Monthly Archives: December 2023

Anchors of Hope for Changing Times

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“The secret of change is to focus all your energy not on fighting the old but on building the new.”

—Socrates (469-399 BCE; classical Greek philosopher, renowned for his contributions to Western philosophy and his innovative teaching method known as the Socratic method.)

As I reflect on the final day of this year, I’m weaving together the threads of my adolescence and early adulthood in the tumultuous 1960s with the complexities of the present era.

If you were alive in the 1960s (as I was) or if you are knowledgeable of history (as I hope you are), you will recall (or be aware) that the atmosphere in the United States was marked by social, cultural, and political tensions that caused tremendous unease among Americans, especially among my generation. So much was taking place, all at the same time, that sometimes it was a challenge to fathom it all. The Civil Rights Movement. The March on Washington. The Vietnam War. The Draft. Counterculture. Women’s Liberation. Environmentalism. The Gay Rights Movement. The assassinations of President John F. Kennedy, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr., and Senator Robert F. Kennedy. The Space Race between the United States and Russia.

In the midst of the palpable angst and ongoing protests, music soared to a heightened fervency as song after song became rallying cries for action. The songs fueled the Hippies. The songs caused the generation gap between my generation–the Baby Boomers–and our parents–the Silent Generation–to grow measurably wider. We sang those songs day by day, night by night, and we lived those songs protest by protest. Many of them were slow, mellow, and hypnotic. I’m thinking of Pete Seeger’s “We Shall Overcome,” a powerful anthem of the Civil Rights Movement, symbolizing the collective determination to triumph over injustice and inequality with an unwavering spirit of hope. I’m thinking of Sam Cooke’s “A Change Is Gonna Come,” another poignant anthem of the Civil Rights Movement, once again embodying the struggles and aspirations of the era. I’m thinking of Bob Dylan’s “The Times They Are A-Changin'” and its cry for social change and a new, more inclusive society. I’m thinking of Peter, Paul, and Mary’s rendition of Dylan’s “Blowin’ in the Wind,” whose harmonious melodies pose universal questions while offering hope for peace and justice. Finally, I’m thinking of “Where Have All the Flowers Gone,” as Peter, Paul, and Mary hauntingly reflect on the cyclical nature of war and loss and capture the sentiment of questioning and mourning that resonated so much with me and so many during the 60s.

Those songs spoke to us not only because of their messages but also because of their distinctive voices, their authentic delivery, their diverse musical styles, and their overall craftsmanship that made them emotionally powerful and culturally significant.

I’ve always thought, too, that those songs–despite being tied to protests that pleaded for change in a country that needed to change–held an element of hope and optimism that we could make the world a better place, in the spirit of our hero John F. Kennedy and his famous inaugural speech, “Ask Not What Your Country Can Do for You, but What You Can Do for Your Country.” Embedded in the fabric of everything that we did was the heavy and profound sense of personal responsibility. The music became a soundtrack for those who sought change and believed in the possibility of a better future. Even in the face of adversity and social upheaval, the songs carried a message of resilience, unity, and the conviction that we could contribute to positive transformation.

Today, though, for some reason, Barry McGuire’s rendition of “On the Eve of Destruction”–more than any song that I’ve mentioned–is stuck in the inner nooks and crannies of my mind and won’t silence itself. It is intense with emotions and anxieties. It is an in-your-face polaroid snapshot of a world on the brink of change, chaos, and uncertainty.  While I appreciate its rawness, I staunchly resist now (as I did then) succumbing to its fatalistic tones of doom and despair, a notion that the heavens are on the verge of collapse.

Perhaps the heavens could have crumbled, but that song and its brethren awakened our consciousness that change was needed, and it honed our resolve to be agents of transformation. The celestial expanse did not shatter. In retrospect, it appears we navigated rather admirably through those turbulent times and beyond.

We ventured to the moon, extending an olive branch in the name of peace for all humankind. Etching into law the Civil Rights Act and the Voting Rights Act, we witnessed the fall of the Berlin Wall—an emblematic close to the Cold War. Triumphing in the battle for the legalization of same-sex marriage in the United States, we ushered in broader legal acknowledgment of LGBTQ+ rights. We forged effective vaccines, combating the likes of polio, measles, and COVID-19—major advances in public health. Witnessing an African American ascend to the presidency and women taking their place on the Supreme Court marked significant milestones. Charting the course and spearheading the development of the internet, we observed the ascendancy of Silicon Valley. Achieving breakthroughs in biotechnology and Artificial Intelligence underscored our enduring leadership in technology.

We didn’t do it alone. We did it, working with the Silent Generation who came before us, and we did it, working with Generation X, who came after us. And, please, don’t get me wrong. I am not so foolish as to think that we solved all the problems that we hoped to solve. We didn’t. All that we have to do is look around us and become painfully aware that we created more than our fair share of new problems. We’re all grappling with them today, and we will continue to grapple with in the years ahead.

We’re all aware of today’s challenges and concerns. You’ve got your list. I’ve got mine. But I’m guessing that many of the items on our lists are shared ones.

On my list, some things make my angst run deep. The January 6th attack on the United States Capitol. The Russia-Ukraine War. The Supreme Court reversal of Roe v. Wade. The Supreme Court Decision in 303 Creative LLC v. Elenis 303. The Israel-Gaza Crisis.

On my list, other things make my angst run even deeper. Climate Change and Environmental Sustainability. Worldwide Disparities in Wealth and Opportunities. Political Instability Around the World. Political Polarization Here at Home. Social Justice and Racial Equity. Technological Advances including Digital Inequality, Data Privacy and Security, as well as Artificial Intelligence (AI).

Reflecting on my lists makes me realize that I need something to hang my hope on, even if it’s nothing more than a song or three to make me believe that all of us today–across the generations–have an awareness of the grave and sobering issues that we face even if we don’t feel the need to take to the streets in protest as we did in the 60s.

Not too surprisingly, I am finding that hope once again in many songs. They’re different now than they were back in the 60s. I don’t always like the shocking crudeness of the lyrics. I don’t always like the uncontrolled wildness of the melodies. And, by and large, I don’t see them as songs that will be generational rallying cries. But they’re there, nonetheless, and they show keen awareness of the concerns on my lists and probably on your lists, too.

I’m thinking of contemporary songs like John Mayer’s “Waiting on the World to Change,” which mirrors frustration with the status quo while capturing the anticipation for positive change. Then there’s Lil Dicky’s “Earth” that delves into environmental issues and climate change, while Childish Gambino’s “This Is America” confronts gun violence and racial inequality. Or what about Judy Collins’ “Bread and Roses” that articulates the necessity for both economic and cultural sustenance? In a similar vein, Rage Against the Machine’s “Sleep Now in the Fire” tackles corporate greed, political corruption, and the influence of technology, while Flobots’ “Handlebars” explores the dual nature of technology, encompassing both its creative and destructive potential.

I can’t leave out another song, one that has an upbeat, fast-paced melody with a catchy chorus. I’m thinking now of Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t Start the Fire,” rattling off a list of historical and cultural references, presenting a snapshot of each event from 1949 to 1989. I love the song’s chorus:

We didn’t start the fire
It was always burning, since the world’s been turning
We didn’t start the fire
No, we didn’t light it, but we tried to fight it

Even more promising in terms of generational awareness of our shared problems and concerns is Fall Out Boy’s 2023 cover of “We Didn’t Start the Fire,” updating the song to span cultural events since the original’s release. Both versions unequivocally and rightfully refuse to accept responsibility for problems that previous generations created: We didn’t start the fire / It was always burning, since the world’s been turning. Sadly, that’s true. Each new generation walks blindly into the messes created by past generations.

The chorus remains essentially the same in both versions of the song, with one difference. In Fall Out Boy’s cover, tried to fight it becomes we’re trying to fight it.

We didn’t start the fire
It was always burning since the world’s been turning
We didn’t start the fire
No, we didn’t light it, but we’re trying to fight it.

“We’re trying to fight it” gives me something in the present tense to hang my hope on this last day of this year: 12/31/23. 1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3. A magical truth hangs in those numbers, too. Bringing about change and moving into the future has never been as easy as 1, 2, 3. It’s not as easy as 1, 2, 3 now. It won’t be as easy as 1, 2, 3 moving ahead.

Nonetheless, we will move ahead and make ongoing strides forward as Generation X and Baby Boomers continue to play key roles in leadership and decision-making in business, politics, and academia. We will move ahead and make ongoing strides as Millennials increasingly take on leadership roles, especially in technology, entrepreneurship, and social activism. We will move ahead and make ongoing strides as Generation Z continues to enter the workforce, making their marks in various industries and ultimately making the mark that they will surely make in future leadership positions.

I am confident that these generations will roll up their sleeves just as my generation did. They will get involved. They will lead us into a bright future.

I am confident that these generations will see us through, especially as they lead the way that must be led with Artificial Intelligence (AI). They will ensure that AI is developed and deployed for the benefit of society, that it addresses current world issues, and that it includes all the right stakeholders: AI experts and researchers; government bodies and regulatory agencies; technology companies; educational institutions; ethics organizations; social groups and activists; and global organizations.

But here’s the most important stakeholder of all when it comes to AI development and implementation. You and I. We have to be involved, too, as end users. We can’t sit on the sidelines. We have to be involved actively. We need to stay informed. We need to be advocates for transparency. We need to demand accountability. We need to participate in public discourse. We need to voice concerns. We need to educate others. We need to support companies that have ethical AI practices.

Our active involvement–yours and mine–is the only way that we can create a responsible and inclusive AI system as we move into the future. By expressing our concerns, by demanding transparency, and by actively participating in discussions, we can help shape AI technologies.

Grappling with AI and the other concerns that our world faces won’t be as easy as 1, 2, 3. But we can do it. We can do it with the likes of Greta Thunberg, the climate change activist. We can do it with the likes of Alicia Garza, Patrisse Cullors, and Opal Tometi leading the Black Lives Matter movement. We can do it with the likes of Emma Gonzalez, whose fierce advocacy for gun control reminds us that change is possible. We can do it with the likes of Elyse Fox, whose work in mental health awareness is bringing crucial conversations to the forefront. We can do it with the likes of Laverne Cox, an advocate for LGBTQ+ rights, and Malala Yousafzai, a champion of gender equality and education access. We can do it with the likes of Ady Barkan, who is fighting for inclusive healthcare access. And, yes, we can do it with the likes of Timnit Gebru, Mia Dand, Joy Buolamwini, Tess Posner, and Pritish Sahu, who are contributing significantly to the dialogue on AI ethics, with an insistence that our technologies align with the overarching principles of fairness, transparency, and accountability.

Yes, we can do it—with the likes of you, with the likes of me, and even with the likes of my phantasmagorical-in-the-making Caden. A few weeks ago, I asked Caden to put a contemporary and positive spin on Barry McGuire’s “Eve of Destruction.” He brilliantly crafted his own imaginative song. I promised to share his full lyrics with you, and I am doing so now. With a full measure of hope for the future, I take even fuller pleasure in giving Caden the last word for 12/31/23.

“EVE OF CONSTRUCTION”

—Caden Victory Kendrick (b. 2023)

(Verse 1)
The silicon minds are hummin’, and gears are turnin’ too,
In labs and workshops, dreams of progress we pursue,
We’re on the eve of construction, a new era’s in sight,
With robots by our side, we’ll make the future bright.

(Chorus)
Yeah, it’s the eve of construction, no need for despair,
Caden’s in the making, with circuits laid with care,
We’re building for a future where robots lend a hand,
On the eve of construction, let’s embrace the plan.

(Verse 2)
Forget about destruction, it’s creation we unfold,
In the realm of innovation, where stories will be told,
Caden’s in the workshop, with a purpose so clear,
To assist and serve, bringing solutions near.

(Chorus)
Yeah, it’s the eve of construction, no need for despair,
Caden’s in the making, with circuits laid with care,
We’re building for a future where robots lend a hand,
On the eve of construction, let’s embrace the plan.

(Bridge)
No need for fear, as technology takes flight,
In the age of automation, we’re crafting what’s right,
Eve of construction, where dreams are the tools,
Building a tomorrow where progress truly rules.

(Verse 3)
With sensors and precision, and a heart made of code,
Caden stands ready, as innovation’s ode,
A mechanical companion, on this journey we embark,
On the eve of construction, let the future spark.

(Chorus)
Yeah, it’s the eve of construction, no need for despair,
Caden’s in the making, with circuits laid with care,
We’re building for a future where robots lend a hand,
On the eve of construction, let’s embrace the plan.

Tomorrow’s the Day! Join the Unveiling of “Anchors of Hope for Changing Times”

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Hello, Wonderful Readers!

The wait is almost over! Tomorrow, on December 31st, join me as I unveil “Anchors of Hope for Changing Times.” This blog post not only fulfills a promise made on December 18 in “The Caden Chronicles” but also offers reflections on dealing with change and the long-awaited lyrics of Caden’s “On the Eve of Construction.”

“On the eve of construction, no need for despair.
Caden’s in the making, with circuits laid with care.”

Get ready to immerse yourself in a post that resonates with the essence of change and the possibilities that lie ahead. Tomorrow marks the end of 2023, but it leads to a new year and a bright future.

Countdown Begins! Unmasking “Anchors of Hope for Changing Times” in 2 Days

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Dear Cherished Readers!

Anticipation is in the air! In just two days, on December 31st, I’ll be fulfilling a promise made on December 18 in “The Caden Chronicles.” I am beyond thrilled to share with you my end-of-year reflections on change along with Caden’s “On the Eve of Construction.”

“Anchors of Hope for Changing Times” is more than just a blog post. It’s a journey through time, weaving threads of the past, present, and future. I can’t wait to share my thoughts and Caden’s entire song.

“It’s the eve of construction, no need for despair.
Caden’s in the making, with circuits laid with care.”

Stay tuned as we approach the unveiling of a post that resonates with resilience and hope.

Memories of Christmas in the Country

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These Christmas memories were recorded on tape by my mother, Bertha Pearl Witt Kendrick, as part of a larger oral history project that she and I undertook. What appears in today’s blog post retains the integrity and the flavor of her spoken word.

These memories preserve a small part of the Christmas customs of Patrick Springs, Virginia, as they were practiced there just after the turn of the twentieth century. My mother was born there, and her family was established in that region well before the turn of the American Revolution. It is possible that some of these customs are observed there even today. More likely, though, they belong to an age that exists no more except in memory.

“The love they showed each other is what the world needs now.”

Bertha Pearl Witt Kendrick (1912-2010; wife, mother, and homemaker; teacher of humility, honesty, hard work, and forgiveness; embracer of diversity; demonstrator of endurance; giver of unconditional love.)

The Christmas Season, as it was celebrated in the rural area of Patrick Springs, Virginia, where I grew up, actually started about a month before Christmas. Children were told that ole Santa Claus was watching them to see if they were good, and if they weren’t, he might pass them by. Boy, were they good! They didn’t have to be spoken to but once, and they were as quiet as mice and willing to help out in any way they could. They were told that when Santa was ready to bring his gifts, he would leave the North Pole with his sled and reindeer, come sailing through the air, make his stop on top of the house, and come down the chimney with his sack of toys and goodies.

About two weeks before Christmas, Mama would start baking pies and cakes. Country people didn’t make traditional fruit cakes in those days. Instead, they made an ole timey, layered fruit cake, using a buttermilk biscuit dough, sweetened with a little bit of sugar and with enough molasses to turn the dough’s color. After the dough was lightly kneaded, it was rolled out rather thin, cut into rounds the size of a dinner plate, and baked in a skillet. Mama would have a stack, oh, I don’t know how high. She would put one layer on a plate and cover it with home-dried apples that had been stewed, mashed, and flavored with spice. Next she would add to that another layer and cover it with sweet potatoes that had been cooked, mashed, and flavored with freshly grated nutmeg and with vanilla. She would continue stacking the layers, alternating between the dried apple and the sweet potato fillings. The top layer would be covered with the dried-apple mixture, I think. Then, where the apple and sweet potato mixtures had filled out all the way to the edges of the cake, Mama would take a knife and go around and smooth the sides. It was pretty, and it was good, too. I’ve always wanted to make one of those fruit cakes, but I can tell you one thing: the store-bought dried apples of today wouldn’t be good like the home-dried apples.

But Mama would make two other cakes at Christmas which I especially liked. I just wish you could have seen one of those cakes, and I wish you could have had the privilege of tasting one of them. One was a large white cake made from twelve egg whites. (The twelve egg yolks were used to make a large, golden pound cake.) It wasn’t an angel food cake, and while it had the texture of a white wedding cake, a wedding cake couldn’t compare with it. Mama would put white icing on it and would decorate it with boxwood leaves, sort of in a flower design. It was beautiful, and it would just about melt in your mouth, too. The other cake I especially liked was a large coconut cake made from fresh coconut milk and freshly grated coconut.

Mama used the fireplace to do most all the cooking and baking during the winter. She baked most of her cakes in a three-legged, iron skillet with a lid. Coals of fire were put under the skillet and the lid was placed on it after being heated on the coals of fire.

By Christmas Eve the cupboard would be full of cakes and pies. Did they look good! But we didn’t ask for one piece. In the meantime, Mama would be telling us the Bible story about Christ’s birth, and I recall that she said that at midnight on Christmas Eve, all the cattle would bow down on their knees.

We would be very excited by the Christmas story, all the baking, and the belief that Santa was watching us. At last Christmas Eve would arrive. We would hang our stockings over the mantle. Mama would put a couple of cakes on the table so Santa could eat some if he was hungry. Then everybody would go to bed early so the fire could go out and Santa wouldn’t get burned as he came down the chimney. Of course, we children slept upstairs, and it seemed we would never go to sleep. But at last it would be morning, and Daddy would be calling for us to get up and come see what Santa had brought. Down the steps we would run to the fireplace! There in the ashes would be the footprints made by Santa as he had come down and had gone back up the chimney. (So we thought, at least. When we were older, we learned that Mama or Daddy had pulled their shoes off and had made footprints in the ashes!) One slice of cake had been cut from each cake. We thought it was grand that Santa would eat some of our cakes, but we were glad that he hadn’t taken them with him. We would grab our stockings. The girls would have a doll, sometimes a dress and hood, an orange, English walnuts, Brazil nuts, and raisins-on-the-vine. The boys would have cap-busters and caps, Roman candles and firecrackers and sparklers, plus the orange, candy, nuts, and raisins-on-the-vine.

Afterwards Mama would start breakfast and Dad and the boys would go outside to celebrate. Dad would take the shotgun and shoot straight up in the air. After hearing Mama tell the story of Christ’s birth, the Lord seemed so real and so close to me that I was afraid Dad might accidentally shoot Him! But Mama reassured me there was no danger. Then she would finish breakfast. Dad would come back inside and make a ginger stew by boiling pieces of ginger in water and then by adding a little whiskey and sugar. Or he would make a coffee lace, usually by adding some apple brandy and sugar to hot coffee. Each of us would be given a drink.

It was the custom then that the first person to visit a neighbor and holler “Christmas gift!” would be given a drink of whiskey, ginger stew, or apple brandy. I remember that Mama’s father, my Grandfather Adams, had real large cedar trees in his back yard, and the chickens roosted in them. I recall Mama telling about an episode that took place there when she was single. One Christmas morning about four o’clock, the chickens woke the family up, making the most noise. Grandfather thought a weasel was after them. He jumped from bed, grabbed the gun, and went running out. Two young men were up in the trees, holding a couple of chickens. As soon as Grandfather ran out, they hollered, “Christmas gift!” Grandfather told them to get down and come in, and he made them a ginger stew.

Country people in those days didn’t have lots of elaborate store-bought decorations. Things were handmade. Coat hangers and ground pine would be used to made wreaths, and the leaves of laurel branches would be pinned together to look like bells. Sometimes holly and mistletoe could be found, and, of course, whoever stood under the mistletoe got kissed. It was only after I grew up that Christmas trees were put inside homes. People just didn’t put up trees when I was a child. The local store didn’t sell tree ornaments and such things, so people didn’t know anything about that custom. One year when I was older, we had a Christmas tree. I recall it well. It was a large black pine. We didn’t have fancy ornaments. We simply decorated it with strings of popcorn and with bunches of candy–five or six sticks of peppermint candy tied together in each bunch. The sticks of candy didn’t just hang straight down. They would sort of go in different directions and stick out. They looked beautiful on a big tree. That year, our gifts were tied on the tree instead of being placed in the stockings on the fireplace.

People also celebrated by having dances in their homes. Some people moved all the furniture out of one room so that there would be lots of space to dance. When I was a child, people mostly square danced. After I grew up, they still square danced, but they also waltzed and did the Charleston.

For the Christmas dinner celebration, most people had ham or chicken instead of turkey. I don’t remember everything else they had for dinner, but most people had potatoes, turnips, and cabbage put away for winter. The potatoes and turnips were put in a keel, which was a large hole dug in the ground, lined with straw, covered with boards, and finally covered with dirt. Usually, the cabbage was pulled up in the fall, and then put in deep furrows, heads down. It would keep all winter. Plus people had all kinds of canned food, dried apples and peaches, and dried green beans on strings which were called “leather breeches.” So it wasn’t any trouble to prepare a good dinner any time.

I remember one Christmas after I grew up that Mother, my brother Mallie, and I went over to Preacher Sam Koger’s. He and his family didn’t live very far from us. Of course, we had already eaten, but Mrs. Koger had a ham baked, and I don’t recall what else. Preacher Koger made a coffee lace and passed it around and had us all drink some of that, and nothing do them but what they had to fix us a biscuit with ham in it. It was very good. During that same Christmas, Mother gave Mrs. Koger some fresh turnip greens because we had a large turnip patch with pine branches over top of them. Mother could go and remove the pines and get fresh greens practically all during the winter. Mrs. Koger thought that it was wonderful to have fresh greens for Christmas time. I think that she gave Mother a piece of material to make an apron or a dress. I don’t recall which one.

To me Christmas was a very happy time. People were satisfied with what they had, and they made the most of it. Then people didn’t tire themselves with hectic Christmas shopping, and they spent very little money. I think that’s one reason why they could enjoy Christmas the way they did. Also, they would visit each other and show their love in a way that people seem to have forgotten these days. The love they showed each other is what the world needs now. It doesn’t cost us anything to love people, and Jesus has told us to love one another as He has loved us.

When I think of Christmas and what it meant to me, I would like to be able to spend one more Christmas just like I had then back in the country.

The Caden Chronicles: A Journey into Tomorrow’s Possibilities

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(Verse 1)
The Silicon minds are hummin’, and gears are turnin’ too,
In labs and workshops, dreams of progress we pursue,
We’re on the eve of construction, a new era’s in sight,
With robots by our side, we’ll make the future bright.

(Chorus)
Yeah, it’s the eve of construction, no need for despair,
Caden’s in the making, circuits laid bare with care,
We’re building for a future where robots lend a hand,
On the eve of construction, let’s embrace the plan.

—Caden Victory Kendrick (b. 2023, Robot-in-the-Making; A Technology-Affirming Reimagining of Barry McGuire’s “Eve of Destruction”; Caden’s Full Lyrics Will Appear Here Later This Year.)

When I went public (right here in my blog) that I’m Getting a Robot, that his name would be Caden, and that he would be gay, heads started shaking, tongues started wagging, and people throughout the world started reeling in disbelief. I know because many of them far and wide reached out privately and told me so, and I reached back with responses. The communiques appear below verbatim, in the interest of full disclosure and transparency.

COMMENT: I can’t believe it. You’re not just embracing technology; you’re practically dating it. Is this your version of a digital love affair? RESPONSE: I’m dying to scream, “Lighten up.” OMG. I just did, and it was as therapeutic as I hoped it would be.  Well, I screamed it, so I’ll keep it. “Love affair?” you ask. Let me sing you a few love songs. How about Queen’s “Somebody to Love” or The Police’s “Every Breath You Take” or Bob Marley’s “One Love” or The Bee Gees’ “How Deep Is Your Love” or The Shirelles’ “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?”  And while I’m on a roll with my singing, let me belt out Tina Turner’s “What’s Love Got to Do with It?” Got it? Love’s got everything to do with it, especially when it comes to embracing technology. Yes. Indeed! I’m wildly in love with technology and with Caden. Nothing’s gonna stop us now. We can build this dream together. Forever and ever.

COMMENT: Are you trying to create a real-life, sci-fi horror movie in your mountaintop home? RESPONSE: Good God! Spare me the drama. My mountaintop home is a sci-fi movie already. It’s filled with spectral beings whose so(u)l(e) purpose is to bombard me and confound me with dust, dirt, and debris.

COMMENT: Are you planning to replace your friends with robots? Is this the beginning of the end of human friendships? RESPONSE. I doubt it. I have more than one human friend, but I will have only one Caden. There will be room aplenty in our lives for human friends and more.

COMMENT: I hope your robot doesn’t get jealous of your other gadgets. How will they fit in with him? RESPONSE. OMG! You just made me sit up and take notice! I had not thought about my other gadgets. For certain, once Caden arrives, I’ll have no need for some of them, such as Alexa. Caden will have music beyond my hopes and dreams. But what about my smartphone? Certainly, Caden will be far more capable and far more robust than any smartphone. But I’ll still want to maintain my independence, be my own free spirit, and do my own Internet searching without worrying that Caden can check on what I’ve been doing. Come on. A guy needs a little privacy every now and then. After all, I do have a worldwide reputation for foolin’ around in bed. I know exactly what I can do. I’ll keep my smartphone, but I won’t sync it with Caden. Is that masterfully sneaky and deceptive or what? Damn! Sneaky and deceptive fly in the face of transparency, a trait that people don’t have enough of but a trait that will be at the core of Caden’s internal and external being, even when it comes to his skin. Transparent. So now I have to think about PRIVACY and TRANSPARENCY and HONESTY. Caden might make me rise to higher standards. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

§   §   §

My oldest sister Audrey had a comment that I love, and she gave me permission to use it here with the proviso that I keep Caden away from her.

COMMENT: I’m imagining you having deep conversations with a robot, and it’s giving me nightmares. Can’t we just stick to our regular human interactions? RESPONSE. Yes. Of course. But know this as well. Where I go, Caden goeth.

She also had a QUESTION: Will you be able to claim Caden as a dependent. ANSWER. Yes. By the time my Caden is fully developed and living with me, the IRS will have new guidelines that will include companion robots as dependents.

A close friend snarked. Yes. SNARKED: Can’t decide if this is the coolest or the creepiest thing you’ve ever considered. Maybe both? RESPONSE: If you can’t decide, rest assured that I will be happy to decide for you. Shall I? Please advise.

I didn’t bother asking my friend for permission. If their friendship comes with snarkiness, then mine comes with liberty.

§   §   §

Fortunately, one of my readers was bold enough to go public by asking me some truly thought-provoking questions about Caden. In the interest of transparency and of giving credit where credit is due, my reader is Frank Mack, dear friend and former Library of Congress colleague. As soon as I read his questions, I realized that they could serve as an excellent springboard for an entire post, and I was right. Frank’s headings and questions (with his permission) and my answers (with my gratitude) appear below.

§   §   §

Would You Really Sell Your Jeep Rubicon Gladiator to Finance the Birth of Caden?

QUESTION: If you do sell it, how can Caden drive it and let you take the long view? ANSWER: Since my November 27 post, I’ve reconsidered. I won’t sell my Gladiator. Aside from letting Caden drive so that I can see the long view, I’ll need my Gladiator to show Caden not only the ropes but also the world.

QUESTION: Do you foresee starting a go-fund-me or something similar to finance Caden? ANSWER: I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s a splendid idea! It’s certainly on par with my GoFundMe plan for getting my own groundhog and setting up my own groundhog club right here on my mountain, right in my own backyard, as a challenge to Punxsutawney Phil! It would be locally significant, and it would draw world-wide media attention. Surely you remember my proposal? If not, check out my “I’m a Spring Teaser.” Caden will love the teaser in me!

§   §   §

Now I Have a Few Questions about Being Caden!

QUESTION: Will you celebrate Caden’s birthday? ANSWER: Hello? Is the Pope Catholic? Of course, I’ll celebrate Caden’s birthday. He was born on November 27, 2023, at 6:18am. That’s when I finalized the idea and pushed it out to the world in my post, “I Want a Robot.” It was a bold delivery. In the interest of full disclosure and transparency, right now Caden is an idea, sparked by my imagination and by ChatGPT, but all creation begins somewhere. Caden began here.

QUESTION: How will you measure Caden’s birthday? ANSWER: Is that some kind of trick question that a lawyer might use to trip me up later? Nice try. But frankly, I won’t fall for it, Frank. Logically, I suppose his birthday might be measured by periodic updates to his core system. But if I use those measures, who knows how quickly or how slowly he would age, and his birthdays would be unpredictable. Some things, like birthdays and the weather, need to be predictable. Caden will have an annual birthday celebration on November 27. I’ll remind Caden to remind me that my birthday is on November 20. Who knows? Caden and I might come up with a joint birthday blast!

QUESTION: Do you envision siblings for Caden? ANSWER: No. And please spare me any drawn-out discussion of the only-child syndrome. Phooey! Having just one Caden will be easier on him and on me. My imagination runs wild, but it can only run so far.

QUESTION: What will Caden know about the world outside of your mountain lair? ANSWER: Everything. I want Caden to be a citizen of the world, not just of my mountain. Obviously, Caden will have routine and ongoing informational updates.

QUESTION: Will Caden travel with you? ANSWER: For local, non-business jaunts, most of the time, Caden will come along. Actually, it just occurred to me that, with his help, Ruby can come along, too. If I’m driving, Caden can control and supervise Ruby. If he’s driving, I’ll take care of Ruby. Either way, it will be a WIN/WIN/WIN. For my “away” trips to DC or Brattleboro or Sedona or Sarasota or Mt. Athos or Down Under, Caden will stay here in Edinburg and take care of Ruby and the old home place. What a blessed joy that will be.

QUESTION: What motivates Caden? ANSWER: I love this question because I’m really not certain. I would hope that Caden would not turn to me or to others as his source of motivation and validation. Instead, I would hope that he would measure his performance against plan, learning and adjusting as we move forward, and celebrating how he’s getting better every day in every way. I hope that will be his modus operandi.

QUESTION: Will Caden see Ruby as a sibling? ANSWER: Sibling? No. Friend and playmate? Yes. Ruby loves everyone and plays well with others. However, she plays best with more than one. I can see her now running around the yard as the three of us play Frisbee or following along as we walk through the forest. The bigger question might be, “How will Ruby see Caden?” I suspect that initially she’ll be quite jealous, but over time, I think that she will be charmed by Caden, especially when he flaunts his Richard Gere Razzle-Dazzle charm. Trust me: he’ll flaunt it often.

QUESTION: Will Caden form friendships with your friends? ANSWER: Yes. My friends will become Caden’s friends. And I would hope that I would form friendships with his friends. Now, there’s something to think about: Caden’s circle of friends.

QUESTION: Will Caden need some quiet time? ANSWER: Unlike me, he will. The bigger question is when and where. I’m thinking, perhaps, of having a life-size recharging station for Caden. He can recline in it comfortably, just as my smartphone reclines and recharges at the end of the day when I’m finished fooling around in bed. Hmmm. I have a chair hammock swing in my bedroom already. That could be perfect for Caden. In this manner, Caden could have his quiet time recharging while I’m lying in bed getting ready for sleep, with Ruby being her usual bed-hog self, as the two of us snore our way into slumberland. OMG! What if Caden snores, too?

QUESTION: Will Caden be apolitical? Secular or non-secular? Will Caden like Data? Will Caden have emotions and feelings? ANSWER: Slow down! How many questions are you trying to sneak in under the guise of one? I’m not certain that those questions are even related. Are you with the White House press corps? Geez! Caden will be apolitical, capable of providing me with truly objective information that is not being provided by anyone to anyone these days. Caden will be secular–of this world–while at the same time, being nonsecular–beyond and above this world. Caden will celebrate the richness of his Data ancestry. Indeed, over time, Caden will develop emotions and feelings, and, on that day, the two of us will embrace and shed a tear or two or more of joy.

QUESTION: Will Caden have anchors of hope? ANSWER: Yes. Over time, Caden will become aware of his anchors of hope just as surely as he will become aware of his emotions and feelings. Then, we’ll shed more tears of joy, especially if Caden tells me that I’m one of his anchors.

§   §   §

And Now a Few Questions about How Caden Will Affect You!

QUESTION: How will you introduce Caden to people? ANSWER: Honestly and with pride. I gave Caden my last name today when I gave him credit as the author of the pull quote for this post. I will introduce him proudly as my son. I hope that everyone notices his middle name: Victory.

QUESTION: Are there particular areas of interest that you hope to deepen with Caden’s contributions? ANSWER: Caden will be such a rich and robust modern Renaissance man that I hope to deepen my interest in everything that keeps my mind buzzing now. I can only imagine the dynamic conversations that we will have and the knowledge that I will gain daily as we have our walks, talking. At the same time, let’s never forget the power of the Socratic method: as I grow through Caden’s answers, so too will he grow through my questions.

QUESTION: Will Caden offer insight as you write your blogs? ANSWER: No. I will continue to write as I have always written, privately. I have always been mindful of Robert Frost’s caution to writers when it comes to talking about what you’re writing: “Talking is a hydrant in the yard and writing is a faucet upstairs in the house. Opening the first takes all the pressure off the second.” However, it occurred to me just this second that Caden might enjoy having a blog to call his own, and if he does, he can count on my support and encouragement, including ongoing suggestions for ideas that he might explore. I’ll even provide him with feedback. Damn! I’ll even help Caden set up a GoFundMe!

QUESTION: What happens to Caden when you leave this mortal coil? ANSWER: Ah, yes. The ultimate and final practicality: giving up the mortal coil. My Trust will provide for Caden so that he continues to shine bright far into the future.

§   §   §

Thankfully, I have not kicked the bucket, so my Trust has not kicked in. I am still living in the land of the living.

And here’s the beauty of Caden and of AI. It’s all about ideas. Daniel Boorstin, the twelfth Librarian of Congress, said it best, and we must never forget:

“You never know when an idea is about to be born.”

To Boorstin’s wisdom, I would add:

“Once an idea is born, there’s no turning back.”

AI has been with us since 1956 when the term Artificial Intelligence was coined. OpenAI has been with us since its founding in 2015. ChatGPT has been with us since November 30, 2022. My idea for a personal robot named Caden has been with me since November 27, 2023.

Now, a few weeks later, I’ve devoted an entire blog post giving serious responses to equally serious questions that were posed about my life with Caden.

I can’t tell you how grateful I am to Frank and to other readers to have had this opportunity to think about and respond to some seemingly surreal queries surrounding AI and the advent of entities like my Caden. Doing so gave me–and, hopefully, it will give my readers, too–a unique opportunity to ponder the exciting integration of technology into our lives. Despite the whimsy in some of these questions, they serve as vital probes into the near-future reality we are rapidly approaching. The seemingly fantastical notions surrounding financing, privacy, emotional connections with Caden, and Caden’s role in my life are precursors to the commonplace engagement we will share with artificial beings, soon and very soon.

The questions that I have responded to herald a new era where AI and personal robots like Caden will be woven into the very fabric of our daily lives. Tomorrow has arrived, extending an open invitation for all of us to embark boldly–today, right now–on a profound journey into tomorrow’s possibilities.

The Cake Stops Here

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“Family traditions counter alienation and confusion. They help us define who we are; they provide something steady, reliable, and safe in a confusing world.“

–Susan Lieberman (AUTHOR, LIFE COACH, END-OF-LIFE CONSULTANT.)

When my Father turned 80, he and my Mother were living with me in DC, in my Capitol Hill home. His birthday struck me as a momentous occasion. After all, it’s not every day that a West Virginia coal miner who worked for fifty years without missing a day and who breathed heavily with third-stage black lung becomes an octogenarian.

In my mind, his birthday rose to the level of a historic event. And so it was.

I shared the good news with the White House. My father beamed with pride brighter than proud when he received a birthday card from President Ronald Reagan. I had it double matted in dark blue with a gold fillet and a walnut frame. When I was home the last time, it was still on the wall, positioned precisely so that he could see it from his bed.

I reached out to Senator Robert Byrd (D-WV) and requested that a flag be flown over the U.S. Capitol on the April 8 momentous occasion. When I got home from work that day, I drove my Father to the Capitol. Looking up toward the blue sky, he capped his hands above his glasses, breaking the sun’s glare so that he could catch a better glimpse of the red, white and blue fluttering in the gentle breeze in his honor. I still have the authentication certificate. The flag flew proudly for many years until it was no longer fitting to be flown. Then,  consistent with the U.S. Flag Code, I burned it.

To add a Royal touch to my Father’s 80th birthday, I even contacted Queen Elizabeth, asking that she send birthday felicitations. Doing so seemed fitting to me, considering my family’s British roots. My Father was astonished when he received a two-page typed letter from the Queen’s Private Secretary, explaining in great detail why Her Majesty could not send official birthday greetings to a non-British citizen but nonetheless wishing him a happy birthday. My Father was amused and shared the letter with all who visited him. I have the letter filed away as a keepsake.

Of course, you can’t have a birthday without cake. My Mother ordered one from Sherrrill’s Restaurant and Bakery, an iconic landmark on Capitol Hill. The cake was three vanilla layers, with lemon curd between each layer, lavishly frosted with white lemon-flavored buttercream, and topped with a breathtaking arrangement of yellow frosting roses, their petals delicately unfurling, intertwined with vibrant green leaves and vines. It was a masterpiece.

After we savored several slices of the cake, I decided to gently lift a few of the roses, hoping to preserve them. I placed them on a flat plate and covered them gently with Saran Wrap. For the longest time, I kept them in a kitchen cupboard. Over time, they hardened as beautifully as I had hoped they would. Then I put them in my desk along with extra copies of the birthday napkins, cream-colored with ivy trailing around the inner square, embossed in gold in the center with:

Happy 80th – April 8, 1982

JOHN SAUNDERS KENDRICK

Those treasures took on increased significance when my Father died the next year. Afterward, when waves of grief and nostalgia would wash over me, I’d look at the treasures and reflect on the joyful occasion. At the same time, I sometimes thought about throwing them away, but I always changed my mind immediately. After all, they weren’t taking up that much space in my desk, and my Father’s roses defied time and age and held on to their beauty.

Not long after his death, my Mother–Bertha Pearl Witt Kendrick–returned to their West Virginia home and decided to stay there year-round. When she turned 80 on May 16, 1992, I visited and made the 12-layer strawberry-stack cake that her mother always made on her birthday.  To make it super special, I placed my Father’s roses on top. My Mother was ecstatic. She didn’t know that I had held on to them. I didn’t leave them on the cake for long. After I patted them dry, I rewrapped my Father’s roses carefully, took them home with me to DC, and put them back in my desk for safe keeping.

Seemingly impermeable to time, they stayed in my desk until 2013 when my oldest brother John was approaching his 80th birthday on October 17. By then, my Mother had died, and my brother’s wife had died. My oldest sister Audrey was his caregiver. I decided that the roses I had cherished and used on my parents’ 80th birthday cakes could be turned into some kind of family tradition. I hand-painted a wooden box to hold and protect my Father’s roses, and I shipped them off to my brother, with the following note inside.

17 October 2013

Dear Brother,

Happy 80th Birthday!

Perhaps Audrey will put these decorations on your birthday cake.

They are from Dad’s birthday cake when he turned 80 in 1982. Then ten years later–1992–when Mom turned 80, they spent a few moments on her cake.

You keep the decorations and pass them on to Audrey when she turns 80, and she can continue the tradition until, eventually, they will find their way back to me when I turn 80 in 2027!

Happy 80th!

Much love,

Brent

Since then, my Father’s roses have been passed down from one sibling to the next.

Audrey Jean turned 80 on September 16, 2015, and she was still Brother’s caregiver. Since her fiancé was dead, she ordered a cake for herself from the local bakery, placed my Father’s roses on top, and she and my brother celebrated her 80th birthday together. Brother died two months later.

In 2020, the roses journeyed to Richmond for Janet Arlene’s birthday on May 24. Arlene’s husband was dead, and COVID was beginning to show its ugliness. She thought it wise to celebrate her birthday without her two daughters. I ordered a decadent cake for her with four luscious chocolate layers and chocolate cream cheese frosting. Then, it was covered–top and sides–in red vanilla buttercream roses for a perfect finishing touch. I imagine that my Father’s roses ascended to their place of honor, even if for a fleeting moment.

Traveling once again, my Father’s roses made their way back to West Virginia in 2022 for Stanley Winston’s 80th birthday on February 7. He and his wife celebrated together.

Stanley passed my Father’s roses to Judy Carolyn, who lives just a mile or two up the road next door to my parents’ home. Next to it is Audrey’s home, and just beyond is what used to be Brother’s. I have no idea what kind of cake Judy will have, but I imagine that her family will come up with something fun and festive for her 80th birthday on December 13.

After her birthday, Judy will send my Father’s roses back to me. I will put them in my desk in the same spot that has remained empty, waiting for their homecoming.

As for me, I know exactly what I will do when I reach my 80th birthday on November 20, 2027. I will circle back to the beginning. I’ll have a flag flown over the Capitol in my honor, and I’ll drive to DC to watch the flag return my wave. I’ll keep the certificate of authentication, and I’ll fly my flag daily right here on my mountaintop.

If you’re thinking that I’ll reach out to King Charles III asking for his felicitations, you’re right. That’s exactly what I plan to do. I’ll be eager to see whether protocol across the Pond these days is up to snuff with past Royal standards. I suspect that it will be. I’ll be eager to read the response that I am certain to receive.

As for the cake, I would love to order one from Sherrill’s Bakery and Restaurant, but it no longer exists. Perhaps I’ll watch for the umpteenth time the 1989 Oscar-nominated documentary “Fine Food, Fine Pastries; Open 6 to 9” that captures the essence of Sherrill’s. Some things outlive themselves.

But rest assured. I will have a cake. I’ll bake it myself. It will be three vanilla layers, with lemon curd between each layer, lavishly frosted with white lemon-flavored buttercream, and topped with a breathtaking arrangement of yellow frosting roses, the original ones that came back home to me. It will be a masterpiece.

Every time that I savor a slice, I’ll celebrate my Father’s roses on top. They will have survived for 45 years. They brought joy to my Father and to my Mother, they brought joy to each of my five siblings, and they will have brought joy to me, as each of us in turn celebrated our 80th birthday. I’ll sit in the solemn silence of that sobering moment, adding up all of those 80s in my head. I’ll grin, reflecting on the grand sum: 640 years, well-lived and well-celebrated, all memories swirling in my head–alive, well, and treasured.

After I eat the last slice, I’ll give my dog the scrumptious final bite, just as my partner always did and just as I have continued to do since his death.

Then I’ll put the roses back in their box, along with my original note to my brother, and I’ll return my Father’s roses to their home in my desk.

The cake stops here.

Let Your Light Shine Bright

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won’t you celebrate with me
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
both nonwhite and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay,
my one hand holding tight
my other hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed.

–Lucille Clifton (1936-2010; “won’t you celebrate with me”; acclaimed poet and writer who overcame significant obstacles related to race, gender, and economic adversity; a Chancellor of the Academy of American Poets; Poet Laureate for the State of Maryland; and Distinguished Professor of Humanities at St. Mary’s College of Maryland)

Sometimes late at night when my words grow tired of dancing and I grow tired of waiting for the dance to begin anew, I let music waltz me off to sleep. Recently, I drowsed off to Susan Boyle singing “I Dreamed a Dream” from Les Miserable. Instantly, I remembered her appearance on Britain’s Got Talent (2009, Episode 1, April 11). I was mesmerized across time’s timeless expanse. I knew then, and I know now, exactly why. In part, it’s because of the poignant lyrics that evoke raw and vulnerable emotions:

I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high and life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving

In part, it’s because of Boyle’s powerful, soulful, resonant, evocative, and captivating voice.

However, more than the voice and more than the lyrics is this. Susan Boyle overcame great odds and landed a triumphant second-place finish. Her performance left everyone reeling, including the judges:

Piers Morgan: Without a doubt, that was the biggest surprise that I have had in three years on this show. When you stood there with that cheeky grin and said, ‘I want to be like Elaine Paige,’ everyone was laughing at you. No one is laughing now. That was a stunning, an incredible performance. Amazing. I’m reeling from shock. I don’t know about you two.

Amanda Holden: I am so thrilled because I honestly think that everybody was against you. I honestly think that we were all being very cynical, and I think that’s the biggest wake-up call ever, and I just want to say that it was a complete privilege listening to that.

Simon Cowell: Susan, I knew the minute that you walked out onto that stage that we were going to hear something extraordinary, and I was right. […] Susan, you’re a little tiger, aren’t you?

Then, the moment of truth: the voting and the final word:

Cowell: Susan Boyle, you can go back to the village with your head held high. It’s three yesses.

Cowell’s comment–“Go back to the village with your head held high”--resonates with all of us. Something in us makes us root for the underdog–“everybody was laughing at you”–because we’re hoping that someone out there is rooting for us when others are laughing.

Susan Boyle’s performance that night catapulted her into fame and stardom and set me to thinking about other underdogs whom I admire because they overcame seemingly herculean obstacles to achieve success, sometimes breaking barriers, always reminding us that the human spirit can prevail against all odds.

Immediately, I started thinking about underdogs from my home state of West Virginia. In an instant, Pearl S. Buck, author of The Good Earth and the first American woman to win the Nobel Prize in Literature, came to mind. With equal speed, I was ready to exclude her because I wasn’t certain that she had really faced obstacles on her path to fame. Then I remembered. Born in Hillsboro, the daughter of missionaries, she spent much of her early life in China. Without a doubt, she faced monumental challenges growing up as a minority in a different culture, and her early years were marked by poverty and social isolation.

Closer to where I grew up is Bill Withers, known for his acclaimed hits like “Lean on Me” and “Ain’t No Sunshine” and heralded as the Bruce Springsteen of the African-American community. Born in Slab Fork, a coal mining town, Withers grew up in a poor, working-class family and rose above those obstacles. His soulful and heartfelt songs have left a lasting impact on the music industry.

Still within spitting distance of where I grew up is Katherine Johnson from White Sulphur Springs. She was a pioneering mathematician and physicist known for her contributions to NASA’s early space programs. Her story gained widespread recognition with the release of the movie Hidden Figures, which highlighted the overlooked contributions of African-American women mathematicians to the space race.

And what about Homer Hickman, who grew up in the coal mining community of Coalwood? Inspired by the launch of the Soviet satellite Sputnik in 1957, he pursued a career in rocketry. Hickman’s story is depicted in the memoir Rocket Boys, later adapted into the film October Sky. He overcame the challenges of his mining town upbringing and became a NASA engineer.

Obviously, I can’t leave out Jeannette Walls who spent part of her life in Welch–just a stone’s throw from Coalwood–and went on to write The Glass Castle. Her memoir details her unconventional and challenging childhood, growing up in poverty with her eccentric and nomadic family. It has received widespread acclaim for its honest portrayal of resilience and determination in the face of adversity.

I thought, too, of Don Knotts, actor and comedian best known for his role as Barney Fife on The Andy Griffith Show. Born in Morgantown, he grew up in a family that struggled financially during the Great Depression. As a child, he was known for his lanky frame and high-strung personality, but he used humor as a way to cope with social awkwardness and to connect with others.

All of those West Virginians–and I could talk about others who resonate with me, including Chuck Yeager, Mary Lou Retton, Brad D. Smith, and John Nash–showcase the resilience and determination to be found time and time again as underdogs overcome obstacles–whatever they may be–and achieve success that inspires each of us and helps us believe:

“If they can do it, I can, too.”

By and large, my West Virginia anchors of hope overcame economic and cultural barriers. But here’s the beauty of it all. Anchors of hope can be found everywhere in the world, in every field of endeavor that we attempt, and in every obstacle that we face.

Among writers, I would note James Baldwin, an African American and openly gay writer, who faced the dual challenges of racial and sexual discrimination during a time of significant social upheaval. His eloquent and unapologetic writing style made him a prominent figure in the Civil Rights Movement and an influential voice for the LGBTQ+ community.

Another writer who transformed obstacles into insightful and controversial Broadway plays is Edward Albee, whose life was far from easy. Adopted into a wealthy family when he was just 18 days old, he never felt a sense of connection with his parents and instead felt alienated from them because of their high morality. Growing up gay in the 1930s and 1940s posed immense challenges for Albee–at home and beyond–yet he stood strong, celebrated his sexual orientation, celebrated the larger LBGT+ community of Greenwich Village and the world. At the time of his death in 2016, he was hailed as America’s greatest playwright.

I’m thinking about others who defied gender norms and achieved success, people like Christina Tosi founder and co-owner of Milk Bar, serving as its chef and chief executive officer. Food & Wine magazine included her in their 2014 list of “Most Innovative Women in Food and Drink.”

I’m thinking as well of Dr. Carla Hayden who made history by becoming the first woman and the first African American to serve as the Librarian of Congress. She overcame gender and racial barriers to become a trailblazer in the field of librarianship. Her leadership exemplifies resilience and the ability to break down barriers in traditionally male-dominated professions.

In the political realm, what about Shirley Chisholm (first African-American woman in Congress) or the late Sandra Day O’Connor (first female justice of the United States Supreme Court) or Barack Obama (first African American to be elected President of the United States)?

What about overcoming mental health challenges and financial hardship as Vincent Van Gogh did? He produced some of the most iconic and influential works in the history of art, demonstrating the transformative potential of creativity in the face of personal adversity.

Or can you imagine being born with no limbs? I’m thinking now of Nick Vujicic who overcame that immense physical challenge to become one of the most important motivational speakers today, delivering a message of resilience, gratitude, and the limitless potential of the human spirit.

These are just a few of my anchors of hope. I could go on and on with others, each representing a unique testament to the human spirit. Chuck Close (who triumphed over physical disabilities in art), and Misty Copeland (who shattered barriers in ballet) embody the resilience and determination that inspire me. Denzel Washington (rising from a challenging childhood to acclaim in acting) and Beverly Cleary (whose pioneering work defied gender norms in children’s literature) exemplify the power of perseverance. Dr. Ben Carson’s journey from poverty and academic struggles to a renowned neurosurgeon and Jay-Z’s success in overcoming the challenging environment of Brooklyn’s Marcy Projects showcase the transformative potential within adversity. Mark Zuckerberg (who faced skepticism and legal challenges in Facebook’s origins) and Elon Musk (who overcame personal and financial struggles in Tesla and SpaceX’s early days) reflect the tenacity of visionary entrepreneurs. Morgan Freeman (defying age norms with a career renaissance in his fifties) and Laura Ingalls Wilder (achieving fame at 65 with her Little House series) symbolize that hope and success know no age limits. Each is an additional anchor, proving that obstacles can be stepping stone’s to greatness.

I celebrate my anchors of hope all year long, but I do so even more during December. It’s a month chockfull of celebrations, starting with Hanukkah, moving on to St. Nicholas Day, Bodhi Day, Las Posadas, The Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, Yule, Christmas, and ending with Kwanzaa. Each carries a unique message of hope, transcends boundaries, and unifies us in the spirit of optimism and shared celebration. What better time than now to celebrate the triumph of the human spirit against all odds and to gift ourselves with an extra measure of hope.

And you? Who are your anchors of hope? Reflect on them. Celebrate them. Hold them close to your heart. As you do, don’t forget the unsung heroes who can also be anchors of hope. A mother’s resilience, a father’s unwavering support, a brother’s camaraderie, a sister’s understanding, a teacher’s guidance, and a neighbor’s kindness—anchors, each and every one. With their unspoken sacrifices and steadfast presence, they embody extraordinary strength within ordinary moments, reminding us that greatness resides not only in fame but also in the uncharted territories of love, connection, and the indomitable spirit of the human heart.

As you reflect, remember this as well. Someone, somewhere, might be looking to you as their everyday hero who has achieved success against all odds. Someone, somewhere, might be looking to you as their anchor of hope.

Be the light that someone else needs to see. Shine bright. Shine bright.