Pope T.V.

Like many people across the country, I spent some time this week watching Pope TV. I was interested in hearing what this man of god had to say, and for someone like me who was raised catholic but has wandered from the church and their teachings it was quite a step to say the least. The Pope has been tweaking the interest of “wanderers” like me for some time now. We here snippets of speeches that make us raise our eyebrows and say hmmmmmmm, we see him riding around in a Fiat and say hmmmmmm, but there is one one reason that kept me tuning in each night to Pope TV.

I wanted to see a miracle.

I can not be the only person who was watching Pope T.V. waiting for a miracle. I mean we have all seen miracles in our lives. The 1969 Mets, miracle. The 1980 USA Hockey team, miracle. My getting a date on a Saturday night, miracle in waiting. We refer to those occurrences things as miracles but really they are just a matter of being in the right place at the right time, there is no divine intervention for a sports team winning a championship or me getting a date. That is why I wanted to see a real miracle.

Each time the Pope got out of his car and walked over to a child in need to deliver a blessing I wanted desperately for that child to be able to walk, to see or to hear. I thought for sure that if anyone could do this, he was the man who could. He would bring a shining light from the sky's down onto this person and heal them of whatever terrible affliction they may have. Each night I was disappointed that the Pope didn't deliver. I didn't get my miracle, but I continued to tune in.

On Friday night after another particularly distressing week at work I tuned in to Pope T.V. once again just as the Pope preparing to ride through Central Park en route to his mass at Madison Square Garden. Ah-ha I thought, if there is going to be a miracle what better place for it to happen than at Madison Square Garden, the home of miracles!

As the Popemobile cruised through Central Park I was astounded at the tens of thousands of people who had gathered just to capture a glimpse of the Pope. Thousands crying, thousands smiling, thousands cheering and thousands holding up their cell phones so that they might capture a moment in time they will hold dear for the rest of their lives. The motorcade was running late so the pope did not have time to exit his vehicle to deliver any blessings and again I began to wonder if I was going to be disappointed. His ride through the park was short and quick but the people who came to see him were still crying, smiling and cheering well after he was gone. Hmmmmmmm.

The Pope arrived at Madison Square Garden via his Fiat again to thousands and thousands of people just waiting for a look at the man I hoped was going to perform a miracle. He was whisked into the back of the Garden and got into a golf cart that would carry him around the Garden floor so that he might greet the 20,000 people who had gathered to hear him and watch him perform a mass.

As his golf cart slowly worked its way through the tight aisles his driver stopped as the Pope looked upon a child who was being held by its father. The Pope raised his hand, blessed the child and then gave a blessing to both parents. The mother and father cried tears of joy and hope. 

That's when I realized that I had seen my miracle.

All this time I was looking for the miracle to be a cure, something substantial that I could see, when all the while the miracles were right in front of me every night watching Pope T.V. This Pope came and gave millions of people hope. He gave them smiles, tears and the feeling that their god was there for them. He helped them believe that he cared about each and every one of them, and for most the real miracle was just him being here. He touched each them without touching them, he spoke to each of them without speaking to them and he cured them without curing them. Some of their lives will never be the same because of a kiss on the forehead, a blessing or just a smile.

So in the end I guess the Pope showed me my miracle. Now I can't wait for Saturday night.

The Art of the Lie

Ahhh the Lie. A simple three letter word that can change the world.

Simply defined by Websters a lie is;

Noun

1. a false statement made with deliberate intent to deceive; an intentional untruth; a falsehood.

Synonyms: prevarication, falsification.

How can this tiny little word do so much damage, change so many lives and tarnish the images of people we hold in high regard. Before I go any further I would like to quote one of the wisest men to have ever graced the television airwaves. His name, Mr. George Costanza. His quote “Jerry, just remember, it's not a lie if you believe it”. 

My question is do we honestly (odd word to use in the scenario) believe our own lies or those told to us?

Point in case, during my tenure in art school as an aspiring photographer I showed my teacher a photo of the Ridgewood train station. “Tom, I just printed this photo of the train station, what do you think”? Tom, in his very thick British accent replied “very nice”. Maybe it was the accent but “very nice” from him turned into “My god, this is incredible, you have captured the majesty, the mystery the aura of serenity all in this special moment, there's a Pulitzer in this one for you” or so I believed as I merrily skipped away to continue my photo history of the Erie Lackawana Railroad.

The reality of the “very nice” was as I found out a few days later from a fellow student went something like this, “If that fucking kid shows me one more bloody photo of that god damn train station I'm going to tie his arse (the British say arse) up, lay him on the tracks, call him Pauline and wait for the next train to spread him from here to Manahttan”'

That of course is an example of believing a lie, as is the ever popular “SPEEDING!!! What do you mean officer, I wasn't speeding, what about the guy in front of me, now he was speeding, as a matter of fact I was just a bout to dial 911 and report him, I think he had guns, I'm sure I saw a foot sticking out of the trunk, I was just trying to stay with him until the authorities could catch up, look he's getting away”. “DRINKING!! Now way, I only had two beers all night, go ask the bartender”'

But recently there has been a gentleman in the news who obviously suffers from a severe case of Costanzaitits. “Tommy, just remember, it's not a lie if you believe it”.

Tom Brady now stands among The greatest liars of all time, Mr. I did not have sex, Bill Clinton, Mr. Weapons of mass destruction, George W. Bush, Mr. I never did steroids, Alex Rodriguez, Mr. We don't torture detainees, Dick Cheney and Mr. I am not a crook, Richard Nixon, and has become the newest member of “it's not a lie if you believe it club”.

Now I'm not calling Tom a cheater as many have. Actually I don't care about that at all. Players have been looking for an advantage over one another ever since Spiros whacked Achilles in the heel during the first ever 100 yard dash. It doesn't matter that Tom conspired to let air out of footballs, if you read the tabloids you'd know that ever since Tom has been married to Giselle he's had deflated balls.

My issue is “Tommy, just remember, it's not a lie if you believe it”, and I am sure that Tom believes that he didn't coax two lackeys to let the air out of the balls, that he didn't text them after they did it, that he really does need a new cell phone every six months and that his lie is more harmful to the game than the shenanigans he purported with the footballs.

If we believe in what the cherry tree did for George Washington, then sometimes we have to suck it up, look someone in the eye and say “hey kid your photo sucks”.