Tribute to Jarry

I met my father-in-law almost 25 years ago. We had little in common. I loved sports. He wanted little to do with sports. He would tell you his father force-fed him sports because he was big and tall, but Jarry was interested in the cerebral side of life. He taught English and literature most of his adult life. If there were a Readers Anonymous for those with an addiction, he would have been a charter member.

So what would I talk to him about? This new father-in-law of mine. I was nervous. It didn't take long to figure out he was one of the most brilliant men I had ever met. If I did broach a topic, he had a comment, a reference, an insight or even a citation. It was all from memory. I never saw him look up anything. What's more, he would even ask me about sports. He was genuinely interested and knew it was one of my areas of expertise--that, and mass communication.

Surprisingly enough, it didn't take that long to find common ground. Even though I didn't read much fiction, I picked his brain about the civil war, politics, religion and sometimes just the "good old days." I went from that awkward stage of, "Oh, god, don't leave me alone in the same room with him," to "Where's Jarry? I have something I want to share with him."

Of course, I really didn't have to ask "Where's Jarry?" aloud. He was always in the same spot--his recliner, which later became his raised recliner, which later became his fully-automated, turbo-charged, jet-fueled recliner. This all happened as he became less and less mobile. His rebuilt legs couldn't take the strain of his large frame as he got older. It was hard for him to stand without help.

Yet he was still a giant to me. Through all the trauma and pounding his body took, his mind remained unaffected. There was never any chance of Alzheimer's here. I would marvel as I brought up a historical name I was sure he wouldn't recognize, and he would respond with a quote about the person, where he read it and probably what page it was on.

He always spoke slowly and deliberately, but not because he couldn't remember. He was crafting his thought, and although you were tempted to urge him on because sometimes there were long pauses, you knew whatever he said was going to be worth the wait, and you were likely to learn from him. He would have made an amazing Jeopardy contestant, except for the fact that Alex would have lost patience with the time he took to answer, and he probably would have given him too much information.

Now I realize I'm no mental slouch, but I always felt dwarfed by his intellect. As I left the world of my tunnel-visioned knowledge of sports and branched out into other milieus, we were able to share a wealth of information, but I could always count on him to enrich me further than I enriched him.

I know it's cliche to say he has given so much to those around him and those who loved him, but it's nonetheless apropos in this case. You can measure the things he taught. Had I been one of his students in the early days, he might have inspired me to change my major and open myself to new worlds and a new appreciation of epistemology.

And he gave me one thing more. He and his lovely bride produced the love of my life. For that alone, I will be forever in his debt.

A special blog for a high school classmate

Everybody sends flowers, and while they are nice, all you get is a little card to wrap up everything you feel. It's never enough, and neither is this, but it's personal, and it's all I know. This is the old-fashioned kind of verse that rhymes. Forgive me. I'm writing this at four in the morning. I sure hope it makes sense tomorrow.

My Friend Len

It was a long time ago in '72.
You hardly knew me and I barely knew you.
We were two different people from a different walk,
So we would pass in the halls but we'd never talk.
And I never got to know your darling Mary.
In fact all I knew of you was that you were quite hairy. (You may laugh here)
But I remember as I watched you walk off that stage
That somehow inside I knew of your rage.
'Twas injustice you must have felt on that day
The same injustice that takes our loved ones away.
We don't understand why life is so cruel
How we could be robbed of a precious jewel.
We're hurt and confused and feeling quite lost
For we have just paid the ultimate cost.
I've shared the pain that I'm sure you must feel,
A time ago I was handed the same deal.
Like yours my love lived too short a life
My lover, my friend, my soulmate, my wife.
And when I thought I had experienced pain like no other,
Three tiny months later, I said goodbye to my brother.
I don't tell you this to make you more sad
But to offer a hand for the sorrows we've had.
And to tell you that one day your life starts anew
And once again, you must learn what it means to be you.
The dawn will break through to reveal a new day
And you'll think that the sun will not give you a ray.
Just search through the clouds that you see up above,
And remind yourself that you know what it's like to be loved.
I didn't know what kind of love Mary had to give
But I do know that she would want you to live.
Live life as though you had never a care
Knowing your true love will always be there.
The story of Len, Part Two will be told
By meeting new friends or perhaps friends of old.
It may be the best way to honor her wishes
And make up for the times you didn't do dishes. (Feel free to laugh again)
Walk a new pathway, knowing time and again
That I will walk with you, with my old-new friend Len.

My Aha Moment

I realize now that I took the wrong approach when I began the endeavor of blogging. I wanted to discipline myself to blog every day at first, and then every other day when I became aware that the well of material would soon run dry. Discipline is fine, but that was outside the goal I wanted to achieve. The goal was to share my thoughts, experiences and, at the risk of conceit, my wisdom on occasion.

The epiphany struck me this evening. One should blog when one has something about which to blog. Inspiration is the lifeblood of every writer. Writer's block is nothing more than the mind telling the flesh that now is not the time. The inspiration will guide you.

Tonight, I watched The Miracle Worker with my daughter. I have never been more content in my life. If you wonder how Barbie dolls, Play-Doh, Legos and Monopoly have stood the test of time, it's because we want so desperately to share those experiences with our offspring. We recapture those childhood feelings symbiotically and empathetically through our children.

At the respective ages of 17 and 56, my daughter and I hardly have much in common. We don't watch the same shows, read the same books or even entertain ourselves in the same ways. She has no more interest in playing Bookworm than I do in watching Pretty Little Liars.

However, tonight we shared, and it opened my eyes. We have more in common than I think, and it's because we share the same values--the important things in life. We both love the movie Remember the Titans, and we watch it whenever we get the chance, because it promotes our values of equality and acceptance, regardless of race, creed or color. We shared the experience of The Miracle Worker tonight because of our desire to see that those who are afflicted with mental or physical disorders be given the same opportunities we have had.

These aren't values based on a religious, philosophical or political ideology. These are basic human values that we should all share if we expect to survive together. I sat on the easy chair while she lay on the couch, comforted by the fact that for whatever reason she has inherited those values. That supercedes all the physical attributes, good or bad, that she may have inherited. I have peace knowing that I am sending into the adult world a human being who will make the planet better, even if in a small way.

Long after I'm gone, no one will remember me like they remember William Shakespeare, Susan B. Anthony, Albert Einstein or Marie Curie. My legacy will not contain fame or fortune, but to me something more valuable. My legacy will be that I have carried the best of my values that my parents instilled in me, and their parents before them, and will assure that they pass to at least one more generation.

"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed, citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has."  --Margaret Mead

I'm Just too Good to be True

When you first read what I am about to share with you, you are going to think it is sad and pathetic. But after you let it sink in, you will know it is sad and pathetic. Not really. That was like a joke only smaller.

I like being alone. I cherish being alone. I look forward to being alone. Don't go, "aww." I'm not lonely. Some of my best and certainly my most creative times occur when I am alone. I get me. I crack myself up. I never come up with a bit that I don't get. And I come up with a lot of bits. Face it. I've shared all the same experiences with myself, so there's never a reference I don't understand. If I had an audience of mes (wow, what's the plural of me?), we'd leave the theater in tears after giving me a standing ovation.

That's not the only benefit, however. There is never a silver lining to losing your life partner, but it made me appreciate my time alone. I had to. Through no fault of our own, Melissa and I didn't have many close friends. We did the couples hang-out thing from time to time, but not on a regular basis. Add to that that I have no close friends of my own, and you see where I'm headed.

Let's look at the downside. Everyone has those awful experiences or even whole days that they need to share with someone. It's nice to come home and unburden yourself to a spouse, parent, friend or even a dog. I do that on occasion, but think about it. Does it make you feel better? Maybe. But now you may have spread your contagious depression to your loved one. That person/animal probably feels worse now, especially if he or she can't help.

So who knows how to help? Who knows best what you need? Yes, both rhetorical questions. I can't tell you how many times I've cheered myself up. I've become good at it. I have a karaoke system in my basement that cost about $700 bucks, but it has saved me thousands in therapy. Fifteen minutes could save you....I feel like I've heard that before.

I've developed this insatiable ambition lately, because without friends or a partner it's too easy to become a davenport spud. Or futon tuber if you prefer. In the last month I've re-read Treasure Island, The Hunchback of Notre Dame (in original French...yeah, right), Moby Dick, Fahrenheit 451, White Fang and Ivahoe. Right now I am on chapter four of Vingt mille lieues sous les mers. Ok, it's Twenty-thousand Leagues Under the Sea, but doesn't the French title make me sound much smarter?

The best part about this solitary experience is that I feel better about myself. Surprisingly, for those of you who know me, you know that I am anything but anti-social. You may have heard my motto: Two's company, three's an audience. I interact with people on a daily basis. My daughter and I have a great relationship. But at the end of the day, I'm always there to greet me with a smile.

So don't cry for me, Argentina. The truth is I really like me. You should like you too. I encourage you to become your best friend. Be alone, but don't be lonely. Cherish these times you have with yourself. You won't be around forever, and neither will you.

Oh, and I started a blog, too.

Screw this

I wrote a beautiful poem and when I went to publish it, it dissappeared without saving. Technology sucks.

Living in a Material World

I do not understand greed. I have never been able to relate to it. I know it's the foundation of capitalism for so many, but I could never befriend Gordon Gecko. I guess my needs are too simple. I have no need for a power car, a power tie or power lunches. Not that there's anything wrong with those things. I just have no interest. That's not meant to sound condescending either. I'm not really sure why I'm like that.

Do you know what the happiest country on Earth is? Trust me, there is relevance. It's Denmark. In fact, Denmark has been named the happiest country on Earth for most of the last quarter century. Most of this is based on a study of 80,000 people conducted by a researcher at the University of Leicester in England.

Beyond the statistical data, researchers attempted to answer the why. ABC News also interviewed several Danes to get their take. It turns out that one of the factors is that they have no equivalent of the American Dream. They do not measure success by money or status. They are not lazy. Just content. Oh, there are other factors such as the homogeniety of their society, but contentment with what they have seems to be a driving force.

Keep in mind, Denmark has one of the highest tax rates in the world. Danes pay anywhere from 50 to 70 percent of their income in taxes. But they don't complain. Why? Because they pay zero for healthcare and zero  for higher education. The government also takes care of children and the elderly better than most. And because the tax rate is so high, a banker is likely to be paid about the same as an artist, so careers are driven by a true interest in the occupation. What a weird concept, huh?

I know what you're thinking. Denmark?? Weather?? Shouldn't someplace like Fiji or Jamaica be the happiest place on Earth? I guess feeling safe, content and taken care of trumps sunshine. The Danish word for it is tryghed, which roughly translates as "tucked in." It is also not a multi-religious or multi-ethnic country for the most part, so they don't have race or religion to fight over. They don't have much to fight over at all.

And what about the United States? Shouldn't the wealthiest, most powerful, most ubiquitous place be the happiest place on Earth? Not even close. The United States finished 23rd in 2007, and that was before the Great Recession hit. We're never going to change. Immigrants continue to arrive on a daily basis seeking that American Dream. Maybe to make room, I'll move to Denmark. First, I'll buy a parka.

Proverbial Neck on Proverbial Chopping Block

Too many of my friends are lamenting lately that there isn't enough controversy in my blogging. They say I'm too vanilla, that I try to get along with everyone, and I don't like stirring the pot. Actually, none of my friends said any of that. Actually, I don't have any friends. These are the voices in my head. Now those guys I can't get to shut up.

But let's just suppose for a moment that I wanted to be controversial. Let's suppose I have some very strong opinions that might shock, anger, outrage, and dare I say, repulse you. After all, no one pays attention to middle-of-the-road, moderate, mainstream people. Just look at the news. Headlines are incessantly grabbed by the squeaky wheels and the lunatic fringe. So without further ado, I am about to propel myself into the media and perhaps even the ubiquitous YouTube viralmania, by taking a stand. Feel free to disagree, but I will be virtually sticking my tongue out at you and waving my hands with my thumbs in my ears. I never really understood the meaning of that latter gesture, but it will most assuredly cut you to the quick.

1. I detest the security tabs and shrink wrap on DVDs. The inventor of that needs to be found and bound in same shrink wrap. Maybe if that person tried to get out of it, he/she would understand the frustration.
2. I don't like Star Wars. Any Star Wars, including sequels, prequels, Nyquils. I realize I may be the only male on the planet who was in the Star Wars demographic when the first one came out (males 12-24) who does not like this movie. I am more of a dialogue kind of guy, and without the constant barrage of photons and strange-costumed creatures, there isn't much of that. I hear the gasps.
3. Citizen Kane is not a good movie either (more gasping). I am well aware that it is No. 1 on many people's lists, but it's No. 2 on mine, and that's not a ranking. His sled being named Rosebud did not evoke a startling reaction from me. There are a lot of things going on in that movie that don't advance the story.
4. I hate onions, but love onion rings. You should hear the deafening silence at the BK drive through when I order a Whopper with no onions and onion rings. It's a texture thing. Put all the onion powder you want in my casserole; it will taste delicious. However, biting into that transparent skin is a lot like biting into a beetle wing for me.
5. I have never nor will never watch an episode of Law and Order (insert extension here). I may be a little jaded on this one because I covered law enforcement and the courts for many years as a reporter, so I can't suspend my disbelief when they badger and beat up a suspect and then let him go because he wasn't the one. I watched each one for about five minutes just to make sure I was correct in not liking them. I swear to you in each one there was a line about finding blood and semen in the victim's underwear. I'm fairly certain I was eating something each time I watched. I won't make that mistake again.

That's probably enough for you to consume in one sitting. I'm sure you have a migraine from all the head shaking and screaming, "What?"