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Birthday Bash

Birthday Bash

Okay, it time for another birthday. I was kind of excited when I found out I would be on the air on my birthday. I checked to see how many years it would be before my birthday would be on a Sunday again, and it won’t be until 2016. I think this is because of leap year, since it should happen in seven years instead of six. But I don’t know what I’m going to be doing in six years, so we may as well celebrate it together. I don’t want phone calls or congratulations, because I have officially become an old fart. We don’t like to be reminded of our age. I’m fifty-two, and I don’t need another solicitation from AARP to join. I don’t need any more gray hair, and I don’t need more nose and ear hair, but it seems that is what is destined for the future. I don’t want to be asked if I want the senior discount, and even worse, I don’t plan on retiring. Ever. There are a couple of reasons. I don’t expect Social Security or even my pensions to be around when I’m old enough to collect them. I know my wife won’t let me retire, and to tell the truth, I don’t think I’ll let myself retire either. The Social Security promise was made when hardly anyone lived to be 65. Now almost all of us will make it. What does that mean? As there are more of us retirees, it will take more people working to support us since none of the money is actually saved for us anywhere. Back in the fifty’s, 16 people paid for one person’s retirement. Now it’s down to about 3.3 workers paying for one person. Soon it might be 2 people working to pay my retirement. I hope those two people are making lots of money. I feel the same way about my pension. It’s much too tempting for fat cats to run off with that accumulated money. Call me a pessimist about retirement, but it really doesn’t bother me. I’ll just keeping working. My wife will make sure of that. I have been informed she wants to be living in the future in the “manner to which she has become accustomed”. This doesn’t really leave much room in my future for retiring on a reduced income. I know that when we are home on the weekends I spend a lot more than I do when I am working. Here’s an example from last Saturday. I had an audition and invited my wife to go along to the big city. I thought maybe we could have lunch. The audition took so long she called the daughter who lives there, and invited her to come eat with us. Her friend was also invited. That was a seventy-five dollar meal. Then mom became worried our daughter is a starving student, so we then made a trip to the grocery store. Sixty-eight dollars. We had to get gas for the car, and stop at that excellent bakery on the way home. Thirty more dollars. I’m not brave enough to total the cost. When I spend the day at work, I might spend a couple of bucks for gas, a couple for breakfast and a couple more for lunch. I might even earn more money than I spend. At least that’s the way it’s supposed to work. But when we are out and about, the money disappears. Retirement would only be a daily drain on the cash. Finally, I really don’t want to retire. I really do hope to be able to do the things I do now until they carry me out of the room. I teach, I act, I write, and generally perform every day of my life. Why would I want to stop? I know I will slow down, and I might not be able to do all the things I “used ta could”, but I am amazed at how productive my life has become. I have heard that your fifty’s and sixty’s are supposed to be your most productive years. So far, well, at least two years in, I do believe I am the most productive I’ve ever been. At least I feel like I’m working harder than I ever have before. I feel kind of like that rat on the treadmill. The only problem is the treadmill seems to trail forever behind me, and I’m falling behind a couple of inches every day. I wonder what happens when I fall off the end? So I probably won’t retire. I really don’t want to, but we don’t always get what we want. Between financial demands and the need for attention, I think I could do this for another fifty-two years. Well, maybe just fifty.

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Floor It

Floor It

One of the reasons I believe we live in abundance is I look around and see so many wonderful things in this world. Even the mundane things we take for granted everyday are miracles compared with only 100 years ago. I thought about this as I was driving with dozens of other people on one of our modern freeways. Someone thought most of us were going to slow, and as he zoomed past me I marveled at the fact something like this was even possible. We live in a society where affordable and dependable transportation is available to nearly every one who needs it. Where I live a car is almost a necessity, but there is also public transportation available for those who need to get from here to there. We even have “on demand” transportation for those people who may not be able to use a bus or a train. But the point is, we can get from A to B and make a living, make a purchase, or visit those far away. When you thing about it, a car shouldn’t really be necessary for someone to work, but out here in the wide open spaces, there is definitely a need for many people. For example, my work involves driving twenty miles south. There is a bus which could get me there, but twice a week I also need to travel north thirty miles for one of my part-time jobs. Once a week I make a trip here to the radio station, and there really isn’t public transportation available on the weekend from where I live to where the radio station is. So for the purposes of everything I do, some kind of dependable transportation is a necessity. Multiply that by the thousands of people who work every day, and there will also be a need for roads and ways to keep all of us crazy drivers safe. I really don’t think it will change any time soon, but I am looking forward to the cars that climb up the sides of buildings like in Minority Report. The cars drive themselves and with the help of computer controls, the traffic should be much better. But there is something to be said for being caught in a traffic jam. When the freeway turns into a parking lot, I like looking around and trying to notice the other people, cars, and sights I usually drive past as fast as I can go. It really makes you appreciate the days when there isn’t a traffic jam and everything is going great. Commerce also drives what we drive. If you think about all of the business which is done and is centered around the flights of fancy we take in our cars and trucks, it is an amazing array of products and services never available to anyone in the past in the quantity and quality we enjoy today. A visitor from 1776 would be amazed to know today I travelled sixty miles north, audition for a movie, went to a fine restaurant, shopped at a well supplied grocery store and also stopped and buy some really excellent cookies before driving sixty miles south back to my home. In the day of the horse and buggy, thirty miles in an entire day would be a very good day of travelling indeed. And to get a delicious chicken dinner with mashed potatoes and asparagus, plus buy fresh oranges, yogurt, Pepsi – which I don’t think they would appreciate like I do – canned chili, a dozen frozen pre-prepared meals, and a big bag of pancake mix; well, I just don’t think they would believe you. I don’t think I would even mention the excellent bakery we also stopped at to get some delicious éclairs and roles. I haven’t mentioned all the other excellent stores and entertainment opportunities we drove past and could have patronized. But think about this. My family lives an hour away; my in-laws are two hours away. In one day, we can drive, visit and return home. Two hundred years ago, visiting my relatives could have taken up to a week. As the world has become smaller and faster, it’s true the demands on our time have increased. More is expected of us, but we are also able to do more. I can’t wait for what the future brings. I know we will continue to improve the quality of life for everyone. I just can’t imagine what form it will take. The abundance we enjoy is just a taste of what things may be. I hope you have the opportunity to enjoy all the wonderful things happening in this world today. As we pay attention and give thanks for all that we enjoy, I think you may realize what a great life you have.

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It's Hot in Texas

It’s Hot In Texas

As much as I love flying, there are times when it’s not so much fun. I don’t like standing in lines, and security is usually a hassle, too. I hope I never get as relaxed as the businessman I first flew next to. He was asleep before the plane took off, and woke up after we landed. One time I was on a business trip to Dallas, and it was the middle of a long hot summer. I really liked the time I spent in Texas. The people were friendly, and except for the heat, it was a nice place. I also visited Houston. But by then I already knew how hot Texas could be. My wife and I went to MD Anderson for some of her cancer treatments. The doctor we were seeing in Houston said to us, “Welcome to the oven.” It really did feel like we were sitting in an oven. But there were some nice things about Houston, like the Miller Outdoor Theatre. They were offering a free show on one of the nights we were there, and so we went to the park to watch “Chorus Line”. Apparently, it was the same production which had just been on Broadway, so we were really excited. So we watched a really excellent show and I sat dripping in the heat. I was really excited for the night to come so things would cool off. Apparently, this is not something which happens in Houston. The sun went down. The moon came up. I kept waiting for the cool evening breezes to blow in. But it stayed just as hot as when it was daytime. I had never experienced anything like that before, and now when people say it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity, I think I know what they mean. It was eleven o’clock at night when the show ended, and it was just as hot then as when the show had begun. But it was a really good show, and it was free. I like Houston, but I wouldn’t want to live there. I live in one of the driest states, and we have very low humidity. So when it is 105 degrees, it still doesn’t feel like you are in an oven. I work outside most of the summer, and while it may be hot, there usually is a breeze. And at night, it cools down. People who come here from places like Texas have been heard to declare, “Hey, the shade here works!” I guess that means where they are from, it’s just as hot in the shade as in the sun. Or it’s just as hot during the summer night as during the day. Let’s just say I like my nights cooler than my days, and I like shade that works. What I learned in Dallas the first time I was in Texas is sometimes it is too hot to fly. I don’t think it affects the plane, but I found out if the runway is made of asphalt and it’s 110 degrees outside, the runway may be too soft for the plane to take off. It is not too hot for the passengers to stay on the plane. That’s right. We weren’t allowed off the plane. So it’s 110 outside, and who knows how hot it was inside that aluminum tube. We sat there sweltering and sweating. I adjusted the little fans above me, but they were only blowing more hot air onto us. Apparently, the cold air which usually comes from those vents is cold because the plane is high up in the cold air. I can’t remember how long we sat in the plane waiting for the runway to cool off enough not to melt under us as we took off. It’s one of those Catch 22 situations. You want the plane to take off so you can stop dripping with sweat, but you also want the plane to be able to take off and not get glued to the tarmac by melting asphalt. Do I want to die from heat exhaustion, or do I want to die in a fiery plane crash? This was more than 20 years ago, and I can still feel the hot, sticky cabin we were sitting in. So I decided to check and see how things were going in Texas this last summer. Let’s talk about San Antonio, which I have never visited, and don’t think I want to see anytime soon, especially in the summer. Last year, the temperature in San Antonio was over 100 degrees. For several days. In fact, for 57 days. Multiplied out, that’s 5700 degrees. The same temperature as an acetylene torch. Let’s just say it was a record-breaking summer for San Antonio. I’ll bet the shade doesn’t work there either.

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Windsurfing

Windsurfing

I used to hate the wind. When I was a kid, riding uphill against the wind was the worst thing ever. But now, I pay attention and hope for wind. Not a huge wind, but I am especially glad when there is just enough wind. Just enough wind for what?

Well, I have been known to shop around surplus sales for good deals, and a few years ago I saw a really interesting auction for something at the local air force base. I won the auction, and went to pick up my prize. I had won a windsurfer.

About 40 years ago, someone had the brilliant idea of combining a surfboard and a sailboat. You balance on the surfboard, hold the sail and let the wind drag you along. Once you learn to tack, or sail against the wind, you can go back and forth to just about anywhere you want. It took me a few times to get how to windsurf, since all I could do for a while is let the wind blow me wherever it wanted to. But it really has turned into a fun hobby.

It has been an interesting transition to go from hating the wind to looking forward to a nice breeze. Sometimes I leave work and feel that slight movement of air and try to decide if I have enough time before sunset to get some windsurfing in. I need to be careful, because sometimes I am not so smart.

One day in late October, summer returned and the temperature was in the 80’s. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon on a Monday night, and when I left work there was a perfect breeze and a couple of hours of light left in the day. I rushed home and loaded the board and sail onto the top of my car and hurried to the sandy beach where I usually launched. The water was on the cool side, but the wind was perfect. I felt like I could sail straight across the lake and back in record time, so I leaned into the wind and took off.

If you are tacking against the wind, you can go faster than the wind is blowing. This is because you are sliding sideways in the water. I don’t think I had ever gone as fast as I did that afternoon, and pretty soon, I was about halfway across the lake. I had traveled about 4 miles or more, and the sun was getting low. That’s when the wind stopped.

Without wind, a windsurfer is pretty much dead in the water. You can sit on the board and paddle a little, but you won’t get very far. The sun went down. It started to get colder, and I was wearing a swimsuit. The moon went down. It was almost pitch black, and I could see the water a few yards around me. I fell in the water a few times, and it was starting to get really cold. I figured I better not fall in again, because I didn’t think I would be able to stay warm enough to last the night. I sat on the edge of the board and paddled a bit, but I wasn’t going anywhere.

Someone had lit a bonfire pretty close to where I was parked on the beach. I knew I could use it as a reference point if the wind came back up. About one o’clock in the morning, the wind came back. I had been on the lake for about eight hours now, and there were times I was ready to give up. But with the wind blowing me back toward the fire, it didn’t take too long to land back on the beach. It was so dark I couldn’t see where my Jeep was parked. I guessed the wrong direction and walked about a mile on the beach until I found the fence that told me I had gone the wrong way. Meantime, the bonfire partiers were doing some target practice. I tried to stay calm, and hoped I wouldn’t end up shot instead of stuck on the lake. When I reached the board again, I continued about 100 feet and there was the car. I decided to carry the board to the car and stay quiet. When I was ready, I started up the car and went home. Nobody shot me.

I got home at two o’clock in the morning. No one had seen my note about going windsurfing, and since I am often gone nights, everyone was sound asleep. I was glad no one had called search and rescue. I went to work the next day after a couple of hours of sleep. I didn’t windsurf again until the next summer. That’s probably a good thing.

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His First Flight by Liam O'Flaherty

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His First Flight

Liam O’Flaherty

The young seagull was alone in his ledge. His two brothers and his sister had already flown away the day before. He had been afraid to fly with them. Somehow when he had taken a little run forward to the brink of the ledge and attempted to flap his wings he became afraid. The great expanse of sea stretched down beneath, and it was such a long way down -- miles down. He felt certain that his wings would never support him, so he bent his head and ran away back to the little hole under the ledge where he slept at night.

Even when each of his brothers and his little sister, whose wings were far shorter than his own, ran to the brink, flapped their wings, and flew away, he failed to muster up courage to take that plunge which appeared to him so desperate. His father and mother had come around calling to him shrilly, scolding him, threatening to let him starve on his ledge unless he flew away. But for the life of him he could not move.

That was twenty-four hours ago. Since then nobody had come near him. The day before, all day long, he had watched his parents flying about with his brothers and sister, perfecting them in the art of flight, teaching them how to skim the waves and how to dive for fish. He had, in fact, seen his older brother catch his first herring and devour it, standing on a rock, while his parents circled around raising a proud cackle. And all the morning the whole family had walked about on the big plateau midway down the opposite cliff, laughing at his cowardice.

The sun was now ascending the sky, blazing warmly on his ledge that faced south. He felt the heat because he had not eaten since the previous nightfall. Then he had found a dried piece of mackerel’s tail at the far end of his ledge. Now there was not a single scrap of food left. He had searched every inch, rooting among the rough, dirt-caked straw nest where he and his brothers and sister had been hatched. He even gnawed at the dried pieces of eggshell. It was like eating part of himself.

He had then trotted back and forth from one end of the ledge to the other, his long gray legs stepping daintily, trying to find some means of reaching his parents without having to fly. But on each side of him the ledge ended in a sheer fall of precipice, with the sea beneath. And between him and his parents there was a deep, wide crack.

Surely he could reach them without flying if he could only move northwards along the cliff face? But then on what could he walk? There was no ledge, and he was not a fly. And above him he could see nothing. The precipice was sheer, and the top of it was perhaps farther away than the sea beneath him.

He stepped slowly out to the brink of the ledge, and, standing on one leg with the other leg hidden under his wing, he closed one eye, then the other, and pretended to be falling asleep. Still they took no notice of him. He saw his two brothers and his sister lying on the plateau dozing, with their heads sunk into their necks. His father was preening the feathers on his white back. Only his mother was looking at him.

She was standing on a little high hump on the plateau, her white breast thrust forward. Now and again she tore at a piece of fish that lay at her feet, and then scraped each side of her beak on the rock. The sight of the food maddened him. How he loved to tear food that way, scraping his beak now and again to whet it! He uttered a low cackle. His mother cackled too, and looked over at him.

Ga, ga, ga, he cried, begging her to bring him over some food. Gawl-ool-ah, she screamed back mockingly. But he kept calling plaintively, and after a minute or so he uttered a joyful scream. His mother had picked up a piece of the fish and was flying across to him with it. He leaned out eagerly, tapping the rock with his feet, trying to get nearer to her as she flew across. But when she was just opposite to him, abreast of the ledge, she halted, her legs hanging limp, her wings motionless, the piece of fish in her beak almost within reach of his beak.

He waited a moment in surprise, wondering why she did not come nearer, and then maddened by hunger, he dived at the fish. With a loud scream he fell outwards and downwards into space. His mother had swooped upwards. As he passed beneath her he heard the swish of her wings.

Then a monstrous terror seized him and his heart stood still. He could hear nothing. But it only lasted a moment. The next moment he felt his wings spread outwards. The wind rushed against his breast feathers, then under his stomach and against his wings. He could feel the tips of his wings cutting through the air. He was not falling headlong now. He was soaring gradually downwards and outwards. He was no longer afraid. He just felt a bit dizzy. Then he flapped his wings once and he soared upwards.

He uttered a joyous scream and flapped them again. He soared higher. He raised his breast and banked against the wind. Ga, ga, ga. Ga, ga, ga. Gawl-ool-ah. His mother swooped past him, her wings making a loud noise. He answered-her with another scream Then his father flew over him screaming. The he saw his two brothers and sister flying around him, soaring and diving.

Then he completely forgot that he had not always been able to fly, and commenced himself to dive and soar, shrieking shrilly.

He was near the sea now, flying straight over it, facing out over the ocean. He saw a vast green sea beneath him, with little ridges moving over it, - anti he turned his beak sideways and crowed amusedly. His parents and his brothers and sister had landed on this green floor in front of him. They were beckoning to him, calling shrilly. He dropped his legs to stand on the green sea. His legs sank into it. He screamed with fright and attempted to rise again, flapping his wings. But he was tired and weak with hunger and he could not rise, exhausted by the strange exercise. His feet sank into the green sea, and then his belly touched it and he sank no farther.

He was floating on it. And around him his family was screaming, praising him, and their beaks were offering him scraps of dog-fish.

He had made his first flight.

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Flight to the Ground

Flight to the Ground

Man has been fascinated by flight since the beginning of time. Leonardo da Vinci imagined the helicopter, and proposed a model for a hang-glider. As I consider the airplanes flying through the air, I wondered about how much they weigh. A Boeing 737 weighs 83 thousand pounds, but has a take-off weight ability to carry 154 thousand pounds. It carries 6800 gallons of fuel. The plane is 110 feet long, and 117 feet wide. One hundred and thirty-seven people can fly on the on a 737.

The specifications seem like empty numbers, but when I see thousands of pounds of people, metal and jet fuel streaking across the sky, it simply amazes me. I don’t know the engineering and design that gets us from a short flight at Kitty Hawk to a daily routine where thousands of planes land every day without incident. Flying is an exciting, exhilarating adventure, unless you are flying so much it becomes mundane. I was sitting next to a businessman on my first flight, and he was asleep before the flight took off. I couldn’t believe how beautiful it was to fly through the clouds, and I took dozens of pictures through the small side window. The businessman slept the entire flight.

I like flying so much I’ve spent a good deal of my time flying through the air to the ground, without the plane. One time I flew backwards from a six-foot wooden ladder. I was painting the ceiling in the carport, which has since been made into a garage. But standing at the top of the ladder is never a good idea, and as I held the paint cup in my right hand and painted with my left, my wife came home and told me how good I was doing. As I wobbled slightly, the ladder flew away from my feet. I started to fall backwards, with my feet staying up and my head started down, and as I performed a backward somersault, I grasped the paint cup firmly. I did not let go of that cup. I was determined to hold it as I fell. This means paint flew from the cup in a perfect circle around me, across the roof, across my car which was parked behind me, and on the concrete. A beautiful white circle described the path of my perfectly executed backward somersault. There was even a white line of paint on my wife. She was worried about me, of course, but since I was okay, she was not very happy when I told her she needed to go wash the latex paint from her clothes.

I learned how to do back-flips by practicing on a rubber inner-tube. I would bounce up and try to spin backwards, usually landing on my head. But since I’m pretty hard-headed anyway, I eventually learned how to do it. So when I fell off the ladder, those old instincts kicked in, and I didn’t get hurt. The same thing happened one day at school. I was walking on the stage, and just behind me was a set of five or six stairs. As I walked backward, I went backward down the stairs, and did another back-flip. Students were standing on the stage in front of me and saw me tumble backwards. They were momentarily concerned until I popped up from the floor and declared I was all right. It really is a strange kind of talent, but it probably has saved some broken bones. But I wouldn’t recommend this course of training for anyone else.

I’ve also flown to the ground from the top of a fifteen foot ladder. Again, the ladder flew away from me since it was leaning on a grape arbor which decided to collapse. I fell to the ground this time without doing a somersault, this time landing flat on my back. Amazingly no serious injury was done, except to my pride. I was painting again, and this time I painted the side of the house green. I went into the house, took some ibuprofen and laid down to rest.

I even had a dream about the next time I flew through the air. I wanted to put more Christmas lights on the walnut tree in the front yard. I had a dream I fell out of the tree while putting up lights, and while I’m not a great believer in dreams as prognostication, I should have paid attention. Maybe I was just spooked, but it happened just as I had dreamed it. I fell and broke the fibula in my right leg. It took three x-rays and about six hours in the emergency room, and the doctor confirmed I had a hairline fracture. He suggested I go home and take some ibuprofen. I still like to fly.

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Airport Excitement

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Airport Excitement

I don’t think Jesse had ever been on a plane before. He didn’t tell me this, but I wonder why he endangered our trip. I was his chaperone, and we were going to the National Debate Tournament. We were on our way to a week in Michigan, and I hoped to visit the Mall of America.

Well, if you have never been, you should try to get theresomeday. It's an incredible two story humongous mall, with a roller coasterinside. That’s right. There's a roller coaster inside the mall. Back then ithad Snoopy, Charlie Brown, Peanuts theme; it probably still does. But I almostmissed it all of it because of Jesse.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Jesse is one of my favorite studentsof all time. He was fun to be around, and he was also a very talented student.But there are some things you just don’t say at the airport. This was back inthe day before 9/11, but airport security has always been tough, especiallywhen you try to joke with the ticketing agent.

I understand the need for security, and the most recentaddition is going to be full body scans. This means there is a machine whichwill show the outline of your body. The security guard will be able to see anyexplosives attached to your person. I’m guessing they will also be able to seeany enhancements, or additions, or padding you may be carrying. It doesn’tbother me, but I can see why it might bother some women. I wouldn’t want to bescanned, but I guess if we are going to fly, we will all be scanned. I heardrecently one hundred and fifty body scan machines have been ordered for theUnited States.

I don’t even like to be weighed at the doctor’s office. Forsome reason, their scale always makes me heavier than the home scale. I don’t reallyweigh myself that much, but I also don’t want to have one of those calipertests, because I know my body fat is higher than it should be. But that’sbecause I like being fat. Well, I was skinny until after college, and being askinny guy is really a pain. So when I gained about fifty pounds in mytwenties, I was ecstatic. Again, I like being fat. Well, a little fat; notmorbidly obese, but I do have a spare tire. I carry my spare food with me.

I could be healthier, but I have run 3 marathons at a very,very slow speed. There were some parts of the race where I’m sure I was theonly one who knew I was running. It probably looked more like a hurry-up shuffle,but sometimes after twenty-six point two miles, how else is a fat guy supposedto look?

Jesse and I had big plans for this tournament. I had made abunch of t-shirts that really weren’t authorized for sale at the tournament. Iwanted to use the sale of the shirts to buy tickets to some shows that wereplaying while we were there. I set up a table; I sold the t-shirts, the moneywas rolling in. That is, until the guy who was in charge of the tournamentconfronted me and asked who had authorized me to sell this stuff. He wassatisfied with the one hundred dollars I gave him, and I have a sneakingsuspicion he didn’t tell anyone else about our little transaction, either.

The good news is we did get to see the shows, the Mall ofAmerica and even went to Planet Hollywood when there was still one there. Idon’t think there's a Planet Hollywood there now.

What does all this have to do with what Jesse said at theairport?

Well, I had arranged for these plane tickets in advance, andsince he was 18 by then, he was also travelling as an adult. Jesse has a reallygood sense of humor, and he liked to make people laugh. I looked at the ticketagent and decided this was a man who really didn’t like to laugh, and probably didn’tlike it when other people laughed. He had those permanently etched frowns yousee on people who have been at a job they really don’t like, for more yearsthan anyone cares to know.

So when Jesse turned to me and said, loud enough for all tohear, “I’m glad I didn’t bring the gun,” I frowned. The ticket agent frowned,making deeper wrinkles. There was a long pause. I envisioned men trying tointerview us in a small room while our plane left without us.

The ticketing agent asked if I was Jesse’s chaperone. I saidhe was technically a former student who was eighteen and now was travelling asan adult. The agent changed Jesse’s ticket to make me his guardian. We did makeour flight.

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Airport Excitement

Defender

Defender

The word champion can also be a verb, as in championing a cause, something you defend or stand up for. What will you champion this year? I will continue to champion the underdog, especially when I know there is unrecognized potential.

Most of us champion one cause or another. Some of us are more vocal or strident in our support for our special cause, while many of us silently support things others may never suspect. While championing a cause is sometimes passed down in a family, most of the time we develop our pet projects as we make our journey through life, observing inequalities and injustice we need to right.

Sometimes we defend those who aren’t able to defend themselves, and this kind of championing usually gets me into trouble. I step into many situations I should probably stay out of, and my wife usually advises me to stop; she’s usually right. We were in New York a couple of years ago, and when she stopped to photograph an amazing billboard, it pushed the crazy lady on the street to the limit.

As a New Yorker, she had probably had it with tourists stopping in the middle of the street to take photographs while she was on her way to her personality improvement class. She lost it, and started shouting at my wife. “Go home”, she demanded, and for some reason, I started yelling right back. “No, you go home”, I said, which was stupid, because she probably lived in New York. She yelled “Shut up”, and with all of the creativity I could muster, I shouted back, “No, you shut up.” Pretty original.

She started mumbling something, and I refused to back down. By this time a crowd had gathered, and was intently watching the two New York crazies. Well, I did my best even though I was from Utah. I shouted something like “Go away, nobody is listening to you,” which wasn’t really true, but again, when you are shouting at someone on the street, no one expects you to be brilliant.

By this time my wife had intervened, and wanted me to move along. It was good advice. But defending my wife isn’t the only person I like to defend. When I first became a teacher, I was amazed at the lack of faith most parents have in their own children. I found out I had to be the defender, and help them understand the potential of their own kids.

I need to explain about the classes I teach. At this time it was a Basic English class, and it wasn’t too hard to pass my class. I had several special needs students, who were excused from doing some of the work, but many of them were able to complete assignments as well as regular students.

One particular student was missing several assignments, and I was having a parent conference with her father. We discussed the assignments she was missing, and the fact that her grade at that time was an “F”. I was a brand new teacher, not used to the pessimism of some parents. I was flabbergasted when he announced, in front of her, that she was “too stupid to be in my class”. He continued by explaining how she couldn’t do this kind of work, and that is was his opinion she needed another class.

To say I was stunned is an understatement, and for a moment I was speechless.

But then I smiled at my student and turned to defend her against the onslaught of her father. I told him she was doing very well on the other assignments she had completed. I also told him if she made up the missing work, she would pass the class. I even assured him she would probably get an “A” or a “B”. He was momentarily stunned, but then began to insist there was no way she could succeed. I calmly and coolly insisted I had faith in her, and would make sure she made up the work. I stood to rise, and left the conference.

It was an amazing, dumbfounding, incredible thing to hear a parent call their own child “stupid”. I’m not the world’s best parent, but I don’t think I ever did that. If I did, I apologize. But my resolution to make sure this student passed my class was steeled. Maybe that was the plan, but I doubt it. He truly believed his daughter was too stupid to do the work, even after I assured him her other work was fine.

Again, my classes aren’t the world’s toughest, but my students learn. What she learned is I was her champion when no one else believed in her, and when she got a “B” in the class, no one was happier than me.

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Real Champions

Real Champions

Can’t we all be champions? Doesn’t everyone who plays deserve a trophy? Trying to define what a champion is led me to a quote by John Madden:

“The only yardstick for success our society has is being a champion. No one remembers anything else. “

That’s not a bad measurement. It still doesn’t tell me who a champion is. If you remember Lou Ferrigno, he was the hulk on the TV series “The Incredible Hulk”. He said:

“To be a champion you must act like one, act like a champion. “

Acting like a champion I understand. But, I know a lot of people who act like champions, but that still doesn’t give us a measurement or definition. If you follow the women’s golf, you probably know who Patty Berg is, and I like her definition. she said:

“What does it take to be a champion? Desire, dedication, determination, concentration and the will to win.“

I guess champions really don’t have to be world heavyweight boxers, athletes, or race car drivers. A champion really can be you or me, especially if we have enough desire, dedication, determination and concentration. We need the will to win.

Then I do know some champions. One of my champions is Jerry Elison, who taught at Orem high School for over 40 years. Then he returned part-time. He continues to inspire me though he is in his 80’s, and he doesn’t show any signs of slowing down. You probably know someone like Mr. E.

I really do think many people are champions, especially those who continue to do their work quietly without fanfare, but have the will to win. They have the desire, the dedication, determination and concentration champions exhibit.

Even though I think of Newman from “The Jerry Seinfeld” show, I think the mail carriers are champions. I think teachers, doctors, emergency personnel, fire fighters, and police are champions. They serve with desire, dedication, determination and concentration. They have the will to win. But then, so do criminals.

In my motivational presentation, “B positive – more than a blood type”, I like to encourage people to be their best selves. In the phrase “My Best Self”, I stress that the “M” in “My Best Self” represents “Making a Positive Contribution”. It used to be “Makes a Difference”. But criminals can make a difference, especially if they are stealing your wallet. Earl Nightengale used this same justification to stress our efforts in this life should be positive, and contribute to the good in the world. I think that should be added to our definition of a champion.

This may be why the soccer philosophy may have spread in the world. The “everyone gets a trophy” idea really isn’t so bad. Most people really do their best. That includes workers, bosses, entrepreneurs, consumers, and probably even you. If you are doing your best, with desire, dedication, determination, and concentration, you may be a champion. If you have the will to succeed, you may be a champion.

If you are doing your job, providing for your family, caring for children; if you are making a positive contribution in this world, you probably are a champion. Think about a single divorced mother who has to go back to work to support her family. There are hours dedicated to work, to family, to sleep. Where two parents were supposed to provide a nurturing environment, now there is one. What better definition of a champion can we find?

But even two parents with children are heroes in my book. In fact, there are so many discouraging factors in the world today that anyone; mother, father, sister, brother, single, married, divorced, any race, creed, anywhere in the wide world; anyone who survives from day to day without major depression is a hero. There are so many reasons to lose faith, to be discouraged, to give up hope. But somehow, most people find a way to get out of bed in the morning and face another day. Abundance may be the reason. There is so much to celebrate, if we can just past all the garbage.

This poem is called Champion. It may describe you.

The average runner runs

until the breath in him is gone,

But the champion has the iron will

that makes him carry on.

For the rest the average runner begs

when limp his muscles grow,

But the champion runs on leaden legs,

his courage makes him go.

The average man's complacent

when he's done his best to score,

But the champion does his best,

and then he does a little more.

We weren’t given this world. We have created it every day we have been alive, and every person makes the world. One less, and it’s not the world we know. What can we do to champion a better tomorrow?

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Foot Race

Foot Race

I need to get running again, since I’m almost positive I’ll be running the St. George Marathon this October. I’ve tried to enter the race the past two years, and they have a 3 times and you’re in rule. I didn’t used to like jogging, but I’ve learned it is a wonderful way to exercise and helps me to focus on what really needs to be done during the next few days. My wife used to jog with me, and she still stays in shape by dancing. The last race we ran together was the Art City Days race, which is usually held in early June. This has been more than 20 years ago, but I still remember who won the race.

This was back when the race used to follow the parade route. It was fun since people were waiting for the parade and people from town would cheer you on. I like to enter this race because it is early in the summer, and it’s a great way for me to start my marathon training. There does seem to be a race every weekend somewhere in the county, so that means I can run at least once during the week. If I run every race during the weekends of the summer, and do some distance work, it really does get me ready for the big one.

I had always wanted my wife to run a race with me, and she agreed to run this one time. I was super excited, and hoped this would be a way for us to keep in shape. So when we left the starting line, she sidled up to me and said, “Would you please run with me? I don’t want to run by myself.”

What devoted husband could resist a plea like that? I throw myself on the mercy of the court. There really are only two choices. I could run at my usual pace, which was faster than she was running. I had been in many races by this time. She was running her first. If I ran with her, then I would be running at a much slower pace than usual, but then she would be running alone. Case closed.

We trotted along together at a comfortable pace, and all along the way we saw friends and neighbors. We waved and felt very good about the exercise we were getting, and everything was right with the world.

Since this is the old race route, the end of the race was also the end of the parade, just down from our house. It ended at the old Pizza Hut, which is now an insurance firm. We were literally steps from the finish line when I realized something was about to happen.

You need to know my wife comes from a very competitive family. Her dad was a football, swimming and track coach. Let’s just say they don’t like to lose. It’s a nice way to say it, and I won’t have to sleep on the couch if I stay nice.

Well, there we are, just yards from the finish line, and there is a little boy running in front of my wife, and I am running just behind her. I want to run ahead and beat her to the finish line, but I have to do some quick mental calculations. Will it make her mad if I beat her? I speed up a bit to test the waters. Remember, she isn’t a regular runner. She speeds up.

The gauntlet has been thrown. I sped up and tried to sprint ahead. It really is a sad picture if you think about it. A wife and husband, who every other day of the year will support each other in sickness and in health, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, to love and to cherish, unless they are entered in the same foot race and inches from the finish line.

Unfortunately, she was just too fast for me. She sprinted ahead, but still let the little boy beat her. But not her husband.

Now don’t misunderstand. We weren’t racing for first place. We weren’t going to be crowned the champions of the Art City 5K. I don’t think we were even going to place in our respective divisions. They have different categories for age and gender, for which I am very grateful. I have placed as high as second when there have only been two forty-year old males in my category.

And on this day, I would finish 2nd place in my family. My wife has forever after been able to claim she is the fastest runner in our family. She sped across the finish line and announced her retirement from foot races. To this day she has never run another race.

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