Bullying Is Not The Problem

Telling people to “Quit bullying” is like giving cough medicine to a woman with pulmonary edema.  It treats the symptom and not the problem.  Two problems that exacerbate bullying are a decline in morals and a societal move away from community.

David Stuck and Deborah Greenbaugh were fellow students in my elementary school class.  Both were bullied.  David stuttered and had a last name that fit too well with his trademark handicap.  Deborah was lanky, nerdy and Jewish and just-didn't-fit-in.  I knew that this bullying was a bad thing.  My parents wouldn't have approved and a voice in my soul said it wasn't appropriate.  See how I remember their names even today.  Still I said nothing though David and I had sort of a fellowship.  He called me every Monday night for the weekly spelling words (he missed class for speech therapy); always interrupting an episode of Davy Crockett.  I'd get mad for the interruption but I felt bad about the bullying. Contrast that with the soul of today’s culture in which Snark is the status-quo and points are given for satire and innuendo.

“Since time immemorial, etiquette has been used to establish the principles of social virtue, as well as the rules, symbols, and rituals of civilized life,” but this etiquette Judith Martin speaks of is a lost ideology.  “…such virtues as compassion, respect, and toleration are shared by morals and manners, and hence form the basis of imperatives of ethics, as well as of etiquette.”  Generation X-ers have tossed out these virtues with the bathwater as have their parents before them.  If virtues such as respect and compassion are not bedrock values then there is no reason bullying is wrong.

As a teen I belonged to a Boy Scout troop.  In our troop there was a pecking order.  The highest ranked and the older boys were expected to pick on the younger and lower ranking.  Whoa to you if you were outside the troop and picked on any of us.  We were a solid unit, part gang, part family.  The same guys that would pick on the young and weak would carry their packs a mile for them if necessary.  It was a safe place to belong.

Service organizations, churches and synagogues were previously safe places to belong.  Yet in current years, “the number of Americans who do not identify with any religion continues to grow at a rapid pace.” “In his book, "Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community," Robert D. Putnam said that attending club meetings, such as those held by Rotary and Kiwanis groups, has declined by 58 percent in the past 25 years; and that we have 43 percent fewer family dinners and fewer friends that drop by our homes to say hello. We are much more likely to sit in front of our X-Box or I-thing than we are to be integrated into a safe community such as Girl Scouts or the local Rotary club.

Bullying is only wrong if there is a moral imperative.  If we no longer hold to a Golden Rule (Do unto others as you would have them do unto you) or simple etiquette than picking on another is simply showing off one’s wit and society rewards that behaviour.  Too it is easier to do in the privacy of ones’ home as opposed to a group or club that has some values for the group and the individual members. 

We can make Public Service Announcements all we want about the wrongs of bullying.  We can enact laws that bully people into not bullying.  We can even create huge advertising schemes that focus on beauty not bullying.  Telling people it is wrong when there is no standard or benchmark to measure it against guarantees failure.  You can keep giving the coughing woman Codeine but it doesn't get to the heart of the issue.

I Remember It As A Safe Place

I remember it as a safe place.  Now there are probably high barbed wire fences and bright yellow signs screaming “Danger keep out, Peligroso!”  A trip to Chatsworth Park meant hours of adventure when I was a child.  Minutes from our house it was an escape to a different world. 

Everything slants upward from the parking lot.  To the left there is a baseball field.  Above the parking lot is a large expanse of green grass with a picnic area; we cared for none of that.  With friends or family we ran to the rock hills beyond the grass and climbed upward.

We scramble up and up and never take the same path twice.  Though eager to scramble as everybody else, I rarely leap over large chasms but prefer to find alternatives.  It’s a chance to face internal monsters but still be brave.  External monsters may be out there too!  It is one of my early encounters with adventure.  I am usually last in line.  Being last gives opportunity to linger.  I am thrilled to discover various pools of water where earlier rains have filled earth and rock.  Scuttling quickly I would have missed it.  Don’t know if being last means slowness or reluctance to follow. 

I’m a kid which makes it feel like we go up and up for hours.  The rocks must be miles high!  A railroad track leads through a tunnel atop the rocks.  A coin souvenir is obtained by placing penny or nickel on the rail and waiting for the train to flatten it.  I know other kids that go inside the tunnel.  We never do.  This is why I suspect fences.  In those days there wasn’t the need for fences.

There was a time when life was a safer place with fewer fences.  Now I’m old and grown up.  I’m certain now that I like being last or alone out of a reluctance to follow.  Last night I looked up at the night sky; the world is still a big place full of wonder.  The adventure awaits.  It’s still about facing down the monster within and the smaller beasts outside.  Some things never change.

A Barista Gets To Hear Peoples' Stories

One blessing of being a barista is the relationships you develop.  A barista gets to hear peoples’ stories though usually in thirty second snippets.  Tom shows up for coffee every morning.  Straight up when we open he orders a large black decaf.  Then we spend two to three minutes talking.  We’ve talked about everything from Putin to sciatica.  This morning he shared about his mother’s last years and how he fed her through a tube.  He shared that his mother never complained about her plight but was always more interested in what was going on with him.  Just as I was going to ask another question the next customer got in line.

The money-spenders are a number of individuals that have the same trait.  They’ve made a lot of money-or like to have people believe they have.  They are always telling me how they are spending it, “We’re going to Australia and New Zealand next week on a cruise.  I’m meeting with some guys to discuss the new development we’re building.  I gave the toast at a big Italian dinner in New York.  We are remodeling the house and putting in solar.  If you go to Temecula you’ve got to visit my friends’ winery.”  I’d Google these guys but people don’t give you their last names when ordering their “half-caf one scoop of vanilla.”

Often the stories are poignant.  An older wonderful woman customer’s body shakes and twitches twisting her head in a pronounced movement.  It doesn’t seem to bother her.  It must take some courage and back-bone to spend one’s days fighting that kind of battle.  James has only a hole where his ear used to be.  He had some form of cancer so they cut off his ear and side of his face.  He orders his large Iced Latte and tells me that the whole milk is one of many things that he hopes will help him get his weight back.  He shares about the chemo and being forced to take daily trips down to Loma Linda hospital---more than an hour away.

Working with the public has its difficulties.  There are days I think I would like to just sit at a desk and write.  But I’d miss the stories; the ones that I know and the ones that I wonder about.

Being Reminded: Daily Bread and Proper Perspective

If my life was a cartoon a huge ACME weekly planner would drop out of the sky, hit me on the head and smash me, bump-by-bump, into the ground.  That’s what life does when I think all my ducks are in a row. 

My work goes well as does that of the wife.  So we take a deep breath and start making plans.  Then one of my employees goes out on disability.  Next we learn that what we thought was a secure position for the wife isn’t secure.  It’s open to someone transferring into her position and bumping her to a different location or no job at all.  Add to that looming rumors of strikes and downsizing and the row of ducks no longer seems solid.  We begin to fret.

Fretting causes me to realize that I’m off course.  I went from trusting in God for security to believing that the Dillo household was making it happen.  “Hey God, thanks for the help but we’ve got it from here!”  Somewhere in the mix I remember the prayer that every church member knows, “Give us this day our daily bread.”  I forget that there’s a Wile E. Coyote out to do me in, a lion seeking someone to devour.

Isn’t that how it goes though?  Trust for daily sustenance isn’t so important when the fridge is full and there’s money in the bank account.  The forgiver is forgotten.  It is just the gifts that are celebrated.  Saying ‘grace’ at every meal becomes ritual not heartfelt.  The silos are full; God wouldn’t say to me “tonight thy soul is required of thee.” 

These little bumps and ankle biters are reminders that our sweat and scheming didn’t open the doors for job security and providential care.  We are reminded that anvils and large rocks fall from the sky and threaten our well being.  Difficult tests will come.  Grace will sustain and God will bless. Give us this day our daily bread for we know not what tomorrow brings. 

Relationship Building In Business

There are benefits in ones’ business and personal life to establishing trusting and respectful relationships.  The vendor that delivers the cups and coffee to my shop delivers to many other shops.  There have been numerous times when he only had enough product for one store.  He chose to deliver them to my store.  The reason is because I respect him as a person.  I respect him and try to work with him in whatever capacity I can.  I give him thanks.  I wish him many a “good weekend” and “happy holiday.”  Valuing and respecting him has had its rewards.

Keying a car is a serious act of vandalism.  Working at 7-11 in my twenties my associates’ cars were keyed and subjected to all forms of violence.  My AMC Hornet never was.  The gang that keyed the cars frequented our store.  My coworkers had only adversarial relationships with the gang members.  I respected them as people but they knew that I also was responsible for protecting and operating the store.  This positive relationship provided me with benefits---which included the safety of my vehicle.

Businesses to business relationships ebb and flow according to trust and valued relationships as well.  The franchise I work for is little respected by the organization where it is located.  It is not promoted nor treated as a significant profit making enterprise.  Therefore the relationship has broken down.  As a result vendors care little about keeping us supplied with their products which affects the customer that can’t get that same desired product.  Neither side profits in such an adversarial relationship.

I can look back over forty years of employment and see numerous times this focus has paid off.  When working in insurance companies would trust my word over the phone before obtaining signed contracts because they trusted me—and I valued them.  Vendors made certain I had product.  Customers kept coming back.  Simply because I made a commitment to valuing another human being.  Perhaps that’s why “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” is called ‘the Golden Rule.’

Not Enough Hours In The Day

I spent this afternoon looking at my work schedule and my calendar and my to-do list wondering how I am going to fit it all in.  I suspect that part of the problem is I enjoy my child, my wife, food and my six-hours-of-sleep-a-night too much.  I’m typing this while the wife is already curled up in bed.  After posting I've still two things that have to get done and more that, by necessity I've put off til tomorrow.

My plans get slammed often.  Slammed like a forty pound weight falling on your toe—which is exactly what happened to my employee last weekend at the gym.  Writing and cycling training will have to get squeezed in after the now required six-day-work-week!

I’m glad for the change of Daylight Savings coming in March.  It will make it mentally easier to pursue those goals and duties required day by day.  The rest will require some discipline and saying “No.”  Which is what I've been saying to sleep but she won’t take it for an answer.

Holes That God Is Slow To Fill But Security Is In Christ

I can’t pinpoint the day the brokenness began.  Even back to my childhood I remember seeking the Golden Haired Woman.  In reference to Bly, Eldredge sees the Golden Haired Woman as mythological---our lost masculinity.  Growing up my brokenness manifested itself through pride, arrogance, rebellion and a million other little sins.  As a teenager I recognized this battle within me and sought spiritual solace in music.  This wasn’t my best choice.  Christ got a hold of me in my late teens.

The Bible speaks of a battle that we are engaged in once we end up on Christ’s side.  Paul indicates that we have weapons of warfare specifically for the destruction of fortresses.  These fortresses are primarily in our mind; wrong beliefs and belief-systems built up over the years.  My fortresses were occupied by braided, long-haired women---again the mythology. 

As I mature I find great joy in Christ’s presence.  I enjoy music that celebrates Biblical truth especially if it is Christ centered.  Still there are always times, some far worse than others, when this battle rages and the enemy’s fiery darts seem impossible to flee.  I have bad days and good days but few days are battle free.  I recognize this huge hole in me that I used to always fill with dreams of the girl next door.  I wish this stuff didn’t bubble up so easily.  I wish Christ would fill that hole completely, that I would learn to lean 100% on truth that destroys fortresses.  I’m not there.  I hate this. 

Instead I trust in a risen Christ that secured my righteousness for me through dying on a cross.  When my fortresses overwhelm I trust Him as Rock, Fortress and Deliverer.  There I find the peace to rise and fight again the next day, and I presume the day after that til I see His face and am finally complete and free. 

The Mind-Feelings Connection

There was tightness in his chest, adrenaline pouring into his bloodstream and his mind recognized only that his body was revving up with no place for it to go.  He leaned up against a wall and forced himself—first to breathe then to breathe deeply.  He felt rivulets of sweat roll down his sides.  Fear and anxiety can do that to you. 

I realized this week that I have some irrational fears.  One of my fears when charted would look like this: Trials happen to everybody, we grow through difficulty, life is going along to well now so the shoe is about to drop and a big horrible event is coming.  Stupid, right?  This thinking, at a very low frequency, robs me of my joy. My feelings intermesh with my thinking. 

In her book, Finding Your Own North Star, Martha Beck writes, “The unconscious portion of the human mind communicates through symbolism when it creates dreams, language, and every form of art.  It can also express itself symbolically by acting its messages out with the body.” Donald Miller in his blog post, “Why IDon’t Go To Church Very Often,” says of the mind-feelings connection, “Before we get too irate and have a trigger reaction against the idea feelings are actually valid if verified and tested, we should consider new revelations in brain science, learning-style revelations and basic psychology. What about intuition, what about the whole brain? What about Daniel Goleman’s work on emotional intelligence? What about Sir Ken Robinson’s work on education reform? What about Jung’s early work on personality theory and motives? And even Malcolm Gladwell’s work on thinking without thinking? “ 

Two times I remember having massive anxiety; one entailed quitting my job and switching to a new employer and the second was before my first marriage.  Both instances ended badly.  I suspect there may have been an interaction between my feelings and my mind which I should have explored further. 

In the ancient book of Esther God uses the insomnia of a king (Esther 6:1) to change the course of a nation.  Perhaps our feelings when awakened are in place to awaken and arouse us as well.  If only we do the hard work of introspection and prayer to discern what’s going on in our hearts.

A Rulebook On Ordering Starbucks At A Different Coffee Establishment

Starbucks is back in the news again today thanks to comedienne Nathan Fielder. I work for a Starbucks competitor (if there is such a thing) and we have a kiosk in stores just like they do. I am consistently surprised that most of the coffee-buying population has been successfully brainwashed and converted to the Starbucks flock. Customers come in and order as if they are in a Starbucks: Tall, Grande or Venti. They also order items off the Starbucks menu despite the reality that they are not at a Starbucks. Many even try to use their Starbucks gift cards. Thus I think there should be a rulebook for people who want Starbucks coffee but end up in a coffee joint run by a different denomination.




1) If you are going to order Tall or Grande know what size it is at Starbucks first. A Tall anyplace isn’t the largest cup of coffee you can get nor is a Grande. If you order Grande from me I may well give you a large for the extra profit.

2) Don’t assume that you can say, “I’m from the Pacific Northwest,” and use it as a legitimate reason for only speaking Starbuck.

3) Learn what you drink. Is it a latte, a cappuccino, macchiato or what? If I ask you, “What kind of Mocha?” don’t jump up and down shouting, “I don’t know! That’s what I always get!”

4) Ordering a tea without water is illogical. Do you order coffee without water?

5) Most likely I won't shake, stir or sweeten the tea I serve you.

6) No, I don’t know if Starbucks carries Hemp milk.

7) Baristas are by and large a patient lot there to serve you. Work with them during the translation process.

8) Do you order a Jumbo Jack when you go to McDonalds (I suspect some of you do). Make an effort to order off the menu of the establishment you are in.

9) It’s okay to say, “At Starbucks I get…” and ask me what I suggest. At least then I know you realize you are in a different establishment.

10) Don’t freak out because the barista makes your drink differently than they do. Do you tell your mechanic how to fix….oh, never mind.

Divorce Is Hard On Dads

Divorce is hard on dads as well as moms. Moms get all the publicity and dads get lots of bad press. I suspect it’s not hard on the bad dads; the ones that leave town, the ones that left long ago but now make it official by moving geographically away. For those dads--- the illicit affair dads, the fisticuff beating dads and dead beat dads of all sorts divorce maybe isn’t so bad. It’s really tough on the good dads though.


I don’t have any statistics. I’ve heard some stories. I know some good dads whose marriages crashed and burned. Not perfect dads or wonderful husbands but dads that tried to stay in the trenches and be dad. I have my story too.

Not getting the kiss goodnight—every night. That was the most difficult part initially. Not hearing the day to day stories and missing out on the soft, quiet, big tuck-in and kisses was a killer. Sometimes the tuck-ins weren’t soft and quiet but came with wrestles and laughter, maybe even body noises and goofy eyed joking around. The good dads lose out on that because moms generally end up getting most the kid time.

Societal norms imply that mom is always the good guy. That’s not always true. This too is hard for the trying-to-be-good dad. Sometimes the mom wields her state given power against the good dad. It cuts both ways. The mom or the dad can use words and time to stack the deck against the other parent. That’s especially difficult for the good dad.

Truth is the dad may have made some serious mistakes while in the marriage. He may have abused alcohol. There may have been some sex outside the marriage bed. None of us is immune to our own unique brand of brokenness. Standing for your kids after such failure is tough. It’s hard for the good dads.

For those marriages where there is joint custody it hurts to see your children live like transients as they move from one home to another. Tough too to see them coming to grips with the brokenness of parents, tougher too if mom manifests bad behaviour that bruises your kids heart and feelings.

Still the good dads hang in there and keep at it. We keep affirming and proclaiming our love. We demonstrate commitment by being in the game, by midnight trips to Walmart for school supplies and dropping by after-school assemblies after an eight hour work day and two hour commute. The good dads invest in their kids. The good dads do all they can to let their kids know they are there for them. We don’t get all the press and publicity but divorce is hard on dads too.