December 24th

Posted on December 24, 2016 by Bob Martin

I sit here late into the evening on December 24th. So many thoughts of the past year and all that has happened passing through my mind. Over the last few weeks, I have heard a number of friends and colleagues talking about how they cannot wait for 2016 to end. So many people talk about how hard this year has been for so many different reasons. Deaths, money problems, loss of friendships, loss of jobs, and many other things fill out the list of why, to quote so many, “2016 SUCKED!” My family and I are not without our own reasons for wanting to hear the shouts and cheers of Happy New Years – a fresh start. But first there is tonight. December 24th.

I try very hard to look for the good in even the worst of situations. I am sure that some look at me as naïve or a person with his head-in-the-ground because I refuse to see only the negative. It would be easy to stop and just scream about how horrible the world is. I cannot, and tonight is one of the reasons why I try to see good.

I sit here in my father-in-law’s basement typing away while my wife is reading a book to our daughter. There is a small Christmas tree on the desk next to her bed and a flame in the stove. The only other light comes from my screen. I hear their laughter. I listen to the story. I stare at the tree. This evening still means as much to me as it did more than 40 years ago. I am instantly transported back to my living room when I was a little older than our daughter. I can remember being stretched out on the floor next to the tree all alight. Music played on the stereo. I was alone with the exception of our Old English Sheep Dog, Lady. She offered herself up as my pillow. I laid on the floor looking at the lights. That night, just like this, those lights give me a sense of calm, peace, and hope. This evening I even have more hope than before.

Tonight for the first time in 40 decades, quite possibly the same year as described above, the world has two holidays happening. Of course we have Christmas Eve. Many of my friends are preparing for Christmas. Presents are being wrapped, food is being cooked, people will go to church tonight or tomorrow, and families will come together. It is also the first day of Hanukkah. Presents are being wrapped, food is being cooked, candles are being prepped, and families are coming together.

Two major religions are celebrating two miracles that took place oh so long ago. Both miracles offered up faith and hope. Both are still celebrated thousands of years later. I love when these two holidays come together on the calendar. It offers a chance to see how much we share in common. We can see the love that so many in the world have to offer, and, if for only a little time, people can be nice to each other.

This goes for those of a faith and those who celebrate Christmas without the religious aspect. A good part of the world will take the next 24 hours, or 8 days depending, and have a little more patience, a little more helpfulness, and a little more love. People will give of themselves to help others. Some, who serve all year long will continue to serve, but will be thanked for it. The world will find a little bit of peace. When I think of this, I always remember the story of how the Germans and Brits (or Americans depending on the teller) stopped fighting WWII one Christmas Eve. They found peace and were, for a short time, no longer enemies. Unfortunately, with the end of the holiday came the end of the peace. If only that peace could have spread.

So I want to wish everyone a Merry Christmas, a Happy Hanukkah, or just a wonderful and beautiful day. I pray that today each heart feels a little lighter. A little less burdened. A little happier. For those who have lost someone over the last 12 months, I pray that that person is with you in spirit, and that you may remember the good times, the celebrations, and just the time that you had with them. May whatever family arguments that happen be resolved quickly and not take from your day.

Most of all, I wish that the true meaning of these days stay with you long after the tree is taken down or the last candle has been lit. May something touch your heart deep enough that it stays with you. May enemies start to find common ground. May people of the world realize that we need to work together in order to make this blue marble work. May all of the people start to feel hope that tomorrow will be better.

I recently heard a talk show host state that there was no such thing as hope and faith. It is only through hard work that things get done, and hope and faith are for the lazy. While I cannot hope that my work gets done, I can have hope for the world. I give that hope to each of you as a present this year. Have hope that this world will get better. Have hope that the rulers of the world will do right by all. Have hope that people will care for one another. Have hope that even at the darkest of times, there is still a light.

I just heard Santa is almost here so I will close. Thank you for meandering with me and here is to having hope as present that will be with us forever.

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Walking on Halloween Night

Posted on November 1, 2016 by Bob Martin

pumpkinsWalking down the street
All is dark

Screams and squeals
Children happy
Children scared

Another house
Another door
Knock knock knock
Just one more

Here a bar
There a sucker
Another block

Count the kids
Watch for cars
Whose kid is that
Where is Jehoshaphat?

Another corner
Two groups meet up
Children call out greetings
Parents look at each other
No words said
The looks in the eyes say all

Why
Why do this every year
Children squeal with delight
No longer wondering
Fearing the day it will be no longer
Hoping for many years to come.

Happy Halloween

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Lessons Taught with Eyes Closed

Posted on October 14, 2016 by Bob Martin

20160405_182624Last Saturday, we had the honor and privilege to watch a couple from our parish wed during our evening Mass. What really made it different was that she is 79 and he is 81. Every person watching had smiles from ear to ear. However, that was not the best part of the evening for me. It happened later in the evening during a small reception.

Amongst the tables was a small opening that turned into the dance floor. The newlyweds took to the floor. Half-way through the dance I noticed our daughter starting to sway to the music. During the next song, my wife and I, along with other couples, joined the couple on the floor. We noticed that our little one also came out to the floor. At first she was dancing with a friend and then her dancing went solo. It was fun watching her flit around on the floor.

My mind started to record all of these events. The song finished and off we went to mingle (yes – I mingled). Our daughter and her friend went over to talk with the person running the music. We could see them laughing and looking at playlists. Every once in a while she bounced back out on to the floor and danced a little. Before I could snap a shot, off she went. Then came the moment that will be with me from now until my memories fade.

I could hear Phillip Phillips’ Home start to play. I knew in an instant that it had been requested. By this time, we were back at our table talking. I saw her go out to the floor and just stand still. Slowly, so slowly, her head and shoulders started moving to the music. Soon her whole body was just moving in time with the song. Her eyes were closed. At first I thought she was out there to gain attention, and, for all I know, that may have been the original thought. But the music took over.

Then her right leg slowly circled out and around; her toe dragging throughout the movement. Her left arm slowly came up and over her head and then the whole body twirled around – eyes closed the entire time. Her head dropped and tilted to the side. Her eyes opened and searched upwards. She progressed into a mixture of ballet and jazz. She was lost inside her own world. I watched and was amazed at what I was seeing in front of me.

My Daddy pride started to well up inside. I broke my gaze for a moment so that I could get rid of that dust in my eyes. That was when I realized that I was not the only one taking in this dance. So many of the eyes around the room were on this solo dance taking place.

The room watched this normally bouncy, talkative, energetic 8-year-old sink into her soul and let the music take hold. She stood in the middle of the floor. Her hair was done up in a bun and she wore a beautiful peach-colored dress that rose just slightly with every twirl. Her movements provided so much emotion as she forgot about the world and allowed one of her favorite songs to wash over her.

I wanted to capture this moment for eternity. I grabbed my phone and hit video and record. I was so taken by what I was watching that I never noticed until the end that I never really started recording. I was so disappointed in multiple ways as the song ended. Our little dancer, reminded me of a figurine on a music box, came back into reality. I think she noticed the eyes as she finished for she let out a little smile and then her eyes quickly went to the ground as she walked off the floor. I was also saddened that I did not get this on tape.

Throughout the week, I came to realize that while I did not get it to share with the family, I did take it in with my mind. Many times during the week when things get rushed and busy, pictures of her dance would come back to me. While listening to the radio together in the morning and this song comes on, I flash back to her dance. I hope and pray that when I start losing different memories that this is the last one to go. I hope if I ever forget, I come back and read this again.

Often when I write, I write about lessons I learned. I think the lesson I learned today is that not everything needs to be filmed. Sometimes you just need to not worry about recording and be in the moment. All too often when at a school event all you see is iPads filming and parents taking in the events through their screens. That evening the event called out to me so much that I never looked at it. I watched our daughter. She spoke volumes without saying a word. She gave those in the room a special present without knowing that she was giving a gift. It makes me hopeful that more of these moments come when she forgets about the world and let her inner beauty come out. I will just have to carry a handkerchief more often.

I hope that each of you get these moments too. Thanks for meandering with me tonight.

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Lessons Relearned

Posted on October 12, 2016 by Bob Martin

Angry young menTonight’s post, while not a repeat, is about a subject I wrote about a few months ago. Choices. Choices that we make and choices that we believe that others make us choose. I found myself upset today at another person and then at myself. This world has us going at a million miles an hour. In that whirlwind, we allow snap judgements, decisions, and actions to occur. It is only after the fact that we can finally take a moment to look back and see what actually happened.

I am sure all readers are well aware of the news over the Samsung Note 7. It blows up! I purchased mine to replace an older version which I liked, but needed to update (okay – I didn’t need to update, but I did). Then a few weeks ago news broke of the problems with the phones. Knowing that I needed to get on a plane to fly home, and hearing that the FAA didn’t want them on airplanes, I ran and replaced the bad version with a new phone. Now, this week, we hear that the placement phones are doing the same. Nothing like waking up one morning to hear that Samsung recommends turning the phone off and not using it – yeah, like that can happen in this day and age.

This lead to a fun phone call with Verizon in order to check on the turn in procedure. The representative told me not to worry since it is only a small number that have caught fire. When asked if he would like to be the person to tell me that one day and have my leg burn off the next, the representative suggested that I go to the store and turn it in.

This is where the story actually starts. Our daughter and I went to the store last night only to find out nothing could be done. We had set-up to start a new phone plan on the 20th. Apparently this messed up the paperwork for the exchange. I spent over an hour before asking if they could fix the issue and text me. “No problem,” was the response. Jump to today.

I went back to the store and heard the check-in person tell the gentleman before me that the wait was 30 minutes. After 10 minutes, a young representative came out. He told me that he looked at my account and due to the new plan, I would not get the huge discount that I was given two months ago, would have to pay full price, and that it would be done in monthly installments. When I informed him that I was still on the old plan, the representative informed me he knew that but the pending order stopped him from doing anything. I allowed my frustration to peak and asked, “So the customer gets screwed?”

He replied, “there is nothing we can do.” I had had enough and left the store. I tried to call the company but was on hold during my entire drive. Apparently, I was not the only one having problems. When I got to my computer, I decided to see what my fingers could do on-line. I saw that I could do an upgrade, and, sure enough, when I clicked on it, it asked if I wanted to cancel the plan change allowing me to once again have the discounted price. I drove back to the store.

After dealing with the manager, we were able to sort everything out. At the end, the manager stated that he was glad it was done. I told him that he owed it to his salesman to train him so that he knew how to do this. Then it would be done.

So why share this?

While I did not scream and throw a tantrum, I came very close to bursting out in anger. I walked away before I did, but I did get angry. I was mad at the company. I was mad at the sales representative. I was mad. They made me mad…. or did they?

I have written about an old Chief Master Sergeant in the past who talked about just this. I will remember to my last days his comments at my commencement from Airmen Leadership School. Every emotion you have is your choice. Everything you do is your choice. You and only you get to decide when to be angry, happy, sad, or otherwise. On days like this it is hard to take the responsibility. But I am reminded of the old saying that I have heard time and time again – when you are pointing the finger of blame at someone, four fingers are pointing at you.

All of these words came rushing back to me. Then I got angry again, but this time I chose to be upset. The representative was doing his job (quite possibly he knew what to do but had been taught to offer the one plan first). I wasn’t getting what I thought I should be given so I chose to get upset. I chose to walk out. I then chose to go back and fix it. Everything was a choice and it was mine to make. I calmed down. Life continued.

Then I saw all of the Facebook postings. While I will not push for one side or the other, I see people questioning why all of the arguing, screaming, and disagreement. These people are also making choices. People choose to post, others choose to read, and yet more choose to argue. What would happen if we all choose to stop? We choose to not let others upset us to the point that we add argumentative posts. What would happen if we all choose to stop the bickering and have discussions, or if we just understand that Facebook postings do not change the minds of others and just let it go.

So tonight I choose to stay calm. I choose to research what I will be voting for, and I choose to no longer get upset due to the actions of others.

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Lesson Learned from Bathroom Tile

Posted on September 19, 2016 by Bob Martin

modernes Bad badezimmer mit farbigen fliesen blau weissRecently I posted on Facebook a request for prayers, but I did not put out any details. At the time I posted, it was too hard to write things out. Thanks to our daughter, I am in a better place. This all came about due to a lesson in the color of bathroom tiles.

Without going into too many details, my mother has been in the hospital for almost a week. Things are confusing at the moment, and, quite honestly, we are not sure how things will turn out. We do ask for continued prayers and/or good thoughts.

I was thinking all day about writing on how it is to have an aging parent and trying to deal with issues while 3000 miles separate us. I was going to put my heart out on my sleeve and let it all out. That was until a walk after dinner. That walk, a little over a mile, changed my heart, my soul, my outlook, and my spirit.

I have often heard that walking is the best thing when dealing with difficult times. Many times in the past, I have used a walk to clear my head. Tonight, while eating dinner, I asked our daughter to take a walk with me. My wife had to pass since she had overdone it with her knees tonight. I still wanted to walk to talk with our little one, and give her a bit of an understanding on what is happening. Being an 8 year-old, she groaned but consented.

We started our walk talking about Nana. I tried to put what was happening into an 8 year-old’s vocabulary. She asked some questions and waited for the answers. She asked me how I was. A little child had the wherewithal to question how I felt. We broke it down into three possible scenarios. 1 – Nana gets better, goes home, and continues on. 2 – Nana stays the same and may have move to be in a place where they can take care of her. 3 – We may lose Nana. Our little one asked more questions about her treatment. Then our little one declared that it will be number 2 and then move on to number 1. She is an optimist.

We walked along in silence. She took my hand as we walked. She let go to look at sky. I joined her with pretend binoculars. We stared at the clouds slowly moving along the sky. She took my hand and no talking happened. I started to drift back to what was going on and how we would deal with life. Then we walked by a mansion at the top of our street. Our little one commented on that and another house. She then asked if I wanted to know about the house she was going to live in. I agreed. I thought I might get the color and how many bedrooms where in this dwelling. How could I be soooooo wrong?

We then spent the better part of a mile talking about her future home. We started with the fact that it would have three bedrooms, 2-1/2 baths, a full basement, and a four room main floor. I thought about how much thought had gone into this house. She was not done. Her voice went up, her eyes lit up, and her pace quickened. “Let me tell you about the kitchen!” I was entertained by a completed description of this important room. I heard about the island, the floor, the table and exactly what would go on it, and the tiles along with their design. The dining room included the description of her china pattern.

After we finished off the first floor, we moved up the carpeted stairway with the polished-wood banister. I learned how each bedroom for the boys and girls would be set-up. With the master bathroom, not only did I hear about the carpet color, but I also learned about the two paintings that would be on the wall. The tour completed after walking through the virtual basement and then going outside to see the wall color and garden.

Once she was done, I asked where this house would be. “Pennsylvania.” I then thought I would throw another one out there. “What if your husband doesn’t like this house?” She went quiet for a moment.

“Well. We could re-plan the house so we both would like it.”

“That’s a nice idea,” I encouraged her.

“Except I wouldn’t change the kitchen, master bathroom, the dining room, or the master bathroom.” She paused. “Or the color of the outside. It has to be light blue…….and all the tile has to be water blue colors. Other than that, we could re-plan.”

By this point, we had completed our lap and were coming back into the driveway. She had done it. The weight of the day had been lifted. The fear of the future had been replaced with my planning to be sitting in her living room with a roaring fire in the future – celebrating Christmas with our daughter and her family – our grandchildren. She made me realize that tomorrow will come along with the day after that and the day after that.

Our little walk reminded me that there are dark days. They happen. One must face them, but no matter what life will continue to happen. I saw it today as I watched the people around me. I tried all day long to pull myself up by the bootstraps, but it wasn’t happening. Then a little 8 year-old did it by talking about her future. She reminded me of what I already knew, but she did it with talking about tiles and colors and patterns.

It is funny. God sends us what we need even when we forget to ask.

Thank you for meandering with me tonight.

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9/11 for an 8 year-old

Posted on September 11, 2016 by Bob Martin
honor By Janice Barchat

honor
By Janice Barchat

Today is September 11th, Patriot’s Day in United States. The memorials have happened, the songs have been sung, and the day has been remembered. For those 20 and older (though I would venture to say 25 and older), it means something. We can remember where we were when we first heard of the tragic events that played out that day. Some learned of it as they watched the morning shows, others heard about it from the radio, some learned of it as they unwittingly became part of the news. They were in the buildings, on the planes, or part of those who rushed in while others fought desperately to get out. Living on the West coast, I can still remember the phone ringing as a friend from Florida called to tell me to turn on the television.

I can remember going to work that day on empty freeways in the Los Angeles area. We stood in the conference room, work didn’t matter that day, watching the news. I can still see the receptionist coming in with a scared look on her face to tell me that a Captain from the Air Force was on hold; she needed to talk to me. I still remember how, for the next week, the skies were quiet and empty. Not a plane was in the sky unless it belonged to the military. I flew to Sacramento on the first day flights were allowed. People were tense, nervous, scared to be in the airports.

These images along with many others come flooding back into my mind every year as we approach this day. I understand how people felt during the late forties and early fifties when December 7th came up on the calendar. However, for me, growing up in the late 60s and 70s, that day was just a day when announcements were made in school. Flags would be flown, but it didn’t hold much for me emotionally. I now see that starting to take hold for our young people today when the conversation becomes about 9/11.

A senior in high school today would have been no more than 3 years-old when the twin towers were hit and our country was attacked. They know about the day because it has been kept alive by parents, educators, and the media. While there is film from the attack on Pearl Harbor, the amount of material available from 9/11 is immense. Students can live that moment time and time again. We are also still fighting wars because of that day – WWII came to an end four years later. They didn’t continue living it the way we are today. Just the same, most seniors today have no personal connection to that day. I say most since some students lost family members either on that day or due to the after effects. The younger children really don’t have an understanding of what happened and why on that day. This is where we are today with an 8 year-old. She hears about the day, but doesn’t understand. She has questions, but how much does a parent share without terrifying the child. Over the last week, we have talked.

When the questions are, “Daddy – why did they do that? What happened on that day?” they must be answered. In the past, the questions weren’t there. Today they are. How do you explain it?

I will state that we did visit Shanksville last month. Most of my wife’s family were with us as we walked the field. We looked at the names. We saw the spot. Then our daughter and I broke off from the group. There was a little room with activities for children. We stopped while the rest continued. This gave us a chance to talk and question. There were a few displays that made her sad to the point that we had to stop for a while. Unlike most of her classmates, she has seen physical items left behind from the crash. She has heard the voice messages left for loved ones. She has touched the ground and looked up at the sky and wondered. Just the same. The questions come. Here is how I explained 9/11.

9/11 is an important day for our country. Some bad things happened on that day that changed us. We want to remember events of that day for different reasons. Adults will talk about different things when talking about that day. Some will tell you how they learned of it. Others will talk about what they saw. Many can remember the fear that they had that more bad things were going to happen.

It had been a long time since people had been able to do something this big (I state this big without talking about the other attacks NYC had experienced prior) in our country. Most people thought that these things happened in other places, but not here. People wondered how this happened and if it could happen again.

As for what happened… there were some people who didn’t like our country. They didn’t like how we lived and how we did things in other countries. This group of people wanted to punish us and teach us a lesson. They felt that the best way to do this was to take some airplanes and fly them into buildings. They chose the buildings because they felt that those buildings meant a lot to us. You see the buildings in New York were two tall buildings that people all around the world knew. They also chose a building in Washington where our Army, Air Force, Navy, Marines, and Coast Guard worked. Finally, we believe they wanted to use a plane to destroy our Capitol. (I use our Capitol since she has toured the building and knows that it belongs to the people) The bad people felt that by destroying these buildings it would show that they were stronger than us.

The people worked with others from other countries to make this happen. They planned for a long time. They wanted to scare us and tell the world that the United States was weak. They were able to take control of four planes. Three of the planes flew into the buildings. The fourth plane was stopped because the people on the plane found out what was going on and worked together to stop the bad people. Those people were determined not to let another building be hit. While they died fighting the bad guys, they saved so many people.

We have seen the videos of what happened to the buildings. You saw how they fell down. You know that many people died trying to get out of the buildings or in the airplanes. That was a sad day for those people, their families, and all of us in this country. But that is not what I want you to think about when you hear of 9/11. I want you to know about what happened after…

When those planes hit the three buildings, it scared everyone inside. It scared everyone around. It scared the world. But, just the same, it did not stop people from doing what they do. During that day so many firemen, firewomen, and police officers went running to help. Those men and women knew that the buildings were on fire. They knew that parts of the buildings were already falling down, but they knew that people were in danger. They knew that mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers of other people were in those buildings and needed their help. They stepped up and went in to save as many people as they could. They did not stop and think that it was too dangerous or scary. They knew that they were putting themselves in danger and still went in. Many of those men and women did not come out that day.

The whole country came to a stop that day. We didn’t worry about sports and which team was winning or losing. We didn’t worry about movies and singers. We came together as a country that day. The color of skin didn’t matter, whether you were a man or woman meant nothing, none of the stuff that people argue about every day mattered. What mattered was that we were one country that day. People came together and talked and checked on each other. For a while, we became a stronger country because we worked to discover what we could do for one another as a people.

I still remember a commercial that came out a week later telling about how the bad people wanted to change our country. At the start of the commercial, it showed a tree lined street. The words about their want to change us came across the screen. They disappeared and the words, They did! came across. You saw the same street, but every house now flew a flag.

The thing that I want you (our daughter) and your friends to know about 9/11 is that we can be one country.

Yes. Bad people did bad things.

Yes. People will try to do things to us again.

No. we do not know when they will try, but no that there are many men and women working every day to stop as many of them as possible.

No. You should not be afraid. You need to live your life. Go after those dreams that you have. When you stop living because you are afraid – well that is when the bad people win. Don’t let them control your life.

No. We are not the same people we were on those days. While people will not forget what happened and how they felt, normal life has pushed those feelings aside.

Yes. Those brave men and women are still around us each and every day. They will still go running into the buildings when others are running out. They will give their own lives to help others continue living. They deserve to be remembered each year, each month, each day, each hour, each minute, and each second. You or some of your friends may choose to become one of those people.

Finally, I would tell them not to forget 9/11. This was a day that changed our country. We learned that bad people can hurt us, but when the people of this country stand together – we can survive and be strong.

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Are We Spoiling Our Children with Words?

Posted on September 5, 2016 by Bob Martin

angry little brat enjoying making a grimace for misbehavior

I believe that one of the things that keeps me from being considered a serious writer is my fear of rocking the boat and ticking people off. Today is no exception. I had an idea pop up in my head early this morning, and it has been haunting me ever since. I ran post after post through my head. I plotted out how I wanted to present my idea. Every single time I did this, I also picture people getting upset with my words. I could see some people thinking I was pointing fingers. I even had doubts when I sat down to rest today and the Ellen DeGeneres Show was on. It also made me question whether or not I was correct in my thoughts. So here goes. I am going to go through with my thoughts. I will say that these are about life with our daughter.

The title asks if we are spoiling our children with words. Most parents in some form will spoil their children. We want them to be happy. Even families that struggle to make ends meet will save, scrimp, and forgo items for themselves to make their child(ren) happy. We all talk about how we don’t want to spoil them, but we do. We don’t want to see our children wanting – even if it is that new toy that they don’t really need. However, tonight’s post has nothing to do with materialistic purchases. It has to do with the words that we use with our children.

Raising children today is so different than when I was raised. I often read on FB about how children today are disrespectful and it is because they aren’t beaten. While I know that people are not advocating that we beat children, the posts seriously question whether we have become too easy on our children. Friends often state that a spanking here or there for bad behavior, back talk, or other wrong doings is not a bad thing. I see the old adage of “Spare the rod, spoil the child” being tossed around. Are these people correct? I am not so sure about that, but have we gone too far to the other end of the spectrum.

I will admit that my brothers and I were “disciplined” by our parents. My mother could throw a mean pair of wooden Dr. Scholl sandals. She didn’t have to get up. You smarted off and wham, you got it. Our dad did the more common spanking. Although, karma did step in every once in a while. I can remember my brother bringing his foot up to protect his back-side only to break my dad’s finger. Now we were not abused! I need to make sure that is known. I can honestly state that I hardly got a spanking or sandal due to being the youngest of 4. I watched my brothers and learned what not to do. My friends, while growing up, can usually attest to similar events.

Today – today this is not acceptable. I am happy to say that we have never brought hand to bottom for our daughter. I am not sure if this is because we are those parents or if it is because we have a daughter. They are definitely different than boys. Yet, perhaps, we are hurting our children by the way they are being raised today.

This weekend, we had a friend of our daughter’s for three days. This child is an easy-going child. The two get along wonderfully. However, our daughter does have friends that are all similar. They are leaders who want to be in charge. They take turns, but it is not always easy. Add to that a little bit of homesickness and the friend getting a little extra attention and our only child has to deal with the single-child syndrome. This prompted this post. Yes – I am finally getting to it.

While out bike riding today, our daughter, her friend, and I stopped in a parking lot of a playground. We decided to park and let them play. I started moving toward the playground and our daughter called out to wait. I told her we were moving just 20 feet away. I parked my bike to see just the friend. Our daughter was still sitting in the parking lot. I waited, counted to 10, took some deep breaths, and rode back to her. She proceeded to tell me how she felt that we were leaving her out since I would not wait for her. She also brought up a couple of other items from the weekend. I used a word on her that I had never used before. I told her that she was acting selfish. You would have thought I had just used every four letter word in the book on her.

This actually prompted a longer conversation about her actions and expectations. Our daughter is not a bad child. We are very fortunate that we were blessed with the young person we received. She is thoughtful, caring, curious, and beautiful. At the same time, she is an 8 year-old who acts like an 8 year-old. This means that she needs to learn. She needs discipline. She needs parents who will be helping her to become an adult who can deal with the world in life. Today provided one of those moments. So what did I learn from this event?

In today’s world we are very concerned about making children feel good about themselves. We find ways to reword negativity. Instead of saying “No you can’t have that”, we say, “Do you think that is a good choice right now?” or “Perhaps we should work out together how to make this happen.” Coaches no longer tell a child that they are not good enough to make a team. If a child fails at something, we find causes outside of the child not putting in the effort or maybe, just maybe, the child not having the talent or skill required. We would rather avoid the child being hurt for a few moments thereby not teaching the child.

This happens at home, at sports, in music or dance classes, at school, and many other places. We are concerned about the self-esteem over preparing them to be able to deal with difficult situations. Now, before I get lambasted, I am not saying that we need to make children feel like garbage. I do believe that when and where we can we should be encouraging them to do their best, but not at the cost of them never being able to deal with the downside.

I felt bad after the event. I started playing with words in my head. I have read the books and articles. I know I broke their rules. I should have said something like, “Honey, I know that you are dealing with some feelings this weekend. Can we talk about this so that you can feel better?” Part of me would like to be able to go back and do just that. The other part of me smacks me in the head. There are times when we need to call it like it is. Today, our daughter was being selfish. She normally isn’t, so I called her on it. She bounced back in five minutes – I felt guilty all the way home.

I will continue to try to build our daughter’s self-esteem. However, today made me think long and hard about what we are doing to our children. We are spoiling them with our words. We are blaming anything and everything for their actions, words, and behaviors. What will be the price for this? What will happen the first time a high school teacher or professor tells them that their work does not meet expectations? What will happen when their boss says that he/she doesn’t care that their relationship came to an end, they were still expected to work.

So I promise our daughter that I will call her out on her behavior and actions. I will encourage her to do her best (not be perfect) at what she does. I will also let her know when she is being selfish, jealous, uncaring, or just a brat. I will do this for her so that she will be able to deal with life when I am not here.

So there. I put my thoughts to paper. I guess now I wait to see if I offended.

Thanks for meandering with me tonight.

Posted in Do right thing, family, Lessons, Love | Leave a comment

Lessons from Labor Day in a Small Town

Posted on September 3, 2016 by Bob Martin

ontario houseI have written in the past about what it was like to grow up in a small town. It was an experience for which I would not change no matter the offer. I often relate the town of Youngstown to Mayberry. I will admit that growing up in such a small community is not for everyone. Many people prefer a faster pace. I still find it funny since I was one of the few of my friends who always planned to stay right there in Western New York. I was going to raise my family in the area in which the locking of doors at night was strictly something you didn’t have to do. Yet out of all of my brothers, I was the one to take-off. I went from the town without a stoplight to Los Angeles. I am not sure you could have two more opposite ends of the spectrum in which to live. Just the same, I find myself often reminiscing and reliving memories. It is this time of the year, Labor Day and the week after, which really sparks the memories – even more so than Christmas.

Labor Day marks the end of summer. While I did love school, I was not unlike every other kid in lamenting the coming of this holiday since school was only two days behind. Just the same, this time of year meant so much more than school. It was when our little community had a chance to shine only to be followed by Lewiston the next weekend. It also was a time in which you had a chance to see the results of the hard labor that your Nana put you through all summer. It was a time filled with color, smell, excitement, and community.

During my years of growing up, Labor Day was a town celebration. The town’s fire department hosted a parade and field day. The event took place in the park in the center of town. Later toward my final years in town, with the building of a new building for the fire company, the field day moved towards the edge of town. Regardless, as a young person it was time to run with your friends, spend your quarters (then dollars), and have fun before you were forced to go sit at a desk for 180 days.

One of my favorite memories comes from when I was very young. The Stone Jug, a bar at the time which my cousin later converted to a bed and breakfast/bar, was shut down for the day. It became family and close friends only. The parade came down Main Street right in front of the Jug. All of the family, Mom, Dad, Nana, cousins, Uncles, Aunts, and others all lined the lower and upper porch watching the parade. We applauded, cheered, and begged for the candy throwers to get it up to us. After the last unit passed by, the race was on to the field day. I will admit that it did have a nice size beer tent for the adults. As a kid, you only knew of that as the place you went looking for more quarters. What was really cool was that since most people knew each other, you didn’t beg quarters just from Dad. After a few pitchers, almost any person would disperse the coins.parade

The other nice thing about our little village is that kids were safe to roam all over. When we got bored with the field day, we would run down to the local store for ice cream or a pop (Yes. WNY). We could also run back to the family establishment. Since it was closed, the kids had the run of it. We played shuffle board, pinball, pool, and had free kid drinks. The best was sitting with Uncle Martin. He would talk to us and tell us stories. Then when he got tired of us, he gave us a few bucks and out the door we went.

A similar weekend played out just a few days later in our neighboring town, Lewiston. Now Lewiston’s has the fancy name of Peach Festival. A celebration of the harvest coming in. They have a slightly larger fair and even have a Peach Queen and court. Just like our town, it started with a parade and ended with a fair where kids had a chance to run with friends and not worry. The other thing about the Peach Festival was that it took place two days after the start of school. This gave you a chance to know who was going to be in your class and who you wanted to pair up with.

As I aged, these two weekends took on a different meaning for me. Around the time I was 6 or 7, my dad started a junior Drum and Bugle Corp sponsored by the fire department. We marched ahead of the fireman in all of the parades they attended. Later, we merged with other corps and became field competitors. We still did parades and these two were always on our schedules. Once I started marching, these parades came to signify the end of the season. These two weekends became our last little hoorahs. Our last chance to hang with our fellow members before bringing the season to a complete end. If you turned 21 before the next season, these became the last two chances to march and perform.

I loved the fact that these two communities, all the way through my childhood celebrated what and who they were. These weekends truly became a look at who we are. It was a chance for neighbors to get together and be with each other. It was a time to celebrate being a Youngstownian or a person from Lewiston. Sadly, the Labor Day Field Day is gone. I understand that there is a parade and picnic, so I am glad to hear that there is still time to celebrate together. The Peach Festival, according to my niece, is still going strong. They will be crowning a new queen in a few days

While I loved these two weekends and the communities celebrating the fact that they were small communities. There was something else that Labor Day signified.  It was time for those in the small communities to celebrate the harvest. The road side stands were full with fruits and vegetables. If you had a garden on your property, you were reaping what you sowed. It was no different on our street – our little dead-end road of 5 homes. I believe 4 out of the 5 had gardens. It was time for picking.

All summer long, my Nana, Wanda, would make me get up early to “get the weeding done before it gets hot.” All summer long I dreaded the hours I would be spending in this rectangle of first dirt and then plants. The only thing that made it bearable was my cousins having to do the same thing just a few feet away. Dirt clod wars happened regularly. All summer long, you questioned why. Then it happened.

Nana would always supervise the harvest. We would fill basket after basket of tomatoes. We would look for the green beans, and other edibles. She would go to Tom’s and buy even more tomatoes and fruit. We would sit out in our backyard for hours running tomatoes through the crusher. Plop, plop, plop they would go in. The juice and meat would come out one area and the remains would go dropping into a bucket for compost. Your arm would feel like falling off, but at this point, you did not question – you knew.

You knew why the work had to be done and the rewards that were coming. All weekend long you work the fruits and vegetables. Then on Monday, you hopped on the bus and off to school you went. When you returned home, the magic had started. I always transport back to these days.

I would get off the bus. If it had rained, I slowly walked up the driveway. I took in the scent of the leaves as they fell off the tree. There is a smell. It is a crisp smell. I reached the door of the breezeway and, before I could even open it, I knew. I pulled open the door and was met with a welcome home smell that few kids will know. On the table in the breezeway were at least two roasters filled to the brim with homemade spaghetti sauce simmering away. The smell of the tomatoes mixed with all of the spices just wrapped around me like a warm hug. No matter how tough the school day had been, it fell away as I walked in the breezeway. I would stand there and just take it in. Often I would search for a spoon to sample the cookings. Then I grabbed the handle of the door to the kitchen.

If I thought the breezeway was the smell of heaven, then the kitchen proved that there was something greater. I would walk in to pots on the stove simmering away with homemade jams – strawberry, raspberry, blackberry – Heaven. Sampling of these was trickier since Nana was around to supervise and those suckers were hot. These smells weren’t just the smells of good cooking – to me, these were the smells of love. I knew my Nana loved us and cared enough to go through all of this work so that we could enjoy all winter long.

I can still remember the first summer we didn’t put the garden in. My summer was free from all of the weeding and hoeing and other duties. My fall was void of memories. There is a black hole for that year.

So yes, I love Christmas, Thanksgiving, the 4th of July each for their own reason. However, Labor Day was a time when my Nana would start her Labor of Love. Each and every year, I go back to those days. I understand what she was trying to teach us. I look to the sky and thank her for all that she did.

Fresh homemade peach jam in a glass jar close-up. HorizontalSmall town living doesn’t have shows every night or professional teams. It does have community pride. Neighbors taking care of each other, and people like my Nana still doing what they do best – taking care of their families.

Thanks for meandering with me tonight.

Posted in Lessons, small town | 8 Comments

We Got Which Teacher?!

Posted on August 22, 2016 by Bob Martin

Office workerWe are in the middle of the wonderful season of Back-to-School! Some schools have already been going for two weeks, ours has completed one week, and some will be starting soon. The most wonderful time of the year for parents and some students. It is also an exciting time for teachers as well. They have had some down time over the summer while also planning what they will do with those fresh faces that enter their classrooms looking for knowledge, friendship, attention, and new teachers. Social media is filled with stories letting us know that summer break is not really summer break. We have all seen those stories. This post is about something else that I have seen postings about over the last couple of weeks. People are posting about waiting to see who will have the honor of teaching their precious child. Worse, I have seen comments of dread and worry about getting (or finding out you have) a certain teacher. The “My Child has who?” syndrome.

Now I want to start by admitting, and probably ticking off fellow educators, that not every teacher is great. Not every teacher is the person for whom a movie will be made. Most teachers are just good people who work very hard at what they do. They try to engage their students, they try to offer a safe place, and they try to be there for those young people who occupy seats in their room. Yes. There are also some people in the field that might want to consider something else, but for now they are teaching. Yet each year, teachers go through the trials as parents decide whether or not they are deserving of the children assigned to them.

I understand, as a parent, that moms and dads want the best for their children. They want to feel as if they have the best teacher in the school and not just a teacher. They want to make sure that they get the teacher that the other parents have rated as number one. They want to make sure that their children will succeed in life, and one way to do that is by having the best educators. Again, I cannot blame parents for this. I too look hard at the people who have been selected to spend 8 hours a day, Monday thru Friday, in front of my child. Just the same, parents need to realize it will be okay. The person who the children will look up to and come home bragging about will do right by your child. Even if you don’t get the teacher your child (or you) wanted, life will be okay. Perhaps, by not getting the teacher of your choice, your child might even start to learn to stand-up for him or herself.

The first thing that parents need to know is that teachers do not spend time at night thinking about ways to pick on a specific child. They do not have time. I have heard comments about how a teacher hates a child and will do anything to make his/her life miserable. At the secondary level, a teacher spends 52 minutes with a class. Those students move out and another class moves in. I have yet to meet a teacher who has the time to hold that grudge throughout the day, into the night, and on to the next day. I know when my students used to come to me and talk about how a teacher is always picking on them, I asked, “What are you like in class?” After getting through the whole, “I am an angel”, we tend to find out that sometimes the student will do things to aggravate the teacher or cause some levity during class. In other words, the teacher may get down on the student in order to get the class back in order to allow for learning. Yes. Teachers do have bad days, but I hope and pray that when our daughter complains, I will dig deeper before blaming the teacher.

I will admit that sometimes it is not the student and it is not the teacher. With that many students going through a classroom, it is bound to happen that a teacher and student do not click. I had it happen in my class and some of the best teachers I will ever meet will admit that it has happened to them. Teachers will try different techniques to not become friends but at least make a working relationship. At the same time, parents can help their children learn to work to do the same. As I spoke with the students mentioned prior, I used to ask the students what can you do to make this better. We didn’t always hit a home run in the first discussion, but we would continue to talk and try different things. The hardest one for students to accept was the sit down. I used to suggest that they sit down with the teacher with whom they were disagreeing and work out a plan to get through the year. These students are learning a valuable skill.

Parents also need to realize that not every teacher is of the warm and fuzzy variety (have you ever seen my picture). Just like each student has their own style, so does each teacher. I used to tell my students in middle school that I could be mean or nice, the choice was theirs. I worked with my students on the first day to establish expectations. We talked about what their job was and what my job was and how we could make the class work. I definitely was not the hugging type. I still remember after the first three days one year of having a parent conference. The child told his mom he wanted to switch and how mean I was. At the start of the conference, the mom started explaining the reason for the meeting. I respectfully asked if the student could explain – she agreed. He then mentioned how scary I was because I demanded that students turn their work in as they entered the class, I forced them to write homework in their journal, and I expected them to work. The mom sat there staring at her student. “That’s why we are here?” I proceeded to ask the student if I ever yelled at him or any student to that point – “No.” I asked if I ever embarrassed a student in the class – “No.” The mother told him she wasn’t going to move him. Shortly after that meeting, I found the student hung out in my classroom. He high-fived in the hall, and, oh yeah, he became an A student.

I will admit that while I wasn’t soft and cuddly, those students became my kids and those classes became a family. The students would talk with me when they were troubled and came to me when they saw another of the “family” being picked on. My families went through divorces, deaths, coming outs, births, and other aspects of life. Interracial primary classroom learning to use laptop with their

The point I want to make though is that don’t judge the teacher before you have a chance to see what happens with your child. Just because another parent thinks that the teacher is bad doesn’t mean you will think the same. Just because your older child didn’t click with a specific teacher doesn’t mean that teacher will not become the favorite teacher of your younger student. Just because your child comes home and says the teacher is mean doesn’t mean that this is the case. It is a chance for open-ended questions and possible ways to work through finding solutions to relationships that will carry them into the work world.

In the end, not every teacher-student relationship will work. Yes. A parent must be willing to, after allowing the student to try to work through it first, talk to the teacher and if needed the principal. Sometimes a change is the only answer. But remember this – no teacher goes to school in the morning looking for ways to make the life of a student one of misery. No teacher wants to have to struggle through his or her day. No student and no teacher is perfect. In the end, it is a room filled with young people and one adult trying to learn. That is why a teacher is there. To teach. So please, before you scream, “We have who?!” Take the time to get to know the person and not the stories and rumors.

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Lesson From Making a Bed

Posted on July 12, 2016 by Bob Martin

20160712_204340I wasn’t going to write this evening. I will admit that I had plans to be lazy and just let the evening go by watching America’s Got Talent. However, I learned a lesson tonight that I thought I would share. So here I am, ignoring the knife throwing to share a new lesson that I learned. It all deals with the making of a bed. A very simple task that is done time and time again in every (or almost every) house each day. So what can tossing some sheets, blanket, and a pillow onto a bed teach?

Before I get into the actual lesson, I want to share some back story. Lately, I have noticed people sharing stories about children and the trials and tribulations of raising them. The most recent dealt with what it is like to raise a 9 year-old. The mother went on to describe a child that I would not want anywhere near my home. She described back talking, tantrums, arguments, and oh so much more. I will say that she did break from her description to talk about how every once in a while she does see her little girl come out from behind the demon.

I cringed when I read this blog. Part of the cringe was due to the fact that in less than 6 months, we will have a 9 year-old. I could not take my eyes off the words describing the thing that will soon be inhabiting our home. I now live in fear of waking up one morning in the future to find that our daughter is no longer. I also cringed because not only was the one parent sharing her thoughts about her child, the comments that followed echoed the posting. Parent after parent commented that the author must have been writing about the commenter’s child. It blew my mind to read what parents were writing about their children. When did we start demonizing children?

Now I need to stop here and admit that our daughter is NOT an angel. She is cute, she listens, she is well-behaved, she talks back, she slams doors, she is eight. However, she is our child and she is learning. That brings me to the lesson.

Tonight, after a long day of play and activities, we handed our daughter the sheets to the two beds in her room. She was told to go make the bed on her own. I know, I can already read the thoughts of “So what our kid has made a bed for years.” While our little one has had to make the bed every day, up until now one of us has either made or helped make the bed after it had been stripped. I know some adults who refuse to do this. But tonight, we sent her on her way. I waited for the call for help to see sheets half-heartedly placed on the bed. I started the count to 10 and only made it to 7. “Daaaaaaaddddyyyyyyy? Can you come here?”

I was tired so I had resigned myself to helping. Instead, she had already placed the sheets on the one bed. She called me in to show me how she was folding the blankets to be placed at the foot of the bed. She moved slowly, carefully to ensure that the corners met perfectly. The sides had to match up. She meticulously smoothed the wrinkles out of the blanket. She pulled back the top sheet. A five-star hotel would have been proud.

She then pulled out the trundle and started the struggle with that mattress. She pulled it up and out on the fifth try. She moved about the bed and worked hard to get it matching the upper bed. I stood there for over ten minutes watching the beds be made. Once the beds were done, the pillowcases had to be stuffed. I have never seen someone take such care in cramming a pillow down into a case. She did.

So what did that teach me? It gave me hope for the future. All too often, I hear or read about how lazy the young people of today are. I see comments on how they cannot complete a job and always look for others to do it for them. I hear parents comment on how they need to step in to help their children. Tonight, I saw none of that.

I was reminded of my former students this evening as I watched our daughter. I was reminded about how if you work with young people and help them learn the skills they can eventually go on their own and accomplish great things. Tonight was just a simple bed. However, I learned that our daughter, just like every other kid, wants to be able to do things on her own. She will ask for help over and over again, and as long as you have the patience, it will eventually move from doing, to helping, to watching. Tonight I watched. That is what we need to do with every young person. Keep patience. Move them toward independence and then, most importantly, be ready to stand back and let them go.

The bed had a couple of wrinkles. It took a heck of a lot longer to complete than if I had just done it. I would have put the top sheet so the design was inside. I could have…………just stayed quiet and let her go.

It is funny that making a bed can mean so much to me. I saw the future. I saw our daughter moving towards independence.

The best thing about this is that our daughter is not special. By being in education, we get to see so many young people. Each and every one of them is capable of independence and are working towards it. With all the rhetoric about our country going downhill, I am happy to report that it is not. I have hope that the young people of today will do better than us. At least my daughter can make a better than me.

Thank you for meandering with me tonight.

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