Time Flies When You're Sixty

Think back to when you were a little kid, when Christmas trees were big, and your back yard was gigantic. Now think what it was like waiting for some special holiday, like your birthday, or Christmas. Remember how it seemed to take forever to get here? Then once it was past, it was almost a lifetime till it returned. Or remember summer vacations, which really did seem endless?

Well, how about now? Christmas will be here in about a month, but last Christmas really doesn't seem that long ago. And summers? To a working teacher, as I once was, they go by in a heartbeat.

Time definitely passes differently when you're older. Personally, I think it's a proportional type of thing. In other words, when you're six, it takes one sixth of your lifetime to become seven. And when you're sixty, it takes one sixth of your lifetime to become seventy. Since I'm 60, the next ten years of my life will seem as long to me, as one year did when I was six. A little scary I think.

OK, that's a pretty subjective thing, but I'm sure you get the idea. So we look at things differently from when we were younger. For instance, a girl in her twenties told me recently that she might change jobs “in eight or ten years.” Nobody in her sixties would make that statement. Because to someone in her twenties, she has her whole life ahead of her. And it seems to stretch out in front of her forever. So she can afford to take her time on things. I remember when I was twenty. Yes, I knew I would eventually get old and die, but it never concerned me, because it was SO far in the future, it was something I just didn’t have to think about.

But when you’re older, things are different. At least for me. While I don’t dwell on it, my own mortality is now something I understand. While I hopefully still have a lot of years ahead of me, I know it’s not forever.

Honestly, it’s something of a paradox. Since I’m retired, I have all kinds of time. As a recently retired friend of mine said a while back, “I have a lot to do today. But if I don’t get it done, I’ll do it tomorrow.” That was something we couldn’t say when we were working full time. So yeah, I can do things without hurrying them, because Monday is just like Sunday.

But in a larger sense, rather than slowing down, I’m in a hurry. I don’t think God is done with me yet, and I don’t want to just sorta fade away, at least not yet. So while I have lots of time in each week, I don’t have as much time in my lifetime. And I don’t want to waste it. So as each day goes by, I want to keep moving. If I’m going to start something that’s a big deal, I don’t want to think about it for a year or eight or ten. I want to get on it. Because I don’t know how much longer I have. And what I do have, I don’t want to waste.

The other thing I have noticed, is that I now never say things like “I can’t wait till such and such is over.” I used to say that about the school year, or the winter, or any number of other things. I just tried to wish all that time away. But as I get older, I value the time more. I'm not going to wish one second of it away.

 It’s too bad I had to get old to really appreciate the time I have.

Cam, Aaron, and Kids

I saw a video the other day about Cam Newton, the quarterback of the NFL Carolina Panthers. After he scored a touchdown recently, somehow a defensive player got the football. Cam asked for the football back. I couldn’t figure why he wanted the football, since he scores lots of touchdowns. Well, the defensive player was pretty pissed off, so he just threw the football the other way. Then, instead of arguing, Cam chased the football down, picked it up, ran over to the stands, and handed the football to some little kid. Cam didn’t want the football for himself; instead he wanted to give it away. And apparently, Cam always gives the football to some young fan in the stands. Pretty cool, actually.

Now, I have no idea if Cam is really a good guy or not. Maybe he just does that for show, but I’m guessing not. I think he realizes what a big deal it is for a kid to get a football. But he also knows it’s a lot cooler when he or she gets it from an NFL quarterback. Each kid who gets that will probably remember it for the rest of his life.

When I saw that, it made me remember an athlete I once knew, back almost twenty years ago. Aaron Lawniczak was one of the best athletes Eastwood High School ever had. But his life ended way too soon as he was tragically killed in an auto accident just a few days before he was to start college at BGSU. That was a tough one to take. Aaron was an amazing basketball player, and an even better baseball player. I remember the first time he pitched a game, as a freshman, he threw a no-hitter. And I remember him scoring over 30 points a game in basketball his senior year. He was about to enter BGSU on a full athletic scholarship when the accident happened.

But why did Cam remind me of Aaron? Because of a basketball game I went to during his senior year. At Eastwood, when the players are introduced, they run around the edge of the gym floor, slapping the hands of all the Eastwood students who come down to the floor. That night, most players ran through quickly, slapping lots of hands, then running back onto the court, eager to get the game started. But I watched Aaron, and he was different. Sure, he greeted all the students, but I could tell he was being especially careful to slap the hand of every little kid he could. It took him a little longer, but he made a lot of kids happy.

I was Aaron’s physics teacher, and I had a pretty good relationship with him. So I talked to Aaron in school a few days after the game, and I mentioned what he did. He said that yes, he did take time to do that. Because he realized that, while he was only a high school player, to those little kids, he was pretty famous. He knew they looked up to him, and he didn’t want to let them down. Now how cool was that? Aaron had all the skills that could have made him an arrogant jerk. But instead, he was humble and kind. Aaron knew he wasn’t really famous, but I was impressed that he understood that kids would look at him as a role model, and he took that role seriously. I was proud of him then, and all these years later, I still am.

So when I found out Cam Newton gives the football away as he does, I realized that is something Aaron would have done in the same situation. It made me sad to remember Aaron, but it also made me smile a little.

Maybe I’ll start rooting for the Panthers…at least a little.

Glass, Plastic, PBR, and Other Stuff

So this evening, I took a shower. I had been crawling in the utility room attic with lots of insulation, and I itched pretty bad. So I took a shower, and took a mug of beer in with me. (What? You’ve never had beer in the shower? Really? Well, you should!)

Anyway, my shower has a shelf that’s just perfect for beer. But as I set the beer mug down, I thought “I hope it doesn’t fall, and break.” Which got me to thinking. I remember back when I was much much younger, we didn’t have plastic items like we do today. And if I remember right, most things came in glass bottles. Like ketchup, salad dressing, and yes, shampoo. And if you dropped it, probably in a cast iron tub, it shattered all over. Then you had to deal with the tiny shards of glass. Well, you get the idea. Now, if you drop the shampoo, you pick it up. That’s all. Isn’t life today wonderful?

Which got me thinking about grocery stores back in the day. My first real job was at Kroger’s. And I started thinking how cool it would be if I could go back in time (OK, I know that’s not realistic, but just go with it here.) and see what it was like. First of all, while I thought it was a big store, by today’s standards, it was tiny. The Kroger’s in PC has moved/expanded twice since then, each time getting much larger. But even the current one is tiny compared to the one in Perrysburg, which is getting replaced as we speak with an even larger one.  I remember some of the aisles (Aisle 3 comes to mind) that you had trouble getting two carts down them side by side. And aisle 3 had a pole in the middle, just to make it harder. (I also remember that matches were right by that pole. Not sure why I remember that.)

But I don’t think there was much plastic. I remember when I was working there, they just came out with plastic milk cartons. You could still get the paper ones for a dime less. (can you imagine trying to pour out of a paper gallon carton? Wonder we didn’t spill milk every time.) But most other things were still in glass.

It’s easy to look back at the “old days” and think they were better, but I'm not so sure.

I also remember that we closed at 9 PM. Really. And closed on Sunday. Although sometime during my career at Kroger’s, they started experimenting with Sunday hours. Paid us double time. Cool! I also remember that we all hated working 4 to 9 on Friday, because back in the day, everyone seemed to do their grocery shopping either Friday night or Saturday morning. Really, how did we ever get anything done back then? Most stores closed at 5 most days. Not like today, when you can do your grocery shopping at 3 AM (And yes, I have done that, and yes, it’s a strange crowd.)

I also remembered I got paid $1.82.5 per hour. (yes, really it was half a cent). Doesn’t sound like much, but then I could stop at Bell Mell’s and get a Blue Ribbon for 40 cents.  Not sure how that translates to today, but it occurs to me that, instead of fighting over the minimum wage, maybe we should adopt the PBR rule. Make the minimum wage 4 and a half times what the average cost of a Blue Ribbon is in the area. There, problem solved: no bickering, complaining, or name calling! That’s simple, fluid, and somehow seems fair.

Ok, that’s enough rambling. Sometimes blogs are just stupid thoughts. Actually, most times MY blogs are just stupid thoughts. And if you’re still reading now, I’m not sure if I’m grateful to you, or feel sorry for you. Not sure. But I know that, as I approach 60. (Yes, SIXTY! How did I get so old??)  I find myself with an odd mix of thoughts. Many of them, like this, look back at the old days. But many of them still look forward with anticipation and wonder, as if I’m going to live forever.

A little odd, but that’s probably how it should be.

A Tale of Two Bumper Stickers

Today I saw this bumper sticker on someone’s van. I understand why he had it. He’s a hardworking carpenter, works a million hours a day and is by no means rich. So yeah, of course he’s annoyed when his hard earned income goes to lazy people who don’t want to work. Yeah, I understand it… to a point.

Because then I saw this bumper sticker.

OK, actually I didn’t see that bumper sticker. I made it up. But there is some sense to it. Because as much as it galls me to give my money to someone who doesn’t deserve it, it’s something we have to do. Assuming we’re Christians. You see, as I understand Jesus’ teachings, it seemed pretty important to him to take care of the poor.

But what about the lazy ones, the ones who just live to get a free ride? Well, first of all, I’m pretty sure those people are pretty rare. Most people on public assistance have a legitimate reason. And besides, I don’t remember Jesus telling us to take care of the poor “except for the ones who are lazy.” No, that’s not in the Bible. Pretty sure.

Of course, America has no official religion. And I will be the first to admit that we should not base our laws and policies on the Bible. We should, of course, base them at least partially on compassion, because we are Americans, and we like to think Americans are good people. On the Statue of Liberty, the inscription reads” Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses, yearning to breath free.” Don’t we still feel that way? Or do we just expect those poor to all find jobs and make plenty of money?

But I still get it. Do we really want the government spending all that money, when there seems to be so much waste? I don't like that either, but honestly, nobody else will do it. There was a day when churches and other groups could keep up with helping the poor. We all know that day is long gone, unfortunately. Churches are having trouble now just paying their own bills.

Jesus never said it would be easy to follow him. In fact, many many times he said it would be very difficult, probably something we won’t always want to do. So if it is hard to give your hard earned money to those who don’t have as much, well, it shouldn’t be a surprise.

He never said it would be easy.

You CAN Go Home Again

But it will be different.

Recently, I moved back home. And by home, I really mean it. Not just the town I grew up in, but the same exact house, the one I lived in till I was twelve. So far, it’s been an experience, mostly good.

All my adult life I had always said that there was absolutely no way I would move back to Port Clinton. Not that there’s anything wrong with the town, but I just didn’t want to go back. I knew that I would always be “Warren Morgan’s son” or “Jeff Morgan’s brother.” I would never have my own identity. Besides, I had spent most of my adult life forming friendships in Pemberville; why would I want to start all over? We all know that you can’t go home again.

But I did it. And I found out that actually, yes, you can go home again, but it won’t be the same. Because in Port Clinton, nobody knows me. Nobody has a grudge against me because their kid didn’t get to run varsity, or because their kid flunked chemistry. Of course, nobody is grateful to me because of how much their child benefited from my classes or sports either. Honestly, nobody has preconceived notions about me, because they just plain don’t know me. And “Warren Morgan’s son?” That doesn’t happen much. “Jeff Morgan’s brother?” Yeah, that happens quite a bit. But Jeff is well respected and liked in this town, as he should be, so that association only helps me. Am I in his shadow? Probably to some, but while that may have bothered me many years ago, it just doesn’t make any difference to me today. I’m living my own life, as my own person, and I get to make new impressions on people. When people find out I can sing, play piano, run, write, or even paint, it's fun.

And I find that all these new things are OK, even enjoyable. When I started going back to the church I grew up in, forty years later nobody knew me. But there was a group I got involved with there, that listened to me, talked to me, and accepted me for what I am now, not because of what I was as a teacher, coach, or any other aspect of my life. They accepted me for me, the good and the bad, which I found very gratifying.

And while not common, there are still some who know me only as my parents’ son. And I’ve found that is actually a good thing. Everyone loved my mom, and while Dad had his share of friends and enemies, most people respected him. And, knowing human nature, I’ve been surprised to find out that I’m accepted as my own person, no matter what.

There are weird things of course. It’s still weird that the movie theater is a plumbing shop, that Kroger’s is out of town, that two of my schools no longer exist, and that downtown is pretty much unrecognizable. (With the exception of Green’s Drug Store, which is pretty much exactly as it was, with even the same sign.) And I still associate all the homes in the neighborhood with my friends who lived in them 50 years ago.

Do I miss Pemberville? Yes, of course. It’s a good town, and I miss my friends there, my church, all kinds of things. Seeing all the facebook posts about the fair and the 5 miler was hard. But true friends are still friends even if I don’t see them as often. And I’ve rekindled some very old friendships here, which I've found gratifying.

Of course, then there’s this. Recently an older woman in my church asked me if I was “Warren and Thec’s son.” When I told her I was, her response was “Well, bless your heart.” Somehow, I really liked that.

I never thought that would feel so good.

A Symbol of Sorts, Part 2

In my last entry, I told of finding some TV antenna cable under my house, in a very confined crawl space. And I had realized that about 60 years ago, my dad had been in the exact same place as I was right then. And it got me thinking about him. You see, I don’t think I was very good to him.

I know this isn't fair, but most of the memories of my dad are from his later years. He died of pancreatic cancer when he was 80, about a year after my mom. Yes, I remember when he was 40, I guess. But most of my memories are from when he was in his 50’s or later. And that’s really too bad.

You see, I really don’t think the older Dad bore much resemblance to the younger Dad. When he was young, he worked incredibly hard. He was an engineer at Philco in Sandusky, and started to install antennas, then fix TV’s and radios in the evenings and on weekends. Eventually, he took a huge risk and opened Morgan’s TV, a very small retail store in Port Clinton. A few years later, he took an even bigger risk, moving and expanding his business into “Morgan’s TV and Appliance.” It was a huge store, for its day, on Perry Street, and he was a leader in the community in many ways. During its peak, which was probably when color TV became popular in the late 60’s, he did a tremendous business. And he worked his butt off, took huge chances, and really made it work. He was hard working, ambitious, and not afraid to take risks. I remember the sales he had, that were really like circuses, with literally hundreds of customers. He had the anniversary sale in February, complete with radio remotes and search lights; and the tent sale in the parking lot in August, where I was in charge of giving out the popcorn, pop, and balloons (and got to drink all the Coke I wanted!) He even built Mom the new house she had always wanted. Everything was good.

But then things changed. Lots of things. First of all, the day of the small town independent retailer was coming to an end. He could not seem to compete with the huge stores in Toledo and Sandusky. Or course he wasn't alone; most stores like his are gone now. Then there was the booze. It started out small, but then it hit hard, as it often does. And I know there were other factors. But what’s important, unfortunately, is that I think he just gave up. No more would he give that extra effort. No more would he strive for more. The Warren Morgan who would venture into the crawl space to run antenna wire was gone. His drive was gone. He got tired of working. He got tired of trying. Instead of working hard to make a difference, he wanted to be taken care of. He became incredibly difficult to deal with. Trust me, I could go on and on.

My mother once said that one of the reasons she was attracted to Dad was because he was the strongest and most independent man she had ever known. I’m sure he was at 20, but he definitely was not at 60. No, I’m pretty sure old Warren was nothing like young Warren.

Unfortunately, as I grew up, I reacted to the man I saw before me. I was young and arrogant, and of course sure that I would never end up like that. As he spent his last year in the nursing home, I rarely visited, and when I did it was for short times. I know he felt bad about that and wondered why. Honestly, I didn't really like the man he became, but I wasn't being fair. Half a generation later, I realize my own kids may not like the old man I become, but I hope they still visit me, love me, and remember the good things about me. I didn't do that for him, and it wasn't fair. I will always regret that I didn't do more for him.

Should he have become what he did? Probably not. But honestly, it’s not my place to say. Because no matter what I think, I can’t be sure that if I were in his shoes, I would have done anything differently. Instead of judging him for the man he was, I should have treated him as the man he had been. And to be fair, Dad never became a horrible man. He loved his family, and he showed it. And he remained to his death a very likable guy.

You know, many of us tend to do what I did. We look at other people’s lives from our own world view. But no matter what we think we know, we can never know all that goes on inside another person: what is in his heart, what is in his mind, and what is happening in his soul. And although we think we know better, we can never be sure that we would have behaved any differently.

As I age, I’m aware of what happened to him, and try very hard not to let it happen to me. Have I been successful? I don’t know. I think so, for the most part. But I know some that would disagree.

But you know, it’s OK either way. Because for all he was and was not, I find that I’m still secretly proud when someone says “You’re Warren Morgan's boy.”

A Symbol of Sorts, part 1

Do you know what this is in the picture? Well, it’s called a “standoff,” holding very old fashioned antenna wire. You remember antennas; the big things on your roof or on a tower that we all used before cable or satellite? Yeah, that antenna.

So why am I bringing this up? Well, as some of you may know, I've moved to Port Clinton, the town I grew up in. And not just the same town, but the same house, actually. My mom and dad bought this house about five years before I was born, and we lived here until I was 12. Well, one day recently I was driving through Port Clinton, and just for fun I drove by this house, and I could see it was for sale, and in serious need of major repairs. So I bought it. Someone had bought it at foreclosure and tried to flip it. He didn't do a very good job; in fact, I've spent the better part of the last few months, fixing his “repairs.” Renovating this house is going to be a long process. But finding pieces of my family history is very rewarding.

OK, so still, why am I talking about antennas? (I’m getting there, really I am.) During my renovations, I've spent significant time in the crawlspace (no basement.) And it’s not a nice one. No bugs, varmints, or water, which is good. But it’s very cramped. No hands and knees action in this place. In the good parts, I belly crawl. In other parts, I have to squirm through, hoping I can fit my butt with me! But there are some parts that I’m way too claustrophobic to get to. I think I could get to them, but I’m afraid I’d panic and wouldn't be able to get out.

So the other day, I cheated. Since I’m going to replace the flooring anyway, I cut a new hole in the existing floor, and crawled down into one of the previously inaccessible parts. And here’s where I saw the standoff and antenna wire. And when I saw it, I knew exactly how it got there, and who put it there. And it humbled me, honestly. You see, before my dad retired, he owned a TV and appliance store. But before that, he got his start fixing TV’s and radios on the side. And before that, he put up TV antennas. So I knew how the standoff, and the wire that was in it, had gotten there.

At that moment, I realized that, sometime over 60 years ago, my dad had been in the exact same place as I was, on his back, running antenna wire, and screwing these standoffs into the floor joists. Only he hadn't cheated. He got there through the tiny places that I wouldn't go. And while intellectually I knew he had done this sort of thing, seeing that wire under the house really hit me. I hate to admit it, but this was the Dad I had forgotten about. This was the young Warren Morgan, not the old one. This was the skinny Dad, not the one he grew into later! This was the hard-working Dad.

Which really got me thinking about Dad. Looking back, in his later years, I wasn't fair to him. And laying in the crawlspace, I realized that. But this blog is already too long.

So that story will have to come in part 2.

Why Do We Whine So Much?

We’re Americans. We have it pretty good. So why do we whine so much?

A few years back, many were forecasting doom and gloom. The republic was in trouble, they said, because so many bad things were going on. The federal deficit was not just high, but at unheard of levels.  Unemployment was skyrocketing. Gasoline was close to $4 per gallon. The stock market was tanking. Consumer confidence was almost zero. And manufacturing was close to zero.

Of course, all those things were true. So we complained. About the president. About the congress. About anything that had to do with government at all. Somehow, all these things were the fault of the government. People even put up billboards placing blame when the gas prices were hovering around $4. In some people’s minds, America was in its death throes. Life was horrible. It was all coming apart.

OK, so let's fast forward a few years. The federal deficit has been declining at unheard of rates. It’s still there, but it’s way lower than anyone thought it could be so quickly. It’s down to 2008 levels, and when adjusted for inflation, it’s similar to those in the early 2000’s.  But somehow I haven’t heard too many people mention that.

Unemployment is down to just over half of what it was. No, it’s not all rosy, because a lot of those jobs added are low paying entry level jobs, and it’s still difficult for 20 somethings to find meaningful employment. But even that appears to be changing. Sure it could be better, but it’s way better than it was a few years back. Of course, when it was pushing 10%, it was constant “doom and gloom” headlines. Now, each time it drops, it’s just a footnote somewhere. Nobody really pays attention. Unemployment figures are so 2010.

Most surprising, we've all seen what is happening to gas prices. It seems like they drop a nickel every day, now pushing close to $2.00. Amazing. Everyone blamed government when it was $4. But I don’t see too many people crediting the government for $2. The argument can certainly be made that the government had nothing to do with the drop. But then of course, that implies the same thing goes for the previous rise. Hmmm..

Do I need to go on? Oh yes, the stock market has been hitting record highs, almost in a “ho hum” style. It has dropped a bit lately, mostly due to low oil prices. (I guess we can’t have it all.) And consumer confidence is at an eight year high. And just for good measure, factory output is higher than it’s been in 10 years.

And what’s amazing about all this economic good news is that a lot of the world is in economic turmoil. America seems insulated.

Yet, we’re still complaining. These were the things that were going to destroy us, but since that didn't pan out, now we’re complaining about other things. I’m not saying everything is wonderful, and I'm certainly not saying our government is wonderful. And we still do have some significant issues that are not good. So we complain about those. And I understand that.

But if we’re going to complain about the bad things, then we should cheer about the good things. Or at least that seems fair to me.

Mom's Wisdom

I think I was eight years old, maybe nine. I’m not exactly sure, but I know I wasn't 10 yet. And for my birthday coming up at the end of September, I asked for a bow and arrow. (OK, maybe a couple of arrows!) There was an older boy across the street, Davey, who had one. He showed me how to hold it, string it, and shoot it. He gave me all the safety warnings, and I felt I was ready. So I asked Mom and Dad for a bow and arrow.

For the time being, let’s forget about the fact that in today’s world, not too many parents would buy a nine year old who lived in town a bow and arrow. Seems kind of irresponsible actually. But the world was different in 1965, and honestly, I don’t think that was even a consideration.

Anyway, I asked, I begged, I pleaded. And weeks before my birthday, a long thin package showed up in the kitchen. It was all wrapped up with a bow, leaning in the corner by the steps, and it obviously was the bow and arrow. But my brother said that the present was from him, and it wasn't a bow. Yeah right! I knew he was covering, trying to keep it a surprise.

Of course, I was really impatient. And excited. I couldn't wait, just couldn't wait. Finally, my birthday came, and I politely opened the other packages first. I saved the best for last. Finally, when it was time, I opened the long thin package, and as I tore into it, I saw that it was -- a fishing pole. I had been sure it was a bow, yet here was a fishing pole where the bow and arrow should have been. I was decimated, to say the least. I was sure I was getting a bow. In my nine year old brain, I deserved the bow.

What happened next, I remember vividly. I looked at my brother and said “Thanks Jeff, I can really use a new fishing pole.” And truthfully, I DID need a new pole. My old one was definitely for little kids. This fishing pole was way better. Yes, I was disappointed, but for some reason, I kept it together, and didn't complain at all.

It was then, and only then, that Mom said “Oh, I just remembered, there’s one more present out in the trunk of the car. Here’s my keys.” I took her keys, ran out to the driveway, opened the trunk of the Buick, and there, not even wrapped, were the bow and arrows that I had wanted all along. Woo Hoo!

To this day, I don’t know how or why I held it together; why I didn't whine and complain. After all, I was a kid, and like all kids, I did my share of that. I’m not sure. Maybe it was because I really did need a fishing pole. Or maybe it was because Jeff was obviously proud that he had bought his little brother such a good present. Or maybe it was because Mom and Dad had taught me that lesson before. I don’t know.

But here’s the thing. I never asked her, but I’m sure Mom kept that present in her car for a reason. There’s no way she just “forgot.” I’ll never know for sure, but I’d bet anything that if I had whined, fussed, or complained about not getting the bow, that bow and arrow would have gone right back to the store. I will always believe that it was withheld to test me, and to teach me. It was a lesson taught, and learned, that I didn't even know I was getting. It wasn't till years later that I realized the responsibility and sense of Mom’s actions that day.

Like I said, just an example of Mom’s wisdom.

A "Kathy Moment"

I like kids. I really do. While I don’t get all excited when I see them, I’m not grumpy at them either. People like that are just mean.

But I’m not like my friend Mitch. He loves kids. When Mitch sees a little kid, he’ll do whatever he can to make that kid smile, giggle, or laugh. When Mitch sees a kid with a lemonade stand, he always stops. Always. And not just if he’s walking by; Mitch will stop his car, park it, and walk over to a lemonade stand, even if he’s in a hurry. Mitch goes out of his way to make sure that kid has a good day. No, I’m not like that!

Then there’s Kathy. She loves kids, no matter the age. And I mean “LOVE” with all capitals, in bold italics and flashing red letters! She loves newborns, even though all they do is eat, sleep, cry and poop! And toddlers, and elementary kids. She loves middle school kids, even though it’s a scientific fact that they are the strangest humans on the planet. Yes, and high school kids as well. But it’s not just that she loves them. She completely lights up when she sees a little one. She is changed, transformed. If you didn’t know her, you’d think she’s putting on a show. But no. That’s the real Kathy. No matter what mood she’s in, when a kid comes by, her whole life gets better. Kathy’s life hasn’t always been easy, and she’s definitely had her occasions for grief, but Kathy finds joy in children, even during her hardest times.

So the other day, during a run, I came across a group of elementary age kids standing near the street, obviously waiting for the school bus. They were laughing and talking, and all wearing backpacks which were essentially as big as they were. As I ran by, the bus approached, and one kid squealed “The bus!” Then they all got excited, started waving at the bus driver, waving at their friends, and got in line to get on the bus. And that was my “Kathy moment.” Because while I was running, I had been thinking about how tired I was, how far I had to go, what I had to do when I got done… But for just a moment, seeing the natural youthful joy in those kids, I was uplifted. The sore heel didn't matter. The excessive miles I had yet to run didn't matter. The tired thigh muscles didn't matter. And I didn’t think about all the stuff waiting for me after the run. I was just uplifted, as simple as that. For a period of time, my life got better.

I know what Kathy sees in those kids. And Mitch too. Although they’ve never told me, I know what it is. It’s joy. Pure and simple. After all, we all search for joy in our own ways. At least I hope we do, because I think that’s kinda what life is about. For some of us, joy comes easily; for others, life makes it more difficult. But no matter what hand life has dealt us, we can always seek joy. It’s what drives us. And if life has given us a bum deal and we don’t have a naturally joyful existence, we seek the joy in what we already have. And for some people, like Kathy, it’s kids. And I get it. Really. Adults are complex, and our emotions are not always pure; even when we’re happy, many times the bad things are still lurking in the backs of our minds, bugging us just a bit. But when a child laughs, his whole body laughs. Everything is good in his world. And how can we not find joy in that?

Sometimes I wish I were more like Kathy and Mitch. But I’m not. And I know that the world needs all kinds of us, so I’m really OK with that. If I can have a few “Kathy moments” periodically, then I’ll be happy with that.

Thinking about this, I said it wrong earlier. I said “Kathy finds joy in children, even during her hardest times.” Knowing Kathy, it should have been “Kathy finds joy in children, especially during her hardest times.”

That’s just the way she is. And Mitch too. And that’s a really good way to be.

I Don't Think I'll Get Another Dog

He’s an old dog. Real old. Just about 15 (in human years!) His owner, Rob, didn't have to tell me that. Just looking at Jake, it was pretty clear. I've watched the chocolate lab for a while now, and honestly, it’s hard. He walks out the front door, concentrating on every step. His legs move awkwardly, wrongly, as he shambles across the porch floor. When Jake gets to the edge, he looks over the 6 inch drop to the ground as if he’s on an imposing precipice. Finally, after he stokes his courage, over the edge he goes. At most, he makes it about 15 feet from the front door. Yet it's clear Rob still loves Jake. Sometimes when Jake just can't find the energy to make it back up onto the porch, Rob picks up his big old dog and carries him inside. Jake looks like a real good dog, but his body has just stopped working for him, and it is clear he doesn't have much time left with us.

While I didn't know Jake when he was a puppy, I saw the same thing happen with my dog. When she was young, Pepper would run just to run, bolting from the yard whenever she thought we had our backs turned. Just for, I assume, the joy of running. But the puppy became a dog, and the dog became an old dog, and with the years came the aging. Eventually her run was a trot, then a shuffle, then just a series of painful movements. We've all seen it happen, and it breaks our hearts to see the pet we've loved, become the helpless animal, who we still love. Finally, we have to decide if we allow our four legged friend to continue shuffling through the delight of just being alive, or whether we have the moral right to end the suffering and put him down. It’s a decision every one of us fears.

Which is why I don’t think I’ll ever get another dog. Don’t get me wrong, I really like dogs. I like the friendship, the companionship, and the love they bring. I like that, when it seems the whole world is against us, they still greet us happily, eagerly, and joyfully, almost as if they’re saying “I don’t care what other people think, I’m not other people; I’m a dog and I love you.” Well, maybe they’re not saying that, but it sure feels like it.

Yet, as I watch Jake, I’m not sure I can go through that again. Because as wonderful as dogs are, for the most part, they just don’t age well. But then again, I guess either do most of us. So when it comes time to think about getting a dog, I’m just not sure.

But you know, that’s the thing about love. Whether it’s a lover, a child, or a pet, we enter into the loving relationship willingly, expectantly, even sometimes foolishly. We know how it might end up; with disappointment, separation, or even death. Yet, eagerly, even wildly, we embrace it, all the while knowing that at some time down the road we’ll probably endure heartbreak and pain. Yet forward we go, accepting the sweet, the glorious, the promise of that which makes life worth living, letting the foreknowledge of the future drift away to somewhere in our minds and hearts that we rarely travel, conveniently hidden away from our conscious thoughts. Allowing us to enjoy, without fear, the love as it should be enjoyed; for all the wonder and joy which it can bring to us. In some ways, it is the ultimate risk/reward choice. And yet, we accept love, almost every time. And that is, I think, as it should be. Life brings pain and heartbreak, yet along with it all comes wonder, joy, and all the things that make us as God intended us to be. Which, when taken as a whole, is a very good thing.

You know, thinking about it again, maybe I was wrong. Maybe I’ll get a dog after all.

What I Should Have Said

Recently, I was asked what I regret most about my 35 years of teaching. I thought of going all self-confident and saying I regret nothing. But that’s just not true. So after thinking about it for a very short time, I mumbled something about not teaching enough electricity in physics, and that I wish I had changed the way I did my experiments. And while I do regret those things, in the scheme of life, those are small things, just details. Not things to make a huge difference. But the next day I was reading some incredibly poorly thought-out post on Facebook written by one of my former students. So I thought about that question again. And I changed my mind.

Here is what I should have said:

I regret that I didn't try harder to teach my students to think. To use their brains to weigh all the data, evidence, ideas, theories and viewpoints. To use their heads and their hearts to take all this information and come up with an answer that is their own. To not settle for an answer that sounds right or feels good. To realize that no matter how rich, how smart, or how famous someone is, that someone else’s viewpoint should not be their own. To understand that if something seems too easy or too obvious, it probably is. And to accept nothing from anyone without thinking it completely through, unless it comes from someone that you know loves you.

I regret that I didn't try harder to teach them to differentiate right from wrong, and to act accordingly. To not assume “it’s only wrong if you get caught.” To base right and wrong not on what is popular at the time, but instead to base it on what mom and dad taught them, what their religion teaches them, and what good ethics requires. To not take the obvious choice, but instead to come up with what they know in their hearts to be right, and then act on it, no matter how hard it seems, and no matter how it looks to others. And to not worry if their choice of right doesn't always match everyone else’s, because only they know all that is in their heart.

And perhaps most of all, I regret that I didn't encourage them to have the courage to take the road less traveled, the choice that may not be obvious or popular or easy, but the choice that is right for them. To take a chance, not just on the little things, but on the important things. To not play it safe. To accept the conflict that comes with risks and going against the grain. And that if they take a chance and lose, to gather themselves up and look for the next opportunity.

I know actually did teach all this, to a point. But not like I should have. Why not? Because it’s hard. Who am I to impose my idea of right or wrong on students? Especially when it may not match that of their parents or the majority of society. And to teach them to take chances in life when most around them are telling them not to? Trust me, teaching redox reactions and Newton’s Second Law problems is simple compared to navigating the mine field of all this. But that’s really no excuse. Looking back on it, I don’t think I followed my own advice. I think I tried, but probably not hard enough.

You know, I’ll bet quite a few of my own teachers had the same regrets I do…after they had already retired. Which is the wrong time to be thinking this way. I should have thought harder about this 35 years ago. I believe that I was a good teacher, and positively affected a lot of kids, but I have to wonder what more I could have done.

I wish I had read then what I wrote just now.

I Was A Stranger And You Welcomed Me

By now you've probably seen or heard of some of the protests in Murrieta, California. If not, Google it. Three busloads of undocumented immigrant children were being transported there for processing. There were about 140 total. And while I don't know the exact ages of these individuals, everyone agrees they are children.

You can think what you want about immigration. You can blame whoever you like, and you can say whatever makes you feel good. You can say the President is wrong for not enforcing the laws, or you can blame the Republicans for blocking immigration reform.

But this scene made me sick. Buses full of children, miles from home, I'm sure feeling scared, lost, and lonely; not knowing when or if they will ever see their parents again; not knowing if they will ever see their homes again; definitely strangers in a strange land. And when they arrived in the buses, they were greeted by a mob of angry people screaming "Go home, we don't want you here."

Maybe the protesters were right. Maybe the children should be sent home. Maybe. But as I watched the video, I couldn't help thinking of Matthew 25. I'm pretty sure most of the protesters would call themselves Christians. And I'm sure many of them read the Bible. I know it's hard to live as Jesus wants us to, and I'll be the first to admit that I certainly don't. Yet the verse kept going through my mind, and the contrast of what Jesus said, and what these people were doing, was overwhelming.

Matthew 25:31-46 is below. These are Jesus' words. Read it, and make your own choice.

The Final Judgment

When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on his glorious throne. Before him will be gathered all the nations, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. And he will place the sheep on his right, but the goats on the left. Then the King will say to those on his right, "Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me." Then the righteous will answer him, saying, "Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?" And the King will answer them, "Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did it to me."

Then he will say to those on his left, "Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not clothe me, sick and in prison and you did not visit me." Then they also will answer, saying, "Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not minister to you?" Then he will answer them, saying, "Truly, I say to you, as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me." And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.

I know America just can't take in every single refugee in the entire world. Yet...

If You Get the Blame, You Should Get the Credit.

So today the stock market hit an all time high. The unemployment rate fell to a 6 year low. I would assume that's all good news. Because I remember in 2009 when the stock market was tanking and unemployment was skyrocketing, it seemed America as we knew it was coming to an end. Or at least that's how it sounded. Because a lot of people, pundits, and news organizations made a point of saying how bad everything was, and how it was Obama's fault. 

Somehow, now that everything's moving the other way, I don't hear too many people giving Obama any credit. And honestly, I have no idea if this recovery is because of him or not. But my gut feeling is that his policies have at least something to do with it. 

To be fair, I have read some things that praised the recovery.

"This has now become a textbook jobs expansion," said Patrick O'Keefe, director of economic research at the consultancy CohnReznick. "It is both broad and accelerating."

The uptick in payrolls is a rare bit of good news for the White House, which has been pummeled by bad news overseas and has faced an uphill fight to portray the economy as robust when it shrank by nearly 3 percent in the first quarter.

While unemployment remains elevated above pre-crisis levels, it's encouraging to see that long-term unemployment is falling fast from the historic highs it reached in 2009 and 2010.

Note that even with the good news, at least some feel necessary to add a little negativity into it. And those who blamed him before seem to be very quiet now. I studied the FoxNews web page pretty hard, and I just didn't see any sort of credit for him or his policies, even though in 2009 it was all his fault. But regardless of politics, I would think logic would dictate that if he got the blame before, it seems to me those same people should give him at least some of the credit now. 

I suppose I'm being naive, but that just makes sense to me.

Feeling Old

The other day, I went out to run. As I started out, I noticed my right knee was hurting, just a little. Just like it’s been for the last few years. Nothing horrible, but annoying. But when I was younger, my knee never hurt. That made me feel a little old, honestly. But that wasn't the worst thing.

As I was running, I decided to run by a corner that’s been closed for a few weeks because of construction. Actually, it’s a pain running there, because I have to hop from the sidewalk, over construction, to the street, and around some machinery, enduring the “what the hell are you doing here?” looks from the workers. A few years ago, I would have avoided it. But I realized that as I get older, I also get more nosy. Which is the reason I wanted to check the corner out. So yeah, I realized I was getting old. But that wasn't the worst thing.

A mile or so later, I found myself running through the parking lot of the hospital, and I noticed there are some houses that are not 30 yards from the new wing of the hospital. And I remember actually thinking “now that would be a convenient place to live.” Really. Who thinks that living next to a hospital is convenient? Certainly not young healthy people. I was personally disgusted with myself! But that wasn't the worst thing.

As I approached 4 miles, I was running on the sidewalk in front of the hospital, because the street there is pretty busy. As I was about to cross the hospital driveway, a bus pulled up, ready to turn onto the street. Now there’s a line painted on the road, marking where the bus is supposed to stop. And if the bus had stopped there, I could have run right on by. But do you think the driver stopped at the line? Of course not. No, she pulled all the way up to the road, even though her view was not blocked in any way. So of course I had to run all the way BEHIND the bus. And seeing that was probably the third vehicle that day that had done that, I was a little frustrated. (even though I actually routinely do exactly what the bus driver did!) And I remember thinking to myself “I’m going to write a letter to the editor about this. Drivers have to be more aware of pedestrians, yada yada yada…”  At which point I stopped short and realized: this is something my dad would have done in his later years. And I thought “My God, I've become old!”

I've always wondered when I would become old. Well, now I know: 3.92 miles into my run on May 9, 2014. I’m now officially old.

And THAT is the worst thing.