words, “Clearly, y’all are being safe.” I thought to myself, “Thank goodness he missed the artillery shell debacle.,” as I continued to jump on my fire trampoline…of death. But if safe means risky…and maybe a touch stupid...then, yes, officer, we are being safe.

So another 4th down…and we’ve clearly set a new benchmark for success: It’s not a party until the cops show up.

I think next year we’ll just invite them ahead of time.

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The Breakfast of Champions

Today, I make my way to San Antonio to serve on the faculty for NACA's Huge Leadership Weekend. I'm super excited to participate in the learning and growth of all in attendance, but I'm mostly excited to reenter the land of the breakfast taco.

For the uninitiated, let me describe the wonder that is the breakfast taco. It's simple really. A breakfast taco is pretty much any combination of breakfast-type foods...wrapped in a flour tortilla. (And now you understand my befuddlement as to how this national treasure has yet to become...well...a national treasure!)

Breakfast tacos can please almost anyone...unless you hate breakfast...and then I judge you. You can select from bacon & egg, potato & egg, or sausage & egg. You know, the gringo-friendly offerings. If you want to be a bit more adventurous, you can throw chorizo into the mix. If you're like me and have fully embraced Tex-Mex culture, then I recommend a bean & cheese, migas, or chilaquiles taco (chi-leh-ke'-les; not chil-luh-quil-les as my wife's coworker pronounced it recently...though with a sweet southern accent, it's pretty endearing).

What makes a breakfast taco so good...besides cheese, because, well, that's a given...is the fresh homemade flour tortillas. With every bite, I can picture mi abuelita making each tortilla with love...and lard...just for me. Yes, I realize my tiny grandmother has likely never seen a tortilla press, but a gringo can dream, can't he?!

Since moving to Birmingham, I have scoured the land (of google) to find a breakfast taco establishment. I even visited a specialty market down the road but to no avail. If I had the capital, the health permits and the abuelita to make it happen, I'd gladly bring the breakfast taco to Birmingham. 

Until then, I'll just have to make an annual trip to SA to get my fix.

Damn, I'm hungry.

My WAY better half

Thus far, my wife, Sara, has made only cameo appearances in my blog, playing a small part in a much larger story. And looking back over my body of work, I've painted quite the unflattering picture--knife wielder, dog disowner, and meal ticket. But that doesn't do her justice, and Sara is no bit player in the story of my life.

I've refrained from sharing too much about our lives together for a couple reasons. First, it's fine for my self-deprecating style to make me (or my Father-In-Law) the butt of the joke, but prior offenses aside, that's not a fate I want for my spouse. Plus, giving you insight into our daily lives would be like watching twelve years of the longest inside joke ever. That makes for a great marriage...but pretty mediocre reading material. (Keep this in mind all you future wedding toasters.)

And yet, I can't help but give you, dear readers, a little taste of the super-sweetness that is my wife. This past week, I've been in Colorado for my final onsite class for my doctoral program. It's tough to be away from Sara for several days in a row, but she is especially skilled at bridging the distance.

On most trips, Sara finds a way to hide a card for each day we're apart. It's heartwarming to wake each morning to the perfect card and her wonderful words. It's a trait that I adore but can never effectively reciprocate...but there was one time I came close.

This week's cards

The first summer we dated, I worked at a mission camp in Tennessee called Mountain T.O.P. Even in the early stages of our relationship, Sara was a card-sender. Actually, that's the understatement of the decade. Sara was the card industry's customer of the year. Every day would bring a new card and every week a care package full of baked goodness. My staff, having never met Sara, adored her nonetheless.

Now understand, I was over the moon for my future wife, but card-giving and romantic gestures were not a part of my depressingly limited repertoire, which makes the happy accident I'm about to detail all the more impressive. For all the cards I received that summer, I think I mailed four in return. Like I said, Ben has little to no game, folks. But one day, upon opening my card, I called Sara to ask if she'd gone to the mail yet...because waiting for her that very moment was the exact card she'd sent to me. Pretty cool, huh?

I've kept every card Sara has sent me over the years, but I cherish one set the most--our unexpected duplication which confirms, despite my failings in her area of strength, that the card's sentiment was right. We really are "two peas in a pod."

Class of 2013, Raise Your Glass...

As an educator, I measure time according to the college lifecycle. The terms semester, break and exams remain as present in my lexicon as they were 15 years ago. Each year, I grow older, yet my charges remain stuck in time, forever 18-22. You see, when this college thing works as it should, students eventually graduate...hopefully in 4 years, maybe 5 years time (no shame, victory lappers). And for me, there's something incredibly satisfying in shepherding a student from orientation to graduation. You are optimally positioned to witness the growth, achievements, and victories of the students you have grown to know and love...which makes these final days of the academic year a touch bittersweet.

Last October, I departed my professional home of 6 years to become the Dean of Students at Birmingham-Southern College. It's been a wonderfully fulfilling transition, and I have enjoyed celebrating the senior traditions on my new campus--Bell Ringing on the last day of class, the Senior Party on the Quad, the Capping Ceremony, and Graduation by the lake. 

But I can't help but think of those I left behind--those at Trinity whom I had the privilege of connecting with on a daily basis for 3+ years, and when I think of them, it forces me to acknowledge that I'm missing out on my favorite part of their educational journey.

At Trinity there's a tradition called The Last Great Reception in which a faculty member offers a toast to the graduating class. It's a powerful, touching, and slightly rowdy tradition (that's what happens when you give parents of graduating seniors booze apparently), but it's made me reflect on what I would say to Class of 2013 if I had my time at the podium.  

So instead of a mic, I have my blog, and from my luminescent podium, I have some things to share with you, the Class of 2013--those I have grown to love in my new role and those I will forever hold dear even though I am no longer present in their daily lives.

Some of my words will be practical and some philosophical, but all of them are heartfelt:

1. You...are...precious. I don't mean that in a condescending, creepy Uncle Ben, everybody gets a trophy kind of way. I mean that in the "you are a gift to this world, don't let anyone tell you otherwise" kind of way. Surround yourself with people who believe in you and acknowledge your awesomeness. Abandon those who make you feel less for embracing your, well, you-ness. Tell that self-defeating voice in your head to stuff it. Replace that voice with mine, and you'll know that you are cherished by many.

2. You...are...fallible. What?! Seems a bit contradictory juxtaposed to my last statement. It's not. Mistakes don't make a person any less worthy of appreciation and respect. Own your mistakes, learn from them, and help them make you an even better version of yourself. When I am at my strongest and most confident, I have great comfort in acknowledging my faults, and quite frankly, I like the flawed version of myself much better than the mask of perfection I sometimes try to hide behind.

3. Love and be loved by a partner who makes you whole, but also, makes you someone who can stand alone. Wow, another contradiction! I say, nay, my friends...or maybe it's just that love is the perfect contradiction. My wife and I value our independence, and yet we enjoy life much better as a pair. We allow each other to be our authentic selves even when that authenticity creates conflict. We compromise daily without compromising ourselves. And the end result? A blessed union that is my greatest source of strength. I hope that you find your own perfect contradiction in time.

4. Live your passion. I say two things to every incoming class. One, you have the potential to be world-changers in ways both big and small. Two, "Figure out what you care about and live a life that shows it" (John Hoyt). Okay, I also say, "Claim your education," but I digress. As you graduate, I reiterate these statements again, and I hope you find a way to take your knowledge, tools, and talents to engage in truly fulfilling work. I was blessed to find that in my work with you, and it is work I was born to do.

5. Contribute to the dialogue; not the cacophony. As of late, it appears that we have elected to eschew intellectual discourse for commentary that preys upon our basest fears...reduced to meme form. We live in a complex world with complex problems, and we owe it to each other to educate ourselves, seek out alternative perspectives, and find solutions based in reality rather screaming from the sidelines of the far left or far right. That, my friends, is a claimed education.

It's been a blessing to be a part of the last few years of your life, but I can take little credit in the people you've become. I was simply a witness to it, and as one who really paid attention, know that you have much to be proud of on this day before your special day. You have grown into the world-changers I knew you would become.

So as your time here comes to a close and you step onto a different, far bigger stage, know that I remain in the audience, still in awe of your talents, and cheering you on just as I've always been.

Cheers, Class of 2013. Your time has come.

Disney Diatribe Part II

What?! You're still here? Yours is a small world after all.

But since my world doesn't bore your world, here's a few more family-centric moments that made this Disney trip so special.

Justin's first kiss

Day one, on the bus ride back to the hotel, an overly affectionate, little red-haired girl decided to set her sights on my nephew. After asking Justin's name, she abruptly declared her love for him. Her parents were amused, Justin was non-plussed, I was mortified. Every time she planted a kiss on him, Justin would grimace and I would bemoan the non-consensual nature of each physical advance (forever a Dean of Students, folks). But don't worry (Emily), this relationship fizzled quicker than a summer camp romance...but for Justin and that little red haired girl...well, they'll always have Disney.

Casablanca Engine

On the 2nd day, we slowed down a bit because Justin wasn't feeling too hot. (I blame the red haired girl.) On a whim, we jumped on The Great Movie Ride at Hollywood Studios because of its slow pace. As rides go, it's pretty mediocre, but here's the cool thing--Sara's family used to have a airplane repair business and one project was for an unknown theme park. Turns out, their engine ended up in the Casablanca section of the Great Movie Ride. Holland family history in an unexpected place...that's pretty cool.

I've Got Class

While the timing of the trip was in many ways ideal, it did not quite mesh with my class schedule. On Day 2, I had to tackle a hellacious stats final while everyone else slumbered. Taking a 3 hour exam--computer perched on the end of the bed and my wife occasionally kicking off my notes--is not a scenario for success....or apparently it is based on my test score. (#humblebrag) On Day 4, I missed Dinner with Mickey for Class with my Cohort. I showed up in style, rocking my Mickey Mouse ears and an inspired stats presentation if I do say so myself...and I can...it's my blog...you can't stop me. 

The People Mover

Justin's favorite ride was called the People Mover. At a pace of about 20 miles an hour, the People Mover takes you on seated tour of Tomorrowland across about 10-15 minutes. Slow paced doesn't describe any moment in Disney...except for these glorious 15 minutes. Needless to say, I relished these moments...and so did my weary bones.

Space Mountain

No family vacation is complete until someone is scarred for life. This moment occurred when Sara and I introduced Justin to Space Mountain. Until that ride, Justin had been pretty adventurous, and Space Mountain pretty much crushed that spirit but the 3rd pitch black right turn. Yeah, we blew it on this one. You should have heard Sara faking cheers of glee in an attempt to calm Justin in what I believe was the longest 3 minutes of his life. While I think the night sweats have stopped, I'm pretty sure Justin starts to whimper any time he hears the word space...or mountain...or Ben.

I think he'll get over it eventually...by the time he graduates...from college.

Sigh.

Thanks for letting me rehash my memories. It'll be 6 years until we introduce our newest niece, Elizabeth, to the wonders of Disney...and I'm fully prepared for my princess makeover.