For years I have heard people liken the decline of the American Empire with the fall of the Roman Empire. Usually they are referring to a comparison of the perceived moral decline in both societies. Frankly, I don't think a whole lot has changed in that department. Seems we've always been crazy about sex and showing off our body parts. However,there are two seemingly much more important areas in which a comparison could be made:
1. The Romans taxed the poor and middle classes into oblivion. The rich pretended to pay.
2. Rome couldn't keep the barbarians out. They wanted to be a part of the "good life." The river, the wall, the border patrol, the "virtual wall", couldn't hold them back. The modern day name for these invaders: immigrants.
So it looks like perhaps the end is near. It could be Good Night Irene. The fat lady is starting to sing. It's deja vu all over again. Don't make any long-term loans. In fact, what I would do, if I were you, is send me all your money. I'll hide it in a safe place, until the pillaging and carnage is over. Then, I promise, I'll send it back.

Open heart surgery is no picnic, but with todays technology, it has become fairly routine. Quadruple by-pass surgery is not what you're looking for at age 52, but it saved my life. My father died at age 46 from a massive heart attack. That was in 1966. There was nothing they could do. So I was torn between anger at having had a heart attack, and grateful that I survived.

Ten weeks after the surgery, I passed out in the parking lot of our morning gathering place for coffee and gossip. I ended up in the emergency room. It was a Monday. They weren't sure what was going on. They couldn't find anything. By Wednesday, the search was over. Staph, in my chest. I was rushed to the hospital where I had my open heart operation, in Peoria. They took me to the cardiac critical care unit. The doctor came in, took one look at me, and asked where my wife was. I said I assumed she had followed the ambulance and asked what he needed. He said they were going to have to operate again. I asked when? He said right now. Not a whole lot of time to prepare, or get scared. I was out and on the operating table within an hour.

I woke up from the operation and asked my wife how it had gone. She looked at me funny, with tears in her eyes. She told me it was eight days later. They had kept my chest open during that time to continue cleaning out the staph. It's a weird feeling, losing 8 days.

The only thing I remember during that time is a near death experience, or dream, or hallucination, or whatever you want to call it. I was at a carnival. There was a carnie with a beard helping me get into a ride, which was like a VCR. He asked what number I wanted. I chose 4. He than ejected me into the ride-machine. I was going down this tunnel, which was like a bobsled run. There were all kinds of colorful lights flashing as I sped by. There was music playing that I would describe as techno music. (I later heard the song I included, which was pretty much the same). Finally the carnie ejected me out and asked if I was ready. Before I could answer, I heard my wife yelling at me not to go. Her voice came from behind me, over my left shoulder. The next thing I knew, I was walking away. Other people were also walking away, some saying yes, they were ready, others saying no, and walking in the direction I was.

Upon awakening, and finding out it was 8 days later, I told this story to my wife. She completely broke down. As it ended up, I almost died one day, and she said she stood at the head of the bed over my left shoulder, and yelled at me to not go, it was not my time to die.

It was seven years this September that I almost died from a staph infection in my chest. One out of two people die when this occurs. I was fortunate. It probably helped being young. I'm still not quite sure what to make of all of it. I think the one thing it does do is bear witness to the tremendous emotional and psychic ties that bind a couple together after 36 years of marriage.

At any rate, I'm in pretty good shape now, although I did retire. My short-term memory got a little rattled, with a temperature of 106. But nothing serious. I'm glad to be alive. I'm definitely happy to be getting older, unlike many of my fellow boomers. I'll soon be sixty. Hallelujah.

I've often wondered what it would be like to be a different color or nationality, in America. Being a white, male, Protestant(at least I'm not Republican), I haven't had many problems, at least by appearance, being accepted or fitting into most situations. My life has taken a path that sometimes gives me an inkling of how it might feel, but it's generally very fleeting and, I'm sure, quite insignificant by comparison. I recall in the late 60's hearing Fred Hampton speak in Chicago. I must have been around 19. He was a Black Panther and as good a speaker as I have ever heard, before or since. The crowd was mainly black and he didn't have a lot of praise for white folk. As he worked the crowd, I can remember feeling not so much fear or being scared, but ashamed. I'd never felt ashamed for being white. I grew up in a lily-white town, ironically only 20 miles from East St. Louis, Illinois. It was not until I went to college that I even had contact with any minorities. The intensity of the situation and the fact that it was hard for me to identify with the anger and frustration I was hearing threw me into what I would later come to understand as a peak, or defining moment, in my life. Everything stopped. I was suddenly confronted with my own racist and bigoted beliefs. While the commotion around me was quite intense, the battle taking place within me was much worse. I don't believe Fred Hampton intended this to be a peak moment for some white guy in the crowd, but it was. It was a difficult cleansing, in a difficult situation, but a necessary one. I wanted to thank him for stirring my soul, but I never got the chance. The Chicago police shot him to death not long after, in an extremely controversial raid on his home. It was clear he was way too persuasive of a speaker. He could move white people to seek redemption for their unjust ways. That scared a lot of people. Ends up it made me a better person. And it made him a dead person.

A BOOMER THANKSGIVING

Boomer's have a lot to be thankful for. Here are a few of mine:

1. Thank heavens our fathers were horny when they returned home from the war. Seventy-eight million of us in fourteen year. That's a lot of horny.

2. We're lucky to have survived childhood. Our mothers didn't know enough not to smoke and/or drink when pregnant, there were no child-proof caps on medicine bottles, we slept face down in lead based painted cribs, there were no child car seats, and we ran all over town without supervision. We ate Hostess Cupcakes and Twinkies, drank sugar laced Koolaid, ate Wonder Bread, and we used real butter. But most of us made it.

3. Boomer's learned early on, thankfully, that the only thing you were going to get if you got "set in your ways" was disappointed.

4. At Thanksgiving, we always had stuffing that was actually stuffed in the turkey. Today, they say that's dangerous. I don't know one person who died from authentic stuffing. We also had hand mashed potatoes, and pies made with lard crusts. Those were things to be thankful for. Now they're loathed.

5. The TV came into being right around the time we did. That's probably something we should be thankful for, but I'm not entirely sure. I saw Dancing With the Stars last night, Anyway, our first TV was a black and white RCA, with about a 19 screen. During my early days, TV was an optional form of entertainment. A baseball game, basketball game, or sandlot football game always came first. I'm definitely thankful for that.

6. I'm thankful I came from a generation where education became a prized commodity. I was the first one from my family to go to college and receive a degree. More than anything learned, I'm thankful for the diversity I experienced in college and the radicalization that I underwent. It certainly helped me move my own family towards a more open, inclusive kind of world view.

7. One of the underlying principles of Boomership is to do something meaningful with your life. The central question I've heard asked time and again is, "What is life all about?" There are choices to be made. If you don't make them with some level of responsibility, they'll be made for you. This ends up being played out in many different fashions. For me, it has ended up with trying to stay involved with the community, serving on the county board and various other committees, and a career in the social services, which, looking back on my social security earnings, was something of a charitable act. The question I continue to struggle with is no longer, "What do I expect from life?" but rather, "What does life expect from me?"

8. Boomer's were, for the most part, brought up in a more lenient, less disciplined environment. Dr. Spook was the child guru of the time. Rather than the motto, "Spare the rod, spoil the child," it was "Put away the rod, it is harming your child." I'm thankful my parents followed his advice, although now I can't blame them for anything. I was never paddled, hit, cussed at, or otherwise abused, verbally or physically. We have done the same with our children. I am firmly convinced that will be the only way we will ever end wars and our propensity for violence.

So anyway, there are some things I'm thankful for. Sounds like more of a confession. Maybe you can relate to some of that, maybe you can't. At any rate, have a Happy Thanksgiving. If nothing else, you might be thankful you're not a Boomer at this point.

* If God exists or doesn't exist, what difference does it make to your life, right now?

* I was asked this question in 1970, while applying for conscientious objector status with the local draft board, in reference to my willingness to engage in violence: What would you do if you saw someone raping your mother? I told them I wouldn't recommend anyone pushing my conviction quite that far.

* What would you do if you were told that you were terminally ill and had only 2 weeks to live?

* This Christmas, let's suppose your 8 year old child or grandchild asks you if Santa is real? Does he really come down the chimney? Lie or not lie?

* How do you remain patriotic and loyal to a government that you no longer believe in?

* Is it possible for you to simplify your life?

* Would you give a dollar to a beggar?

* Do you look up and say hello to everyone you walk by on the street?

* What is keeping you from finding your bliss?

* If you had a billion dollars, what would you do with it?

* Where is the place that you feel your best, your most powerful?

* Who would miss you the most if you were suddenly gone?

Hard questions. If they're never asked, you will never think about them. It sometimes does you good to think about the unthinkable. The unfathomable. The mystery. What are some other questions you can think of? Go ahead, ask them.