When He Was Tall

4:01 PM Marcellino DAmbrosio 3 Comments

The Ferris Wheel creaks and turns,
It’s all chipped red paint and kissing.
The sent of animal dung and barbeque smoke
Hangs low and heavy in the clang and the din.
I sit on a polished wooden fence and watch
The girls with big hair and pink shirts.

Their flushed cheeks match their tops,
They’ve been leading their ponies
In circles all day,
Carrying the most delighted little children
that ever did ride on the backs of these blessed beasts.

One boy in particular catches my eye.

A little boy with a Mohawk
Sits atop his mighty steed,
But his feet don’t quite reach the stirrups.
They dangle at the saddle
And they flop about that cured leather,
But know this,
He has never been taller.
He points forward and with great resolution,
As only little mohawked boys can have,
Commands the girl in the pink shirt
With a squeal and a giggle at once:
“FASTER!”
The little general to be gleefully screams!
He bounces an uneven and syncopated rhythm
And he holds onto the horn for dear life,
For the pink shirt girl begins to run.

He will grow up
And study biology.
He’ll learn about photosynthesis
And labor over lab reports.
He’ll memorize all the charts
Ag, Fe, Au
     Ag…
            Au
He’ll get a job as a doctor eventually,
And marry some woman
Who he’ll never see

And have a boy
Who he’ll never know

And a girl
Who he can’t quite love

And a good dog
 And a big house
   And a white fence

He will forget that day
When he was tall.

He will cut off his Mohawk.

3 comments:

Why Abortion is Beyond Philosophical Debate (by Anthony D'Ambrosio)

8:05 AM Marcellino DAmbrosio 0 Comments

This is the article my brother wrote. He proposed civil war. I agree:

I would like to voice my revolsion for the bringing of the abortion issue into the realm of philosophy. Firstly, for philosophers to say that the debate is theirs makes me despair of ever having revolution to the issue. Philosophy is the most fickle discipline that has ever been put down under that category. There is no consensus among scholars even on the most basic issues, and the undulation in opinions throughout just the last two centuries is fantastic. My concern is thus: Give the question to the philosophers, don’t plan on ever getting it back.

Secondly, I am concerned that the issue is far too grave for the recreation that is philosophical debate. Philosophy has its place—late night discussions in front of the fire place (whiskey in hand), in the sunny streets of Athens, on notes in facebook. What we are doing is fighting over the fates of tens of millions of human lives, and we are far off from leisure island where the best philosophy is done. If we were all speaking purely theoretically, calling into question whether or not a certain section of human beings should be protected by law is fine. It will make for a good chat in later centuries, I am sure. But to say now that issue at hand is “should nacent human life should be protected?” is just a smokescreen. The issue at hand is that 46 million beings have been killed since Roe V. Wade, Planned Parenthood is still going strong, and the jury is still out on whether or not those beings should be under the protection of the law or not.
We should all recognize this situation as drastically absurd. If we as a society were actually dealing with the issue rationally, the obvious thing to do would be to order an immediate cessation of all abortions until it is definitively shown that the law should not protect the life of the unborn child. Imagine a demolition worker coming up to his boss and notifying him that there may or may not be children playing in the building they are about to destroy. If he were to say, “alright, lets blow it up and then debate about the moral implications of my decision later,” we would think him a monster.  You wait to blow the building up until it is proven, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that you aren't killing human beings (or at least not ones who have a right to life).  The burden of proof belongs on the prochoircer’s shoulders.

This brings me to my third objection to the proposition that prolifers must fight on philosophical grounds. Disagreement between the prolifers and prochoicers is not intellectual. It is immensely un-objective and emotional— especially for the prochoice side of the debate because their lifestyles are riding on it. The very notion that the prochoicers have a vested interest in keeping the act legal should make their philosophical conclusions more suspect because they lack objectivity. About a hundred forty years ago our country consumed itself in war over a far less dire human rights issue—namely, slavery— and surprise of surprises, the people whose lifestyles would have been most upset by the ilegalization of slavery not only had elaborate arguments in support of their position, but were great at arguing them.

I do not mean to fall into bulverism, but rather to point out that as a society we have in the past been deceived on a very grand scale by very similar arguments to accommodate what we all agree now was a very monstrous breech of human rights. In 1857 Chief Justice Rodger B. Taney said that blacks were, “so far inferior that they had no rights which the white man was bound to respect.” Sound familiar? I hope so. What some have regarded as the main philosophical issue between prolife and prochoice parties (i.e. whether we are bound to respect the rights of a nascent human being) is the same sort of argument that pro-slavers used to keep their lifestyles legal.
We should make no mistake, this is not a time for philosophical quandary. That whole pot stinks.  Philosophy isn't an objective discipline even for the professionals, the issue is too urgent, and there is no hope of  an objective hearing. I propose that we should consider very seriously civil war.

0 comments:

We've Brought Protest Signs to a Gun Fight

8:07 PM Marcellino DAmbrosio 2 Comments

There is no greater love than to lay down one's life for one's friends.
John 15:13

This blog is specifically geared toward the childlike, and therefore, I feel it necessary to speak very seriously of children, and in their defense. There is no greater travesty, no more evil offence against the child than to be killed by its own mother.
I just got back from D.C this morning, after a weekend spent with what seemed like every youth group in the country who could afford a couple fifteen passenger vans and a few matching scarves. I’ll be strait with you about the reason I went. I did not go because I am “into” the pro life movement, or because I thought that this year maybe the march would do something. Strait up, I went to the march because it was a chance to unite with my household brothers. We’ve decided to go every year and to make that our annual reunion.
            Don’t get me wrong, the March for Life is something I encourage every Catholic I meet to attend. I think it is an amazing experience to see the countless thousands marching, dancing, singing, descending upon the capital building with flags and banners and signs re-presenting parishes, universities, and religious orders. It is an amazing experience going to the vigil mass and seeing the procession of seminarians, priests, bishops, and cardinals all bowing to the altar at the National Basilica. Hell, just being inside that church is an experience.  But the fact that I went to the March not for vision, or renewal in my own pro life work is telling. The fact that we’ve committed to going to the march every year is telling! People! We don’t believe its going to change! And what’s more is that we don’t believe its going to change for good reason!
            Us Catholics are always ready to argue. We will argue with pro-choicers till kingdom come. We can cite the bible, Aquinas, biology, and statistics; we can show pictures of aborted babies; we can “preach by example” (or whatever that means). What we can’t do is change anything. When your alcoholic nextdoor neighbor is beating his children, you don’t knock on his door and say, “You know, you really ought to respect your kids as human beings.” No, you grab a baseball bat out of your garage, break his freaking door down, and do what is necessary to ensure that he will no longer break his kids fingers for not having the right beer for him when he gets home.
            I don’t want to discount the work that many good people do in the pro life movement. But I do want to call into question the movement as a whole. If we really believed that PEOPLE ARE DYING, the extent of our involvement on the issue would not be putting a “Former Fetus” bumper sticker on the back of our Ford Taurus and arguing with the occasional pro-choicer when our paths cross. I asked a woman’s reproductive health advocate recently if he would die for “women’s rights.” I asked him further if he would kill to defend women’s rights if that was the only possible option. He said no to both.
            My friends, that is what will set us apart, and that is the question we need to ask ourselves. What are we willing to die for? Are you willing to die for your family? Your friends? Your faith? Are you willing to die for the baby that will never get to voice his pain?
            Ok, maybe we can say yes to that. We’re all about dying as Catholics. That’s much more socially acceptable than killing, but I’ll ask it anyway. We are ready to kill terrorists, but they are armed with bombs instead of scalpels. Are we ready to kill in the defense of the defenseless?

            My brother wrote an article on this that I believe really gets the point across, and I’ll post it up tomorrow. In any case, what we need is not philosophy. What we need is people ready for a fight. A real fight. I would propose that the reason why we are losing the prolife battle is because we have brought protest signs to a gun fight.

2 comments:

Josephine's Coins

3:35 PM Marcellino DAmbrosio 1 Comments

            As I set out in my thesis, this blog is going to be about bringing out the child within us that our society constantly suppresses. I’m sure that my thoughts and imagination will take us elsewhere on our travels through blogland, but I recently was touched by a child and wanted to share the experience with you. I think this story really embodies so much of what I want to communicate in this blog, so it is a fitting place to start. This is the story of Josephine’s coins, and the glee of giving.
            Last week I was lucky enough to be asked to play at the open mic night at the pub. I haven’t played much recently, so before I was scheduled to go on, I walked outside to the area in front of the bean, and sat down on the edge of the fountain to practice. I twisted the tuning knobs with delicate precision, closed my eyes, and began to pluck out the chords to my newest song “20 Dollar Bills.” I was halfway through the first verse when I heard the following:
            Ping           pang    ring
                                                Shing
                                                         ring shing shing
      shick

I immediately stopped playing, looked down and saw a quarter on the ground at my feet. Of course I looked up at the windows and balconies on the piazza above me, but there was no one around at all! I didn’t even hear so much as hear a chuckle. So I picked up my guitar again and strummed the melody. As soon as I began to sing, I heard it again.
            pang Pang shing
                                    Ring shing
                                                     Ring shing shck

Another quarter dropped at my feet.
            I kept playing.

                        Ping Ping ping Pang Shin shang
                                    Shing ring ringaring
                                                Shing ringaring shing schk ring shkk

Dimes, quarters and nickels started to fall all around me, and I still couldn’t hear or see anyone on the balconies above. There weren’t even any lights on in the windows.  I played on as coins dropped all around me, and finally, between the “pings” and the twinkling sounds of silver dropping to the cobblestone, I heard a faint giggle. It was the delighted chuckle of a little girl, who very much wanted to be caught. I saw her little fingers dart out of a small tear in the screen of her window and toss out a handful of change:

            ping Chang chiing shinga ching
                        Ring ringping pangashing shing ching shinga
                                                Shck ping shk shick ping singring 
                                                            Ring     shing shk ring      ring   shk

I laughed with her, delighted at her playfulness, and so I sang her a song, and as I sang, she dropped coins, attempting to time it so that the coins bounced in rhythm with me. She made a game out of the music, and giggled every second. When it as my time to go on, I thanked her, gathered the change—she ensured that I did not miss a coin—and counted it all. She had thrown down four dollars and thirty seven cents in pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters. With a brand new joy, I walked in to play for the audience at the pub. I was given my free Godfather (Scotch and Ammaretto, my fave), and they applauded after I was finished. I found out later that the girl was Josephine Dix, the daughter of the owner, a troublemaker if there ever was one. She was three years old and she was already tearing holes in screens to throw things out at people. I have to say, I cannot wait until the day—to the dismay of her parents and all of the Ave Maria community—she discovers water balloons. It will probably be the greatest discovery of her childhood.

            I have to tell you, that I audience I had in Josephine, that moment that I stood, serenading a small child from below her window while she giggle and threw coins from a tear in her screen, was one of the most memorable shows I’ve ever played. Even though my drink was worth well more than $4.37, and the audience was far bigger in the pub, the highlight of the evening was Josephine.
            This got me thinking about charity and almsgiving. Whether Josephine went into her fathers wallet or smashed her own piggy bank in order to give me that moment, the gift she gave me was in the giving. There is nothing special or noteworthy about dropping a couple Washingtons and a Lincoln in the guitar case of a street performer. What would he do, I wonder, if you were to walk across the street to the hotdog vendor, buy him a chili cheese dog and drop it in his case (carefully of course). Or what if you dropped in an invitation to your house for dinner? Charity is most appreciated and most striking when it is creative.
            Saint Nicholas’ great charity is not remembered for the magnitude of what he gave, but because of how he gave it. There is one famous story of a man who was in debt to his landlord. His landlord threatened to take the man’s three daughters and sell them into prostitution to reconcile his debt. St. Nicholas, wanting to give an anonymous gift, dropped three bags of gold down the man’s chimney in the middle of the night. I can’t know exactly what that man’s morning must have been like, but I’d like to think it probably went something like this:

Imagine waking up, walking blearily eyed to the sink to slap some water on your face. You step on a coin.  You are confused, and that state of morning annoyance, you bend down to peal it off your bear skin, only to find several more coins littering your path. Your eyes follow the trail of gold as it glimmers in the light of a new day, all over the tile. Gold has spilled out over the ashes of your fireplace, and “pinged” and bounced and rolled into every, nook, and crack and hole of your life.

That must have been a powerful surprise. I can’t imagine “thank you” would have been quite enough to express the feeling.

But thank you, none the less, Josephine, for your joy, your charity, and your delight. I hope to emulate your kindness and adventurous spirit!

-Marcellino

1 comments:

My Thesis (First Post)

11:26 AM Marcellino DAmbrosio 4 Comments

            I thought it would be appropriate for the first post of this new blog to declare its purpose and its place in the world. I'll start with this. So many conversations I’ve had in the past year have followed this template:

Me-“So do you do anything artistic?”

Her- “um…. Well, I used to paint.”

Me- “What happened?”

Her- “I’m not sure. Just work I guess.”

This is just the saddest thing in the world to me. Our generation has been raised with our lives set out before us. We are told:
            “Follow your dreams! But only if those dreams are to go to school, get good grades, and be a respectable doctor or a lawyer, and then get married, live in a quaint little suburb with a white picket fence, have two kids and a dog, and then die.”
            - Our Society
And so we put away our love for beauty and our zest for life, we hand over all of life’s spontaneity in return for the keys to a new Mercedes and bank full of debt. It is no coincidence that C.S. Lewis portrayed hell as one sprawling suburban neighborhood in which everyone was constantly moving further and further away from one another. It was always cloudy, always rainy, and the roofs as solid as a screen door. Our lives are set before us, but in the end, it is a sad, grey life full of loneliness. Thus, this blog’s purpose is to awaken the child with us who dreams of greater things, with faith in our creator.
 In order to accomplish this, I will tell humorous anecdotes from my life (greatly exaggerated for your amusement and education), share poems and pictures and artwork, and all the beauty I see in life.

I hope that what I have to share will be appreciated as well as fought over. In the next few weeks, you have these themes to look forward too:

How you can literally say ANYTHING if you act like a foreigner, and how to get away with it.
How a little girl threw coins at me and how it changed my life.
How sports are ruining America, and Ave Maria University along with it.
WORST saint quotes of all time.

I will end with a favorite quote of mine that I hope will be a starting point for our symposium:
            “Prudence is a rich ugly old maid courted by incapacity.”
                                                                                    -William Blake

-Marcellino D'Ambrosio

4 comments:

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