I have 5 kids. Four daughters and one knucklehead, right smack, dab in the middle.
My goal has been, with each and every one, to instill a system of morals, ethics and values that would see them into adulthood with the least amount of anxiety and hassle amidst what has to be, these days, peer pressure like has never been felt. These days, someone can kick your ass by text or make you look like a fool online. Technology makes it tough, but, with the right foundation, it all works out…….most of the time.
The girls have been relatively easy, so far, and, although there will always be a connection, opening the door and “shooing” them out has been, for the most part, painless. The oldest got married, became a doctor and likes to help people and surf. The next one spent time as an EMT, saving peoples lives, until she got married to a great guy and gave me two amazing grand daughters. The third one recently got her masters degree in psychology from SMU and is doing her internship with the goal of helping people with eating disorders and addictions. The fourth, and final, daughter is immersed in high school study and intense music, thriving as she avoids as much teen drama as is humanly possible.
Then there is our good friend - the knucklehead!
The phone call came on an early April evening just about 5 years ago. We were undoubtedly watching “Jeopardy” and I was most likely getting ready for sleep, knowing I had to get up at about 3:30 for work. I could see the look of pure shock on my wife’s face as she covered her mouth with her hand for a brief second and began to weep. “What do you mean he’s been shot,” she asked in disbelief. The voice on the other end of the phone said she was with the hospital in North Carolina and had no idea what the circumstances were, but, that we had better get there as soon as we could. Clueless as to what was happening we found that the soonest flight to Raleigh was the next morning, so we booked it and spent a sleepless night pacing and pondering what could possibly have happened.
We sat silent on the plane, holding each other and hoping that our son was still alive.
The taxi took us right from the airport to the hospital as we held back tears, still without an inkling of who may have done this to him.
We told the receptionist who we were and were told to have a seat. I saw a local newspaper on a nearby chair and picked it up and immediately saw the article that made me feel like I had just gotten kicked in what was left of my heart. The headline read - “Man Shot During Home Invasion.” As I read on, I learned that two young men in ski masks had invaded a couples home and, that one of the men had a gun and fired several times hitting the home owner and the other bad guy. They said the two were in custody. I read my son’s name. My wife fell to the floor in horror and disbelief. They brought us in to see our son, who was under police guard, as he was under arrest. We went in and, as if to add even more insult to injury, found him in a coma. We held his hands. My wife cried and prayed. And, then we did the only thing they would allow us to do - we left.
My son eventually improved and went on trial. He was given 7 to 10 years without parole. That was fairly lenient since he was a first time offender. His past had been relatively stellar, but, this shows clearly that even a middle class upbringing and an education in private schools don’t make one immune from making stupid decisions.
The homeowner, by the way, recovered from the gunshot. I don’t know what happened to the 15 year old who did the shooting. My son is in the last 2 year and a half of his sentence and is learning some very hard core and valuable lessons.
Letting go - in this case - was nearly mandated by the specter of death that hung over his bed in the hospital that day. We have made sure, however, that the connection remains as strong as ever. It’s giving him hope while in prison and will give him the support he’ll need to prosper when he comes home.
As much as you want to get them out of the house…..you can never REALLY let go!
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
A Room by Any Other Name
It’s my favorite room in the house, but, I’ve never been comfortable calling it the “bathroom.” I don’t go in there to take a bath. There is no available tub. I shower in there, but I don’t say I’m going in the “shower” room. That sounds like I have a special room in which to throw bridal parties. I wouldn’t even know how to throw a bridal party, let alone have a special room for such extravaganzas. It also sounds like I live in a gym. Which brings to mind another question. Why do people call it the “John” ? Who the hell IS John anyway? And how did he get a room named after him? Especially THAT room? Poor guy! Although, it kinda sounds manly, like you’re hangin’out with the fellas, when you say you’re going to the “John” and then you’re off to the “gym,”, but only if you say it, not if you read it.
I suppose ‘the shitter” may be a remote possibility, but, showering and shaving share the space, so they would have to share the name as well, but, that would be too long and, by the time you told someone where you were going, it could, conceivably be too late.
I take a lot of pills each day, so, the “pharmacy” could work, but, honestly, that sounds just plain idiotic. Besides, if I went in and saw a pharmacist, it would revert right back to the “shitter” very quickly….whether I wanted it to or not.
Some people refer to it as the “throne” room. That’s only one aspect, and it’s not a very regal look.
I get a lot of reading done in there. I have recently finished a book by Dick Cavett, one by George Burns and the story of Clear Channel, a company that brings us right back to the aforementioned “shitter.” There seems to be a pattern here. I have also finished two books of Sunday New York Times crossword puzzles, with 100 puzzles each……in ink. And yet, neither the “library” nor the “amusement” room work very well. That makes it sound like I’m amused by taking pills, shaving, brushing my teeth and all the other things that happen in there, which is only partially true.
The names for the other rooms in the house make sense. You dine in the dining room, live in the living room, go to bed in the bedroom, watch tv in the tv room and the kids usually wreck the rec room.
I don’t normally agonize over what to call a room that serves as a multiple purpose room, but, “multi-purpose” room sounds like you could also build a spice rack in there. Most people keep their tools in the garage, which almost never has enough space for their car because it’s become a “multi-purpose” room.
So, after careful consideration, keeping in mind the things I do and the inordinate amount of time I spend there, I have come to the conclusion that whenever the subject may come up as to where I will be for the next few hours….I will simply tell them “I will be in MY room!”
I suppose ‘the shitter” may be a remote possibility, but, showering and shaving share the space, so they would have to share the name as well, but, that would be too long and, by the time you told someone where you were going, it could, conceivably be too late.
I take a lot of pills each day, so, the “pharmacy” could work, but, honestly, that sounds just plain idiotic. Besides, if I went in and saw a pharmacist, it would revert right back to the “shitter” very quickly….whether I wanted it to or not.
Some people refer to it as the “throne” room. That’s only one aspect, and it’s not a very regal look.
I get a lot of reading done in there. I have recently finished a book by Dick Cavett, one by George Burns and the story of Clear Channel, a company that brings us right back to the aforementioned “shitter.” There seems to be a pattern here. I have also finished two books of Sunday New York Times crossword puzzles, with 100 puzzles each……in ink. And yet, neither the “library” nor the “amusement” room work very well. That makes it sound like I’m amused by taking pills, shaving, brushing my teeth and all the other things that happen in there, which is only partially true.
The names for the other rooms in the house make sense. You dine in the dining room, live in the living room, go to bed in the bedroom, watch tv in the tv room and the kids usually wreck the rec room.
I don’t normally agonize over what to call a room that serves as a multiple purpose room, but, “multi-purpose” room sounds like you could also build a spice rack in there. Most people keep their tools in the garage, which almost never has enough space for their car because it’s become a “multi-purpose” room.
So, after careful consideration, keeping in mind the things I do and the inordinate amount of time I spend there, I have come to the conclusion that whenever the subject may come up as to where I will be for the next few hours….I will simply tell them “I will be in MY room!”
Monday, July 18, 2011
“BIRTHDAY GREETINGS, BOTTLE OF WINE”
Why do we celebrate birthdays? We are aging and, with that process, comes pain. Most of it is a visceral pain that dates back to many, if not all of the decisions we made when we were at an age that we didn’t mind shouting from the rooftops. Some of it is more of a “just below the surface” pain that’s located in places like knees and other joints that were the victims of many, if not all of the decisions we made when we were at an age when we did stupid things like, climbing up on rooftops to shout.
July is my celebration month. I have a lot to celebrate in July. My sister in law starts us off with a birthday on the 6th. Then, as we move along through the month, we find my nephew’s birthday on the 21st, mine is the 22nd, one of my daughters has a natal day on the 26th, my brother-in-law turns another year older on the 27th and my granddaughter has her party on the 29th. I’m sure I’ve forgotten a few people and can expect fewer gifts this year because of it. Not that I need any reminder of my own impending demise.
This year I will officially be a Beatles song. A song I interpreted over the years as something my grandfather might relate to, but he’s been gone for a long t
ime. Somehow, I have become the grandfather and I’m not quite sure at what point I turned that corner.
Let’s see how well the song applies. Look at the very first line….. “When I get older losing my hair. Many years from now.”…… Well, I AM older and I AM losing my hair, and “many years from” has become now. I suppose I should have seen it coming a while back, when I started being able to comb my pillow in the morning.
How about the line …….. “If I’d been out ‘til quarter to three, would you lock the door”……Well, honestly, these days quarter to three is out of the question. Unless, of course, it’s quarter to three in the afternoon, so I can take advantage of the “Early Bird Special.” That way I can still catch a nap before I go to bed at 8:30.
“Doing the garden, digging the weeds, who could ask for more?” Why would anyone ask for more. All that yard work is enough to make me want to take a nap. See a pattern forming here?
“Send me a postcard, drop me a line, stating point of view.” OK, here ya’ go - “Having a wonderful nap. Wish you were here.” “Yours sincerely, Wasting Away.”
I think one of my biggest concerns now is, when I have my grandchildren on my knee, do I have to call them Vera, Chuck and Dave? This aging thing can get confusing.
So let’s all celebrate. Especially the month of July when so many of the people I love have reason to don a paper hat, let out a whoop and a holler of pure delight and blow out the candles. As for me, I am weathering this process, as I am dragged through it, kicking and screaming, as best I can, celebrating the comforting fact that my wife will still need me and will, indeed, still feed me….now that I’m sixty four!
July is my celebration month. I have a lot to celebrate in July. My sister in law starts us off with a birthday on the 6th. Then, as we move along through the month, we find my nephew’s birthday on the 21st, mine is the 22nd, one of my daughters has a natal day on the 26th, my brother-in-law turns another year older on the 27th and my granddaughter has her party on the 29th. I’m sure I’ve forgotten a few people and can expect fewer gifts this year because of it. Not that I need any reminder of my own impending demise.
This year I will officially be a Beatles song. A song I interpreted over the years as something my grandfather might relate to, but he’s been gone for a long t
ime. Somehow, I have become the grandfather and I’m not quite sure at what point I turned that corner.
Let’s see how well the song applies. Look at the very first line….. “When I get older losing my hair. Many years from now.”…… Well, I AM older and I AM losing my hair, and “many years from” has become now. I suppose I should have seen it coming a while back, when I started being able to comb my pillow in the morning.
How about the line …….. “If I’d been out ‘til quarter to three, would you lock the door”……Well, honestly, these days quarter to three is out of the question. Unless, of course, it’s quarter to three in the afternoon, so I can take advantage of the “Early Bird Special.” That way I can still catch a nap before I go to bed at 8:30.
“Doing the garden, digging the weeds, who could ask for more?” Why would anyone ask for more. All that yard work is enough to make me want to take a nap. See a pattern forming here?
“Send me a postcard, drop me a line, stating point of view.” OK, here ya’ go - “Having a wonderful nap. Wish you were here.” “Yours sincerely, Wasting Away.”
I think one of my biggest concerns now is, when I have my grandchildren on my knee, do I have to call them Vera, Chuck and Dave? This aging thing can get confusing.
So let’s all celebrate. Especially the month of July when so many of the people I love have reason to don a paper hat, let out a whoop and a holler of pure delight and blow out the candles. As for me, I am weathering this process, as I am dragged through it, kicking and screaming, as best I can, celebrating the comforting fact that my wife will still need me and will, indeed, still feed me….now that I’m sixty four!
Monday, June 20, 2011
MORE THAN JUST A HIT FOR THE ARCHIES
I’m not generally in the habit of changing word meanings, but “sweet” just stopped working for me. At least the meaning that I perceived as the only true definition. You see, for as far back as I can remember, which is far enough these days to hope for a rest stop or two along the way, I have adored the taste of sugar. Sugar on my breakfast cereal…..sugar in my coffee…the sweeter the better. Of course when I was young I didn’t drink coffee, but the sugariest chocolate or strawberry mix could make the lactation of another species much more acceptable to my discerning 5 year old palate. Then again, that stuff was all sugar and could make puddle water taste good.
Chocolate is a gift from the gods - Greek gods, specifically. The word chocolate comes from an ancient Greek word that means - “Damn that tastes good!”
There is no better candy bar than a “Three Musketeers.” That’s my final decision after testing all of the others at some point.
As for soda…..can you even imaging anything that quenches your thirst better than an ice cold Coca Cola? I think not. Well, maybe an ice cold Dr. Browns Cream soda. I think I just felt my eye twitch.
OK, let me stop before I go into a sugar coma from just writing this stuff. The love affair between my teeth, lips and tongue and the cane industry came to a crashing halt around the turn of the century….this one….when I was diagnosed with diabetes.
It scared me enough to get proact…..wait, let me amend that……my wife scared enough me by telling me that if I didn’t join her in getting proactive, she was gonna kill me.
We started learning about which foods would process in such a way as to be beneficial rather than harmful. We learned that it wasn’t just sugar that was poison, but foods that you would never suspect that turn to sugar and become toxic. All the “white” stuff is useless. Potatoes (a nod to Dan Quail), pasta, bread, rice, sugar and flour. All “simple” carbs that rush through your body at too fast a clip so they can’t be processed properly and turn to sugar. We also found that we didn’t have to do without. Brown rice, sweet potatoes, brown sugar, whole grain flours, breads and pastas are all “complex” carbs that break down differently and more slowly, so the body can process them properly.
I haven’t had a sip of soda in at least a decade. The last time I tried one, I had to drink some water to get rid of the taste that I now deem as “nasty.” I prefer sugar from natural sources. The last time my blood sugar read low, rather than a “Snickers,” I had an orange. It tasted and worked better.
So you see…..I have had to change the meaning of the word. I no longer have dreams of “sugarplums” and “banana splits. Now, all I have to do is look in the eyes of any of my kids and, especially, my grandkids and know I’ll be around and in good health for quite some time to enjoy them………“SWEET!”
Chocolate is a gift from the gods - Greek gods, specifically. The word chocolate comes from an ancient Greek word that means - “Damn that tastes good!”
There is no better candy bar than a “Three Musketeers.” That’s my final decision after testing all of the others at some point.
As for soda…..can you even imaging anything that quenches your thirst better than an ice cold Coca Cola? I think not. Well, maybe an ice cold Dr. Browns Cream soda. I think I just felt my eye twitch.
OK, let me stop before I go into a sugar coma from just writing this stuff. The love affair between my teeth, lips and tongue and the cane industry came to a crashing halt around the turn of the century….this one….when I was diagnosed with diabetes.
It scared me enough to get proact…..wait, let me amend that……my wife scared enough me by telling me that if I didn’t join her in getting proactive, she was gonna kill me.
We started learning about which foods would process in such a way as to be beneficial rather than harmful. We learned that it wasn’t just sugar that was poison, but foods that you would never suspect that turn to sugar and become toxic. All the “white” stuff is useless. Potatoes (a nod to Dan Quail), pasta, bread, rice, sugar and flour. All “simple” carbs that rush through your body at too fast a clip so they can’t be processed properly and turn to sugar. We also found that we didn’t have to do without. Brown rice, sweet potatoes, brown sugar, whole grain flours, breads and pastas are all “complex” carbs that break down differently and more slowly, so the body can process them properly.
I haven’t had a sip of soda in at least a decade. The last time I tried one, I had to drink some water to get rid of the taste that I now deem as “nasty.” I prefer sugar from natural sources. The last time my blood sugar read low, rather than a “Snickers,” I had an orange. It tasted and worked better.
So you see…..I have had to change the meaning of the word. I no longer have dreams of “sugarplums” and “banana splits. Now, all I have to do is look in the eyes of any of my kids and, especially, my grandkids and know I’ll be around and in good health for quite some time to enjoy them………“SWEET!”
Saturday, May 14, 2011
SNAP OUT OF IT!
Staying awake is not a concept that I’m overly familiar with. For the first 42 years of my career, I woke up for work at 3:30 in the morning. For the past 3 years the alarm has been going off at 2:20. I haven’t, necessarily, reset the alarm. It just seems to go off earlier as I get older. Thank goodness I plan to stop working in a couple of years……I’d hate to have the alarm start going off before I even get into bed.
I don’t have to worry about being awake on the way to work. I know the route like the back of my hand, so that’s a pretty opportune time to grab a quick 20 minute “power nap.”
I’ve said, for years, that I can do my job “with my eyes closed,” so that’s a good 8 hours to try and catch up on nearly a half a century of sleep deprived living. Unfortunately, by the time I get home and have lunch, I’m wide awake and can’t fall asleep. Of course, that could have something to do with it being FRIGGIN’ NOON! By the time I start to feel my eyes getting a little heavy and I yawn a couple of dozen times in the space of - oh - a minute, it’s time for carpool or, if my wife is home to take care of that, “The Goldbergs” and “Soupy Sales” on JLTV, “The Chosen Network.” Heaven forbid I should miss them - literally. It is written! I think it’s in Genesis…..“and the Lord said unto the children of Israel - Thou shalt not snub Molly Goldberg lest your eyes fall out!” I, for one, am not taking any chances. I have grown a quite attached to my eyes!
By then, it’s time for dinner and, knowing that the alarm will be going off again in a few short hours, bed. So, I eat, walk the dog and crawl into bed. It is now about 7ish and time for “The Daily Show,” which, I believe, is also mentioned in Genesis right after the Goldbergs reference, It says “……and The Daily Show, you should live so long for it to make it to TV? That too!” - Yes, G-d sounds Jewish!
I believe this lifestyle was preordained by my family DNA. My great grandfather used to sit up all night translating entire books. Yiddish to English, English to Hebrew, Yiddish to Russian, which seemed to be quite an exercise in futility. What Jew back then wanted to go TO Russia? My grandfather had trouble sleeping and stayed up all night READING books. He was probably trying to figure out what the hell all those translations said. My dad, who, by the way, was no relation to my grandfather and great grandfather - they were my mom’s family and she can’t sleep either - would stay up and watch TV and “nosh.” He figured that watching TV was a lot easier than reading or translating. Besides, reading made him sleepy. He certainly didn’t want to screw up the flow. My brother doesn’t sleep well either. I have no clue what he does while he’s awake. Neither does he but he’s a clinical psychologist and he can tell you why.
My thought is this: My entire family has been running on very little or no sleep for generations and I am no exception. So…..I’m gonna get paid. Granted, it isn’t very much. “Slave labor” isn’t the career choice it used to be and the “BIG” paychecks are no longer part of the deal. I’m just looking forward to the day that I can fully retire so I can truly “retire” for a full night. No alarm……no job to go to at “stoopid’ o ‘ clock” in the morning…….no more discombobulated hours. Of course, then I probably won’t be able to sleep!
I don’t have to worry about being awake on the way to work. I know the route like the back of my hand, so that’s a pretty opportune time to grab a quick 20 minute “power nap.”
I’ve said, for years, that I can do my job “with my eyes closed,” so that’s a good 8 hours to try and catch up on nearly a half a century of sleep deprived living. Unfortunately, by the time I get home and have lunch, I’m wide awake and can’t fall asleep. Of course, that could have something to do with it being FRIGGIN’ NOON! By the time I start to feel my eyes getting a little heavy and I yawn a couple of dozen times in the space of - oh - a minute, it’s time for carpool or, if my wife is home to take care of that, “The Goldbergs” and “Soupy Sales” on JLTV, “The Chosen Network.” Heaven forbid I should miss them - literally. It is written! I think it’s in Genesis…..“and the Lord said unto the children of Israel - Thou shalt not snub Molly Goldberg lest your eyes fall out!” I, for one, am not taking any chances. I have grown a quite attached to my eyes!
By then, it’s time for dinner and, knowing that the alarm will be going off again in a few short hours, bed. So, I eat, walk the dog and crawl into bed. It is now about 7ish and time for “The Daily Show,” which, I believe, is also mentioned in Genesis right after the Goldbergs reference, It says “……and The Daily Show, you should live so long for it to make it to TV? That too!” - Yes, G-d sounds Jewish!
I believe this lifestyle was preordained by my family DNA. My great grandfather used to sit up all night translating entire books. Yiddish to English, English to Hebrew, Yiddish to Russian, which seemed to be quite an exercise in futility. What Jew back then wanted to go TO Russia? My grandfather had trouble sleeping and stayed up all night READING books. He was probably trying to figure out what the hell all those translations said. My dad, who, by the way, was no relation to my grandfather and great grandfather - they were my mom’s family and she can’t sleep either - would stay up and watch TV and “nosh.” He figured that watching TV was a lot easier than reading or translating. Besides, reading made him sleepy. He certainly didn’t want to screw up the flow. My brother doesn’t sleep well either. I have no clue what he does while he’s awake. Neither does he but he’s a clinical psychologist and he can tell you why.
My thought is this: My entire family has been running on very little or no sleep for generations and I am no exception. So…..I’m gonna get paid. Granted, it isn’t very much. “Slave labor” isn’t the career choice it used to be and the “BIG” paychecks are no longer part of the deal. I’m just looking forward to the day that I can fully retire so I can truly “retire” for a full night. No alarm……no job to go to at “stoopid’ o ‘ clock” in the morning…….no more discombobulated hours. Of course, then I probably won’t be able to sleep!
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Late Expectations
It’s a shame this month’s topic isn’t procrastination. I have that all figured out. In fact, I’m doing it right now. Oh, look, Stevie Nicks and Sheryl Crow are on Oprah and they’re holding hands as they talk about how Sheryl has been cancer free for 5 years, but I digress. Too bad the topic isn’t digression, but, I digress again. Now I’m being redundant, which is also not the topic. I almost expect Harpo and Chico to walk in and join the conversation. Oh yeah - expectations.
There was a wonderful song that was recorded by Billie Holliday in 1936 called “No Regrets.” The title immediately brings to mind a bit of advice from my grandfather that I have never forgotten and that I try to keep in mind whenever I try to move things along at too fast a pace because I have a pre realized outcome in mind. I can be very impulsive and have, a time or twelve, acted or spoken without thinking. The results have always been less than stellar. In fact, in many cases, less than stellar would have been preferable. My grandfather said, essentially, that if you have no expectations, you will have no regrets.
I can’t even remember the number times I’ve ventured into some hair-brained scheme, with the expectation of making a million bucks, only to end up like Lucy & Ethel, completely discombobulated at the end of a bonbon assembly line. The key, as I was to learn as I got older and, thus, wiser, was just what my grandfather had said. No expectations - no regrets. It’s simple, yet, brilliant. All I had to do was look back at my career.
I decided to get into radio when I was 8 years old. My mom had arranging a field trip for the Cub Scouts to WDRC in Hartford. I remember the feeling the very first time I walked into a studio. The hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood up and my heart started beating with feelings of excitement and awe. That never went away. I got those feelings each time I walked into a studio, which was every morning, for more than 4 decades. It was never about money. Heaven knows, money is not a reason to do radio. A decent salary in radio, especially today, is often referred to as: “A moot point!” And yet, by the time I got to a certain point in my career, the rewards came and, I might add, with no regrets along the way. Because I had no expectations along the way. There was nothing to come tumbling down. Things just happened organically and, the things I might have expected, but didn’t….came to be.
I like to refer to “have no expectations and you’ll have no regrets” as my “Grandpa Mantra.” It’s rock solid advice that I have tried to pass on to my kids with the (ahem) expectation that they will probably have to wait until they get older to - Oh, wow, now Pat Benatar is on Oprah singing “Love is a Battlefield.” She sounds great, but, I digress again, but, hey - what’d you expect? I’m trying not to procrastinate in bringing this ship into port….geez, now I’m alluding - I’ll stop!
There was a wonderful song that was recorded by Billie Holliday in 1936 called “No Regrets.” The title immediately brings to mind a bit of advice from my grandfather that I have never forgotten and that I try to keep in mind whenever I try to move things along at too fast a pace because I have a pre realized outcome in mind. I can be very impulsive and have, a time or twelve, acted or spoken without thinking. The results have always been less than stellar. In fact, in many cases, less than stellar would have been preferable. My grandfather said, essentially, that if you have no expectations, you will have no regrets.
I can’t even remember the number times I’ve ventured into some hair-brained scheme, with the expectation of making a million bucks, only to end up like Lucy & Ethel, completely discombobulated at the end of a bonbon assembly line. The key, as I was to learn as I got older and, thus, wiser, was just what my grandfather had said. No expectations - no regrets. It’s simple, yet, brilliant. All I had to do was look back at my career.
I decided to get into radio when I was 8 years old. My mom had arranging a field trip for the Cub Scouts to WDRC in Hartford. I remember the feeling the very first time I walked into a studio. The hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood up and my heart started beating with feelings of excitement and awe. That never went away. I got those feelings each time I walked into a studio, which was every morning, for more than 4 decades. It was never about money. Heaven knows, money is not a reason to do radio. A decent salary in radio, especially today, is often referred to as: “A moot point!” And yet, by the time I got to a certain point in my career, the rewards came and, I might add, with no regrets along the way. Because I had no expectations along the way. There was nothing to come tumbling down. Things just happened organically and, the things I might have expected, but didn’t….came to be.
I like to refer to “have no expectations and you’ll have no regrets” as my “Grandpa Mantra.” It’s rock solid advice that I have tried to pass on to my kids with the (ahem) expectation that they will probably have to wait until they get older to - Oh, wow, now Pat Benatar is on Oprah singing “Love is a Battlefield.” She sounds great, but, I digress again, but, hey - what’d you expect? I’m trying not to procrastinate in bringing this ship into port….geez, now I’m alluding - I’ll stop!
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Ch-ch-ch-changes
I started thinking about “change” as I was stumbling around in the dark, in the middle of the night to “spring forward” all of the clocks in the house. This turned out to be an exercise in futility, as most of the “stumbling” I did was over things like ottomans and doggie dishes, inconveniently waking everyone in the house with the noise. My wife was quick to remind me that the clocks would still be there when the sun came up, but there are some things that are sacrosanct and not subject to change. Like making sure all of the clocks are changed before 2am. That’s when they change in “TV Guide” and that’s good enough for me to trust as gospel.
Change, as we are all well aware, is going to occur. Always. Bottom line. My Mom, who is 84, but, decided to stop at about 34, reminds me, often, that we are required to get older, but, that nowhere in “the rules” is it written that we are obliged to “grow up.”
Change is ongoing and is sometimes so subtle it’s indiscernible. Sometimes it smacks you in the face like a big ole’ wet mackerel. It can hurt and stink. We will all experience this type of change at some point in our lives. The mackerel smack with an outcome that is dictated entirely on our response.
I looked back at some of the major changes I’ve experienced over the years. Going from civilian life to military discipline at an age when I should have only been concerned with the next frat party, then off to war and back to civilian life in one fell swoop, or as it more appropriately felt, one swell foop! Getting married, getting divorced, getting married, getting divorced, getting married, you get the picture. Changing jobs and cities after a couple of years of integrating into a community and life style. All changes that required readjustment and, to some degree, the ability to be chameleon like.
The biggest change in my life, however, taught me the most valuable lesson.
I had been with “the network” for a long time. The first one to turn on a microphone in1981 after we had physically built the studios ourselves in that booming metropolis - Mokena, Illinois. We had a lovely spot to build network radio studios. It was a storefront in a strip mall, comfortably nestled between a pet store and a true value hardware store. Mokena was chosen because that was where WGN had it’s satellite uplink and, since we were to be the first satellite delivered 24 hour network, technologically, even Frankfort or Orland Park were too far away. Since those techno-dark ages innovations have made way for so much change that my wife is now able to do a show from our living room in Miami, but, you have to start somewhere. That somewhere was Mokena. As we grew and time marched on, we were able to become more versatile and, eventually added a bunch of formats and moved to Texas. The changes in technology brought a number of other changes as well. The network made money and was sold. That happened a number of times. New owners brought with them, changes upon changes. For the most part, they were for the better and we watched steady growth, but, over the years, there were many other changes, for the most part corporate, that were much less palatable. But, the industry was changing too and becoming the “bitch” of the corporations and I watched as our beloved project, begun all those years ago in Mokena, Illinois, began a slow and painful, at least to watch, descent into the bowels of corporate hell.
After a quarter of a century of complacency and, quite honestly, laziness, I was forced into retirement. This was change I wasn’t at all ready to accept. There was, however, an enormous issue. I was older and had made a very good salary. I found that, over a nearly two year period, I wasn’t able to “get arrested” in the business I had grown to love so much for more than four decades. Nobody wanted an “old guy” playing rock and roll and telling jokes to people I had socks older than.
It was while lying in bed, probably in the fetal position, wallowing in the pity party I was throwing for myself, that my wife and two of my daughters provided me with what has become a defining moment in my life. They walked into the bedroom with a little cup cake, topped with a birthday candle, singing “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” and reminding me that it’s never too late to make whatever change is necessary to continue to thrive. That was the day I decided to try make a huge change and try to break into the world of news. I was able to land a job at the #1 news talk radio station in Dallas, WBAP, anchoring news in the afternoon and then, from there, it was on to anchor news for a number of stations throughout Florida from a hub in Miami. This was a major change because I came from a radio station that was filled with journalistic integrity and am now working for a company for whom “journalism” is a foreign word. It’s merely an assembly line of a few “read” stories to make sure the commercials get played.
Radio as I knew and loved it is gone and now, news, as I have grown to know and love it, is on the way out. So am I. In very short order, I will retire and maybe find a little something part-time in a cigar store, bait shop or golf course and the only "change" I will be concerned with will be what’s left over from my Social Security check after the bills are paid.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL……………….WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Change, as we are all well aware, is going to occur. Always. Bottom line. My Mom, who is 84, but, decided to stop at about 34, reminds me, often, that we are required to get older, but, that nowhere in “the rules” is it written that we are obliged to “grow up.”
Change is ongoing and is sometimes so subtle it’s indiscernible. Sometimes it smacks you in the face like a big ole’ wet mackerel. It can hurt and stink. We will all experience this type of change at some point in our lives. The mackerel smack with an outcome that is dictated entirely on our response.
I looked back at some of the major changes I’ve experienced over the years. Going from civilian life to military discipline at an age when I should have only been concerned with the next frat party, then off to war and back to civilian life in one fell swoop, or as it more appropriately felt, one swell foop! Getting married, getting divorced, getting married, getting divorced, getting married, you get the picture. Changing jobs and cities after a couple of years of integrating into a community and life style. All changes that required readjustment and, to some degree, the ability to be chameleon like.
The biggest change in my life, however, taught me the most valuable lesson.
I had been with “the network” for a long time. The first one to turn on a microphone in1981 after we had physically built the studios ourselves in that booming metropolis - Mokena, Illinois. We had a lovely spot to build network radio studios. It was a storefront in a strip mall, comfortably nestled between a pet store and a true value hardware store. Mokena was chosen because that was where WGN had it’s satellite uplink and, since we were to be the first satellite delivered 24 hour network, technologically, even Frankfort or Orland Park were too far away. Since those techno-dark ages innovations have made way for so much change that my wife is now able to do a show from our living room in Miami, but, you have to start somewhere. That somewhere was Mokena. As we grew and time marched on, we were able to become more versatile and, eventually added a bunch of formats and moved to Texas. The changes in technology brought a number of other changes as well. The network made money and was sold. That happened a number of times. New owners brought with them, changes upon changes. For the most part, they were for the better and we watched steady growth, but, over the years, there were many other changes, for the most part corporate, that were much less palatable. But, the industry was changing too and becoming the “bitch” of the corporations and I watched as our beloved project, begun all those years ago in Mokena, Illinois, began a slow and painful, at least to watch, descent into the bowels of corporate hell.
After a quarter of a century of complacency and, quite honestly, laziness, I was forced into retirement. This was change I wasn’t at all ready to accept. There was, however, an enormous issue. I was older and had made a very good salary. I found that, over a nearly two year period, I wasn’t able to “get arrested” in the business I had grown to love so much for more than four decades. Nobody wanted an “old guy” playing rock and roll and telling jokes to people I had socks older than.
It was while lying in bed, probably in the fetal position, wallowing in the pity party I was throwing for myself, that my wife and two of my daughters provided me with what has become a defining moment in my life. They walked into the bedroom with a little cup cake, topped with a birthday candle, singing “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” and reminding me that it’s never too late to make whatever change is necessary to continue to thrive. That was the day I decided to try make a huge change and try to break into the world of news. I was able to land a job at the #1 news talk radio station in Dallas, WBAP, anchoring news in the afternoon and then, from there, it was on to anchor news for a number of stations throughout Florida from a hub in Miami. This was a major change because I came from a radio station that was filled with journalistic integrity and am now working for a company for whom “journalism” is a foreign word. It’s merely an assembly line of a few “read” stories to make sure the commercials get played.
Radio as I knew and loved it is gone and now, news, as I have grown to know and love it, is on the way out. So am I. In very short order, I will retire and maybe find a little something part-time in a cigar store, bait shop or golf course and the only "change" I will be concerned with will be what’s left over from my Social Security check after the bills are paid.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL……………….WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Sunday, February 13, 2011
PAIN
Writing about pain is, in itself, a bit of a pain. The first consideration has to be which manifestation of the word to explore. Pain is very eclectic. There are many different interpretations of it’s meaning.
There are women I know who claim that having a baby is about the worst pain one can experience. I can only take their word for it. Even the analogy of pushing a bowling ball through my nostril tests the limits of my imagination. I think my wife put best during the birth of any of the 5, when she referred to it as, “Sweetie, please come over here so I can RIP YOUR GODDAMN HEAD OFF!” I think I’ll stay away from that one.
Then there is the pain of rejection. I’ve spent most of my adult life surrounded by a lot of very creative people. Radio people, actors, comics, writers, musicians - all people who have been rejected in any number of their endeavors at some point in their respective careers and have used it as a catalyst to do something even better. A classic case of pain ideally bringing about plenty of aesthetic pleasure. Nah!
Physical pain hurts too much. “Here’s a nice needle in the eye. How’s that feel?” It hurts like hell. Remember the limits of the imagination that I mentioned a little earlier? They have been stretched to a very appropriately painful point with the mere thought. Nope. Not gonna happen on this go ‘round!
There is always the pain of exclusion and hatred. No matter what the reason, and there are many, it can cut pretty deep. Whether it’s because of race, color, creed, national origin, sexual orientation, weight, height, glasses status or nose size is irrelevant. Everybody wants to be liked and included. It’s said that “sticks and stones can break my bones but names can never hurt me.” Yes they can. They can hurt a lot. And as a stone can break a bone, an epithet can break a spirit and that is unacceptable. Here’s a little something for the bullies to chew on, though - as you are focusing your energies on hating someone else, they may not even know you exist. You’re often spinning your wheels and wasting your time. So much so, that I won’t pursue this any further. That would be a waste of my time and that, too, is unacceptable.
Maybe we can explore pain by proxy, That pain you feel when something bad happens to someone you care about. That can be especially difficult if you are at a distance and can’t just walk over and give them a reassuring hug or rub their back or some other comforting gesture. The feeling of helplessness can often be more painful that the original issue. This conjures up a very frightening image of flailing about in an ocean of sharks and that makes me uncomfortable enough to drop this investigation like a bad habit right here and right now.
I’m not going to think about pain anymore for a couple of reasons. First, as I mentioned in the beginning, it’s become too much of a pain. And, lastly, I believe I have inadvertently hit upon the best way to alleviate quite a bit of pain - write about it.
THAT'S HOW I FEEL------WHAT CAN I TELL YA'
There are women I know who claim that having a baby is about the worst pain one can experience. I can only take their word for it. Even the analogy of pushing a bowling ball through my nostril tests the limits of my imagination. I think my wife put best during the birth of any of the 5, when she referred to it as, “Sweetie, please come over here so I can RIP YOUR GODDAMN HEAD OFF!” I think I’ll stay away from that one.
Then there is the pain of rejection. I’ve spent most of my adult life surrounded by a lot of very creative people. Radio people, actors, comics, writers, musicians - all people who have been rejected in any number of their endeavors at some point in their respective careers and have used it as a catalyst to do something even better. A classic case of pain ideally bringing about plenty of aesthetic pleasure. Nah!
Physical pain hurts too much. “Here’s a nice needle in the eye. How’s that feel?” It hurts like hell. Remember the limits of the imagination that I mentioned a little earlier? They have been stretched to a very appropriately painful point with the mere thought. Nope. Not gonna happen on this go ‘round!
There is always the pain of exclusion and hatred. No matter what the reason, and there are many, it can cut pretty deep. Whether it’s because of race, color, creed, national origin, sexual orientation, weight, height, glasses status or nose size is irrelevant. Everybody wants to be liked and included. It’s said that “sticks and stones can break my bones but names can never hurt me.” Yes they can. They can hurt a lot. And as a stone can break a bone, an epithet can break a spirit and that is unacceptable. Here’s a little something for the bullies to chew on, though - as you are focusing your energies on hating someone else, they may not even know you exist. You’re often spinning your wheels and wasting your time. So much so, that I won’t pursue this any further. That would be a waste of my time and that, too, is unacceptable.
Maybe we can explore pain by proxy, That pain you feel when something bad happens to someone you care about. That can be especially difficult if you are at a distance and can’t just walk over and give them a reassuring hug or rub their back or some other comforting gesture. The feeling of helplessness can often be more painful that the original issue. This conjures up a very frightening image of flailing about in an ocean of sharks and that makes me uncomfortable enough to drop this investigation like a bad habit right here and right now.
I’m not going to think about pain anymore for a couple of reasons. First, as I mentioned in the beginning, it’s become too much of a pain. And, lastly, I believe I have inadvertently hit upon the best way to alleviate quite a bit of pain - write about it.
THAT'S HOW I FEEL------WHAT CAN I TELL YA'
Sunday, January 23, 2011
The Best Day of My Life
I have virtually no life, so I often contemplate the mundane. Let me amend that. I have a virtual life, with nearly 1,000 friends on Facebook, 12 of whom I actually know. It’s offline that I might as well live on a moped. It would certainly provide more excitement than the routine of my every day existence. I awaken at 2:20 a.m. and am at work by 3 a.m. and, after a tedious day of ripping and reading generic newscasts for 5 radio stations for an insulting paycheck, am home by 11:30, grabbing a bite to eat while preparing for a nap, after which, I pick up my daughter from school and have dinner as I look forward to going to bed so I can do it all over again.
Because of a request to do so, I have been doing the aforementioned contemplating about the “best day of my life,” which, I can assure you, has taken a lot of intense reflection as it hasn’t been any of the more recent ones.
My first inclination was to respond with: July 22nd, 1947 - the day I was born. But, if that was the best day of my life, that would mean it’s been downhill ever since and that simply isn’t the case.
Many people list the day their child is born as the best day of their life. I have 5 and the last thing I want to do is insult any of them by listing one ahead of another. That would be rude. I refuse to be rude to my kids.
There are any number of wonderful things that have happened over the past 63 and a half years that I can point to as intensely great days, but, “The Best?”
I suppose I can say it’s the day I met my wife, but, I’ve had three. OK, maybe only two count because I found out about the first one the morning after a night of drugs and alcohol in a Philippine bar during the Vietnam war. But, nobody asked about the best NIGHT of my life. My second (first?) wife gave me two amazing kids and my current wife has given me three, so, you see, the “unfairness” factor has again reared its relatively ugly little head.
I have had so many career highlights, that it would be almost impossible to pick just one. Perhaps it was the day I met Sonny Fox and he hired me to do the morning show at WYSP in Philadelphia, jumpstarting what, to that point, had been a pretty banal career. Could it have been the day he asked me, a few weeks later, if I had ever heard of “Bob & Ray,” setting off a chain of events that catapulted us, as the first two-man morning team in rock & roll radio history, to #1? How about the day I was asked to join an experimental new project in Mokena, Illinois that was eventually to become the ABC Radio Network? I think it’s safe to say the “none of the above” is the answer I’ll be checking off.
Maybe the night, in 1977 when I got to got to the premier of “Star Wars” in a limo with Harrison Ford, Mark Hamill and Carrie Fisher. Or the day I answered an invitation to go to Washington, D.C. to confer, along with a few other radio types, with President Carter to talk about an anti drug media campaign. I have many other “best day of my life” candidates from among the plethora of encounters during my long radio career, some of which I can actually remember. I could go on, but, there comes a point when even cool stuff can become very boring, so, I will add only that none of these qualify as the ultimate “best day” either.
All of this leads me to two conclusions. One is that the “best day of my life” is not, in fact only one day, but an amalgamation of many. The other, and perhaps most logical, is that it hasn’t happened yet. I think I’ll go with that one. That way, I’ll always have something to look forward to.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL………WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Because of a request to do so, I have been doing the aforementioned contemplating about the “best day of my life,” which, I can assure you, has taken a lot of intense reflection as it hasn’t been any of the more recent ones.
My first inclination was to respond with: July 22nd, 1947 - the day I was born. But, if that was the best day of my life, that would mean it’s been downhill ever since and that simply isn’t the case.
Many people list the day their child is born as the best day of their life. I have 5 and the last thing I want to do is insult any of them by listing one ahead of another. That would be rude. I refuse to be rude to my kids.
There are any number of wonderful things that have happened over the past 63 and a half years that I can point to as intensely great days, but, “The Best?”
I suppose I can say it’s the day I met my wife, but, I’ve had three. OK, maybe only two count because I found out about the first one the morning after a night of drugs and alcohol in a Philippine bar during the Vietnam war. But, nobody asked about the best NIGHT of my life. My second (first?) wife gave me two amazing kids and my current wife has given me three, so, you see, the “unfairness” factor has again reared its relatively ugly little head.
I have had so many career highlights, that it would be almost impossible to pick just one. Perhaps it was the day I met Sonny Fox and he hired me to do the morning show at WYSP in Philadelphia, jumpstarting what, to that point, had been a pretty banal career. Could it have been the day he asked me, a few weeks later, if I had ever heard of “Bob & Ray,” setting off a chain of events that catapulted us, as the first two-man morning team in rock & roll radio history, to #1? How about the day I was asked to join an experimental new project in Mokena, Illinois that was eventually to become the ABC Radio Network? I think it’s safe to say the “none of the above” is the answer I’ll be checking off.
Maybe the night, in 1977 when I got to got to the premier of “Star Wars” in a limo with Harrison Ford, Mark Hamill and Carrie Fisher. Or the day I answered an invitation to go to Washington, D.C. to confer, along with a few other radio types, with President Carter to talk about an anti drug media campaign. I have many other “best day of my life” candidates from among the plethora of encounters during my long radio career, some of which I can actually remember. I could go on, but, there comes a point when even cool stuff can become very boring, so, I will add only that none of these qualify as the ultimate “best day” either.
All of this leads me to two conclusions. One is that the “best day of my life” is not, in fact only one day, but an amalgamation of many. The other, and perhaps most logical, is that it hasn’t happened yet. I think I’ll go with that one. That way, I’ll always have something to look forward to.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL………WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
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