Desperate For A Hero

          As a child I can remember playing with little plastic cowboys and Indians (politically incorrect, I know) with horses and wagons or army soldiers in lines to do battle to defend the boundaries of my bed room. Today’s characters have changed. One just needs to take a look at Saturday morning programming or the hand-held games that have taken the place of the plastic figures. But there is one fact that has remained the same. If you remember, there was always one white horse and the figure riding that horse was going to save the world. (With all due respect, check out the pictures of General Washington, sitting high upon his white steed and if you read 1776 you will understand why.

          We have become a society obsessed with ‘hero’s, someone riding on to the world scene and solving all of the problems. From the young boy or girl dreaming of becoming a prince or princess to the video characters armed with weapons set to destroy the enemy, our hope is that someone will come to our rescue. But in real life, it doesn’t always happen.

         Sports figures and politicians, for example, are often admired because of wealth and power yet they continue to disappoint us because of their fallibilities. People who seek to gain our trust by making promises that are soon broken only add to a world of distrust and skepticism. And yet, we are as much at fault because of our desire for the hero, someone who will step in and save us.

         Recent elections illustrate my point. I do believe most candidates are very nice peo[le and will do their best to represent the people who elected him. At this point, I don’t care what political party they represent, but I encourage you to study the sound bits that followed from foes and adversaries. My hope and fear, that one person will soon change the political world!

              I went looking.  How does one become a ‘hero? I went searching for a school or college program where someone could get a degree in heroism, but found none. Maybe the USC football program! I tried to find some books or magazines or computer software that might help. Nothing. I found some crazy pictures though! Oh my!

          I find it interesting that the words ‘hero and ‘hope’ are often used in the same sentence and context. Webster defines hope as “what is wanted” and defines hero as someone “who is admired for their courage.” I’ll let you draw your own conclusion.

          At some time in our lives I believe we have all had dreams about being a hero in someone’s life, whether a family member, a friend or maybe something much larger like the country. Most who are ‘accused’ of being a hero deny it. They just stepped in and did the right thing. Perhaps that is what it is all about.

          Excuse me while I go get fresh hay for my white horse.

How looking back maybe just got easier...

   My first car was a four door 1964 Plymouth Valiant. It was light blue with big old white wall tires. I don't remember too much else about the car, only that power windows had not been invented yet and that if I went through a puddle of water, the car would stop. It seems as though there was a design flaw, that being the placement of the alternator in the engine was near the bottom of the engine block, too close to the road and when it got wet, the car would shut down. OK. Before someone else says it...it was a fair weather car.

   And who can forget that a gallon of gas was just 31 cents.

   Despite the little quirks, the car got me back and forth to college in West Virginia for several years, out on dates in Fair Lawn, N.J and most of the time, on time to summer jobs, except when it was raining of course. It served its purpose.

   Fast forward. I recently bought a new car, at least new to me. It is just a bit over a year old with low mileage and is nothing like that 1964 blue Valiant. Yes, it has power windows and I don't think it will stop running in the rain. Tucked somewhere inside the radio, I guess, is something called 'Bluetooth' that allows me to talk on my cell phone without it leaving my pocket. I don't even have to dial a number. I push a little green button on the steering wheel and this voice asks me what number I want to call. Cool!

   Heated seats are nice, especially in colder climates and rear hatches on SUV's that pop open with the touch of the key are great when your arms are full of grocery bags. But what I really like is the backup camera.

   Now I am not getting any younger and one of the things I am finding is that my mobility is not quite what it use to be. Sure. I can still swing a golf club or throw a tennis ball for the dog. I can still look in the rear view mirror or turn my head to the left or right when I am ready to back the car out of the garage or from one of those tiny parking spaces at the mall. But what I have found is that the backup camera really does help, with an addition view, although it does take a bit of getting use to.

   Put the car in 'R' and a picture immediately appears on a screen in the dashboard. Now, the first time I did this, the car salesperson was standing immediately behind the car, his face just inches away from the camera. He laughed and I screamed. He is pretty scary to look at, even in the camera.

   But after some practice, the camera has become a helpful driving tool. In the garage, I start the car, shift it into reverse, after I have opened the garage door of course, and I get a full picture of my driveway and the neighbor’s house across the street. I sure won't back into his house now, not that I ever did.

   With some degree of ease and feeling a bit more aware of those things going on around me, I now slip in and out of parking places at the grocery store, the local Dunkin Donuts and Walmart. I still adjust the rear view mirror, and look behind me to the left and the right before stepping on the gas, but the camera does add another level of safety.

   There have been a lot of changes in cars and trucks since my first 1964 Plymouth Valiant. Power window, heated seats, backup cameras are only a few of the innovations designed to make the journey through life a bit easier, more comfortable and safer.

   We know that sometimes when we drive, we need to backup in order to move forward and get to where we want to go. Life in general is like that also. That backup camera inside the car gives us not only a picture of where we have been, but also where we need to go before moving forward.

   The same holds true for life outside the car. While we don't have our own electronic backup camera, we probably have something just as good. I think we call that 'life's experiences', lessons and memories. It may not be quite like what we see on the screen of the backup camera on the dashboard of the car, the things we remember can often remind us of what's behind us, where we have been and where we are may be headed.

   And as for that new backup camera? Already I wonder how I have managed to get along without it for so long. Now how did that shopping cart get there?

All tied up in knots...

   Those of you following some of my recent blogs may be seeing somewhat of a trend over the past several weeks. It's clean up and clean out time. Nothing is off limits. The tool shed, the garage, some area of the basement and even the storage compartments in the cars have been subject to the cleanup.

   At the bottom of the stairs to the basement is an old cedar trunk, somewhat of a family heirloom, and there was more piled on top of the trunk rather than stored inside. But with the top now free from clutter, why not take a peek inside? Maybe if the trunk were empty, it too could go to the auction.

   Looking inside, the trunk was almost empty. There were a few old drawings done by the kids when the were in school, some wedding and birth announcements from friends and family and.....a whole bunch of neckties, maybe 20 if not more!

   Most jobs and positions I held throughout my working career required that I wear a sport coat or a suit along with a necktie. Now you have to remember that I am coming from a different generation, where the dress for work was a bit more formal, where the dress code requirements were spelled out very precisely and were strictly enforced. By whom...you may ask? The dress code police, of course.

   It was a suit, a starched or neatly ironed white shirt and a 'conservative looking' necktie, nothing flashing with outlandish patterns or colors that could serve as a distraction. Muted stripes were always the ties of choice.

   Over the years it just became very natural to “dress up” each day and many of our generation continued the practice of a more formal work attire even though the dress code expectations became a bit more relaxed. Dress down Fridays! What a great idea. But, for those needing to wear neckties, what great and easy gift ideas for birthdays, Father's Day, Christmas or just because 'it was an on sale gift.'

   Now I am sure that somewhere out their in the “google land” there is a history of the necktie, where it originated, how it came to be, or who was it's inventor. But right now I was focused more on what was in the bottom of the trunk. I had not seen some of these ties for years. The colors and designs, the widths and the fabric revealed the numerous trends and styles changes over at least three decades. From floral prints to stripes, holiday designs to company logos, there was quite a variety. When laid out side by side on the floor, it offered a rainbow of vivid color and textures.

   As I examined each with the care as if I were meeting a long lost friend, I tried to remember...”who in their right mind would buy something of that color, let alone wear it in public.” But then I remembered. It was a different time and a different generation and men's neckties, like the length of a woman’s skirt, reflect what's popular in the fashion world.

   I carefully folded them and placed them back in the bottom of the trunk. I now understood why, at the auctions and yard sales across this great nation, boxes and trunks are stuffed with old ties, scarfs and other neck wear. No one really knows how to get rid of them or what to do with them should someone have difficulty parting with them. After all, many were gifts from you children and they were so proud when they gave it to you on your birthday.

   So. what to do with old, seemingly useless neckties? I have seen them woven together, used to replace worn out seats in chairs and benches or used to tie up tomato plants in the garden. I have even seen them used in place of a broken leather belt to hold up a pair of jeans, just before they fell below the top of the butt crack.

    I suppose someone could open up an”Old Tie Museum” in some town, desperate for a local attraction.

   I closed the top of the cedar chest and went upstairs. But here is where it gets really scary! I slide open the door of my bedroom closet and hanging neatly of several tie racks was the next generation of neckties, ready to join the others in the trunk and there had to be at least the same number as already in the trunk if not more. But ...they would not be joining the others this day!

I wonder if I still remember how to tie one of those Windsor knots? Let's see..it's left over right, then....

What would you do?

   You are walking by the water’s edge and you suddenly realize that someone is in the middle of the pond and they are drowning. But for whatever reason, this person is not screaming for help as one might expect of someone in this situation, but only continues to struggle on their own to survive, flapping their arms and kicking their feet in an effort to keep their head above water.  Is it because of personal pride?  Fear?  Embarrassment?  Need for control?  Or do they really not know how to ask for help? Do they not really know they are in the middle of a pond and drowning?

      You continue to watch for a minute or two longer and realize that perhaps you should do something.  But what?  Are you afraid to help because you don’t know what to do?  Can you put your own pride and ambitions aside and offer to help as best you can? Do you shout out to them…asking if they need help or assistance. Do you throw them a life line? Do you jump into the pond yourself and then suddenly realize you don’t know how to swim? Do you ask someone else to help you?  Or do you just turn your back and walk away and hope they are able to survive on their own or that someone else will come to the rescue?

      Someone desperately needs your help although they may not realize it themselves yet.  Please do the right thing and offer that help before it is too late. It may not be well received at first, even a bit painful perhaps. Someone may not initially grab at the lifeline you throw.  But in the end they may come to understand and realize that you were  really trying to help them and you and they will know that you were able to make a person’s life just a little bit better.

You Know You’re Getting Older When…

            I know that age is a relative concept, relative on any given day in mind, body and spirit. I used to think that someone was old if they were fifteen years older than I was and someone was young if they were fifteen years younger and really young when they asked if the car had been invented when I was a kid. (Don’t be smart!)

          But as I find myself progressing up the age scale, there are some other signs to remind me that I am not as young as I used to be.

          I don’t race to the door anymore to go into a store. If the door doesn’t open automatically I often find a teenager offering to hold the door for me. Do I look that frail and feeble? But the thought is nice and the offer polite and genuine. (That’s a topic for another column.) What throws me is when they use the word ‘sir’. ”May I help you sir?” Sir was always relegated to my father or grandfather.

          You may realize that you are getting older when one of your best friends becomes the nightlight that lights a pathway to the bathroom in the middle of the night. That never used to be a problem. So its one less glass of water before bedtime, but that doesn’t always work either.

          I can remember when the ‘early bird special’ was an early morning sale at Porteous, not dinner served at three o’clock in the afternoon at the local ”all you can eat buffet”. Oh well, the parking lot is too full to stop now anyhow. (Anyone remember Porteous besides me?)

          I still see myself as a product of the 1960’s. What a great generation! The world was a mass of confusion, the music and literature spoke of a counter-culture and rebellion. The Beatles, Mick Jagger’s Rolling Stones and Peter, Paul and Mary were the rage in the music world. It was a generation defined by Woodstock, long hair and drug use. Interesting how some things never seem to change. Is that Mick Jagger being helped to the stage?

          The type of the mail being delivered to the house seems to have changed. What used to be advertising for travel and sports equipment has shifted to direct mail prescriptions services and senior citizen assisted living facilities. The highlight of the month is the arrival of the AARP magazine. Who will be on the cover this month? Do I look that old?

          Growing older isn’t all bad though. In fact there are some real pleasures. Grandchildren, sleeping late (after the trip to the bathroom), traveling during the ‘off season’, senior discounts and not wearing a wrist watch are just several of the rewards.

          There is a perspective about life that being older offers. Each generation feels that its problems and issues are new and unique when in reality we have been there before, just with a different twist. It is unfortunate that we can’t learn from our mistakes.

          See how much wiser I am now that I am older?

Keeping it all together...

   I first learned about it almost 45 years ago. Since then it has become a mainstay of my tool box and work bench. There probably has never been anything invented that has had such an impact upon the lives of millions of people. Yes! You guessed it.. duct tape!

   My first encounter with duct tape was the summer of 1965. It was a summer job and I was working at a local mechanical services shop that installed air conditioning and duct work. Imagine that. At one point in its history, duct tape was used to seal the seams of heating and cooling duct work. After inserting one end of the duct work into another, it was screwed together and then wrapped with duct tape to prevent cool air from escaping at the seems.

   Over the years, like many others, I found numerous other uses for duct tape.

   For example, I have used it to secure a piece of trim that had come loose on the driver side door of my car.

   Recently I noticed the owner of a car parked next to me in a local parking lot was using duct tape to keep the passenger side door closed. Not sure how smart that is! But it worked.

   Many use duct tape to secure a broken pane of glass until it can be replace. It may be so effective that the class never gets fixed.

    Often an extra pair of hands can come in handy to help temporarily hold something in place. No vice or clamps available, a piece of duct tape comes in very “handy”.

    I know there have been people who have made dresses and other clothing from duct tape. Prom dresses seem to be popular. I actually find that to be a bit tacky, but sometimes you have to do what you have to do. I will admit, on occasion, I have used a small piece of duct tape hold a pant cuff in place until it can be restitched, but an entire pair of pants?

   Now sometimes I think duct tape gets a bad wrap. As useful and helpful as it can be, it has also been used in many practical jokes, like taping the teacher's desk drawer shut or wrapping a co-worker's mid morning snack in enough duct tape so that they will never be able to open it.

   A trip to the local auction revealed its role in keeping well used, well worn tools together in hopes that someone will purchase them. But duct tape used to keep a wheel from falling off a lawn mower? I'm not sure about that one.

   While there are many funny and humorous uses of duct tape, there have been some serious tragedies too. Adults have been know to duct tape a child to a chair or tape a child’s hands behind their back for hours and hours causing injury and maybe even death.     I don't believe that was the intention of the inventor, but there is an evil side to society and unfortunately things will get used in ways they are not intended. (Wasn't there a social worker who duct taped a foster child to a chair a few years ago? )

   Duct tape is a member of the 'tape' family, others being scotch, masking and electrical.        One of factors they makes duct tape so useful is it's strength. Ever try to tear a piece off the roll and not use your teeth or scissors to assist? And sometimes there will be that last remaining strand of string that runs along the edge.....If you have ever had this happen to you, you know what I am talking about.

   I hope that's not a piece of duct tape wrapped around the wing if the airplane I am about to board. I know the tape is strong, but...My mistake. The maintenance person is using it to keep his pant legs from flapping in the breeze. That's a relief.

   Often I will take a piece of duct tape and as I remove nuts and screws from a piece of furniture, I will stick them to the tape so I won't lose them. I am sure no one else has ever though of doing that. Now if I can just remember where I put that little strip of tape so I can put this table back together.

   The best use of duct tape however, may have been discovered by Maine's previous Governor. Admitting that he often has a problem keeping his mouth shut,  told his staff that he now had a role of duct tape in his desk drawer and “ until election day, when he want to say something off color,  he was going to tape his mouth shut.” I am not sure there was enough tape this side of the Mississippi River for that.

The year was 1951...I think!

   If my memory serves me correctly, it was September 1951. It was my first day of school, of kindergarten. I don't remember much about that day. In fact, I don't remember anything. It was a long time ago. I am not even sure I remember the name of the school, although I'll take a guess at Roseland Elementary School in Roseland, New Jersey.

   With that day it was the beginning of 13 years of classes in grades K-12, then college, graduate school and even more graduate school. But over the years the nature and delivery and education has changed tremendously. OK. I'll say it. Today's classroom is not your grandfather's classroom any more.

   What I do remember of the early days was the playground, school lunches, and neatly arranges chairs and desks in five rows with seven chairs in each row, each classroom exactly the same. We all went to the boys room and girls room and the same time, even if we didn't have to go and if someone in class misbehaved, we all stayed inside at recess time.

   And then there was the little red-hair girl who I always sat behind in class. But that's a story for another day.

  In the early years if we had a question we raised our hand and, when called upon, we stood up to ask the teacher or were called up to the teacher's desk.

Back in the day, there were black boards, white chalk and erasers that needed to be cleaned (clapped) at the end of each day. We always clapped them against the brick wall of the school building, right near the front door.. The black boards were washed each day and washing the black board for the teacher was either a reward for good behavior or a punishment for bad. (For the record, I did my share of washing! Your guess as to which.

   Above the black board, tacked to the bulletin board, were green cards with the letters of the alphabet. In K-3, they were block letters and after grade three, the cursive letters of the alphabet.

   It was the No 2 yellow pencils for writing, plain 'off white' paper for math and blue lined paper for writing. On occasion we used pens instead of a pencils and I am still trying to remember if this was a time when the ball point pen was taking the place of a 'fountain pen'. But we were never allowed to use a pen for math. What would happen if you made a mistake? Ink didn't erase!

   Let's see now...there were the robins, the blue jays, and the turtles, the poor turtles and poor Joey P, who was a turtle most of his years in school. These were often the names given to the reading groups.

   Remember reading groups? While one group gathered in a circle for reading instruction, the rest of the class was busy at their desks, supposedly doing either map work or doing extra math problems. Nothing to do? How about practicing the alphabet, both the capital and lower case letters. The teacher called it guided practice time. We called it 'busy' work.

   The worst time of the week... music class. Once a week, the music teacher would come into the classroom and attempt to 'teach' us to sing. She would take out her pitch pipe, pick a note and start to sing”The itsy-bitsy spider. Every day, year after year. In grade 1 or 2 it was probably OK. But in the 6^th grade.....

   We called her the old maid. She wore the same gray sweater with big leather button and a hint of mothballs and the same plaid skirt, each and every day. In addition she always wore thick stockings and black shoes that laced up the front. When she walked around the room she often sounded like a small horse, the heels of her shoes hitting the wooden classroom floor. It was always the longest 25 minutes of the week.

   The truth is that I must have found some comfort and pleasure in the classroom. After high school, I went on to college and, after spending a year or so in a business administration degree program along with tutoring high school kids at several local high school in some very rural sections of West Virginia in my free time, I decided to become a teacher and school counselor. Those of you who know me know that I spent the next 35+ years at various levels public education before retiring.

   Those early years, both as a student (and I was not always the best student for sure) and as a beginning teacher, taught me the importance and value of a good education and the opportunities available.

   Schools have changed a great deal since 1951. From the robins, blue jays and turtle reading groups,to trading in the yellow No 2 pencil for today's latest computers or tablets, today's schools offer opportunities we never dreamed about 65 years ago. But what has remained the same? The importance of studying hard and getting the best education available.

   And about that music teacher that drove many of us crazy in class for 25 minutes each week, perhaps she was attempting to teach us more about life than music back then. At least we all started the song on the same pitch each time.

The Sweet Smell of History

  (This is a new post and an actual event in town)

    The town was filled with excitement. It had been fifty years since the last community celebration and recognizing the town’s 200 year anniversary of existence was going to be a big event.

   Committees were formed and ideas for events and activities came fast and furious. Parades, dances, parties, tours, speeches by guest politicians and local dignitaries’ were only a few of the many suggestions. The hard work was just beginning. Would there be enough days in the year to pull off such an event. There were only 365 days to work. Would that be enough ?

   Ideas and the suggestions for events would come and go and get debated until finally what appeared to be a reasonable list of activities and events took shape. History tours, musical events, and art and craft shows headlined the list. And let’s not forget about the time capsule.

   While people seem to always be focused on the present and the future, many have a strong curiosity about the past, their past. What was it like to live in town 200 years ago or even 50 years ago? What did people do back in the day? No cars, No computers. How did they spend their time? Was life as boring as it really seemed?

   I have always been a firm believer in the idea that to plan and prepare for the future, it is important to learn and remember successes and mistakes from the past. Please note that I did not say past failures. Failures only occur when you don’t learn from those mistakes.

   It was agreed by all involved that the request of those of 50 years ago would be honored and that the time capsule would be exhumed from very very deep in the ground and opened amid the cheers of those watching, sharing in the life and celebration of 50 years before. Yes. Beneath the granite block in the local park would be a record of life in town in 1969. There were no written records of what the contents might be or any of the details of what we might find under the granite marker. But that was to be part of the excitement and anticipation.

   Ten feet later and with the help of a backhoe, the time capsule was pulled from the ground. Ten feet down? These folks back then must have had a real sense of humor or a nasty mean streak.

   The capsule was inspected, cleaned and then moved to a location in the town library where people could guess and speculate what it might contain. Again, there appeared to be no written accounts of what might have been placed inside, so it was anyone’s imagination. There were several unusual and funny stories about what  its contents might be, but folks would have to wait just a bit longer to be sure.

   As often happens with committee work, the committee tasked with the program for the time capsule began to ask questions. What if there was nothing in the time capsule except a note that read…”Ha-ha. Gotcha ya!” What if it had been set up as a joke? You know those people from the 60’s. What if the contents had not been properly prepared for the 50 year journey through time and had been destroyed or damaged in some way. What if……?  What if…? How would we know? So a decision was made.

   Help was going to be needed by a local construction company, with all of their tools and equipment to get the tightly sealed container open, so the decision was made to open the time capsule and check on the condition of its contents, reseal it so that it could easily be opened at the time set aside for capsule ceremony.

   With hard hats and safety glasses, the team went to work and within a minute or two the top was ready to be opened. The team looked at each other, nodding and giving the OK to open the time capsule, filled with history, which had been put deep into the ground in 1969.

   Within seconds after taking off the top, with a smell that would take ones breath away, what remained of the contents was revealed. The time capsule had been tightly sealed to keep the moisture out, but it also kept some moisture in and it had done a great deal of damage to the contents over the fifty year period. Did I say wet and soggy and oh yes…smelly? Very smelly.

   The hope for the sweet smell of history quickly turned into the question of…”OMG, what do we do now?”

Civilty should be more than a 7 letter word........

   In the words of the iconic Bob Dylan, “the times, they are a changing.” One only needs to watch the nightly news or pick up a local newspaper to understand that civility, respect and personal character are things of the past. The concept of being a 'positive role model' and someone to be looked up to and respected has given way from the bullies slugging it out on the school playgrounds, except that today, the playgrounds have become the Hall of Congress, the Presidential debate stages or the West Wing of the White House.

   Now don't get me wrong. I am not perfect like some of those around me as they would proclaim. There have been times when I have privately used inappropriate language when I have been angry or upset. On occasion, being angry or upset may not be a bad thing. It's how one handles the anger and frustration that demonstrates a person's true character. But this new found 'freedom for the use of vulgar language and personal insults directed at others, as far as I am concerned, has moved outside the boundaries. I don't like it and I don't like listening to it. And that's my own personal opinion.

   In particular, I am referring to the vulgar choice of words and the childish mockery used by the person who is said to be now leading our country. Isn't that being a role model for children? For anyone? It will be very difficult for a teacher, a parent of past generations to ever discipline a student again because the new standard has been set by the person leading and governing our country. As the young child proclaims in the principal's office or at the dinner table, (if families still sit down to dinner together any more) “if it's OK for the President to use those words, it's OK for me.” What a great role model!

It's Not Easy Being Green....

.

   In my backyard I have two vernal ponds, nature made of course. A home for mosquitoes and other flying insects, they also are the home, this year, for almost a dozen frogs and it has turned out to be one of Lucky's favorite places to 'hang out' in the yard. Hoping to catch one of the little critters, he stands patiently, waiting for one to make its move back into the pond or pop his head up from beneath the surface of the water. As the Spring has transitioned to Summer, there seems to be a new and added respect by each, as they face off frog eye to dog eye and while Lucky would like to get really up close and personal, they are just a bit too quick for him. But that does not prevent him from continuing to try to get just a little bit closer. Always on guard and living in fear of the big black dog, 'it must not be easy being green.”

   These are also the famous words in the title of a song that most of us, at least in my generation, may be familiar. Kermit the Frog of Muppet fame, hit the television screen in 1955 and over the years his wisdom and insight have offered suggestions and advice on living a happier life.

   Today, being 'green' is often associated with protecting the environment, but in his early life, Kermit struggled with his color and being who he was, something we all do on occasion.

I'll admit it. I am a big Kermit fan, and to this day when I hear his squeaky little voice, it brings a smile to my face, even if the day is not going well and every day, according to Kermit, might not always a good day. In his unique way, Kermit was able to offer sound advice in order to get through the rough spots. Here are just a few of some of his suggestions...

   ”Changes happen as time passes by. Soon enough we all grow up.”

   “When green is all there is to be , it could make you wonder why, I am green and

it'll do fine, its beautiful and it's what I want to be.”

   “With good friends you can't lose.”

   “Here's some simple advice: Always be yourself. Never take yourself too

seriously...and beware of the advice from experts.

   “Life's like a movie. Write your own ending.”

   And maybe my favorite regardless of your age.....”Just because you haven't found your talent yet doesn’t mean you don't have one!”

   It was the mid-70's and we had just moved to Maine. I had accepted a position as assistant principal at an area high school, my first administrative experience. Like most assistant principal positions, I was in charge of student disciple: assigning detentions, suspending students for misbehavior and other related events, all of the things that make you popular with the students. It was only about two weeks into the school year when I faced my first student suspension. I remember the student’s name and the reason for the suspension as if it were yesterday. If I thought hard enough, I could probably remember the day of the week and the weather.

   The student waited in my office as I called his parent to come pick him up and take him home. I calmly discussed the reasons for the suspension and the number of days the student was to be out of school. On the outside, I tried to remain as cool as a cucumber, but on the inside, my stomach was doing cartwheels.

   As the mother left my office with her son , she continued to scream and yell at me and called me several names I have not heard since. As I sat back, she returned to the doorway of my office and said...”It's not easy being green, is it? She knew her son had been my first suspension! Those words stuck with me forever.

   Aside from being a color, anytime we start something new we are all green at first, lacking in experience but always gaining confidence as we grow. The student's mom, despite her verbal rampage, had prepared me well. And when she stuck her head back into the office I knew everything would be OK.

With Time on My Hands

          As the recent weekend came to an end, I became aware that I had some time on my hands. No, really, I had time on my hands. I was putting away my freshly washed socks and as I placed them in the drawer, I realized that in the bottom of the drawer were a number of old watches.

         There were two watches that were owned by my grandfather, including a pocket watch and chain. There were several from my father and then there were the ones that I had purchased over the years. Among the collection was the first watch I had ever owned, a Christmas gift from my grandparents, engraved on the back with the year and date. There was a watch from  my wife with my college alma mater on its face.  

       There were no great finds here in monetary terms, only the value in memories.  Each watch had stopped at a different time.

          As I pondered the fate of the collection, I began to think about the concept of time. It is one thing that every person alive in the world has in common. Male, female, black, white or Hispanic, we are truly created equal, at least when it comes to time. Sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes in an hour and twenty four hours in a day. It is what we do with that time during a lifetime that makes us different.

          There is the neighbor down the street who appears to be involved in every committee going in town. How does he find the time? So what if he cuts his grass after the sun has gone down while I am trying to watch television, or the soccer mom, taking the kids to practice, then racing home to cook dinner and out to the PTA meeting.

          I remember trying to cram as much into a twenty four hour period as I possibly could. The job and family demanded it, life demanded it, or so I thought. But the second hand continued to tick off the seconds at a consistent, rhythmic pace, the same for everyone on the planet. No person’s second is any longer or shorter than anyone else’s.

           But that is where the similarity ends. While each minute and hour may be the same, it is the total amount of time we spent living that varies. There are many who live well into old age while others die at a young age because of illness or some catastrophic event that cuts short a life. One only needs to read the obituary pages in the local newspaper to see the range of ages at which people lose a life to accident, illness or some other cause.

          As I looked at the watches in my hand, each one had stopped at a different moment and I began to understand that ‘time’ was a gift.  I thought about how much time I had wasted. That time wasted was something I would never gain back, no mater how long I lived. It was gone. What I decided at that moment was that I didn’t want to do is waste any more time.

        By the way, I don’t wear a watch any more.

         

May I have just a little bit more maple syrup... please!

   Within the past several days, I have heard the same comment at least five or six times. “You are what you eat. ” Winter can be a challenging time of the year when it comes to food and healthy eating and many, including myself, often retreat to the 'comfort foods' to get away from the winter cold. But then, as warmer weather approaches we pay the price for the lack of exercise and the over eating as we transition back into shorts and tee shirts. OMG, these shorts make my thighs look...huge!

   While I am not sure I totally agree with the statement that 'you are what you eat', as I walk through the aisles of the local grocery stores and peek at the contents of the shopping cart around me, I do wonder if there might not be at least some level of truth to the statement. Perhaps there is a government study that can be done to validate my observations.

   Take for example, the fresh vegetable and produce aisle. While I don't see too many people pretending to be a fresh broccoli or organically grown kale leaf, their look is a great deal different than those walking the candy and soda aisle. And the same might be said at the fresh meat and fish counter. ( I often wonder what happens to those items that do not get sold. Where do they end up?)

   I confess! I like to eat and I tend to eat a variety of different foods. I especially like Italian, the spaghetti and pizza variety along with stuffed shells every once and a while for a change of pace. Top the meal off with a nice glass of red wine, for the heart of course, and it could be the perfect -10 degrees below zero meal for the middle of January. But, because I like Italian food, does that me an Italian?

   I like fish, either of the fresh or salt water variety, including clams, shrimp, and other things that crawl along the the ocean floor. But I don't think that makes me a fisherman, although in my younger days I did cast a line on occasion.

   Depending upon the time of year, I can pass up a frozen hamburger patty out of a box for a fresh green salad with plenty of lettuce, some freshly cut cucumbers, a radish or two for a bit of spice and several slices of freshly grown tomatoes. With just a few drops of salad dressing, memories of the long, cold winter are gone. But because I like fresh fruits and vegetables doesn't make me a farmer, although I do dream about owning several acres of land, with two or three garden plots, lush with freshly grown vegetables (tomatoes are my favorite), I might also have a small tractor (that's what I really want) and maybe one or two sheep.

   Snacking has become almost a national pastime and was fine with me when I was a bit younger. Potato chips, pop corn and cheese doodles were often found in partially opened bags on the kitchen counter or atop the refrigerator. But as the doctor once said at an annual physical, unless I want to end up in a plastic bag like a bag of chex mix, I might want to think about something a bit healthier. How about chocolate? OK. I like apples and bananas too.

   If I am what I eat, I must be a breakfast person. Of the three meals of the day, maybe more meals for others, I like breakfast the best and to support my liking, the research shows that it is the most important meal of the day and should not be skipped, especially if you are a kid at school (For the record, I do support breakfast programs at school, Too many children come to school hungry and as a result have difficulty learning.)

   Breakfast offers a variety of options and so many different tastes. I know there are people not fond of eggs, but there is nothing like two fried eggs, sunny side up, several pieces of freshly buttered toast, with real butter, two strips of bacon, a fresh glass of orange juice and a cup of freshly brewed coffee. And that's just the appetizer! Just kidding. Because I like breakfast, maybe I am what I eat. No. I am not the chicken or the pig. But I am someone who enjoys a hearty and healthy meal at the beginning of the day.

   But my favorite breakfast is...french toast. The great thing about french toast is that it can be served for breakfast, lunch or dinner. Fresh off the grill and golden brown in color, the only enhancement needed is the warm 'pure' maple syrup, drizzled over the top, poured from one of those tiny little glass pitchers. Maybe I really am French at heart.

   Could someone please pass me the syrup!