Friday, May 27, 2016

Missed Appointments

Throughout my life I have been missed many appointments. I know I’m not alone in this as much of life is lived by the clock – we go from an appointment, to a meeting, to an event.  Sometimes we are late and sometimes we miss what we were supposed to do, and with all the rushing through life we think, “this is crazy.”  We believe we are in charge doing what we want, when we want, but only if it fits within our schedule (the human race within the rat race).

About six years ago I was in the middle of a race, a political contest, when I overheard Dick, a man I respected, say to my wife, “You know, the best thing that could happen to him is if he loses.” I wasn’t quite sure what he meant and since he wasn’t talking to me (only about me) I didn’t ask. He was about thirty years older than me, a successful businessman, a marine and quite outspoken in his beliefs. He believed, at least for me, that losing would be better than winning. In spite of his opinion, I continued running, and when I lost I tried again and lost again.

This time it’s going to be different. Today, in partial recognition of Dick’s wise words, I am announcing my non-candidacy for political office. To paraphrase William Tecumseh Sherman, “I am not running this race.”

This may not be news, but it is relatively new when compared to the whole of my life.  Some little boys want to be fireman when they grow up. Almost as long as I can remember, I thought I would run for and get elected to  . . . However, instead of getting elected, I got married. Instead of a political race, I raised my kids. So I waited and thirty years went by. Then, six years ago I thought, “Now is the time for me to achieve my lifelong dream.”

But that didn’t work out like I thought it would, which was a surprise to me,
as I thought I was doing what I was supposed to do – what I was called to do. Now, because I see a different finish line just over the next hill, I have to come to realize the political life is not for me. There are other races to run, other walks to go on, and other conversations to have.

Can a person change that much in six years . . .in their fifty-six years? Perhaps, but the rear-view mirror is only good for what’s behind you. I can’t go through life backing-up; a life of regret is a very sad life indeed. If ever I am to spend time with those I love it is now, if ever I am to write it is now, to listen to music, to play my banjo, to travel, to read, the time is now. As both my wife and Frank Zappa have said, “So many books, so little time.”

Many years ago I was late to a meeting. When asked why I was late, I informed the group that I had a breakfast appointment that ran over. Having given a reason that met with their approval I was forgiven. However, I would have not have forgiven myself if I had had missed breakfast with my two-year old daughter that morning.

Having a flexible schedule at this stage in my life is very important to me. One of the few things I have on my schedule is a weekly bagel and egg breakfast with my daughter and my two grandsons. I am not going to miss that appointment.




Thursday, May 19, 2016

A Man of Many Hats

Men don’t doff their hats much anymore. To doff your hat means to remove it as a sign of respect or as part of a greeting. My friend Wade and I will go through the motion (with or without a hat) when we see each other – but I don’t see it anywhere else with any frequency. Maybe it’s because respect and formal greetings have fallen out of favor. Perhaps it’s the type of hats men are wearing. Other than a baseball player acknowledging the crowd, when is the last time you have seen a man remove his baseball hat as part of a greeting?

I like baseball hats: I own about a dozen or so. I will wear my Union Pacific one around the house (unless a hockey game is on – then it’s the Wild hat), but I won’t wear a baseball hat in the office. I just have never thought baseball hats looked good with a sport coat or in a business setting. Obviously, Steven Spielberg and Ron Howard don’t agree with me.

When I go outside I am trying to wear a hat more during the day (as opposed to a nightcap). In the cold weather (January or May) it keeps me warm, and during the other times of the year, it protects me from the sun. I prefer a hat instead of sunblock, because I don’t want to slather the top of my head with lotion (my hair is beginning to thin).

I have tried covering my head with a fedora, but I end up looking like I’m trying to be Indiana Jones, Spencer Tracy or Humphrey Bogart.  I like the look – but I guess it’s just not me.

I have a few straw hats that do the job of keeping the sun off my head and the rain off my glasses – but I’m still not sure it’s me, even still I keep a couple in the truck to protect me from the elements.  I have a supply of straw hats at home as well; one is reserved for the pool because it is unsuitable for anywhere else, as it has no shape or style remaining about it. More than one hat has flipped off my head and landed in the path of the trailing brush mower.

One hat survived several years of mowing, but I threw it in the brush pile last week. It had become so discolored from my sweat, plus it was sporting several holes from low hanging branches that it was no longer dong its job.
The one I replaced it with would make Sister Bertrille, The Flying Nun, jealous. It is so wide that if I tilt my head just right I risk becoming airborne.

Among my other hats is a black cowboy hat when I have grown weary of being one of the good guys, a beat-up, wide-brimmed leather one that sheds rain better than any umbrella and a floppy beige one for when I want to look like a tourist while traveling.

I have a few caps that are known by several names such as newsboy and Gatsby caps. They aren’t as wide as a straw hat or fedora, but they are more versatile. You can look rather jaunty in them like John Lennon or tough like Samuel L Jackson if you turn the cap around.

Although it’s true I have many hats, I will never be known as “someone who wears many hats,” for I believe that refers to a person with a wide range of talents and responsibilities.  To those individuals, I tip my hat.







Thursday, May 12, 2016

Second Chance


I have heard happy grandfathers say that they would have had grandchildren first if they had only known how much fun it was going to be. Of course, that’s a ridiculous statement – no twenty-five year old would be caught dead wearing a cardigan, khakis, white tennis shoes and Foster Grant clip-on flip-up sunglasses. However, I hope a sport coat, jeans, brown moccasins and Ray Bans would be more acceptable.

I was in my twenties when my children were born, and now I’m in my fifties with two grandchildren. I can’t say being a grandfather is better than being a father, yet I am shocked by the joy my little grandsons bring me. Did I not feel the same when my children were little? So, what’s different between then and now, other than the fact that thirty years of sand has fallen hour by hour?

I think the difference lies somewhere within the passage of time; a man learns much in thirty years. Please don’t misunderstand me, I would not trade the years I spent with my children, but neither would I make the same mistakes again if given the opportunity to relive those years.

A certain order must be followed. Men must be fathers first and grandfathers second. As a young father I had no experience in raising little children, I had little money with which to spend on them, and only a small understanding of the brevity of time. I could have been a better father; fortunately my children have forgiven me my shortcomings.

Now I have more time to give, more money to share, and the experience to know the difference between what matters in life and what clearly does not. Age can be very gracious in it’s gifts if you will only receive them.

I saw the same metamorphosis in my father and his father. As they aged they left much of their old self behind and became less stern and more relaxed in their approach to life.  I am not yet willing to refer to myself as an old man, but I do find that I’m a better listener, more patient and less likely to lose my temper than when I was younger. Also, I am more likely to play on the floor and hold a child’s hand on a walk.

I didn’t know much about being a dad thirty years ago, and now I don’t know much about being a grandfather, other than it makes me happy. I loved those years when my kids were little– but it didn’t last long enough. I thought that time was gone forever – now it’s back again. I won’t take this opportunity for granted, and I won’t make the same mistakes twice.

I loved being called Daddy and then Dad. Now I am called Pa, and even though I would not have chosen that name, I won’t change it. All is right with the world when I hear, “Hi Pa.”

So, for me the answer to why being a grandfather feels so different than being a father: You take the best of what you did and you discard the rest. It’s as simple as being given another chance with your children through their children.

If only I knew then what I know now.



Thursday, May 5, 2016

Lights Please.

A light bulb above a person’s head is meant to illustrate the birth of an idea. I like that symbol, as it seems that a light does indeed turn on when a solution to a problem is discovered, when clarity is achieved when dealing with a dilemma, or when one path among two or more is illuminated and the chosen way becomes increasingly clear with each step.

I’m the kind of guy who doesn’t like surprises, but likes change; I enjoy variety but I need routine. I try to treasure each and every moment, as I sense time is fleeting. Life changes far too quickly, which surprises and unnerves me.

Last week I attended the funeral of one of my father’s best friends. Dad died about twelve years ago, which should be plenty of time to have completely healed my wounds. So I foolishly thought.

I didn’t know what triggered my emotions, but as I walked through the funeral home drying my eyes, I saw a friend of mine. Her father had passed away just a few months ago, and now her uncle lay in a casket.

Making no attempt to hide my sorrow I said to her, “I thought I was over my mom and dad’s death, but being here brings it all back.”

“I don’t think you ever get over it,” she said.

More than a decade has passed and I still grieve the loss of my father. Even though the years fly by the days can drag; the sun rises and sets slowly as if controlled by a giant dimmer switch, albeit an automatic one. Occasionally, we are the given luxury of time to prepare for an unsettling change, but far too frequently the day is darkened by something we had not allowed for.

How does one prepare for the aging of parents, the aging of one’s self? I was talking to the manager of a shop the other day about the gradual retirement of the shop’s owner. It seems the owner may be having trouble letting go of the business. The manager and I agreed that letting go is hard. Perhaps the best kind of retirement plan is gradual instead of immediate – a slow dimming of the work life versus a quick flip of the off switch.
Realizing that we are no more in control of when the sun rises and sets than we are in the number of our days should give us clarity and purpose. Quite often when public figures retire they are asked why. People want to know what could possibly be more important than public service, the sports world, stage and screen. Predictably the reason given for retiring has something to do with wanting to spend more time with their family.

As I get older, I am becoming more mindful of the brevity of life, the fragility of relationships, and the importance of setting priorities regarding the limited number of days each of us are allotted. So what if instead of waiting until we are older to do what’s most important, we chose to spend more time with our family now?

Now there’s an idea.