You know the tag line, "For everything else, there's MasterCard." And I can't think of anything more priceless or precious than friends. Unfortunately, I haven't always esteemed their value.
Like so many of us (whether we admit the truth or not) much of my life I've felt inferior. In grade school I learned to read by doing so aloud in a remedial class—special ed. I never lettered in any sport in high school. I didn't excel academically. In college, I fared even worse. If I'd had enough money to continue, I would have flunked out. I never learned to type. And yet, today I'm a writer.
Now, you may wonder what that has to do with how I view others. Simple. We only love others to the degree and in the manner that we love ourselves. Which is why the admonishment to love others as we love ourselves seems to be more of a plea that we should love and forgive ourselves first, so that we can forgive and love others.
So, when did I learn my lesson? When I listened to what others said. One man told me, "Be good to yourself." On another occasion I felt the distinct impression that I should love myself as I love others—unconditionally—because that's how I am loved.
When I did that I began to change. I've become more content with who I am, and who I'm not. I've learned to be less critical of my imperfections and more accepting of my strengths.
So now, I value people because people are valuable. And it doesn't matter to me if someone is a CEO or a janitor, a barber or a doctor, blue collar or white collar, a soccer mom or founder of her own business. Because regardless of what Bruce Wayne (a.k.a. Batman) thinks, it's not what we do that defines who we are, it's who we are that defines what we do.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Time is Flying
"Don't blink," someone told me when my daughter was a precocious two-year-old. I didn't listen. Next month Meaghan will be 11.
Time is racing past me at speeds Captain Kirk only dreamed of. And now I understand why some folks leave up their Christmas lights year round. Why take them down in January when you only have to put them back up a few weeks later?
Of course, the past 40 years since I graduated high school have been gaining momentum the past decade. And this July we'll celebrate the milestone with a look backward and forward.
We'll take a walk down memory lane when we meet Friday night, July 10 at The Streamliner. We'll listen to some oldies but goodies and shake hands and hug a few of them, too. We'll chat about where we've been and what we've done since we last saw one another. But I think I'm just as eager to hear about what my friends' plans are for the future: where they want to go, what they want to see, what they hope to do.
As for dreams, I have a few of my own that I hope will come true. My wife Rosemary and I have lunched our new business. She hopes we'll recoup our investment. I hope our profits will fund our daughter's wedding (in about 15 years), and in the meantime help us become debt-free so we can travel. But win, lose, or draw, I want to love now. (BTW, that's not a typo. That second heart attack that killed me, left an indelible impression.)
So while time keeps on slippin' slippin', slippin' into the future, I'm learning to enjoy every day. Because contentment isn't something I'll find tomorrow.
Time is racing past me at speeds Captain Kirk only dreamed of. And now I understand why some folks leave up their Christmas lights year round. Why take them down in January when you only have to put them back up a few weeks later?
Of course, the past 40 years since I graduated high school have been gaining momentum the past decade. And this July we'll celebrate the milestone with a look backward and forward.
We'll take a walk down memory lane when we meet Friday night, July 10 at The Streamliner. We'll listen to some oldies but goodies and shake hands and hug a few of them, too. We'll chat about where we've been and what we've done since we last saw one another. But I think I'm just as eager to hear about what my friends' plans are for the future: where they want to go, what they want to see, what they hope to do.
As for dreams, I have a few of my own that I hope will come true. My wife Rosemary and I have lunched our new business. She hopes we'll recoup our investment. I hope our profits will fund our daughter's wedding (in about 15 years), and in the meantime help us become debt-free so we can travel. But win, lose, or draw, I want to love now. (BTW, that's not a typo. That second heart attack that killed me, left an indelible impression.)
So while time keeps on slippin' slippin', slippin' into the future, I'm learning to enjoy every day. Because contentment isn't something I'll find tomorrow.
Monday, March 9, 2009
What Are You Looking At?
It was my fault if anyone was to blame. I didn't wear safety glasses. The racquetball hit my left eye and left me wondering what would happen.
"You better get that checked," someone said. So I headed for the hospital. Not too concerned, I waited my turn, got two stitches, and asked the doctor, "When will I be able to see again?"
"What? Open your eye." One glance told him what neither of us knew. He'd only seen the outside of my eye. I thought blood from the cut covered the outside. But the impact had crushed capillaries and filled the inside of my eyeball with blood. I couldn't see anything. I could tell if the light in the room was on or off, but that's all. I was blind. "I'll be right back," the intern said.
The specialist examined me and gave me the bad news. "You've lost half your eyesight." She said there was no surgery, no medication, that could change that fact. Then she told me what to expect. "There's a 70% chance of glaucoma in the other eye."
She admitted me to the hospital "for observation." I don't know if I misunderstood or simply didn't believe what she'd said. But I spent the next hour or more lifting the patch, curious about whether or not I could see yet.
Then I fell asleep, woke the next morning, and read the eye chart 20/20.
I don't know why we wait for some miracles and others happen overnight. And I don't understand how some people who can't see have incredible vision.
"You better get that checked," someone said. So I headed for the hospital. Not too concerned, I waited my turn, got two stitches, and asked the doctor, "When will I be able to see again?"
"What? Open your eye." One glance told him what neither of us knew. He'd only seen the outside of my eye. I thought blood from the cut covered the outside. But the impact had crushed capillaries and filled the inside of my eyeball with blood. I couldn't see anything. I could tell if the light in the room was on or off, but that's all. I was blind. "I'll be right back," the intern said.
The specialist examined me and gave me the bad news. "You've lost half your eyesight." She said there was no surgery, no medication, that could change that fact. Then she told me what to expect. "There's a 70% chance of glaucoma in the other eye."
She admitted me to the hospital "for observation." I don't know if I misunderstood or simply didn't believe what she'd said. But I spent the next hour or more lifting the patch, curious about whether or not I could see yet.
Then I fell asleep, woke the next morning, and read the eye chart 20/20.
I don't know why we wait for some miracles and others happen overnight. And I don't understand how some people who can't see have incredible vision.
What Happened To You?
I don't know who to thank. During a lunchtime basketball game in high school I went up for a rebound and came down sitting. Someone took my legs out from under me. It was an accident. The one that kept me out of Vietnam.
My birth date was drawn as #91 in the lottery. But, I flunked my pre-induction physical and went from 1-A to 4-F in a moment of time. Because the fall broke my back—the fifth lumbar vertebrae was 75% off center.
I've always been grateful though because I've thought that I wouldn't have been as smart as Forrest Gump. I wouldn't have run. More likely I'd have been like Bubba, Forrest's best good friend. I'd have gotten shot. But instead of either scenario, I faced life in a wheelchair.
Over the next twenty years that injury left me crippled with increasing partial paralysis in both legs. Then, one summer night in Phoenix, I got my second miracle. (I'll write about the first one later.)
Of course, I didn't want to live in a wheelchair. I didn't want to be in pain. So I attended a crusade.
I can't tell you what happened or how. I can't tell you why then and not before that night. But I can tell you that instantly something happened. And I've been pain free since then.
Maybe that's not as dramatic as when I died, but that's another story. Sometimes life is less about what happened to you and more about what didn't happen.
My birth date was drawn as #91 in the lottery. But, I flunked my pre-induction physical and went from 1-A to 4-F in a moment of time. Because the fall broke my back—the fifth lumbar vertebrae was 75% off center.
I've always been grateful though because I've thought that I wouldn't have been as smart as Forrest Gump. I wouldn't have run. More likely I'd have been like Bubba, Forrest's best good friend. I'd have gotten shot. But instead of either scenario, I faced life in a wheelchair.
Over the next twenty years that injury left me crippled with increasing partial paralysis in both legs. Then, one summer night in Phoenix, I got my second miracle. (I'll write about the first one later.)
Of course, I didn't want to live in a wheelchair. I didn't want to be in pain. So I attended a crusade.
I can't tell you what happened or how. I can't tell you why then and not before that night. But I can tell you that instantly something happened. And I've been pain free since then.
Maybe that's not as dramatic as when I died, but that's another story. Sometimes life is less about what happened to you and more about what didn't happen.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Favorites
Huge fried tenderloins. Yummy chocolate malts. Crispy onion rings. These are a few of my favorite things. And I found them at The Streamliner.
That's where I began my career in the restaurant industry. I left my first job at P. N. Hirsch, the department store across from the courthouse, to work for the Calhouns. I didn't make more money, but in addition to my $1 per hour wage, I got food. And for a growing, ravenous teenage boy that meant a lot.
Over the years some of my tastes have changed. I still love those not-so-good-for-my-heart foods, and I'm looking forward to eating them when I'm back in Rochester, Indiana for our 40th class reunion this summer. But time has a way of changing us. We grow up. We move on. Because we get second chances.
Those are my favorite things of all. One of my friends calls them "do-overs." In golf, they're referred to as Mulligans. Now, I didn't know Mulligan. I think he lived before my time. Because I'm fairly certain people have wanted—and needed—second chances since Adam ate the fruit in the Garden.
And that's why I'm grateful that life presents opportunities to us. They are gifts. And while it's true that we can't go back (and I'm not sure many of us would want to), we sometimes wish we could "make things right." Unfortunately, such chances are rare. But fortunately, we can "pay it forward." Perhaps we can't undo what we did or do what we should have done, but we can encourage others. And that's my favorite thing of all.
That's where I began my career in the restaurant industry. I left my first job at P. N. Hirsch, the department store across from the courthouse, to work for the Calhouns. I didn't make more money, but in addition to my $1 per hour wage, I got food. And for a growing, ravenous teenage boy that meant a lot.
Over the years some of my tastes have changed. I still love those not-so-good-for-my-heart foods, and I'm looking forward to eating them when I'm back in Rochester, Indiana for our 40th class reunion this summer. But time has a way of changing us. We grow up. We move on. Because we get second chances.
Those are my favorite things of all. One of my friends calls them "do-overs." In golf, they're referred to as Mulligans. Now, I didn't know Mulligan. I think he lived before my time. Because I'm fairly certain people have wanted—and needed—second chances since Adam ate the fruit in the Garden.
And that's why I'm grateful that life presents opportunities to us. They are gifts. And while it's true that we can't go back (and I'm not sure many of us would want to), we sometimes wish we could "make things right." Unfortunately, such chances are rare. But fortunately, we can "pay it forward." Perhaps we can't undo what we did or do what we should have done, but we can encourage others. And that's my favorite thing of all.
Pet Teachers
They taught us more than what the textbooks offered. They taught us how to think. They taught us what we could do. They taught us why we could believe in ourselves—because they did.
They took time and gave it to us. Often when that meant they had less for themselves. They encouraged us. They sacrificed more than we knew and maybe more than we will ever appreciate. Even so, we want to thank them for all they did.
Not just for us. But those who came before us and those who followed after. We wish we could tell them how much they meant to us and we hope we can say thank you to some of them.
Mr. Betz was the Principle Principal. He set standards that influenced our lives. Mr. Showalter, Mrs. Bond, and the one who planted the seeds of what became my passion—Gary "Mac" MacMillan.
He understood what I needed and gave me time to search for myself. He opened the worlds of theater and words. And today I'm a writer, in part because he gave me what I didn't deserve. And he's part of my story—how a little boy who couldn't read became a teenager who should have flunked English who became the 2007 Sherwood Eliot Wirt Writer of the Year.
I don't know who's holding your ladder. I don't know who packed your parachute. But I remember who gave me a second chance.
They took time and gave it to us. Often when that meant they had less for themselves. They encouraged us. They sacrificed more than we knew and maybe more than we will ever appreciate. Even so, we want to thank them for all they did.
Not just for us. But those who came before us and those who followed after. We wish we could tell them how much they meant to us and we hope we can say thank you to some of them.
Mr. Betz was the Principle Principal. He set standards that influenced our lives. Mr. Showalter, Mrs. Bond, and the one who planted the seeds of what became my passion—Gary "Mac" MacMillan.
He understood what I needed and gave me time to search for myself. He opened the worlds of theater and words. And today I'm a writer, in part because he gave me what I didn't deserve. And he's part of my story—how a little boy who couldn't read became a teenager who should have flunked English who became the 2007 Sherwood Eliot Wirt Writer of the Year.
I don't know who's holding your ladder. I don't know who packed your parachute. But I remember who gave me a second chance.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Remember When
May 25, 1969. Graduation Day. Forty years later I still remember. But only bits and pieces. Caps and gowns. Tassels turned. Cake and punch. Presents. Photos. Hugs and handshakes. Laughter and tears. Goodbyes.
I still have my senior cords. I still have my class ring. But somewhere through the years I lost my Spanish Club pin and my yearbook and some people I wish I'd known better.
I doubt that anyone knew Dave Shore would leave us so soon after that day. If they did, I didn't. That's one of my regrets—that being so insecure, I isolated myself. But while I don't want to forget what I didn't know, I'd rather remember what we shared.
Bonfires and pep rallies. Homecoming. Football and basketball. Tennis and track. First dates and first kisses. First jobs. FTA. A Cappella choir. Tri Epsilon.
I remember the musicals, especially The Unsinkable Molly Brown. Years later I performed in "Molly" again, in the oldest continuously-running Little Theater in America. Still later in life, I wrote and directed and produced plays and founded a community theater.
Some of us followed some of the paths we were on in that year. Others went off in new directions we'd never dreamed of. Where have your memories taken you?
I still have my senior cords. I still have my class ring. But somewhere through the years I lost my Spanish Club pin and my yearbook and some people I wish I'd known better.
I doubt that anyone knew Dave Shore would leave us so soon after that day. If they did, I didn't. That's one of my regrets—that being so insecure, I isolated myself. But while I don't want to forget what I didn't know, I'd rather remember what we shared.
Bonfires and pep rallies. Homecoming. Football and basketball. Tennis and track. First dates and first kisses. First jobs. FTA. A Cappella choir. Tri Epsilon.
I remember the musicals, especially The Unsinkable Molly Brown. Years later I performed in "Molly" again, in the oldest continuously-running Little Theater in America. Still later in life, I wrote and directed and produced plays and founded a community theater.
Some of us followed some of the paths we were on in that year. Others went off in new directions we'd never dreamed of. Where have your memories taken you?
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