Category: Writing/Selected Essays

When Irish eyes are smiling

~ Randy Seaver ~ Leave a comment

Damn! I remember it like it was yesterday, but actually it was about a quarter century ago when I first met Vincent Keely and his son, Brian.

It was Halloween day and I had just started my new job as a reporter for the Biddeford-Saco-OOB Courier.

Back then, the Courier office was located on Washington Street in Biddeford, directly across the street from the Wonderbar restaurant.

At that time, the Wonderbar (as I would soon find out) was a political and social epicenter, where everyone felt comfortable knowing that their conversations were confidential, off-the-record and checked at the door. It was also a comfortable haven for those of Irish descent.

The Wonderbar restaurant 0n Washington Street in Biddeford

It was a place where political deals were struck, but more importantly it was a place where everybody knew your name, comforting and familiar, sort of like the television show Cheers.

And now it is for sale.

Back to Halloween 1998.

I left the office to pursue a feature story about downtown merchants handing out candy and other goodies to small children. Brian Keely was standing in the middle of the road, wearing a chef’s apron and clutching a rubber chicken in one hand and a toy axe in the other.

I had no way of knowing back then that Brian Keely and I would become close friends.

I soon became a regular at the Wonderbar. I don’t have a drop of Irish blood in my veins, but the Wonderbar became my home away from home.

I would marvel at the way that Mr. Keely — with his mischievous grin and a sparkle in his eyes — poured a pint of Guinness, forming a shamrock in the foam of the beer. That was a trademark of the Wonderbar that I have not seen since.

Every time, I met a new woman to date, I would bring her first to the Wonderbar for a drink. Following my date, Brian, Vincent and other regular customers would rate those women, always with a chuckle.

I recall late nights hanging out with former school superintendent Kent Webster and some members of the school board after school board meetings, and I remember watching Super Bowl games from my favorite seat at the bar.

Soon after my first date with my wife, Laura, I brought her to the Wonderbar for inspection and evaluation. On the next day, I got a unanimous thumbs up from Vince, Brian and some regular patrons. Who knew then that I would eventually become married to that woman?

My friendship with Brian Keely grew stronger with each passing day. We started a call-in political “talk show” on Biddeford’s public access television channel and later served together on Biddeford’s Downtown Development Commission.

I asked Brian to be the best man at my wedding. He readily agreed.

Laura and I held our wedding reception in a function room above the bar and restaurant.

The Wonderbar was and remains as an intrinsic part of my life. And although now it is for sale, I hope that my memories of the iconic business will endure.

I spoke by telephone with Mr. Keely a few days ago. He told me that he purchased the Wonderbar nearly 30 years ago in 1992 from Edward “Ted” Truman.

I asked why he was selling the business.

“It was a matter of time,” he said. “Covid didn’t help matters any.”

Keely will soon be celebrating his 87th birthday. He said he routinely has back pain and often feels weak when standing too long.

“I didn’t get any help from the city, the state or anyone else,” he said with a tone of frustration.

He said he has had several calls from potential buyers, but most of them were “tire-kickers.”

For me, the Wonderbar was always so much more than an Irish bar and pub. It was my home.

To Vincent and Brian, I offer this Irish blessing “May the road rise to meet you; May the wind be ever at your back; May the sunshine warm upon your face; And the rain fall soft upon your fields; And until we meet again; May God hold you in the palm of his hand.”

Slainte.

Originally published on March 24, 2021 in the Saco Bay News

A new era begins

~ Randy Seaver ~ Leave a comment

It was almost exactly 12 years ago today when I found myself in Washington, D.C. as part of a massive crowd converging on the Capitol Building. We were hoping to get a glimpse of profound history: the inauguration of President Barack Obama.

I remember that it was bitterly cold but the crowd was joyous. Beyond optimistic. But here’s the thing: I did not vote for Obama. I voted for John McCain. That said, I knew the impact of the moment. The history being created. I wanted to be a part of that positive energy.

I did not travel to Washington to attend the inauguration. I was invited to a reception held the night before at the New Zealand Embassy. I was working in the public policy arena and somehow got invited to that reception. I was a nervous wreck. What would I wear? What are the protocols? Laura could not join me. Someone had to take care of the kids and pets. I bought a new suit.

I felt so out of place at that reception. It was way beyond my pay-grade. Again, I didn’t even vote for Obama. I went back to my hotel that evening relieved. I fell asleep while watching CNN. I awoke early the next morning. Inauguration Day. I checked out at 6:30 a.m., thinking I could beat the crowd for a “good spot” to witness the ceremony. I was dead wrong.

The mass of people descending on the Capitol was mind-boggling. I don’t think I was able to get within one mile of the Capitol. The cold air stung that morning. I had an open-ended plane ticket to Boston. I could have simply turned around and retreated. I did not. I also did not see the swearing-in ceremony nor the parade down Pennsylvania Avenue.

But I was there. I was part of history.

Four years, later I repeated myself. I did not vote for Obama. I voted for Mitt Romney. I was not invited to any fancy parties. I watched that inauguration from the comfort of my office in Portland.

Flash forward almost 12 years and I could not believe what I was seeing on television. The Capitol Building was breached while Congress was in session Protestors scaled the walls. They broke into Congressional offices. They vandalized the epicenter of our Democracy.

Filled with hate, they continued their rampage. They flat-out refused to accept the inevitable (and official) outcome of the presidential election. Fueled by conspiracy theories and their self-righteous rage, they revealed what we may not want to accept: There are a lot of angry people out there.

Watching that fiasco was painful, to say the least. I was ashamed to be a Republican, even if my connection to the GOP was thread-bare. My first thought was to publicly disavow my political affiliation, to retreat safely into a ring guarded by conservative Democrats: a position of relative safety and protected against public disdain and blame.

But as my own anger about the protestors grew, I came to a conclusion. I would not abandon my party. Instead, I would continue to be a Republican with conservative ideals: a strong supporter of the Second Amendment, a voice for limited and more efficient government, a fiscal conservative. I would not be ashamed to be a Republican. It is possible to be a Republican and still condemn the melee that was conducted by an unhinged mob.

I want to a be a Republican like Colin Powell, Condoleeza Rice, former Defense Secretary and Maine senator William Cohen, and the list goes on and on.

Make no mistake, there was nothing patriotic about the events that today still seem like scenes from a nightmare. That said, Republicans of good conscious must rise up and let their voices be heard. It is well past time to cower in the shadow of public opinion.

Some in the GOP will mock me. They will call me a RINO (a Republican In Name Only). I will also be disparaged by Democrats. Some say I will be a man with no country. I call bullshit on that.

I am a Republican, but first and foremost, I am an American.

More than this . . .

~ Randy Seaver ~ 1 Comment

I have made more than my fair share of bad decisions — from thinking I could drive just a few more miles to the next rest stop, to throwing some kerosene onto a campfire.

For more than nearly 30 years, I lived my life with no clear direction, no purpose, no meaning.

Failure, it seemed, was at every turn. I joined the Air Force but washed out after nearly completing basic training. Then I went to college. Yup, you guessed it: I dropped out. I toyed with the idea of becoming a priest, but that did not last more than one summer.

I crisscrossed the country in search of peace, stability and worthiness: Maryland, Tennessee, Arizona and Oregon. No matter where I lived, I felt lost and lonely, unable to hold down a job for more than a year at a time.

Flash forward to 1997 and my return to Maine. I worked a few odd jobs before being hired as a sports writer (bear in mind I know nothing about sports) but I loved that job. I loved the idea of getting paid to do what I love: to write.

In the autumn of 1998, I was hired as a reporter at the Biddeford-Saco-OOB Courier. I was working in my hometown, getting paid to be a political junkie. Suddenly, my life had some meaning. I think if you ask my publishers (David and Carolyn Flood) they would tell you that I worked my ass off. But it didn’t feel like work.

It was fun.

I became the editor of that newspaper and David gave me a wide berth when it came to the newsroom. I started a column called All Along The Watchtower. Suddenly, people knew who I was.

I made friends. I made enemies, but I was still having a grand time.

Flash forward to the local election season in 2001. Our country was still grappling with the horrific losses of 9/11. It was a tense time in our nation’s history. Local elections (city council, school board, etc.) seemed so trivial within the larger context of things.

There were three candidates running for two vacant seats on the Old Orchard Beach School Board: an incumbent (Sharon Inkpen) and two political newcomers: Dora Mills and Laura Kidman Hayes.

I made a mistake in my endorsements for that race (one that I didn’t consider very important) Really, what newspaper ever covered the OOB School Board? With only a couple of weeks left before the election, I gave my endorsement to the incumbent, thinking that there was only one seat up for grabs.

It was the best mistake I ever made!

Within hours of that issue hitting the streets, I received an e-mail from Laura Kidman-Hayes. In part, she wrote: “If I were the editor of a newspaper, I would get my facts straight.”

I replied with a snippy response that barely acknowledged my mistake. Later that day, I found myself on Main Street commiserating with a Portland Press Herald reporter about the upcoming elections. Without too much detail: Grace Murphy told me that Ms. Kidman-Hayes was very cute, and she showed me a file photo of the candidate.

I immediately raced back to my office in order to send Ms. Kidman-Hayes another e-mail: a bit more contrite, even though I thought she might be married because of the hyphenated last name.

I loathe hyphenated last names.

Within minutes after I sent her my second email, she sent me another e-mail and that’s how it went for a few days. Eventually, I made her a deal: if she won, I would actually cover a meeting of the OOB School Board. If she lost, I would buy her a cup of coffee because there would be no conflict.

On election night. I was a bundle of jangled nerves as I drove to OOB to “check” on the status of the polling place (yeah, right). Laura was standing in the hallway along with the other candidates, shaking hands with incoming voters.

I took one look at her and I knew that she was way out of my league. I curtly shook hands with her and dashed into the gymnasium to chat with the town clerk. I wanted to appear like I did not care.

Not a thing

The election was over. The streets were quiet and softly lit with a mid-autumn moon. I went to bed, feeling like an idiot.

On the next day, I checked my e-mail messages at the office. Ms. Kidman Hayes had sent me an e-mail. She included three telephone numbers where she could be reached: her office phone, her home phone and her cell-phone.

I could not believe it. I asked one of my coworkers if he thought that she really wanted me to call her. “She gave you three telephone numbers. Are you really that stupid?”

I called her and asked if she wanted to have dinner with me on Sunday. She said yes. I planned on eating at Traditions on Main Street in Saco. But I forgot that they were closed on Sundays. I was a nervous wreck. I was ashamed of my 1993 Ford Escort station wagon that had muffler issues. I was ashamed because she owned her own home and I was still living in a one-bedroom apartment two flights above the Happy Dragon restaurant on Main Street in Biddeford.

We ended up at the 99 Restaurant. We were seated at a back table. We were there for a little more than three hours but neither of us ordered any food. We were too nervous, but we decided — right then and there — that we would like to try embarking on an exclusive relationship.

That was 19 years ago today. Wow time flies. T-Ball games, house hunting, pets, family deaths, kayaking, camping, different jobs and home renovation projects blend into a blur of happiness, of meaning . . .

Of purpose.

The best mistake ever.

So long, and thanks for all the fish

~ Randy Seaver ~ 2 Comments

Robert Johnson Album Cover
Robert Johnson Album Cover

I have a lot in common with my hometown of Biddeford.

I am at a crossroads, and I have decided that all good things must come to an end. It’s been an incredibly fun ride, but it’s time for me to make some changes.

You may have already noticed, but last week I put All Along the Watchtower — my personal blog — to bed.

Going forward, this site will focus solely on my new business venture. The blog posts will be less personal and focused more on subjects such as public policy, politics, economic development, media trends and healthcare.

The timing for this seemed right. For many years, All Along the Watchtower focused primarily on the city of Biddeford and its political infrastructure. Because my wife was recently elected to the Biddeford City Council, it would be increasingly difficult to write about the city objectively.

And then, I decided to start my own business.

Many people have asked why I decided to launch Randy Seaver Consulting. A number of factors converged; some anticipated, some beyond my control.

Laura and I have been talking about doing this for more than a year, and finally the time seemed right. So, I find myself at a crossroads. A proverbial turning point in my life.

It is exciting and simultaneously terrifying. There is no safety net. Either I swim or I drown.

Now, with the disclosure out of the way, I would like to offer a few final thoughts on my hometown of Biddeford, a city that is facing its own crossroads; its own turning point.

Biddeford is in the midst of a renaissance, a revitalization that would be impossible to recognize 15 or 20 years ago. There is a new vibrancy here. The city’s narrative is changing and people all over Maine are noticing.

But still, there is an internal conflict in the city and it’s not so subtle sometimes.

I read something on Facebook recently that left me shaking my head. It was penned by a woman who claimed she moved here three weeks ago.

Essentially, this woman wrote that the city does not need a parking garage because downtown has nothing to offer but crime and crappy businesses. Who would want to come here? Why would they need parking? There is already plenty of street parking because Biddeford — basically — sucks.

I fought the urge to respond to this woman. I had a few questions for her. 1.) Why did you choose to move to Biddeford, if it is truly as bad as you say? 2.) Were you court-ordered to move here? 3.) Did someone force you to live here?

I understand that change is uncomfortable. I am experiencing my own incredible set of changes (and challenges). But change is part of growth while stagnation leads to decay.

I can appreciate the apprehension some people have about the city’s transformation. I also fully support the notion of constructive criticism from people who are worried about being priced out of their homes because of property taxes. These conversations happen in every community across the country.

But Biddeford has something unique, there is a strong element of self-loathing here.

Over the last few months, countless social media accounts have been set up for no other purpose than to spread negativity and vitriol through the city. No solutions are offered, none of these folks step forward to actually do anything other than gripe.

Self-hatred is prevalent here, and I wonder why more of our residents are not rooting for the city’s success. I don’t expect anyone to become a cheerleader. I respect different opinions and perspectives, but if you stay focused on the negative then you will find yourself in a negative place.

I am at a crossroads, and if I want to be successful, I must focus on success.

If I want my clients to succeed then I must keep my energy positive while also remaining open to constructive criticism.

It is the same for my hometown.

I am excited and anxious about my future. It’s no different in Biddeford.

 

 

Je suis navré

~ Randy Seaver ~ 2 Comments

Over the last 24 hours, many of my Facebook friends changed their profile pictures with a backdrop of the French flag.

I did not.

I have no criticism for my friends who did this, I can only explain why I did not.

eifel

What happened in Paris last night was an outrage. Those were cowardly acts perpetrated by cowardly people. Of course, we should stand in solidarity with our fellow men, women and children in Paris. We want to show that we are united.  There is nothing wrong with that.

We are saddened. We are outraged. And yes, we are afraid that this form of terror will soon land again on own shores.

Paris was not the first attack coordinated by ISIS. The loose-knit terror organization has struck other nations, albeit not members of Western Civilization.

I did not change my Facebook profile when ISIS beheaded journalists. I did not change my Facebook profile when ISIS attacked a hotel in Tunisia. I did not change my Facebook profile when ISIS attacked a French Gas plant or when they attacked and killed people in Kobane or Hasakah in Syria; or in Libya or Egypt.

I was a newspaper editor when the 9-11 attacks on the United States took place. Shortly after those attacks, my publisher and I had a lengthy conversation about whether to place an American flag symbol on the top of the front page. Another local paper had made that move, but we decided not to. It was a difficult decision, but I think we both realized that we were dealing with raw emotion, rather than sound logic.

For example, how long would the flag symbol appear on the front page? Would it be like a Christmas tree, which should be taken down after six weeks? Were we suddenly becoming patriotic because we were attacked? Why didn’t we have the flag on the front page on September 10, 2001?

To us, it seemed like being exploitative in the days following a horrific attack on our nation.

As could have been predicted, that other newspaper stopped with printing the flag on their front page long before the end of the year.

Social media is different, however. I see nothing wrong with wanting to show solidarity. I see nothing wrong with wanting to affirm our common connection to the human experience, including its shock, grief and outrage.

I just fear that we are dealing with something so much larger than what we can comprehend; a force of evil that we cannot imagine.

Some say the United States is unable or unwilling to face this latest form of human terror. Some say we are complacent, self-absorbed and don’t have the will to fight any enemy like ISIS. Some even criticize western leaders like President Obama for being “weak” on terrorism.

To those people, I say you are wrong. The same things were said about America and her president on December 6, 1941. We proved the world wrong, if only reluctantly and waiting until we were attacked.

People have criticized Generation X, yet Armed Forces recruiting stations were filled in the days after Sept. 11, 2001.

America has what it takes to confront ISIS, but this will need to be much more than a social media campaign of altered Facebook profile pictures. This will need to be a worldwide effort, and it will require both resources and tremendous sacrifice.

I am not a foreign policy expert, and more than likely, neither are you. I do not know how to bring the world together on this issue, but I do know that it will require much more than symbolic gestures.

We stand with Paris. But we must also stand with Berlin, Tunisia, Prague, Beirut and people of every stripe across the globe, not just the ones who look like us.

Trick or Treat

~ Randy Seaver ~ Leave a comment

DSCN1136Tempus fugit, the Romans would say.

Time flies.

Another Halloween is upon us, and once again I am reminded how quickly the days go by.

I miss those days of watching the boys assemble their costumes. I miss escorting them through our neighborhood in Old Orchard Beach as they collected sacks full of candy. The skies were dark, and the air was crisp.

I miss the hay rides, and watching them climb narrow ladders to pick apples at the orchard.

It seems like so long ago, and yet it feels like yesterday.

Our boys are now young adults. There will be no costumes or patrolling the neighborhood for candy. In fact, both boys have their own plans tonight; and even Laura won’t be home this evening.

So, I will carry on a tradition that I have done for the past 10 years or so. I will move our fire pit to the front yard; I will load a cooler of beverages and snacks; and invite some friends to join me to hand out treats to the neighborhood kids.

I will pass out candy and treats and take photos of the little ghosts, goblins, princesses and witches that stop by in search of candy.

I will relish the time spent with friends, and the magic of the evening while sitting by a warm fire.

But still, I will think back to the days that seemed to fly by so quickly.

The point?

Cherish the moment that is right in front of you. Don’t fret the future, it will come regardless. Do not count the days in anticipation because they will slip through your fingers and be lost forever. You never get those days back.

Whatever you’re doing tonight, whatever you plans . . . cherish the moment and have a safe and happy Halloween.

Down to the wire

~ Randy Seaver ~ Leave a comment

DSCN4034I am so ready for this to be over. I have been counting the hours for the past two weeks.

As of this writing, we have 199 hours, four minutes and 54 seconds to go before the 2015 Biddeford Municipal Elections are over.

Nearly 200 hours before we know the results; nearly two hundred more hours of speculation about what will happen when the polls close.

We are down to the wire, with a little more than a week to go, and I can’t wait for it to be over.

Historically, fewer than 50 percent of Biddeford voters cast ballots in the municipal elections. The low point was two years ago when little more than 30 percent of registered voters opted to cast ballots.

The results of this year’s elections depend on how many people vote.

Just like the old days, slates of council and school committee members have lined up behind the two mayoral candidates. And this year, more than any other I can remember, has been especially vicious and vitriolic. You can blame the advent of social media if you want, but the sheer hatred and demagoguery goes well beyond the plethora of Facebook pages that have been created and then quickly deleted.

Most of these Facebook pages have been set up anonymously with the author unknown. When anyone attempts to post a contrary comment or different opinion, such posts are quickly deleted. These actions come from those who claim “transparency” and “accountability” is missing in local government. Yeah, right.

I have been covering Biddeford politics for nearly two decades, and I cannot remember a more nasty, vicious campaign cycle, replete with innuendo, rhetoric and half-truths, most of which is directed at Mayor Alan Casavant and some of which is directed at me.

Make no mistake: The driving force behind this campaign of hate and loathing is a man who has been working for several months to be a disruptor; a narcissistic malcontent with a penchant for slinging mud and hell-bent on destroying anyone who has the temerity to disagree with him.

The good news?

But there is some good news. Over the past few days, more and more community leaders (not elected officials) have been speaking up, calling out the anonymous coward whose sole purpose is to divide and spread hatred.

People like Joe LeBlond, a driving organizer of the city’s LaKermesse Festival; and Kenneth Farley, a past president of the Biddeford-Saco Rotary Club, have demonstrated courage and conviction in calling out this school-yard behavior, which is spurred on by a couple dozen of other malcontents.

I am increasingly optimistic that the voters of Biddeford will see through this cloud of smoke and mirrors. A vast majority of residents have had enough of the school-yard games.

A call for leadership

And I have more good news: the city’s two mayoral candidates (and most of the city council candidates) have stayed above the fray. Alan Casavant is hoping for a third term; and Daniel Parenteau is challenging him in the most professional manner. Parenteau has reached out to me privately to share his disgust and disdain for what some of his supporters have said and done to Casavant and to my family.

My only wish is that Parenteau would show real leadership and publicly admonish the tactics used by some of his supporters.

Where it gets personal

As I have previously detailed on these pages, the same narcissistic, juvenile prankster has gone after me and my family. He has threatened us with an “iron-clad” civil lawsuit; he has tried to get my wife fired from her job; he has made baseless, derogatory remarks about my son with fabricated tales of criminal activity. This man (and I use the term loosely) is a venomous leech with no moral compass or sense or self-control. This has been going for months. Read more here

You would think my family would retreat; that we would be intimidated or shy away from the public arena. Not quite.

My wife decided that the city needed other voices to step forward in this year’s election cycle. She asked my opinion about running for a seat on the city council; and I advised her against the idea.

“Why would you want to do that?” I asked. “We don’t need the aggravation. Serving on the council is an incredible time commitment. There is no money, no glory and it is a thankless job that only opens you to criticism. There are better uses for your time,” I reasoned.

But Laura was convinced, and called me later in the day to inform me that she had taken out nomination papers.

At that point, I was all in. I was going to support my wife’s decision 110 percent. I am a professional campaign consultant. I was suddenly in it to win it; and I watched my wife begin her campaign. She collected more signatures than she needed; she began raising money, designed her campaign signs and set up social media accounts. My advice was more often rebuked than accepted.

If there is one thing you should know about my wife, she is fiercely independent (and I would say stubborn). She began visiting various neighborhoods across the city, trekking alone and knocking on doors to meet residents and explain her campaign. She has been fearless and relentless.

It should be noted here that Laura’s four opponents (Marc Lessard, Doris McAuliffe, Joanne Twomey and Melissa Bednarowski) have run clean, honorable campaigns. There have been no smear tactics, just differences of opinion. The way it should be.

Two different perspectives

So, in 200 hours or so it will all be over. Laura is prepared and ready for a win or a loss. Regardless of the outcome, she is going to celebrate and breathe a sigh of relief. Although she is competitive, she is also relaxed and confident; comfortable in her own skin.

Me? Not so much. I am on pins and needles. I am fully vested in the outcome, but not just for Laura’s race: for all the races. I want to win. It’s part ego, and it’s part my competitive nature. I can admit that I don’t think I will handle a loss as graciously as Laura would in that event.

I want to win as a way to show the world that smear tactics and demagoguery don’t work.

I want to see Laura win because she is my wife. I want to see others win because they are my friends. I am tired of the innuendo, the hatred and the distortions by those (not most of the candidates) who have been invested in Biddeford’s future for less than 180 days.

I applaud Joe Leblond, Kenneth Farley and all the others who have taken a leadership position on social media and elsewhere.

Biddeford has many good leaders. It’s time for them to step up, too.

200 more hours; and I can’t wait for it to be over.

Teacher, teacher

~ Randy Seaver ~ Leave a comment

They say if you stand in one place long enough, the entire world will pass you by.

That’s how if feels at the Fryeburg Fair, where every single night I run into someone I know or someone I used to know.

Such was the case last night when I almost literally bumped into Peter Scontras and his wife at the fair.

Mr. Scontras was my eighth-grade English teacher at Saco Middle School, and despite my often asinine behavior in his class, he had a profound effect on my life that lingers to this very day.

Whatever failing can be found in my written words, it is certainly not the fault of Mr. Scontras. It’s more than likely that I was not paying close enough attention when he was talking about gerunds, split infinitives and serial commas.

Today, Mr. Scontras is happily retired, and he owns and operates one of the most interesting businesses in this area: The Way Way Store on Rte. 112 in Saco. If you have not been to the Way-Way store, you are missing out on adventure, a magical journey back in time.

I was surprised that Mr. Scontras would remember me.  I was even more surprised when he told me that he was a regular reader of this blog.

“You have a gift,” he said.

Words simply cannot describe how it felt to hear those words. (Example of a split infinitive).

A couple of nights ago, I posted on Facebook that I may have missed my calling. I speculated that I would enjoy teaching because I love interacting with kids at the fair.

Mr. Scontras replied to that post, reminding me that we are all teachers, and we all have lessons to share.

I come from a long line of teachers, and their students often tell me warm and fuzzy stories about the people I know as family.

My father was a teacher. He taught severely disabled students at the Cerebral Palsy Center. My grandfather was a teacher, teaching English and history at Biddeford High School. My grandmother was an elementary school teacher in Saco. Her former students invariably talk about Charlotte’s Web and E.B. White.

Today, my sister is a teacher, and she is married to a teacher. Thus, I am the proverbial black sheep in my family. I am not a teacher. But Mr. Scontras would argue that point. (Starting a sentence with a conjunction is a no-no, but is becoming common practice.)

Just the other day, one of my favorite teachers — Mrs. Loughlin (third-grade) — wrote on my Facebook page, telling me she was proud of me and my previous blog post. Her late husband, Tim Loughlin, was one of only two math teachers that I enjoyed. He had a special knack in connecting with students. Math was always tough for me, and his patience was limitless.

My late uncle, Leonard, was the director of student teaching at the University of Maine in Farmington.

He always told his students that you only need to two things to be a great teacher: 10 percent common sense, and 90 percent love of kids.

My uncle taught me more in one day than I learned during an entire year of high school. He did not teach me geometry, chemistry or how to memorize Whitman.

He taught me about hard work, honesty, compassion and generosity. Life lessons.

Sometimes I fail at those lessons, but the trick is to remain open to the learning process.

If you bump into a teacher, please do me a favor: say thank you.

My apologies in advance to Mr. Scontras for butchering the English language on a regular basis.

Every breath you take

~ Randy Seaver ~ 4 Comments

coupleWhen my boys were younger, I drilled into their heads one constant message: Everything is a choice, and every choice comes with either consequences or rewards.

Some people will argue that not every thing is a choice: a flat tire, the death of a loved one or the loss of a job. While those things may be beyond your control, you do have a choice about how you respond to any of those situations; to any situation that arises in your life.

As poet William Earnest Henley wrote more than 100 years ago: “I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.”

Regular readers of this blog know that some very negative energy has tried to consume and overpower my family over the last six months.

My first and gut reaction is to fight this negativity; to engage in a war of words; to take this fight to the streets and to conquer it publicly.

Too often, I am a foot soldier, not a strategist. I run directly into battle with little thought of the consequences. Most people understand this instinct. In fact, many of my friends cheer me on as I wage each successive battle with this negativity, and I feel self-righteous — on the side of the angels.

The reputations of my wife and my children have been smeared in the public arena. Many friends have asked why my reaction has not been stronger.

A few days ago, this negative energy was revived after a three-week hiatus. Again, my family and I have become the focal point of contempt, rage and obsession. So yesterday, I began stockpiling my ammunition. I geared myself to once again respond to the negativity with brute force.

But last night I had an epiphany of sorts. I thought back to the lessons I taught my boys: I have a choice.

I can perpetuate this negative energy. I can feed this beast of darkness; or I can take pity on it. I can walk away. I can be better than the negativity. I can starve the negativity.

Sure, there is nobility in being a foot soldier, especially when defending your family. But shouldn’t I be putting more energy into supporting my family, to raising them up, rather than going to war?

War always comes with the consequence of casualties. Negativity begets negativity. Darkness begets darkness. There is absolutely no need for that in my life.

For whatever reason, my family and I have become the focal point of one man’s rage and obsession. So how am I going to respond?

I am going to pray for this man; I am going to beseech the God I believe in to help heal this man and his wounds. I am going to walk away and focus all my energy on my family, my job and my friends.

I cannot imagine the pain that this man must be feeling. I wonder if he is simply envious that I have so many people in my life who love and support me. I will pray that he can experience more of what I experience on a daily basis. I am going to forgive him.

I have a beautiful and loving wife. I have two amazing sons. I have many friends, a good job and a warm bed to sleep in tonight. I am more blessed than I should be.

For the better part of the last 20 years, I have been a semi-public figure in my community. There have always been people who have been somewhat offended by both my opinions and my actions. But never before have I experienced such visceral rage.

So while my response of prayer may seem counter-intuitive,  it is the best way I know to move forward. It is the best way to put my focus back where it belongs.

You and I are going to die. It is not a matter of if, it is only a matter of when. What will be your legacy?

With every breath you take, you have a choice. No matter how far down the scale you may have fallen, you still have a choice. If today is the day that I draw my last breath, then I want to leave this world thankful for my blessings, not bitter about a man who must be lonely, frightened and confused.

Today is a good day. It is a day I will focus on the things that really matter.

#Black Lives Matter

~ Randy Seaver ~ 3 Comments

Seattle Times photo
The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King: Seattle Times photo

I had a little bit of an epiphany yesterday during an especially long drive home.

To prevent road boredom, I was a listening to talk radio, and a news segment about the Black Lives Matter movement caught my attention.

Before we proceed, a bit of disclosure: I am a white, middle-aged man.

Up until yesterday, I generally had a reflexive, knee-jerk reaction to the synergy building in the Black Lives Matter campaign: I would generally mutter: “All lives matter,” and while I still believe that is intellectually true, what is so wrong with acknowledging that Black Lives do, in fact, matter?

I began wondering, can’t we say Black Lives Matter without assuming that it is an automatic dismissal of other lives, races or ethnic backgrounds?

Why can’t we simply acknowledge that Black Lives Matter without feeling defensive and the impulsive need to correct those who deliver that message?

Like most white people, I want to believe that racism in the United States is a topic best left for the history books. I generally ignore it, or once in a while give it a passing nod as a present day and legitimate problem. I wrote about my own battles with racism previously.

But how can we ignore the rising tensions in black communities without actually sticking our heads in the sand?

I know and expect that I am going to get push-back for this blog post, but before you respond I would ask you to consider the following analogy.

Close your eyes and imagine that you and I are close friends. I have just been through a painful ordeal, one in which justice and fairness evaded me.

I say to you, “My Life Matters.”

Do you feel compelled to say, “Well, my life matters, too. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

Or could you say, “Yeah, your life matters. I’m sorry you are going through a difficult time.”

I really think it’s okay to acknowledge someone’s pain, sorrow or grief without lecturing them about what a politically correct response should be.

It is 2015, why is not okay for some people to hear the phrase that Black Lives Matter?

Why does that make so many people uncomfortable? No one is saying that white lives do not matter or that Hispanic lives do not matter.

A growing number of people in America are standing up, acknowledging reality and asserting that Black Lives Matter.

And they do.

#BlackLivesMatter