A Beacon of Light

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  • My name is Kevin Carroll. I was born and raised in San Francisco, California, where I attended Saint Ignatius College Preparatory. I am a graduate of both Santa Clara University and the University of San Francisco. Following a 40-year career in teaching and pastoral ministry, I launched a new career as a writer and speaker.

    I live in San José, California. My wife, Kathy, and I have three adult sons and five precious grandchildren. I have much for which to be grateful.

    I can be reached via email at kmc43sjc@gmail.com

    My books are available for purchase online from Amazon. I also have copies of some of these titles at my home for those who would like to buy them directly from me.

    A Moment’s Pause for Gratitude  (2017)

    Cherries in the Summer  (2021)

    The Ambassador of 38th Avenue  (2022)

    Dad: 12 Questions…  (2023)

    A Focus on Gratitude  (2024)

    Through the Lens of Gratitude  (2024)

    A Bahamian Odyssey (2026)

  • Proud Beyond Measure

    “You cannot live a perfect day  
    without doing something for someone  
    who will never be able to repay you.” 
    ~ John Wooden

    Michael Pelikan was a student at Saint Lawrence Academy when I first started working there in 1984. I never taught him, but I knew him quite well. His parents were the couple who led Kathy and me through the parish Marriage Preparation Program, so we spent many hours at his home. He was a kid who always impressed me, as did his father. In his free time, Mike’s Dad would venture out on his own into San José to spend time with the homeless, bring them food and supplies, and do whatever he could to make sure they had what they needed to survive. He treated each one of these individuals as the human being they were.

    Today, I read this post on Facebook by Michael. The teacher who inspired him, Mr. Cedell Clayton, was the class act of Saint Lawrence Academy. He cared about his students. He cared about the school. He lived a life of integrity. Although I understood his reasons for doing so, I was saddened when he left Saint Lawrence Academy to take a job at San Mateo High School. It was an honor for me to work with him for so many years.

    Here’s Michael’s story in his words: 

    Back in high school, I had an inspirational teacher, coach, and role model. Reflecting back, he was a monumental force in building the foundation of who I am today. As is common with most people, after graduation, I lost contact with him and have never had the opportunity to tell him what he means to me and the impact that he made on my life.

    The lessons he imparted, both academic and life-related, the compassion he showed, and his unwavering belief in his students are aspects of high school that have stayed with me. He was more than just a teacher; he was a guiding light, inspiring everyone to become better individuals.

    On May 10, 2022, I received a Facebook message from a classmate. My teacher was very sick and in dire need of a kidney transplant. With tears in my eyes, I put down my glass of Jack and made a commitment right then and there that I would do anything in my power to help the person who was so formative in my life.

    Over the course of the past year, I have not had a drink, lost 40 pounds, dedicated myself to health and exercise, had close to 100 medical tests, and flown to San Francisco three times.

    Amazingly, back in December, I was matched to him as a kidney donor. The medical team was in shock — the odds of being a direct match were 1% of 1%.

    Ever since that time, I have been waiting for the call; a call that my teacher was medically cleared and that we could proceed.

    On Tuesday, May 23rd, I will be donating a kidney to my Saint Lawrence Academy teacher, Cedell Clayton.

    I am excited about having the opportunity to help a fellow human being, but especially so since I am able to hopefully extend the life of an amazing man who has meant so much to me. The next weeks and months will not be easy for me. I will be out of work for 4–8 weeks. Given the amount of preparation that I have dedicated to the procedure, the doctors are hopeful that it will be on the shorter side, but time will tell.

    This decision aligns with the values Mr. Clayton instilled in me: to care for and help others in any way we can. I know the coming weeks and months will be challenging, but I am prepared for what’s ahead, and more importantly, hopeful for Mr. Clayton’s future.

    I wanted to share this with you, as I believe it’s a testament to the lasting impact Mr. Clayton and all my teachers / mentors / friends / family / etc. have had on me: to care, to give, and to make a difference in the lives of others, no matter how big or small that difference might be. I want you to look back and hopefully identify somebody that has shaped you. Reach out to them and let them know. I am truly grateful that I have had the opportunity to let my role model know what he has meant to me.

    I love you all and ask that each of you look for ways to share the love that you have for those around you. Please keep Mr. Clayton, all our loved ones, and me in your thoughts.

  • Stay Tuned…

    “There is no greater agony than 
    bearing an untold story inside you.” 
    ~ Maya Angelou

    Dad is now available on Amazon, and just in time for Father’s Day 2023. There is a sense of accomplishment in having published four books. To the best of my knowledge, none of the books are being considered for prizes in literature, but I’m totally okay with this. The Gratitude book fulfilled a bucket list item for me. It also provided an opportunity for me to share my passion for gratitude with the larger community. The Cherries book was a delightful surprise. Working in collaboration with 12-year-old illustrator Vivian Nguyen was an absolute joy. The Ambassador book allowed me to share some of the more important life lessons I’ve learned in my lifetime, and the experiences through which I learned those lessons. And Dad, a question-and-answer book, has given me the chance to share information regarding my thoughts and experiences of fatherhood which will outlast me.

    I honestly believed that Dad would be my last book. Strangely, just days after it was published, I had an idea for another book. I have no doubt that I will write it. Whether I publish it or not remains to be seen.

    This next book will be, by far, the most emotionally challenging book I’ve written. It will require a good deal of time and research. It will motivate me to reflect and to speculate on the past 33 years. It will involve both fiction and non-fiction. I’m not exactly sure why I didn’t think about writing this story prior to this, but now that I have thought of it, I realize that the words of Maya Angelou quoted above are quite poignant. The story I have inside me is one which absolutely must be told.

  • The Art of the Soul

    “This is the art of the soul: 
    to harvest your deeper life 
    from all the seasons 
    of your experience.”
    ~ John O’Donohue

    There’s a cute little saying: “Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift. That’s why we call it ‘the present.’” Living in the present is what we are all called to do, yet so many seem to get stuck in their past, while still others are overwhelmed with the stress of worrying about the future. It is a special gift to live in the present moment. Despite this, our past, our history, can still be a gold mine for nourishing our soul.

    Some might disagree when I say that I don’t live in the past. I wholeheartedly embrace the present, yet I often speak and write about the past. How often do I mention growing up in San Francisco? How often do I mention having attended Saint Ignatius College Prep or Santa Clara University? How often do I write about my one-year experience teaching in the Bahamas? Yes, these are recurring themes in my writing and in my speech, which may understandably lead some to believe that I’m living in the past. 

    John O’Donohue’s statement above is powerful. Many of the experiences of my past were unexpected. Many of the experiences of my past were life-changing. Many of the experiences of the past nourished my soul, and contributed significantly to who I am today. Why would I not be eager to look back and “harvest the deeper meaning of life” through those amazing adventures? 

    Like anything else in life, balance is the key. Too much of anything can be detrimental to our physical or mental health. When it comes to the focus on our lives, it is true that a preoccupation with the past would be unhealthy. Similarly, to be obsessed with the future, fearful of what it may bring, would indicate a mental health concern which may need to be addressed. The concept of living in the present moment is positive, healthy, and admirable. This, however, does not preclude us from having a conscious awareness of the blessings of our past and acknowledging how those blessings enrich our present.

    One thing for which I have been, and continue to be tremendously grateful is the gift of a good memory. I remember details of things that happened many years ago. This enables me to use this treasure chest of past memories to nourish my soul even to this day. Whether I’m writing or speaking, connecting the experiences of my past with the affairs of the present day is beneficial to me, and hopefully to my readers.

  • Curried Goat

    “There’s more to life than basketball. 
    The most important thing is your family 
    and taking care of each other 
    and loving each other no matter what.”
    ~ Steph Curry

    I must begin tonight’s blog post with an admission: I am not a fan of professional basketball. I could write at length about the reasons for my disillusionment with the game, but that’s not what I want to focus on tonight. I’d like to take a few minutes to reflect upon the past nine years.

    As a child growing up in San Francisco, I was a bit saddened that the San Francisco Giants had never won a World Series since moving to The City from New York. I was a bit embarrassed to see the San Francisco 49ers always coming up short at the end of the regular season. And I was disappointed that the San Francisco Warriors (before their move to Oakland) weren’t as good as the Boston Celtics. That was the reality of my childhood. San Francisco professional sports teams were not winners.

    Things began to change… slowly… when I was 21 years old. The Golden State Warriors faced the Washington Bullets in the 1975 NBA finals. The Warriors dominated the championship tournament, disposing of the Bullets in four games. The Bay Area finally had a professional championship team… for one brief season.

    In 1982, the San Francisco 49ers knocked off the Cincinnati Bengals in Super Bowl XVI. The Bay Area had a Super Bowl champion! Unlike the Warriors, the 49ers had a good run for thirteen years, winning four more Super Bowls in 1985, 1989, 1990, and 1995. For the first time in San Francisco Bay Area history, the word “dynasty” was being used to refer to one of our professional sports teams. 

    In the fall of 2010, the San Francisco Giants finally won a World Series title, dominating the Texas Rangers four games to one. Two years later, in 2012, another scrappy underdog Giants’ team earned a berth in the Fall Classic against the favored Detroit Tigers. The Giants took them down in four games. Again in 2014, the Giants played in a hard-fought World Series against the Kansas City Royals. The season came down to a crucial game seven, in which Giants’ pitcher Madison Bumgarner came out of the bullpen to shut the Royals down in the last few innings. It was incredible. Again, the word “dynasty” was used to refer to the Giants’ successful run.

    Just a year after the Giants’ third title in five years, the Golden State Warriors emerged as a force in the NBA. In 2015, the Warriors took down the Cleveland Cavaliers in six games. In 2016, after taking a commanding 3-1 lead in the NBA Finals, the Warriors lost to the Cavaliers in seven games. Golden State returned to their winning ways, winning NBA titles in both 2017 and 2018. Then, after a chaotic pandemic-impacted period, the Warriors returned to the Finals in 2022, defeating the Boston Celtics in six games. Again, the word “dynasty” accompanied any discussion of the Golden State Warriors. 

    In my childhood, when I thought of professional football, I thought of the Green Bay Packers. In baseball, it was the New York Yankees who dominated the Major Leagues. And in basketball, it was all about the Boston Celtics. Dynasties come and go. After the Warriors loss to the Lakers in the Western Conference semifinals last week, a number of media “experts” are boldly stating that the Warriors’ dynasty is over. They may be right, but did these talking heads forget that it was just one year ago that Golden State won their most recent NBA title?

    I don’t care who wins the NBA title this year. To be honest, I didn’t care who would win it last year, either, though as a native San Franciscan, I was happy to see the Warriors come out on top. Yes, Golden State is no longer in contention for this year’s title. Despite this, and despite the fact that they had, compared to pre-season expectations, a dismal season, the Warriors provided some excellent entertainment this year. There were so many amazing performances by Klay Thompson, Jordan Poole, Kevon Looney, Draymond Green, and Andrew Wiggins. Their athleticism was a joy to watch. But then,… there’s Steph Curry. What can be said about this future Hall of Fame player who has worked his magic with the Warriors since playing his college ball at Davidson College in North Carolina? Seriously! Davidson College!

    Curry has single-handedly changed the game of professional basketball. To be honest, I’m not sure I like the change. I’m not at all impressed when I see teams bring the ball up court and someone fires off a 3-pointer with 18 seconds remaining on the shot clock. Yes, many 3-point shots go through the hoop, but most do not. The strategic game of basketball, as coached by legends such as John Wooden at UCLA, relied on two significant factors: (1) mastering the basic fundamentals of the game and (2) incorporating the talent of all five players on the court working together as a team. For the most part, this seems to be a lost art in professional basketball.

    Getting back to Steph Curry, there has been much debate online this past season regarding which player in NBA history is the GOAT (Greatest of All Time). It seems that LeBron James has a public relations firm promoting his bid for that coveted title. Personally, when one considers every aspect of the game — offense, defense, assists, rebounds, teamwork, clutch performances, mastery of basic fundamentals, attitude, and grit — Michael Jordan would get my vote for the GOAT of those who played in my adult lifetime. But what about all those who played the game prior to 1972? Surely some of them should be considered in the discussion, but they won’t be. They won’t be considered because the game of basketball today cannot be compared to the game of basketball prior to 1972. It’s just different. The players are different. Physical conditioning options are different. Even the rules of the game, many of which have not changed in the rule book, are applied by game officials differently today than in years past.

    Just as I don’t care who wins the 2023 NBA title, I don’t care who people consider to be the greatest player of all time. What I do know, is that since Steph Curry joined the Warriors in 2009, he has been a joy to watch. His ability to fire off 3-point shots from just about anywhere on the court is amazing. His ability to drive the lane through much bigger opponents and lay the ball up for a basket is magical. And his uncanny ability to pass the ball, in any direction, to a teammate who is open is almost unbelievable.

    Is the Warriors dynasty over? Those so-called experts, who continue to present their opinions as facts, may want to think so. Only time will determine whether or not they are correct. And if they are,… oh, what a ride it’s been.

  • What’s In a Name?

    “Your name is the most 
    important thing you own. 
    Don’t ever do anything 
    to disgrace or cheapen it.”
    ~ Ben Hogan

    In early May 1986, Kathy and I experienced the birth of our first son. We named him Thomas. My paternal grandfather’s name was Thomas. My father’s name was Thomas. My brother’s name is Thomas. And one of Kathy’s brothers’ name is Thomas. Everyone seemed to approve of the name selection. For the first ten years of his life, we called him Tommy, and he seemed to be okay with it. When he got to fifth grade, however, he informed me that he would like to be called Tom in the future. No problem, as that’s what we called all the others in the family with the same name.

    In early May 1988, Kathy and I returned to Kaiser Hospital in Santa Clara for the birth of our second son. We named him Stephen. Kathy has a cousin named Stephen, but that did not play a part in our selection of the name. We just liked the name. Unfortunately, every now and then, people would either mispronounce his name (Ste’-fon) or misspell it (Steven). There is a reason we chose the spelling we did. Throughout his life, we’ve called him Steve. He seemed to be okay with it.

    In late March 1992, Kathy and I ventured over to Kaiser once again, this time for the birth of our third son. We named him Brendan. Like the name Stephen, we just liked the name. The only other Brendan I know of in the family is one of the sons of one of my cousins. Sadly, mispronunciations and misspellings would plague Brendan throughout his life, as well. Some would call him Brandon. Some would spell the name Brendon. This never seemed to be a problem for Brendan. He just took it in stride. Every now and then, mostly at home, we might refer to him as Bren, but more often than not, the name Brendan was used. 

    It is not coincidental that all three of the boys’ names are names of saints in the Church. Before we had any children, Kathy and I agreed that they would all receive the name of a saint. There are three saints with the name Thomas: Thomas the Apostle, Thomas Aquinas, and Thomas More. Kathy and I chose Tom’s patron saint to be Saint Thomas Aquinas. It’s interesting, because when he was a student in school, Thomas Aquinas was mocked for his ignorance, even to the point of being referred to as “the dumb ox.” In later years, he went on to be one of the greatest theologians in the history of the Catholic Church. No doubt, Tom’s classmates and teachers would be surprised and impressed by what he has achieved in his professional life.

    Saint Stephen was the first Christian martyr. He was stoned to death for spreading Christianity in the Roman Empire. For that reason, one might think it humorous to learn that he is the patron saint of bricklayers! That should not go unnoticed in regards to our son, Steve. A bricklayer must be patient, precise, strong, efficient, and have a clear vision and understanding of what he is building. Our son, Steve, certainly has all these traits.

    Saint Brendan, whose feast day we celebrate today, was born in Fenit, Ireland, located on a peninsula just west of Tralee in the south of Ireland. A priest and monk, Brendan established monasteries in Ireland and Scotland. He is the patron saint of sailors. It is believed that he was the first European to set foot in North America around the year 520. Saint Brendan had a reputation for being fearless, as he ventured out into uncharted waters and in uncertain conditions. Our son, Brendan displays similar qualities. He, too, has explored a variety of opportunities with courage, confidence, and competence.

    So what’s in a name? Quite a bit, perhaps, if you take the time to do the research. 

  • Book #4: “Dad”

    “I believe that what we become 
    depends on what our fathers teach us 
    at odd moments, when they aren’t 
    trying to teach us.”
    ~ Umberto Eco

    In the right-hand photo above, you’ll see a yellow Post-It note with the date May 15. I placed that note prominently at my desk two months ago. I had an idea for another book. I set a timeline for myself. Then I got to work writing the book. Dad: 12 Questions Every Father Should Answer for His Adult Children is now available on Amazon. Right on time.

    A psychotherapist from Berkeley, California, Michael Ceely, was interviewed for a magazine article about the relationship between fathers and sons. It can be a complicated relationship, because when both are doing their job, conflict is inevitable. One of the developmental tasks of the transition between adolescence and young adulthood involves the quest for autonomy. The son seeks to make it clear, to himself and to his father, that he is his own person, and that he is capable of making important decisions on his own. Dad’s job, on the other hand, is to provide boundaries and limits for his son, with the goal of not allowing the young man to jeopardize his future with reckless decisions. One can easily see how this might be problematic in some father-son relationships.

    In the magazine article, Ceely shared twelve questions that every father should answer for his adult sons. Having read through the twelve questions, and Ceely’s explanation for why each was important, I set out to respond to the questions for my own three sons. In doing so, I realized that these questions are no less significant for adult daughters.

    Some of the questions were fairly easy to answer. I did my best to be as open and honest as I could possibly be. At least one of the questions caused me to duck and cover,… at first. The question asked for me to share something that, out of respect for my three boys, I am simply not willing to share. I explain this in the book. Then I go on to respond to a version of the question.

    The process of answering these twelve questions was, for the most part, not difficult for me. I’ve been a pretty open book with my boys. Throughout their lives, I’ve shared many stories about my own successes and failures with them. Despite this, there is information in the book which they will be hearing for the first time.

    My hope in publishing Dad is to encourage other men to reflect upon and answer these twelve questions for their own adult children. And for those whose father is still alive, to invite your Dad to reflect upon and respond to the questions. With Father’s Day a little more than a month away, this book would make a perfect gift.

  • Saying Goodbye

    “No one you love 
    is ever truly lost.” 
    ~ Ernest Hemingway

    When I received my class rosters prior to the first day of teaching at St. Augustine’s College in Nassau, I had no idea that one of the students on those lists would become a lifelong friend. Kim Brohier was in one of my 10th grade classes. Since Religious Studies classes at SAC met only twice each week, I had quite a few different groups of students, about 250 in all. Getting to know that many students, while seeing them only twice a week, was a challenge. Despite this obstacle, I was able to make positive connections with a number of my students.

    When the 1974-75 academic year ended, and I returned to California, I kept in touch with several of my students and former colleagues via postal mail. The internet and email were not yet available, and the Bahamian post office was a reliable agency for delivering the mail. That’s not the case today. By the year 2000, most correspondence was done by email, though Kim was a prolific writer of handwritten notes. Her penmanship was perfect, and the cards and stationery she used reflected her artistic flair. After the collapse of the Bahamian postal system, Kim resorted to email and, in later years, Facebook for communication.

    I’ve had the opportunity to visit Nassau several times since my year at SAC — 1979, 1981, 1985, and again in 2006. Not surprisingly, I got together with Kim for a meal or visit each time. In 1981, Kim and I celebrated her 21st birthday with dinner at The Wharf Restaurant in Nassau. In 1999, Kim and her husband, Simon, along with their then 11-year-old son, Dana, visited us here in San José. Kathy and I joined them for a delightful dinner at Alfred’s Restaurant in The City. To allow Kim and Simon to enjoy an adults-only excursion to the wine country, Dana stayed with us for a few days. 

    Kim and I knew each other for almost 50 years! When each of us got married, our spouses embraced our friendship. I received a message from Kim on Saturday, March 11th informing me that her doctor had told her it was time for her to put her affairs in order. Kim had been battling cancer for several years. It wasn’t easy for her, but she continued to remain optimistic. When her doctor told her, “It’s time to get ready,” she knew she’d given it her best fight.

    With Kathy’s blessing, I flew down to Nassau on March 18th to visit Kim one last time. On Sunday, the 19th, I spent two hours with Kim and Simon. It was bittersweet. Of course, I enjoyed seeing them, but knowing that Kim’s days were numbered weighed on my heart. I returned home on Saturday, the 25th.

    We continued to correspond via Facebook messages, but while mine were typed, Kim began sending voice messages, as she simply did not have the energy to type her words. With each new voice message I received, I could hear the increasing weakness in her voice. Two weeks ago, the messages I received were from Simon. I knew the end was near.

    Kim passed away this morning at 6:40 EDT. I saw the message from Simon a few minutes ago. When we visited in March, Kim told me she didn’t want to linger or to be an inconvenience to anyone. She didn’t, and she wasn’t. She will be missed.   

  • With Gratitude

    “Constant attention by a good nurse
    may be just as important 
    as a major operation 
    by a surgeon.”

    ~ Dag Hammarskjöld

    Other than the time of my birth, I’ve been fortunate to have avoided frequent hospital stays. In my early elementary school years, I had my tonsils removed at Saint Mary’s Hospital in San Francisco. In the pediatric unit at that time, I don’t recall there being a “call button” to summon a nurse. What I do recall is that the young boy in the bed opposite mine in the 8-bed ward was constantly yelling, “Nurse! Nurse!” day and night. While it may have been annoying, I couldn’t be upset with him. He was suffering from severe burns over much of his body. The poor kid was in constant pain. The nursing staff responded to his call every time.

    In my sophomore year of high school, I had all four impacted wisdom teeth removed. The oral surgeon required that the procedure be done at Saint Mary’s Hospital. I had only one roommate for this three-day visit. He, too, was a student from Saint Ignatius who was also having his wisdom teeth extracted. I don’t recall ever needing to call a nurse.

    In June 1971, just a week after the conclusion of my junior year at S.I., I found myself back in Saint Mary’s Hospital with an infected blood clot in my left ankle. Apparently, it was much worse than I thought it was. My Mom happened to notice that I was favoring my left leg and asked me what was wrong. I tried to blow it off, but she insisted on looking at it. Next stop: the emergency room at Saint Mary’s Hospital. This time, I was in for a full 10-day visit. This hospital experience was unlike the previous one. I was in a room alone, and for a long time. 

    I recall the daytime nurses being pretty good, though I doubt that I ever expressed my gratitude to them. The nighttime nurse, however, reminded me of the wicked witch of the west. She would fly into my room in the middle of the night, wake me up, tell me to roll over, and then stick a needle in one of my butt cheeks. This happened every night for the first week. One night, however, things were different.

    Having been in bed for so long, I was uncomfortable. My body ached, especially my lower back. I was having a difficult time sleeping, so I turned on the television. Around 2:00 a.m., the door to my room opened. I expected the witch,… um, I mean the nurse. Much to my surprise, the nurse who walked into the room was young, attractive, and quite friendly. She asked me why I was awake at such an hour. I told her about my aches and pains. She had me turn over for my shot, but then told me she would be right back.

    When she returned to the room, she was holding a bottle of lotion. She explained that long hospital stays often result in body soreness. She instructed me to roll over. She untied the top of my fashionable hospital gown and began to apply lotion to my back and shoulders. For about fifteen minutes, she gave me a massage I have never forgotten, and we talked as though we were long lost friends. Needless to say, I thanked her profusely.

    Unfortunately, that was the only night she visited my room. Now, fifty-two years later, I still remember her, and I’m grateful for her compassion, her professionalism, and for going above and beyond the call of duty to make one patient feel special. I’m also grateful to know that this nurse will have the opportunity to read this blog post, as I am Facebook friends with her sister.  

  • He Got Me!

    “A sense of humor is the ability  
    to understand a joke  
    — and that the joke is oneself.”  
    ~ Clifton Paul Fadiman

    On a sunny San Francisco day in the early 1970s, one of my best high school buddies and I went for a bike ride. I had purchased a Raleigh Grand Prix 10-speed touring bike with money I received for my 16th birthday, so I appreciated any opportunity to ride around San Francisco. I would often ride through Golden Gate Park, up to Twin Peaks, or down into Glen Canyon, just below O’Shaughnessy Boulevard. On this particular day, however, the plan was to ride our bikes across the Golden Gate Bridge and down the hill into Sausalito. 

    The ride across the bridge was memorable. I’d crossed the span many times in a car, but this was my first experience on a bicycle. When we got to the Marin County side of the bridge, we continued down Alexander Avenue to where it turns left and becomes South Street in Sausalito. In just a block or two, the road turns to the right and becomes 2nd Street. After three short blocks, the main flow of the traffic turns right again onto Richardson Street. Just a block down Richardson, the road curves to the left for the drive into downtown Sausalito along Bridgeway, right along the water of San Francisco Bay. It’s a beautiful drive in a car or on a bike. But when we got to the intersection of 2nd and Richardson, my buddy, Bob, told me to turn left onto Richardson. We went one block to 3rd Street and stopped. Apparently, Bob had an uncle who lived on this street. It was a fairly steep slope uphill.

    At the time, I don’t think I’d ever really given much thought to how competitive boys are, but I would soon find out. Bob looked toward the top of the hill and said, “I’ll race you to the top!” Challenge on! We both took off, struggling to get our bikes going up the incline. I shifted gears and found one that seemed to work for me. Without ever looking back, I pumped those pedals as hard as I could, right up to the top of the hill. At that point, I looked back. Bob was standing on the sidewalk in front of a house just three houses up from Richardson Street, and he was laughing uncontrollably.

    Yes, that’s where his uncle lived. Not knowing this, of course, I took the bait and raced him to the top of the hill quite unnecessarily. I had to admit… he got me!

    If I didn’t enjoy riding my bike so much, I might have been upset. Instead, I realized that Bob had pulled-off a very successful practical joke and I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. 

    Those were some good days. A day out bike riding, alone or with a friend, was always better than a day sitting in the classroom. My bicycle became my constant companion in those years, and served as my primary source of transportation, even through my first two years of college. I had no problem understanding Sir Arthur Conan Doyle when he wrote, “When the spirits are low, when the work becomes monotonous, when hope hardly seems worth having, just mount a bicycle and go out for a spin down the road, without thought on anything but the ride you are taking.” 

  • Hope

    “Hope is being able to see 
    that there is a light 
    despite all of the darkness.” 
    ~ Bishop Desmond Tutu

    I once heard that the word HOPE is actually an acronym: Have Only Positive Expectations. I guess there’s something to be said for this. The dictionary tells us that hope is a feeling that what we want to achieve can actually be achieved, or that a situation confronting us will turn out for the best. Hope is also a virtue. It helps us navigate the rough waters of some of life’s most difficult times.

    I hope to get myself back into good physical condition by the start of 2024. I hope to complete the manuscript of my next book by the end of this week. I hope the Golden State Warriors continue to work their magic in the NBA playoffs. I hope my two older sons, Tom and Steve, enjoy wonderful celebrations of their birthdays this week. I hope warmer weather return to the San Francisco Bay Area.

    I hope for a peaceful and timely resolution to the conflict between Russia and the Ukraine. I hope that those who lack food and clean drinking water will soon find their needs being adequately met. I hope that people will soon realize that the fatherless epidemic in our country is one of the root causes of poverty and violence in our cities. I hope that government leaders can move beyond partisan politics to address the pressing issues of our day with a genuine concern for the common good.

    I hope the Catholic Church recognizes the valuable contributions women make to the Church and allow them to assume greater responsibility in Church leadership, including ordained ministry. I hope that parish priests are called to the same level of accountability as lay teachers in Catholic schools when it comes to the preparation and presentation of their homilies. I hope that the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops encourages the hiring of qualified lay pastoral leaders to serve as parish administrators, thus allowing priests, many of whom lack the desire and skills required for parish leadership, to do what they were ordained to do.

    Today, May 1st, has been designated International Day of Hope. While it’s nice to devote this day to highlighting the importance of being hopeful in our world today, just one day out of the calendar year simply isn’t going to make a sufficient difference. We are called to be hopeful every day, despite what Bishop Tutu refers to in the quote above as “all of the darkness” we see in our world today. I am confident that previous generations, many of them, in fact, struggled with staying hopeful amid the chaos of the world around them at the time. We, too, are called to remain hopeful, confident that things will get better.