543 Magazine

Category: Life

  • Narcissus

    Narcissus

    boston

    For a few months, in 1985, Kirk and I were in Boston. Starving. Well, probably not medically starving, we did have the olives and slices of lemons we stole from the garnish tray whenever we could. Altogether, I’d say we ate every two or three days.

    When we first arrived in Beantown we were eating pretty regularly. This was partially due to the fact that YMCA on Huntington Avenue gave you a breakfast voucher to their cafeteria every day; one egg, any style, toast, and coffee. So every morning, with the $35 room that Kirk and I split, we ate. And it was a great beginning to the day. But you can only stay at the Y for two weeks so we had to move on. Later, when breakfast had to be removed from the budget, we would miss that voucher and would actually taunt each other with the chant — one egg —any style—toast and coffee.

    The shoeboxes of food my mom gave us at the Greyhound bus station in Oneonta, NY, oh man, they were long gone; the ham sandwiches on croissants, the plastic jugs of Kool-Aid, (frozen to keep them cold longer), the apples, the crackers, the pepperoni, the boiled eggs, the cottage cheese containers filled with macaroni salad. All gone.

    Now in Oneonta, yeah it was my idea to leave. I admit it. But it was Kirk’s idea to go to Boston.

    “I’m taking off,” I said as I looked out of his apartment window that looked down on Market Street. “Come with me.”

    “To Binghamton? Why?”

    “Because there’s nothing for me here and there’s nothing for you either.” I said. “C’mon, it’ll be a blast.”

    And I made it sound like the beginning of a film. As if we were two desperados. Two beaten men who would head out to make their fortunes and leave the place that had mocked them behind. Me? I was nursing a seriously broken heart and damaged ego and didn’t want to be around when school started back up again. And Kirk had flunked out last semester and couldn’t re-enroll until the spring semester anyway.

    “I’m taking a semester off. I’m leaving. So come with me.”

    “Maybe,” Kirk flipped the channels until he got to an episode of MASH. “But not to Binghamton. If we’re gonna go, let’s go.”

    And we toyed around with different locales. Chicago. Miami, we even thought of L.A. But once we landed on the idea of Boston, Kirk was sure that this was the place for us.

    “Boston?” I asked.

    “Yup. That’s where we need to go.”

    So, Boston it was.

    We had taken the seven-hour bus ride from Oneonta to Boston a week before, to scope everything out — to see how difficult jobs and apartments were to find — and by mid-morning of that very first day, at our very first interview, we both walked out with two jobs in our pockets. And not just any jobs; for two college kids from the sticks, they were dream jobs.

    Kenmore Square is the intersection of Beacon Street and Commonwealth Avenue and was the heart of Boston nightlife. It was behind Fenway Park and Boston University and Narcissus was a huge nightclub where students from Harvard and B.U. came to spend all their money. And Kirk and I were hired to be two of their newest employees.

    The place was huge and actually held three clubs in one: Narcissus, Celebration, and Lipstick. But Narcissus was the gleaming, Studio 54 jewel of the crown.

    Since it happened so quickly, Kirk and I went to the club that night to see if the crowds really did bring pockets full of tips for their favorite bartenders, as we were promised. And they were.

    “Well, my friend,” Kirk clinked his beer glass to mine and screamed over the sound of a thousand college kids. “We are gonna to be rich.”

    We were ecstatic. And as soon as we got back to Oneonta we tossed everything into a few bags and jumped the next bus to Boston.

    Finding an apartment was the first challenge. With all the fees added up between first and last month’s rent and the security deposit, we would need to come up with $3,200. Which we didn’t have.

    We were earning a little bit of money, but the challenge was that there was a pecking order at Narcissus and we had not earned the plum bartending slots yet. Because we worked during the day, Juno scheduled us for a lot of corporate parties and band things where we worked the service bar and our tips came from the waitresses who were supposed to give us a percentage. Which they never did.

    And because there were so many bartenders at Narcissus, if we worked a night, Kirk and I would come home with $35 to $45 each — hardly the $100 a night we were hoping for. The good news was that the work was easy and the place was completely mobbed; we only had a few feet of bar space to cover.

    Unfortunately, what money we were earning was going straight into Terry’s hand. He waited behind the door where we lived, and would pop out like a sentry as soon as our feet hit the wooden landing.

    “Well?” Terry scratched his chest through his Talking Heads t-shirt and held out hand — like we had tried to sneak out of a window a thousand times before this. And without words we’d hand over the forty bucks — or however close we could get to it. If Kirk and I were both working that night, our combined tips would make it with a few bucks to spare. But if just one of us was on that night, we’d be short, unless we saved from a night when we did both work.

    Forty dollars would get rid of Terry until the next day, since that’s how much the room cost per night. Thirty-five dollars would lead to a tirade on how he wasn’t a bank and we were the most worthless rags he’d ever met.

    I don’t know if rags was a Terry phrase or a Boston one, but he was the only one that we ever heard use it and he did so  often.

    By October we knew we had lost a lot of weight — each time we got dressed it seemed like we had shrunk a pant size — but when the junkies on Washington Street took interest in our new ultra-thin frames, probably thinking we might have a connection or a hit to share, we knew that food had to become a bigger priority.

    That’s why the envelope was such a big deal.

    The envelope — and I can still see it after all these years — Kirk had found on High Street. It was in the shape of a small paper rectangle and had Asian lettering on it and since we were pretty close to Chinatown, this made sense. Inside the envelope was a bright red foiled liner and a small card. The card had more lettering, stuff we couldn’t read, but inside of the card, pressed between the thick paper folds, were two crisp ten dollar bills.

    Kirk kept punching my shoulder. “We could of walked by it,” and he continued to punch me all the way to a Burger King, where we ordered two Whopper meals. We dove into the burgers and could only finish about half before our shrunken stomach’s gave in.

    “I know what’s for dinner,” Kirk smiled, as he wrapped his leftover sandwich back in the foil. And we sat there for a long time. Happy. Happy because not only did we have a meal, but we actually had the next one covered too.

    From the remaining money we bought crackers, peanut butter, and beef jerky — stuff we could easily hide from Terry, since food in the room was forbidden and he checked regularly.

    We had a certain routine, Kirk and I. Northeastern University had bought a huge apartment building near us and was converting it to dorms. We went exploring one day and found that the laundry room was never locked and within the room was an ironing board and iron. So every day that we had to work, we would stop there and iron our black pants and white shirt before getting on the train to Kenmore Square — we didn’t have an iron and had been yelled at a few times for coming in with wrinkled clothes.

    There was this very cute girl in the dorms with red hair that we would see every now and then. She never paid much attention to us but when Kirk went alone to iron his clothes, he would always come back telling me of how she stopped to talk to him and flirt. But then when we went back together, she ignored us again. Kirk was like that. The nights I didn’t work, he would come back with stories of how the owners would buy him shots and pretty bartenders would hit on him. And then when we worked together, we were invisible.

    That’s why the shooting probably didn’t happen. Looking back it doesn’t matter if it did, but it most likely was made up.

    It was the second week of November and I was off for the night but Kirk was working. He came home excited. He told about how there was a robbery and a guy shot one of the bartenders. Then the shooter came back behind the bar, robbed the cash register and then headed out — only to be shot by cops before he hit the street.

    The story probably didn’t happen. But I never had a chance to verify it. The shooting was my excuse. I was going back to New York.

    Kirk was sitting in the chair by the door as I threw my clothes into a bag. He looked at me with a mixture of fear and pain as I said goodbye. From Brookline, I walked to the bus station where I used my last $22 — my half of tomorrow’s rent — to get a ticket to Schenectady where a friend picked me up and took me the remaining two hours to my parents’ house.

    And I left Kirk there. Alone and broke in a city that didn’t want him.

    There are two kinds of bad decisions. There is the mistake. And there is the regret.

    A mistake is a miscalculation. An error. Bad data and bad calculations.

    But a regret is when a moral or ethical line has been crossed. When you have the chance to do the right thing and you don’t. And most regrets come from the wrong answer to one simple question. Do I stick, or do I run?

    A life filled with mistakes is not a bad life at all. It’s one of excitement and energy and fire. But one with regrets will weigh you down because regrets don’t have shelf lives and their backup batteries never run dry.

    I never saw Kirk again. I have no idea what happened to him, since I transferred to Cortland the next semester. I do know that he didn’t have any family — his mom had died when he was young and his father a few years after he graduated High School.

    So here is the question. How hard would it have been to get us both to my parents’ house? To get us both someplace safe until we figured out the next step? How difficult would it have been to have thought of my friend even a fraction of the amount that I thought of myself?

    Probably not very. It most likely would have taken the same energy it took to leave him behind.

    The irony that Narcissus is the Greek god of self-love, isn’t wasted here. And neither is the fact that I have very few good memories of Boston — most likely because it represents the ugly parts of myself that I want to forget. But I would like to think if this happened today, thirty years later, that the man I am now would react differently and show just a little bit of loyalty and grace.

    I’d like to think so. But I’ll never know.

    Because that’s why they call them regrets.

    http://www.thecrimson.com/article/1993/7/6/narcissus-fuit-or-the-death-of/

  • Thieves

    Thieves

    cross

    There was an article posted a few days ago about a church that had the sound equipment stolen for their big Sunrise Easter Service. This service is outside, is attended by over a thousand people and without that equipment there would be no way for the large crowd to hear the music or the pastor. They would have to cancel it. But what was interesting about the story was that when the church discovered the theft, they all got together, discussed what happened, and —  they prayed for the thieves. They forgave them. Then they rented sound equipment and the service went on as scheduled.

    Now, what’s even more fascinating about this story is when you look at it from a different angle — at the people who took the equipment — you can tell a few things about them. See, those thieves did not set out to be thieves. Absolutely not. They didn’t tell their Guidance Counselors that’s what they wanted to do. They didn’t set thief-goals. They didn’t dream about being the greatest thieves ever and they didn’t brag at High School reunions of how one day they would steal sound equipment from churches. It just happened. Stealing became the default. The fall back. And it happened for one simple reason.

    They got desperate.

    We know this as a fact. Because no one — and I mean, no one — steals for the sheer pleasure of it. The idea of the millionaire cat burglar taking jewels for the thrill of the challenge, is fiction. Because nobody has a great day stealing. No thief takes pride in their work. No thief feels good about what they do. They get desperate. Then they get stupid. In fact, every stupid thing we do, have done, and will ever do, is because we got desperate. Which means we got stupid. And then we say those words. I have no choice. We get in a corner and our options seem limited.

    Which is a lie. No matter what — every time — we always have options. We always have choices.

    Why do millions of people fall for internet and e-mail scams every year? That’s easy. Because they are so desperate that they need those cons to be true — wealthy people don’t fall for these things, desperate people do. They are in a dire need for money, their options seem limited and they think: if this were true, it would fix everything.  They switch off their  intelligence because they need it to be true. This has to work because — there is no other choice.

    And when you go even further, when you boil that desperation down what do you have? What is at the core of desperation?

    Fear.

    Desperation is the fear that the alternative, the next step, is so terrible that we have to do this horrible thing to make sure that the other horrible thing doesn’t happen.

    Stealing is less scary then going without that next fix or that next drink. Stealing is less risky than waking up and having to face the world clear headed. Taking this stuff is far less scary than having to face all the bad decisions we’ve made and take different route. So we cross that line. We pop open that church’s storage trailer and fueled by desperation we grab that sound equipment. And what happens then?

    Nothing. Nothing happens. We get that sound equipment and we get it to a pawn shop and we get the money. And when we wake up the next morning there aren’t people pounding on our door. We don’t hear sirens wailing towards us. The world doesn’t end. Nothing happened.

    Not to us anyway. But something always happens.

    Several years ago, my wife’s ninety year old grandmother had her house robbed while she was out. The thieves got away with two old televisions and some costume jewelry. Total take, around four hundred dollars.

    When Beulah — yes, that’s her real name — came home, she was shocked. She called the police and she called her family. A new lock was put on the house and a new television was purchased. But the story didn’t end there.

    Beulah couldn’t sleep after that. She was so worried about the thieves coming back that she became completely preoccupied with this idea. She stopped sleeping and eating altogether. She would call family all hours of the night and tell them that someone was upstairs. And one night a neighbor found Beulah in her driveway in just a nightgown, running from the house because she was convinced the thieves had come back for her.

    Beulah went into a nursing home shortly after that because she was couldn’t focus on anything other than the  thieves. And when she died a few years later she was still obsessed with that break in.

    Now, did those thieves kill Beulah?

    No. Probably not. But they did take the joy and security out of the few years that she had left. No doubt about that. And they did it for four hundred dollars.

    But the good thing for the thieves is, that they will never know that — that’s the only career advantage in being a thief. You steal, you run, you never have to look your victims in the eye and the consequences are kept far, far away from you.

    When we get desperate, we get stupid. We change. And we change the world around us. Every time.

    2,000 years ago two other thieves faced their own last hours on earth. They thought about their lives and they considered all that they had done.

    One became humble.

    And the other one remained desperate.

  • Homesteading

    Homesteading

    homestead

    There is a great quote by Robert Heinlein that goes, “Every generation thinks they invented sex.”

    Yup. We do. And not just sex, every generation thinks they were the first to discover — everything.

    We arrive in the world and we begin to see and experience. And when we see and experience it’s assumed that no one has seen or experienced before us. How could they? We just found out about it ourselves and since we’re the center of it all, how could anything of any importance have occurred before we got here? Or before it involved us?

    It can’t. And since it’s all new to us, therefore it’s all new.

    Makes sense. Except for the fact that — it’s all been done before. And just because we are now experiencing it, doesn’t make it new.

    “What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.” Ecclesiastes  1:9

    And there isn’t.

    With the exception of every generations new technological gizmos that are coming out, and will always be coming out, everything important has been done before.

    But this isn’t a bad thing.

    What is a bad thing is when we think that by just renaming it or repackaging it, that we get the discovery credits. Because there aren’t new discoveries, there are only new movements.

    Eating only what food that will go to waste if we don’t eat it, doesn’t get to be freeganism. It’s what people have been doing for centuries and do every day around the world.

    Making use of what materials you have, doesn’t get to be repurposing or even recycling; it’s just plain good sense and what’s been done since — forever.

    Now, there’s another new trend of an old idea that has popped up in the last few years that isn’t new at all, but is still pretty intriguing. And it’s the old concept of homesteading.

    The term homesteading is pretty commonly known and we all have a general idea of what that means. You go someplace where few people live and you live there and farm.

    Sort of.

    The true definition of the term homesteading has to do with subsistence farming or living a self-sufficient lifestyle — more modern terms for old ideas. But what makes this  modern trend and an interesting one is that there is now land out there that developers have no interest in — in every state, probably within two or three hours from where you are right now — that is dirt cheap.

    And I mean dirt cheap. In fact, for less than the cost of a big screen TV you can get a few acres of land — and some plots for even less than that.

    Now, these are homesteading lots — or undeveloped lots. Most don’t have power, or water or much of anything except the land itself. But they are cheap and they are plentiful.

    What is homesteading?

    The pure definition of homesteading dates back to the 1862 and the United States Homestead Act. It is the ability to establish a home in unsettled land and get everything you need from that land. You get your food from your garden, your fruit trees and your livestock. You get what currency you need in the sale of said items, by bartering or other means. You take care of the land and the land takes care of you.

    Now recently homesteading has been placed in a ultra-liberal almost radical box by using such terms as self-sufficiency and living off the grid. But the act of homesteading is simply taking responsibility for yourself through your land.

    Now the reason I’m bringing up all of this is not to promote the idea of homesteading. I think it’s a great concept for the right people but I also think it can be used as an  excuse to pull away from society and the neighbors that need you. So it’s two edged.

    But what I do want to promote — and think that this does apply to everyone — is that there is cheap land out there. It’s probably on a hill, covered in trees and probably will never see a power connection or a water line, but it’s affordable. And the thing about land is that they are not making any more of it.

    There is something in our core — and this goes back further than generations, it’s why our ancestors came here — about the need to own a piece of land. If you own your home that’s great, but it’s not land. It’s not a piece of the earth.

    For a few thousand bucks you can own a few acres of land. And if you only throw a tent there a few times a year, if you only go to it to show your friends, if you only build a shack or a cabin or an a-frame on it, it’s your land. And if you pay the few hundred dollars a year in taxes, it will be yours forever.

    That flat screen will be gone. That vacation will be distant memories. But your land will always be there.

    Your land.

  • 10 old technologies to never throw away

    10 old technologies to never throw away

    tv

    There is one thing about consumer technology that has always confused me. Let’s say you have a toaster. It’s a good toaster. It makes great toast. This toaster looks good on the counter, cleans easily and has been extremely reliable for all the years you’ve had it.

    Now let’s say that you just found out that the new toasters are being released. Your version is Toaster-6.0 and the new Toaster-7.0 are now out and being gobbled up as soon as they roll off the assembly line. If you don’t move fast, there won’t be any left.

    So you grab your wallet and run to the store — dropping that boat anchor of a toaster at the curb on the way out — to get your new, improved; Toaster-7.0. You stand in line as they count off how many toasters are left. You wait and —. You make it. You get the new toaster.

    Whew, that was close. And you get home and display the new toaster on the counter proudly.

    Now, as goofy as that sounds, we are actually doing this to items like toasters — not as rapidly as we do cell phones, but that’s the danger in it. It’s more subtle. More gentle of an erosion. And then one day we wake up and we miss our old toaster because this is the third toaster we’ve had since we’ve tossed it.

    So here are the ten old technology devices that fit in that category. Here are the ten items we should never throw out.

    10. Old cast iron

    Yes, you can still buy cast new iron pots and pans. Sure. But it’s pricy and is not as durable as the old stuff. And the thing about cast iron is that it never, ever dies. You can find a cast iron frying pan in a garage sale that is rusty and flaking and looks like it has been through three wars. And within a week you can have it cleaned up, seasoned and ready for eggs on the campfire. These things are great and should be held on to forever.

     

     

     

    9. Battery operated radios

    In our world of cellular access to everything, battery operated radios are becoming harder and harder to find. But that old boom box in the garage will come in pretty handy if you loose power and cell coverage. These are worth keeping — and keep the batteries out of them so they don’t corrode.

     

     

     

     

     

    8. Coffee pots

    Not coffee makers, but coffee pots, are becoming very rare. If you have one, keep it. If you don’t have one, get one — and I’m not talking about the fancy forty-dollar camping pot, I mean a real stainless steel coffee pot. It will cost you about ten bucks and since it has very few moving parts it will last forever. These are great for camping and fishing trips, if the power goes out, or just when you want to control how strong your coffee is.

     

     

     

     

    7. Metal coffee cans

    These are becoming harder and harder to find since most mainstream coffee comes in plastic containers. But if you have the old metal ones, keep them and use them. Display them proudly because they have hundreds of uses.

     

     

     

     

     

     

    6. Old landline phones

    Again, if you lose power, an old landline phone — one that you can plug into the phone line and doesn’t require power — is a pretty handy thing to have. Keep at least one in your house.

     

     

     

     

     

    5. Old metal fans

    It’s probably too late for these beauties because they have moved from the hard to find to the collectable. But if you find an old metal fan, grab it. They last forever and the motors are much larger than the modern plastic versions.

     

     

     

     

     

     

    4. Turn tables/tape decks 

    Sometime in your life you will come across a collection of cassette tapes from your talent show in 1970 or some of Uncle Walters old 45’s. You’ll need something to play these on. If you have one, display it and use it.

     

     

     

     

     

    3. Small appliances build before 1970

    In my house, I have the milkshake maker from my parents diner in 1956. Besides the constant use it took then, it has been used for decades and still makes amazing milkshakes. These old appliances were replaced by lower quality versions and the old ones will last forever and when they are gone, they are gone.

     

     

     

    2. Old Mason Jars

    You can buy mason jars anywhere but the new design are thinner glass, cheaper fittings and aren’t designed to last as long. If you come across some of the thick old Mason Jars, grab them. They can be used for a thousand different things and they just aren’t making them any more.

     

     

     

     

    1. Metal fishing reels

    I am still in mourning over giving my brother-in-law my old Mitchel 300 fishing reel when I got my new shiny plastic one years ago. He still has mine and I am four reels down the road. The old metal reels last forever, are rugged and can take a beating.

  • Father’s Day

    Father’s Day

    Larry

    When Edwin De Morier accidentally knocked the oil lamp onto the barn floor — this would have been in France in March of 1918 — it took only seconds for the flames to race across the straw and up the dry wooden walls. Within minutes the barn was ablaze.

    But during the confusion of battle, the fire was all the British and Americans needed to triangulate and regroup — it also increased morale when the three German soldiers that were hiding in the barn loft jumped out and surrendered.

    So could you say that my grandfather was a World War I hero? Umm, sure. Sure you could. And since the war was over nine months later, it’s obvious that Edwin’s contributions were a large part of the victory. A very large part. But it’s more important to note that the barn fire led to Edwin’s one and only nickname: Eddie Elbows.

    When Eddie returned home, he went back to his little barber shop in Afton, New York. And after watching Louise Kramer walk past his front window to the hotel she worked at each day, his newfound battlefield bravery allowed him to approach her and say hello — after 17 failed attempts. A courtship eventually followed and a year later Eddie and Louise were married. They moved into the three rooms above the barber shop.

    On February 15th, 1923, Edwin and Louise De Morier gave birth to their first child. A boy named Lawrence, but who would always be known as Larry. My father. Three years later their second child, Lyle, was born.

    Life in Afton was happy and carefree with the exception of Eddie’s emphysema, which began to become more and more chronic — leading the shop to be closed more than it was open. And when his clientele began to frequent more reliable barbers, the rare times when he could work Eddie was seeing less and less business. The family income was dwindling.

    In 1936, Larry came home with two announcements for his parents. The first was that he had quit school and the second was that he was now an employee of the D&H Railroad. And although Eddie Elbows and Louise weren’t happy about this, the family’s options were slim. So when he was sixteen years old — the same age that my youngest son is now — my father became the sole breadwinner for his parents, his 13-year-old brother, and himself. He’d be working alongside men, repairing rail, laying ties, and loading freight.

    When World War II broke out, Larry De Morier was one of the first in the area to receive his draft notice. He reported for duty, went through the physical, and after failing the eye exam miserably, the doctor asked, “Where are you glasses?”

    “Glasses? I don’t have any glasses.”

    “Well go get glasses ya idiot. Yer blind as a bat.”

    Larry was told to see an eye doctor for glasses and wait to be called back for active duty.

    The call never came.

    I often wonder how my father’s life, and ours, would have been different if he went to war. Would he have come back? Or when he did, would he have been more cautious? Would the events that happened to him later have not occurred or would his training have prepared him to defend himself?

    This major turning point, this single event, that changed my father’s life, occurred in July of 1955. Larry had walked his mother to the stands of the Afton Fair where a dog show was being held. He told his mother he would pick her up in an hour when the show was over and he left to explore the fairgrounds.

    If Larry had stayed with the crowd, if he had not walked in the alley behind the booths but down the midway or around by the animal displays, his life may not have drastically changed.

    But he didn’t. He walked in the dark alleyway between the games and the concessions. And seeing him take this path — and believing that the young man in a jacket and tie was much more prosperous then he really was — two unknown men followed my father down the fairground alley. They surprised him and beat him with a rock, crushing his skull and leaving him unconscious.

    They took everything of value that Larry De Morier had, which was four dollars and a tie clip. And when he recovered, they left him with violent seizures that he would experience for the rest of his life.

    Now, although the 1950s and 1960s are often remembered through fond nostalgic eyes, there are certain areas that are not as enlightened as you may think. Epilepsy was one of them. This was largely due to the common belief that the disease was a side effect of years of heavy drinking. My father, whose first and only drink was a glass of champagne at his brother’s wedding, was aware of this belief. He also experienced the first-hand fear on the faces of those who looked down to him when coming out of a seizure (on the rare occasions when he felt one coming on and couldn’t slip away quietly).

    His obsession for the next forty years would be to hide his epilepsy. He had worked on the assembly line at Borden Chemical for almost twenty years when he took the janitor position there, so he could easily slip away to the janitor’s closet when he felt a seizure coming on. And he even hid it from my mother; they had been married two months before she saw the first seizure.

    My father turned down promotions and he declined other job offers because the risk of exposing his illness was too high.

    On November 25, 1964, a month before my second birthday, Eddie Elbows died. My father would stop by his mother’s house every day after that to check on her, never missing a single one for the next three years until she died.

    Growing up, I didn’t see any of this. I just saw a man that I was embarrassed by. A man who couldn’t throw a ball or shoot a basket, because he was driving railroad spikes at the age when you learned these things. A man who was getting drastically older than the other fathers around him because the medical treatment for epilepsy in those days was a harsh cocktail of side effects (which didn’t stop the seizures from coming; they only made you so stoned that you really didn’t care).

    In April of 1976, Larry De Morier’s thirty-year run of luck ran out. Feeling a seizure come on, he was not able to get his janitor’s closet in time and it was witnessed by coworkers. He was forced into disability.

    The two areas of pride for a man of that era was his ability to work and his ability to drive. Larry lost both of them on the same day.

    The seizures my father would experience always came in threes; if he had one, within a few hours two more would follow.

    As a teenager I would latch onto these times when I knew my father was extra short-tempered. I would purposely say or do something to set off the delicate balance of chemicals in his head and he would become angry with me. I enjoyed these times because it was safe — my father was a gentle man and was incapable of harming anyone — and even though we would be nose to nose yelling at each other, he could never touch me. I knew this. We would yell. We would hurl threats at each other. We would say horrible things. But he never touched me.

    The next day, the seizures would occur and the day after that, my father — now with the chemicals in his head stable — would be humiliated by the things he said to me. Ashamed. He would try to apologize.

    Larry De Morier was a sensitive man, but like many men of those days he was unable to express himself. Fathers didn’t tell sons they loved them back then; that was for hippies and weirdos. My father would try to joke with me, try to get me talking, try to tell me how sorry he was and I — the insecure and cruel kid that I was — never let him. Not one time.

    On November 17, 1990, Larry De Morier died. He had six dollars in his wallet — two more than he had on that day in 1955.

    Throughout my life I was embarrassed by my father, who didn’t own a pair of blue jeans or sneakers and whose favorite color was polyester. I was embarrassed by how fast he was aging, that he knew nothing of sports or the outdoors. I was embarrassed because he rode an old bicycle instead of driving a car and I feared those times during school plays when the crowd would suddenly start mumbling and moving and I knew that out there in the dark area below the stage, my dad was having a seizure and people were trying to help him to his feet.

    Who was I to be embarrassed by such a man? Who was I to look down on anyone who took such good care of all those around him, no matter what? A man who never complained. A man who never called “foul.” A janitor who kept us fed and safe — whose Bible was dog-eared with use, who never had a regret, and who was grateful for everything he had.

    In the 24 years since my father died I’ve forgiven myself for the way I treated him. I’ve also realized how truly lucky I was.

    Larry De Morier was a much better father than I was a son. He was a gentle, loving, unselfish man. And my goal is to be half as protective and giving a father as he was to me.

    So happy Father’s Day, pop.

    I now get it.

     

  • The lost art of eye contact

    The lost art of eye contact

    eye

    My son’s best friend practically grew up at our house. He eats here a few times a week. He sleeps over once or twice a month. When we go on trips we usually take him with us and when his parents are looking for him, the first place they check is our family room — where he and my son Nick will be laughing through some interactive battle that requires headsets and game controllers.

    Then one day — for about a week — he just stopped showing up.

    Nick was still in the family room — talking to unseen people in the world of X-Box Live — but no one else was there.

    When my wife asked where Austin was, Nick gave us a confused look, then answered. Home. And it was then that we understood what happened.

    Austin had been saving his money and just got his own X-Box. So, now Nick and his friend were spending the same amount of time together — talking on headsets and playing the same interactive games, blowing up the same creatures that exploded party favors out of their heads when killed, only now, his friend was plugged in at his house and Nick was plugged in here.

    And the frightening aspect of this was — they were both fine with that.

    The key was to be together in the world of Minecraft. They didn’t need to physically be in the same room, just as long as they were both in the game at the same time.

    Now, Austin s sixteen and has a girlfriend. She lives in Canada. He lives in Delaware. They e-mail, text and talk during the week. They get each other Christmas presents and birthday presents and have been dating now for over a year. However, they have never met. They discovered each other through — well, I’m not sure what internet introduction — and for the last year they both consider themselves in a serious relationship.

    Now the fact that they have never met is not a concern. And when I ask how can you be dating someone you have never physically seen, he smiles and give me that patient, wow, you are so old, look.

    The point of all of this is, you and I live in an extremely unique point in technological history. For the first time we can discuss, fight, negotiate, schedule, console, beg, mend and comfort, without actually needing the person we are communicating with to be anywhere near us.

    On any given day, we text, phone, e-mail, Facebook, Bluetooth, chat, play interactive games and Tweet more then we directly interface, face-to-face, with other people.

    The process is, we interact with a device — a cell phone, a keyboard, an I-pod, a game controller, a Bluetooth headset — and then wait for the person we are corresponding with — someone we cannot see — to interact with their device and reply back. The gadgets we are using are near us. The people we are transmitting to are removed.

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    Now, before you roll your eyes and think that this is a rant against technology, it’s not. It’s simply demonstrating two things. The first is that we are now becoming extremely comfortable in communicating without human contact. Through a device. And secondly, that given the choice many of us will often choose to communicate in this fashion.

    Now, my son’s best friend is a smart and good looking kid — tall, blonde, on the school swimming team — and is content with a girlfriend a thousand miles away that he can date through a keyboard or a cell phone, rather than one that he has actually met.

    Here is another example.

    You are in a restaurant and see a group of people sitting at a table together — and this is not necessarily always a younger group, I’ve seen people of all ages do this — and at least one of these people are speaking into a cell phone to someone that is not at the table. And we’re not talking about a quick five or ten second conversation, where there is crucial information that needs to be passed on. I’ve seen — and heard — thirty minute casual cell phone conversations between people, during dinner, while these same people are sitting and eating at a table with different people.

    Which means that these individuals had a choice. They could talk directly to those sitting in front of them, face-to-face, or they could use a device to communicate with someone removed.

    You see this on a massive scale at any airport in the country. Here you will see thousands of people all plugged into cell phone conversations, completely oblivious to the other people that are inches away from them, who are also plugged into other conversations.

    So maybe they’re busy? Maybe these are busy business people closing crucial and important deals.

    Maybe.

    But it’s not hard to listen to samplings of most of these calls — many people on cell phones don’t realize that sound travels — and they are in the large part mundane and simply chatty. Actually, most of the times these calls simply seem to be a way to kill time.

    And even though the content of the calls are usually non-critical, the need to stay connected to another individual is extremely great. The first time I was in a busy airport men’s room and saw a man continue his cell phone conversation as he stepped into a bathroom stall — or better yet, take the call while he was already in there — I was amazed. Now it’s so common that I don’t even notice.

    And a month ago, at the gym, there was a man who had stepped into the shower and hung his shorts — with his cell phone in the pocket — on the hook outside the shower curtain. His phone rang and he reached his wet hand out to get his phone — and took the call while in the shower.  

    So, what’s the point of all of this?

    It’s simply this. We are so accustomed to — and the need is so great to—  communicate with people without seeing them that we no longer see them.  

    The ancillary people — the toll both operator, the cashier, the waitress — simply become white noise. A disjointed voice — and we are now very accustomed to talking to disjointed voices. We say hello, we say thank you and we leave and we rarely — and I mean rarely — make eye contact.

    Up until recently if you entered a crowded room of strangers, that room, those strangers, became your world. Until you left that room, those people are now connected to you simply because you are sharing the same space, the same situation and the same time.

    No more.

    Now we can be in the same room but be texting someone else, making a phone call or sending an e-mail from our phone. We are no longer in the same room as the person a few feet from us because we are now connected to someplace else and therefore disconnected from the people next to us. The physical space we occupy is no longer important.

    I think this is one of the main reasons that we no longer talk to the people  sitting next to us on airplanes. We used to. We would introduce ourselves, give a brief bio and then chat for the next few hours. Now we avoid saying anything to the person sitting next to us and in fact try to avoid having anyone sit next to us at all. We linger to the end of the boarding line so we can get inside the plane after everyone and see if there are unsold seats where we can spread out and sit alone.

    So wait, all of this has to do with eye contact?

    Yes.

    Because for men, eye contact is a tricky area anyway and now — due to the change in technological culture — it is becoming even more complex. As men, we use eye contact to seduce as well as to intimidate. We use it to calm and to  ignite. The wrong look at the wrong time can lead to battle. The right look at the right time can lead to love.

    For men, eye contact is a tool. A weapon. And instead of learning to use that weapon properly we are allowing it to get dull and acquire rust.

    Those people around us every day — the waitress, the store greeter, the bank teller — are people. They are not screen savers or extras in a film. We are missing something by not connecting to them — even for a second — by making eye contact. And they are missing something by not taking that second to connect to us.

  • The midlife review

    The midlife review

    review

    It has been fifty years,

    Well, no — that’s not true.

    Once you carry the seven,

    It’s been fifty-two.

    And in fifty-two years,

    No vast rise, or succumb.

    Slower than many,

    But brighter than some.

    _____

    So now, halfway through,

    Time, the older man’s chore.

    To weigh and assess,

    All I need answer for.

    Not a trial, inquisition,

    Or a stern talking to.

    But a chance to appraise,

    It’s my midlife review.

    _____

    So I found a nice tie,

    A clean shirt and a coat.

    And I drove to the place,

    Spelled out there on the note.

    To a part of the city,

    Not been to before.

    I walked to the building,

    And right through the door.

    _____

    Once inside the office,

    I strode down the aisle.

    Where a man at a desk,

    Sat there reading my file.

    He stood and bowed, hi,

    Rolled to me, a chair.

    Walls the photos of all,

    Those before me, hung there.

    _____

    Then he spoke with a smile,

    Well, I’ve good news to tell.

    On your choice of a spouse,

    You did quite very well.

    She is loving, supportive,

    And in church, volunteers.

    Did not kill you, not once

    In all twenty-three years.

    _____

    Then stirring through papers,

    To find the right page.

    On your kids, here again,

    Mostly high marks to gauge.

    Sons are happy and strong,

    Tender hearts they have grown.

    Both to soon make their marks,

    They can think on their own.

    _____

    But now, that part over,

    Smile fading from face.

    He shuffled the papers,

    Let’s back to your case.

    In the asset department,

    You must surely know.

    That your financial levels,

    Are shockingly low.

    _____

    I smirked and replied,

    Mine, more lofty pursuit.

    Don’t you know that with evil,

    It’s money at root?

    As you see, it’s my family,

    The center for me.

    Not the stocking of wealth,

    Here in this life, agree?

    _____

    Then he took off his glasses,

    He then rubbed his nose.

    I think there confusion,

    We should here dispose.

    See, the standard for this life,

    Not to wealth be driven.

    But be the good stewards,

    Of all we’ve been given.

    _____

    And I see by these files,

    That you’ve wasted a lot.

    Some, they make more of,

    But time — they do not.

    So the question remains,

    Although here not bereft.

    Now what will you do,

    With the twenty years left?

    _____

    Just twenty? I mocked,

    That seems a bit lean.

    Well, he said, rounding,

    It’s more like eight-teen.

    You will die on a Wednesday,

    The fifteenth of May.

    Which is eight-teen years,

    One month, from today.

    _____

    What? I said, shocked,

    As I let this sink in.

    I know, this news hard,

    But we must now begin.

    You need to make plans,

    To ponder in thought.

    So what will you do,

    With the years you still got?

    _____

    And I sat in that chair,

    With my heart in a twist.

    ‘till I finally did speak,

    Well, I do have a list.

    But before I could finish,

    He stopped me there, true.

    This gift you’ve received,

    It’s not about you.

    _____

    You’ve been handed this grant,

    Not to ski down a slope.

    Not to climb up a mountain,

    Or zip down a rope.

    You came into this world,

    With nothing you own.

    And all that you have,

    Is simply on loan.

    _____

    And soon on a day,

    Eight-teen years from now.

    You will stand before Him,

    To answer your vow.

    And when that linking,

    From this world is free.

    What for the kingdom

    Did you do for me?

    _____

    He handed me pamphlets,

    And wished me good luck.

    And I dazedly shuffled,

    Right back to my truck.

    And I sat there inside.

    Letting set that review.

    So little time,

    And so much to do.

  • The 10 films that every man needs to see before he dies

    The 10 films that every man needs to see before he dies

    film

    There are great films and then there are great guy films — and I’m not referring to movies that have that all important catch phrase or the chase scene of the Corvette down the escalator that you will be a social misfit for having not seen. But great films — movies that make us think and feel while remaining a pure guy film.

     

    10. THE LONGEST YARD. (1974).

    Of course I am not referring to the 1974 Burt Reynolds film not the Adam Sandler version — which I’ve never seen. The Longest Yard is just a great all around guy film and although the plot seems a little thin — NFL quarterback goes to prison and is forced to lead the ‘cons vs guards’ football game — the movie has intensity, excitement, humor and is one of those films that gets under your skin and stays there. In Burt Reynolds long career he has only made two great films — Boogie Nights and The Longest Yard.

     

    9. SLING BLADE. (1996).

    Although there are moments of acting and dialogue in Sling Blade that still make my cringe, the characters are so strong that you really don’t care — in fact the first ten minutes of Sling Blade are probably the best dialogue ever written for film. A great guy movie.

     

    8. ARMAGEDDON. (1998).

    Okay, hear me out on this one. Armageddon is not only a great action film but is practically a blue collar opera. The idea of the world being saved by finding the best deep core drillers, is right up there with needing to find the best dry-wallers or small engine repair guys. The writing is solid, the story is strong and the acting top notch. A great movie.

     

    7. THE FULL MONTY. (1997).

    If you had asked me if I wanted to see a film about a group of down on their luck blue-collar English guys who decide to become exotic dancers to pay their bills, I would not have rushed to the ticket counter. But The Full Monty is one of the greatest guy films ever made. There is not a character in the film that you don’t care about and the movie is emotional, real and powerful. You’ve got to see this one.

     

    6. SEVEN SAMURAI. (1954).

    Although I’m not a big fan of subtitles, you need to see the subtitled version of Seven Samurai to appreciate this film. Seven Samuria is a story of 1587 Japan when the feudal system is fading and the once and powerful Samurai are  now unemployed. Seven of these men join forces to protect a town against marauders because, well, they have nothing else to do and in effect create a great friendship. This is an amazing film and was the basis of John Sturges; The Magnificent Seven. You’ve got to see it.

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    5. THE STING. (1973).

    The Sting is the con artist move to which all other con films are judged. It’s a great film and a great story and keep you guessing all the way to the very end — when you’re still not exactly sure the ride is over. This is one of the top ten American Films of all time.

     

    4. RAIN MAN. (1988).

    Although I am not a big Tom Cruise fan, Rain Man is one of the greatest films ever made; a true road film that documents the relationship of a twenty-something, self involved man and his estranged older brother — it also is an interesting example of what the motion picture industry thinks of men as this film was almost not made because the producers didn’t believe men would watch any film without a chase scene.

     

    3. THE GODFATHER. (1972).

    Although Goodfella’s is an amazing film, The Godfather still remains the big daddy of mob films — and of motion pictures in general. It’s an epic story of the rise of an Italian Mafia family. An incredible movie that has influenced American culture and for those thirty or so men in the US who have never seen the Godfather – go see it.

     

    2. ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO’S NEST. (1975).

    One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest is not only Jack Nicholson at his very best, but it’s also one of those rare occasions where a film is actually better than the book. This movie launched many careers and is an incredibly powerful story that doesn’t stop until the credits roll. You only need to see this film once and you will remember every second of it.

     

    1. SAVING PRIVATE RYAN. (1998).

    Not only is Saving Private Ryan the greatest World War II film ever made, it is also one of the greatest American film’s ever made — one of the reasons I stopped watching the Oscar’s was when Shakespeare in Love beat this film out for best picture. Are you kidding me?

    If you have never seen Saving Private Ryan, stop what you’re doing and see it right now.

  • How to plan a family reunion

    How to plan a family reunion

    reunion

    When it comes to how men view family gatherings — specifically, how men view extended family gatherings — there are three common stages that we pass through.

    First, we have the carefree days of youth; stage one. This stage runs from birth to sometime in our teenaged years. This is when we are excited to be part of this distinctive, kinetic family group and we look forward to each and every time all the aunts and cousins gather. These are the times when the best possible place to be, is right next to Uncle Don when he tells the boomerang story, or be at bat just before Amy; because she has a wicked cleanup swing. This is the time period when all your grandfather’s jokes are hysterical and all your aunts are beautiful. And the absolute saddest part of the day, the only bleak aspect, is when the cars begin to pull out of the driveway. And when all the cousins are gone.

    Then we move to stage two. These are the dark days and run from our teenaged years to sometime in our late twenties to early thirties. These are the thin skinned, chip on our shoulder, lots to prove and little show for it, angry days. When we grit our teeth every time Uncle Mike asks us how long we’re going to keep this job. This is when Vick and the other cousins smirk when we talk about our multi-level marketing plans — right before they ask how long it’s been since Jennifer dumped us. And even though she didn’t dump us, it was mutual, we watch the clock and cannot wait for everyone to leave — so we can catch our dad alone and discretely ask if he can help with part of this month’s rent.

    Then comes the third and final stage. The best stage. The last stage. Stage three. This occurs from your late thirties on until you die. This is when we show up for family gatherings in that twelve year old car — and are actually proud of it because it runs and is paid for. This is when your uncle challenges you to an arm wrestling match and you let him win. This is the time when you want to listen to the stories so much more than you want to tell any. These are the days when humility and pride both exist together and where you bounce your child on your leg and give a secret look to your cousins as your nephew describes how he’s going to make an absolute killing in real estate. These are the days you’ll enjoy the most and these are the times when you will work the hardest to keep the extended family together.

    Which means continuing, or beginning, those family reunions.

    HOW TO PLAN A FAMILY REUNION

    It’s a good idea to plan a reunion four to six months out — this gets the event on everyone’s calendar and locks everything in. It also gives you half a year to organize everything and work it.

    6 Months Before

    • Choose a date — check with folks that are traveling the longest distance and make sure it fits their schedules as they are making the biggest sacrifice.
    • Choose a length of time — is this over a Saturday afternoon or an entire weekend?
    • Choose a general location.
    • If over 50 people, create a reunion committee — determine person in charge of finance, food, entertainment, clean up, lodging, etc.

    4 Months Before

    • Lock in your location — if it’s a park or outdoor event, reserve the pavilion or fields if needed. If it’s inside, give the deposit needed or reserve the spot, etc.
    • Plan the menu — create the food assigning dishes and other food items to each family. Arranging for extra cooking and/or grilling facilities. Or finding a caterer.
    • Create a schedule — determine activities and entertainment, is there going to be a family softball game or contests. When do you want to schedule this?
    • Build in family history portion — start doing some research on the family tree or a huge white board/chalkboard is great for everyone to build a family tree together.
    • Photography and/or video — with everyone carrying cameras on their phones, hiring a photographer or videographer may not be necessary, but what will be is to find a place to store all those images and video. Create a reunion Facebook page or website where everyone can dump all the pictures taken — you can use this in the organization end as well to post updates and schedule.
    • Marketing — are you going to create postcards for the event or design t-shirts? Now is the time to plan those.

    3 Months Before

    • Finance — if large, determine cost per person.
    • Send out invitations — include times, locations, schedule, maps and costs or side dishes that need to be brought.
    • Committee sign ups — depending on the size there will be needs in each area. This is the time to get people to sign up for; set up teams, cooking committees, entertainment teams, etc.
    • Reserve items — do you need to rent a tent, chairs, portable grill? This is the time to reserve all of that stuff.

    2 Months Before

    • Create a stocking location — you’ll need a place to begin to store things.
    • Make nonperishable purchases — order the cups, table cloths, condiments, craft items, decorations, etc.
    • Send out e-mail or social network posts to keep the momentum going and stay on everyone’s thoughts
    • Arrange/place deposits on large food items — will you need 200 pounds of burgers? Now is the time to arrange this and to shop around for the best price.

    1 Month Before

    • Confirm, confirm, confirm — with family on food items, with reservations and with lodging.

    2 Weeks Before

    • Contact restaurants with a final guest count if necessary.
    • Contact volunteers with specific tasks to confirm times, locations, and the final guest count.
    • Review your final to-do list.
    • Buy last-minute decorations and supplies.
    • Create signs and banners.

    2 Days Before

    • Review reunion minutiae with committees.
    • Pick up any rental equipment — chairs, tables, grills, etc.
    • Prepare final payments and tips

    The Day Before

    • Set up and decorate.
    • Sleep.
  • The New Year’s resolution hack

    The New Year’s resolution hack

    New Year

    It’s a pretty well known fact in the health club and fitness Industry that the best time of year — their season — is January. No doubt about it. This is when health clubs, gyms, personal trainers; diet supplement companies and home gym equipment manufacturers, all see the bulk of their business for the entire year. It’s their market. It’s New Year’s resolution time.

    And these same health club and fitness professionals will also tell you that the busiest time of that month is the second week of January; when they will see the largest single week of the year. And after that  — things begin to taper down. Each week. Until the second week of February when the season is officially over.

    Now at the end of that four week period, 80% of the people who have bought their Super Stepper 9,000 or joined a gym, have stopped. Over the next two months — until the second week of April — an additional 12% will stop as well. Leaving 8%. Which is the average percentage rate of people who reach their New Year’s resolutions.

    8%.

    Now as far as health clubs and gyms go, they love this trend — they will never tell you this, but their accountants will. Because what is a better customer than one who pays for an entire year and then doesn’t use up valuable is resources or equipment. And — here is the best part — those same people will be back again next January convinced that this year things are going to be different. And they’ll sign up again.

    Now fitness is only one of the goals we set at the beginning of the year — financial is another big area, career, artistic goals of music or of finally sitting down and writing that book, there are many.

    So why do New Year’s resolutions fail? Well, there are many reasons. Here are a few …

    1. Because they are fueled by motivation only — motivation is short lived and usually lasts only about a month by itself.
    2. Because we set unrealistic goals.
    3. Because we need the goal to fix something in our life; to make it all better.
    4. Because we don’t have a plan, we just have an end result.
    5. Because we are now in panic time. It’s not important that it took us 3 years to put on that extra 60 pounds, it must be off by summer!

    Yup. All of these are true. But there are two other reasons — the two real reasons — why most New Year’s resolutions fail. And if you address these two other areas, your odds go up substantially. In fact, you will double your chance of success if you only focus on these two areas.

    Ready? Here they are.

    The real two real reasons why 92% of all New Year’s resolutions fails — are this.

    1. Because we get something out of where we are now. If we are overeating, overspending, drinking too much, out of work or have our finances way overextended, we get something out of that. Either a pleasure or an escape and until we identify what that is — really spend time with it — then it will continue to run silently in the background; quietly and under the surface, and will derail any minor motivation fueled trend we are running on the top.

         Because if we never turn the program off. Identify it and replace it with something else. Then that beacon — that we ourselves put into motion — is enough to make us one of the 80%. If we don’t turn it off an replace it, motivation alone will not break through it. We are wishing to go north but we are steering south.

        And the second reason is this  …

    1. Because we think we need to fight. That there is something inside of us that wants us to fail and we need to fight, it, Defeat it. Instead of realizing that it is a program that we put there, to protect and help us — http://543skills.com/skill-529-the-truth-about-self-discipline/

    So here is the single thing you can do — the very best action — to drastically increase your chance of reaching your New Year’s resolution.

    Ready?

    Here it is.

    The best way to achieve your New Year’s resolution is —-.

    Don’t set one.

    At least not right away. Instead, spend this month — four solid weeks — in getting to know yourself and getting to know how you got to where you are now.

    Oh and cop-out answers don’t count here. Answers like, I took my eye off the ball or I wasn’t motivated enough to change — are bull. You get something out of overeating or avoiding those work projects. You told yourself to keep you safe or keep you protected. You get something from it otherwise you wouldn’t be doing it.

    What do you get?

    So, spend a solid month in getting to know what that is. Now, I now, but the gym, the office, the life you are going to organize, it will be there waiting for you. Consider this month basic training, getting you ready for it.

    And here are the two best ways to do that. Here are two ways to get into that programming and see what that code really is.

    1. Write. Just start writing, every day, in a journal of everything you think and feel. Start to write about why you want to change and how you got to where you are. Keep digging and digging for a solid month.

    And …

    1. Go into the silence. Now this one will take a little getting used to but it is amazing the results. What it is is take an hour — yeah, it seems like a long time but it’s worth it — where you are completely unplugged. Step into a a quiet room, your parked car, the woods, whatever. Turn your phone off and just sit — motionless, don’t move — for one hour.

    The first twenty minutes of this will be hell. Then calm will come over you. And then — things will begin to click. Doors will open and you will begin to think pure thoughts. Pure code. You will see clearly.

    Do this — do all of this. And when your four weeks are up, then set your goals. And you’ll not only be one of the 8% but you’ll get there easier and you’ll get more joy out of it because you’ll be in sync with what you really want.

  • The future

    The future

    future

    “Okay — how did — ?”

    And then Debbie pointed.

    After twenty-two years of marriage, I always look when Debbie points. Always. This has served as a solid rule-of-thumb when anyone points but when Debbie does it she is often pointing to something I did, or didn’t do. Or something that the kids did or didn’t do or worse yet, something that they did that I suggested that they do — which as soon as she points out to me I realize was a pretty dumb idea. Why do they listen to me? But sometimes, Debbie just points at something that she wants me to see.

    I didn’t know which one this was. So Debbie pointed and I looked.

    The broken fireplace screen was where my eye went to first. But since I had developed a process where the fireplace still worked — if you separated the first screen, got the fire going, then leaned the glass into the frame, it could still be used — so this project had been given a lower priority on the household punch list. Anytime a device or a system still operates by simply adding another step or two, it is automatically reduced to C status.

    “Yeah, I —“.

    “How did —? How did this happen?”

    So it wasn’t the fireplace screen. My attention moved over to the television.

    The TV offer that was playing was advertising a new mattress where no payment was due until — and then the fireworks and the spinning graphic occurred — until 2015. But since our mattress was fairly new — it had only been three years since the insurance replaced everything when I burned our house down — I’d guessed it wasn’t the mattress she was pointing at.

    “What?”

    “2015?” she asked. “How did —-? 2015?”

    Well, yeah. It was the end of October, 2014 which meant that 2015 was only a few —-. But she did have a —. She did have a very good point.

    If Debbie and I were married in 1992 and since we are both now are in our thirties — aren’t we still in our thirties? —  and the kids are still small — wait, are they still small? — and I still have a 30 inch waistline then the date could only be somewhere in the —.

    “2015?”

    “Yeah.”

    “Hey, how did that happen?”

    “I don’t —. I don’t know.”

    A chill ran through the living room. I would have built a fire but the screen was broken.

    How is this possible that it will soon be 2015?

    2014 is one thing. Yeah, it’s a big number. Much bigger than 1985 or 1993, but  2015 is —. 2015 is the date when Marty McFly goes ahead in time in Back to the Future II; October 21, 2015. 2015 is futuristic.

    A place where we can talk to people and see their faces on phones and watches and iPods and laptops just like George Jetson did — a cartoon character from the future.

    So in a few months we will be in — the future.

    So welcome everyone. We are almost there. The future. A place where Loverboy and REM are played in elevators and we can see Satellite Street photos of Zambia right on our phones. The future. Where The Shining is seen as quaint and we laugh at the special effects of the first Star Wars.

    The future.

    So what does this mean? What happens in the future?

    Well, we know one thing. In the movies it’s the guy from the past that is always the hero in the future. It’s the one who comes from the 1980’s or 70’s or before in a time travelling Delorean, or steps into a time portal. It’s the one who can break the rules and see things differently. The character who thinks and acts by his own rules. Bravely. Creatively — which is so different from those people of the future and that’s the reason he wins.

    So we are in the future. Yes, this is true.

    But we are all from the past. Where the hero comes from. And we can only win if we keep what we have from the past and use it. If we stand out. If we remember.

  • How to say grace over a meal

    How to say grace over a meal

    shutterstock_218825743There are many words in the English language that have changed meaning over time. For example, the word artificial originally meant artistic or crafty. The word decimate meant to reduce by one tenth and in the original Latin the word nice, meant ignorant or unaware.

    Just since the 19th century the words for dinner and supper have changed, when dinner referred to the large meal of the day —  often in the early afternoon — and supper meant the smaller meal later at night — often after 7:00 pm. Now, both dinner and supper are interchangeable and refer to the evening meal.

    In the modern world, many other words have changed meanings. Spam, a processed and canned meat, now refers to the mountains of junk e-mails we receive daily. A cursor was the word for a running messenger and now means the movable indicator on a computer screen. The the word friend once applied only to those people we have a close personal bond and connection with, but now refers to anyone on our Facebook or Twitter page.

    But in my opinion, one of the most interesting word changes involves the word offensive or the phrase to offend. These words have long been in existence — for hundreds of years — but only in the last decade the meaning become altered and is now even confusing.

    During the Vietnam War, American television announcers warned viewers when upcoming footage from the war, would be offensive; when it would contain graphic images of war and violence. And we knew what the word offensive meant then — even without seeing it, we knew.  

    At that same time, domestically, we were a country divided by race and hate and fear. A man with dark skin now had the right to fight and die as a soldier along with his white counterparts — a first in US History — but he could not attend the same church or use the same public restroom.

    To say these events were offensive would be a great understated truth.

    Then, in 1968, Brown vs. The Board Education, would allow black and white students to actually sit in the same classroom together. And there was more violence. And more fear.

    Slowly — over the decades — the race walls began to crumble. Slower yet, the hate and fear began to fade.

    Then came the events of September 11, 2001; a world altering event where a radical group of Muslim extremists plotted attacks that took thousands of American lives.

    And everything changed.

    Religion now became the new race. We were frightened and angry and confused and were told that a world split by religion could only be mended by understanding and tolerance. And fueled by a desire for healing, we embraced this word; tolerance. And there were more words that were added to our lexicon. And the more words mixed in, the more vague and confusing it all became.

    Instead of kindness we were asked to be objective. Instead of understanding we were encouraged to be respectful. Instead of being neighborly we were told to be civil. And above all things, the ultimate focus was to never say or do anything that might be ever be perceived as  — offensive.

    And because we never truly understood the new meaning of this word — offensive — we did not understand what it truly was to offend. So, we simply took the easier path and avoided any and all areas that even might offend. And that meant anything religious or spiritual.

    And the new segregation began.

    Which bring us to this. To the ultimate irony and the ultimate truth.

    I believe in God. I believe in a God that created me and watches over me and who is with me on earth will be with me in Heaven. There is no need for me to apologize for this because there is nothing offensive about it.

    As men, we need to work less on being tolerant and more on being generous.

    We need to be less objective and be more helpful.

    And we need to be less unbiased and be more forgiving.

    And above all things, we need to be grateful. Grateful to our God. Grateful to our family, our neighbors and grateful to all that is on loan to us for the short time we live in this world.

    And during that Thanksgiving or Christmas or Easter or that visit to someone else’s home, if we are extended the honor to say grace over the meal, we should embrace it.

    If you’ve never publicly said grace over a meal, the rules are simple.

    We are thanking God for the meal. We are thanking Him for the chance to be at that table with family and friends. We are grateful to live in a place where food is plentiful and we can live and work without fear or danger. We will work hard to show love and kindness to all we come in contact with.

    And we are grateful.