The Silly Tim Tebow Controversy: Haters vs Hardliners

Tim Tebow, the Denver Broncos young starting quarterback, is joyful, grateful, cheerful and publicly singing the praises of his particular religious faith. So what’s all the fuss and disgruntled frustration about?

Not much, in my opinion. A tempest in an NFL teapot, and a dandy way for extremists to do what they do best: be extreme and a tad silly.

On the anti-religious extremist side are annoyed haters angry at Tebow’s frequent outbursts of religious fervor. Prime among that ugly ilk is a website, TebowHaters.com, that proudly spews stupidly disgusting bile about the smiling 24-year-old who was born in the Philippines to Baptist missionary parents.

Adding fuel to the raging Tebow fire, atheist comedian Bill Maher tactlessly tweeted after the Broncos lost to the Buffalo Bills, “Wow. Jesus just (expletive deleted) Tebow bad. And on Xmas Eve!”

Friends, haters act with hate. We know that. But like all Americans, haters have first amendments rights to freedom of speech in our great country. If they choose to define themselves through cruel and hate-laced words, why do you care? Ignore them. Tune them out. For your own mental health, let it go.

On the conservative-evangelical-or-bust side are Christian apologist extremists who reject the views of all who don’t pass their true-believer litmus tests. Commonly, true-believer hardliners demonize those who disagree with them, and idolize those who agree with them. And they simply can’t tolerate disagreement with their rigid beliefs.

Michael Medved, conservative Christian political commentator, lavishly illustrates in the Wall Street Journal laughably extremist idolatry of Mr. Tebow:

“… a remarkable athlete whose behavior on field and off exemplifies the values of hard work, fearlessness and concern for the downtrodden…

“So why should Tim Tebow draw more resentment than other religious athletes? In part, it stems from the fact that he’s too apparently flawless to evoke much sympathy from the uninitiated… most males look at Mr. Tebow and see a virtuous rebuke to our own limitations and imperfections.”

Idolizers and obsessive religious lionizers also have first amendments rights to freedom of speech in America, of course. Clearly, Tim Tebow is Michael Medved’s golden calf of the moment, as the football player is for thin-skinned others who especially revere Tebow’s public confessions of faith.

Again, who cares? Extremists are, well, extreme, whether their antics are hateful or downright dumb and nonsensical.

The reality about Tim Tebow is this: He’s joyful, grateful, cheerful and publicly singing the praises of his brand of religion. He’s also very young, and possibly not as mature as many 24-year-olds who’ve not focused the last 15 years of their lives on football.

Tim Tebow is an imperfect human being, a man with a feet of clay, just like the rest of us. In my view, he’s amply proved his imperfection in two mildly annoying ways:

  • By continually using every possible public forum to gush about his passion for Jesus Christ. We get the message. You’re a strong Christian, and you love the Lord.

    I agree with tongue-in-cheek advice from the controversial Saturday Night Live skit: Take it down a notch, Tim. After all, remember Matthew 6:5: “And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full.”

  • Conflating his joyous religious fervor, in TV commercials, with a powerful ultra-conservative political lobbying organization, Focus on the Family. Tebow flagrantly introduced politics into the discussion, not his critics. Tebow supporters shouldn’t whine because political opponents respond. It’s the way of American democracy and of American free speech.

So what’s a befuddled football aficionado to do if he detests being subjected to Tim Tebow’s frequent on-mike declarations of gratitude to Jesus Christ? Take a Doritos break. Grab another Corona. Turn off TV.

Or maybe watch. After all, Tim Tebow seems like a charismatic, watchable guy. “… a clean-living quarterback with deep commitments to charitable service” amid the NFL which unarguably is “generously stocked with forgiven felons, including millionaire wife beaters and dog killers,” in the words of Mr. Medved.

Lighten up! What’s not to like?

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Book Review: The Good, the Bad, the Greedy and Galling in Henrietta Lacks’ Story

Medical researchers are portrayed in bestselling nonfiction book The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot as usually self-serving, callous, and often greedy for fame and fortune.

And they are, from the perspective of unworldly, uneducated folks such as the ebullient Lacks clan from Clover, Virginia whose “family still farmed the tobacco fields their ancestors had worked as slaves.”

Physicians and researchers at Johns Hopkins Hospital who treated young wife and mother Henrietta, from diagnosis in 1949 to death in 1951, for a uniquely aggressive cancer were certainly driven by normal concerns for patient care. Mrs. Lacks’ hearty specimens, taken during treatment, were the world’s first cells to reproduce (“culture”) under controlled laboratory conditions.

The physicians and researchers were also energized by scientific curiosity, though… the sort of creative curiosity that pushed the U.S. medical community to the mid 20th-century forefront of life-saving breakthroughs in genetics, gene therapies and cancer research. Intrigued in the 1950s and beyond by new scientific frontiers, medical professionals at famed research institutions as Johns Hopkins competed ferociously to author the latest medical innovations.

As a result of the hectic, heated race for medical research discoveries, the needs and rights of individual patients and their families were largely forgotten or accorded low priority. Commented a lab assistant assigned to Mrs. Lacks’ autopsy, “Oh jeez, she’s a real person… it hit me for the first time that those cells we’d been working with all this time and sending all over the world, they came from a live woman.”

The New York Times explains the legacy of Henrietta Lacks’ cells, which are known as HeLa in medical lingo:

“After Henrietta Lacks’s death, HeLa went viral, so to speak, becoming the godmother of virology and then biotech, benefiting practically anyone who’s ever taken a pill stronger than aspirin. Scientists have grown some 50 million metric tons of her cells, and you can get some for yourself simply by calling an 800 number.

“HeLa has helped build thousands of careers, not to mention more than 60,000 scientific studies, with nearly 10 more being published every day, revealing the secrets of everything from aging and cancer to mosquito mating and the cellular effects of working in sewers.”

The Lacks family received no compensation for their family member’s sacrifice or contribution to scientific advances. Nothing. And no one can confidently attest that Henrietta knowingly or willingly donated her cells for research.

This fascinating book recounts several other tales of brilliant but greedy physicians associated with top medical centers who reaped millions in the 1980s and later by developing and selling genetic cell lines based on tissues taken from unsuspecting patients. Doubtlessly, patients have been cheated of sharing in profits stemming from medical research, especially since the advent of Big Pharma (i.e. the powerful pharmaceutical industry and its lobbyists).

Yes, some medical research pioneers and innovators can be uncomfortably self-serving, callous and greedy in their pursuit of bona fide miracles… just as all-too-human pioneers in any field, from the discoverers and explorers of America to the discoverers and explorers of cyberspace were often self-serving, callous and personally greedy.

But we need their discoveries. Their innovations. The fruits of their wise labors. Their miracles that advance human progress and better the lives of men, women and children.

I think of family and friends we’ve lost to cancer, loved ones who might have been spared terrible struggles and despair:

  • Prosie, 50-year-old wife and mother of two teenage boys, who didn’t grasp the severity of her rare hip joint cancer until too late
  • Pete, my 36-year-old co-worker who was accurately diagnosed with pancreatic cancer only days before his death, leaving behind a bewildered young wife and 1-year-old son
  • Meg, who triumphantly surpassed the five-year breast cancer survivor milestone, only to suffer mortal setback in year six
  • Diana, my former mother-in-law, who suffered mightily with lung cancer

I think of Walter who resides now in hospice care, losing his battle against catastrophic brain cancer.

They and their families would have traded the sun, the moon, the whole world for a cure… a cure that could be found only from long-term medical research by intelligent, driven, highly educated and experienced professionals who sometimes fall prey to personal imperfections.

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot is a surprisingly interesting, poignant and artful interweaving of humanity, medicine, the medical community and poverty laced with dollops of American history.

While I strongly recommend this book, please be cautioned that a vital aspect of the entire story has been omitted: that of the immense good accomplished and human suffering alleviated by American medical research.

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Film Review of “The Descendants” – Tragedy, Hilarity and Forgiveness in Hawaii

I can’t get the film “The Descendants” off my mind. Of course, as a film-school writing graduate, I’m prone to over-pondering film literary feats. But my admiration for this cinematic gem is more than the musings of a movie nerd.

I’m awed by the clever, tender writing of the film “The Descendants,” especially the witty story’s return again and again to the subtle theme of forgiveness in imperfect action. Patient forgiveness, thoughtful forgiveness, reliable forgiveness. Funny forgiveness. Irrational forgiveness. Conflicted forgiveness. Shouted forgiveness. Excruciatingly painful forgiveness. But never self-righteous or condescending forgiveness.

As the emotionally-clueless workaholic father of two daughters, “The Descendants” star George Clooney replaces his trademark swagger and sexy “Oceans Eleven”-smirk with the raw vulnerability and humble authenticity of a family man slammed, but ultimately not crushed, by the fabric of life.

The genius of this film’s marvelous script is that it elicits side-splitting audience laughter amid tragic events, and finds bittersweet sadness amid delightful comedic moments.

The wonder of “The Descendants” writing is that it inspires film goers to witness the loving and hurting sides of profoundly flawed people. And to feel Clooney’s mannered shock-and-awe and hilarious immaturity as he flounders to “keep his head above water,” as his character jokes.

Films and books often cling stubbornly to our thoughts because in them, we see ourselves. As I look back, I’ve never fully forgiven certain people… a couple family members, a former long-time friend, ex-husband… who caused me heartache and considerable heartburn. This film reminds me that I could certainly make, or have made, a better effort to care about their travails.

An interesting, under-noted aspect of Clooney’s character in “The Descendants” is that while he tenderly forgives imperfect others, he never asks for forgiveness nor seems to grasp that he played a key role in causing pain in his own life or that of others. Thus, despite growing closer to his spirited daughters, the father remains just as flawed as anyone else in this enchanting, thoroughly modern story.

Set entirely in lush Hawaii, and scored with graceful Hawaiian melodies.

Rated R for language, spoken mainly (and quite approrpriately) by the older, teenage daughter.

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To Laugh or Not to Laugh: Life and Death on a Golf Course

On the sunny day after Thanksgiving, the 63-year-old Director of Operations of Ron’s employer was relishing a lazy round of golf with two work buddies.

About mid-round, the hardworking, well-liked employee took a solid fairway swing. With nary a word or sound, he then slumped to the warming ground, dead from an apparent heart attack. His mystified friends rushed to his side, but he was beyond medical help.

The mood was somber at the 200-person office on Monday, of course. Employees sadly mourned their colleague of 23 years. But they also made discreet, light-hearted comments…

  • “What a way to go… Playing golf!”
  • “Hope his last shot was a good one.”
  • “That’s how I want to go: fast and playing golf. No suffering, except for my putting.”

I was offended at first when Ron told me about the post-death humor. Sort of. But then I wondered… is it always tasteless to joke out loud about death? Or does common decency ever permit us to distance ourselves from the fearful sting of death with laughter?

The deceased golfer died too young. By U.S. longevity statistics, he should have lived another 15 years. But a 63-year-old losing his life is not a terrible tragedy on the order of, say, a teenager succumbing to cancer, or a baby dying unexpectedly in her crib. The deceased enjoyed six decades of precious life, and was blessed with a wife, children, grandchildren and material comforts. He had his turn, albeit one cut a bit too short. But he was not cheated of life’s bounty.

His sudden death certainly feels like a tragedy to his family, especially to his physically disabled wife. Joking about their newly deceased loved one would be cruelly painful. And completely unpalatable and unacceptable.

But does squeamishness with death humor reflect humane decency on my part… or does it reflect undue personal discomfort with the subject of death? Out of fear, am I over-solemnizing that which is the natural culmination of life and part of God’s plan?

I don’t have answers and would love to hear your thoughts on the subject.

I do know, though, that as I grow ever closer to the age of the deceased golfer, the specter of death seems less like an distantly abstract concept, and more like not-so-distant reality rearing its dreaded head.

Employees lightly jesting about the golfer’s death feels wrongly disrespectful to me. But this feeling may be more about my shortcomings than theirs.

And, if I’m being completely honest, their clever remarks were kind of funny…

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Tattoo Barbie: Pink Hair, Body Art Are Least Offensive Features

A posse of protective parents is seething over “funky fashionista” Tattoo Barbie, a new Mattel doll inspired by Japanese art and anime.

Describes the Christian Science Monitor of the edgy-cute doll that was newly released for sale on October 13, 2011:

“The Tokidoki Barbie doll, created by Italian designer Simone Legno, sports a short pink bob, permanent Barbie doll tattoos covering her neck, chest, and shoulders, leopard print tights, and a black tunic top etched with Tokidoki’s heart-shaped skull and crossbones logo. She comes complete with sunglasses, a purse, and a little dog dressed as a cactus who goes by ‘Bastardino.’”

The parents, it seems, are riled up over the tattoos. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for little girls to be having Barbies with tattoos all over,” parent Reye Griffith told New York City station WCBS.

“‘It’s teaching kids to want tattoos before they are old enough to dress like that,’ Kevin Buckner, of Virginia, told a local television station,” per Reuters.

“Little girls will feel like they won’t be complete until they have pink hair and tattoos,” commented college sophomore Sarah Loftus to the University of Florida newspaper.

Never mind, apparently, that nothing about Mattel’s curvaceous Barbie is physically realistic or provides a fair or remotely achievable role model for pre-adolescent girls.

Never mind that, if Barbie was 5’9″, her proportional measurements would doom her with a 39″ bust, an 18″ waist, 33″ hips and a size 3 shoe. Reports CBS News:

“… when Galia Slayen, a Hamilton College student who once battled an eating disorder, tried to make an actual life-size Barbie, she was shocked at the result – a freakish woman with pencil-thin legs, breasts that threatened to topple her over, and a body mass index (BMI) that would put her squarely in the anorexia camp.”

Never mind that Barbie sports the makeup of a Nevada hooker… that she’s clothed in a fantasy wardrobe of couture ball gowns, skimpy beach wear, or cartoonish “career” frocks… that she’s accessorized with permanent spiky heels.

Barbie has far more in common with the slutty Britney Spears-like Bratz dolls (145 million sold!) than with Mattel’s upscale, politically-correct, parent-pleasing American Girl Collection.

A parent studying Barbie and finding fault mainly with the doll’s hair color and body art, most of which is hidden under her skullbones tunic, is a bit like complaining that deck-top musicians were playing off-key while the Titanic sank to the Atlantic Ocean’s dark, frigid depths.

Frankly, I think the pretty-in-pink hair and perfectly color-coordinated body art may be the least offensive features of Tattoo Barbie.

(Believe it or not, trendy Tattoo Barbie is hotly sought for holiday shopping. The initial first-edition 7,400 dolls sold out in days. Tattoo Barbie can be found at eBay and many toy stores, and can still be bought here at Amazon, Barbie Collector – Tokidoki Barbie Doll – Gold Label, at outrageous prices ranging from $599 to more than $800.

Seriously… The price might be the most offensive feature of Tattoo Barbie!)

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Freedom in Murder and Mayhem?

Unnerved, I couldn’t sleep last Thursday night. I kept pondering their shocking fates on that ordinary, sunny day.

Working and happily chattering with beloved friends. Savoring an hour of rejuvenation at the local beauty salon. Calling a friend before bounding out of a car.

Enjoying small pleasures one moment. Dead the next moment, murdered by an enraged, heavily-armed madman.

I could visualize this violent collision between everyday life and savage insanity. I could feel the raw horror… Each time my wearied eyes shut, defensive adrenaline freshly riddled my pulsing blood, and I startled again.

I pray for peace for their unimaginably anguished families. I pray for peace for the souls of the eight departed victims. I even pray for the depraved madman. Again, I pray to understand the mind and heart of God.

And I wonder why this country, alone among all first-world, industrialized, civilized nations, allows unfettered access to weapons of violence, murder, mayhem and destruction. And illogically calls that “freedom.”

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