Family is forever

I gave some serious thought to the idea of deleting that last post. I felt like I was lashing out at Penn State, and I love Penn State. Penn State is like a part of my family. Faults don't have to kill the love.

But what happened can never be undone, so I might as well own up to the anger of my reaction. I hope if anyone was hurt by what I said there that you might forgive my bitterness. I'm not generally the kind of person who lets bitterness linger and last forever. At least, I don't think of myself that way. If it makes any difference, I'm trying to forgive myself for that bitterness and anger, whether it was justified or not.

When Paterno died, I was deeply upset. It did have such a ring of tragedy to it. I admired the way his family chose to honor him, and I feel he deserved that honor. I finally went to the statue of him by Beaver Stadium with a lump in my throat.

When he died, story after story came up in my friends' facebook feeds and in news stories that told of an incredible number of anonymous acts of gracious kindness and remarkable generosity he did for people, routinely and over the course of many decades.

One key thing that changed my perspective on Paterno's role in this horrible Sandusky story was a short op ed piece written by a child abuse attorney. This attorney calmly pointed out a few factors about mandated reporter laws. First, Paterno was a mandated reporter. This has been acknowledged. Secondly, the people he reported to were exactly the people he was supposed to report to, by law. Had he violated the chain of communications, he could have jeopardized the credibility of his potential testimony. This was something I didn't know because no one was saying it in the media. Hearing this, I was able to finally see that Paterno actually did exactly what he was supposed to do. He trusted the men above him to do the right thing, and they hadn't given him any indication that he shouldn't. That broke my heart a bit, realizing this, in light of my initially buying into some of the vilification that had come towards him. I can now still think of him as a hero. He was not perfect, or a saint, but I can see goodness in him again the way I used to. Doing so makes me honestly a bit ashamed that I doubted the guy. It was so hard, when this horrible story exploded, to see anything clearly.

I am too emotionally tied to Penn State to let anger fuel my feeling for the place. If others feel that way, though, I can't blame them. And if still others feel more loyal to the place than ever, I can see their position too. I feel stuck in the middle now. Others have picked up the banner for accountability and change and are willing to shout and fight. Many of them have far more power and influence than I ever will.

What a hard end for Joe... scandal... doubt... public rage... lung cancer... betrayal... yet the man was calm and even happy because his family surrounded him. His son said he died with a clear conscience. I think that's amazing.

The black Nikes swish through the perfect grass; the khaki cuffs slap lightly after; the clash is over, the quiet re-settles, and the feet meander home through the cold, grey Pennsylvania twilight. The scoreboard is meaningless; the game was all.

I wrote this for Joe. He walked home after every game. To me, this is more about the grey misty walk into the mysterious afterlife. I hope the man gets to keep peace with himself, with his soul. He loved poetry. I hope he got to see it. It may not be a great poem, but it's from the heart.