KIDS

I was reading the entries on my Facebook home page, which, with the new timeline format can take a good part of your morning, only to come across an interesting note from my cousin’s wife. Let me explain that my cousin is a very accomplished rock and roll guitarist who travels extensively and has been in the business since the early 60’s. He is 71 years old and he and his wife have a 3 year old who is an absolute doll and the joy of his life, even though, when she graduates high school he’ll be in the ball park of 90. Knowing him, he’ll be providing the music for the ceremony. In the note, my cousin’s wife, who I will call Vanessa, because that’s her name, asks the little one a series of questions, the responses to which are absolutely adorable and funny. Pretty much what you would expect from a 3 year old. The exercise is called: “See what your kids are saying about you.” After reading some of the wee ones answers to questions like: How old is mom (she answered 100) and what is something mom always says to you (do you have to tinkle), I thought I would try the exercise on my kids, if for no other reason than just what the title explains: to find out what my kids are saying about me. My oldest is 36. Her response to the request to take the little quiz was, “Dad, I’m a doctor. I have an office to run and I am about to go surfing with my husband. Maybe another time.” My 33 year old daughter’s response was, “I have two little ones of my own, Dad, and at 7 and 4, they are a bit of a handful. This can wait, right?” My 27 year old son is currently incarcerated in North Carolina. He said, basically, “You are kidding, right?” My 26 year old has her masters degree and can't seen to find a job, so she's busy as a nanny and trying to get into grad school to get her PhD. She hasn't even seen the e-mail with the questions . My 17 year old is only home to sleep on school nights. Other than that, I’m am surprised she even remembers where we live, let alone sitting down long enough to answer questions like, What’s dad’s favorite food?” Its lobster, by the way, just in case she takes time to read this, I’d like her to know. I actually think I have an inkling of “what my kids are saying about me” and I’m sure it’s said with a semblance of respect. We have all had a terrific relationship over the years and I gave them the respect I wanted in return. They have always given it back and then some. And yet, I find myself sort of missing that period of innocence that comes from one so young, still in the beginning of their life’s discoveries. The awe with which they can watch a butterfly flit from flower to flower and answer questions like, “How do you know your mom loves you?” with “She cuts my apple, give me a bath, lets me watch TV, sings me a song and tells me I love you all day long.” Would I want to do it for a sixth time? Not on your life, but, if nothing else, the survey’s answers opened up a floodgate of memories of the amazing amount of innocent fun mine all were at that age. It’s a joy I will carry to my grave. So when my cousin’s wife asks her baby girl, “What is Mommy's favorite thing to do?” and she answers, “Drink coffee,” I say, sit down with her, have a cup of joe and savor the moment.

'SCUSE ME WHILE I KISS THIS GUY

One of the biggest misconceptions is that there is a bathroom on the right. We all know that the bathroom is usually on the left - well, sometimes the Ladies room is on the left and the Mens room is on the right, but, I digress - which is something I often do when I'm.....oops, sorry. We mishear song lyrics all the time and what we hear often fails to make sense while it totally ruins the image the poor songwriter was trying to project. Although, “there's a bathroom on the right” does more sense logically than “there's a bad moon on the rise.” How could John Fogarty have known if the moon was having a bad day? But, if he had to find a bathroom and it was on his right, he has a tangible argument. Mishearing lyrics goes back a long way for me. When I was 10 years old, I remember hearing a song on the radio from this controversial young singer named Elvis Presley. I swear to this day that what I heard was “I'm in love – Amawshika.” I had no idea what “amawshika” meant or was, but, by golly, that's what I heard and I was sticking to it......even though the title of the song was “All ShookUp.” Remember the Ray Charles song “Unchain My Heart” with that classic line - "Don't care if you do 'cause it's understood, you ain't got no money you dress in your boots?" In “Fire & Rain” - James Taylor complained that he “found my jeans in pieces on the ground” and made an editorial comment about the elements, calling them “obscene fire and obscene rain.” Who can forget how upset “the Reverend Blue Jeans” was when “Craklin' Rosie peed on the on the floor?” Even during the holidays we're not immune - “We wish you a Merry Christmas, now bring me some friggin' pudding” and the apparent English translation for “Feliz Navidad” which seems to be “Police nabbed your dad.” Poor pop....and during the holidays! Then there's my favorite, which epitomizes the oxymoron - “Peace on earth and mercy mild - Goddamn sinners reconciled.” If nothing else, it's a pretty powerful statement! Sometimes a misheard lyric can anger people. Animal lovers were aghast when they heard Freddy Mercury singing “kicking your cat all over the place.” At other times the lyrics can be just what the doctor ordered if you're having a bad day. Like Donald Fagan said - “The Cuervo Gold, the pine cone ruffian, make tonight a wonderful thing.” The tequila part is easy. Pick some up at your nearest schnapps shop. As for the pine cone ruffian – you could probably waste the whole evening trying to figure out what it is, let alone where to find one. The night being a wonderful thing concept has now been completely blown to smithereens. Even the impossible has been explored when Stevie Nicks sang, “Just like a one-winged dove......” It certainly invokes an interesting image of that poor dove flying around in circles. The issue effects all genres from Classic Rock - Leon Russell sang: “Like a rubber neck giraffe you look into my pants....Well baby you're just too blind to see – to Country – who can forget that Glen Campbell classic where he sang about a “wine stoned cowboy” - to Broadway – Remember that great lyric in “The Sound of Music,” “So long, farewell, our feet all say goodbye?” - to the standards, like when Dean Martin sang, “When the moon hits your eyes Like a big piece of pie......Have some more eggs.” The problem is undeniable and it's massive. We've been mishearing lyrics for as long as people have been writing them. So rather than take any more of your valuable time trying to understand this seemingly never ending malady, I'll just completely misquote The Jonas Brothers and say, “Until the next time you lick me in the eyes – I'll just say goodnight and goodbye!”

THAT’S THE SPIRIT

The oft heard term “The spirit is willing but, the flesh is weak” comes from the bible. I’m not quite sure where in the book it is. For me to know that would be tantamount to knowing where Mark Twain said, “Be careful about reading health books. You may die of a misprint.” I’m sure he said it, but I don’t have a clue where. Truer words, however, have not been spoken, especially as regards getting older. I think I first began to realize this statement as fact when I turned 40. 30 had been hard enough. As a child of the 50’s and a teenager of the 60’s, we lived by a code that said, “Never trust anyone over 30.” It was a very traumatic birthday. I could no longer be trusted. To counter this slip into an imagined abyss of decrepitude, I carried a Daffy Duck doll in my back pocket which I pulled out whenever I encountered anyone and made a cartoon duck noise as I shoved it in their faces. “That’ll show ‘em that I haven’t grown up,” I reasoned while acting all of 12 years old. But, 30 was psychological. By 40, it became physical. That startling revelation came as I was trying out for a neighborhood softball team. I began loving and playing baseball at around the age of 8. We played every day, without fail, at the Bowers School playground baseball diamond. Even if there weren’t enough guys to make up two teams, we adjusted. There were days when we only had one outfielder per side, so, you would have to “call your field,” which meant that, as a left handed batter, I had to hit it to right field or it was an out. We always made it work. I played in the Little League “farm system” until I was old enough and good enough to play in the actual Little League. I played “Alumni” ball and played for my high school team. By the time I was 19, I was pitching for a semi-pro team in Tennessee and had been asked to try out for the Red Sox. A subsequent broken ankle and trip to Vietnam sorta put the kibosh on those plans, but, I always loved playing the game. The neighborhood softball team was led by my mailman Bernie. He told me about the try outs and I was there with all the enthusiasm I could muster, but, as I looked around, I realized the folly of my excitement as every other player that was trying out was in his 20’s or very early 30’s. They were running around the field with reckless abandon, but, as the coach was hitting balls to the outfield and I was yelling, “I got it,” my knees were screaming, “Sit down, old man.” I made the team as “designated hitter” solely by virtue of the fact that I could punch the ball over the infielders heads and get on base. Then they would put in a “pinch runner.” Inadequate doesn’t begin to describe feeling that were beginning to permeate my self assuredness……OK, cockiness. I began to relate even more in my 50’s while doing improv comedy on a stage in Dallas. I had done quite a bit of improv. I was in 5 troupes over the years. Two were my own and I was a founding member of ComedySportz Dallas. I was having more fun than I had ever had in my career and all was going well, until, once again, “the flesh weakened.” My legs and feet started to hurt on a nightly basis. I was on stage, running and jumping around with, once again, 20 somethings and early 30 somethings, and, when they went out to party after a show, I went home walking like Redd Foxx. I would hobble into the house and yell to my wife in my best Fred Sanford voice, “I’m comin’ to join ya, honey!” As it turned out, I was now beginning to feel the “weakness” not only of the flesh, but of the bones and organs as well. I found out I was diabetic and had heart disease. The spirit was still willing, but it was willing a lot more slowly and with a lot more trepidation. I am now in my mid 60’s and the spirit that was so willing when I was in my 20’s, 30’s, 40’s and 50’s, hurts when I do little things like, oh, I don’t know - getting out of bed and moving. Knees, ankles, hips, hair - it all hurts. I suppose I could adopt a positive attitude about it all and insist that my spirit be as devil-may-care as it used to be, but the reality is that the flesh is older and more tired and is now going to take a nice nap!

GOING HOME

It was Thomas Wolfe who said, "You can't go home again," but, he was wrong.....sort of. Not that you would necessarily want to go home again. Things change over the years. People move, the ditch where you had the Tarzan swing is now condos and there's a parking lot where the little store used to be where you knew how to get a ball stuck in the pinball machine to rack up points and get free games. It won't be the same home you left. You can, however, with the right people involved, invoke all of the memories and emotions that allow you to go back home in your mind to the point of even dredging up sounds and smells, albeit psychological. I was able to do just that a few of years ago when, thanks to Facebook, I was reunited with a friend I had not seen in 45 years. He lives in Miami, but, happened to be in Dallas for a convention. What a remarkable visit we had. Let me begin by telling you that I went to high school at a boarding school after the public school I was attending in Manchester, Ct. realized they had an issue with my being there. If memory serves me, and it doesn't always, it had something to do with an experiment to see if a plastic cherry bomb would explode when flushed down a toilet in the Boys Room. It does. The school I was sent to was then known as Laurel Crest in Bristol, Ct. We ate, slept, studied and created friendships in old Victorian buildings that were beautiful from the outside and felt like prison on the inside. Fortunately for our sanity and our appetites, we perfected the art of climbing down the corner bricks from the 2nd floor late at night for our forays to McDonalds or Dunkin' Donuts, who provided the erstwhile nutrition for our all night poker games in one of the big closets in our dorm rooms. Marvin was a good friend with whom I would play poker, play guitars, study and, yes, climb down the wall and go downtown. Marvin taught me a very cool blues riff that, when I pick up a guitar now, convinces everybody that I possess some prowess at the instrument. I do not. It's the only thing I can play, but, I have to admit that even I am impressed at how good it sounds. Marvin and I graduated together and lost touch. He went on to become a professor at Miami-Dade College and is now retired, watching the dolphins and whales from his beachside balcony. We found each other on Facebook and he told me he was going to be in Dallas for an upcoming convention and wanted to see me. We made it a point to get together when he got to town. As he was walking across the hotel lobby to meet me at the concierge desk, I knew instantly who he was. He told me that without the goatee and grey hair, I hadn’t changed at all. Nor has he, aside from the normal aging signs….a little less hair, a liver spot or two, but, nonetheless, he too was unchanged. We reminisced ourselves back to the mid 60’s and suddenly, looking at Marvin, I saw his brown curly hair, his bright youthful smile and imagined picking up a couple of guitars to play our little blues piece. It was a truly wonderful visit that took us both back to a different time and place, even though passersby saw a couple of old guys chatting in a hotel lobby. When Marvin returned home, he found that another “Crestie,” named Doug, was living mere blocks from him. Shortly after their reunion, I moved to Miami and, for the past three years have been spending time with my old pals on a regular basis. We and our wives get together often and it always conjures up great memories of days when, to quote Billy Joel, “I wore a younger man’s clothes.” We also found, much to our delight, that a number of our classmates spend their winters in the area and we have been able to reconnect with some them. Marvin, Doug and I recently had lunch at a local “rib joint” with Mike and Steve, two other members of the Laurel Crest class of 1965. Other diners saw 5 old men cutting up and laughing a lot - we were back in a dorm room, plotting our escape down the wall to get donuts, meet up with a “townie” girl or just play a little pool. It was at that lunch that I realized that Thomas Wolfe was dead wrong - under the right circumstances…..you CAN go home again.

CHANGING HABITS

It seems like a thousand years ago that I was first diagnosed with diabetes. I know that it wasn’t because B-O-B does not spell Methuselah. It was closer to 16 years ago, when, after some routine blood work, I was told that the doctor wanted me to see an endocrinologist because he suspected diabetes. I went to see the endoc and, sure enough, his suspicions were confirmed. I was a Type 2 diabetic and I had some serious changes to make. I walked out of his office a little slower, head down, not wanting eye contact with anyone, and sat in my car without starting it for what seemed top be an hour. What did this mean? I didn’t know very much about diabetes other than stories I had been told by friends whose grandparents had lost a foot or needed a kidney transplant or died because of complications from it. Naïve is a kind word to describe how much I knew. I saw this as a death sentence and, in a moment of self indulgence, I cried. Why me? I was never overweight, I was not a junk food glutton and nobody in my family was diabetic. Why me? I cried some more. A number of years earlier, when my first wife and I had divorced, I remember thinking about the choices I had to make. Did I go to a bar, get drunk and cry in my proverbial beer or did I turn the car in another direction, go to the gym, get in shape and start dating again? I contemplated that choice for about 10 minutes before I found myself throwing out what became my last pack of cigarettes, “pumping iron” and getting ready for a date. It wasn’t long before I found my true soul mate - the woman I have now been married to for 18 years. This was no different. I had to make some hard choices. I went home and told my wife, through the tears, that I was diabetic. She had just returned to our home in Dallas after flying to Chicago to give her brother a kidney, so, her initial response was, “Ouch, this hurts,” but, being the bastion of strength that she has always been, within moments, she was getting proactive about my situation. My wife grew up in an African-American family and community that deep fried a lot of food, so it was only natural that we ate foods that were prepared in the “Fry Daddy.” I grew up in a Jewish-American family where the foods contained a lot of salt, which I had backed off from years earlier because I didn’t want “the gout.” The “Fry Daddy” was the first thing to go. She threw it in the trash and started to researched menus where it wasn’t necessary to fry everything in gallons of oil. We would fight this thing together. We found recipes that were amazingly more delicious than fried or salty foods and so began our culinary journey. It didn’t take long before I dropped what little extra weight I had and she found herself having to buy smaller clothing. Within about 6 months, I had come off all diabetes meds and was feeling terrific. We have never gone back to our old ways. We continue to eat the right things, cooked the right way. I take Metformin again, but, only because I had a bit of a setback during a recent move and the “stress” caused the numbers to get a bit out of whack. But our proactivity as regards diabetes has simply become our way of life; our comfort zone. Just the other night, while eating dinner, my wife made me realize that my diabetes has been a blessing for our entire family. We have been eating healthy for so long now that my 17 year old daughter just can’t eat junk food or drink soda. She doesn’t like candy and prefers to “snack” on fruits and vegetables. For her, it is just the way things are. This was nothing that she had to “learn the hard way.” I still, however, wondered how I could possibly be diabetic with no weight problems and no genetic disposition. We may, however, have found the answer. When I was forced out of a job I had been doing for 25 years, I lost my insurance and had to start getting my medical treatment at the VA. I went into the service in 1966 and was sent to Vietnam in 1968, where I spent nearly 2 years, landing back in San Francisco in January of 1970. While there, I handled huge drums of chemicals that were to be sprayed over the Vietnamese country side for defoliation purposes. They gave the chemicals names of colors. The orange drums were dubbed - Agent Orange. I was informed, by the VA, that exposure to Agent Orange has been known to cause a number of problems and that Type 2 diabetes was recognized as one of them. I have no complaints about being diabetic. It has caused me, and consequently, all of those around me, to eat, think and act healthy. I have walked two of my daughters down the aisle. I have two more daughters and two granddaughters and I plan to be there for them as well. I wrote a bumper sticker a while back, that says - “Eat Like a Diabetic and You’ll Never Become One.”

LET'S MAKE SOME NOISE

A lot of people have been making a lot of noise lately about a lot of things. That hasn’t really changed much over the years, but technology now allows us to disseminate all of it so much easier and more quickly than ever before. It’s gotten a lot noisier and, in some cases, that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. We are subjected to a steady stream of “news” from the time we get up until the time we go to bed. 24 hour “news” channels, social media, the internet - the list goes on and on - and everything we know about everything that’s going on around us is fed to us, be it subliminal or superluminal. The media is responsible for a lot of the perceptions we leave the house with every day. So, it comes as no surprise to me that the recent shooting of Trayvon Martin by George Zimmerman has become the media circus it has. Why would Zimmerman follow Martin in the first place? His perception that a black kid dressed this way had to be up to no good. The media is directly responsible for his reasoning to begin with. The noise being created by this case has reawaked a discussion about race in this country that is long overdue. A discussion that should have ended a long time ago, except that the only images most people have had of black teens over the years have been firmly implanted by media portrayals. Watch your local news and count the stories about violent crime that involve people of color and weigh them against the stories about crime involving whites. Would Zimmerman have acted the way he did had those images not been prevalent? Maybe! But, his preconceived idea that this black teenager, dressed the way he was, was up to no good, may have pushed him faster. What do you do when you see a group of teens of color coming your way on the sidewalk? Do you cross the street? Probably. Do you clutch your purse a little tighter when you get on an elevator with a person of color? It’s probably not even a conscious response, but, I’ll bet you do. Many Americans have not been exposed to people of African origin throughout the rest of the world. Have you ever met any African-Germans, African-Italians, African-Chinese or, for that matter, African-Africans. All members of their respective societies at all strata of life. We seem to be the only place where a group of people is trapped in such a narrow definition. We like to think that we’ve come a long way in closing our racial gap to where all Americans are seen as Americans - cultural differences being the icing on our melting pot cake, but even though we finally elected a President of color, we’re not even close. Justice is still blind for a large portion of our citizenry and the double standard is, perhaps worse than ever. Tyler Perry a very powerful media mogul and filmmaker was recently racially profiled. He wrote, "It was so hostile. I was so confused. It was happening so fast that I could easily see how this situation could get out of hand very quickly. I didn't feel safe at all." It wasn’t until an African-American cop pulled up and suddenly got an “Oh, no” look on his face and told the other officers what they had done did he feel some semblance of relief. He now says he believes that racial profiling should be classified as a “hate crime.” I don’t necessarily disagree. Closer to home, my son, who has brown skin (my wife is Black - I am not), was pulled over 2-3 times a week in our own neighborhood. He spent 10 years in private school and grew up in a walled community in a very nice Dallas suburb, but, the cops had e preconceived notion that he didn’t belong. Granted, I thought a hoodie and baggy, sagging pants looked ridiculous. They looked as stupid to me as bell bottoms, long hair and a dashiki looked to my parents, but, it’s just clothing and that’s how teens define themselves in order to find themselves. My son is now finishing the last year of a 7-10 year incarceration (a first offense) in North Carolina for a very stupid decision, not unlike many of the decisions most of us make at 21. The white kid who was involved, to the same degree as my son had political connections and walked….scott free. It made me see the “double standard” from a whole new perspective. Richard Pryor put it best - “Is is “justice” or “just us?” This isn’t to say strides haven’t been made in the way the media portrays all of us and the way we see each other. In the 50’s my parents knew where they, as Jews, would be allowed to buy a home. Although any minority that has the advantage of white skin could always “pass” when necessary. My in-laws couldn’t even legally vote until 1965 - the year I graduated high school. We have a very long way to go. With the Martin/Zimmerman case making as much noise as it is, perhaps it will get a dialogue back under way that’s too important to ignore or push to the side under the presumption that things are fine and we are in a “post racial America.” Situations like this happen all the time, but this time, the media is, perhaps, playing a major role in healing some of the wounds it has helped to cause by making the noise that it is. Sometimes we have to make so much noise that everyone has to stand up and take notice. THAT’S HOW I FEEL………WHAT CAN I TELL YA’

A MATTER OF TASTE

The best things in life are often right in front of our noses, but, we often take them for granted. William Bell put it best in 1961 when he recorded the “soul” classic - “You Don’t Miss Your Water (Til Your Well Runs Dry)” on Stax records. He realized just how true his words were when, in 1965, when Otis Redding re-recorded the song and had a much bigger hit with it. Even the Byrds had a semi-hit when they released the song in 1968 and again in 1990, as did Peter Tosh with his reggae version in 1972. Poor William Bell……his well never even got to fill up before it went dry. The concept is quite simple, really - All that goodness surrounding each and every one of us and we don’t have a clue until it’s gone. To me, some of the best moments have involved food. I like to eat and I like to eat well. I have to shop for my food in bulk because it costs less at Costco, but, I can get “prime” cuts of meat cheaper than what I pay for “choice” at our friendly, neighborhood grocery chain. I like to eat well, but I have to watch how I spend because most of the time these days, I can’t afford to pay attention. Of course, anyone who is in the least bit creative in a kitchen can whip up some wonderful gourmet fare without having to take out a second mortgage. My wife is living proof as she takes our inexpensive “bulk” and turns it into food worthy of , at least, a 4 star restaurant. We eat well and we don’t spend a lot. I’m also very adventurous when it comes to food. I have tried things most people have never heard of and one or two other things most folks would never imagine putting anywhere near their mouth. The experience that stands took place in the Philippines back in the late 60’s. I was with a group of people at some kind of a party in Angeles City, the bar laden little village just outside the front gate of the now defunct Clark Air Force Base. I seem to remember (these were the late 60’s after all and there isn’t much that I actually DO remember) someone coming in with a plate full of skewered meat, very similar in appearance and texture to the satay in a Thai restaurant. I took one from the plate and took a bite. It was delicious! After finishing that skewer, I grabbed another one and scarfed it down. That was when I mistakenly said, between bites, “This is some of the best beef I’ve ever had,” to which one of our Filipino hosts responded, “That’s not beef……that’s dog.” The concept made me sick, but the taste made me realize why this is a staple in many places. I’ve eaten some weird stuff. I love rice, the grain that, essentially, serves as the main course in many countries. I’m a huge fan of potatoes and I don’t care how they are prepared: riced, diced, fried or baked……mmmmmmm! If I could find a way to to get vitamins and protein from baked goods, I could probably exist on chocolate éclairs and cream puffs and wash it all down with chocolate egg creams (google it) and cream soda with maybe a little birch beer on the side. I love to eat. I’m adventurous and creative with simple ingredients. I’ also diabetic. There are no éclairs, no cream soda. There are no more potatoes, so it really doesn’t matter how you prepare them. There was a time when I could eat an entire order of shrimp fried rice by myself……I seem to remember that it was really delicious with salt (can’t do that anymore either) and hot sauce. Diabetes is an insidious disease that attacks from the inside. I can no longer be adventurous. My diet is very strict. For me, it’s never been about losing weight, although, from the description of some of the things I’ve eaten, it would seem like I should weigh about 600 lbs., but, I’ve never been overweight. In my mid 60’s I’m still the skinny kid I was at 18.….OK….maybe 30. Diabetes does not run in my family either. It just seems to be the straw I drew. So be it. I have become a boring eater out of necessity and I miss the amazing food experiences, but, it gives me the opportunity to speak out and make a lot of noise about diabetes. If you don’t have it - please get checked. If you do - please take care of yourself. I have diabetes….but, it will never have me. It did, however, make me realize just how much you don’t miss your egg cream til’ your mug runs dry.