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)

  • “And on the 7th day…”

    “Do not let your  
    Sundays be taken  
    from you.”   
    Albert Schweitzer

    Today is the second Sunday of 2026. As I mentioned last week, one of my goals for the new year is to reclaim Sundays as a sacred day. There are a variety of definitions for the word “sacred” in the dictionary:

    1. Devoted or dedicated to some religious purpose;
    2. Entitled to veneration;
    3. Pertaining to religion;
    4. Reverently dedicated to some person, purpose, or object;
    5. Regarded with reverence.
    6. Secured against violation or infringement;
    7. Properly immune from interference:
    8. Worthy or regarded with respect.

    So what do I mean when I say that I want Sundays to be sacred for me? Well, there are many ways I can do this which encompass several of these definitions.

    Growing up in a Catholic family, Sundays meant going to Mass. After high school, as is so common with graduates who move out of their parents’ home to attend college, I got in the habit of not attending Sunday Mass for a while. When I did go to church, it was usually because the Sunday night Mass at Santa Clara University was as much a social event as a spiritual one. 

    Throughout my life, even though I attended Mass more often than not, there were a few periods when Mass attendance was rare for me. Then I found myself working for the Catholic Church, and attendance at Sunday Mass was part of my job. Was it a sacred experience? Honestly, most of the time, it was work.

    By 2013, I had become so disillusioned with the Church, especially at the local level, that I stopped going to Mass altogether. So how does one make Sunday sacred if not attending church services?

    Making Sundays different than the other six days of the week is a good starting point. Beginning this year, I’m not writing on Sundays. (I’m writing this blog article on Saturday night). I’m going to engage in self-care more often on Sundays. This will include taking walks, reading, visiting with friends, spending time with family, or doing anything else that does not involve my laptop or my cell phone. In fact, there’s no reason for me to have my cell phone with me at all on Sundays.

    I can also make an extra effort to look for opportunities to be kind to people. This is something I try to do every day, but I could be even more attentive to these opportunities on Sundays.

    Most important of all, I can spend more time than I usually do reflecting on the people, things, events, opportunities, and memories for which I have to be grateful. For me, this is best done setting aside periods of solitude. Whether I go to a park, Hakone Gardens in Saratoga, the beach, Lake Vasona in Los Gatos, or to a coffee shop in a neighborhood where it is unlikely that I’ll run into anyone I know, immersing myself in solitude enables me to better focus on the many blessings in my life.

    In 2026, my commitment to myself is to conscientiously do everything within my power to embrace the words of Albert Schweitzer and minimize the possibility of anyone taking my Sunday away from me.

  • Success

    “Success isn’t about 
    money or fame. 
    Success is living a life 
    you feel proud of.” 
    Jonathan Huie

    My focus on gratitude was put to a test on Thursday afternoon. I found myself at a park in Cupertino with two of my grandkids. We chose the park based on its proximity to my granddaughter’s school. When we pulled into the parking lot at the park, I paused to look around the neighborhood. On two sides of the park were multi-million dollar homes. They were immense. They were gorgeous. The cars parked in the driveways of those homes were exactly what one would expect to see sitting in the driveways of such an expensive pieces of property. For a moment, a very brief moment, I felt the twinge of envy.

    Wouldn’t it be nice to live in such a home? Wouldn’t it be nice to live in a secluded, upscale neighborhood where kids can walk home from school unaccompanied by a parent and then leave their home to spend an afternoon at the park without adult supervision? I felt as though I were on the set of a movie.

    Despite the brief distraction, it didn’t take long for me to regain my senses. While there is a real possibility that the residents in those homes are happy and content, perhaps even grateful for all they have, I’m well aware that what happens inside the walls of homes of any price range are not always ideal. I’m also aware that the cost, in terms of time spent in the workplace and stress associated with one’s career, might also have been overwhelming.

    Society, it seems, continues to judge one’s success by where people live, what type of car they drive, where they travel and how often, where they eat when they dine out, how they dress, the brand name on their wristwatch, and so many other inconsequential factors. This is why I chose to quote Jonathan Lockwood Huie today. He gets it!

    If the owners or residents of those upscale Cupertino homes are living a life they are proud of, then yes, I consider them to be successful. I just wonder how many of them spend so much time at work, or carry so much daily stress, that they simply don’t have the time, energy, or ability to enjoy the incredible living situation they’ve bought into.

    Teaching and serving in various pastoral ministry roles in the Church was something I enjoyed immensely, until I didn’t. It was something I felt called to do. The various roles I undertook allowed me to share my gifts and my passions with my students and others in the community. It’s unfortunate that the financial compensation for working in ministry pales in comparison to what people make today in the Silicon Valley high tech world. I would like to believe that teachers make as much of a difference in the world, if not more, than an engineer in any high tech firm. 

    I knew, from the very beginning of my career, that I was entering a profession that would not make me financially wealthy. I’m not complaining about my compensation package at all. I am extraordinarily grateful for the simple home we own. I am thankful for the cars we drive and the various items we possess, even though most of those things were previously owned. Do people around me consider me to be successful? That’s not for me to decide, nor is it of any interest to me. Do I consider myself to be a success? Yes, I do, because I’m proud of my accomplishments and of the positive difference I’ve made in the lives of countless people.

    A.M.D.G.  

     

  • Pure Magic

    “Grandchildren don’t 
    make a man feel old; 
    it’s the knowledge  
    that he’s married  
    to a grandmother.” 
    G. Norman Collie

    It has been said that something magical happens when parents turn into grandparents. It’s absolutely true. I have been a “Papa” for more than eleven years now. As of this writing, I have five grandkids, ages 11, 8, 5, 4, and almost 2. From the very start, I have been amazed at the magical nature of having grandkids. Now, even after more than a decade, the magic continues day by day.

    Kathy took Henry to the local public library yesterday. They picked up a dinosaur play kit and a few books. Not surprisingly given his age, Henry is fascinated with dinosaurs. He’s not at the point where he can distinguish a stegosaurus from a triceratops yet, but I expect that he will be able to do so in the not-too-distant future. While eating his lunch after returning from the library,  Henry wanted to be sure that all the dinosaurs were well-fed. Then, at nap time, he took one of the reptiles to bed with him. He slept soundly for two hours.

    In the afternoon, we went to the park. We left all the dinosaurs from the library at home, but that didn’t stop Henry from imagining that he was playing with a friendly one while climbing on the play equipment. His imagination is incredible, as are his Papa’s AI skills!

    It is unsettling to observe that unlike my generation, when, as kids, we played outside, created our own games, made up our own rules, and thrived on putting our imaginations to work, so many kids today are already addicted to hand-held digital devices which keep them entertained, but fail to promote the development of their imagination skills. To see an almost two-year-old playing at a park for an hour and a half without stopping to complain that he’s bored is a true blessing. Henry moved seamlessly from one piece of play equipment to another, thoroughly enjoying himself the entire time.

    Yes, there is a magical component to the variety of activities in which one may engage using a hand-held device, but it pales in comparison to the absolute joy and innocence of engaging in genuine childhood play.   

  • Reading

    “There is no such thing  
    as a child who  
    hates to read;  
    there are only children  
    who have not found  
    the right book.”  
    Frank Serafini

    Mark Twain once said, “The man who does not read has no advantage over the man who cannot read.” As much as I hate to admit it, for much of my life, I was that man.

    I have no doubt that I was introduced to books at a very early age. The image above depicts my brother, Tom, reading to my sister, Cathy, and me in 1957. Books were a part of our lives. My mother regularly took us to the Parkside Library on Taraval Street in my childhood. There I would have the opportunity to pick out books to take home and read. My favorites were anything having to do with Curious George. I was constantly entertained by the mischievous little monkey and the man in the yellow hat.

    When I began elementary school, we did a fair amount of reading out of anthologies we simply referred to as “readers.” I’m sure I enjoyed many of the stories we read, but for some reason I didn’t develop a love of reading. Through my middle school years, I have no recollection of reading books for school or for pleasure.

    My acceptance letter to Saint Ignatius High School in 1968 included a required summer reading list. There were five books on the list which we were expected to have read before arriving for class on the first school day in September. The books were: The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Treasure Island, Old Man and the Sea, The Caine Mutiny, and The Call of the Wild. I read them. Much to my surprise, I enjoyed reading them.

    In my freshman English class, one of the first books we were assigned to read was The Hobbit. I remember making an attempt to read the book, but I didn’t enjoy it at all, and, in the end, I don’t recall ever finishing the book. From that point on, reading was never anything more than an unpleasant task for me.

    I did a fair amount of required reading during my years at Santa Clara University. Two books, in particular, stand out as having impressed me: Markings, by Dag Hammarskjöld and Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl. I’m sure there were others, too, but these two books left a lasting impression. I don’t recall reading any books for pleasure during those years.  

    It wasn’t until my adult years that I truly embraced a love for reading. Most of the books I read at first were books which had been recommended by friends — or my Mom, who had become an avid reader herself. Some of these books include McCarthy’s Bar (Pete McCarthy), Breakfast with Buddha (Roland Merullo), Tuesdays with Morrie (Mitch Albom), The Shack (William Paul Young), and The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho). I enjoyed all these books immensely. For the first time in my life, I was reading for pleasure.

    Other books I’ve enjoyed have been written by local authors, some of whom are now friends: The Measure of a Man (Jerrold Shapiro), 20 Gifts of Life (Hal Urban), The Millionaires Cruise (Don McPhail), Your Personal Renaissance (Diane Dreher), Beautiful Boy (David Sheff), Bird by Bird (Anne Lamott), and Murder at Beach Chalet (Paul Totah).  

    All of these books, and so many more, have helped me to realize the wisdom in the words of novelist Elizabeth Hardwick who wrote, “The greatest gift is the passion for reading. It is cheap, it consoles, it distracts, it excites, it gives you knowledge of the world and experience of a wide kind. It is a moral illumination.’’

  • Back to Work

    “First drafts don’t  
    have to be perfect.  
    They just have  
    to be written.”   
    Seth Godin

    For the past fifty years, I’ve had a desire to write a book about my experiences teaching in a Bahamian high school when I was a mere twenty years old. Through most of those years, I had neither the time nor the self-discipline to get started on this project. When I retired from teaching in June 2015, I began my second career as a writer. Since that time, I’ve published six books, all of which are available on Amazon. I’ve written about gratitude, life lessons, fatherhood, and, in an illustrated children’s book, the joys of Cherries in the Summer. 

    In the past couple of years, I’ve been jotting down detailed memories about my experiences and the people I met in The Bahamas fifty years ago. Now it’s time to get to work writing the book. At this point in my life, as we embark upon the journey of a new year, I have the time, motivation, and self-discipline to get the job done. My goal is to have the book published by June 1. 

    My recent visit to Nassau in November, a trip I took with my high school classmate Dan Pasini, who shared the experience of teaching in The Bahamas in the 1974-75 academic year, reminded me of what a special year that was in my life. I’m looking forward to tapping into Dan’s memories of that unique experience and including some of his insights and perspectives in the book.

    Author James Lendall Basford once said, “The next best thing to the enjoyment of a good time is the recollection of it.” I am very much looking forward to this journey down memory lane, though as I jot down notes to get started, I’m realizing that the book will have to be the PG version of that memorable year.

  • An Unexpected Visit

    “You will always be  
    in my heart…   
    because in there,   
    you’re still alive.”        
    Jamie Cirello 

    “Hey,… wait up!”

    I heard the man’s voice behind me. It sounded eerily familiar, but I didn’t give it much thought. I was walking alone in The City. No one knew I was there that day, so I knew he wasn’t talking to me. I had taken CalTrain from Santa Clara Station in the South Bay to 4th & King, and I was walking along the Embarcadero headed toward Fisherman’s Wharf. Then, I heard it again.

    “Hey,… wait up!” The voice sounded just like my father. Dad died on the last day of July 2008. This was mid-October 2025. Curiosity got the better of me, so I turn to take a quick peek.

    “Dad?” I responded in astonishment. There he was, wearing a San Francisco Fire Department sweatshirt and his signature bucket hat. He looked much younger than the man who would have celebrated his 100th birthday on October 25th. In fact, he looked younger than me that day.

    “You’re a fast walker,” he exclaimed. “I’ve been trying to catch up to you for the past two blocks.”

    “Dad?” I asked again, unable to comprehend exactly what I was seeing.

    “I’d love to join you on your walk,… if you don’t mind.”

    “I, uh… No, I don’t mind at all,” I stammered. “But how…” Before I could finish my question, Dad gave me a bear hug and suggested that I slow my pace a bit so that he could keep up with me. 

    “I know,…” he said with a tone of compassion, “…you weren’t expecting to see me. You probably have no idea that I’ve been with you on dozens of your walks here in The City during the past few years. I especially enjoyed the one you took in July, on the anniversary of my passing. I’m so glad you stopped in for Mass at St. Paul’s that morning. Those hills on Clipper and Diamond Streets were a killer, but I did my best to keep up.”

    “You were with me?” I asked.

    “I sure was. The cinnamon oatmeal pancakes you got for breakfast at Chloe’s on Church Street that morning looked and smelled amazing. I would love to have taken a bite or two.”

    “You were…” I stopped and looked into Dad’s eyes. “You were with me at Chloe’s?”

    “Yes, I was. When I was just a kid living at 25th & Sanchez, it was a real treat for me to go there for breakfast now and then. It wasn’t called Chloe’s at the time. I don’t remember the name of the place, but the food was delicious. C’mon,… let’s keep walking.”

    And that’s how the day got started. I was walking along the Embarcadero in San Francisco with my Dad,… who had died seventeen years earlier. For a while, I tried to make sense of what was happening, but I couldn’t. It just didn’t make sense. So instead of over-thinking it, I decided to embrace the moment, to engage in conversation with him, and to savor every moment of our time together.

    We talked about Dad’s days in the fire department. He told me several stories, only a few of which I had heard previously, of memorable fires he had fought in various neighborhoods in The City. He spoke fondly of his relationships with his colleagues, and described how they would often sit around in the kitchen between calls drinking coffee and discussing everything from the woes of the San Francisco Giants to the possibility of life after death.

    He enjoyed a good laugh recalling the ingenious pranks Louie Grossman would play on passers-by outside Rescue One when it was located in the alley off 5th & Mission. And he spoke of his commitment to studying for promotional exams, sitting at the dining room table in our home on 38th Avenue with Ron McInnis, on their days off. 

    Dad got a bit emotional describing what he went through when, shortly after being appointed to the position of Battalion Chief, he was informed that, due to the serious back injury he had sustained on the job, he would not be allowed to continue his career in the department. 

    Then Dad suddenly stopped. “Hey,…” he said, seemingly annoyed, “…have you seen what they’re doing to the new S.I. campus?” Apparently, he was aware that just fifty-six years after the construction of what was then the “new” campus, facilities he had worked tirelessly with Father Harry Carlin to raise funds to build, they had torn down the three large buildings at the north end of the campus — the Carlin Commons, the Orradre Chapel, and McGucken Hall, which had served as the residence of the Jesuit community since 1970, to make room for the construction of a new, state-of-the-art learning center. He was clearly not pleased with this development.

    As we approached the fire station on the Embarcadero, which is home to Engine 35 and the fire boats, I asked Dad what he thought of the new floating station behind the original structure. He chuckled and told me that he could never have worked there, because he’d most likely have gotten motion sickness from the constant rocking back and forth.

    When we got to the Ferry Building, I pointed across the street to Justin Herman Plaza and asked Dad if he remembered that day back in the late ‘80s when he and I had walked together from the Palace of the Legion of Honor, through Sea Cliff and the Presidio, under the Golden Gate Bridge, down to Crissy Field and the Marina Green, then along Fisherman’s Wharf and the Embarcadero before stopping at Justin Herman Plaza for an ice cream to end our epic walk. Of course, he remembered it well. We both laughed, because at one point during that walk, while hiking up the steep hill from Baker Beach to the bridge, I didn’t want to admit that I was having a difficult time keeping up with him, while at the same time he didn’t want to admit that he was struggling to keep up with me. Men can be like that sometimes!

    Standing there in front of the Ferry Building, Dad suddenly said, “Hey, I gotta go. I love you.” He gave me another bear hug, this one significantly longer than the previous hug. I didn’t want to let go. I just kept holding on, and holding on,… 

    “I love you, too,” I replied. And just like that, he was gone — and I woke up… with tears streaming down my face.   

  • Something New

    I normally write my blog articles the day prior to publication. Therefore, consistent with my desire to reclaim Sundays as sacred time, my Monday morning blog posts starting today will consist only of a positive quote — words of wisdom to motivate us to live a good life, to treat others with compassion, and to do what we can to make a positive difference in the world. If I comment on the quote at all, it will be brief. My hope is that these words will inspire you to give serious consideration to how they might apply to your life.

  • Sundays

    “Resting is not a  
    waste of time.  
    It is an investment  
    in well-being.”   
    Adam Grant

    When I say that I have no regrets in life, a claim I have made on several occasions, I’m not being completely honest with myself. Of course I have regrets. One such regret is how often I squandered the gift of Sundays over the past thirty years. 

    In my childhood, there was no question about how I would spend my Sundays. My family would attend the 10:00 Mass at Saint Gabriel Church. After Mass, we would return home and Mom would prepare a feast for breakfast. Occasionally, immediately after exiting the church, Dad would hand me a dollar bill and ask me to walk down to Billy’s Donut Shop on Taraval Street to pick up a dozen donuts. (Yes, I could purchase a dozen donuts with a $1 bill.) On special occasions, Dad would make gin fizzes for himself and Mom, and a batch without alcohol for us kids. Then we’d spend much of the remainder of the day visiting relatives. 

    A lot has changed in the world and in my life since the ‘60s. I don’t go to church as often as I did in the past. Throughout my teaching years, I devoted too much Sunday time to preparing for the week ahead. I spent countless Sunday afternoon hours in my classroom grading papers, developing lesson plans, and making photocopies of handouts and tests I would need in the upcoming week. I did all this because it was important to me to be well-prepared for my classes. I also had the desire to give the appearance that being prepared was effortless for me. 

    Now that I’m retired, Sunday can be much like any other day of the week unless I make a conscientious effort to make it different. Since the pandemic, my Mass attendance has been rare. When the weather was warmer, Kathy and I enjoyed going to the downtown Campbell Farmers Market on Sunday mornings. I have a strong desire to reclaim Sunday as a special day in the week. 

    Whether I attend Sunday Mass, take a walk along the Los Gatos Creek Trail, or devote some quiet time to reading, I have a strong desire to use each Sunday morning as a time of reflection and gratitude. I would also like to use Sunday afternoon and evening time for getting together here at our home with friends and family in small groups. The commandment to “Keep holy the Lord’s day” does not specifically mandate Sunday Mass attendance at a local church. There are countless other opportunities to make the day holy, as well. Taking time each Sunday to focus on gratitude is certainly an appropriate way to do this.

    Sundays are an excellent opportunity let go of the burdens of the past and to embrace the present with an open heart. On this wonderful Sunday, don’t forget to be thankful for the little things in life. It is in these little things, and in the people we encounter each day, that we experience the presence of God in our lives.

  • The Game

    “The greatest test of  
    courage on earth is to  
    bear defeat without  
    losing heart.” 
    Robert Green Ingersoll

    As I was born and raised in San Francisco, it should come as no surprise that I follow the San Francisco 49ers. I wouldn’t describe myself as an avid fan. There have been seasons when I’ve enjoyed watching them play (usually the seasons they’ve been winning), and there have been times when I had absolutely no interest in following them (their losing seasons). I just wanted to put that on the table, because it’s the truth. In fact, I’m not a fan of professional football at all.

    Still, when the Chicago Bears came to town last week for a showdown with the 49ers, I got caught-up in the game. Until tonight, it was the only game this season that I watched from start to finish. I can also say that it was just about the most exciting professional football game I’ve ever seen. Both teams played well. Both teams were deserving of a victory. The display of offense by both teams was downright impressive. The 49ers emerged victorious.

    The Seattle Seahawks came to town tonight. A win by the 49ers would guarantee them home-field advantage throughout the playoffs — including the Super Bowl, which will be played right here at Levi Stadium on Sunday, February 8th. A loss tonight would still allow San Francisco to continue in the playoffs, but they would have to play on the road and would miss out on a bye-week next weekend. The game tonight was a total blowout.

    The final score of 13-3 does not begin to tell the story of the absolute dominance of the Seahawks throughout the game. From start to finish, on both offense and defense, Seattle throttled the 49ers. For San Francisco fans, it was just plain ugly. For Seahawks fans, a win is a win, but even a dominant performance like they witnessed tonight had to be tainted by Seattle’s inability to put points on the board. Yes, they won the game convincingly, but the score will undoubtedly be a wake-up call for Seahawks players and coaches.

    I don’t normally write a second blog post in a day, but having watched tonight’s game, and seeing the 49ers looking so impotent from start to finish, I realized that this might be a good time for true fans of the team to reflect on one of my favorite quotes from former Green Bay Packers’ head coach Vince Lombardi. He said, “If you can’t accept losing, you can’t win.”  

    Legendary Olympian Wilma Rudolph also had some words of wisdom to share about winning and losing. She said, ”Winning is great, sure, but if you are really going to do something in life, the secret is learning how to lose. Nobody goes undefeated all the time. If you can pick up after a crushing defeat, and go on to win again, you are going to be a champion someday.”

    The 49ers are in the playoffs. If they play well enough, there is a good chance they will earn the right to redeem themselves in the NFC championship game, most likely against the Seahawks in Seattle, on January 25th. Before that match-up, however, they must take care of business in the next two weeks.

  • Word Play

    “Diaper backward
    spells ‘repaid.’
    Think about it.”
    Marshall McLuhan

    I have no words of wisdom to share today, nor do I have any meaningful stories to tell. The purpose of today’s blog post is pure fun and entertainment. 

    From my earliest days in school, I was always more comfortable with words than numbers. I am functionally literate in math. I can add, subtract, multiply, and divide. I can balance a checkbook and manage a budget fairly well. I can estimate the amount of paint needed to paint a room, I have excellent time management skills, and I can estimate distances, travel times, and fuel efficiency with accuracy.

    My comfort zone, however, is not with numbers, it’s with words. I love words. I love writing. I love manipulating words to write poems. I also enjoy learning such trivial things as the meanings of acronyms (Scuba: Self-contained underwater breathing apparatus; Radar: Radio detection and ranging; UNICEF: United Nations International Children’s Emergency Fund; SWAT: Special Weapons and Tactics; and BART: Bay Area Rapid Transit.) 

    Today, I’d like to share a few entertaining anagrams. What is an anagram? It’s a word, phrase, or name formed by rearranging the letters of another word or phrase. For example, earth and heart, listen and silent, night and thing, or ring and grin. The following acronyms are a bit more entertaining:

    Dormitory  –  Dirty room 
    Slot machines  –  Cash lost in ‘em 
    Astronomer  –  Moon starer
    The eyes  –  They see
    The Morse code  –  Here come dots
    Snooze alarms  –  Alas! No more Z’s 
    A decimal point  –  I’m a dot in place  
    A gentleman  –  Elegant man
    Conversation – Voices rant on 
    Eleven plus two – Twelve plus one.
    A persecution – I run to escape  
    Statue of Liberty – Built to stay free 
    Vacation times – I’m not as active  

    Now wasn’t that fun?