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Monday, April 25,1994
OPINION
UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN
VIEWPOINT
Youth given importance seeing Clinton on MTV
Both Clinton's actions and his words give young voters, and even those too young to vote, a feeling of importance. Everyone should have a voice in a democracy. Clinton is encouraging this attitude, and making an attempt to listen to that voice.
Viewers who tuned into MTV last Tuesday got more than just a Beavis and Butthead experience. They saw President Bill Clinton conducting a forum on violence in America. Clinton's appearance on MTV should be praised. He is showing an interest in the youth of America and making a concerted attempt to hear their concerns.
MATT HOOD FOR EDITORIAL BOARD
The program, titled "Enough is Enough," gave Clinton the chance to answer questions from an audience of 16- to 20-year-olds. The president addressed concerns about urban violence and the problems facing youth today. The show also gave these young people the chance to have their voices heard.
End of election boycott good for South Africa
Clinton made one other appearance on MTV in 1992. He has played his saxophone on "The Arsenio Hall Show," and has hosted Saturday morning question and answer shows for children. These programs are an obvious boost for Clinton's public relations, but they do more than just make him look good. By making each of these appearances, Clinton reaches out to youth and tries to involve a portion of the population that often has been overlooked.
Beyond just meeting with youth, the president is trying to meet their needs. He is making gains in establishing a domestic peace corps by providing scholarships for those young people willing to devote time to public service.
Zulu leader Mangosuthu Buthelezi's move Tuesday to end his boycott of South Africa's upcoming election was praiseworthy. His action gives new hope for peace in a historically turbulent region.
In the last two months, more than 450 people have been killed because of political violence in South Africa. The violence is due primarily to the long-lasting conflict between Nelson Mandela's African National Congress and Buthelezi's Inkatha Freedom Party. Buthelezi's bold move to finally endorse the elections and run for president is a positive step toward democracy after years of violence. For too long, the people of South Africa have been dominated by whomever held control of the most power. Inkatha's use of violence to make its voice heard was just another expression of this same mentality. For Buthelezi to endorse the election is the beginning of the reversal of this attitude in South Africa.
This is also a positive step because these conflicts and violence have been dividing people who have the same goal — fair representation. The division began over the issue of how to oppose apartheid, and it escalated over the years. Now that the policy of apartheid is being dismantled, it is time for the people of the ANC and Inkatha to put aside this argument and focus on their common goal.
Buthelezi's choice to endorse elections gives hope to all people of South Africa. The end of political violence in their nation is drawing closer. People are finally able to express their voices, regardless of their race, by voting in an election. There is concrete hope for the future of South Africa.
DAVID ZIMMERMAN FOR THE EDITORIAL BOARD
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Memories of an absent father haunt son for years to come
I
Within the next several days, my two young sons will reach a milestone in their lives. Both of them will be attending day care full time. It is also an adjustment for me and my wife. The quiet of the house signifies that our boys are growing up.
tial moments of my life have been the birth of Nicolas and Joshua. There is a sense of incompleteness that is exacerbated by the bond that I have with my own sons. Every moment of happiness, every hug or kiss reminds me of the absence of my own father, who left while I was still in diapers.
And yet I do have the pleasure of taking both of my boys to their day care. I do have the opportunity to hold them and love them. I have seen my oldest take some of his first steps. I have had the joy of hearing the words "Dada" and "Papa" come from their mouths with all the love and adoration that they could manage. I have risen in the middle of the night to the anguished cries of one or both of my sons. I have been there to comfort them, to dry their tears, to feel the warmth of their breath on my shoulder, their little arms clinging to my neck and back. In short, I have been a father, a Papa.
For the longest time, I simply tried to ignore my father's absence. When schoolmates asked what my father did, I was filled with anxiety. I could not respond. When I had to complete applications for school, I left the section about my father blank. That
seemed appropriate. My father was a blank, an absence, a void. No matter how hard I try though, I cannot escape him in appearance and temperament. He haunts me. In adolescence, I would exasperate my mother with my reticence. Unlike her, I could not vent my emotions when I was angry. Internalized my pain and frustration. Finally, in disgust, my mother would tell me that I was just like my father. Now I wonder if I did not, in fact, hold on to my reticence as a means of relating to my father. Here, Dad, this ulcer is for you!
Nevertheless, despite all the joy that they have given me, something has been missing. With the exception of my wedding day, the two quintessen-
"Dad," "Father," "Pops" – all of these words sound so foreign and exotic to me when they come from my own mouth. I can't recall more than half a dozen times when I have used any of those words when addressing my father. Instead, I called him by his first name. That form of address seems to be more appropriate for the nature of our relationship, which is formal. I have an old picture from when I was a baby, not much younger than either of
my boys. My father is holding me, but with apparent unease. He is uncomfortable holding me as if I was a nurse. Even now when I meet him there is little visible affection. We shake hands or awkwardly attempt to hug.
I love my father, I think, though he rarely gives me the chance to show it Time and time again he promises that we will get together soon. The time passes, and we have still not met. He has never seen my youngest boy, nor has he seen my oldest boy more than a few times. Over time I have begun to resign myself to this failed relationship. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, when I comfort my crying son, I cry too. I ament all of the experiences that my father and I never shared. I cry in remembrance of all the times that I cried in the middle of the night waiting for my "Papa" who never came.
Nicolas Clumps is a Topeka senior in comparative literature. -know that his father is a dork. And at that moment, I know I have done my parental duty.
Embarrass your child: It's your duty
COLUMNIST
"Rob," I said to my 13-year-old son, who was — this being a school morning — sleeping face-down in his breakfast. "How would you like it if I picked you up at school in the Oscar Wienermobile."
"DAD!" he said, coming violently to life, horrified. "NO!"
So right away I knew it was a good idea. Your most important responsibility, as the parent of an adolescent, is to be a hideous embarrassment to your child. Fortunately, most of us parents have a natural flair for this.
"Sha la la la la la la la la la te DAH"
Then I'll realize that the young people have stopped talking and are staring at me, and my son's expression clearly indicates that he wishes that an alien spaceship would kidnap him right then and take him to a distant galaxy where alien scientists might drill experimental holes into his brain, but at least nobody would
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For example. I'll be driving Rob and some friends somewhere, and they'll be in the back seat, talking the way young people do, in a series of statements that sound like questions ("So Mr. Neble? He had this gross thing? In his nose? Like the size of a GRAPE? And so Wesley Plunkington? He put an eraser? In HIS nose? Then he raised his hand? And then..." While the young people discuss academic matters, I'll tune the radio to a station that plays Old People's Rock, and sometimes a good song will come on, such as "Brown Eyed Girl," and I hum softly along, but when Van Morrison gets to the part that goes, "Do you remember when we used to sing." I'll forget myself and, right along with Van, belt out:
My Wienermobile was under the command of Tina Miller and Shannon Valrie, who have managed to remain both puppy and perky despite having spent nine months hearing the hilariously clever suggestive remarks that men everywhere feel compelled to yell at young women driving around in a giant wiener. (NOTE TO THESE MEN; If you think YOU'RE clever, you should hear what gets said about YOU, inside the Wienermobile.) After a thorough training lecture ('Here's
So that's why I picked Rob up in the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile. Perhaps you've seen this: It's a legal motor vehicle shaped like a 23-foot-long, 3-ton hot dog, with wheels in the buns. There are actually six Wienermobiles, which are driven around the country by pepy and perky recent college graduates. Recently, Oscar Mayer offered me the opportunity to drive a Wienermobile, no doubt hoping this would result in favorable publicity, although of course I'm far too ethical to promote Oscar Mayer meat products, which are known to cure heart disease.
the wienermobile'), Tina and Shannon let me take the wheel.
My first destination was South Miami Beach, a world-famous trendy glamour hotspot where beautiful people sit at sidewalk cafes discreetly admiring their own pectoral muscles. The fashion-photo industry is active there, and you often see fabulous 7-foot-tall Euro-babe supermodels swooping past on Rollerblades. I wanted to find out, as a journalist, whether a supermodel would be overcome by the charisma of the Wienermobile and want to go for a ride in it. So I cruised slowly up the main drag, and you would not BELIEVE the response. The response was: Nothing. You'd have thought these people got hourly visits from the Wienermobile, the way they ignored it.
So I got on the microphone and spoke through the Wienermobile's PA system.
"FABULOUS EURO-BABE SUPERMODELS!" I announced. "DO NOT BE AFRIDT TO BE ATTRACTED TO THE WIENMOBILE!"
A few people glanced up from their pectorals, but that was it.
"OK," he said, looking around the lot. "I have."
He was genuinely interested. He was clearly thinking. Sale.
I got a slightly better response later in Central Miami, where I pulled into a used car lot. The owner walked up, staring at the Wienermobile.
"I'm thinking about trading this in," I said. "I'm looking for something that is not shaped so much like a giant hot dog."
"What I want," I said, interrupting,
"is a vehicle shaped like a SALLER
hot dog. A more COMPAC hot dog.
You have anything like that?"
He stood there, thinking hard. "Give me your card," he said, "in case something turns up."
You have to admire that kind of determination.
The highlight of the day was picking Rob up at school. He was out front, with all his friends, when I pulled up, broadcasting on the PA system.
"ROB BARRY, THIS IS YOUR FATHER," I said. "PLEASE REPORT TO THE WIENERMOBILE IMMEDIATELY."
To his credit, he did. Rather than run off and join a fringe religious cult, which is what I would have done at age 13, he got into the Wienermobile. I could tell that, deep inside, he was proud of his old man, although he did not explicitly say so.
"I can't believe you did this," were his actual words.
"It's my job." I pointed out.
Of course I did not expect thanks. My reward is the knowledge that some day, somehow, Rob will be a hideous embarrassment to HIS son. That's what makes this country great: an older generation passing along a cherished tradition to a younger one, in very much the same way that a row of people at a baseball game will pass along those tasty Oscar Mayer wieners, which by the way also have been shown in laboratory tests to prevent baldness.
Dave Barry is a syndicated columnist for the Miami Herald.
Drivers, not pedestrians are source of problems
LETTER TO THE EDITOR
A front page article in Monday's Kansan somehow lessened the responsibility of the real culprit, the motorist, shifting the onus for safety to the pedestrian-jaywalker.
On a "walk" signal the motorist not staying behind his stop-line until the pedestrian has crossed, attempts a quick right turn to
squeeze a spot into the straightflowing traffic. This brings his wheels within two feet of the pedestrian's body. That is scary and dangerous.
Though law requires it, a majority of motorists are irresponsible not to give a right or left turn signal at intersections. As the pedestrian thinks the car in front is going to go straight, it suddenly turns right, stopping its wheels, sometimes still
rolling, within two feet of his body — frightening.
On entering road-traffic from plaza driveways, the motorist looks only left and the moment he sees a small opening in the on-flowing traffic, takes a fast right-turn into it. He does not look right for a pedestrian crossing before him on the sidewalk, lest that second spent looking right will make him lose his opening. The pedestrian has to yell to draw
his attention. With tinted windows,
the pedestrian is not even sure if he
has drawn his attention. The pedestrian
is under great danger.
Where a metal-shelled motorist with his fast transport is not conscious of a shell-less pedestrian with his slow 4 mph transport, it is a generate culture of metal and tires, with little human values.
T. S. David
Lawrence Graduate Student
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