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Opinion
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Tuesday, April 12, 1994
The Battalion
Page 11
The Battalion Editorial Board
JULI PHILLIPS, Editor in chief
MICHAEL PLUMER, Managing editor KYLE BURNETT, Aggielife editor '
BELINDA BLANCARTE, Night news editor DENA DIZDAR, Aggielife editor
HEATHER WINCH, Night News editor SEAN FRERKINC, Sports editor
TONI GARRARD CLAY, Opinion editor WILLIAM HARRISON, Photo editor
JENNIFER SMITH, City editor
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Counting miracles in coincidental world
Sometimes good luck may have nothing to do with it
Bye-bye, Baby
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As culturally different as is
the United States, all of the states
seem to share one tragic com
monality — hundreds of chil
dren, particularly minorities, are
left in state-run foster homes
due to the inability of the law to
actually work for the public. In
terracial adoption proceedings
are being held up, discouraged
or denied because the potential
parents and the child are not of
the same race. There is a Texas
state law, as well as a federal law
that prohibits this action, yet it
still occurs.
According to Texas state law,
"... the court may not deny or
delay the adoption or otherwise
discriminate on the basis of race
or ethnicity of the child or the
prospective adoptive parents.”
There are children who, just
because they happen to be black
or Hispanic or one of several
other minorities, are left in fos
ter homes because the state ap
parently does not feel it would
be in the best interest of the
child to place them in a home
where the parents of the child
would not be of the same race.
Also, critics of interracial adop
tion do not believe the child
would be able to grow up gen
uinely appreciating its culture
and what it means to be a mi
nority in this country. How
much greater an appreciation of
his or her heritage will a child
shuffled from one foster home
to another be able to acquire?
There is also a federal law in
existence dealing with the “...
elimination of barriers to adop
tion and to provide permanent
and loving home environments
for children who would benefit
from adoption ...” Nowhere in
the law does it mention the par
ents and the children must be of
the same race.
How are we as a country sup
posed to make meaningful strides
toward harmony when racial and
ethnic differences prevent even
the adoption of some of societies
most innocent and needy? The
same critics that disagree with in
terracial adoptions should explain
to the children remaining in state
homes that their lack of families
has nothing to do with law and
everything to do with color.
W hen does the bus for Minnesota
leave?” I asked the woman at the
counter.
“Oh, that bus left a couple of minutes ago,”
she said and returned to what she had been
doing. Case closed.
“What am I supposed to do?” I sputtered.
“Take a taxi,” said someone behind the
counter. Very funny.
So here I was in the Butte, Montana, bus
station. It was 7:30 p.m. and the next east-
bound bus departed at 3 a.m. It would be
uncomfortable, but I figured I could stay and
try to rest in the hard plastic chairs that lined
the walls.
Then I heard “Bus station closes in five
minutes. Everyone needs to leave.”
My stomach dropped, and my eyes welled
up with tears. I had never been stuck in a
strange city at night before and didn’t know
what to do, and I was worried about my safe
ty*
I started walking, figuring that I would find
a pay phone, call my parents and everything
would be fine. I walked and walked and no
phone appeared, though a lot of other inter
esting things did.
I passed the adult video store and then a
porn theater and some abandoned-looking
homes with Butte’s finest sleazebags winking
at me from the doorways.
I kept walking toward some lights in the
distance, feeling oh-so-out-of-place in the red
light district of town. I got the answering ma
chine when I finally found a gas station and
called my parents, who must have freaked
when they heard my message: “Hi ... this is
Erin (gulp). I missed my bus (choking back
tears). I’m all alone in Butte. There are strange
ERIN
HILL
Columnist
people everywhere, and it’s getting dark. Talk
to you later.”
So I called my boyfriend in Houston. “You
did whaaaaaaaat?!” he gasped.
I e^mlained how it wasn’t my fault — the
bus left earlier than it was supposed to ... blah,
blah, blah. All the excuses in tne world could
n’t bring the bus back.
And then a light came on. I called the local
bishop of my church. Though he wasn’t
home, his family gave me the number of a
family named the Moores who lived in Butte.
I dialed their home, told them who I was
and what had happened.
“Hold on, we 11 be right there,” said Mr.
Moore.
His family took me home, fed me dinner
and called my parents, then woke up at 2 a.m.
and took me to the depot, even waiting to
make sure no mishaps occurred.
It was nothing they said. They were happy
to take care of me for a few hours, even happy
to wake up in the middle of the night and said
to call if I was ever in town again. I wasn’t so
sure I’d be coming back to Butte really soon
but agreed to look them up. And with that,
they hugged me good-bye.
The rest of the trip was great. I was lucky
to meet a girl from Wisconsin who went to
school in Utah, and we talked all the way
across Montana and North Dakota.
I was lucky to have met the Moores, too.
Without them, my life really could have been
in danger. But was it really luck?
I think it was a miracle, and not the first
one I’ve experienced. When I told one of my
cynical friends about this “miracle,” he
chalked it up as a “luck.”
“Stuff happens,” he said.
Yes, stuff often happens in our lives that we
explain away as chance, but those events are
more than just chance. More than just luck.
Like the scholarship I shouldn’t have re
ceived but did, or that housing I found at the
last minute. Like friends I’ve made and phone
calls I’ve received. Like accidents I’ve narrowly
avoided. All those things we call coincidences.
Keeping track of miracles helps us to realize
how fortunate we are. It is tempting to get in
a pity rut, taking notice of all the things that
go wrong and complaining about the bad
hands life deals us. Indulging in such an atti
tude makes us unappreciative.
When I stopped to consider how many
blessings do fall my way on a regular basis, I
had to feel pretty satisfied with my life.
Though things aren’t perfect and I have my
moments of desperation, I’m blessed. Miracles
do happen. All the time, and not just to me.
Keep track — even if only for the rest of the
semester — of the things you don’t deserve or
expect that come your way.
Think of all the things you call coinci
dences or lucky occurrences, then think again.
Erin Hill is a senior English major
'O-V&tdXL'S
tALOUIVlt
XsW C* OF
FX K6V.
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He’ll have fun, fun, fun ‘til his momma takes the T-shirt away
I ’ll never forget the look on my class
mates’ faces as I walked into my sixth
grade English class, wearing a piece of
authentic Twisted Sister attire that my
brother had bought me. I was the coolest
thing in junior high that day because I had
the power of the concert T-shirt.
It didn’t matter that I had not actually
attended the concert because nobody
cared — all they wanted to do was look at
the shirt.
Me (trying to remember how my broth
er described the concert): “So, when Twist
ed Sister comes out, all these really cool ex
plosions started, then they began rocking.”
Friend: “Hey, look everybody, they’re
playing Sioux City, Iowa, on my birthday”
(Thunderous applause).
Eventually I got tired of my brother
buying me T-shirts and decided that I
should experience a live concert on my
own. A couple of buddies of mine were
going to see Metallica and asked me if I
wanted to go.
After explaining to my parents that
Metallica was the hottest barber-shop quar
tet around and that I would be sitting be-
DAVE
WINDER
Columnist
tween two Houston policeman, they decid
ed to let me go.
I returned home that night feeling like a
new person. I had lived and seen a great
concert and some things with goats that I
didn’t really understand. Of course, I com
memorated the occasion with a T-shirt.
It was the best looking one there, if you
like a bloody skull with two spikes driven
through it’s eyes. I couldn’t wait to wear it
to school the next day. When I awoke the
next morning, it was nowhere to be found.
Me: “Mom, have you seen my Metal
lica shirt?”
Mom: “You mean the one with the
bloody skull with two stakes driven
through it’s eyes?”
Me: “Yeah, that one.”
Mom: “I don’t even know what you are
talking about.”
Dad: “I saw it; it’s out in the garage in
one of the trashca-”
Mom: “You haven’t seen anything, John,
so just go back to watching TM”
Dad: “I’d like to, but I can’t find the re
mote control.”
Me: “I saw it in the garbage in the kitch-”
Mom: “Shut up, David. You didn’t see a
thing. Now go to school.”
Since then I’ve been to some of the
biggest concerts this country has ever seen:
The Rolling Stones, Lollapalooza, Pink
Floyd, Guns ‘N’ Roses, “Weird Al”
Yankovic. But now I’m always sure to pick
out a shirt with taste.
I’m really not sure why I even do that
anymore. The shirts are so cheaply
made, after two washings they become
too small for newborns. They usually
just end up as rags.
My mother uses them to clean up
around the house. Modey Criie is for dust
ing. Living Colour is for dishes, and U2 is
for waxing the tables.
Apparendy, not all T-shirts are
made though. Some seem to last forever. At
every concert I’ve been to, there is always at
least one guy wearing something like
Classical composers must
have made tons of money
in their day on merchandise
alone. Just think of the T-
shirts they could have sold.
Beethoven: “The 1802
Deaf Jam Tour”
“Black Sabbath 1972 World Tour.” Of
course he’s probably had it on since his
drug-induced coma back in ‘72, but that’s
pretty good material anyway.
Which leads me to wonder how far
back does selling T-shirts at concerts go.
Classical composers must have made
tons of money in their day on merchan
dise alone. Just think of the T-shirts they
could have sold.
Mozart: “Rock Me Amadeus 1777: The
Magic Flute Tour”
Beethoven: “The 1802 Deaf Jam Tour”
Handel: “Conduct That Funky Music
White Boy”
Bach: “The Bach Out of Hell Tour”
Those shirts were probably cheaper than
their counterparts of today though. In this
day and age, a concert T-shirt will run you
anywhere from $23 to $45. That’s why
some people try to cheat and go to their lo
cal record store for a cheap imitation.
These people always fall victim to the
smell test though. If you can take a whiff
of their shirt and not become extremely
hungry, then these people did not attend
the concert they claimed they did. Shirts
pick up things at concerts that can last
for decades.
Even with all their problems, I know
I’m still going to buy a shirt at the next
concert I attend. Hey, I’ve got to see
where my favorite bands are playing on
my birthday.
Dave Winder is a sophomore journalism major
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Traditions like Silver
Taps unify campus
As a member of the fightin’ Texas Aggie
Corps of Cadets, I have been saddened by
the recent resentment between Corps and
non-corps. I, like the many other men and
women who joined the Corps, joined to
promote the Aggie spirit by being a part of
the traditions, because nothing unifies
Texas A&M more than tradition.
This became even more clear to me
Tuesday during Silver Taps as corps and
non-corps alike stood in silence to honor
the three fellow students who passed away.
In the spirit of the Twelfth Man, we stood
together to respect and remember them,
not as “CTs” or “non-regs,” but as Aggies.
As Taps was played for a third time, we
all left and went our separate ways. Even
still, we left not divided, but unified be
cause we all had shared a common loss.
This, I believe, is the true Aggie spirit —
supporting all Aggies if for no other reason
except because they are Aggies. Most of us
did not know Shirley Jane Hall, Ming Te-
Han or John Thomas Robertson, but it
made no difference because the feeling was
the same as if we had.
I hope that Silver Taps and all of our oth
er traditions that we share will help to re
mind us that first and foremost we are Ag
gies. Furthermore, for the true spirit of the
Twelfth Man and those traditions that we
take so much pride in to survive, we as Ag
gies must promote unity, because those tra
ditions mean very litde if they don’t unify
our campus. After all, after you pass away
and your name is remembered at Muster, it
will not matter what you did when you
were 20, only that you died an Aggie.
Gary Kipe
Class of ‘97, Class President
Taking stand on belief
no cause for attack
In response to Dr. Hugh Wilson’s let
ter citing the “unacademic, anti-intel
lectual and fundamentally stupid” na
ture of Faculty Friends, I would first like
to state that it is his privilege to hold
such an opinion.
However, the fact that he finds fault
with these individuals for professing their
beliefs, “to the exclusion of all others”
merits a response. Apparently, this means
that Christians, faculty or non-faculty, are
small-minded and rather ignorant, be
cause they have chosen to actually take
some sort of stand for their beliefs and
for what they know to be true.
Since when has taking a stand on an
issue become such a crime? Just as one
has the right to profess his belief in the
lack of any absolute truth. Faculty
Friends has the right to convey their be
lief in Christ. It is important to respect
both viewpoints.
Furthermore, Christianity in no way
impedes intellectualism or the desire for
academic excellence, as Wilson suggests. I
applaud Faculty Friends for their good in
tentions and sincerity in proclaiming
Christianity in an appropriate manner.
Mindy McClung
Class of ‘97
Event draws thanks
You Aggies are absolutely the great
est! I put in my application to the stu
dent government to get some heavy
work done on the day of the Big Event,
and Ilan Baril and Sam Waddy took care
of the rest. Thanks to everyone in stu
dent government who helped organize
and oversee the job. Special thanks to all
the 24 members of Sigma Nu who did
the work!
Nothing was too tough for them, and
all the work was done cheerfully, effi
ciently and completed by the deadline.
Each Aggie who had a hand in the Big
Event is a credit to his and her family
and the University family.
On top of all this, I just heard that
Whoopstock was celebrated again this
year: the greatest multicultural event
I’ve ever heard of! Keep up the good
work, and thanks again, Sigma Nu.
Mrs. Pat Morley
Bryan
Stud)'