oxynonsequiturs

[oxynonsequiturs]

Tales From the Geeks

About a week ago, I had the pleasure of riding with an Uber driver who has been working with computers for about as long as I have. He was overjoyed that he had a “geeky” passenger. We spent the drive home sharing stories about our early computer experiences.

I recalled my first computer job, working with a Univac 70/6 computer, which filled a fairly large room with its components, including several towers of processing units, a punch-card reader, a machine that automatically punched cards, two line printers, four tape drives, and six disk drives. When the disk drives were sorting the data on the stack of 12-inch-diameter disks, they shook like a washing machine on the spin cycle. The computer room had to be kept at a constant temperature of around 50 degrees in order to counteract the heat generated by the multitude of vacuum tubes that filled the processors. The floor was raised about two feet so cool air could be circulated through the components to cool them from below.

Keeping that room cool required a massive air conditioner and multiple ducts and outlet vents. Ribbons were attached to the vents to provide a visible clue that the air was circulating properly – or not. If the ribbons were fluttering gently, all was well. If they hung limply or stood straight out from the vents, something was amiss, and rapid action was needed. One night, as I worked the graveyard shift (midnight to 8:00), I noticed the room was becoming warm enough to take off the outer layer of clothing I was wearing. I looked up at the vents, and the ribbons were not moving. I immediately began the process of shutting down the computer and all its peripheral devices. By the time I had safely brought everything to a standstill, about ten minutes later, the temperature had risen to 80 degrees. We called our manager, who drove into Boston from his suburban home and called the air conditioner maintenance folks and the service crew for the computer to be sure there was no damage. It took several hours to repair the A/C unit and get everything going again.

When I began working in that computer room, it was located in a basement under a bank. A year or so later, the bank moved, and a Chinese restaurant moved in. Now, being in a basement, below a restaurant that used very hot fires to cook, and having only one exit – we were understandably very concerned when one night the two of us on the night shift smelled smoke. We didn’t hear alarms, and no sprinklers began spraying everything with water or foam, but the smell was very strong. We took turns going out of the computer room to see where the smoke was. After about ten to twelve minutes, my fellow operator came back in to the computer room and said he’d found the source of the smell. Down the hall from the computer room, outside one of the manager’s office, a fluorescent ceiling light was dripping a brown sticky substance that looked and smelled like what I imagine brimstone to be like. We found the switch to turn out all the lights on that circuit (fortunately not including the computer room) and turned it off. In the morning, we learned that the ballast on that light had gone bad, and the sticky substance was melted porcelain. We were commended for our action in turning off the circuit, and for being wise enough not to touch the goo.

The Uber driver related a story of a friend who had a PC unit that he said had random power issues. Since Larry (the driver) believes that nothing happens at random in a computer (he hasn’t met mine), he asked the man to leave the computer with him so he could look into it. Larry began to take the cover off the computer, and something suddenly JUMPED out at him. It was a little blue lizard that had somehow found its way into the warmth of the computer and was moving about at random. When Larry told his friend what the problem was, the friend said, “Oh, so that’s where my daughter’s lizard went!”

Larry added a postscript to his story: “Nothing should ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, EVER, EVER, EVER jump out of a computer at you!”

I then related the story of the Photographer and the Tape Drives. After several years in the basement under the Chinese Restaurant, the MIS Department moved to new quarters in the church’s Administration Building. The old Univac was decommissioned, and we began working with a brand new Digital Equipment Corporation computer. This was DEC’s first installation of a major business computer system, and they were just as proud of it as the church’s executives were.

On the day that we officially were totally moved over to the new system, a tour was arranged with the executives, several bigwigs from DEC, a couple of politicians, and a reporter and photographer from The Christian Science Monitor. Programmers had written a program that utilized every single peripheral device to great visual effect. The tape drives were merrily spinning spools of computer tape, the printers were spewing forth reams of printed paper, the disk drives were busily shaking as they performed sort after sort, and lights on the front of the processing units flashed in a display worthy of a Christmas tree. All the members of the tour group were suitably impressed, and the photographer was snapping shots happily. Then he spotted the tape drives. For some reason, at least at that time, to most non-computer people, the tape drives were the computer. He gleefully took a flash photo of the tape drives.

Now, in those days, a reel of computer tape had a reflective metal strip attached at the end of the tape so that the computer would sense when to stop, rewind, and politely ask for a new tape. This was usually built into the program. However, when the flash of the camera reached the tape drives, they all sensed end-of-tape at an inconvenient place in the program, and the entire system crashed. The sudden silence stunned everyone. We cleared the system and decided we didn’t need to restart that program again.

Modern computers are capable of performing many functions at once, but back in the 1970s, certain programs used up a high percentage of the operating system, especially when they were accessing information in certain areas, such as financial. One night I arrived at work to find two very glum evening shift operators. I asked them what was wrong, and the lead operator glared at the junior operator and said through clenched teeth, “SOMEONE decided it would be a timesaver to run both Payroll and Accounts Payable at the same time.” As he spoke, one printer came to life and printed one check. We all waited several minutes while the system unloaded all the Payroll system and loaded up the AP system, and then the other printer printed one AP check. The lead operator was mad because since he was the lead when the programs started, he had to stay until both programs were successfully completed, which took several more hours. Of course, during those hours, we night shift operators could not run the programs which had been carefully scheduled for our eight-hour shift. All in all, not a happy group that greeted the day shift when they arrived.

One last tale. The boxes which held the punched cards were about 18 inches long, by six inches wide by three inches high. The lids opened in such a way that the sides of the box opened out in the back for ease in removing the cards. One night, my fellow operator, in a moment of boredom, set an open box of cards on a chair seat and then for some reason set the chair spinning. There was a beautiful spray of cards in a lovely spiral. The operator grabbed the chair to stop it, but the damage had been done. I innocently asked, “Those cards were sorted, weren’t they?” He sadly nodded, gathered up the wayward cards, and took them to the card sorter. Fortunately, none of the cards slid under any of the equipment. That could have been a real disaster!

I learned a lot during my time as a computer operator, but I’m really glad that I only have to deal with my desktop or notebook computer any more.

[oxynonsequiturs]

Can I Be a Practicing Christian and Still Support Transgender Rights?

A little over a year ago I received a letter from one of my family members telling me that her youngest child, a 4-year-old, had declared that he was actually a girl and would like to be acknowledged as such. Yes, it appeared that someone in my family is transgender. My first reaction was to wrap my mental arms around this family (mother, father, and three boys – no, two boys and a girl). Then I thought, “How am I, a professed and practicing Christian, supposed to react to this? I love all five of these family members, and I know they are all good people. Is this child sinning by declaring herself to be female when all the physical evidence declares him to be male? Are the parents to blame for somehow encouraging this precious child who may be ‘going through a phase’?” Is the child mentally ill and in need of psychological counseling?

I prayed. I prayed for the compassion and wisdom to understand God’s truth about this situation. I have heard God speak to me quite a few times, and I listened for His voice now and prayed to recognize it as His and not Satan’s.

The first answer I received was, “Love.” Not just the generic familial love I have for every member of my extensive biological and adoptive family, but a specific wrapped-in-my-heart-of-hearts love that promises not only not to condemn but also to defend and protect. In order to do that, I must research this phenomenon that I was sure even then was misunderstood and very complex.

The Internet is a useful tool for research for someone who is not a neurobiologist or geneticist. There are actually articles written for non-scientific types by scientists in the relevant fields. This link is for just one such article, and it explains in a way I can understand (and I hope you can understand, too) why being transgender is not a choice.

http://www.ozy.com/pov/check-the-science-being-trans-is-not-a-choice/69726

Then, this week in church, my pastor made reference to transgender people as “asking us to believe” they are something they physically are not. I was disappointed, and I thought about how I came to the conclusions I have reached regarding transgender people and how I, as a Christian – a follower of Jesus Christ – think about them. But how to explain this in a Christian mindset? After all, I had thought that how you came out of the womb is how God created you. If you had XY chromosomes and male genitalia, you were a boy, and if you had XX chromosomes and female genitalia, you were a girl. However, the more detailed scientists get in “mapping” the chemical and biological structures in the brain, the more confusing it seems to get. The general impression, though, is that areas of the brain that are instrumental in gender identity are actually developed at a different time from the physical genitalia and chromosome patterns. Therefore, it is entirely possible that the person’s gender identity – the gender they feel – can be different from what their body presents itself as. The way I have come to see it, after much prayer and study, this young person is, to the very core of her being – her soul, if you will – a girl. I recently spent three days with this family at Walt Disney World, and I can attest to how much of a girl she really is. It would be cruel to force her to adopt male norms in her thoughts, behaviors, and preferences.

Think about it. If a child is born with a physical defect – a missing limb, or a harelip, for instance – do we not do everything medically (or mechanically) possible to correct the physical deformity so that this person can live what is called a normal life? I know a woman who was born without lower legs or knees. At her birth, the doctor said, “Well, the world doesn’t need another athlete anyway.” This woman has been a swimmer, a gymnast, and a Paralympic runner (in fact, a world record holder). She is now an actress in a successful off-Broadway production. At her birth she had the soul of an athlete, even though she didn’t have the body of an athlete. But instead of forcing her to live a sedentary life – to go against that inner urge to do athletic things, her parents told her to “go for it” and do what she thought she was meant to do. How is that different from having the soul of a girl but the body of a boy?

Or in a hypothetical case, consider the child with the soul of an orator who is born with a harelip. We honor and appreciate those wonderful doctors who travel the world surgically repairing these physical defects so that these children can speak clearly. Again, we are honoring the soul of the child rather than telling him or her that, too bad, you have a harelip; you can’t be a public speaker. We don’t put this child through psychotherapy to “get over” the notion that he/she can be a speaker. My friend’s parents didn’t psycho-analyze her to help her forget about her athletic ambitions. So why should my family members try to make their child go against what she knows with every fiber of her being is the truth?

I believe that God creates us. I believe that God creates the body and the soul. In the case of transgender individuals, the issue is not psychological; it is biological. There are actual physical differences in the brain between cisgender and transgender people. Does God make mistakes? No, He does not! But isn’t it a mistake that the body and brain don’t match? No more of a mistake than an athlete born without legs or an orator born with a harelip. So when the body and the brain do not “match,” which needs to change? Which takes precedence? Isn’t it easier to fix the physical anomalies rather than to try to psychologically “cure” a biological issue? To dig down into the soul and force a person to change the very essence of their being? Do we acknowledge that the amputee is an athlete, or the child who had a harelip is really a good and effective public speaker? Of course we do, and we do everything in our power to help these people achieve what they know to be their true identities.

I keep hearing people say, “God created this child as a boy because he has boy parts.” No. God created this child with boy parts but a girl’s soul. Which part of God’s creation do we honor? I know which I choose.

[oxynonsequiturs]

She Stayed

     Someone posted a meme on Facebook a week or so ago that asked the question, “If your spouse or significant other became disabled, would you stay around to care for them?” The responses ranged from a simple “Yes” to questions like, “Why wouldn’t anyone?”

     Why indeed. Why would you not stick around and help, in whatever way you’re able, to care for a loved one who needs help? If that loved one is your spouse, you have actually promised to do so. I was speaking with a friend about this the other day, and she said she had heard the complaint, “I didn’t sign up for this.” Her response was, “Well, yeah, you kind of did when you promised to stick around ‘in sickness and in health.’”

     This is Memorial Day weekend, and at this time of year, my thoughts turn to my dear friend, Cynthia, who was a Navy vet and passed away in 2009. Although she did not lose her life in military service to our country, she did live her life providing comfort, service, and joy to many. She may have lived a low-key life, but those who knew her remember her for her willingness to step in when needed, and for her dedication to her “joy activity” of puppetry. I think she would have been surprised at the number of people who attended her memorial service.

     I met Cynthia in 1972, and we were immediately friends, a friendship that lasted through long periods of separation and re-blossomed when we both lived in the same area of the country again. We became roommates about a year before I went through the trauma that led to my amputation, and she didn’t have to stick around for me. We weren’t “a couple,” and I had no claim on her time or energy.

     But she stayed. She helped me shower, she helped me get dressed in the morning, she cooked and cleaned up the kitchen, and she drove me to meetings and appointments. She took days off work without pay to make sure I got to medical appointments. She had mild dyslexia, yet she read my mail to me (although she complained that some of the paperwork had “too many words”), and she handled my bank account. I was a bit apprehensive about that part because her own checking account was – well, frankly, a mess. But she was meticulous in making sure every cent was accounted for and every statement reconciled perfectly. She handled my bank account better than I did!

     She was also my “audio book.” Each time a new Harry Potter book came out, she would read it aloud to me. She also read the entire Chronicles of Narnia to me. I am embarrassed to confess that I sometimes fell asleep as she was reading, but I did the same while listening to books on tape.

     Cynthia could have said in all honesty that she hadn’t “signed up for this.” So, why didn’t she? Why did she stay? I never really asked her, but I have given it a lot of thought.

     Many years before, after sharing apartments and homes for several years, Cynthia moved back with her parents. Her mother was totally blind, and her father was having health issues as well. They needed someone to take care of their home, make sure they had good meals, and had a clean environment and clothing. Cynthia’s only sibling, her identical twin Patricia, was married and lived at quite a distance, so single, unencumbered Cynthia was the logical choice. She stayed until first her dad, and then her mother, passed, and then lived on her own for quite a few years.

     When we reconnected and moved into the same geographical area, it just seemed natural to get a place together again. We were both healthy and able-bodied, and neither of us had any clue that in eight years one of us would nearly die and need support and care until she could do for herself again.

     I don’t think I would be where I am today, physically or emotionally, if not for Cynthia’s encouragement and help. I might have gotten here eventually, but her words and actions helped me make advances I didn’t think I was ready for. She would say, “Why don’t you try this; I think you can do it.” Or she might say, “You’re ready to do this on your own now.” Once in a while she would say, “Are you sure you want to try that?” And, darn it, she was usually right.

     After nearly five years of this care, I was feeling pretty much able to take on the world by myself. As I was beginning to do some of the last tasks Cynthia had been doing for me, she wistfully asked, “What is there left for me to do?” I was getting myself up, showered, and dressed; I was fixing my own breakfast and learning to handle cooking again; I had even been arranging my own transportation, although I still willingly accepted her offers of transportation. I was even actively looking for work again. Perhaps she was beginning to feel superfluous.

     At just about the time I felt I could spread my own wings, Cynthia became ill. When a terminal diagnosis was delivered, she said, “I’m OK with that.” I stared at her and said, “Well, I’m not!” She explained that she felt she had accomplished her purpose on earth and was ready to leave it. Her calm acceptance of the diagnosis, and her ability to keep up the spirits of her friends were amazing. Her sister Patricia and I spent as much time with her as we could, and when she was transferred to the VA hospice, she just drifted away from us and passed quietly and peacefully.

     I can just imagine the greeting when she reached heaven: Well done, good and faithful servant. You were faithful with a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master. (Matt. 25:23)

     Cynthia may not have “signed up for this,” but she stayed.