Single Child Syndrome (Part 2)

20160327_110849 (2)I have sat and read and reread the following post. These are the thoughts I dealt with today. I hesitate posting them because it may appear that I am uncaring about how so many are suffering. I guess some people might read this and think that it would be nice if these were the only problems that they had to worry about. But I also know a number of people with single children, and we have shared our thoughts about this subject. Plus, I write about what I know, so I am still going to post this because this is where my mind wandered today.

A while ago, I wrote about something I called the Single Child Syndrome. It dealt with our daughter having to learn to share friends and her parents. It is not that we have a brat or mean child. We have only one child. Due to this there are times where it becomes difficult for her to deal with more than one friend at a time. She does quiet well one-on-one, but when there is more than one, it can become difficult. I understand her since this is similar to what I go through as an introvert. I just have years of experience to help me get through it without having to walk off and sit on a stump – well sometimes.

Today though I am writing about a different issue with having an only child, and the fact that I was so wrong with my wishes as a child. This afternoon I felt, like I have had on a number of occasions, sad for our daughter. This feeling came as I once again realized that Mom and Dad cannot be her friends. Don’t get me wrong. I am normally okay with her understanding that there is a difference between friends and parents. I also get that I am writing about what people would call first world problems. However, as a parent there is a sense of longing when you realize that your child will be alone, as far as siblings go, forever.

There are times when being an only child can be a good thing. This morning, being Easter, we did our normal tradition. We attended the 7 a.m. Mass, and then went for breakfast. Since we don’t have multiple kids, we will sometimes break the rules and splurge. An ice cream sundae was ordered once the entire breakfast had disappeared. I thought about our parents trying to do that with my three brothers and me.  I already know that they would not have wanted to add four desserts to the bill.

By being an only child, she also gets to have our attention when she is talking. We don’t have to worry about what the child that is not in the room is doing (again speaking from experience from my house). We are able to do a little more when we go on vacation because we are only paying for one. We try very hard not to spoil her, but I am sure that we are slipping in some areas. So with these advantages, why would I feel sorry for her? She has everything.

I feel sorry for her because she is a solo child. There are many times when we are home that she wants to play, but we are working on school items. We try to convince her to read, play piano, or find a game to play on her own. This can happen only so often. Add to this the fact that we are older parents and sometimes, we just don’t have the energy that an 8 year-old possesses. We wear out quicker than her.

I also think of this when she gets in trouble. Being the youngest of four boys, it was easy to push off the blame on someone else. When something happens in our house, it is not that difficult to figure out who did it. She attempts to tell us that she didn’t do it, but when asked who did, you get a stare as she tries to answer that question. She has attempted to put the blame on the cat, but it is hard when we are talking about things like the fridge being left open.

This past week was difficult since we were on spring break. We went away so she was sans friend for the entire week. She did a great job hiking, helping out, and playing games, but I could tell that she was lonely at times. Again, we are her parents not her best friend. She wanted someone to talk with, giggle with, and play with.

Today was the hardest. After we came home, we did an Easter egg hunt in the backyard. She was cute as she roamed the yard looking for her eggs. It felt like something was missing. I looked later at my friends photos and could see their children racing to find the eggs before the others. For our daughter, that fun of doing with siblings was missing. Later, she waited out at the end of our drive for her friend across the street to come outside. She really wanted to play, and I watched her stand out there alone, waiting.

Again, I get it. Some people are going to ask what the real problem is here. So she has to learn to cope with being an only child and not having someone with whom to play. However, I watched this little person stand out there and I envisioned a young lady, and then a middle-aged adult. I don’t know how long my wife and I will last on this earth. Like every other child, there will come a time when she will lose us. Unlike many, she will not have a sibling to cling to, to hold, and to support. She will have to handle this on her own.

I know that our daughter is more fortunate than many. She is not wondering from where her next meal is coming. She is not about where she will sleep tonight. She is not having to hope that people are kind enough to give hand-outs in order for her to have clothes. She has the basic necessities of life covered and more. She doesn’t even complain. But I am her dad. I see this and it is a father’s prerogative to worry about his children, and I do.

I also stated at the start that I was sorry for my wishes as a child. As the youngest of four, I cannot tell you how many times that I wished that I could be an only child. We all fought for attention. There were times that my brothers pushed the blame of one incident or another on to me. I can remember thinking that the house was too full. Now, I, as I look back, realize that my wishes could not have been further from what I really wanted. I look back and realize how great it was to have those three brothers with whom to experience those years. We had each other’s back. There were times it was us against the parents. We supported each other when our dad passed, and now, I look forward to each and every time we get a chance to talk.

So now with this knowledge, I hope and pray that our daughter finds that one friend (or two) who will become a non-blood sister. I wish that as she enters her 20s that she finds that person who will be to her the same as my brothers are to me today and every day.

Oh well. Those are the things crossing my brain today.

Thank you for meandering with me today.

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A Scouting Spirit

In my last post, I spoke of what happens when you mess with a ghost. At the end of that writing, I promised that I would share a story that happened with both a ghost and my scout troop while stationed in the United Kingdom. One might have thought after my first story that I would have learned my lesson that pranks and spirits don’t always mix. I am happy to report that this one has a different ending.

I believe that this happened in the summer of ’94 possibly ’95. I had become involved with the Boy Scouts since the Air Force actually used your community involvement as part of your annual evaluation. My first summer, I and other leaders took a den of Webelos up to camp. Once my scouts promoted, I moved with them to the troop. My second trip to camp was as an Assistant Scout Master. I decided on this trip to have some fun.

Up until recently, the American Scouts used to camp at a British Scout Center near Sheffield. If you have never heard of this city, think of the movie Full Monty. It takes place in the same area. The cool thing about the UK is that every part of it has history. I decided to add a little bit of history for our camp.

At the end of our first day, the boys were zipped up into their tents. The travel, setting up camp, and go through the first day’s activities has pretty much worn them out. For leaders, this was great. It gave us some time to unwind and sort out all of the schedules for the coming week. Once we had completed as much as we could, I headed down the hill to the shower area.

I came back from the showers refreshed and ready for some fun. I noticed the Scout Master and other assistant had headed for their tents. The timing was perfect for what popped into my head. I positioned myself between the tents and called out to the kitchen area. “Can I help you?” That is all I needed to get the two other leaders to pop their heads out. They looked in the direction that I faced.

“Who are you talking to?”

“Um,” I paused.

“What?” The Scout Master asked.

“There was a person standing there a second ago. I looked down when I heard the zipper on your tent. When I looked up……he….vanished.” Both men exited their tents and were now standing next to me – staring.

“There’s nobody there,” the assistant spoke.

“I swear that there was somebody there a minute ago. I thought it was Ian. He was wearing an old British Scout uniform.” I let that sink in. “It was as if he was checking over things to make sure it was all good. Then…just…disappeared.”

Both of them walked over to the kitchen area looking. I had them.

The next morning when the boys were lingering over breakfast especially those with KP, I thought I would see if I could get them going. I quietly, or made it look like I was doing as such, I asked the assistant if he thought I should share about our “visitor.” That was enough to get the boys asking what I meant. I hesitated. I stated that I probably shouldn’t share. This ramped it up. The boys begged to know who had come to our camp the night before.

I explained to them what I had seen. Just as I had expected, the boys scoffed at the story. The laughed and told me that I was just trying to scare them. “Really?” I asked. “What time is it?”

The boys told me that it was 7, but they now seemed puzzled.

“If I was trying to scare you would I be telling you about this in the morning, or would I wait until it was dark?” I knew that this question would get them. I stopped at this point and let it sink in. The boys wanted to know more, but I told them I didn’t want them afraid. The visitor appeared to be friendly. We sent them off on their day and into their classes. I didn’t think anymore of the prank until lunch.

The first year boys came running back to camp. The young scouts did a program called ACE. Part of the program included an extensive tour of the entire center. The boys were excited to tell me that while on their tour, they had found a single grave. For some reason the name, Benjamin comes to mind. They did not know this person’s history, but they decided since he was buried at a scout center – he must be an old scout. I let them tell the rest of the troop. Our spirit had a name. He now took on a life of his own.

Later that second day, one of the boys came to report that he had lost his scout knife the night before. He told us that he had been sharpening it at the fire the night before, but now the knife was nowhere to be found. We asked where he put it after sharpening, his reply was “On the stones surrounding the fire.” We raked the ash but found nothing.

Benjamin was quiet the rest of the day, but he popped up again the next day. The boys came asking if we had picked up their football. We told them we hadn’t – we really hadn’t. They informed us that they had left the ball out between the tents when they left that morning – right in a walk way. We suggested everyone look in their tents. The owner of the ball produced it within a few minutes. He had an odd look on his face. When questioned by the boys, he told them that the ball had been placed back in his bag where it belonged. They decided that Benjamin must have put it away for them.

News started to spread to the other troops that we had a spirit watching over our camp. A couple of other scouts and leaders actually stopped by to hear the stories. The boys seemed to take pride in having their own ghost. They even started having their own sightings.

The next evening our older boys asked if they could stay up a bit past curfew. You see not only did we have a ghost, we had pets – a number of them. The camp had hedgehogs. Each evening after the boys quieted down, they would come up over a hill that formed the border of the scout center. The little critters would come through our camp down to the road where troops would place their bags of trash for pickup. They would feast and then head back through our camp on the way back home. The older scouts wanted to see the march.

We sat there at the fence waiting for them. We could hear them rustling through the weeds. Shortly, we saw a group of them come under the fence on their way to dinner. One of the boys, grinning from ear to ear, turned to say something about the hedgehogs. His words stopped before exiting his mouth. His eyes widened and his color drained. Everyone stopped and looked at him. We inquired what happened.

“I saw him.” He stated.

“Who,” I asked.

“Benjamin. He was standing there when I turned and then disappeared.” The scout’s face showed no sign of this being a joke. You could tell he meant it. I glanced around and saw one of our leaders moving to a tent. As best I could tell, it was his shadow being thrown over the kitchen from a lantern. I could never prove this.

We had parents come up for the final night’s campfire. They heard all about our friend. We went down to the campfire and had a great time. As we were marching back up the tiny hill to camp, the scouts were laughing, singing, joking, and just having fun. The next thing I knew, I was walking by myself. The scouts had gone quiet. I turned around to see them all standing still. The first told me they had seen a set of eyes glowing in the camp. I looked up at camp and saw what I believe they saw. One of the patrol flags had reflecting tape on it. The boys disagreed. The one thing they all agreed on was that they had all had the privilege to see Benjamin. Not one was afraid since he had been kind the entire week. I thought about telling them the truth on the ride home the next day.

The final morning came. I loved to get up before the rest of the campers, make a cup of coffee and sit in silence. It was the only time of the day when I could hear my thoughts. I rose as usual and started the coffee. I sat down to ponder the week that had just passed. That is when I saw a sign that maybe Benjamin wasn’t really my imagination.

Not only was I the first to rise, but I was also the last to bed. I believe that as a leader it was my job to ensure that everything was secure for the night. I loved to sit under the stars. Part of my nightly ritual was to check that the scouts hadn’t left anything lying about. Everything had been put away the night before. All was clean.

Yet, on this final morning, I sat down at the table to find it was not empty. There in the center of the table say a scout knife. It was clean, shiny, and sharp. It also bore the name of the scout who had reported a missing knife at the beginning of the week. It now sat on a table that had been empty when I went to bed the night before – the last person to go to bed.

I decided not to tell the boys that I had started the prank. I was no longer sure that it was a prank.

So once again, I learned not to mess with spirits. How about you?

Thank you for meandering with me tonight.

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Don’t Mess With Ghosts

ghosts handWe have gone deep in the last few postings, so tonight, tonight we will go a little light-hearted. I am going to share some memories with you which might help to explain why I like good horror movies and scary books. Stephen King was my favorite author growing up. I cannot remember how many times I fell asleep to his words. I became so enticed with the stories that I had a stockpile of them in my head. While in the UK, my scouts would beg for story after story well after the last flames of the fire would die out. I even shared the stories when my scouts, along with British scouts, went to the Czech Republic. It is amazing to know that stories can be translated and still work.

I looked for every opportunity to find ghosts. I looked within my own home (those stories will be shared later), and I looked for it in my home town. As I have mentioned in the past, I grew up in a small town in WNY. Youngstown has a rich history, and along with a rich history comes ghosts. The town was destroyed in the War of 1812 and rebuilt. The fort that protected the town has its own stories. Add to this the fact the area also was a big player in the Underground Railroad, and the mind can really start to go places.

The Ontario House, better known as the Jug, belonged to members of my family since pre-WWII until recent. My cousin will often tell me about the ghost hunts that happened in the upper floors of the place in the family areas. I know from my summer of cleaning the bar that voices could often be heard as I walked the halls. Nothing bad ever happened to me there, but I never felt as if I was alone in the place – especially the basement.

But tonight’s memories do not take place in the Jug, they take place next door. I do not know what business is currently in this little building, but when I worked there it was called RR/DD Pizza – more commonly referred to as Double R, Double D. The owner claimed to have invented Pizza Fingers. We had a great crew that worked there and the weekends were hopping in the kitchen. We partied a lot and worked hard. It was a great job to have as a first real job. I did everything from delivering pizzas, to cooking, waiting tables, cleaning dishes, and eventually quasi-assistant manager. But I also loved to mess with the others that worked there. Sometimes, it can backfire.

One night the restaurant was quiet. We stayed open late on Fridays and Saturdays so that patrons from the Jug and other establishments could come get food and coffee. We were in that lull between when the family customers had finished with us and the bar customers had yet to come. We were busy in the back getting as much cleaning done as possible so that we could leave right at close. We had the radio playing, for some reason the song, “We’re Not Gonna Take It” comes to my mind. As the song finished, we could hear somebody in the front calling out to us, “Hello?”

Todd and I looked at each other. Without speaking we were asking who was going to go take care of the customer. He was closer so I won. He went out front. I continued cleaning. He came back a few seconds later with a puzzled look on his face. “You did hear someone, right?” I nodded. “No one is out there.” We decided someone was playing games on us. It could have been the owner’s son – they lived upstairs. We went back to cleaning. The voice called out again. We both went to the front. Again, the restaurant was empty and the door stood still. We searched every corner to find the prankster. Nothing.

The next day, when I went back to work, Todd had shared the experience. I took it upon myself to add some “history”. I told them that I had done some research and found out that there was an escape tunnel between this building and the Jug. It had caved in at one point killing a number of people. I gave them their ghost.

A week later, our friend had reappeared. Perhaps a little upset that I had tried to invent him. It was a busy Friday afternoon. The restaurant was busy. We were cranking out pizzas, burgers, chicken wings, and such. The waitress had just filled an order of soft drinks and was leaving the soda fountain. On top of the dispenser sat a big box of straws opened at the top for easy dispensing. We also had trays filled with clean glasses next to it. The waitress was a good ten feet away from the dispenser when the box of straws went flying off the machine and into the seating area. A few trays of glasses followed suit. Most people in the restaurant just applauded thinking that an employee had knocked everything over. We knew better. Nobody was near the machine.

The next event dealt with the cellar. We didn’t use it for much. However, a few things were stored down there. One of the team went down, you had to go through the lady’s room to get there. The person went down into the cellar as she had done many times before. She came up white as a ghost. She swore that while down there, she heard someone talking to her. The door had also become stuck at some point. The guys all went down, but found nothing.

Finally, after sharing the stories with a friend, she gave me the solution. She told me how a spirit use to pull the food out of her fridge every time she left the house. She found that by telling the spirit to knock it off or she would get rid of him did the trick. They lived in harmony after that.

I can still remember that February afternoon. It was cold and I was waiting tables, so I wore a thick sweater. I went into the kitchen were my friend Todd was cooking. I told him I had the solution. He begged me to leave it alone. I smiled. He cringed. I looked to the ceiling and yelled, “Okay you! Whoever you are! You need to knock it off. You can live here but if you can’t knock off this crap, we will get rid of you one way or another.” Todd looked at me with a look of what have you done on his face. I looked over to my brother who happened to be the pizza cook that day. I don’t think anyone else saw the humor.

I walked around the cooler to the wine window. Yes, wine window. We had the reds in a window between the kitchen and the dining area. I counted the bottles and turned to walk back to the end of the glass cooler. As I hit the end, it happened. A gallon, I never said we had good wine, bottle of wine exploded. Everyone hit the deck. I could feel the shards of glass fill the back of my sweater.

It took a few seconds, but the staff in the kitchen finally stood up. The diners were still ducked down. At first we thought someone had thrown something through the front window. Everything out there was intact. I looked behind me to see the red wine dripping down from the window – no gallon bottle could be seen. I carefully took off the sweater where we found a good portion of the glass. The rest was on the floor.

I quietly swept up the glass. My buddy, Todd, just told me that it hadn’t been cool to threaten a spirit.

We never heard from him/her again. We all decided that the exploding bottle was the last prank for the ghost. It left us to be after that.

So that is when I learned, well not really, not to mess with ghosts. Tomorrow, I will tell you how we had a ghost take over a scout camp one summer. Baden Powell had its own spirit.

Thank you for meandering with me tonight.

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The Man in the Window

Collage 2016-03-23 21_54_07Tonight as I went to put our daughter to bed, I ended up looking at my reflection in the window as I closed her curtains. This is not a normal step for getting her ready, but since we rearranged her room, I stood there looking at myself. After making a few scary faces and even turning the light off to make sure nobody was standing in the back yard, yes – I can scare myself, I stopped and took a good look at the man who stared back. It made me wonder. Am I the best person I can be? Or on an even simpler level, am I the best dad I can be?

Once I had her all tucked in and rearrange the big pile on her floor. I sat down in the chair in her room and listened as I could hear her falling off to sleep. The sounds of her breath started taking that slow, rhythmic sound of someone going between wake and sleep. Every once in a while a question would pop out, or I could hear her reach for her cat. The whole time, the question kept popping in to my head. Before people think I am writing this just to get compliments, don’t you, who are parents, ask yourselves the same question? Am I the best parent I can be?

The wondering and thinking made me go back to the only parent I can really use as a comparison, my dad. Yes, I could have said my mom, but there is definitely a difference between the two parents so I will stick with the same gender. Am I as good as my dad? Would he look at me and think, I raised this one right?

I am going to be very honest with you, my dad set the bar high. I know that many people will say that about their parents. But my father knew what it meant to be a dad and he did it well. I am not sure that I can ever live up to the standards he set. If I can make it at least half-way, then I know he will be smiling when we meet again. Now mind you, part of the reason the bar was so high is partially due to the place and time in which we were living. However, nature only had a small part in making this man the dad he was.

I also want it known that my dad was not a saint – nope. I think I could see the horns tipping the halo at times. He like to have fun, joke, encourage, teach, and most importantly he like to live. Just to prove his halo wasn’t always on straight, I can remember one evening when he pulled a fast one on my mom.

Our youth group, the Niagara Frontiersmen, had just finished our annual banquet. My dad called in to work, he worked midnights, and I believe – my brother can correct me – said he had car problems or something. Another adult even got on the phone and claimed to be the police office helping him. He then invited the instructors over to our house for a night cap. He walked into the house, looked at everyone and asked if they had a great night. When they replied in the affirmative, he said, “Great. Goodnight.” He then left my mom with a house full of people. I still hear about that night.

It is not just his pranks that I remember. I know how much he cared for my mom, my brothers, and me. My dad worked for the railroad. The first one I remember him being with was Lehigh Valley and then Conrail. He was a yardmaster. I used to love that dad would take me to work with him. I would sit high in the tower looking over the entire yard. My toy trains were big, loud, and ran on diesel. The fact that he took me to work was not the part that I remember. He was good at his job and had been offered a promotion. The promotion meant us moving to Pennsylvania. This would have been great for him and us. However, one of my older brothers is mentally handicapped. My dad and mom discussed the promotion. They turned it down. They knew that the services provided for my brother in WNY would not be the same in Pennsylvania. My parents put my brother before them. My dad turned down the promotion.

My dad did not only give up a promotion, he also gave up his time. When my brothers and I were young, he looked for some type of group or organization for us. After all, having four boys home all summer was enough to drive a mom up the wall. He looked for something but couldn’t find anything that he felt would work. So he decided to start his own youth group and not only have something for us but for so many more kids.

Dad was a member of the local volunteer fire company. Since he had had a heart attack, he was not an active member at the time of his search for a youth group. He was able to convince the firemen that they needed a Drum and Bugle Corp to march in front of them in all the local parades. They gave in and the Red Raiders were formed. Our town had its version of the band at the end of “A Music Man.” While he did not actually teach any of the instruments or marching, he taught the kids through his willingness to work hard for the group, his spend time with us, and his ability to just listen.

The group grew and we merged with two other corps to form the Frontiersmen. At certain times the group had more than 150 kids. We no longer were limited to parades. We now toured the North Eastern part of the country in the summer. We performed all over that area. During all the travels my mom and dad were right there. My dad ran the group and mom supported him.

I think the thing I remember most was my quiet times with him. I could sit and share my writing with my dad. I never felt as if he was just patronizing me. He listened to the stories. He asked questions. He made me want to get better with the writing. I remember working in the garage with him; the first time I had heard him call me his little Socrates. I remember being with him on the last night he was in our house. The night we called for an ambulance.

I look back and see a man who was a Dad. He worked hard for his family. He gave of himself to not only make his sons better people, but as many other young people as possible. So this takes me back to the beginning of this writing. I stood there staring at this man in the window. Was this man as good of a dad as the one who raised him?

I don’t have an answer for that question for the person is still a work in progress. I live in a different place and time than the man on the pedestal. I will not be able to answer the given question for a long time. I will work each and every day to live up to the expectations that were given to me. I may not make the same level, but I will be a Dad. I am thankful each and every day for the time I had with him. I hope that my daughter will feel the same.

Thank you for meandering with me tonight.

 

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O dierbaar België, ons hart zijn u gewijd

Belgium flagThe title of this post translates to, “O dear Belgium, our hearts are dedicated to you.” These words come from the Belgium national anthem, but today the words seem to express the sentiment of the world to this small country. Today this country, without want, took the spotlight as they were the latest in a number of countries to suffer attacks by those wanting to spread fear and terror throughout the globe.

This country sits between France and Germany and has many times been a highway for one country to attack another. Today, though, there was no army marching through on its way to a bigger prize. This morning a few extremists attacked the country. Innocent people just trying to get to work felt the wrath of a group that has declared war on, well most of the world. Like so many I sat watching the news coverage and wondered how much longer must man act this way.

If there can be a bright spot to all of this, it is how the world can come together, at least for now, to unite after these tragedies. Leaders of different countries stood by Belgium today as they spoke their support and pledged their allegiance. The world seemed to be one people as we stood against evil. We saw a similar reaction back in November. The people of the world all stood with the French citizens as they tried to understand what had happened in the City of Love. It seems that when these dark days happen, we find a brightness in how people want to help each other out.

Today, the Prime Minister of Belgium called it a “black day” for the country. There is no denying this. However, one does not have to look far to see that it was also a day in which the world could see the Belgians for who they are, people who care about others. Search Twitter for #opendoors and you will see how, almost immediately, people near the attacks started taking care of each other. Belgians were opening up their homes to others who were stranded and could not leave due to all of the lock downs. News story after news story popped up about how the people of the country were reaching out to help each other. Yes, it was a dark day for the country, but the people of that country started to raise a light and show who they were.

Tonight the news showed photo after photo of how different countries were showing their solidarity with Belgium as one landmark after another was lit in honor of this small country. Even the tallest building in Abu Dhabi showed that this Arab city was saying enough.

This sense of unity after each attack from 9/11 and after is amazing. We do not see anger; we see people helping each other. Race, religion, gender, nothing is asked before aid is offered. It is as if we get a glimpse of how things could be. When we stand together, we show those willing to do evil that they will not win.

But how do we keep that unity going. For it is when we stand as one world in which we are strongest. I am not naïve to think that all countries would be willing to stand together, but I do believe that the number is high. The problem is that it will only take days before today’s news drops from the headlines. People go on with their lives as they must. The unity dies away and we once again become a globe of nations. It is normal – it is life. However, we open ourselves up for the evil to continue.

I also felt a sense of fear rising up from my soul. At what point do we become so accustomed to this that we stop watching, stop worrying, and stop feeling. I watched my Facebook feed since I have friends who live over there. I waited to see news that they were safe. Fortunately, they all appear to have been nowhere near the explosions. Then something else caught my eye, or I should say that a lack of something caught my attention. I did not see Facebook profiles being covered over with the Belgium flag. If you remember in November, after the Paris attacks, within hours FB was decorated with the French colors. Not today. Today, I saw business as usual. Democrats and Republicans were arguing about the upcoming elections. Posts about daily life filled the feed. Please know that I am not criticizing people, but I am wondering if the shock of these attacks are starting to fade to the point that we don’t talk about them. Come next year when March 22 rolls around, will people stop and remember those who didn’t give their lives but had it taken from them? Outside of Belgium will anybody remember?

What worries me even more is the number of terrorist attacks that have been carried out in Africa over the last few months, and yet we are lucky to hear anything on the evening news. We do not hear leaders speaking out about them. Have we already become so accustomed to these events that we do not even stop to watch, worry, and care?

So today some bad events took place because of a small group of people. Today, these people were allowed to spread fear. Today, we got to see the good in the people who were attacked.

The world stood with Belgium today. Let us continue to stand together as one world tomorrow, the next day, and the day after that. I am not asking that we give up our nationalities and become one country. I am wondering how to get our leaders and the leaders throughout the world to finally come to an understanding that the world must work together to bring peace. For we will never have peace as long as the nations of this globe do not learn how to work together to bring an end to this and the rest of the fighting.

We need to find the answers. In the meantime, O Belgium, our hearts are dedicated to you.

Thank you for meandering with me tonight.

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Why are We Afraid to Ask For Help?

yardm destek ilgiWhy is it that people find it difficult to ask for help? I work with a large number of people throughout our school district. My job is to help people with programs and other issues. I have found on a number of occasions, people will contact me only after their frustration level has reached an all-time high. When I ask why they didn’t call earlier, I hear that they didn’t want to bother me. I believe, from my own personal experiences that they just wanted to be able to do it on their own.

I used to question why people would not ask for help. That is until I took my walk this morning. I love my morning walks, when I can take them, because I allow my thoughts to be free and go where they want to go. Today, I started walking down the street of help and why people – why I – find it so hard to ask for it.

I wrote a while ago about how I was going to get into shape. I was disgusted with where I had allowed myself to travel in the health arena. I was going to start taking the steps that I had done a year ago, but this time I would not quit. I was going to do it. Not with a group, not with a partner, not with my love, it was all about me. I was not going to ask for help. As a matter of fact, I have had friends and colleagues offer me help through invites to join groups. I turned them down. I would do it the same way I had put the weight on – alone. The more I walked, the more I realized that there are many aspects in my life in which I should ask for help but refuse. Why?

The answer actually came to me in the way I treat our daughter. Often times when I see something in my own personality that causes concern, I wonder how I help our daughter to not have them. I want her to be able and willing to not only ask for but accept help when she needs it. The more I walked the more I thought. She does do this, so life is good – nope.

I have always wanted our daughter to also be independent and confident. Wow. This gets so confusing. I started thinking about my reactions when she asks for help. I always ask her if she has tried and done her best at her attempts. I tell her that she should be able to do these things. Now I don’t turn her away from all requests, but I do ask questions first. Am I actually starting her on the road to now being willing to ask for help down the road? Of course, I always look back to see why I am the parent I am.

I started thinking about my own childhood. I can remember my parents giving me the same questions. My parents cared for us, they wanted us to be strong, and they wanted us to independent. Hmmm. They never once told me that I could not ask for help, but when I did, I was made to look at my attempts or if I even had attempted that for which I needed help. It made me start to think that if I asked for assistance that I hadn’t tried hard enough. I believed that needing to ask for help was a sign of failure.

It didn’t help that I grew up Catholic. I can remember being told that “God helps those who help themselves.” Even though I was told to pray when I needed help, those words would pop into my head. I thought that God wouldn’t help me if I hadn’t figured out how to do it now. Now as a grown Catholic, I try to give a different message to my confirmation students, and from here forward I will change my answers to my daughter.

I think back to different parts of my life and wonder, had I asked for help would things have been different. Would I have been better at the different jobs that I had taken on? Would I have been able to publish more books? Would I not be a person who has to be in so deep before I am able to ask for assistance?

So I am going to try to do things differently. When our daughter asks for help, I will sit with her and ask her to show me what she has done. I will not send her away to try harder. I will watch her as she works and give suggestions where needed. I will walk with her as she progresses. My hopes are that as we work together, she will need less help. She will learn as we work together and remember how to do things. I will help her learn the confidence and independence not by sending her away telling her to try harder, but perhaps by giving her the tools and instruction she needs. I won’t make her feel as if she hasn’t given her best, but help her find her best.

As for me, I am going to take the first step. My wife has offered to work with me to get in shape. She has done it on her own and has the knowledge and strength to do this. I will learn from her. Yes, we are going to be using one of the health products to help us, but we are doing it together. I am not going to do this on my own. I will allow someone else to help me as I work toward my goals.

Now I do want to state that I do believe that there is a big difference between asking and accepting help and just having others do it for you. I will make sure that I show the difference to our daughter as we move through life. In the end, I hope that I can show what accepting the help of others can do, and we raise a child who is strong, confident, independent, and knows how to ask for assistance when needed.

So that is where my brain went during my walk this morning. Thanks for meandering with me.

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Going Green

Lesson with creative teacher at kindergartenNo this is not a posting about recycling and causing less pollution. This about something more important. Today’s writing will is about the joy, excitement, and enthusiasm of a child, and how she got there.

One of the things that I love to do is attempt to look at the world through the eyes of a child. I am fortunate that our eight year old constantly keeps me on my toes. She makes sure that I am engaged with the world not as an old, grumpy adult, but as a young person seeing so many things for the first time. I am excited that we get drive time in the morning when she can verbalize her thoughts and visions. I am thrilled that she loves to learn, embraces trying new things, and can ignore, for the most part, the criticisms when she is different. I would like to think that this is due to my wife and me. However, there are so many others in her life that show her this, some so much better than we could ever do. It all came about from a plea I received while picking her up from school on St. Patrick’s Day.

“Daddy. I need to be green tomorrow. Can you help me be green?”

At first I thought that she had her days confused. Then I remembered that her school was doing a green day on the 18th. I am not sure why, but I do know that this was decided on by the students’ ASB. The kids had decided to make the 18th green day. I can remember the all call we received on Sunday. “Please remind your student to wear green on Friday.”

“Okay. I will wash your shirt,” really my Notre Dame shirt, but somehow I had lost ownership of it.

“No, Daddy. I want to turn my hair green,” slight pause. “I mean, yes, you need to wash the shirt, but I also want green hair.” Ugh.

We ran to CVS in hopes of finding some temporary green hair dye. We were told that only beauty salons have it during the year. The other stores only have it on Halloween. We looked at eye shadow and lipstick, but I could not justify spending $20 for a one-time event. I googled it, and found the food coloring works for temporary hair color. I had that at home. Score.

We then spent time after dinner preparing the mixture and brushing the dye into her hair. We had a great time with this project. Though I must say with my color deficiencies I could not see anything but darker hair. It all looked the same to me. Thankfully her face, arms, and old t-shirt showed me that we really working with green. After blow drying the hair, we showed it off to mom and got approval. The nice thing was that it cleaned up easily.

This morning our green child went skipping into her day care. She wanted to show off her color. As I walked behind her watching her, I realized that this was her M.O. most days. There are rare occasions that we sort of drag ourselves down the walk into the building, but this has more to do with tiredness and not for lack of wanting to go to school.

I kept thinking about this after drop off while walking back to the car. Our daughter likes loves school. I started thinking of all of the times she repeated back lessons from the day before. I once had a 45 minute lecture on the difference between minerals and rocks. Each lesson sounded just like a teacher talking to a student; she even questioned me for understanding. Again, this is due to others.

We are very fortunate in our district to have great teachers. While I will not use names, if they are reading this they know who they are. Please note that I am not speaking of just the ones in her classroom or past. I am talking about the entire school. She constantly talks about the teachers who walk the playground at lunch and talk them. There is one teacher in particular from an upper class that she constantly lets me know when he comes and talks with the second graders. These teachers do more than teach they instill a want to be at school and do their best.

Since my wife and I are part of education, we know the work that teachers put in. We are well aware of the fact that hours upon hours are put in at home. The plan, they grade, they worry, and they care. However, in the last couple of years, we get to see it from the side of the parent. As a teacher, I used to think what do the kids say when they go home. Now as the father of a student, I get to hear what our daughter says about the teachers. Yes, we do hear about how her teacher can get upset with the kids, but those are rare. We hear about the cool way they talk about the lessons. We hear about the way they teach through dancing, we hear about them hatching chickens, and we hear about the way the students are given the freedom to paint their hair green and feel great about it.

The cool thing though is that she gets it from more than her teachers. I used to make fun of the comment about it taking a village. Now, I am not so sure. I see the other people at her school and how they interact with the students. I see our friends and how they make sure that our daughter is included in conversations. I see the good in people as they work with the kids of our nation. How do I know it works? I know because our daughter thinks of others, she is excited to learn, she wants to change the world, and she loves. Finally, I know because she wants to go green to show how much she cares about what is happening at school.

I know that teachers like ours are all over the country, the world. I know that the people who work with kids, for the most part, care about the children and our future. We are lucky to have people like this to make sure we do have a tomorrow. This is how I ended up with a daughter wanting to turn her hair green. This is why our daughter runs up the walk to school. This why I have high hopes for her future.

Okay. I have written and erased the ending a number of times. I want the world to be this happy-go-lucky place. I want to be able to write how all of the children have the love for school and want to learn. I want to write about how they all come from loving homes. I can’t and this tears me apart. I had students in my class who would share stories with me. They told me about struggles at home. The mentioned how they have parents that love them, and yet they don’t know what they will be eating that night. They told me of the pains of living with people suffering terminal illnesses, sometimes siblings. This is what teachers deal with.

I am sorry. I meant for this to be a happy story, but alas when I allow my mind to meander I do not control its path. We are currently at odds as a nation. Side against side when what we really should be doing is coming together as one to ensure that our future, our children, have what they need to grow, learn, and be successful. Perhaps if the adults of this country stopped arguing and fighting we could set a better example for our kids. I wish that we could solve all of the problems for these kids, but we cannot. So instead all I can do is pray. I pray that the children of our country and world can find at least one person to be their role model. For most kids, they can look to their parents for this, but for some it must come from outside of the house. Let each child have that teacher that brings them to love to learn.

So thank you to every adult who has in some way shape or form has helped to create the young person that shares our house. Thank you to those who teach, those who care, those who take their time to just talk with her. I now hope and wish that each and every one of us can do the same for other kids. Let’s out our energy into the future. Let us all be teachers in one way or another.

 

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Thank You.

Thank You Wooden Letterpress ConceptThank you. Two simple words that can change so much. As so many of the people I have friended on Facebook have mentioned, it is getting disheartening to see so much anger going on in our country. I have witnessed people with whom I have worked arguing back and forth about candidates, political parties, and the state of this nation. Watch any news show and you will see people spouting nasty comments back and forth. Walk down the street and look at the faces of those you pass. It seems like hope is gone. But two words, while they will not solve the nation’s problems, can make a difference and change attitudes if only for a moment.

My mom brought me up right, I try to say please, thank you, and you’re welcome. I am in no way perfect in remembering to always say these kind words, but I try. My wife and I also try to make sure our daughter grows knowing that manners matter. It is funny to hear her comment when people ignore her manners and do not respond in any way. When we talk about it, we mention that the person may have a lot on their mind, or perhaps having a bad day. She accepts it. I fear though that she may stop using these words due to a lack of return.

Over the past week, I have been running a little experiment. I wanted to see if people smiled or changed in any way when somebody acknowledged them. I tried to find every opportunity to say any of the phrases at the start of this post, I held doors open, I smiled at people passing by, and I greeted people in the hallway. I had a hypothesis that people would in fact brighten up if somebody acknowledged them and respected them by simple manners.

Most of the time when I said, “Thank you.” People responded with, “Your welcome.” However, the thing I was not expecting was expressions I received. Some people acted as if they had never been thanked before. I loved the fact that when somebody presented me with something, an order at a restaurant, a project that I had needed or anything and they did not appear to be in a good mood, their mood changed. The welcome did not come out grumpy. The tone, body language, and expressions of the people changed.

Perhaps because I was concentrating on this, I also noticed some other things going on. I held a door open for a person and allowed them to enter before me. They just looked at me as they walked past. Yet, I could hear this same person grumble when the person behind the counter did not give them a thank you for their order. I found people who, while they would not acknowledge an act of kindness, expected all others to do it.

I found it funny because on the way home, the local talk show host was complaining about going into Starbucks and having the baristas watch him put a tip in the jar. They would watch him do it and then turn their backs. He told the listeners that when this happened, he would make sure they could see him remove the tip. He said that if they could not appreciate the gesture, they didn’t deserve it. It makes me smile when I hear that others are thinking along the same lines as me.

This week also started me thinking about the scout troop I worked with in England. The lessons that we, as leaders, would work hard to instill into the boys. How many of us think of a scout walking the little old lady across the street? I remember watching as these young men took the passion of scouting to the distance. We would be fund raising in the commissary, and I would see one or more of the boys stop to carry out the groceries for a mom with a couple kids in tow. I would witness our scouts helping out the community as each and every Eagle project would improve playgrounds, walk ways, nature centers, and more.

So this takes me back to my experiment. I found that such little words can have a big impact. More importantly, it changed my attitude. I had to work really hard to make sure I followed through. I had to remember as I was walking down the street to stop looking at my phone. I had to look up to make sure I was greeting people. I remember seeing a man coming down the street. Normally, I would avoid eye contact and look down. I looked at him and noticed his hat stated this person was a Vietnam Vet. As we approached I called out, “Thank you for your service.” He responded with a compliment about my shirt. We both had smiles.

Now that I am done experimenting, I am going to work to make this my norm. I may be naïve in this, but I want to challenge others to do the same. What if we all stopped yelling at each other and treated each other with respect? What if we great each other as we pass? I know that this will not stop the problems of our country, but maybe we can discuss without yelling.

So who is with me? Who is willing to take part in bring calmness, respect, and peace? Go ahead and share and challenge your friends. Let’s take this country to a better place. Let’s start being better.

Thank you for meandering with me today.Thank you kid hand sign language on white background

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What Makes a Relationship?

Lonely woman watching sunset alone in winterWriters write no matter what. The words are pounding away in our heads demanding that you let them out and put them to paper – or keyboard. Last week and then the weekend were jam-packed full of conferences, teaching, preparing for state testing, two variety shows, and a full day retreat with ninth grade students. Today I went into work early so that I could have the peace of the empty office to get caught up – didn’t happen. However, all day long the topic for tonight kept demanding to come out. So tonight I am tired, but the words want to come out, so I will let them.

This topic comes from a couple of talks that I had over the weekend with some young people. I found it interesting that the teens and young adults of today struggle with the same problems that were around during my young years. In a way, I believe their stress, for this subject, may even be at a higher level. There is no way that I would want to go through these problems again. Yet, many adults have the same issues and pain.

I listened as young people started sharing about relationships and what it is like to date and then break-up. It saddened me to hear how much they felt as if they had to be in a relationship. They were willing to stay with another person due to the fear of being alone, a third wheel, the ugly duckling, the odd person out. Some even mentioned that they were thinking of moving forward in a relationship just to keep the other half.

I felt pain for these young people and their struggles. We started talking about relationships and what it takes to have a successful one. Now I do not claim to be an expert. I didn’t find a successful relationship until I was in my 40s. The one thing I could talk to them about was loving and being happy with one’s self. To me, this is needed before one can even think about trying to be with another.

I asked the teens how many of them like themselves. My heart dropped. I saw eyes hit the ground. I saw nervous smiles and soft giggles. I saw hands half-heartedly raised. I saw few, very few, who could confidently state that they liked themselves. Those teens became the models. How was it that they could love themselves and be willing to share that? Of course the first answer that normally comes with that question is that they were taught it at home. Yes, how a child is taught to think of themselves starts at home, but so much of it comes from their peers. In my years of teaching, I have watched confident students lose that confidence due to comments from adults, mentors, best friends. I have tried to let the students know that those comments can come from jealousy and a want to tear down another. I have also seen young adults try to put their own insecurities onto their partner. The worst part is when the other person accepts those insecurities and claims them for their own.

Regardless of how a person loses, or never even has, confidence, our group talked about the fact that confidence in one’s self helps with how you deal with others. Now confidence is great, but one can still like themselves with even a little bit of confidence. They must also like who they are and where they are going. It reminded me a lot of the post from a few days ago where the question was, “Do you know where you’re going to.” We talked about how if you don’t know where you are going then how can you ask another person along for the ride. All too often, over the last 30+ years of working with young people, I hear how they are looking for somebody to complete them. They want somebody to make them feel good. They want somebody to give their love to. They need a passenger or, worse, a driver. We talk about how some of the best rides are alone with the windows open and the road just passing by. You need to be comfortable in the car alone before you can enjoy it with somebody else.

The last thing we talked about was how it is okay to be alone. Some people have a fear of being with a lot of people, ahem finger pointing at myself, but some people cannot stand being alone for more than a short period of time. The need something or someone to fill the time. I have dated people in the past who expected me to spend 100% of my non-work time with them. While I like the person, I could not see any way that I would be able to do that. As a matter of fact, that is one thing that I love about my wife and me. We can be without each other. Yes, it makes it that much better when we get back together, but it is okay to spend a day or, if traveling, more away from each other. That is our time to grow on our own.

That last part is the key. People must be able to always grow on their own. You cannot depend on others to make you mature and learn. I challenged the students to spend time on their own.

I started by saying that we struggled with these things when we were growing up. I guess we all struggled at different levels. My wanting to date somebody in high school had more to do with the fact that everybody else had somebody they were dating. I wanted to feel like I belonged and was not weird. In the end, it was neither fair to me nor the person I dated.

Fortunately, I grew. It probably helped that I traveled around the world. My life was so busy, I stopped looking for somebody and just started enjoying life. If I found somebody, then I would have a partner to enjoy in my happiness. I would have someone with whom I could share my life while they shared theirs.

Now I don’t want to make it sound like young people should not date. I know some people who feel that teens should wait until in their 20s when they are able to be serious and find a spouse. I get that for which they are hoping. However, I believe that those awkward teen years of dating provide a great learning experience. They learn to communicate, they learn what they are looking for in another, they learn what it means to have to think of someone else just as much as themselves.

I would like to say that everyone learns to be their own best friend and grow. However, I know a number of adults that are always looking for that person to complete themselves. They do not want to recognize that they are complete on their own. They should be looking for a person to share that complete life. I have watched as they jump from relationship to relationship giving no time to reflect when one ends. I have seen them suffer both in bad relationships and in never learning just how great of a person they are. Some of the people I look up to the most are those who are so okay with who they are, it doesn’t matter what others think. If and when they find somebody, they will be ready. Until then….watch out life.

I hope that I keep all of these thoughts when our daughter reaches dating age – you know when she hits 30. I am sure whether this blog is still around or not, these words will come back to me.

Here is hoping that all of you love being with yourself. Thank you for meandering with me today.

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Do You Know Where You’re Going To?

Fall scenic road in Sweden“Do you know where you’re going to? Do you like the things that life is showing you?” These two questions start off a song that came out originally in 1973 when I was 8 years-old and then again by Diana Ross two years later. Yesterday, while driving with our daughter the song came on the radio. Thinking it might be too mellow for a young person I went to change the station to a faster beat. She asked me to go back because she like that song. I wondered as we both listened to the music if this song would come back to her time and time again like it has for me. I then thought about how music affects us and changes as we do.

As a child, I can remember this song playing often on the radio – after all, it did reach the number 1 spot on the weekly top songs list. I would listen to the words and wonder. I can remember how sad it must be to reach adulthood and look back on life wondering whether or not you have done what you wanted to do. I worried what my life would be like once I became an adult. Would I constantly be looking back on my life asking myself do I like what my life has become? It probably didn’t help that a line near the end of the song even states:

Why must we wait so long

Before we’ll see

How sad the answers

To those questions can be

I can remember looking at my parents wondering if the life our family was actually not what they wanted. Did they have different dreams when they were growing up? Were their dreams that all they did was look back to find there were “no open doors”? I would sit in the car listening to this song looking at the back of my parents feeling sorry. I started looking at other adults as they would pass through my life wondering. Why? If so many people lost their dreams, why or what can keep them moving forward.

During my teens into my twenties, the song would continuously pop up on the radio – okay now it was on the oldies station. I had a little better of an understanding of the adults in my life. I could not claim that I totally understood their lives, but through conversations, I had gained some insight. I also started to understand this song a little more. My father may have been one of the best people to start explaining the lyrics. While we did not discuss this song specifically, we discussed life – his.

Through our talks, I learned that it is okay to find closed doors behind you for that is your past. You cannot go into your past. My dad made me understand that it is fine to look through the windows to see your memories, but to be able to go back through the doors of time. Those who keep going back through those doors can never move forward. He also gave me an understanding that the dreams and ambitions that one has as a young person changes. Our hopes for the future go based on what is now. We meet people, our responsibilities change, we lose people, we continue on, and with all of those our hopes and dreams change. My dad taught me that it is not a sign of failure to change your plans; it is a sign of maturing.

Like every other teen, I spent those years plotting and planning where my life was going to go. I can distinctly remember planning with one of my best friends how we were going to both be famous. He would gain fame through his trumpet playing and music he would write (He was going to be Chris Botti before Chris Botti was). I was going to be a famous actor. At one point, we both even designed our homes with music studios and home theaters. We mapped out how large our families would be and the fact that the two families would be together as friends forever. Later my dreams turned towards veterinary medicine, then teaching, then writing, and then….well the list has many entries. All in all, my dreams always included a loving wife and family.

During my thirties, while in England, I would continue to hear this song. It seemed as if this one song followed me as my life moved along. I know that other songs from my childhood still play on the radio, but this song haunted me. Perhaps it was the music, maybe the words, or a combination of those with my relationship that had grown with it. While I enjoyed that time of my life, I could not help but let those words sink in every time it played.

Now looking back at all we’ve planned

We let so many dreams

Just slip through our hands

I worried that I had indeed let those dreams slip through my hands. I saw a life where I would not see the prospect of a family. I grew and knew that my childhood fantasies would not take root. The weird thing about was that the only time I felt this sadness was when this song would play. The words would sink in and I would feel as if I let myself down. I felt as if times I was pounding on those doors behind me to try and open them once again. The only thing that made me feel better is to think back on the conversations with my dad.

As I grew, I started to understand this song (at least my version). It asks five times if you know where you’re going. I started to get the fact that it was asking that question because most people have no idea where they are going. Life doesn’t allow for most people to truly plot out their lives.

So now, I am older. I sit with our daughter and the song plays on the radio. I look back on my life and see that the dreams and fantasies have both come to fruition and not taken root. I actually did try acting, I am in education, and I write. More importantly, I do have a loving wife and child. We are a family. Yet, just the same, I do not know where I am going to, but I do like the things that life has shown me. Life showed me that I needed to get out of my own way. The lyrics are right, there are sad answers in life, but not all of the answers are sad. The song still haunts me as each time I hear it, I cannot help but stop and reflect.

Now, though, I hear our daughter in the back seat humming along to the song. Does she hear the words? Does she wonder where she is going to? What are her dreams and fantasies, and will life give her sad or happy answers? I don’t know. I do know that I cannot plan out her life. I will have to let her make her own plans, find love, find joy, find pain, find happiness, find sorrow, find life. I can only hope and pray that when she is my age that she can say yes. Yes, she knows where she is going, and Yes, she likes what life is showing her.

How about you? Do you know where you are going?

Thank you for meandering with me today.

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