Guest columnist

Is a worship center by any other name, in the same location, still the same?

I would think so, but recent events tell me that a great many people feel otherwise.

I was compelled to write this column during a routine Friday night dinner at a local eatery. The dining room’s TV was tuned to CNN, which was of little interest to my party until the president’s comments regarding the “mosque-near-the-Ground Zero-site” flap came on-screen. One of my dinner companions, upon seeing that Obama defends the right to build the worship center, exclaimed loudly, “What? That’ll get him shot!”

Whoa. I got whiplash (only a slight exaggeration) when I turned away from the TV toward the speaker, as I’m a bit wary of any – especially public – mention of the president in combination with firearm usage, and because I truly believe that this subject has not been accorded an “educated” perspective, in the media or otherwise, therefore causing an unnecessary “tempest in a tassa” throughout the country (and during my suppertime!).

Please hear me out.

Like virtually all Americans, I felt like I’d been sucker-punched in the gut by the cataclysm of 9/11. To this day, I find the whole chain of events surreal; I still can’t wrap my mind around the notion of four planes being hijacked and used as guided missiles to annihilate the unsuspecting (and unarmed) going about their day-to-day, all in the name of Allah.

As such, I do understand taking an emotional stance relative to the “sanctity” of Ground Zero; arguably, some people just don’t get the concept of respect for the fallen. When visiting the area in 2002, I was offended by the specter of several tourists mugging for the camera in front of the site, just as they would with Mickey Mouse at Disney World! That just seemed incredibly crass and insensitive to me at the time.

As the years have passed and we’ve learned more about the executioners (as I think of them), my concerns, however, have shifted from mourning our loss to a palpable loss of perspective relative to Islam, a religion that millions practice peacefully, versus some fanatical practitioners thereof who translate the message of the Koran into jihad. Our fruitless search for Osama bin Laden has created active pursuit of a scapegoat for this heinous crime, often resulting in the virtual indictment of innocent Muslims who also abhorred what happened that day.

Accordingly, it seems that any action on the part of Muslims that smacks of a desire to encroach on “The American Way” (or any such relic or representative) results in a great hue and cry, such as we’re seeing now with this proposed Cordoba Initiative worship and 9/11 remembrance center two blocks from the Ground Zero site.

The way I see it, what started out as a local real estate transaction has become a national kerfuffle, due to some misperceptions and hazy notions about what is actually happening in this scenario. The facts? Challenges?

• Mosques are not a new addition to this neighborhood: Muslim worship services have been held in various buildings a handful of blocks from the site since before 9/11. According to the Associated Press article “Fact Check: Islam already lives near ground zero”:

“The center would be established at 45-51 Park Place, just over two blocks from the northern edge of the sprawling, 16-acre World Trade Center site…The center’s location, in a former Burlington Coat Factory store, is already used by the cleric for worship, drawing a spillover from the imam’s former main place for prayers, the al-Farah mosque. That mosque, at 245 West Broadway, is about a dozen blocks north of the World Trade Center grounds. Another, the Manhattan Mosque, stands five blocks from the northeast corner of the World Trade Center site.”

So, two things: 1) Muslim worshippers have already been onsite for some time, and 2) the reference to a “mosque” in this case is more to formalize the building type to expand a worship center that already exists!

• Speaking of which: The word “mosque” conjures a muddled-yet-distinctly-uncomfortable feeling from many Americans (at least the ones I polled informally): Not one person I asked could describe one clearly, only stating that it was “foreign-looking”.

However, Merriam-Webster.com merely defines a mosque as “A building used for public worship by Muslims”. Period. Further, if you google “The Cordoba Initiative,” you will see that the site is located in a building that blends well with the other structures in the area. Plans call for zero minarets and no call to prayer, two of the most “visible” elements of Islam that strike fear (or discomfort, at least) in the hearts of many a Westerner.

To this point, we have worshippers meeting in non-descript buildings and with no incidents to date. OK so far?

• Another challenge: The view that the site is “hallowed ground”; a somewhat conflicted notion, as, according to Barbara O’Brien at the Mahablog:

“… I have documented that within a three-block radius of the area called Ground Zero there are at least two strip clubs plus a number of bars … through googling I found a lingerie and porn video shop about two blocks south of Ground Zero that a reviewer calls “grimy” and “sleazy.” Those establishments have existed in close proximity to Ground Zero lo these many years, and no one seemed to care.”

The area, then, is currently “sullied” by businesses of a decidedly unorthodox nature, which dilutes the “sanctity” argument somewhat.

• A final challenge, tied to the “sanctity” point: Islam is the religion of the 9/11 killers, so therefore this worship center so near the site may be a potential incubator for radicalism, and/or is disrespectful and designed to mock our loss that day.

It seems that Islam may be viewed by many as a homogenous religion, uniformly (and scarily) anti-American. But there are shades of differences amongst the forms, as illustrated in a New York Times article, “Muslims in the Middle” by William Dalrymple:

“Feisal Abdul Rauf of the Cordoba Initiative is one of America’s leading thinkers of Sufism, the mystical form of Islam, which in terms of goals and outlook couldn’t be farther from the violent Wahhabism of the jihadists. His videos and sermons preach love, the remembrance of God (or ‘zikr’) and reconciliation. His slightly New Agey rhetoric makes him sound, for better or worse, like a Muslim Deepak Chopra. But in the eyes of Osama bin Laden and the Taliban, he is an infidel-loving, grave-worshiping apostate; they no doubt regard him as a legitimate target for assassination.”

After reading the above, and considering all the strains of Christianity available (and we do have some scary elements there, in my view), how can we not consider that Islam may be the same in terms of peaceful vs. fanatical practitioners? If we extend this point, does the fact that Timothy McVeigh was brought up Catholic mean that a Catholic church shouldn’t be built anywhere near the Murrah Building site in Oklahoma City – because it’s offensive, or someone might go nuts in the name of God?

Generally speaking, most people I’ve talked to are offended by “what it stands for,” or are concerned about security. But if you break down the argument, strip away the emotion and review the facts, the only thing that I can come up with is that these worshippers should be allowed to continue to meet in their expanded, code-conforming center, and that this particular congregation is reaching out to try to create understanding and heal wounds created on 9/11– not develop a Ground Zero intifada!

All expected references to Constitutional freedom of religion aside, let’s get real: We already know that this mosque will be under the microscope, scrutinized for any misstep from a security standpoint. With that in mind: what’s the harm of grasping an extended hand and working toward some peace and closure?

S.R. Brown lives in Pflugerville and is a marketing consultant.

Dear Editor,

C.J. King has been announcing Panther football for decades. His resounding “First Down Panthers” or “Touchdown Panthers” echoes thru the stands energizing the team and supporters.

C.J., his wife Irene, and four children have graduated from PHS. All were outstanding athletes. C.J. played under coaches Charles and Hub Kuempel and was an integral part of the 55 consecutive wins (1958-62), which set a national schoolboy record.

Thanks C.J. for being the voice of Panther football.

– Vernagene Mott

Quotables:

“I started being a spotter when my youngest son and daughter were in high school, even though they didn’t play football. Doug Monzingo was the announcer at that time.

“I heard people having difficulty pronouncing the names of our own boys and I thought we need somebody who can at least pronounce our own boys’ names.

“It’s the best seat in the house in any weather. I love doing it. I enjoy the games. I enjoy the kids. They’re always so energetic.

“Whenever Pflugerville gets a first down I yell real loud ‘First down Panthers!’ and everybody cheers. I try to be fair but it’s hard not to show a little favoritism to Pflugerville because that’s my school.”

– C.J. King on his role as the voice of the Pflugerville High Panthers

If you had the opportunity, would you invite famed competitive eater Joey Chestnut (above, left) to dinner? We would, but we recommend leaving the stopwatch far away from the dining room table. (Photo by Marcial Guajardo)

By Marcial Guajardo

Managing Editor

I must ask, “How can you not appreciate the exploits of the man they call Chestnut?”

Not, of course, because they call him Chestnut, but rather because of the ability involved in digesting 68 hot dogs in 10 minutes, as Joey Chestnut did during the 2009 Nathan’s hot dog-eating contest in Coney Island, N.Y.

The hot dog-eating contest is now so well-known it is aired on ESPN, although many will debate if competitive eating is actually a sport. At first glance, one is likely to say “Chestnut is nothing but a nut!” At risk of being categorized in the same boat with Joey, I will say it is a sport.

Dictionaries will define “sport” as “an activity involving physical exertion and skill in which an individual or team competes against another or others for entertainment.” Let’s break that down a bit, like Joey chomping away on a hot dog, or ice cream, as he did last weekend during the Austin Ice Cream Festival.

• “… for entertainment”: check

• “an activity involving physical exertion and skill …”: check

Past hot dog contest champion Takeru Kobayashi weighed around 130 pounds when in 2001 he obliterated the previous record (25) by devouring 50-and-a-half dogs and buns at the Nathan’s event. Kobayashi, credited with revolutionizing competitive eating with his record-breaking techniques, noted he trained year-round to prepare for such events.

Kobayashi, for example, found that eating large meals would stretch his stomach and so he did so year-round, with restaurants in Japan eventually allowing him a regular table in exchange for the publicity he offered.

He also found that standing while eating provided him an advantage over fellow competitors, as did developing a bird-like neck-craning technique that helped him digest his food.

Kobayashi’s feats most definitely involved physical exertion. You try eating 275 jalapeno peppers in 10 minutes, as Patrick Bertoletti did on May 2, and tell us otherwise afterward.

Kobayashi developed unique approaches to competitive eating and then had the skill to pull them off.

I must admit, in 2002 upon entering Round Rock’s Frontier Days jalapeno-eating contest, I figured I’d simply rip the peppers into pieces and place them behind my tongue, tobacco dip-style, and avoid the stinging heat.

That actually worked, but as my third-place finish would attest, my technique was flawed and, as my stomach would attest, I didn’t have the physical ability to carry out a victory. I ate only 14, while others – who did much better than I – told me they had been eating jalapenos in bunches or drank much milk the previous two days in preparation for the event.

• “… in which an individual or team competes against another or others …” check

Chestnut looks like a regular guy, much like the guys who stood next to him at the Ice Cream Festival podium Saturday in Austin. But those guys aren’t “eaters” and it showed, as together they ate 1 gallon of Madagascar vanilla bean ice cream in five minutes to Chestnut’s 1.25 gallons. However, I’m not sure if that included the amount digested and quickly regurgitated backstage by a disqualified competitor.

Having done my best to substantiate competitive eating as a sport, I’ll now throw my weight (which I’ll admit could use some competitive fasting at this point) behind bringing a competitive eating exhibition to Pflugerville.

You see, Chestnut stopped off at the Ice Cream Festival in Waterloo Park as part of the Pepto Bismol Summer Food Festival Tour, which includes stops at the Bite of (Portland) Oregon and the San Francisco Street Food Festival.

Chestnut, quite the competitor, wasn’t messing around when he dipped headlong into the vanilla ice cream, but his competitors were hand-picked from amateurs who entered the contest, as the Summer Food Festival Tour aims to put on exhibitions of competitive eating, rather than full-scale eater throw-downs (I said ‘-downs’ rather than –‘ups’; quite  the difference between said events).

Now, the crowd at Waterloo Park was considerably smaller than the 40,000 who watched the Nathan’s hot dog competition live on Coney Island. But those who came were eager supporters of Chestnut – chanting his name, banging Pepto noise sticks, and lining up for photos and autographs before and after the event.

Coordinators of Pflugerville’s annual Deutschen Pfest have done an outstanding job putting together an increasingly entertaining event locally. I would say crowds for this year’s Deutschen Pfest were considerably larger than that of Saturday’s Ice Cream Festival.

So, I now ask, “Would Pflugerville like to appreciate the efforts of Joey Chestnut, Kobayashi, Bertoletti or even Tim ‘Eater X’ Janus in person?”

If anyone with Deutschen Pfest would like to call me about it, I’ll gladly do my best to find out how much it would cost to bring an “eater” to town. I’ll also gladly take e-mails (news@pflugervillepflag.com) or comments on our website (PflugervillePflag.com) from anyone wanting to express their thoughts yea or nay on the subject.

It may not be cost-effective to bring an eater in (nor pretty, for that matter). I don’t know about you, but I, for one, say “Forks up!” to the thought!

From “Lose Yourself” by Eminem:

“If you had one shot, or one opportunity

To seize everything you ever wanted in one moment

Would you capture it? Or just let it slip?”

(Played at Austin Ice Cream Festival Saturday shortly before Joey Chestnut devoured 1.25 gallons of Madagascar vanilla bean ice cream to win an ice cream-eating contest sponsored by Pepto Bismol.)

Special to the Pflag

[July 23’s] vote by the State Board of Education to proceed with consideration of funding Charter School facilities using the Permanent School Fund gives me concern for several reasons. The action was contrary to the advice of the Board’s financial counsel. Also, there is a substantial question whether the action was within the Board’s authority, a question the Attorney General will need to decide. As there is a reasonable possibility that the Attorney General will conclude the Board lacks such authority, I believe it would have been more prudent to first seek that opinion before proceeding.

I do applaud the efforts of the Board to be innovative in seeking a solution to this problem. I am a strong supporter of Charter Schools, and indeed all public schools. I would recommend we continue to work with the House and Senate Education Committees to find a solution to the facility funding needs of our Charter Schools. If I become a Board member, I would intend to work closely with these committees and my Senator and good friend, Senate Finance Chairman Steve Ogden, to seek a real solution to the issue of Charter School facility financing.

If the Attorney General were to conclude that the Board has a role to play in this area, I still believe the Board should consider the matter with caution. Our focus should be to take care that 100 percent of the Permanent School Fund investments are always working to receive the highest investment return for the public schoolchildren of Texas. If I am elected, I will certainly do everything I can to make that happen.

Marsha Farney is a candidate for the State Board of Education, District 10, which includes a portion of Travis County including Pflugerville.

By S. R. Brown

Guest columnist

Last night I had an extremely vivid dream. I was at the grocery store checkout, making small talk with the cashier as he rang up my goods. When it came time to pay, I handed over my debit card; after a few moments he said, “Sorry, your card has been rejected. Can you provide any other form of payment?” Horrified yet resourceful, I tried to work out an installment plan with the store to where they would get their money, I would get my food, and everyone would be satisfied.

Obviously, this is a non-viable option at my neighborhood H-E-B in “Awake Town.”

I’m not exactly sure how my plan worked out, because I woke up at the crucial moment (isn’t that always the way?). As I lay there in bed clutching my head, two things immediately occurred to me: 1. I’ve already been through the first part of this story (last week; thanks to my inexact checkbook balancing methods) and 2. OK, it’s not just my inexact checkbook balancing methods; it’s my dismal fiscal reality… and I’d better come up with a solution a tad more down to earth in than the one conjured in my dreams!

There’s no hiding from this fact. I recently read an article headline one morning in the New York Times that gave me a start from absolute recognition: “Entrepreneur or Unemployed?” The piece was about (apparently many) people who are contractors in their professional field; not because they truly want “freedom and flexibility,” but because they simply cannot find full-time employment.

This fits my situation to a “T”. While I’m technically “underemployed” (meaning, “officially working part-time when full-time would be awesome”), I am one of those who both moonlights and “mid-afternoonlights” as I can to try to keep the specialized professional skills fresh and food on the table, all the while applying for jobs in my field and facing hiring freezes, numerous “no thanks” and other assorted dead ends.

I have been at this since I left a marketing management job for Africa in October 2007 (as I mentioned in my last column), coming back in December of that year just as our great recession began, by all official accounts.

I was mentally and financially set for 12-16 months of low to no income, which I thought was realistic; I had no idea that I’d be looking at nearly three years of such.

As you may surmise, planning on being “manageably broke” for one year and now heading into three … I’m simply not making enough to keep up with my mortgage and other bills – a hard place to arrive for a stridently independent and self-sufficient person who always lived below my means and maintained a savings cushion (a benefit of growing up poor and not wanting to be so as an adult).

I haven’t learned all my lessons from the latter, though. I’m somewhat embarrassed to say that, to this moment, I’ve rationalized avoidance of adding another fixed hour part-time job to my work roster because it might interfere with the potential for full-time job interviews and contract work. However, holding on to “potential” (and pride, if I’m honest) is not enough any more; the “new normal” appears to be a bit unforgiving, even in a more optimal economy such as we have here in Texas.

As per Albert Einstein’s definition of insanity regarding “… doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results,” I can’t keep on thinking, wishing and hoping for the old fiscal normal anymore. And willful insanity: Not an option!

But a paradigm shift … now that’s an option that I’m finally coming around to. Taking charge of the solution involves switching my idealism into low gear; realism into high – even just for awhile.

Living in the moment – appreciating what I am learning in my existing jobs – is something I have to remind myself to do. I will also have to work an additional job for the indefinite future, and I must like the idea! Full-time work may come with time and resumé submissions, but I simply can’t count on that for the time being.

Another radical change: Two of my brothers just finished up on their lease in June, so we decided to consolidate under one roof, as they needed to work out their fiscal salvation as well.

An important point to note is that none of us are in our 20s anymore, so we weren’t all that delighted with recreating a communal living arrangement from our youth: Been there, survived that. As oft said in childhood, though: “Tough noogies – deal!”

Despite it all, this story isn’t all doom and gloom. A paradigm shift can lead to innovation in industry (e.g., Kodak finally accepting the digital photography world and partnering with Wal-Mart on photo CDs) and for me, perhaps, renovation of the ol’ heart. I’m still here despite some serious setbacks; am relatively young, and am learning a few things about myself and life that I’ve missed while cocooned in financial comfort for the 15 years prior to my current situation.

Such as: My brothers are both away this week and I miss not hearing the surround sound system booming away in the living room while I’m trying to learn Swahili in my bedroom (a language I hope to use in one of those future roles). It’s annoying, sure, but a sign of life other than my own.

I’d also inherited two cats with the arrival of one brother, and a puppy named Rosie from the other. The former creatures “enhance” my allergies, but Rosie – soulful of eye and slack of jowl, with the smile of the Joker and ears like origami envelopes – mirrors back my positive attributes (“You’re here! You love me!”) that aren’t immediately visible to me while I’m mulling my negatives. As her occasional caretaker, focusing on her needs is a worthwhile (and fun!) distraction from the complications of my own.

I have a new nephew as of this past Valentine’s Day. Facebook friends viewing my profile picture can see in an instant that he’s a little ray of sunshine in my life.

I love swimming in my community pool, a free source of exercise and Vitamin D, as is also a walk around the increasingly well-developed Lake Pflugerville.

I still volunteer on Kenya projects, which pay intangibly in numerous ways.

My family and friends have “been there” beyond measure. From thoughtful cards, a check or a chocolate orange in the mail to coffee or happy hour and a chat, I’ve learned to appreciate the gift of time and aid from loved ones. These gifts continue to give in my darkest hours.

And, despite recent ideological struggles with religion, I truly believe that God is there.

Another useful moment occurred in a recent community meeting on the subject of our country’s financial situation.

One of the audience members made an agitated statement to the speaker about how the government was “giving people the runaround” about the state of the economy, and how “no one could depend on economic indicators” to make any plans. I remember shaking my head and thinking, “Sir, the state of my bankbook is my only true economic indicator, and maybe we should all just do whatever is necessary (within the bounds of decency and morals, natch) to keep our respective fiscal ships afloat for now…’kay?”

I couldn’t upstage the speaker with my words, but… with this concept, in combination with my scary dream (based on scary reality), I’m finally reconciled to the “new normal.” If I keep on task, take time to walk the Rosie, soak in the Vitamin D, and appreciate my friends and family, I just may make it after all.

Welcome to my personal Economic Recovery Act.

S.R. Brown lives in Pflugerville and is a marketing consultant.

By a 5-4 vote the United States Supreme Court recently struck down a city of Chicago handgun ban, just as it had done two years before with the Washington, D.C. law that barred private handgun ownership.

Why are these bans over-reaching?

Primarily because they are – as the Supreme Court has ruled – in violation of the Second Amendment to the U.S. Constitution.

But there is also a real-life story behind this particular Supreme Court case. The lawsuit challenging the Chicago ban on personal handgun ownership – McDonald v. Chicago – stems from an elderly black man’s desire to enjoy that most basic of American rights: the right to feel safe in his own home and neighborhood.

According to the Washington Post, Otis McDonald, now 76, “said he needed a gun to protect himself… from young black ‘gangbangers’ who were terrorizing his suburban Chicago neighborhood.”

Chicago city leaders – including Mayor Richard Daley – supported the gun ban and they oppose last month’s Supreme Court decision.

They are right in stating Chicago is already an exceptionally violent place. The weekend immediately before the Supreme Court ruling, 29 Chicagoans were shot – three of them fatally. The weekend before that, 50 shooting incidents left 10 city residents dead.

But disarming honest, law-abiding people won’t stop the bad guys from having – and using – guns.

Furthermore, there now comes this out of Harvard University, which one might presume is not a haven for hotheaded gun nuts.

According to a Harvard Journal of Law and Public Policy study, gun ownership rates do not correlate with high rates of murder or suicide.

According to the study – entitled “Would Banning Firearms Reduce Murder and Suicide? A Review of International and Some Domestic Evidence” – there is no objective data to support the conventional wisdom “that more guns means more deaths and fewer guns means fewer deaths.”

For example: The Soviet Union’s murder rate far exceeds that of the United States, despite the Soviet Union’s strict gun prohibitions.

Furthermore other nations cited in the study – such as Germany, France, Norway, Finland and Denmark – maintain higher rates of gun ownership, yet possess murder rates much lower than nations in which gun ownership is more restricted.

For example: Handguns are outlawed in Luxembourg, a country which has a murder rate nine times higher than Germany’s.

“Norway,” the study notes, “has far and away Western Europe’s highest gun ownership rate, and its lowest murder rate.”

The study further notes that England had few gun restrictions, in the 19th and early 20th century, and also had little violent crime.

Now, England has tough restrictions on firearms ownership – and its violent crime rate surpasses America’s.

Harvard’s social scientists have apparently come to the same conclusion as gun-rights advocates who travel in less rarified company: When guns are outlawed, only outlaws will have guns.

Last month, city leaders signed an economic development agreement with RRE Austin Solar that will allow for a solar energy production facility capable of producing at least 60 megawatts of electricity – enough, city leaders say, to power every house in town.

RRE Austin Solar has agreed to have the project up and running no later than Aug.1, 2014, and to produce at least 20 megawatts of electric energy at all times thereafter.

As James Rincon wrote in a July 1 article in the Pflag, the company has plans to maintain a 550-acre solar farm on the west side of Manda-Carlson Road at Felder Lane. The facility, just outside the Pflugerville city limits but within the city’s property rights, will be exempt from annexation until 2040 but RRE Austin Solar will pay an annual fee equal to 0.05 cents per $100 in valuation of the property, starting in 2020.

According to the agreement, plans include the placement of “solar panels and/or small wind turbines” on city and Pflugerville ISD facilities and properties as requested by the city. The company will finance the installation of no more than $750,000 in solar panels and wind turbines on those facilities and properties.

There is much to consider still on this project, but the city has taken a significant step forward in giving solar power a chance to gain root in Pflugerville. According to the Solar Energy Industries Association, solar energy is the cleanest, most abundant renewable energy source available. It doesn’t bring with it the concerns of nuclear energy and solar energy, with consideration to advances in vehicle power, can help drive the nation away from its dependence on fossil fuels.

The SEIA notes the greatest challenge facing the solar market is scaling up production and distribution to drive costs down to the point they are on par with costs of fossil fuel sources. But steps in doing so appear to have been made in the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act of 2009, otherwise known as the federal stimulus package. Federal grants in that act are helping solar projects get off the ground, including more than $2 billion in new and upgraded solar equipment factories, according to SEIA.

The solar industry is also seeing an increase nationwide in employment, although the increase is slight. From 2008 to 2009, employment in the solar industry jumped by 10,000, according to SEIA.

Locally, Dell Inc. late last year completed work on a new 516-panel solar structure at its Round Rock headquarters. According to Dell, the array is designed to generate 130,000 kilowatt hours of solar power annually, and helps to avoid around 145,000 pounds of greenhouse gas emissions per year.

Dell built the structure in an employee parking lot, providing shade for about 50 parking spaces and including two charging stations for plug-in electric vehicles.

Other projects, on smaller scales, may also be on the way, thanks to state legislation. According to SEIA, 16 states including Texas since last year have enacted “property-assessed clean energy” financing provisions. They allow homeowners and businesses to finance solar energy systems through government-backed bonds via assessments on their property taxes.

SEIA has set an industry-wide goal of installing 10 gigawatts of solar capacity annually by 2015, and has set its sights on making solar energy the cheapest source of retail electricity in the United States by that year.

“The solar energy industry – invented and commercialized in the U.S. – is the solution for our country’s addition to fossil fuels,” Rhone Resch, president and CEO of SEIA, said in a June 21 written statement. “It’s time we get this country moving in the right direction.”

It appears the city of Pflugerville has already taken steps in that same direction.

Special to the Pflag

Around this time of year, roadside fireworks stands line highways as people start planning their Fourth of July celebrations. Many celebrate the holiday by providing their own “rockets’ red glare” to the night’s sky. It’s one of the staples of America’s Independence Day – picnics, friends, family and fireworks.

Unfortunately, while fireworks can produce a nice visual, they can also be safety hazards. According to the National Council on Firework Safety, an estimated 9,800 people were injured in firework-related accidents in 2007. While injury reports have been in a decline in recent years – according to the Texas Firework Safety website – there are still far too many injuries and accidents caused by fireworks. In addition to the physical injuries, more than $36 million in property damage is reported each year. Many of these firework accidents could have been prevented.

Misuse of fireworks and the lack of common sense are the most common causes of firework injuries and accidents. There are a number of precautions people need to consider when using fireworks. Aside from label warnings that are included on every package, there are many online resources available to provide helpful tips and safety practices.

Here are some of the most common safety practices that will help ensure a safe and happy Fourth of July celebration:

• Most municipalities ban discharge of fireworks within city limits. Avoid an unplanned discussion with law enforcement by checking on the restrictions in your area.

• Only buy fireworks from licensed retail outlets.

• Never experiment with homemade or altered fireworks.

• Carefully read and follow all of the directions on the package.

• Only use fireworks outdoors, away from buildings and dry grass, and on a flat surface.

• Keep a water source – a bucket of water, wet towels or a water hose – or fire extinguisher nearby.

• Light one firework at a time, and then move away quickly.

• Never shoot fireworks from a glass or metal container.

• Never point roman candles, bottle rockets or other shooting fireworks at people or animals.

• Do not hold lit fireworks.

• Never position any body part over lit fireworks.

• Never point or throw fireworks at animals or people.

• Always have emergency contact information available and an emergency plan in place.

• Do not try to reignite malfunctioned fireworks.

• Wear protective clothing, such as gloves and goggles.

• Keep spectators and pets a safe distance away.

• Don’t overestimate a child’s ability to handle fireworks. Always make sure there is adult supervision.

In Texas, high temperatures and an often-dry summer create another concern for firework users. According to the city of Round Rock, fire departments in the United States respond to more fires on the Fourth of July than any other day of the year. Because of the Texas heat, it’s important to know if there is a fire danger in the area before making plans for a fireworks spectacle for friends and family.

There are plenty of resources to know what condition county and city grounds are in or if there is a burn ban in the area. Watch the local news, visit the local city website, or call the local police department or city office for information.

The most important tip for safety is to use common sense when using fireworks. If families still want to enjoy a fireworks show, but don’t want to put one on themselves, many communities host events that provide large-scale fireworks shows in a controlled environment.

The best thing to do is either follow proper safety procedures and closely monitor children, or leave the fireworks to the professionals.

Steve Bills is senior manager of Loss Prevention for Texas Mutual Insurance Company. Austin-based Texas Mutual Insurance Company is a provider of workers’ compensation insurance in Texas.

(According to city ordinance, the city of Pflugerville has a zero tolerance policy on the use of fireworks within city limits.)

Guest columnist

In 2004, a mere decade after the end of apartheid, South Africa was tapped to host the 2010 World Cup – and the globe rejoiced. Funders were aligned and stadiums built; and a few short weeks ago, teams shipped in and fans ushered to seats, high-decibel noisemakers in hand.

As we now watch the month-long spectacle from distant shores, we can see this development as a sign that “the Dark Continent” is coming into its own. That it is becoming a “major player,” by any definition. It is an awesome, Coca-Cola-sponsored idyll that this American, for one, is happy to embrace.

But after the vuvuzelas go silent, what remains? Like soccer legend Pele’s prediction that Africa would have a World Cup-winning team before the turn of the century, Africa’s economic emergence on the world scene is still a matter of a dream deferred.

A continent rich in natural splendor, Africa is one of those places that changes you forever once you’ve been there. I briefly worked in Kenya back in 2007, and often find myself daydreaming about my experience years hence. Despite the grinding poverty, the insufficient water security, the completely lacking emissions standards and scary ground transportation options (anyone who has ever ridden in a matatu – a Toyota minibus packed to the roof with human cargo – knows of what I speak!) … I will never forget the beauty of what I saw and who I met during that time.

But, as I introduced in my last column, I am a dreamer tempered by a strong realistic streak. As such, there is no “despite” in my vocabulary, really. Because “despite” implies that all of those things that I listed are merely incidental detractions in a faraway place – a place that I, as an American, can leave at any time for the comforts of home.

I continue to work in an administrative capacity on Kenya-based projects, developing donation allocation policy and fundraising programs as a volunteer with a small charity. After several years in this work, I see our organization as a microcosm for the greater effort in determining, “How do we help Africa move forward?” This thought goes into every program we plan and every dollar we raise – and invest.

And, it’s a two-way street: Charitable thoughts aside, African countries must be partners in responsibility for their own economic growth and stability, applying those programs and dollars judiciously.

And this responsibility extends to big-time investments. The Economist magazine recently held an online debate on the topic of “…whether China’s growing involvement in Africa is to be welcomed” because, as George Ayittey, an economist with the American University, put it in his argument against the motion, “China’s increased engagement with Africa has impeded the continent’s halting steps towards democratic accountability and better governance. African countries receiving Chinese aid have little incentive to improve governance.”

While the motion of the house won in this instance, the con argument brought up a very good point that plagues many African countries, some 50 years post-colonialism: Wherefore art responsible governance? In a rush for gargantuan investments and personal gain, what are African leaders telling their constituents – and their investors – about their priorities?

Nigerians know. The February 2007 National Geographic article “Curse of the Black Gold” by Tom O’Neil quotes Isaac Asume Osuoka, director of Social Action, Nigeria, “With all the oil money coming in, the state doesn’t need taxes from people. Rather than being a resource for the state, the people are impediments. There is no incentive anymore for the government to build schools or hospitals.”

And it’s not just petroleum-based or mineral resources that cause the problems. Africa’s greatest resource – its people – is up for grabs. A New York Times columnist Rob Hughes brings this point in his June 24 piece, “Africa Fizzles in A Chance to Shine,” “Its [Africa’s] players are plucked up in adolescence by Europe’s rich clubs in much the same way that colonial powers came here for diamonds.” Ah colonialism … the gift that keeps on giving.

However, there are a few success stories of sorts that can be held up to the world for inspection. South Africa is one, as is Rwanda.

A mere 15 years ago, South Africa was just recovering from the end of that great scourge, apartheid. With the implementation of then-President Mandela’s Reconstruction Development Programme, socio-economic programs were designed to restore balance to social and living conditions. RDP priorities influenced the targeting of outside donor aid and guided the government’s normal budgetary process; advancements made between 1994-2000 included access to clean water for 4 million people and free healthcare for pregnant women and children under age 6, according to the RDP Development Monitor.

Fifteen years ago, Rwanda was also recovering; for them it was genocide, emotionally (yet inadequately) covered in the movie “Hotel Rwanda”: Between 800,000 and 1 million Tutsis (and Hutu sympathizers) were slaughtered by the Interehamwe in 100 days of dizzying menace that shocked the world. Nowadays, among other improvements, Rwanda has a universal healthcare program, initiated by the U.S. organization Partners In Health, that virtually every citizen can afford at $2 a month. This is an example of fostering an external program from within.

Both countries have managed to recover their dignity and purpose in a larger sense. Neither is perfect – Paul Kagame, prime minister of Rwanda is often called an “autocrat” by detractors, and criminal instability has replaced apartheid in some parts of South Africa – but both are experiencing a level of economic and infrastructure development unimaginable back in the early ‘90s.

And there’s Ghana, a West African country that is currently basking in the hot glare of the World Cup spotlight as Africa’s last chance at the World Cup. Again, quoting the Rob Hughes article, “Ghana’s soccer federation rightly says that its team, like its soccer structure, is based on nurturing its own youth before foreign clubs entice them away.” A simple concept, and yet a potential formula for success that largely escapes notice in other countries.

In fact, the continent would be well-served by applying this formula to governing leadership. You want investments? Turn away the short-term enticements of easy wealth that benefits few; focus on those donors who wish to develop – rather than exploit – your natural resources (including your people), thereby developing your country’s economic base.

And, back to the aid end of the equation: Whether we’re talking about small nonprofits providing mosquito nets to a village or a military presence quelling an internecine conflict, advancing a short-term “feel good” or “due diligence” agenda does no good for the long run.

Investors have a responsibility, I feel, to create a sustainable infrastructure with education, accountability, and end-plan components for every program implemented. Teach a man to fish, but also teach him how to bring the fish to the table or to market – then step back and let him do for himself.

As I write, Ghana has just beaten the USA 2-1, one step closer to the Cup.

For all that a win could symbolize to a continent on the verge, this American’s vuvu sounds for thee.

S.R. Brown lives in Pflugerville and is a marketing consultant.

Contributing columnist

“Hello, doctor!” someone called to my father, as he strode briskly down the corridor in the nursing home where his mother lay slowly dying.

My father was not a doctor. But it was the way he had about him that prompted the greeting. I knew it even at 12.

And we smiled at one another, he and I did, in a sly and secret way. Like we had just put one over on the big shots and scored points for the working stiffs.

I could say he was big, because I was small, but my father was not a tall man. Never more than five-foot-ten, I would guess, but thick through the shoulders and chest. His dark suit coat, with the heavy padded shoulders men wore then, added to this presence. This aura of compact strength.

A sharp nose, piercing eyes, high forehead, receding hairline and deep, booming voice completed the picture. Completed the presence. Completed the image of total confidence and command.

I lived with it, loved it and hated it. Mainly, I knew it.

And so the stranger’s honest mistake was not only understandable. It was natural. Maybe even inevitable.

This case of mistaken identity was repeated, many times, during my grandmother’s slow decline. And my father never spoke a word in correction. There would only be a nod, a few words of acknowledgement, and then again our exchange of secret smiles.

He enjoyed the attention and the flattery implied.

And his mother didn’t die all at once. She passed away in bits and pieces, ravaged by old age.

What I remember is, my dad was always there.

Like a shining star – true and consistent – strange and unknowable – the dense man in the dark coat was always there.

Try to remember

My father was hard-working and powerfully built, stubborn in his opinions and consistent in his habits. Thirty-five years on the same job. Fifty years a Mason. Fifty years a married man.

But I look at photographs of him, from his young manhood, and see a transformation that takes place in black and white.

There he is, slender and pale, with deep and dark eyes almost too big for his face. With his fur-collared coat and homburg hat, he is almost a young dandy.

And there he is again, in a few short years, wearing the working man’s clothes of assembly line shift work. Full of obligation and heft. Caring for a widowed mother, wife and two young children. With a high school diploma and steady work, driving down the station-wagon road to a good life in middle-class America. Up in the morning, out on the job, punching the time clock.

And yet the younger man – with fancier clothes and perhaps grander dreams – was always there, too. With a glass full of whiskey and the air full of cigarette smoke. Full of weekend aftershave. Full of robust, fanny-slapping bravado and “South Pacific” on the stereo: “She is broad where a broad should be broad …”

Full of wistfulness. And unspoken glances at roads not taken. Like a plow horse, in harness, seeing race horses run by.

But he didn’t run. Instead, he sang: “Try to remember, the kind of September, when you were a tender and callow fellow …”

Why wasn’t he a singer? Or on the radio? His voice was good enough for either. Instead, he settled for security and I was one of the gifts.

But there came a time when I was not always such a prize and neither was he.

Piggyback rides and snowball fights gave way to icy-hot standoffs. First, full of loud and angry words. And then just silent disappointments. As if we had become separated from one another and lost and then realized, with sad acknowledgement, that all the shouting in the world would not help us find our way home.

I steeled myself, against the man who had taught me how to make a fist.

And then I opened my hand, to write, and this helped me forgive the both of us.

For awhile, my father drank more.

And then not at all.

Not ever again.

And over time, with much groping in the dark, we found our way home

Closing the circle

“Hello, doctor!” someone called to me, as I strode briskly down the corridor in the hospital where my mother lay dying.

I nodded in acknowledgement, spoke a few words and then hurried off to my mother’s room.

She didn’t die all at once. She passed away in bits and pieces, ravaged by cancer.

We were there together, my father and I. One of us recently married and the other about to be widowed. And the circle turned like a slow-moving shadow, stretching toward completion.

I would carve the holiday turkey, and insist on driving, and rub liniment on his shoulders when it was late at night and he was tired and sore.

Dad would come to visit Ellen and me. Tobacco and booze replaced by tea and cookies and a small Pomeranian dog he would pamper and talk to.

Months went by, between the visits, and he was visibly older every time I saw him. His arms a little thinner. His walk a little less steady. His room-filling presence a little more diminished.

One Christmas day, after my mother’s death, we drove to the cemetery and Dad spoke to her grave.

“I’ve got no complaints,” he said. Blowing his nose into a handkerchief and blaming it on the raw December weather.

Back home, he sat at our kitchen table and fell asleep with his head on his chest.

I kissed him on the forehead and said goodnight.

In March of 2003 we were talking on the telephone and he sounded hoarse. Just allergies, he said. Nothing to worry about. He was in the hospital the next night, with pneumonia, and dead the morning after that.

In life my father was, as they say, a handful.

But I miss him every day.

Like you, Dad, I’ve got no complaints.

Except for one. You’re not here.