Studying for Future Generations

“Do you need a right-handed or a left-handed door?”

“Let’s go with right-handed.”

“Do you need shims?”

“Shims?”

“To help secure the door frame.”

“Well, I have a guy who is hanging it for me.”

“He’ll probably need them. If he doesn’t get it aligned properly, ask for your money back and come back to the store to get some shims.”

“I’ll just take the shims right now.”

“How about door hangers?”

“Door hangers?”

“They help align the door.”

At this point, the Menards employee knew he was dealing with a guy who had no earthly idea what he was doing. He placed the door hangers (which look like brackets) on the door frame and tried to explain how to use them. I had no idea what he was talking about, but I took the door hangers anyway.

“How about paint?”

“Isn’t the door already painted?”

“It’s primed.”

“No paint. A primed door is good enough.”

On my way home, I couldn’t help but wonder how my grandfather, who lived through the Great Depression and could fix anything, would have reacted to my lack of hardware knowledge. Then I remembered a quote from the John Adams HBO miniseries.

When Adams (portrayed by Paul Giamatti) arrived in Paris to ask the French for naval support of the American cause, he found a culture he’s unfamiliar with – one much slower and engaged in the arts. Over a meal, he is asked about music and his response is thought-provoking.

“I must study politics and war, you see, so that my sons will have the liberty to study mathematics and philosophy. My sons must study navigation, commerce and agriculture so that their children will have the right to study painting and poetry and music.”

My grandfather was on the front end of this spectrum in my family. He studied finance and repair, so his sons would have the liberty to study genealogy and photography. His sons studied sales and management so their sons, including me, would have the right to study literature and writing.

This is not lost on me.

When a generation stops thinking about, appreciating and building on the sacrifices of the previous generation, we become self-absorbed. But when we build on the sacrifices of previous generations, it gives us a chance to live beyond ourselves.

I have a feeling my grandfather wouldn’t be disappointed in my visit to Mendards. Instead, he would smile about the fact that his sacrifices allowed me to become a writer. But he would also want to make sure I’m not taking my liberty for granted, and he would want to make sure I’m studying something for the next generation so they will have the freedom to pursue something they love.

He’s been gone for nearly 30 years, but I can still hear the question he might ask me: What are you studying that will benefit and allow the next generation to pursue what they love?

I would tell him technology. I’m not crazy about learning new technology. In fact, sometimes I find it maddening. But in the same manner in which he was able to teach himself how to repair lawnmower and dryer engines so he could fix appliances in my family when they went out, I have a knack for learning technology and then passing that information along to loved ones, which I hope empowers them in some small way.

How about you? I would love to hear about the sacrifices the people made in your family which allowed you the freedom to pursue what you love. And then tell me what you are doing for the generation behind you.

How to Care for Introverts

When I see photos with quotes or sayings on Facebook I scroll past them. I guess it’s part of my personality. I’d rather hear what the person who is posting the photo has to say. 

But one particular graphic continues to make its way into my newsfeed and I eventually read it. It’s entitled “How to Care for Introverts.” As an introvert, I want to talk about this.

1. Respect their need for privacy.

I don’t think my introversion makes me need anybody to respect my privacy any more than the average person. In fact, once I get to know you, I’m probably more open regarding my privacy than the average person. Maybe those who know me would disagree. If so, I’d be interested in hearing their take.

2. Never embarrass them in public.

Does anybody like to be embarrassed in public?

3. Let them observe first in new situations.

Totally agree. Don’t ask me to participate in something I don’t fully understand.

4. Give them time to think, don’t demand instant answers.

While I have an instant opinion, I don’t always trust it. I need time to process before I can give you a real answer.

5. Don’t interrupt them.

This doesn’t bother me. People interrupt each other in conversation.

6. Give them advance notice of expected changes in their lives.

Seems like a common courtesy.

7. Give them 15 minute warnings to finish whatever they are doing.

This is why I’m an email person, or at least a text before you call person. I charge clients by the hour, which means I track everything I do with a timer. Unexpected phone calls require me to clock out of the job I’m working on so I can pick up the phone. The problem with that is, it’s hard for me to pick up where I left off after the phone call. My flow is gone and I have to try to find it. So yeah, a 15-minute warning is nice.

8. Reprimand them privately.

Does anybody like to be reprimanded publicly?

9. Teach them new skills privately.

Not true for me. I’d rather learn a new skill in a classroom environment. I don’t feel like I’m on the spot as much, and it gives me more time to process what I’m learning.

10. Enable them to find one best friend who has similar interests and abilities.

I don’t understand this one. How does one “enable” someone else to find a best friend? Don’t we naturally gravitate toward people of similar interests? And my best friend doesn’t need to have similar abilities.

11. Don’t push them to make lots of friends.

I don’t understand this one either. If it simply said, “Don’t push them,” I would get it. I hate being pushed. But why would anybody push someone to make lots, or fewer, friends?

12. Respect their introversion, don’t try to remake them into extroverts.

A good rule of thumb for any personality type.

What Happened to the Last 20 Years?

Photo: Dicemanic

Over the past few weeks, I’ve had multiple conversations with people my age about how quickly time flies. I’m 46 years old, but it seems like I should be 26.

I say that because I have so many unmet expectations – ones that are typical of a twenty-something, including marriage, children, an established career, and financial security.

Marriage has eluded me, which means having children has too. One friend says it may be the result of me having a high sense of duty. He’s probably right. Whenever I see a need in my family, I try to meet it – from caregiving to stepping into the gap when someone else leaves. And I’ll be honest, more than once I’ve wondered if my turn would ever come. I don’t say that as a victim – at least I don’t think I do. It’s just an honest question.

Over the years, some have told me I deserve my turn – my shot at a family and children and that I can’t always be expected to play a supporting role. I agree with them. And if the right woman had come along, I would be married by now. But since she hasn’t, I do what I believe I’m supposed to do. I step into the gap, and I do so without any regret.

My career isn’t where I thought, or hoped it would be. In my twenties I had no idea what I wanted to do, so I did what most people do. I filled out applications and took a job. When I got tired of one, I took another one. I didn’t stumble into the possibility of writing professionally until I attended a writer’s conference in 1998. I was 32 years old then, and still had a lot to learn. It was seven years before my first book was published.

Six books and hundreds of articles later, I have a pretty good handle about the type of writing I enjoy most. Nothing satisfies me more professionally than telling an athlete’s story. I don’t care about his statistics or awards. I care about his journey. One editor tells me I gravitate toward the blue collar athlete and I think he’s right.

Last summer, I interviewed Kansas City Royals’ outfielder Mitch Maier about his journey through the minor leagues, hoping to eventually land in the big leagues for good. I wrote the story as a freelancer for the Yahoo! Contributor Network and a couple of thousand people read it. Neither the piece, nor the traffic it attained, was earth-shattering, but I hope it accurately portrayed Maier’s heart and maybe gave fans a glimpse into his struggle.

During the 2012 College World Series, I wrote a story about a father and son who caught a home run ball during a 1998 CWS game and for years they wanted to return it to the player who hit it. After the story ran, I was curious to see if I could find the player. It didn’t take me long. He called the boy, who is no longer a boy, and that led to the player getting his ball back. And of course, it led to another article that was a blast to write.

Once I learned what I wanted to write, I started looking for a position as a sports feature writer with local and national publications. So far, every door I’ve knocked on has been closed. I’ll keep knocking, but I wonder if it’s too late.

It seems like I should have figured out this, and so much more, twenty years ago.

Laughing at Yourself

Sometimes you just have to laugh at yourself.

During the Australian Open women’s final this weekend, No. 6 seed Li Na was locked in a tight battle during the second set with world No. 1 Victoria Azarenka when Azarenka pushed her wide to her backhand side, which happens to be Li’s best shot. Only this time, her left ankle rolled over and she plummeted to the ground in pain. She landed awkwardly, slamming the back of her head against the court.

Earlier in the match, she rolled that same ankle and a trainer taped it so she could continue. So when she rolled it a second time, the crowd gasped. For the next 30 seconds, everybody was quiet as medical personnel checked on her. After the match she said she was worried because she couldn’t see anything for two seconds after bumping her head.



Medical personnel checked her for a concussion. The doctor moved his finger back and forth and asked her to follow it with her eyes. During the test, while still sitting on the court, she burst out laughing. She continued to laugh as they examined her. She wasn’t laughing because possible concussions are comical, but rather, she was laughing about her clumsiness.

It lightened the mood in the stadium. And it also made me think.

I don’t laugh at myself often enough. I think it’s because I’ve heard my share of fat jokes in my lifetime, so I’m sensitive to people joking about me. Somehow, I’ve allowed that to squash my personality, which really is more jovial than I let on in groups. But it is time to let my guard down.

On Sunday, a friend sent me a text asking if I was going to watch the Pro Bowl. He knows I’m not a huge football fan. I told him I was going to watch Ally McBeal on Netflix instead. Here is our brief exchange after that:

Him: Turn in your man card ... geesh

Me: You are gonna make me cry.

I don’t think he picked up on my attempt to laugh at myself, so I still have some work to do. We’re all a work in progress though, right?

By the way, the doctor cleared Li to continue playing. She fought through her injuries and ended up finishing the final against Azarenka, losing in three sets. But I have a feeling she gained many new fans.

‘Parenthood’ Season Finale Satisfying; Is it the End?

Ray Romano plays Hank
Photo: Tom Caltabiano,
Wikimedia Commons

I wrote an article for Yahoo! Voices about the season four finale of NBC’s Parenthood that aired last night. If you are interested, here’s the beginning of the article, followed by a link.

The season four finale of NBC’s Parenthood felt like a series finale.

Kristina got an all-clear on her cancer, at least for now, and she ended up on a beach in Hawaii with Adam. Drew was accepted into Berkeley, severing ties with Amy, who is bound for Tufts in Boston. Joel and Julia officially adopted Victor. Jasmine tells Crosby she’s pregnant. And Amber and Ryan got back together. Ryan even got his job back.

Sarah’s storyline is a bit of a loose end. She rejected Mark in favor of Hank and then learns Hank is moving to Minnesota to be near his daughter. Even though he asks Sarah to join him there, you get the feeling she won’t. So, maybe her storyline isn’t really a loose end.

The beauty of Parenthood is its humanity. It’s not as much about whether the characters will make the right decisions as it is about how the Braverman family rallies around each other, even when they don’t agree. The overriding theme of the series is that their love for one another conquers their disagreements and heartaches and they find great security in that – so much so that they reach out to others in their own brokenness and pain.

The season finale contained several such moments.

Keep reading

How Do People In Your Life Express Themselves?

I’m reading a nonfiction book called Homer’s Odyssey. It’s about a woman named Gwen Cooper who adopted an eyeless stray cat nobody else wanted. It’s a beautiful love story.

When Cooper adopted Homer, she was single, living with a friend, working at a nonprofit, never had more than fifty dollars in the bank at the end of the month – and she had two other cats. She had a lot of perfectly good reasons to pass on Homer. And she almost did. Before meeting him for the first time, she makes this observation:

“I should note that, prior to this, I had never taken an I’ll meet him and we’ll see attitude when it came to pet adoption. It never occurred to me to meet the pet in question first, to see if he was ‘special’ or whether there was some sort of unique bond between us. My philosophy when it came to pets was much like that of having children: You got what you got, and you loved them unconditionally regardless of whatever their personalities or flaws turned out to be.”

As a result, she says she felt dishonest driving to the vet’s office that day. But she couldn’t help but wonder how a cat without any eyes could convey expression. Homer answered that question for her.

As she interacted with him, he responded to her voice and cuddled against her shoulder. Then she realized something. “It isn’t the eyes that tell you how someone is feeling or what they’re thinking. It’s the muscles around the eyes, which pull the corners up or push them down, crinkle them at the edges to convey amusement or narrow them into slits indicating anger ... And I could tell, from the shape the muscles were taking, that if he’d had eyelids they would have been half closed in an expression ... of utter contentment.”

Homer found a home that day.

A few years ago, I adopted a cat named Latte. She can be wild as all get out sometimes and I wondered early on if I made a mistake in choosing her. Reading between the lines, the woman at the shelter told me Latte had already been returned once and I got the feeling that she was close to becoming unadoptable, which meant certain death. Maybe that’s what made her so adoptable in my eyes. Well, that, and the snow job she put on the day we met. She was the picture of tranquility.

I only learned about her wild side after we got home. But she has a loving side as well. Right away, she developed a habit of curling up in my lap while I’m watching TV at night. She rubs her head against my cheek as we drift off to sleep. She begs for attention whenever I get home. And she loves to be around people so much that she prefers not to eat unless someone is in the room with her. That means her food and water bowls are next to my recliner in the living room.

Cooper’s philosophy about pets, and children, rings true to me. You got what you got, and you love them unconditionally.

In fact, I think her philosophy applies to all personal relationships.

No doubt, that’s easier said than done. But maybe our relationships would be a little stronger if we took the time to find each other’s way of expressing ourselves and then met each other there. Some speak with their eyes (or eye muscles). Some speak through their passion for music, art or literature. And others speak by the choices they make.

How do people in your life express themselves?

Falling Short

There is no shame in falling short – at least I don’t feel any.

I set a goal in early August to walk 100 miles by December 31. As of this moment, I’ve walked 74.58 miles. But I figure that is 74.58 miles farther than I would have walked without a goal. And I had a lot of fun along the way.

Several people with dogs stopped and chatted with me over the past few months.

One woman had a dog that just wouldn’t leave me alone as we met lap after lap (she was walking clockwise around the track, while I was walking counterclockwise).

“I’m a cat person,” I said. “She probably smells my cat.”

She nodded, but apologized anyway.

An elderly man who was out walking his dog on the trail one day tipped his cap at me as we passed. Not enough people tip their cap anymore. I felt like I was in Mayberry, and I mean that in the best way possible.

Every time I walk, I see something new.

One day I marveled over the energy that kids had as the ran from one end of the field to another, playing soccer. Another day I watched a similarly dressed, similarly talented couple play tennis. I also saw a teenage girl with the arm of Derek Jeter throw out an adult man at first base from the shortstop position. As fall set in, I marveled as the leaves changes colors. And I worshipped as I walked on numerous occasions.

More than once, somebody significantly older passed me on the track. I don’t feel any shame over that either. We’re all walking for different reasons. I’m not in a race with anybody. I’m simply out to improve my health and breathe a little fresh air.

So, in 2013 I’ll set a new goal – maybe 200 miles. We’ll see. But I’m also hoping to interact with more people. And if I do, you’ll probably hear about it.

An Unorthodox Christmas

A white Christmas ... a new(er) car ... and the grill (note:
the fire isn't as close to my car as it looks in this photo).

I need a white Christmas.

I don’t think it has anything to do with childhood memories, or even falling prey to Hallmark Channel overload (I watched 13 Christmas movies this year) during which every movie has a snowy Christmas Eve scene thirty seconds after everything has been resolved.

Okay, maybe subconsciously childhood memories or perfect movie endings have shaped my desires, but thankfully we had a snowstorm last Thursday, so I got my white Christmas. We even had a little snow on Christmas Eve, so maybe I am trapped inside a Hallmark movie.

Other than the snow and a few other instances, this Christmas was a bit unorthodox for me. Not in a bad way. Just in the truest sense of the word – it broke with convention.

It started last week when my mini-van was dying. I’m not really a mini-van sort of guy, but at the time I bought it, it was the best vehicle on the lot in my price range. So I became a soccer single guy (doesn’t quite roll off your tongue like “soccer mom,” does it?). But it’s been sputtering over the past month or so and the perpetual check engine light wasn’t just for Christmas decoration. So, I traded the mini-van for a new(er) Ford Focus with a warranty.

When I drove it off the lot a day after the snowstorm, evening was setting in. The melting snow was turning to ice and that’s never a good time to drive a new(er) car for the first time. I was also late for a Christmas party. And I had to drive across town to pick up a friend first.

I crept along the icy streets and was a nervous wreck by the time I picked up my friend. But we made it to the Christmas party safely and I was laughing in no time.

So, unorthodox situations aren’t always a bad thing.

On Christmas Day, my family gathered at Mom’s. We followed our orthodox annual routines – I grilled steaks and chicken in single degree weather, we ate a huge meal and we opened gifts.

Afterward, we went unorthodox.

Rather than watching football or a Christmas movie, I popped in a few home videos (yes, videos) of Christmases past and we oohed and awed over hairstyles, tight jeans and various other fashion faux pas of the 1990s. But once we got past those, we shed tears of joy and sadness over seeing and hearing loved ones who are no longer with us. 

As I watched the videos, I realized how poor my memory can be sometimes. My parents divorced when I was eight and after that my sister and I spent Christmas Eve with my Dad’s side of the family and Christmas Day with my Mom’s side – or so I thought. One video showed all of us together on Christmas Day. I have no memory of that, but I’m thrilled that we recorded it.

After the celebration was over and I was back home, I decided to watch “A Christmas Story.” So many people make it part of their annual tradition, but I’ve never seen it. At the risk of offending nearly everybody, I turned the movie off at the halfway point.

I expected a nostalgic, corny, cheesy trip down memory lane. But the movie stepped over all three lines, into the ridiculous. The scene in which Ralphie envisions himself going blind one day because his mom made him wash his mouth out with soap that contained a dangerous chemical did it for me.

Overall though, I enjoyed the mixture of unorthodox and orthodox Christmas moments this year. How about you? Have anything unusual, or even usual, to share about the way you spent the holiday?

Classic Christmas Toys

Here I am in 1970 or so unwrapping a gift while my dad
looks on from behind me with interest. By the way, I
still have that Santa you see hanging in the window.

Buzzzzzzzz.

“Yes! You touched the side. My turn.”

“No I didn’t. I got ripped.”

Five minutes after my sister and I opened our Christmas gifts as kids, we could be found playing Operation because invariably one of us would receive it every year. Remember that game? You had to use tweezers (which would seem to give females a distinct advantage now that I think about it) to remove body parts from a cartoon guy.

I saw a piece on the news the other day about the types of gifts kids used to receive versus the ones they receive today. The video panned past the game Operation and boy did that bring back memories. And that made me want to write a blog post about my favorite toys I received as a kid at Christmas. 

Maybe some of your favorites are on this list. If not, by all means, list your favorites in the comments section below. Here are mine, in no particular order:

Operation. The guy’s “spare ribs” were always the most difficult to remove because they were so tiny. The poor guy had some rather comically named body parts: broken heart, actual butterflies in his stomach, a bread basket, a pencil which symbolized writer’s cramp, etc. The game not only buzzed when you touched the sides with the tweezers, but it also vibrated and the guy’s nose flashed bright red, leaving no doubt that your turn was over. Although, you could always claim someone moved the game, which caused you to touch the side, or that the sensors weren’t set correctly.

Etch-a-Sketch. Somebody recently called this the iPad before the iPad. It allowed a kid to explore his imagination as he twisted and turned the knobs, trying to create something recognizable. I usually created words rather than images, which I guess makes sense since I went on to become a writer.

 

Hot wheels. My best friend Willie had the largest collection of hot wheels of anybody I knew. Whenever I would get a new one, I would head for his place and we would set up two parallel hot wheel tracks using extensions so they would go all the way down his front porch steps and onto the sidewalk. We raced our cars against each other, recording the results in a notebook. He had a hot wheel with the No. 43 on it that could not be beat. I learned later that it was modeled after Richard Petty’s car. No wonder it was undefeated!



Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots. Before video games, we had a game that featured a green robot going up against a red robot. You could move them around the ring with the controller, hoping to land the perfect shot that would send your opponent’s head skyward. Nothing says “Merry Christmas” like knocking your opponent’s head off (or up, as the case may be). There was a flaw in this toy though ... sometimes, if you moved your robot around violently enough, the other robot’s head would pop up without being touched. That made the entire game suspect in my young mind.



Nerf basketball (or football). Nerf basketball hoops didn’t last long around my house. They had a hitch on them so you could hang them over a door. I would invite a friend over and we would go to war in the kitchen. Of course, we had to try to prove how manly we were by trying to dunk on each other – hence the need for a new one every year. Nerf footballs were the bomb as well. When you are a boy, you can’t grip or throw a real football. But a Nerf football made you feel like you were Terry Bradshaw, and that reference probably dates me, but that’s okay.



Thinking about all of these classic toys gives me an idea for Christmas parties in which adults who are over 40 are gathering. Somebody could make a list of maybe 50 or 100 classic toys and all of the secret Santa gifts would come from the list. Imagine how much fun it would be to see two 45-year-old co-workers doing battle Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robot style at the company Christmas party. 

Renewing a Christmas Tradition

John (left) and I (right) posed with
the 1,735 diapers last year

On Friday night a couple of my friends (Bob and John) and I will be continuing a Christmas tradition in which we pool the money we would ordinarily spend on gifts for each other to buy diapers for our local rescue mission instead.

The tradition has taken on a life of its own. Sometimes, as people we know hear about it, they offer to chip in to help.

One year the rescue mission was low on turkeys, so we bought turkeys instead of diapers. Since so many people we know tossed in a few dollars, we ended up buying every turkey Hy-Vee had in stock. The freezer at the mission was looking pretty thin when we pulled up. Fifteen turkeys certainly didn’t fill it up, but it was a good start.

The last few years, we have gone the diaper route. Last year we were able to pool our money, and the money others donated, and we ended up with enough to buy 1,735 diapers – requiring two shopping carts, which made us pretty happy.

John and Bob (right) posing with the diapers

One year, one of Bob’s co-workers told him she was going to suggest foregoing gifts to her group of friends so they could do something similar. 

The three of us aren’t anything special. We’re just three single dudes who decided it would be better to meet the needs of a couple of people in the community rather than getting another NFL stocking cap or calendar from each other as a gift.

And now I couldn’t imagine doing Christmas with my friends any other way.

What's Your Theory About Gasoline Usage?

Remember when you used to pull your car up to a gas pump and an attendant would pop his head in your window and say, “Regular or unleaded?” If not, you are probably younger than 40.

Some cars ran on regular (leaded) and some on unleaded, so it’s not like we really had a choice. The attendant was just asking which type of fuel your car required.

Getting gas was simpler then.

After we learned leaded gas wasn’t the wisest choice, manufacturers built engines that only ran on unleaded gas, but somehow we ended up with three blends. I never know which one to use.

But as I talk to people about gas prices, gas usage, etc., I’m amazed at how strongly opinionated they are about which blend to use and why. Some even have strong opinions about when you should fill up and when you shouldn’t. And others have opinions about which stations you should frequent and which ones you should not.

Here are the opinions I’ve heard about the three different blends of unleaded gas:

• Leaded gas with ethanol is cleaner, and therefore better for your vehicle. Since ethanol is also the cheapest, it seems like a no-brainer to use ethanol then, right? Well, not so fast.


• Regular unleaded (non-ethanol) doesn’t burn as quickly as ethanol. If that is true, the question that always comes to mind is, how much longer does it last and does the additional expense at least even itself out? And if it only evens itself out, what’s the difference?
  
  As a side note, calling a blend of unleaded gas “regular” is confusing for those of us over 40. Regular used to mean something else. Yes, my tongue is in my cheek. But only slightly.


• Premium unleaded prevents engine knocking, so it’s the way to go. It also supposedly has more detergent to prevent engine build up. It’s ridiculous price tag keeps me from testing either theory.

Is it wishy-washy to so say I don’t really have a strong opinion about which type of unleaded gas to use? I tend to go with ethanol because of the price, but if my vehicle seems to delay or knock, I go with regular unleaded (that phrase still seems like an oxymoron to me). I never use choose premium.

Here are two theories I’ve heard about when to fill up:

• Never go below a fourth of a tank because it is hard on the engine. Easier said than done when a tank of gas costs $50.00 or more.


• Always run the tank as close to empty as possible because if your car starts acting weird, you’ll know who to blame. The theory is, you’ll be able to go back to the gas station to complain, or you will know not to use their gas in the future or you will know which blend of unleaded not to use in the future.

For me, this decision is an economical one. I put gas in my vehicle when I have the means to do so. When I don’t, it gets a little closer to empty than I would prefer.

Additional theories/opinions:

• Always buy gas from the same place. You know what you are getting, and presumably it should be the same every time.


• Never trust discount stations because their gas isn’t of the same quality. I’m not sure what people mean when they say discount stations, but doesn’t 87 octane mean 87 octane no matter where you go? Maybe not. I don’t know.

I rarely stop at the same station twice in row. My stops are based on convenience and means.

So, I’m dying to know your theories/opinions about gasoline usage. Share away in the comments.

A Ghost of Sorts

When my oldest niece was a young child, I began singing “White Christmas” to her every year around this time in my best Bing Crosby voice.

“You sound like a ghost,” she said to me one year.

I kept singing.

“Ghost,” she said.

And then I lost it. I laughed so hard I had to stop singing. If a ghost could sing, he or she probably would sound like Bing Crosby singing “White Christmas.”

For the next couple of Christmases, she would not let me get any further than the first bar of the song without yelling, “Ghost!”

After she entered adulthood, she stopped doing it. I’m guessing it stopped being cool. But I have tried every year since then, to no avail. What I wouldn’t give to hear her say “Ghost!” again. I think I’ll try again this Christmas.

The funny thing is, I’m sure she hasn’t ever heard a ghost sing, but even as a kid, she picked up on the hollow, haunting way in which Bing/I delivered the song. They don’t make music like that anymore. The song just feels like Christmas, doesn’t it?


Crosby recorded his version of “White Christmas” in the 1940s. Those three minutes and eight seconds are frozen in time and they allow us to step back into another era – one in which U.S. involvement in WWII would start and end, full-scale commercial television broadcasting was in its infancy, Jackie Robinson signed with the Brooklyn Dodgers and “A Streetcar Named Desire” by Tennessee Williams opened on Broadway for the first time.

All of this was before my time, but I can still imagine it. As I do, it helps me put the stories my parents and grandparents told me about that era into perspective. So I guess one of the reasons I sing “White Christmas” to my niece every Christmas is because it connects me, and her, to the past and I think that is important.

And I guess that makes me a ghost of sorts.

From One Generation to the Next

I flipped open a used copy of Mark Levin’s book, Ameritopia, at Half Price Books last night to read the table of contents, and a handwritten note fell out. You can see a picture of it on the right. You may need to click on the photo to make it big enough to read.

The note is from a mother who is writing to her daughter, Holly. Holly’s mother gave her the book because she feels a duty to our ancestors who fought in the American Revolution. She wants Holly to learn about and understand what is going on in the world right now in light of what the founding fathers taught.

You can feel the mother’s passion, but apparently she didn’t get through to Holly with her gift, given that Holly sold the book to a used bookstore, note and all, for a dollar or two. It makes me wonder if Holly even opened the book. If she had, why would she leave her mother’s note inside?

And check out the date on the note: October 29, 2013. Mom got the year wrong. She must have meant to write October 29, 2012 (the book came out in 2012, so it couldn’t have been any other year). If she gave her the book at the end of October – just a little over a month ago, then Holly’s reaction appears to have been a visceral one.

Maybe she is tired of Mom harping on her about why she should care about the founding principles of our nation and she got rid of the book as quickly as she received it. Or tragically, maybe Holly died recently and her possessions, including this book, were dispersed.

I don’t know how the book ended up at Half Price Books, but the note inside makes me feel squeamish. The tone has a hint of condescension and none of us respond well to that. Teaching foundational principles about government, or anything else, has less to do with teaching them, and more to do with showing them.

Think about the best teachers you’ve had in your lifetime. Before you allowed them to shape you, they had to earn the right to do so. In high school, I had an English teacher named Mr. Martin who inspired me to write – partially because of his passion for the written word and partially because he wrote (you can read more about my experience with him here).

He didn’t tell us to write, or try to explain the importance of writing. Instead, we traveled to exciting worlds created by authors and he read some of his own writing to us. Eventually, he started a journal called “Fine Lines” and encouraged us to submit to it. By igniting a passion for the written word inside me, he earned the right to teach me how to write.

Ironically, the introduction of the book Holly’s mother gave her includes this quote from Ronald Reagan: “Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. We didn’t pass it to our children in the bloodstream. It must be fought for, protected, and handed on to them to do the same, or one day we will spend our sunset years telling our children and our children’s children what it was once like in the United States where men were free.”

My heart aches for Holly’s mother because her note implies that she didn’t hand on the principles of freedom to Holly as Holly was growing up. Or maybe she did, but Holly just was not open to learning them. Maybe Holly’s mother was late to the party, only coming to an understanding later in life and now she feels desperate to pass along what she has learned. I don’t know. But this post isn’t really about Holly and her mother, nor is it intended to be critical of either of them.

Instead, it prompts this question: how do we pass along the type of freedom Reagan spoke about – one that the founders used to refer to as responsible freedom, rather than one that is self-focused – to the next generation? I would love to hear your thoughts.

Practically speaking, I think we do so by talking about the issues of the day over dinner with our kids. We use our freedom to help others in our communities and we involve our children. We look for teaching moments in pop culture, rather than simply consuming or avoiding it. We get involved and stay involved in the political process, without assassinating the character of our political opponents.

What else?

Thankful

I know this is a little late, given that Thanksgiving was last week. But we always need reminders to be thankful. My pastor showed this video during worship a couple of days ago.



Sure puts things into perspective, doesn’t it?

The Experience of Christmas

Many of you picked up a copy of my Christmas devotional book, “The Experience of Christmas” when Barbour Publishing released it in 2006. I’m extremely grateful for that.

Recently, I attained the rights to the book. I redesigned a cover for it and for the first time, it is available on the Kindle.

Here’s a little about the book:

This unique family devotional highlights key aspects of Christmas often overlooked in our holiday busyness – the fulfilled prophecies, the names of the Messiah, the symbols and traditions, the worship of the Child, and more. 

Specially designed for families with children of all ages, “The Experience of Christmas” provides food for thought, prayer and discussion starters, and ideas for meaningful family activities. Don’t just “do” Christmas this year ... experience it!

I wrote this book hoping families would use it around the dinner table during the month of December. I’ve been thrilled to hear from families who have done so. If you are looking for a family devotional book to work through this Christmas, I hope you’ll consider downloading a copy.

And if you end up doing so, would you consider leaving a review on Amazon.com? Thanks!

Nothing Is More Important Than Family

Photo: Neale A.

I met a friend named Ken last night at Jake’s Cigars & Spirits. We both run our own businesses and are busy with family so we only see each other a couple of times a year. But we always pick up right where we left off the last time we saw each other. That is one of the marks of a great friendship. It can sustain long periods of silence and not miss a beat.

As we talked last night, I couldn’t help but think about C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, Charles Williams and others who met at The Eagle and Child pub in the 1930s and ‘40s to discuss literature and life. They called themselves “The Inklings.” When Ken and I get together, it is usually in that same spirit. Last night we talked about our businesses, economics, theology, health, books, and we also spent a lot time talking about family.

None of us are getting any younger. As Ken and I contemplated where we are in life, we came to the same conclusion. Nothing, on this earth, is more important than family. Our families look markedly different (he has a wife of 30 years and kids, while I am single and send a lot of time visiting my mom and other family members), but family is family.

Kids won’t always make the decisions we hope they will. Spouses will disagree with us sometimes. So will other family members. And extended family dynamics can be difficult. But as we get older, we can look back and laugh at the purple Mohawks our kids chose to get. We’ll conclude that our spouses and other family members had our best interests at heart when they disagreed with us. And those difficult extended family dynamics weren’t nearly as difficult as we thought they were. Or maybe they were, but after some of those family members passed on, we realized we could have broken bread together without as much angst.

Neither Ken or I said this, but I think we were telling each other that we want to finish well, especially in regards to our family. Not that either of us is in the fourth quarter, but we’re in the second half, and we know it. We’ve made mistakes with our families and we took what we believed to be corrective measures. Sometimes we inadvertently took the wrong corrective measures and adjusted again. But no matter where we have been on that spectrum, nothing satisfies either of us like sitting down with family over a meal and hearing how they are doing.

This morning I heard from another friend whose son is in this hospital with liver failure, which means their Thanksgiving plans have changed. They are praying for a miracle. Another friend is mourning the loss of his father. Everywhere you turn, people are hurting.

Here’s the thing – all of us have a finite amount of holidays and various other get-togethers to spend with loved ones. We never know when the next gathering will be the final one for us or one of our family members. Don’t let your next opportunity to spend time with your family pass for something you think is more important.

Nothing, on this earth, is more important than family.

When You Don't Fit In

Photo: Alisha Vargas

On my long drive home from New Mexico a couple of weeks ago, my mind raced – jumping from topic to topic.

As I mentioned in my recent previous posts, I hit the record button on my phone and processed aloud. This will be the final audio post from that trip.

This one takes on a serious tone – taking on the topic of fitting in, and what happens when you don’t. As a big guy, I’ve been in that situation most of my life. Here are my thoughts on the subject.

If you cannot get the audio player below to work, you can listen by clicking this link.

Serving One Another

Photo: John Hritz

In an age in which ignoring strangers, rather than greeting them, is the norm, I had a pleasant experience on my recent road trip in which someone offered me free coffee and a little conversation.

Her name is Laverne. She works (or maybe volunteers) at a rest stop/vistors center in northern Colorado. She and two other elderly people were working on a jigsaw puzzle when I walked in. She got up and welcomed me.

That is what prompted this eight-minute audio post.

If you cannot get the audio player below to work, you can listen by clicking this link.

The Value of Road Trips

Road trips are usually more stressful than we remember. We have schedules to keep, people to get along with and differing agendas with the people we are visiting. But the road trips themselves are memorable for a reason.

They force us to converse with one another. They provide ample downtime to pray or process. And they give us a chance to listen to a book, album or sermon we’ve been wanting to hear, but just hadn’t had time.

During my most recent trip from New Mexico to Nebraska, I recorded my thoughts about my own road trips and how they have shaped me. As you listen (it’s about eight minutes long) to this audio post, I hope it will spark your own road trips memories from days gone by and that maybe you’ll even share a story about one of them in the comments. I would like that.

If you cannot get the audio player below to work, you can listen by clicking this link.

Our Representatives

Photo: Peter Martorano

I know I’m a day late in posting this. I returned home from a writers conference in New Mexico on Monday night, so I took Tuesday off to recharge my batteries.

Since I did not have much time to blog at the conference, I pressed the play button on my cell phone on my drive home and recorded several messages that have been floating around in my mind as possible blog posts. They are raw and you’ll hear some background noise (such as static from my car stereo), but they are also honest.

I’m calling this first one “Our Representatives,” which is fitting given that election day was yesterday. This isn’t about politics though. It’s about the people we choose to represent our neck of the woods to the rest of the world. I hope you enjoy it. [If you subscribe to this blog via email, you won’t be able to listen to the audio post without clicking through to the blog.]

The first couple of words of this audio post were cut off because I started speaking too early, but you will still get the gist of the message. If you cannot get the audio player below to work, you can listen by clicking this link.