9/11, Righteous Indignation, and the Trouble with Human Nature
I still remember that morning clearly. I had just come home from a long ER night shift and collapsed into bed. Around nine, Edith shook me awake—wide‑eyed, shaken, and insisting I look at the TV. Half asleep, I stumbled out just in time to watch the World Trade Center burn… and then fall. Like millions of Americans, I remember exactly where I was when the world seemed to stop. As an emergency physician, I had seen tragedy. But this was tragedy on a scale that felt impossible to absorb.
Honor the heroes. Reject evil. Seek justice. And still keep your heart capable of love.
When Anger Makes Us Forget Our Better Selves
The nineteen hijackers were extremists acting in the name of Al‑Qaeda. In eyes that was righteous indignation. But extremists never represent an entire faith. More than a billion Muslims were not responsible for the actions of nineteen men. The Quran itself forbids suicide and condemns killing innocents. Like extremists in every religion, they twisted sacred words into weapons—something humans have been doing for centuries.
And before Christians start pointing fingers, history politely coughs and says, “Crusades, anyone?” We are excellent historians when discussing other people’s sins. Our own? Suddenly we develop amnesia.
When Religion Gets Too Close to Power
Early Christianity was known for nonviolence. But once church and empire became cozy, things changed. Augustine’s Just War theory was meant to limit violence. Human nature, however, loves loopholes. “Only as a last resort” slowly becomes “Well… this is definitely an exception.” And before long, God conveniently agrees with whatever we already wanted to do.
It doesn’t run between “us” and “them.” It runs through every human heart.
9/11 showed us humanity’s capacity for evil—but also its capacity for extraordinary courage. Firefighters ran into burning towers. Strangers helped strangers. People gave blood, opened homes, and held one another up. Evil was powerful that day, but goodness was powerful too.
Five Lessons Worth Remembering
Human beings can do great evil—and that should make us humble, not superior.
Jesus calls us to break the cycle of hatred, even when justice is necessary.
In the middle of darkness, people can show astonishing goodness.
Life can change in a moment, so love should never be postponed.
Evil does not get the final word. The Christian story ends with hope.
A Little Less Righteous Indignation
History warns us that once we believe God is always on our side, we may be standing close to repeating old mistakes. The world needs less certainty, less hatred, and more humility. More compassion. More willingness to ask whether we are truly on God’s side—not whether God is on ours.
So yes, we must oppose terrorism, seek justice, and honor the victims and heroes of 9/11. But we must also guard our hearts. Because the moment someone else’s hatred creates hatred inside us, we lose something precious. Let us not use “righteous indignation” to justify violence.
In the end, the greatest victory over hatred may simply be this: Remember the victims. Honor the heroes. Reject evil. Seek justice. And still keep your heart capable of love.
An eye for an eye:“You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.’ But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also” (Matthew 5:38–39).
Love your enemies:“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:43–44).
Don’t Let the Old Man In: A Flying Adventure From a Desert Clinic to My Seventies
From a Desert Clinic to a Cockpit in the Clouds
In mid‑1973, I was a young doctor with more enthusiasm than experience — and probably more courage than common sense. I had just opened my medical practice in McCamey, a tiny oil town tucked into the arid desert of West Texas. The town was so small that even the tumbleweeds looked bored.
They gave me free use of a fully equipped clinic and a $2,000 monthly stipend, which felt like a king’s ransom to a young fella still figuring out how to keep the lights on. The only catch? I had a temporary Texas medical license and still needed to pass the state board exam. Nothing like a little pressure to keep a man humble.
Meeting Dr. Kaj Turula
One day, out of nowhere, I got a call from a physician named Dr. Kaj Turula, newly arrived in Kermit, Texas. He said he was studying for the Texas board exam and asked if we could review together.
Later I learned he was from Finland, had practiced in Puerto Rico, and spoke five languages — Finnish, Spanish, German, French, and English. Meanwhile, I spoke English… and even that depended on how much sleep I’d had.
Kaj started calling me “Amigo” or “Lorenzo,” and every weekend he’d drive to McCamey so we could study. We took the exam together — and by some miracle (and probably his influence), we both passed.
My Flying Venture
A few months later, Kaj called again. This time he said, “Amigo, I’m a licensed pilot. Want to learn how to fly?”
Now, I was young, adventurous, and apparently allergic to asking my wife Edith for permission. So I said yes.
Kaj rented a plane in Midland, about 50 miles away. We met on a perfect Texas morning — blue sky, no wind, the kind of day that makes you believe you’re invincible. He briefed me on the flight plan, which involved tuning into directional frequencies. No GPS back then. Just radios, maps, and prayers.
He walked me through the pre‑flight check, step by step. Then we taxied to the runway and lifted into the sky. Once we reached altitude, he explained the controls — the yoke, the roll, the pitch — and then handed the plane over to me.
I remember thinking, This is easier than driving a car. Of course, that was before I learned about sudden weather changes, equipment malfunctions, and the small detail that you can’t pull over in the sky.
After my third flight, Edith sat me down and said, “Laurence, I don’t want to raise our kids alone.” That was her gentle way of saying, “Stop being a knucklehead.” And she was right. So my flying adventure ended… at least for a while.
Fast‑Forward to My Seventies
Decades later, in my mid‑seventies, I learned about Dr Condrad R. Zapanta, a fellow UERM meidical alumni — an octogenarian — who was still flying his own plane. I interviewed by him through email exchange for a video and shared my little flying story. He wrote back to me and said:
“Why don’t you take more lessons and get your license?”
I laughed and said, “At my age? I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He replied, “I started when I was about 51 in 1997.” Lately he told me, “I’m 85 now and and have owned 4 aircrafts and still flying.” He is instrument rated and just passed his flight physical.”
That hit me like a gentle slap from the universe.
Dr Condrad R. Zapanta in his mid eighties stills flies his plane
Eastwood shared this with Toby Keith while riding a golf cart together. Keith was so inspired he wrote the song Don’t Let the Old Man In, which Eastwood later used in his movie The Mule.
The message is simple: Aging is inevitable. Growing old is optional.
What “The Old Man” Represents
Complacency — that voice saying, “Slow down, you’ve done enough.”
Mental fatigue — the whisper of doubt, regret, or “you’re too old for that.”
Passive acceptance — waiting for decline instead of resisting it.
The Core Philosophy
Stay busy — meaningful routines keep the mind sharp.
Maintain attitude — vitality is a choice, not a birthday.
Keep learning — curiosity is the antidote to aging.
What It Means Day to Day
Stay mentally engaged — projects, goals, new skills.
Keep moving physically — motion is medicine.
Reject the victim mindset — age is not an excuse.
A Message From an Old Fella Who’s Been Through the Ringer
If there’s one thing life has taught me — from a desert clinic to a cockpit to my seventies — it’s this:
Aging is inevitable.Growing old is optional.
I’ve been blessed, humbled, corrected, redirected, and occasionally scolded (mostly by Edith). But I’m still here, still learning, still laughing at myself, and still trying not to let the old man in.
Golden Years Suck? (A Self‑Deprecating Reflection on Aging and the “Medicare Generation”)
Laurence T. Gayao, MD, DABFP, BCEM
I’ve finally crossed the Biblical lifespan of three score and ten—plus one. At this point, I’m not sure whether to celebrate, pray, or ask for a refund. So the question is: Do the Golden Years suck?
Well, aging is the natural consequence of living. Many complain about growing old, but let’s be honest—some of our friends never had the chance. They took a permanent leave of absence, six feet under or in an urn. So if you’re still here grumbling about your knees, congratulations—you’re one of the lucky ones.
🧠 The Fear of Aging (Yes, There’s a Name for It)
In our society, we’re brainwashed early to believe youth, good looks, money, and material things equal happiness. This obsession has created a persistent fear of aging called gerascophobia.
But aging is a fact of life. If you live long enough, you will get old. The only way to avoid it is to die early—which, frankly, is a terrible retirement plan.
🎤 “Doc, These Golden Years Really Suck.”
When I was a young physician, an elderly gentleman told me, “Doc, these Golden Years really suck.”
Back then, I laughed. Now? I nod in agreement while reaching for my reading glasses, my joint supplements, and the heating pad I pretend is “just for comfort.”
You know you’re getting old when:
Conversations revolve around grandkids, medications, and “I used to do this and that.”
Getting out of bed requires a warm-up routine worthy of the Olympics.
The songs you loved are now sung by people who have retired—or died.
The mirror shows gray hair, thinning hair, missing hair, wrinkles, eye bags, and sagging skin that looks like it’s trying to relocate.
You forget where you placed things… or worse, where you hid them from yourself.
If that list made you uncomfortable, you might have a touch of gerascophobia.
⏳ When Life Was a Blur
Before retirement, life was a hectic routine—work, social media, church, alumni events, family time. Days flew by like a blur. Then one day I realized many folks older than me were passing away one after another. That’s when it hit me: I’m now part of the older generation.
I didn’t get a welcome party. Not even a membership card.
💡 Advice for the Younger Generation
More does not necessarily mean better. Happiness isn’t measured by:
How big your house is
How many cars you have
How expensive your car is
How many letters follow your name
Jim Carrey said it best:
“I hope everybody could get rich and famous and will have everything they ever dream of, so they will know that it’s not the answer.”
Let me paraphrase Scripture: What does it profit a man if he gains the whole world and misses being happy?
🎸 Learning Contentment (And Rediscovering My Guitars)
After joining the Medicare generation, I learned to be content with what I have. Retirement shrinks your income but expands your time. Suddenly, the desire for “more and more” fades.
I have ten guitars. Only after retirement did I finally have time to pick them up again. It feels refreshing not to be part of the rat race or to prove my self-worth.
🏃♂️ Keeping the Mind and Body Alive
John Adams said, “Old minds are like old horses; you must exercise them if you wish to keep them in working order.”
Retirement can be exciting. I learned how to build a website, manage it, and write blogs. YouTube became my university. I’ve written over fifty articles, reached readers in 106 countries, and gained over two thousand subscribers. I’m healthier now than when I retired—thanks to regular exercise and healthy eating with my wife Edith.
📌 Advice to Fellow Retirees
Nurture relationships — with your Maker, your family, and your circle of friends.
Invest in your health — your body and mind are God’s greatest gifts.
Learn something new daily — so you can be a blessing to others.
📜 A Psalm of Life (Longfellow)
Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal… Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.
🌅 Afraid of Getting Old?
If you plan it well, these years may turn out to be the best time of your life.
“So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.” — Psalm 90:12
From Tormentor to Mentor: How My Father Shaped My Life, Medicine, and Mission
Delicious Ripe Guava If you’ve followed my writing for a while, you already know my greatest passions: learning, writing, and sharing_good_vibes. They may seem like separate pursuits, but over the years I’ve discovered they are woven together by a single thread — each one is a way of serving others and making life just a little better.
Retirement from emergency medicine has given me the greatest gift of all: time. After nearly five decades in emergency rooms, I now have the luxury of reading more, writing more, and hopefully encouraging others to live healthier, happier, and more meaningful lives. It’s a chapter I never imagined during those countless night shifts.
People often ask me, “Where did your love of learning come from?”
The answer is simple.
It started at home.
My First and Greatest Mentor
The greatest influence on my life was my father, whom we affectionately called Papa Tatoy.
Interestingly, he did not begin as my favorite person.
For the first four years of my life, he was away finishing college while my mother taught elementary school. When he graduated, we joined him after he accepted a position teaching Bible and Horticulture in high school.
Papa Tatoy believed children needed discipline — and plenty of it.
Our family spoke only English at home. Snacking between meals was forbidden. Talking back was unacceptable. Rules were not suggestions.
And when those rules were broken… well, let’s just say his leather belt was far more active than today’s parenting books would recommend.
I can still remember the fear in my young heart when I saw the anger in his eyes. I became very familiar with the phrase, “This will hurt me more than it hurts you.” Even now, I’m not entirely convinced that was true.
The Day Everything Changed
One summer day, while I was in first grade, he caught me perched high in a guava tree, happily enjoying a ripe guava between meals.
I knew what was coming.
At least, I thought I did.
Instead of reaching for his belt, he gently called me down. He led me into the living room and calmly explained why he didn’t want me eating between meals.
“Your stomach needs time to rest,” he said. “If you snack now, you won’t enjoy your meal later.”
No shouting. No anger. No punishment.
Then he asked me to kneel with him in prayer and ask God to forgive my disobedience.
That simple conversation changed everything.
For the first time, I realized my father wasn’t merely enforcing rules — he wanted me to understand why they existed.
Fear gave way to respect. Respect became admiration. Admiration grew into love.
A Living Sermon
As I grew older, I noticed something else: my father practiced what he preached.
Every morning and evening, our family gathered for worship. He spent about thirty minutes reading Scripture and discussing spiritual and moral lessons with us. Those conversations planted seeds that have stayed with me for more than seventy years.
Papa Tatoy’s last Bible given as birthday 14 years before he passed away
I eventually inherited his Bible — worn pages, underlined verses, and margins filled with notes. That Bible told a story all by itself.
My father was far from perfect. None of us are. But his life was a living sermon.
Children recognize hypocrisy. They also recognize authenticity.
His consistency gave his words credibility.
Curiosity: A Gift That Lasted a Lifetime
Papa Tatoy also gave me another priceless gift: curiosity.
One summer during elementary school, I wandered into the engineering department of Mountain View College, where mechanics repaired trucks and tractors. Fascinated, I borrowed books from the library on internal combustion engines.
Soon I understood pistons, crankshafts, valves, carburetors, and ignition systems well enough to ask intelligent questions. The mechanics were stunned.
“How does a little boy know all this?”
Years before I ever drove a car, I already understood how one worked.
That experience taught me a lesson that shaped my entire life:
Learning makes conversations richer. The more you learn, the better questions you ask. The better questions you ask, the more you learn.
That cycle has served me well — as a physician, a teacher, a writer, and now a retiree still eager to discover something new every day.
From Tormentor to Mentor
Looking back, I sometimes joke that my father began his parenting career as what today might be called a tormentor.
Thankfully, he didn’t stay there.
By God’s grace, he became an extraordinary mentor.
A tormentor uses fear. A mentor builds confidence. A tormentor controls. A mentor guides. A tormentor leaves emotional scars. A mentor leaves lasting wisdom.
His transformation transformed me.
His goal was never to create a copy of himself — it was to help me become the person God intended me to be.
Parenting Without an Instruction Manual
Someone once said parenting is one of life’s greatest responsibilities — and the only profession for which no one receives formal training.
There’s truth in that.
Most parents simply repeat what they experienced growing up — for better or worse.
During my years in emergency medicine, I cared for countless patients struggling with addiction, emotional illness, violence, and incarceration. Not everyone from a difficult home ends up this way, and not everyone with these struggles came from one. Human lives are complex.
Still, one pattern appeared too often to ignore: many carried deep wounds from chaotic, neglectful, or abusive childhoods.
The influence of parents and mentors reaches farther than we imagine.
Becoming the Mentor Someone Needs
Whether you are raising children, teaching students, leading employees, coaching athletes, or encouraging a friend, mentorship matters.
Good mentors do not create followers. They develop independent thinkers.
They listen before they lecture. They correct without humiliating. They encourage without controlling.
Most importantly, they help others discover their own unique path instead of expecting them to become a “mini‑me.”
Success is not measured by how many people admire you — but by how many people you help succeed.
Career Reflection
Looking back now, I realize that whatever success I enjoyed as a physician was, in many ways, an extension of the mentoring I received from my father.
Every patient encounter became an opportunity not just to diagnose and prescribe, but to teach, encourage, and guide. I found myself mentoring patients, reassuring caregivers, and helping younger healthcare professionals grow in confidence and skill.
Medicine, at its best, is more than treating disease — it is helping people understand their health so they can make better decisions.
And now, a confession.
I encouraged my patients to eat well, exercise, manage stress, and get enough sleep. I did reasonably well on the first three.
The fourth? Well… not so much.
Night shifts and emergencies pushed sleep to the bottom of my priority list. I was preaching one of the pillars of good health while quietly neglecting it myself.
Retirement has given me a second chance to practice what I preached.
Mentors aren’t perfect. They’re fellow travelers who keep learning, keep growing, and occasionally laugh at themselves.
And yes… they never said I had to be perfect. LOL.
A Final Thought
When I look back over eighty years, I realize that one gentle conversation beneath a guava tree changed the trajectory of my life.
My father taught me that real authority is built not on fear, but on love. That knowledge becomes more valuable when shared. And that the greatest lessons are not preached from a pulpit — they are lived every day.
If you are a parent, grandparent, teacher, or mentor, remember this:
People may forget many of your words. They will rarely forget your example.
May we all strive to become the kind of mentor whose life is a sermon worth reading.
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