Franklin Taggart's Unconventional Life Blog

I believe that that core concern of our time is not political or religious at its root. I believe we are in the midst of a worldwide crisis of consciousness. If we look back over the relatively short history of humans on Earth, our recorded history is particularly minute. We've only been able to keep track of things for about 5000 years, but paleontologists are finding indications of the presence of humans that spans back into the hundreds of thousands of years, possibly even longer. Every generation learns more about our existence than the one that preceded it. Where 5000 years ago, myths and stories were used to relate histories and worldviews, now we have a much more complex understanding of where we've come from, where we've been, and where we're going. Even so, there are a large number of humans who are clinging to a worldview that doesn't take into account much that we've learned over the past 2000 years. In the course of my own lifetime I've experienc

The day I started first grade my Dad took me to my favorite store in the town where we lived, Scott's. Scott's was owned and run by a cousin of his, Scott Taggart. Scott's was a stationery store, but that wasn't all they had. The candy counter was world famous, or at least I thought it should be. The store clerk, Libby would fill up a small bag of whatever treats you wanted...Swedish fish, pixie sticks, cherry coins, Sixlets, and my favorite, Smarties. A quarter bought a bag full. But the reason for this trip wasn't the candy counter. The purpose of this excursion was to purchase something that continues to be one of my favorite things to shop for, school supplies. This first time is still etched in my memory because it was the first time I'd ever needed school supplies of my own. In preschool and kindergarten if you needed paper or something to color or paint with, the teacher had a pile in her tall cabinet by the rest room door. This time I was getting my

A couple of months ago I took my aging Dad to the DMV office to get a new state ID. He uses a walker now, and I'd gone to the door to hold it open for him. He was still quite a way from the door, and another man was coming up the walk at the same time. I motioned for the fellow to come on in since Dad was moving slowly. So the man went ahead and went to the desk where you get your number before going to the waiting area. He received his number and sat down. Dad made it to the number station, and I went to find a couple of seats, knowing that he usually wants to sit close to the counter. I found two seats together at the end of a back row of seats directly in front of him. The row was too narrow for the walker to fit through, but Dad started to push his way through, shoving chairs aside as he went. I had pointed out to him that since this was the back row, there was plenty of space behind the chairs to walk without obstacles, but he insisted on pushing through the narrow aisle.

"C'mon kid...JUMP!" the kids behind me on the diving board shouted. As their pleas became more urgent and demanding, I looked over the edge and trembled, partly because I was cold and wet, and partly because of the terror I was feeling in that moment. At 6 years old I was already a pretty good swimmer. I'd taken two summers worth of lessons, and I could easily get from one end of the pool to the other, but this was the latest in a growing string of false starts in my quest for conquering the diving board. I was the last of my group of friends to accomplish this particular rite of summertime passage. It wasn't for lack of desire; I'd wanted to jump off the diving board since at least the Summer before, and I'd been thinking about it almost to the point of obsession throughout the present Summer, which was nearing its end. I'd come close to jumping twice before this time, and I'd gotten as close as the end of the board before running back to th