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Losing with grace

In 2003, I interviewed a Liberian couple who were visiting their son in Lexington.
They were older and very tired of the constant running they had endured back in their homeland because rogue rebels, with ever-changing causes and government support, would make the lives of villagers miserable.
The woman said she loved being in America because here, if a group lost an election, they would simply concede and move on for the betterment of the country. That hadn’t been true in Liberia, she said. If a group lost, they would takeover the government despite the election results.
I thought about that when I heard repeatedly that supporters of Sen. Hillary Clinton, who lost the Democratic presidential primary to Sen. Barack Obama, weren’t willing to let the results stand. As the Democrats met in Denver for their national convention, Clinton supporters asked for more concessions and threatened to vote for Republican John McCain instead of their party’s choice if they didn’t get what they wanted.
But what they really wanted was for Clinton to be the Democratic nominee. That won’t happen.
According to the Liberian couple, that should have been the end of it, for the betterment of the country. That’s what the couple had always seen here during their stay.
Never before have I seen the losing candidate or his or her supporters act as arrogantly, childishly, or uncompromisingly as these folks in Denver. It’s as though they have never lost at anything before.
Please let Clinton bow out of this election cycle gracefully. Otherwise you supporters will make any future elections featuring Clinton a scarey thought.
I will be watching anxiously to see what happens when Clinton speaks to the convention faithfuls Tuesday evening.
Maybe she can make this election look more like it is occurring in America than Liberia.

Tell the campaigns to stick to the issues

Please stop sending me e-mails extolling the illegality of or future damnation from a government led by a President Barack Obama.

I’ve had enough.

The latest one claimed that Obama was not a U.S. citizen because of a variety of reasons, including that Hawaii was not a state when he was born and that his mother was visiting Africa at the time of his birth and should have been at least age 21 for him to be a citizen.
Come on, people. Is this what public education has come to?
I asked others, including friends and politicians, how they deal with such ignorant communications.
They ignore them, for the most part, after reading a few lines to learn the gist of the message.
I was surprised, though, by the number of folks who say they don’t get the barrage I am blessed with.
I’m just lucky.
Why would our federal government or the Democratic Party allow anyone who doesn’t qualify get this far in the process without having searched through his background quite thoroughly?
But just to answer the person who saw fit to write to me about this problem of Obama’s citizenship, let me clarify a couple of things.
Hawaii was indeed a state when Obama was born on Aug. 4, 1961, at Kapiolani Medical Center in Honolulu. Hawii became a state in 1959.
Anyone born in the U.S. is a U.S. citizen. Period. The information concerning his mother’s age applies only if she lived outside of the U.S. when he was born, according to Snopes.com, a Web site I suggest everyone check out when you get one of the e-mails that are meant to inject fear into your hearts.
According to the 14th Amendment to our Constitution: “All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.”
Obama was born in the U.S. He is a U.S. citizen. Let’s move on to the issues concerning the high costs of health care, the increasing profits the insatiable oil companies are making, and how we are going to educate our children.
Why are we focusing our efforts on this bovine feces?
If it is not the fear-mongering e-mails, then it is news accounts of disappointed supporters of Sen. Hillary Clinton about the place she should have had on Obama’s ticket as a vice presidential nominee..
Every time I turn on the TV I see another campaign ad from Sen. John McCain rehashing what Clinton said during the primaries about Obama.
No doubt it was a hard-fought battle that drew millions of voters into the voting booths. But that campaign also gave McCain all the bullets he needed to fire away at Obama’s run for the presidency.
Why would anyone want that person on his or her ticket? It is a free-for-all for Republicans without her on the ticket, just by using her words. What would it have been like with her on the ticket, trying at every stop to eat those words?
She lost the primary. He has a right to pick his V.P. Let’s stick to the issues.
When are we going to bring the soldiers home from Iraq?
What can we do to bring down gasoline prices while not further damaging the environment?
What can be done to ensure our elderly, our young and all working Americans will feel financially secure when illness or accidents strike and medical services are needed?
I have a disabled friend who is so allergic to some medications that she has to pay upwards of $200 with Medicare for one of her monthly prescriptions.
Every so often, her body forms an immunity to that medication and a new one is required. Each time the prescriptions cost more and more.
It is unsettling to have to watch her dance through a maze of pharmaceutical manufacturers trying to find one that will help her pay for the prescriptions or for programs that will help.
Where is the help coming for her?
But instead of trying to decide which candidate will actually improve our lot, will have ideas good enough to turn this train we’re traveling on around, we’re talking about how McCain doesn’t know how many houses he owns or whether Obama’s mother secretly gave birth to him in Kenya.
We’ve got to start demanding more from our candidates, their political parties, and their campaigns.
That’s the change that must come and it must start now.

We need more diversity in Lexington

One of the many things I realized over the recent difficult weekend I spent in Leesburg, Va., is that we in Lexington and probably in Kentucky as a whole are missing out on a wealth of relationships with other cultures because of the slim amount of diversity here.

People from at least four cultures attended my brother’s funeral because they genuinely loved him. They were friends who were also neighbors and co-workers.

For those of us living in Lexington, how many cultures will be attending our funerals?

I had made note of the diversity in my brother’s life back in 1992 when his daughter married and her wedding party was generously sprinkled with ethnicity. It wasn’t just black and white. It was all shades, all combinations, all good.

I think we all need that. My children have no problem with it, bringing home friends of all cultures. Before our pool sprang a leak, our home was fast becoming a small piece of the United Nations on weekends, complete with Caribbean, Japanese, Hispanic, American whites and American blacks.

I really enjoy that.

The Mashantucket Pequot Museum and Research Center in Mashantucket, Conn., seems to believe we all should be enjoying the richness of diverse cultures.

Officials there are featuring a new exhibit of film, still photography and various other components through which visitors can explore the historical concept of race and racism as seen through the lens of science and our own experience. “Race: Are We So Different?” has been showing since May and will end on Sept. 6.

Because not many of us can visit the exhibit before it closes and get a true sense of what it is trying to project to us, I’m including a link to an article in the Hartford Courant, written by Susan Campbell, that goes beyond the exhibit. She talks with experts who say how we define race and cultures eventually serves to limit people and ourselves. And there is no basis for it. Check out the article at http://www.courant.com/entertainment/museums/galleries/hc-aboutrace.artaug20,0,578735.story.

It will be worth your time and may prompt us to get more diversity of all kinds in our lives.

This composite portrait is among the works in Mashantucket Pequot Museum and Research Center

With the U.S. Census Bureau recently projecting that minorities will be the majority population by 2042, we need to jump on that boat before it sails.

That is especially urgent when, in the article, we learn that our children are seeking diversity only in public. Privately they seem to be isolationists and as narrow-minded as we, their parents, are.

Mark Twain said, “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness.”

I believe that includes not only visiting other places, but also expanding the boundaries of our minds and our hearts.

Let’s do it for the sake of our children.

Even in death, my brother led and taught

As funerals go, I’d like to have one like the one held in celebration of my brother’s life.
Yes, there were tears and ­moisture-laden tissue tightly squeezed in ­trembling fists.
But there was also joyous laughter, and there were good memories that flowed so easily and so continuously that the minister was left only a few minutes to remind people about God, Jesus and heaven.
My brother, the oldest of three siblings in the Davis clan, died peacefully Aug. 11 after fighting pancreatic cancer for nearly two years.
No pain. No drugs. No complaining.

Anthony L. Davis

His wife had to wait an entire week to bury him because there were so many people who wanted to be at the funeral, who wanted to see for themselves that the man they had grown to love was gone.
They were of African-American, Caribbean, Asian, Hispanic, and Caucasian descent, plus mixtures of all of them. There were rich and poor, educated and uneducated.
They came from ­California; Florida; Tennessee; Kentucky; New York; Washington, D.C.; areas surrounding my brother’s home in Leesburg, Va.; and even Essex, England.
During the funeral service in Leesburg, the minister said this would not be one of those funerals that we’ve all seen, filled with platitudes and Bible verses that in no way reflect the character of the deceased.
Instead, he said, the ­service would be a ­celebration of a home-going.
First up was my brother’s sister-in-law, who indeed spoke of my brother’s technological skills and handyman expertise, as well as his eating prowess, which wasn’t necessarily exhibited in the presence of his wife, a strict healthy-food advocate.
Next came our cousin from Owensboro, who was asked on the spur of the ­moment to say a few things.
She took that opportunity to make it impossible for anyone to remember only the sad times.
She spoke of our ­family, not well-known for its tolerance of incompetence, stupidity or arrogance, and pointed out that even though my brother was a part of that family, he shouldn’t have been. He was tolerant of all people, and patient.
It was a good thing his friends knew him and not the rest of us.
She said he had often tried to bring her into the 21st century by ­instructing her on the use of the computer and then ­sending things by e-mail to help reinforce her venture, despite all her efforts to live in days of old.
One woman called my brother a nerd. Another said geek. All said compassionate. All said he was a teacher.
My daughter spoke of having a friend to call when she couldn’t talk with her mother and of welcoming visits from her uncle because they always involved pizza, again only if his wife was not around.
When all the laughter was beginning to hurt, one young lady from Tennessee came to the podium. She said my brother had gently urged her to take part in a series of steps that, when completed in a year, would result in her reading the entire Bible.
Because of his nudging, she began the series and then took the information back to her congregation in Tennessee. Her church there thought it was a good idea and started the series, too.
“He never knew that,” she said. “He never knew how far his influence was. It is a church of 500 members.”
The minister then was given a brief moment to say that when he had asked my brother and sister-in-law to join Mount Zion United Methodist Church, he was questioned thoroughly by my brother.
What were their rules and regulations? What were their missions and focus? What kind of God did he serve?
It was like a cross-examination, he said. But when it was over, the church had gained a good and faithful servant.
My brother’s son, my nephew, then stood at the podium and admonished us all to stop the trash-talking.
We all grew quiet, ­thinking we had overstepped the bounds of propriety. It surely seemed more like a family reunion than funeral.
He spoke of my brother’s goodness, of his taking in his wife’s two children 34 years ago and making them his own. He said he couldn’t imagine the love of a ­biological father being more than what he had received from my brother.
We dabbed our eyes.
And then, he cautioned us not to make my brother, his father, into an angel. He wasn’t, my nephew said.
And, he said, there were times when he didn’t like him. An example of that was when a belt, chosen by my nephew from a drawer filled with belts, would come down on his behind.
Feigning innocence only briefly, my nephew ­admitted he deserved each and every correction, which helped make him the doctoral ­candidate he is today.
Then, after another song, we all walked behind the ­casket about two blocks up the street, lined with century-old houses and brick ­sidewalks, to the cemetery.
All we needed were umbrellas and a brass band, and we could have had New Orleans in Leesburg.
So, my big brother is truly gone now, but he is still teaching us how we should live as well as die.
We need to learn that lesson.

Family road trip

Please, please, I beg of you.

Do not ever suggest a restaurant to hungry members of my family, in town for the funeral of a beloved family member, and then take the scenic route, over about 35 miles of circuitous country roads, never traveling faster than 25 mph, to get to the food.

They will eat you.

That’s what happened to my 42-year-old nephew who was trying to be nice to members of his Kentucky family who were on his turf in Virginia.

It was a two-car caravan with my nephew in the lead car with three Kentuckians, and his sister, our niece, in the second car with four more.

On and on it went with the niece trying valiantly to save her brother by pointing out historical sites and battlefields along the way. We exchanged phone calls and suggestions and even threats. But finally, even my niece gave up, sensing the heightened indecision flowing from the first car.

With my sister driving and our niece, map in hand, as co-pilot, our car passed the lead car as we all stopped at a crossroads.

It simply proves women are better navigators, or, at least, map-readers.

We finally arrived at the buffet in Manassas from the back roads leading from Purcellville, which was chosen so that all tastes could be satisfied, some 45 minutes or more after our venture began. That was far too long for my impatient, uncompassionate, sharp-tongued relatives to endure.

But my nephew survived, took the ribbing in stride, and we all ate well.

However, he realizes he will be the subject of future family gatherings for years to come.

Pancreatic cancer claims my big brother

Whenever I saw ­interviews ­featuring Randy Pausch, the ­Carnegie Mellon ­University ­computer science professor who became the public face of p­ancreatic cancer, I would breathe easier.
Pausch, famous for the last ­lecture he gave last ­September that subsequently was turned into a best-selling book, was ­diagnosed with that cruel ­disease in ­September 2006, shortly before my big brother, Anthony L. Davis, was.
Pausch, 47, died July 25 despite his valiant efforts to ­overcome his disease. My brother, 60, died Monday morning.
Some sources estimate more than 37,000 people will be diagnosed with pancreatic cancer this year, and more than 34,000 of them will die as a result. The five-year survival rate is less than 5 percent, and it is the fourth leading cause of cancer deaths in the United States.
That number might sound manageable. Three other cancers obviously kill more people.
But when you consider that pancreatic cancer accounts for only 2.5 percent of new cancer cases but is ­responsible for 6 ­percent of all cancer deaths, you can see why whenever I ­mentioned my brother’s diagnosis to medical ­professionals, they all said “that is a bad one” or words to that effect.
I didn’t like that.
I didn’t like people giving up on my big brother so easily.
After all, I had survived lung cancer twice. Why couldn’t he defeat pancreatic cancer?
And at first, it looked like he had.
An engineer ­accustomed to finding answers to problems, my brother had researched all there was to know about ­pancreatic ­cancer. He had endured months of chemotherapy treatments that vastly shrank his tumor and brought all his cancer indicators back to normal.
He lost a lot of weight, but he was fine, traveling again. Enjoying life.
Then a few months ago, he was the one who told his doctors that he thought his tumor had returned. Nothing showed on the ultrasound.
But he was right.
This time, however, the chemo, despite ­modifications, did not work. He never ­experienced pain as do most patients, which was a ­blessing.
My sister, daughter and I visited him last week. He was weak and thin, but his mind was as strong as ever.
And he knew. He knew.
He had asked my sister, who had mailed him a CD of a sermon about making choices, when should we make the choice to die.
The pancreas is about 6 inches long, the shape of a flat pear, and it hides ­behind the lower stomach. It is ­crucial to the digestive ­system. It secretes enzymes that aid digestion and ­hormones, like insulin, that help process sugars.
Most pancreatic cancer isn’t detected until it reaches an advanced stage. ­According to the Pancreatic Cancer ­Action Network, symptoms usually develop gradually, which is why it is so deadly. No standard screening exists for pancreatic cancer, and there is no clear-cut indicator of who should undergo one.
One survivor of pancreatic cancer is Steve Jobs, CEO of Apple. One who succumbed was opera singer Luciano ­Pavarotti. Actor Patrick Swayze is battling it now, and so is Canadian rowing coach Bent Jensen, who has been receiving chemotherapy in his hotel room in Beijing ­during the Olympics so he could be with his team.
While we were ­visiting my brother, who lived in ­Leesburg, Va., near ­Washington, D.C., I read a column by Matthew Dallek, who usually writes about ­history and politics for ­Politico. He noted that he was one of the lucky ones. He had an islet-cell ­pancreatic cancer tumor, as did Jobs, which is controlled by surgery.
Like Pausch, who ­testified before Congress to urge ­increased funding for ­research, Dallek wants more money directed to ­researching a cure for pancreatic cancer, which he called the “orphan of American medical research.”
He is biking through the Civil War battlefields of Maryland to raise money, but he said fighting this cancer will require fatter wallets.
“The National Cancer Institute spent nearly $600 million on breast cancer research in 2006, compared with a meager $74 million for pancreatic cancer research,” Dallek wrote. “In the past three years, it has provided only five grants to younger scientists who want to investigate this deadly form of cancer.”
Would my big brother still be alive had more money been designated? I don’t know.
But if we start ­demanding more now, it might help someone in your family.

According to the Mayo Clinic’s Web site, some risk factors of pancreatic cancer include:

■Smoking.

■Older age. Pancreatic cancer occurs most often in older adults. Most people diagnosed with pancreatic cancer are in their 70s and 80s.

■Family history of genetic syndromes that can increase cancer risk.

■Personal or family history of pancreatic cancer.

■Personal or family history of chronic inflammation of the pancreas.

■Being overweight or obese.

■Being black. Pancreatic cancer occurs more frequently in blacks than in any other race in the U.S.

Forgive me, but I can’t help but gloat

This page is filled with information and suggestions, compassion and empathy for those parents of younger children who will be headed back to school.
The cost of supplies, the aggravation of having to entice sleepy kids out of bed at dawn, and the need to save vacation days to tend to a sick child are enough to drive parents bonkers.
Things are different for the parents of college ­students, however.
I’m supposed to talk about some of that, what with my many years of experience in that area, but I’m sorry, I ­simply cannot concentrate.
I don’t have a child in elementary or secondary school any more. Gathering the strength to contain my glee has overshadowed all professionalism. Staying on topic is extremely difficult. In fact, as you can see, I’m failing.
Because of that, I would like to use this space for all those parents who, like me, don’t have to do that any more. Collectively, we offer you a “nana nana boo boo” and a “better you than me.”
We have been there, done that and, thankfully, lived through it, although there were years when we didn’t think we would.
My youngest graduated high school in the spring and is headed to the University of Louisville in a couple of weeks.
His move to college doesn’t translate into lavish cruises or vacations for my husband and me because our son is taking our money with him. But it does mean an end to coordinating his schedule with mine, to having less time to get things done, and to teacher conferences.
(Did that sound like ­boasting?)
And it means my husband and I will be able to ­selfishly redirect energies that were once focused on our last child’s bumpy matriculation through elementary and secondary school. We can do adult things.
I am free to make crafts that embarrassed my ­children and attend plays that bored them.
The only problem is ­trying to remember who I was before I became a mother 32 years ago. I’ve had at least one child in school for the past 27 years, nearly half my life.
The house will be ours. The dirt will be ours. The food in the refrigerator might have a chance to spoil. (Oh, goodness. I did that bragging thing again.)
We parents of older ­children can have wild parties again if we choose or simply get to know our mates as ­individuals instead of as Mom or Dad. We could even rent an RV and disappear.
Well, maybe not me and my husband. We still have to pay for college. I’ll save that dream for later years.
Our new freedom is predicated, of course, on the children staying gone.
So, that brings me back to the subject.
For those parents who, like my husband and me, are sending a child to ­college, make sure you send care packages often. That ­lengthens the time between visits.
Fill them with non-perishable foods: ramen noodles; candy bars; ­cookies; individual bags of chips, cereal and oatmeal; protein bars; drink mixes that can be added to bottled water; and even canned meals like meatballs and spaghetti.
My daughter said her packages were anxiously awaited by all the girls in her dorm.
I am sure this ­youngest child, who could be ­nicknamed “pigpen,” will be leaving soap in the communal bathrooms along with ­toothpaste and toothbrushes.
So his box also will ­contain replacement items, along with fresh towels and washcloths and hygiene products.
I’ve always mailed the items in cardboard boxes, but one mother suggested plastic containers so that my son can use them for more storage.
That should limit visits to about once a month. If he wants to visit more often, he’ll need to call to find us.
That RV thing, say in the middle of October, still sounds like a great idea.
(And I didn’t even try to keep a smile off my face when I wrote that.)

Life Renewal Program gives support for ‘life-controlling issues’

“God has always been there for me, always been in my life,” said Doug Keith, 47. “And he has always let me have my free will. But there gets to be a point where he humbles you.”
Keith realized that when he found himself “wallowing in isolation,” drinking a case of beer a day, and trying to do things his way.
Fortunately, Keith knew what he had to do. He joined the Life Renewal Program, a one year recovery and rehabilitation program for men at the Lexington Rescue Mission.
“They don’t focus on the problem, but what causes the problem,” said James Goar, also a client. “That’s more effective.”
André Ribeiro, 18, agreed.
“I see a big chunk of difference in my attitude, my drug use and my behavior.”
The program the men are a part of can house up to 15 at its location at 649 North Limestone Street, offering support for “life-controlling issues,” said director John Ferguson, such as drug, alcohol, anger, and sexual addictions.
Life Renewal is just one program offered by the Lexington Rescue Mission, which was established in 2001 by executive director Jim Connell. I decided to take a look at the mission when I realized I didn’t know that much about it.
A member of the Association of Gospel Rescue Missions — which has nearly 300 affiliates nationwide including The Lighthouse Ministries, Inc., at 185 Elm Tree Lane — the mission is the vision of Connell, 53.
A former certified public accountant and financial manager from Indiana, Connell wanted more in his life. Although he had enjoyed success in his career, a supervisor change at work indicated to him that his job would change soon as well. He began looking around for work he really wanted to do and realized he wanted to work in social outreach and evangelism.

Photos by Charles Bertram

He flipped through a Christian ministries guide and found page after page of rescue missions.
“That is what I thought the Lord was calling me to,” he said.
He called the Association of Gospel Rescue Missions and soon found himself attending a training conference and beginning to network to see if his calling was confirmed by others.
It was.
He discussed the change with his wife, knowing it would entail losing half the family’s income. But Becky Connell liked the idea of mission work.
“I was probably bitten by the service aspect more than he was,” she said. “So I was very excited when he said he had figured out what we would do for the rest of our lives.”
The only other obstacles could have been their two children — their daughter, Laura, who was in college and their son, Brian, a junior in high school.
“Brian said, ‘Are you sure you want to do this now? Can’t you delay your mid-life crisis a few years until I get out of college?’” Jim Connell recalled, laughing. “From the world’s standpoint, it was absolutely the worst time.”
Connell came here in April 2001 after AGRM officials confirmed there was a need for a rescue mission in Lexington. Knowing no one, the first thing Jim Connell did was send out letters to churches advising them of an information session he would hold. Twenty people showed up, and two of them, ministers, became members of his board.
He then found a building for sale on North Limestone. With $20,000 from an anonymous donor, he bought the building on Aug. 16, his birthday, and after renovation, it became the mission’s first site.
Although he was only worker and the only cook, Jim Connell served lunch once a week at the mission.
“He cooked for the first year and a half,” said Becky Connell, who remained in Indiana for a while. “I would be at work and every Tuesday at 11:15 the phone would ring and I knew it was him asking what to do with this or what do I do with that. He had some really faithful volunteers.”
Thanksgiving Day that same year, with the use of facilities at Broadway Christian Church and more than 50 volunteers, the mission served a meal to a couple hundred people.
The mission has continued to serve Christmas and Thanksgiving dinner at Broadway Christian.
Because the need is so great in Lexington, the various ministries and missions don’t compete, Jim Connell said.
“My mindset was to be relevant,” he said. “We’re here to help restore lives. We provide the hope that Christ offers.”
Daughter Laura Connell, 26, who joined the mission as an AmeriCorps volunteer, said AGRM provides continuing training and networking for the mission.
AGRM also gave the mission $80,000 over three years to help get it up and running. The mission’s only federal money comes from the AmeriCorps program and from an emergency food and shelter grant, amounting to about 2 percent of their total budget.
The rest of the budget comes from about 6,000 individual donors, nearly 60 churches and 80 small businesses, Jim Connell said.
In 2004, Jim Connell found a building on Glen Arvin Avenue, a former nursing home that sat abandoned for three years. It now houses their offices, food preparation and serving area, classroom and computer center, and medical clinic. But the mission’s main focus remains the restoration of men.
Goar, 25, who joined the Life Renewal program two months ago, said he has problems controlling his anger. He’s attending classes that are Christian based to help him bring his anger under control.
“They are not necessarily helping me,” Goar said. “It’s the life change, giving my life to God. That is really what’s doing the change. I want to have a good life and not worry about trouble.”
That sounds exactly like what Jim Connell envisioned.

The programs offered by Lexington Rescue Mission include:

■ Free lunches on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays at its Outreach Center, 444 Glen Arvin Ave.
■ Budgeting classes as well as instructions on tenant rights and responsibilities.
■ Employment services that include coaching and referral, access to computers and e-mail, résumé writing, lockers for the homeless to store items while job hunting, bus passes and access to phones and voice mail.
■ Emergency financial assistance for those facing eviction or utility shutoffs.
■ Free health clinic for clients, the clients of partner agencies and their families.
■ Lexington Rescue Mission Thrift Store, 720 Bryan Ave., which offers previously used clothing, furniture and household items.
■ And the Life Renewal Program for men, 649 North Limestone St.
For more information: Call (859) 381-9600.

Obama is black; McCain is old; let’s move on

I truly hate all the recent exchanges between the campaigns of Sens. John McCain and Barack Obama concerning who “played the race card.”

See, Obama mentioned that the Republicans would be trying to scare people by noting he is not patriotic, or that he doesn’t look like the presidents on our paper money.

McCain’s advisers pounced on those comments almost as though they were waiting for such an opportunity, saying Obama was trying to characterize McCain as racist.

If this is how the presidential campaigning is going to be for the next three months, I’ll pass. Wake me up in October.

For one thing, racism and race in America is no game to be played. It is not a card to be dealt or played. Race is serious business with past, future and current tragic consequences that should never be reduced to anything but the pain it creates.

Secondly, race was introduced into this campaign when Obama first sought the Democratic nomination. His saying he’s black and that he doesn’t resemble past presidents is a statement of fact, not a portrayal of his opponent’s beliefs.

The campaigns need to calm down and get a grip.

This will be the first time America has a black man competing for the highest office in the land. That’s historic.

I’d like to make the election even more historic by having both candidates stick with the issues and not wallow in the no-win cesspool of name-calling.

Obama is young and black. McCain is old and white. Let’s move on.

There are far more pressing issues we need debated than those that are so obvious.