Fishing Anyone?

Posted on February 3, 2016 by Bob Martin

Winter Snow Covered StreamToday’s writing is about one of my older brothers. It also deals with what we would do in my small town for entertainment. This one is not specific to my area. I served with a number of people who came from rural areas, and I heard stories that, well not exactly the same, constantly took me back to some of own memories. I promise that the event really happened. I never experienced anything like this before or since.

Before we get into the event, it would help to let you know a little bit about my brother. I am the youngest of four – all boys. My poor mother was definitely outnumbered though I must say that during my childhood, she held her own. Each of us definitely had his own personality. While we may share some physical characteristics, we are each unique. This is a great thing, but boy does it cause for interesting holidays.

The interesting thing about the brother I have chosen for tonight is that he is named after my dad, and, more than any of the other three, shared many of the same personality traits. Based on stories told to me by the older generation, my dad was sort of a rebel. He caused problems in town. His teen years took place in the ‘50s. I hate to say it, but I often picture him as one of the greasers. My brother didn’t get into trouble with the law, but he liked to be the one to break the rules. He loved to work on cars with his friends and still does even today. He often liked to do things in his own way at his own time.

I grew up watching him. I grew up wishing that I had the courage to rebel in half the ways he did. However, I also saw him get in trouble and decided that boring wasn’t so bad. I can remember his sneaking back into our room late one night only to find my dad sitting on the radiator waiting for him. We won’t even get into the magazines that he hid under my bed so he wouldn’t get into trouble.

This memory doesn’t involve him getting into trouble. Tonight, I remember a very cool afternoon that the two of spent near our home. My brother is a hunter and fisherman. He does both for food. He makes sure to use whatever he catches. Hunting to him is not just a sport. While he hunts the same as any other person, sometimes when he goes fishing – well…….he has his own way of doing things.

I would have to say that I was 15 at the time which would put him at 17. I believe that it was February. All I remember is that there was snow on the ground and ice over the area he took me to fish. With the weather I dealt with over the past weekend, I think it triggered this story in my head. The two of us in sneakers, jeans, shirts, and just our school jackets headed out.

It was a weekend and we were both bored. My brother asked if I wanted to go fishing with him. Now for me, fishing isn’t exactly an activity that I would volunteer to do. However, and this is the down side of coming from the rural area, a weekend in the middle of winter doesn’t really offer up many other options. I figured why not. We threw on our coats and started walking down route 18 to the creek. We talked about whatever teen brothers would talk about to pass the time. I believe that I noticed he didn’t have a fishing pole with him, but knowing my brother he had something planned. He always did.

I can remember getting down to the creek area. You had to leave the road and go down a steep incline to the water. This place was quiet in the summer time. In the winter, it was more than silent. It has an eeriness to it. Not many cars passed by and with a golf course across the road and a cemetery nearby, no noises came from the neighbors. Dormant trees lined the creek area. Once in a while when a small breeze would come by you would hear the creaking as the bare, sad-looking corpses of trees moved back and forth. Had this been late in the evening with the sun setting, one would have thought that a bad horror film was starting. Fortunately, the sun stood high in the sky or as high as it would get for this time of year. We stood there and looked at the creek. I wondered how we would fish, my brother was plotting.

The ice-covered most of the water. A few small holes allowed one to see that the water still flowed underneath the frozen covering. The water moved at a slow rate, but you could see a small ripple here and there. It felt as if the water was trying to stop completely but couldn’t. I stared at the holes somewhat amazed at nature. The thickness of the ice allowed us to stand on it yet underneath the water still moved, life still continued. My brother told me that this looked good. I stared at him still wondering just how one fished without a rod and reel. I soon learned.

My brother moved up and down the ice. He enlarged a hole. He moved along the ice some more and pointed. Under the ice a dark shadow moved. It was a slow shadow, but you could see the dark spot going back and forth. As he moved on the top of the ice, the shadow moved in the opposite direction. He controlled it.

He finally gave me my instructions. I was to find the shadows and walk them toward the hole he had worked on. He stood on the opposite side of the hole. I was intrigued enough to do what he wanted, asked me to do. By now I had realized his plan. This I had to see.

I walked along the ice. Sure enough, I found a shadow. I moved myself to be on the side opposite the hole. With every step the shadow moved toward my brother. I had to take a step left or right to keep it on course; it took the path of my choosing. We inched closer to the hole. My brother took a stance with his feet wide apart. He crouched down. His hands over the hole like a catcher.

I took a final step and the shadow turned into a fish. Once in the hole, you could see it clearly in the slow-moving water. Before I could even say, “There it is”, my brother had reached in grabbed it, pulled it out, and knocked it out. He had caught his fish. He had caught my attention. He had caught my respect. Respect not for fishing, I still didn’t care for it. He caught my respect because he didn’t feel the need to always do things the way people said it had to be done. He had a task to do, and he figured out a way to do it. It wouldn’t have been my way, but he didn’t care. I think he actually liked the showmanship as much as the catch. It allowed him to say that there is more than one way to do things.

My brother and I had different sets of friends. He liked to work on cars and get greasy. I liked to write and create stories. Being from a small town, our circles of friends often intertwined and we hung out doing things with each other. When my cousins were in town, we would all go out and bowl or some other activity. However, this is the day that always sticks in my mind. This was the time it was just the two of us. It was the time, I let my brother show me just who he was/is. This is a day I often use to describe my brother. A person who can solve problems and get the job done.

Thank you for meandering with me tonight. Thanks for reading about my brother.

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Lies, Myths, and Truths

Posted on February 2, 2016 by Bob Martin

I believe that people who write for an outlet are a strange group of people. We run scenarios of all types through our head for any event possible. The scenes go from hilarious to sad to frightening to happy. We also tend to not let things leave our head until they reach paper or keyboard. I write tonight to let go of these thoughts. This meander is going to take us down a strange path.

Before I get into the topic, these are just thoughts and questions. I have not ruined our daughter’s dreams, hopes, or ambitions. I will not wake her up tomorrow and tell her that Santa is not real (ooops. Spoiler alert about Santa). I will let her be a child, but at what cost?

This morning, our little one told me that her class is doing a biography project. Her teacher offered the class twelve people, each person had to pick one, from which to select. She chose Helen Keller. She was quite proud of two facts: 1 – she was the only one to pick Ms. Keller. 2- She had already read the book provided by her teachers. Facts started flowing about this wonderful person’s life. My mind started playing The Miracle Worker in my head. I could see Patty Duke in quite possibly her best role ever. Our daughter referred to her notes to ensure that all facts had been stated accurately. This would be a good project for her.

In the car, on the way to school, our little researcher reread her book. She read aloud so I could hear all of the details. What an amazing life this woman left. What an inspiration to young and old alike. How could one complain about life knowing what this person went through? Then I heard something that stuck with me. The book, Helen Keller: An Inspiring Life, quoted Ms. Keller as saying, “We can do anything we want to do if we stick to it long enough.” What a great quote. These words matched what I told our daughter all of the time. Then it hit me – these words may be true for some, but many will not find their truth.

That thought, that one little pebble of an idea started an avalanche that lasted the day. We look at our children each and every day and demand that they be truthful to us as parents. We accepts their stories and tales, but when push comes to shove, we want the truth. Yet, we are anything but back at them. We pump them up that they can be anything as long as they work hard and persevere. I, like Helen Keller, tell our daughter, and told my students, that they world was an open book. They had the chance to write their story. We send them to bed at night dreaming of the life that will be.

Let’s face facts. Many people have dreams and work very, very hard to make them come true only to be disappointed. I live in Southern California – I see it all the time. I know this. I have tried a number of different paths. Still, I send our daughter off to school every day promising that by working hard she can obtain her dreams. She hears it from others – family, teachers, friends, and books on people who did succeed. Then it dawned on me that this is the same thoughts by almost everyone who succeeds. I guess it just wouldn’t sound the same to say, “Go honey. Work hard, persevere and you might have a chance to be what you want to be.”

Then I started thinking of other things we tell our children – Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, I will be around for a long time. The first three folklore, the last a promise that I do not know if I can keep. We tell our children all these things to make their life better. We want them to believe in fairies. We long for them to be children and not worry about the bad things in life. But they are lies.

I thought for sure that when our daughter was born eight years ago that I would have all of the answers. After all, I have been working with young people for thirty plus years. My friends all had older kids or grown children. I learned from them. I listened to their stories and took it all in. They shared the good, the bad, and the ugly with me. Like a good student, I heard and memorized. I studied for this test. However, now that I am in the middle of the test, I do not have the answers. I ask, but one person tells me to select C (the answer is always C), another says no it is B, and the last says “All of the above.” Their answers are not wrong – they are right for their situation, not mine.

I wondered all day if I am a hypocrite. I did not come to an answer. I explained the characters of myth as being a way to make childhood more enduring for her. I know that when the time comes, I will be able to use the explanations of so many people before me. She will accept them and probably not think about the fact that the things that made up her early years were not true.

That took me back to Helen Keller. How do you explain it if she works as hard as possible and does not succeed. How will I look at a dejected person, one to whom I promised success, and tell them that it doesn’t always come true. Some are luckier than others. How do I get her back up on her feet and get her to try again. How?

I will say that a conversation with a colleague did give me a little insight. It depends on what we consider success. We talked about Edison and his failures. However, even that as an example doesn’t work because he did succeed. We did talk about how failure can be success depending on what one gets out of it. Does it break you or make you work harder? These are great thoughts. I just hope that if I need to go there, it is understood.

This is odd. Most nights when I write I get answers to my own questions. Tonight, I am left with questions. I am left with concerns. I am left with worries about how what I teach her now will affect her later. Am I setting her up for success or failure? Will she forgive me if what I promise now doesn’t work?

I am a father. This worry will stay with me forever. I am sure that this will be such a trivial fear in years to come. Tonight, it looms over me. I will walk on alone now and worry.

Thank you for meandering with me.

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RETREAT!!!!!!

Posted on February 1, 2016 by Bob Martin

Clairon - Clarion - 19th centuryThis weekend was amazing. I retreated. I retreated from the world. I retreated from technology (well almost). I retreated from the problems of life. I retreated from myself.

I am not sure if it is due to my having been in the military or quite possibly watching too many cartoons as a child, but when I hear the word retreat I think of running away. I can picture this cartoon of a soldier on a horse blowing charge and riding from left to right across the screen. A few seconds pass and the soldier’s horse goes faster back across the screen right to left blowing retreat. For me the word retreat meant running from everything, and I do mean everything.  I picture militaries running from foes that outnumber and out power them. I picture, what Hollywood depicts, cowards. People who cannot handle life.

This past weekend, I chaperoned a retreat of 59 teenagers – TEENAGERS. While this retreat was religious in nature, the more I read, the more I find that there are retreats of many sorts. You do not have to be looking for God, you just need to refocus on life. All of this may have been what turned me off every time I heard the word retreat. I admit I looked down on the need to escape life. I thought that it was not something I needed.

I have been instructing in our confirmation program for a little over a year. I was asked to chaperone the retreat last year. I had a dozen excuses and back out. This year, after knowing the students a little better, I accepted the offer. The students needed this and I would sit in the back to make sure they were paying attention. I would offer my time to make sure they got something out of this.

The week prior to the event, I thought twice. I mentioned to my wife my hesitations. I started thinking of excuses. She told me to go. I trust my wife. I listen to my wife. I did not back out. I thought about work I could do while the kids were retreating from life.

I went knowing I would be assigned a group with which to work. I thought, well while the presenters were talking I could be planning. I could then handle small group discussions. I even debated leaving at night to sleep in our cabin where it would be nice and quiet. I could watch TV and work. I would be able to get so much done.

We arrived at the center. For our situation, we had two sisters running the show. I can’t call them nuns since they were anything but what you would think of with that word. I was pleasantly surprised that I and the other two older chaperones had individual rooms. Okay. I could stay. We unloaded and were prepping for the first talk on leaving behind our troubles. I thought of bringing my computer down with me. I decided to set the example and not bring it down just yet.

Our first session started. The talk was personal and made the students think about their lives and where they stood. Chaperones stayed toward the back to allow the kids to forget we were there. Without my electronics, I had nothing to do but listen and follow along. I started looking inward. Darn those sisters and their ways. Who were they to get me to start judging myself – not in a negative way – but looking just the same?

After the first talk, we broke into our small group. I realized as I looked at each face, that I had only worked with a couple of these students in the past. Well so much for us getting somewhere. We took a few minutes to settle. We had a specific task ahead of us – something we had to share. I fought internally on how to get these young men and women to open up. Wait – I had called them students, I called them kids, now all of a sudden they were young men and women. I looked at the other groups – I listened. I could hear some happiness and jokes. Okay. I turned to my group. I asked the question. I was disappointed because I had left out the jovial tone. The first student answered – it was heavy. The next one went even deeper and the emotions started. The third person spoke and talked about things that showed trust. Trust not only in his peers, but me. The tone stayed the same all the way around the group. Then I heard it. Me, myself, and I answered. I found my words sharing things that only my wife would know outside of this group. True beliefs and emotions. What the heck??????

Our group worked together from Friday night until Sunday afternoon. These young people shared their hopes, dreams, expectations of life and adults, and their pain. Wow. So much pain came out of these young people. It was not woe is me. It was not feel sorry for me. It was I need to let this go so my life will get better. I saw growth. I saw friendships grow. I saw young people maturing. I saw change. I changed.

We put away the electronics. We did not have television or radios. The cell phones came out for the adults just to watch the weather. A storm was being released both metaphorically and literally. I had the chance to look inward. I had the chance to exam where I am professionally. I had the chance to see where I am as a person. I was able to examine the way I treat people. I looked at my part of a marriage. I look at me.

The weekend ended, I was torn. I wanted to work with these young people even more. I missed my wife. I missed our child. I wanted to go home. I wanted to stay. I needed to go back to the world. I wanted to bring my family and leave the world. I was at peace, I was terrified.

After an 8 hour ride home, I felt like my new found peace was being tested – then I went to work today. It seems that when you really feel as if you have a handle on life it will test you. Today did just that. I was frustrated by the time I came home. After dinner, I tried to recenter myself. It started working. Then I realized the best way to bring it back was to write about it. This has helped.

I do not care if you are religious or not. I am not a believer in retreats. I highly recommend every one find one and do it. There are all sorts of retreats that remove the world. It can be a few hours. It can be a day, a weekend, or a week. Leaving the world behind for just a little time makes facing that world a little easier.

I must thank my wife as I end this. Even on the day of departure, I texted about staying back. It was only due to her encouragement and telling me to be there for the young adults that I went. I think she knew that they would be helping me more than I helped them – or at least 50-50.

Take the time to help yourself.

Thank you for meandering with me.

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Those Millennials

Posted on January 31, 2016 by Bob Martin

Millennials written on chalkboardLike almost any other week, I noticed a number of postings about the millennial generation. As in the past, the articles talked about their attitude of entitlement. Everything is supposed to be handed to them. One article discussed how they won’t remain at jobs for long due to their searching for something better. One gentleman was quoted that money was not enough to keep him working. He needed to feel as if his work did more than pay the rent. The comments of the readers, quite often, ripped apart the generation as being lazy. Constant complaints about how they show up to work late and cannot understand why they boss is upset.

Some of the articles even speculated that the generation to follow, Generation Z, or iGen. The author talks about how tied to technology they are and that the country, and world, are in deep trouble with the next few generations. To read all of these different writings, one can only be worried about where it is that we are heading.

I am happy to report that I do not hold these feelings of despair for our future. I have high hopes, and at the same time some questions for those that are unhappy with the group now currently in their 20s. This comes from a few different places for me. I work in education and I see the future. The students of today are no different than those of my time. They are eager to learn, the want to see what new things they can come up with, they succeed, they fail, and they are typical teens. I also work with the youth in our church. I am in the middle of a retreat with 60 sophomores. In this group, I see artists, mathematicians, English majors and writers. I have talked to both young men and women interested in the sciences and moving our country forward. This is a great group of students who I feel are more the norm than those about whom the negative comments are written.

As I see these young people, both in the schools and other places, I find that the teens may use technology more today than in the past. Their learning is actually tied to it. So, yes, they are different – or are they. When I was in school we used overhead projectors, teachers had Walkman’s and maybe even CD players in the class. Some films were even on VHS tapes. The difference isn’t that the students are using the latest technology to learn; the difference is what the latest technology is. That has nothing to do with the students.

I am happy to tell you that they can also put down the technology when given reason to do it (okay when it is collected). Once they are without the devices and you have the time to get to know them, one can find excitement in listening to their plans. Generation Z may even have bigger plans than my generation. What is more, they care. They actually are taking the time to care about the planet and what is happening to it. They care about each other. Yes, I know it is hard to tell when their faces are shoved into a smart phone or some other device. Just take it away and talk to them. But then again….it would mean that we too would have to put down the technology in order to make it a conversation. Yes. We need to set the example.

This leads me to the comment about the Millennials. I understand that many of my generation are not happy with this new crop of workers. However, I have to ask who taught them to be this way. Nobody takes the credit or the blame for their attitudes that so many complain about. It is not like these people came out of the womb with this sense of entitlement. It had to be taught. Who showed the 20 somethings that work should not just be a paycheck but more…much more. While some of it might have been taught from peer-to-peer, the first one had to learn it from outside of their generation.

Perhaps we are not complaining about the Millennials, but instead we are criticizing ourselves for the way we raised the. Oh wait, I didn’t raise one. Instead of complaining we should be accepting the fact that they listened. They listened to the grown-ups who would come home every day complaining about their job. They heard adults speak of how much they hated working for a company that did not value them. Their ears took in when parents and teachers alike told them that they could be anything they wanted. They accepted that they truly could follow their heart.

We have expectations for this group, but did anybody ever lay out those demands? Did we ever tell them during the informative years that this is what employers would be expecting? We taught them to be a certain way, and now we complain that they are following the expectations given them, or maybe lack of expectations.

I will admit that television shows did not help. We showed them young people auditioning for a show and weeks later having a record deal. We showed them people earning big money on YouTube. These are things that their generation did not invent. They took the inventions of the ones before and capitalized on it. They were shown that life could be easy and wanted that.

However, in the end, after working with younger people than myself, I am happy to report that these Millennials and Generation Z people are not the norm. The norm are the people no different than their parents. They will work. They will discover. They will move us forward, and I will be happy to walk with them.

Thank you for meandering with me.

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What?!?! Already?!

Posted on January 28, 2016 by Bob Martin

hands of child and father on wheat field

Tonight we will walk down the road that every father of a daughter fears or at the very least does not look forward to.

Our daughter had her annual physical today. I am happy to report that everything turned out to be perfectly normal. She is growing up quite nicely. The doctor was quite pleased. We sat and chatted about a number of different aspects that would and do make up the life of a young person. The questions came –

How much milk does you drink? Do you know your phone numbers and address? Do you like school? What do you do for fun? What books do you like?

I sat and listened intently to the answers. I already knew what they would be, but there was something fun in hearing my daughter have to tell another person about herself. She smiled. She liked being asked the questions as if it was a grown-up to grown-up conversation. I stayed out of the talk unless she looked to me for assistance with an answer. This was so different then years past where either my wife or I answered all the questions. Then the doctor looked at me –

“She is getting older now.” I nodded. “Somebody will soon have to talk to her about….” She glanced at our daughter and lowered her voice, “you know.” She indicated to her own body.

Before I could even think, the words “that’s my wife’s job” came blurting out. The doctor agreed but said she did not indicate mom so as not to insult me and dads. I appreciated that. Wow. She gave credit to dads. That’s pretty cool. Wait a minute!!!

My mind jumped back to what she just said. She explained that while nothing is happening yet, it is better to start the conversations now. Some of her friends may be maturing faster than her. Friends can be talking about things but not have correct information. It is always better that our daughter hears it from us first.

She went on to describe a story involving her son when he was younger. He had a conversation with a 12 year old. Being the son of a doctor, he knew all the correct terms and way things worked. The 12 year old did not. It turned out to be embarrassing for all involved. I guess this was supposed to make me feel better about the fact that she just told me to HAVE THE TALK!!!!

I will leave this task with my wife. I believe just as it is a rite of passage for fathers to sit with their sons, mothers should be given the chance to bond with their daughters. I am honest when I say that I am also staying out of this because…….. well just because.

I know that the conversation does not have to go deep into the whole subject – just an introduction now. However, the fact that a doctor mentioned it sent other images speeding through my head. I could hear my wife saying that she had the talk. The next flash was my answering the door to a skinny, short kid with a corsage for a dance. The kid disappeared and there stood a teen. I think one side of his head was shaved. Behind this young man, a car stood running with rap music blaring from the speakers. My daughter started to run by me and slowed. I started walking with her and the next thing I knew I was in a tux and she in a bridal gown. When we reached the end of the aisle, she turned and handed me a grandchild – we stood in her living room. Her husband stood next to her.

The doctor said something and I snapped back to present day. “No. No offense. I will talk to my wife and let her know.”

We finished off the appointment with niceties. We said our good-byes. The doctor headed off to the next room. Our daughter and I headed for the door. As we left the office, she reached up and took my hand. It seemed so small all of a sudden. I squeezed and wondered how much longer that hand would take mine as we walked across a street. How many more times would I be asked to pick her up? What small number of times are left where she will come to me in fear of the dark? In a year, will I be able to carry the sleeping child to bed? How far down the road until she would rather talk with her friends than her mother and I? What limited number of years until she brings home a boy.

I shook my head and removed all of these thoughts. I looked down and just enjoyed the walk we were having.

These are the joys and fears of a father. Thank you for meandering through a dad’s thoughts tonight.

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Where Were You?

Posted on January 27, 2016 by Bob Martin

Have you ever had a day when something keeps coming into your head? Today was one of those days. All day long, memories kept popping into my head due to a sound, a sight, a smell, some sense. Not only did the memories the memories keep popping up but the term sense memories followed. I kept thinking about how powerful the brain is that a simple word or smell can conjure up such strong feelings. The brain is an amazing organ. At the end of the day, one of the strongest ones popped.

As an actor, I used memories all the time. A song, a smell and I could bring up any emotion needed. I used to use it when I wanted to freak my students out in the classroom. I could bring forth a flood of feelings. However, one must be careful due to the strength of these memories. While many of them can bring elation, some can place in you a deep dark area that you thought you had left behind.

I love to walk into my kitchen when I am cooking spaghetti sauce. I start to think of my Nana and the fall. Add to the smell a cool autumns day with leaves crunching as I walk in from the car and I am now transported back to my home of long ago. Every fall my grandmother would have us working to run tomatoes through a juicer. She then put all of the ingredients for her homemade spaghetti sauce into roasters in our breezeway. For weeks, I would walk into the room after getting off the school bus to the aroma of simmering sauce. I went there today as I passed by somebody having something with sauce for lunch.

Oranges can have the opposite effect on me. I would like to say that the smell of oranges take me back to trips to Florida with the high school band. Unfortunately after those trips I had a different experience with oranges. I worked in a nursing home as a computer programmer. My office was in the basement away from all of the activities of the nursing home. If I wanted coffee or lunch, or I had to assist someone with a computer problem, I came up to the main floor. That is where the oranges come in. I think nursing homes do it differently now, but back in the 80s the facilities used an orange scented air freshener to cover up accidents. The spray did little to cover or remove the original odor. What it did do is mix the first odor with oranges. To this day, I cannot allow orange scented air freshener into my house.

Songs especially can bring up those memories. Like I already said, it is amazing how intense the memories can be. It is not just a thought or fleeting feeling. Depending on the song, I can feel as if I am no longer in the present. It is probably the closest thing to an out-of-body experience that I can get. The first few notes of Somewhere Over a Rainbow takes me to my dad’s memorial service. The drum and bugle corps played this in his honor at the service – his favorite song. All present day knowledge will stop and I am 15 again.

So this leads me to the biggest of the sense memories of the day – who knows maybe subconsciously it has been in the back of my head due to a news story that played but I did not focus on. All I know is that it just took a question from the talk show host, “Where were you thirty years ago tomorrow, January 28, 1986 at 8:38 in the morning?” Just those few words triggered a whole day’s worth of memories for me. At first something didn’t seem right. 8:38 in the morning? That was too early. The brain finally worked out the fact that 30 years ago I was 2600 miles away in the East coast. Once my brain reconfigured the time, the pictures started flooding in.

I was in college in Geneva, NY. My friend and I were in the fraternity house preparing for our chemistry lab. We were working on the pre-labs and drawing out the experiment. I can still picture the drawings – a closed system. We were going to be heating something up that day. One of our brothers came in with a weird expression on his face. He told us that we better come down and check out the TV. Normally we would have thrown something at him and told him to knock it off, but the look told us something serious had happened. We put down our work and headed to the basement where the television was kept. We no sooner hit the bottom step and we saw the replay on the screen. There in front of our eyes in slow motion, we watched the space shuttle explode. At least that was the conclusion since it was hard to tell what happened in all the smoke. The replay went again, this time continuing. Eventually the rockets went away and pieces started falling. We stood there in silence. No one in the room could understand it.

CNN eventually cut to pictures of the families in the stands watching it. They stood there in disbelief.

I can remember the fact that we had discussed going down to watch the launch. Both my friend and I had passed on it since we had seen so many of them in the past. It was one of those things that was cool to watch the first few times, but now it had come passé. While some people celebrated the fact that it was the first time a civilian was going up, in a way, we looked at it that had become so common place that anybody could go up. All that changed.

I started by talking about how powerful the brain is. I sat in my car thinking of all the actions and events of that day. I could feel the walls of the hall as we raced down the hall. I could sense my heart pounding from running down the stairs. I could hear the silence in the room when we entered. I could feel the sense of loss and pain for the families. I was no longer in 2016, but I had found that time machine and traveled back to 1986.

Again, something was nagging at me all day and memories kept popping. Perhaps it was just a prep for this final flow of memories. A day that I will recall forever. I will always know what I was doing and where I was on January 28, 1986.

So that is where my thoughts went today. Thank you for meandering with me.

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Fright Night

Posted on January 26, 2016 by Bob Martin

The fun thing about writing is that it causes you to look back at your own life. So many of my teachers and professors always taught that you write what you know. So tonight is a little insight into who I was at one time – a silly teen. I am going to challenge anyone who reads this to think back when you were a teen and let us know your weirdest experience when babysitting. That’s right babysitting. Growing up in a small town, both guys and girls babysat. Most of mine was done for relatives, but there are two kids that I babysat for that made life interesting and weren’t related to me. I will write about them another time. This post is about one house in particular that taught me teenagers don’t learn lessons the easy way.

The house belonged to my cousins. It was a nice ranch styled house. Friends and relatives entered through the garage to the kitchen door. As a matter of fact, I cannot remember anyone using the front door. You entered through the kitchen area; I seem to recall a table for breakfast. Just outside the kitchen was the living room and small dining room (again not positive about where people ate). Then came the hallway. The hall led down to three bedrooms. The older child, their son, had the first bedroom. Then at the end of the hallway you found the master bedroom on the right and the youngest’s, their daughter, on the left. The odd thing was that in the girl’s bedroom (she was maybe two at the time) stood a door to outside. I think it was for a mother-in-law or something. While the door remained lock at all times, I knew it was there.

The front wall of the living room was almost entirely window. I never knew if it was one very large piece with wooden slats breaking it up or if it was multiple windows. Regardless everyone walking by could see into the living room. The back wall had French doors. While the doors opened onto the backyard, I was never sure just how hard it would be for someone to get back there and stare into through the windows.

Now I already admitted that I was not fast when it came to learning lessons as a teen. I had a habit of getting the kids off to bed early, turning off the lights, and turning on the Friday Fright night. Why? Why? Why? I would scare myself to death almost every time I babysat. I loved it.

One of the nights in question, I had help with the scary part. I remember that the older cousin really wanted to stay up and watch the scary movie with me. With his parents’ permission, he had stayed up once or twice when the movie was not all that scary. He loved them almost as much as I did. This night, however, it was supposed to be a great Dracula feature. I sent him off early to ensure that he would be asleep when the movie started.

As with every other night in which I was paid to watch movies, I popped popcorn, grabbed a soda, turned off the lights, and hit the couch. I settled in for the movie. It did not help that the wind had picked up outside. Twigs and leaves hit the window intermittently. I pushed deeper into the couch. The wall of windows on my left, the French doors on my right. Dracula was doing well on adding to his numbers. Then it happened…..

During one of the quiet parts of the film, from far down the hallway, I heard a bang. I waited patiently to hear if other noise would follow. Another bang and what sounded like…….well……it sounded like a voice. In my mind, one thing popped. The door to the outside in my younger cousin’s room. What if someone had gotten in? All these different possibilities started rushing through my head. I, being a teen, actually asked myself, “Should I check?”

“Hello?” Yep it was a voice. It was faint – almost a whisper. Great it moved from intruders to a ghost. I stood up. I started down the hall. I remember checking on the boy. I knew that neither the noise nor voice had come from his room. I did this to just build some confidence. I moved toward the end of the hall – toward it.

Part way down the hall, I reached the light switch. I flipped it. Nothing. I flipped it the other way. Nothing. Great a burned out bulb. I pushed my back against the wall opposite the bedroom with the outside door. I now stood opposite the door. I peered into the dark. I couldn’t see much. I could see the crib, but not if my cousin still slept within. “Hello.” The voice spoke but I could not see a body.

I reached into the master bedroom. I found the switch and flipped it. A light came on. Unfortunately, it was a little light on a dresser. What the heck? At least I had a little light. I moved into the center of the hall looking into the dark room. Then I saw it or rather her.

There sitting in the corner of the room was my little cousin. She had crawled out of her crib and decided to crawl over to her dolls and stuffed animals. She sat there talking to them as if it were the middle of the day. She giggled when she saw me.

The two of us went back into the living room. I changed off of Dracula to some comedy. When she finally fell back asleep, I carried her back to her crib. I left the light on in her parents’ room just in case. The rest of the night went without further incidents.

I questioned my cousins upon their return. How could they not tell me that she could get out of her crib? In their defense, it was the first time – at least that is what they say.

This house had many other nights like this for me including one New Year’s Eve that combined a deer hanging in the garage and a news story about a baby sitter being accidentally shot by the children. I moved a chair into the corner that night and waited without moving for the parents to get home.

It is funny. I still love to try to scare myself with horror films. My wife isn’t crazy about them, so I am limited to viewing them on the rare occasion in which she is out late or when I travel and have to stay overnight in a hotel. As a teen, I do not think that I ever learned to not set myself up for self-fright any time I was hired to watch TV – I mean babysit. It was a great way to spend a Friday night.

There you have it. Just one little trip down memory lane. Thanks for meandering with me.

Posted in family, Fright, small town, youth | Tagged , , | 5 Comments

Will We be a Burden on Our Children?

Posted on January 25, 2016 by Bob Martin

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 I think I am ready to write about this topic. At first, I thought I avoided these words in order to not upset my wife. Then I found an excuse in not knowing how to actually take the thoughts and put them to paper. Finally, I decided that a certain amount of time had to pass before opening this box of feelings. In the end, I was the both the reason and the excuse for not putting down words that would tell others of this subject. The topic is the passing of my Mother-in-Law this past summer.

Before I break into the true subject of this posting, I feel that I need to pay homage to this wonderful person that left us. Jeanne was a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a great-grandmother, a nurse, and a person who cared about others. Even though my wife and I met late in life, I had the pleasure and fortune of knowing Jeanne for nine years. Nine great years, but still it was not enough.

My wife often talks about how her mom studied nursing and worked in the field for a num1093817_10152921952190509_4244332736464805251_ober of years before giving it all up to take care of her family. She had the chance to be there for her kids when they came home from school every day. She was there when her kids needed her. My wife and her brothers were lucky to have her.

My Mother-in-Law was the practical one; this may have come from the nursing. She wanted to know what was what and move on with life. I can remember taping her for a film I put together for her and her husband’s 50th wedding anniversary. She stated the facts of things. I remember once she said all she had to say, she asked, “Is that it?” She didn’t really want to be filmed.

Now don’t get me wrong, she was practical, but she had a great sense of humor. I recall within the first couple of days of meeting her (she and her husband flew out to visit), I said something to her with a tinge of sarcasm. Before the last words left my lip, this 75-year-old woman was sticking her tongue out at me. That was my introduction. She didn’t tell jokes, but she had a sense of humor. Jeanne also loved music. André Rieu and Christmas. She would sing along to both all the time. She was a wonderful woman.

However, this piece is only partially about her. It is also about being an adult-child and living with the fact that every day your parent(s) is/are getting older. In other words, it is about life. It is about having to come to terms with how the world works.

I lost my dad when I was 15. While it was not something quick, I was a child and kept away from much of what was happening with him. The adults dealt with life. Now I am the adult – no matter how much I try to run from it. Now it is up to my wife and me to deal with life while trying to block it from our daughter.

My mother is going to 78 this year. 78? I thought my mom was old at 40. If that is the case, I do not want to put a word to her age now. The thing is that when we lost my Mother-in-Law, I could not help but start to worry about my own mother. There is a difference of seven years between the two, but once you reach a certain age – those differences seem to be minor.

For the most part, my mother is in decent health – not great, but not horrible. She is a person in her late 70s. Like Jeanne, she was a nurse and gave it up to be at home with my brothers and me. She became a mom to so many when she and my dad ran a drum corps.

For years, we have dealt with a memory that is not as sharp as it used to be. We have dealt with knee surgeries, a pace-maker, and other assorted issue. We have to stop more often when we go out to the mall or other places. We have to accept that fact that age is running its course. But we don’t – do we? We don’t want to accept that if we are lucky enough to still have our parents that there will come a day – sooner now than it was a year ago – where we will have to say our good-byes. It is not easy.

In the meantime, we also have to deal with how the years react to our elders. I have a number of friends in the same boat as I am. We lean on each other. We support each other. We listen to one another. I am coming to understand that, while people wish aging wouldn’t happen, it is not the age that bothers people. It is the seeing the people who raised you, were your rock, need to turn the tables and have you be there rock. It now becomes difficult to think that these frail people used to carry us, lift us on their shoulders, wipe out tears, and support us in all ways. They gave us unconditional love.

In the end, we do it. We take care of our parents. We will support them both physically and mentally. We will do what is needed. We will be there.

Even all of this is not my truest fear. My fear is that our daughter will one day end up having to do the same for us. I will be 60 before our daughter even reaches her 20s. My fear is that while she should be having the time of her life in her early 20s, or starting a family not much later, that I will be a burden on her. I have thought about this quite a bit in the last six months. What is interesting is that I, and others I know, do not look at what we do for our parents as a burden, yet we look at ourselves as possibly becoming just that.

I am afraid of aging. I am not afraid of getting old. I am actually looking forward to it – retirement. I look forward to the days when my wife and I can do as we please. I am PATIENTLY waiting to be a granddad. I want to see what that part of life will hold for me. I fear aging. I do not want to get to the point where others have to do for me. Having to say good-bye to a wonderful woman has caused me to worry about what happens when it is my turn.

So that is where I meandered tonight. Thanks for walking with me.

 

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Is It Bullying?

Posted on January 24, 2016 by Bob Martin

Bullying written on a wooden cube in a office desk

As a person who works in education, I am very aware of bullying and how much it can damage a person especially a young person just learning who he/she is. Bullying is not limited to kids – adults can do it as well. Hollywood loves to make films showing how a bully in his/her teen remains one as an adult. I will say it is nice to see how much more aware people are of this problem today than when I was a kid. My only concern is that this term may now be overused and misused. I fear that we are getting to the point that anything negative or honest is construed to be bullying.

Less than a month ago, I started writing again. While I dream that writing could be my full-time job – that will happen when Ellen reads my blog and then asks me on her show – I know that for the most part it will be a blog that finds a niche. I write because it is an outlet for me. I post in hopes that possibly my writing may lift another person’s spirits.

I knew going into this endeavor that I would not please everybody, and it is impossible to have every reader agree with what you write. Yet, I decided to start writing just the same. My teachers, parents, and other adults told me on many occasions that this is the way life is. For a self-diagnosed “people-pleaser” this is heard, understood, but almost impossible to accept. Even with this having been beaten into my head I have attempted both acting and writing – quite possibly the two most publicly criticized fields.

There is no job, today, that is not open to comments and criticism. Social media has made this even more possible with anyone with a Facebook account able to write about their good or bad experience at the store, in a restaurant, or on the street. Article after article speaks about how the anonymity of the internet increases the feeling of safety while making negative comments. People write how we have become a society of bullies due to the internet. Is this true?

The internet has also given the chance for something small to take off. People write blogs and once in a while, one entry may take off. It hits a chord with people and they start sharing it. What was originally written with hopes of reaching large numbers but expecting to only be read by a few, can surprise people. It reminds me of the old shampoo commercial. She told two friends and they told two friends and so on. The internet can be a double-edged sword.

I experienced both sides of the internet this weekend. I wrote a little piece about growing up in a small town. I even attempted to address those that grew up in this little town, but longed for better things. So far, my postings, at best, hit 176 readers. As of this writing, that post is just shy of 2000 readers. Small compared to the number of internet users – large for me. In the end, it also received some negative comments.

I started falling into the trap of looking at this for more than what it was – somebody didn’t agree with me. My thoughts started wondering why somebody had to post at all if they didn’t like it. My feelings were hurt.

I drank my coffee and let this sink in. Fortunately, I think the caffeine helped me put my big boy panties on and remember that I am an adult – deal with it. I remembered the fact that I was thrilled with all the comments I saw yesterday. Of course I was – they were nice comments and they agreed with me. I had to question my inner self on why I was willing to accept those comments alone. Well, because I have an ego and it likes to be pumped. I went back and looked at the comments. They were not personal attacks – though one person telling me to bite them was a little weird – they were people expressing their lack of agreement. I responded to each telling them no offense meant and I understand their point. I didn’t apologize, but I accepted.

This experience, however, made me look at where we have traveled as a society, and what we are teaching our children. I worry that we are too much towards the world of The Giver. A world where emotions are gone. You say nothing to upset another. The world is without color. One should be able to express him/herself without being labeled a bully or told they are picking on people.

When working with our daughter or other children, I often hear so-and-so is being a bully. I ask for an explanation of how the other person is being a bully. More times than not, there is no name calling, there is no picking on, there is a person making a statement. It could be a simple, I do not like that dress. I don’t want to play with you right now. The other person being upset and wanting to be left alone.

I do not want to make light of bullying. I have seen it in my classroom, and stopped it when I did. I have heard adults picking on colleagues. It is serious and should be handled. My worries are that we are just calling anything that might hurt another person’s feelings, bullying. While we do need to stop bullying, I believe at the same time we need to remind our younger people that not everybody is going to like you or get along with you every second of every minute of every day.

Soon we will tackle everyone getting a trophy.

Posted in Bully, sarcasm, writing | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments

Take Me Back to the 40’s

Posted on January 23, 2016 by Bob Martin

I love living in the 21st century though there are times in which I feel that I was born too late. Today was one of those days. This afternoon had me wishing that I had lived in the ‘40s and been a next door neighbor to Old Man Parker from The Christmas Story. Of course I would have wanted to be as far away from the Bumkus, Bumpkins, or whatever their name is as possible.

The day started off as normal as could be. My wife and daughter went running out the door to do church school and other errands including picking up their Girl Scout cookies. I was tasked with being here while the furnace man did his semi-annual check-up of our system. I intended to clean the house and then sit to write while the technician went up and down the ladder. I counted the number of cups of coffee I would be able to drink. Then he slowly descended the ladder. Step by step – pictures in hand.

“Mr. Martin,” he started, “you have a problem.”

He then proceeded to spend the next twenty minutes explaining how my gas valve has stopped working and it has damaged other parts of the furnace. The metal is now fatigued. So was my brain from trying to understand. In the end, I understood that two much gas was being blown into the system which caused it to overheat multiple times. This in turn ruined a valve made just for that issue. It also caused the metal housing for the mixture of flame and gas to weaken. Currently we are safe – there are no cracks. The concern is that at the current state it could crack releasing gas and fumes into the house. Oh yeah – the furnace is out of warranty. I had a choice repair the parts or go ahead and follow government suggestions for a furnaces at 12 or more years old – replace. The senior tech received a call to come out.

In the end, we have to replace the whole system. I believe I just signed away both our daughter and our first born grandchild. I don’t plan to tell our daughter this until she has stayed warm for many years. Since we plan to be in this house until retirement, we have come to terms with this and accepted it. I can also already picture people messaging me saying that furnaces should last longer, I should have checked this or that, or you were ripped off. I say thank you ahead of time, no messages needed since I will be losing sleep over this already.

So how does this relate back to my opening? My favorite character in that movie has turned out to be the dad. There was nothing that could stop that man. He changed a tire in no time flat. The furnace became his nemesis. When that furnace stopped working it felt his wrath. He took a wrench down to the basement, some smoke came billowing out, and it worked. Those were the days. A man could fix things in the house.

Today, due to technology and other advancements, a man cannot always be a man. We can no longer take things apart, fix them, and have them work again. My brother and his buddies could hear a knock or ping in a car and know immediately the problem. They could hoist an engine, change out parts, and have it all back together in time for dinner. Not today. If your car makes a noise, you need to take it to a mechanic to have it talk with a computer.

With all the advances, we have moved away from men or women being able to self-repair. My oldest brother has a furnace that is over 50 years old. IT STILL WORKS. The motor has been replaced, but the rest is original. If something goes wrong with it, he can attempt repairs before calling somebody.

Today you have to trust the man with the iPad. You have to have faith that the company is not trying to rip you off. You have to be prepared to replace instead of repair. Fortunately, we have built long relationships with companies that we can trust. I am okay with our decision, but it just would have been nice to at least be able to act like I knew what I was doing.

Please take me back in time.

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