I'm Major Jackson, and this is the slowdown.

I was one of those kids mothers wanted their sons to make friends with.

To their knowledge, I never got in trouble.

I completed my homework.

I showed respect to parents, teachers, and coaches alike.

Despite my protests, my mother beamed proudly and said, yes, even though these

playdates left me bruised. One, I didn't like being a walking model for adolescent behavior.

And two, no one wants a goody two shoes foisted upon them.

Setting an example was burdensome,

which is why I think basketball royalty Charles Barkley advised sports fans to not look up to him,

especially children.

In his opinion, children should look to their parents and community members.

In principle, I agreed.

But sometimes we are chosen and learn to accept the responsibility of being paragon's of decency and wisdom.

Given the challenges we face on a daily, it is human for us to seek out those who seem to have it figured out, be they mentors or people who we think of in the face of some crisis.

When faced with any crucial decision, my friend Salvatore frequently utters, what would such and such do?

However, what happens when even our role models lose clarity, when the world is bereft of understanding?

Today's poem presents such a figure who knows. Whatever grasp we have on life, it is impermanent.

We are returned back to the mysteries.

Gertrude in the Rooms by Kate Daniels.

Sometimes I still think of Gertrude and all her privacies, of the tenuous sheen of her thin gray hair,

and the sculptural, elegant way she piled it high up on her head. Even now, typing these simple words,

...