In Vanishing Acts, Jodi Picoult writes, “It is also a terrifying prospect: that the relationships we use as the cornerstones of our personalities are not given by default but are a choice; that it’s all right to feel closer to a friend than we do to a parent; that someone who’s betrayed us in the past might be the same person with whom we build a future.”
We make choices everyday about those who will be or will not be our friends. Sometimes it depends on how we define the concept of friends. Normally, over the course of a lifetime, we will have numerous individuals that in the truest sense of the word are more acquaintances than real friends. Oh, we use the word “friends” to define the relationship, but are they really? It depends on your definition, as well as your expectations in the relationship.
Some are happy to have their “friends” be individuals that they have more of a casual connection – we see them sometime at church, talk to them occasionally during the month or so, send a Christmas card greeting to and might share a gift on occasion, but anything deeper is seldom approached. And then there are others that there won’t be any contact for a long period of time, but when you do get together you simply pick up where you left off … as if you have never been apart.
How would you define friendship? The definition will define what you are looking for in developing a relationship with others. That definition will dictate what you “bring to the table”.
Social networking is the new “buzz” concept of our modern life. I do participate in Facebook, but that is about it. It probably shows my age, but the other networking processes are not of an interest to me. What I find interesting is that people list all of their Facebook connections as “friends,” as well as those on their Twitter list. Maybe that can be true, but I am rather doubtful. At least in my mind it takes more than a “commenting” on someone’s Facebook account to be a friend. This whole BFF thing is a curious thing. Probably more of a catch phrase than anything else that will pass away as we move in newer directions with our “social networking” advancements.
Growing up I had one true friend. I’ve written about Donny Hall previous. He knew me … I mean really knew me. Some things he liked, but there was much that he didn’t like and yet, there he was standing in my corner when I needed him most during those years. Then time passed, we moved on and the friendship ended. I am keenly aware that those kind of individuals are rare, truly rare, and should be enjoyed while they last. Since Donny, I really haven’t had that level of friendship in any other relationship apart from my spouse. Oh, I keep looking, hoping that with everyone who enters my life that they just might end up being a true friend. I keep looking and maybe someday he or she will appear so that we can build a future!
Quote for today: By friendship you mean the greatest love, the greatest usefulness, the most open communication, the noblest sufferings, the severest truth, the heartiest counsel, and the greatest union of minds of which brave men and women are capable. Jeremy Taylor
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Monday, September 6, 2010
In honor of Labor Day and my dad
Today is Labor Day – a day honoring the workers in American society. It was first celebrated in the city of New York in 1882, but became a federal holiday in 1894 as a direct result of several deaths during a Pullman Strike. When I think of Labor Day I think of my father, Lowell L. Martin … a true laborer if ever there was one.
Dad worked with his hands, the sweat of his brow and the strength of his back. In Ohio he was a steelworker at Warner and Swasey. He was so effective and knowledgeable of how to treat steel that they made him a supervisor, but it didn’t last very long. He would observe how the men along the line were working the steel, know that they were doing it wrong and would step-in and take over instead of telling them how to do it differently … to show them how to do it correctly. It was a union shop and supervisors were not union and so the union (and the company) would inform dad that he couldn’t do that as long as he was a supervisor. So, dad decided that he would much rather be on the line than a supervisor. It meant less pay, but much less aggravation and besides he would know that the steel they were making would have been made correctly. Maybe that is where I get my basic philosophy of “if it is worth doing it is worth doing correctly.”
When we moved to Miami in the late 40’s there were no steel plants so Dad went to work grinding terrazzo. It was back breaking work with long hours, but he was proud of what he was doing. Some of the famous hotels along the Miami Beach skyline had floors worked on by my father. Eventually he got the opportunity to change jobs and went to work for Home Milk.
He started out with a retail home delivery route – again long hours, he would leave the house around 2 or 3 am and not to return home for about 12 hours. Dad would always put in his bid to take over one of the wholesale routes as they came available and eventually one came to him. Again, it was hard work. I rode “swing” with him on my vacation days and weekends to help out. The milk crates where wood during those days (and often wet) and he would pick them up 2 and 3 at a time filled with 9 half-galloon cartons of milk. This probably explained his back problems later on in life.
Dad was a union man through and through, even though he was a member of a political party that wasn’t pro-union. He and several other milkmen tried to organize the drivers into a union, but their efforts were always broken by the companies who threatened to fire anyone caught trying to organize a union. Dad knew that the job was more important than the union and so would step away from the effort.
Dad never believed that his sons worked for a living. There was a lawyer, a civil engineer, an auditor with the State Revenue Commission and me, an ordained clergyman with the Methodist church. When the discussion came around to work, as it always did with dad, it was never about the salary brought home, the hours put in or the accomplishments. Dad would end the conversation with the standard line: “Show me your hands and the callouses. If there are no callouses then you haven’t done any real work!” Dad’s hands were huge and hard as bricks … trust me on that one since I was on the receiving end of some “corrective” efforts. They were living testimonies to his labor!
So happy Labor Day to all those work … especially those who work with their hands, the strength of their backs and the sweat of the brow. This is your day! Stand tall and proud for all that you accomplish in this life!
Quote for today: My grandfather once told me that there are two kinds of people: those who do the work and those who take the credit. He told me to try to be in the first group; there was less competition there. Indira Gandhi
Dad worked with his hands, the sweat of his brow and the strength of his back. In Ohio he was a steelworker at Warner and Swasey. He was so effective and knowledgeable of how to treat steel that they made him a supervisor, but it didn’t last very long. He would observe how the men along the line were working the steel, know that they were doing it wrong and would step-in and take over instead of telling them how to do it differently … to show them how to do it correctly. It was a union shop and supervisors were not union and so the union (and the company) would inform dad that he couldn’t do that as long as he was a supervisor. So, dad decided that he would much rather be on the line than a supervisor. It meant less pay, but much less aggravation and besides he would know that the steel they were making would have been made correctly. Maybe that is where I get my basic philosophy of “if it is worth doing it is worth doing correctly.”
When we moved to Miami in the late 40’s there were no steel plants so Dad went to work grinding terrazzo. It was back breaking work with long hours, but he was proud of what he was doing. Some of the famous hotels along the Miami Beach skyline had floors worked on by my father. Eventually he got the opportunity to change jobs and went to work for Home Milk.
He started out with a retail home delivery route – again long hours, he would leave the house around 2 or 3 am and not to return home for about 12 hours. Dad would always put in his bid to take over one of the wholesale routes as they came available and eventually one came to him. Again, it was hard work. I rode “swing” with him on my vacation days and weekends to help out. The milk crates where wood during those days (and often wet) and he would pick them up 2 and 3 at a time filled with 9 half-galloon cartons of milk. This probably explained his back problems later on in life.
Dad was a union man through and through, even though he was a member of a political party that wasn’t pro-union. He and several other milkmen tried to organize the drivers into a union, but their efforts were always broken by the companies who threatened to fire anyone caught trying to organize a union. Dad knew that the job was more important than the union and so would step away from the effort.
Dad never believed that his sons worked for a living. There was a lawyer, a civil engineer, an auditor with the State Revenue Commission and me, an ordained clergyman with the Methodist church. When the discussion came around to work, as it always did with dad, it was never about the salary brought home, the hours put in or the accomplishments. Dad would end the conversation with the standard line: “Show me your hands and the callouses. If there are no callouses then you haven’t done any real work!” Dad’s hands were huge and hard as bricks … trust me on that one since I was on the receiving end of some “corrective” efforts. They were living testimonies to his labor!
So happy Labor Day to all those work … especially those who work with their hands, the strength of their backs and the sweat of the brow. This is your day! Stand tall and proud for all that you accomplish in this life!
Quote for today: My grandfather once told me that there are two kinds of people: those who do the work and those who take the credit. He told me to try to be in the first group; there was less competition there. Indira Gandhi
Sunday, September 5, 2010
The Wisdom of the Cowboys
Sometimes it is a wise thing to listen to those individuals who have had time to gather their thoughts into little short concepts. That is why I love the wisdom that is found in the Cowboys. It also might have something to do with the fact that I spent a summer working as a wrangler on a ranch in central Florida. Simply put, there is great wisdom and insight in what these old men have to share. I’m sure that as you read these you will find something that you can hang onto in your life. So in honor all those cowboys – real and imaginary – here are some of their wisdom:
If you're ridin' ahead of the herd, take a look back every now and then to make sure it's still there.
If you get to thinkin' you're a person of some influence, try orderin' somebody else's dog around.
If you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is stop diggin'.
When you give a lesson in meanness to a critter or a person, don't be surprised if they learn their lesson.
When you're throwin' your weight around, be ready to have it thrown around by somebody else.
Never miss a good chance to shut up.
If it ain't broken, don't reckon you need to worry bout fixin' it.
Never trust a man who agrees with you. He's probably wrong.
Talk low, talk slow and don't say too much.
If somebody outdraws you, smile and walk away. There's plenty of time to look tough when you're outta sight!
Don't squat with your spurs on.
Good judgment comes from experience, and a lot of that comes from bad judgment.
Always drink upstream from the herd.
Letting the cat out of the bag is a whole lot easier than putting it back in.
There's two theories to arguing with a woman. Neither one works.
Never drop your gun to hug a grizzly.
Never kick a cow chip on a hot day.
Never slap a man who's chewing tobacco.
When you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.
Don't worry about biting off more than you can chew. Your mouth is probably a whole lot bigger than you think.
Like a good cowboy, a good hat just gets better as it gets older.
Always take a good look at what you're about to eat. It's not so important to know what it is, but it's good to know what it was.
It don't take a genius to spot a goat in a flock of sheep.
Go after life as if it's something that's got to be roped in a hurry before it gets away.
The quickest way to double your money is to fold it over and put it back in your pocket.
Never get up before breakfast. If you have to get up before breakfast, eat breakfast first.
Making it in life is kind of like busting broncos. You're going to get thrown a lot. The simple secret is to keep getting back on.
Never ask a barber if he thinks you need a haircut.
When you're up to your nose in manure, keep your mouth shut.
And then finally there is this little bit of insightful spiritual wisdom from an Old Cowboy:
One Sunday morning, an old cowboy entered a church just before services were to begin. Although the old man and his clothes were spotlessly clean, he wore jeans, a denim shirt and boots that were worn and ragged. In his hand he carried a worn-out old hat and an equally worn, dog-eared Bible.
The church he entered was in a very upscale and exclusive part of the city. It was the largest and most beautiful church the old cowboy had ever seen. The people of the congregation were all dressed with expensive clothes and fine jewelry. As the cowboy took a seat, the others moved away from him. No one greeted, spoke to, or welcomed him. They were all appalled by his appearance and did not attempt to hide it.
As the old cowboy was leaving the church, the preacher approached him and asked the cowboy to do him a favor. "Before you come back in here again, have a talk with God and ask him what he thinks would be appropriate attire for worship in church." The old cowboy assured the preacher he would.
The next Sunday, he showed back up for the services wearing the same ragged jeans, shirt, boots, and hat. Once again he was completely shunned and ignored. The preacher approached the cowboy and said, "I thought I asked you to speak to God before you came back to our church."
"I did," replied the old cowboy.
"And what was his reply?" asked the preacher.
"Well, sir, God told me that he didn't have a clue what I should wear. He said he'd never been in this church."
If you're ridin' ahead of the herd, take a look back every now and then to make sure it's still there.
If you get to thinkin' you're a person of some influence, try orderin' somebody else's dog around.
If you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is stop diggin'.
When you give a lesson in meanness to a critter or a person, don't be surprised if they learn their lesson.
When you're throwin' your weight around, be ready to have it thrown around by somebody else.
Never miss a good chance to shut up.
If it ain't broken, don't reckon you need to worry bout fixin' it.
Never trust a man who agrees with you. He's probably wrong.
Talk low, talk slow and don't say too much.
If somebody outdraws you, smile and walk away. There's plenty of time to look tough when you're outta sight!
Don't squat with your spurs on.
Good judgment comes from experience, and a lot of that comes from bad judgment.
Always drink upstream from the herd.
Letting the cat out of the bag is a whole lot easier than putting it back in.
There's two theories to arguing with a woman. Neither one works.
Never drop your gun to hug a grizzly.
Never kick a cow chip on a hot day.
Never slap a man who's chewing tobacco.
When you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.
Don't worry about biting off more than you can chew. Your mouth is probably a whole lot bigger than you think.
Like a good cowboy, a good hat just gets better as it gets older.
Always take a good look at what you're about to eat. It's not so important to know what it is, but it's good to know what it was.
It don't take a genius to spot a goat in a flock of sheep.
Go after life as if it's something that's got to be roped in a hurry before it gets away.
The quickest way to double your money is to fold it over and put it back in your pocket.
Never get up before breakfast. If you have to get up before breakfast, eat breakfast first.
Making it in life is kind of like busting broncos. You're going to get thrown a lot. The simple secret is to keep getting back on.
Never ask a barber if he thinks you need a haircut.
When you're up to your nose in manure, keep your mouth shut.
And then finally there is this little bit of insightful spiritual wisdom from an Old Cowboy:
One Sunday morning, an old cowboy entered a church just before services were to begin. Although the old man and his clothes were spotlessly clean, he wore jeans, a denim shirt and boots that were worn and ragged. In his hand he carried a worn-out old hat and an equally worn, dog-eared Bible.
The church he entered was in a very upscale and exclusive part of the city. It was the largest and most beautiful church the old cowboy had ever seen. The people of the congregation were all dressed with expensive clothes and fine jewelry. As the cowboy took a seat, the others moved away from him. No one greeted, spoke to, or welcomed him. They were all appalled by his appearance and did not attempt to hide it.
As the old cowboy was leaving the church, the preacher approached him and asked the cowboy to do him a favor. "Before you come back in here again, have a talk with God and ask him what he thinks would be appropriate attire for worship in church." The old cowboy assured the preacher he would.
The next Sunday, he showed back up for the services wearing the same ragged jeans, shirt, boots, and hat. Once again he was completely shunned and ignored. The preacher approached the cowboy and said, "I thought I asked you to speak to God before you came back to our church."
"I did," replied the old cowboy.
"And what was his reply?" asked the preacher.
"Well, sir, God told me that he didn't have a clue what I should wear. He said he'd never been in this church."
Saturday, September 4, 2010
History - our personal stories
Just finished, Listening Is an Act of Love … a celebration of American life from the StoryCorps Project, edited and with an introduction by Dave Isay. I have been listening and enjoying to StoryCorps’ stories for sometime now. They are a regular Friday feature on Morning Edition, National Public Radio (NPR). To discover that there is a written collection of some of these personal stories of fellow Americans was a great discovery … an added bonus.
Dave Isay is the founder of StoryCorps. In the last chapter he tells the story behind the founding of this special project of collecting and preserving an audio history of people. As he states on page 269: “These stories are a record of our shared humanity. Hearing them, it becomes clear that no matter who we are or where we come from, there is much more in common that we share than that divides us. These stories are a reminder that if we spent a little less time listening to the racket of divisive radio and TV talk shows and a little more time listening to each other, we would be a better, more thoughtful, and more compassionate nation.”
My first introduction to Oral History was when I moved to St. Petersburg and our beloved nation was preparing for the Bicentennial. The city had started recording and preserving the stories of those who were alive 100 years ago … stories of participating in WWI and WWII; stories of women’s fight to gain the right to vote; stories of growing up in the south as a slave; stories of the Great Depression; stories of the Great Dust Bowl; stories of human life being lived out across the country … stories of struggle and triumph … your stories and mine.
Last Sunday I was speaking with a young mother who shared, with amazement, the fact that one of her children spoke of a memory that he was too young to really remember … after all he “was only 1 at the time.” It gave me the opportunity to speak about a thing that I call, “Rehearsed memory.” It is probably one of the best gifts that we can give to our children.
Rehearsed memory is when, as parents or grandparents, we tell and retell the stories of our lives so often that the children who hear them begin to tell them in the first person … they become their stories … they can retell them over and over as if they actually do remember being there and having those experiences. It is our Oral History at its best and it is being preserved in their minds for the next generation.
On more than one occasion I have encouraged shut-ins to pick up a tape recorder and simply start to tell their future great-grandchildren about their life, who they are and the rich experiences that they have had. I’m not sure if any have followed my advice … I am sure not many, but isn’t it sad to think that these great men and women, with a vast amount of knowledge and history are just taking it to their graves.
Maybe, just maybe that is one of the hidden reasons that I started to blog, other than my youngest daughter pushing me to do this, so there would be a printed copy of my thoughts to be shared with my grandchildren and any children that shall come forth from them. I too need to record some of my stories so that when I have passed from this mortal coil my precious Ava and Eli … and maybe others … will be able to hear my voice telling my personal journey from Ohio to Miami and then all over Florida. I do know that there are some of my favorite jokes that the girls would like for me to record for them, as well as my Indian story of looking out for the lost son, Falling Rock, of a great chief of a mountain tribe.
I need to do that don’t I … and possibly so should you.
Quote for today: History is the record of an encounter between character and circumstance. Donald Creighton
Dave Isay is the founder of StoryCorps. In the last chapter he tells the story behind the founding of this special project of collecting and preserving an audio history of people. As he states on page 269: “These stories are a record of our shared humanity. Hearing them, it becomes clear that no matter who we are or where we come from, there is much more in common that we share than that divides us. These stories are a reminder that if we spent a little less time listening to the racket of divisive radio and TV talk shows and a little more time listening to each other, we would be a better, more thoughtful, and more compassionate nation.”
My first introduction to Oral History was when I moved to St. Petersburg and our beloved nation was preparing for the Bicentennial. The city had started recording and preserving the stories of those who were alive 100 years ago … stories of participating in WWI and WWII; stories of women’s fight to gain the right to vote; stories of growing up in the south as a slave; stories of the Great Depression; stories of the Great Dust Bowl; stories of human life being lived out across the country … stories of struggle and triumph … your stories and mine.
Last Sunday I was speaking with a young mother who shared, with amazement, the fact that one of her children spoke of a memory that he was too young to really remember … after all he “was only 1 at the time.” It gave me the opportunity to speak about a thing that I call, “Rehearsed memory.” It is probably one of the best gifts that we can give to our children.
Rehearsed memory is when, as parents or grandparents, we tell and retell the stories of our lives so often that the children who hear them begin to tell them in the first person … they become their stories … they can retell them over and over as if they actually do remember being there and having those experiences. It is our Oral History at its best and it is being preserved in their minds for the next generation.
On more than one occasion I have encouraged shut-ins to pick up a tape recorder and simply start to tell their future great-grandchildren about their life, who they are and the rich experiences that they have had. I’m not sure if any have followed my advice … I am sure not many, but isn’t it sad to think that these great men and women, with a vast amount of knowledge and history are just taking it to their graves.
Maybe, just maybe that is one of the hidden reasons that I started to blog, other than my youngest daughter pushing me to do this, so there would be a printed copy of my thoughts to be shared with my grandchildren and any children that shall come forth from them. I too need to record some of my stories so that when I have passed from this mortal coil my precious Ava and Eli … and maybe others … will be able to hear my voice telling my personal journey from Ohio to Miami and then all over Florida. I do know that there are some of my favorite jokes that the girls would like for me to record for them, as well as my Indian story of looking out for the lost son, Falling Rock, of a great chief of a mountain tribe.
I need to do that don’t I … and possibly so should you.
Quote for today: History is the record of an encounter between character and circumstance. Donald Creighton
Friday, September 3, 2010
Marriage
Marriage is a wonderful institution! But it is also probably the hardest thing that any two people are ever asked to do. Marriage can fulfill you and challenge you. It can cause you to laugh and turn you into tears in a second. It can provoke you to change and it can cause you to re-evaluate your path in life. Marriage is both a blessing and a curse.
A friend of mine, who was not a relative and was too soon taken from us because of a brain tumor, The Rev. O. Dean Martin, wrote a book many, many years ago entitled, “Good Marriages Don’t Just Happen.” It was so insightful that the University of Florida actually asked him to teach a course based on his understanding of the relationship that a husband and wife had with each other within the demands of marriage.
One of the things that I remember from the book and corresponding video series made using Dean as the teacher, was the line considering Dean’s marriage to Sandra. “We’ve been married 25 years its been the best 22 years of my life! Now if you ask Sandra she probably will say that it was the best 19 years of her life.” And, that spoke to the reality of any relationship because there is a day here and a day there, a week here and a week there, and, sometimes, a month here and a month there that, according to Dean, “You simply want to take your partner to the highest mountain, push them off and tell God that they slipped.”
Nobody can live with another human being and be “happy” all of the time … that simply isn’t possible. Oh, I’ve attended my fair share of 50th Wedding Anniversary parties and have heard the couple talk about their bliss filled 50 years together. I’ve heard it said, at these celebrations, that “we’ve been married 50 years and never had a cross word to say to each other.” Now, my friends, either they are not telling the truth or somebody sure bites their tongue a lot.
One older gentleman shared, at his wedding celebration, that he was determined that he would never say anything in anger to his wife. He decided that he would take a long walk every time they got into a disagreement in order to allow the situation to cool down. “I must be approaching 10,000 miles by now,” he said. That is the reality of being married.
Another way to look at this special relationship is what I call the “Half-glass syndrome.” I can either consider the glass half-full or half-empty … which translates into marriage in that I can either look at our relationship and consider the good things about our relationship (the half-full concept) or I can concentrate on what is wrong with the relationship (the half-empty concept). One will bring happiness and fulfillment, the other will bring criticism and fault find … and nothing but heartache. It is our choice.
I also believe in the Providence of God. In connection to marriage it means that God brought the two people together for marriage. God knew that this particular individual would complete you and cause you to become all that He had created you to be. Sometimes growth is difficult and sometimes it can test your resolve to stay together, but if you determine that love is the answer then you will always see the glass as half-full.
I write this as Margaret and I celebrate our 45th Wedding Anniversary today … it was 45 years ago, at 8 PM that Margaret Marie Sever and James Wesley Martin stood before The Rev. Charlie Thompson at Allapattah Methodist Church in Miami, Florida and made a commitment to be husband and wife … for better or for worse. We are celebrating the “for better” part!
Quote for today: "To keep your marriage brimming / With love in the loving cup / Whenever you're wrong, admit it / Whenever you're right, shut up!" Ogden Nash
A friend of mine, who was not a relative and was too soon taken from us because of a brain tumor, The Rev. O. Dean Martin, wrote a book many, many years ago entitled, “Good Marriages Don’t Just Happen.” It was so insightful that the University of Florida actually asked him to teach a course based on his understanding of the relationship that a husband and wife had with each other within the demands of marriage.
One of the things that I remember from the book and corresponding video series made using Dean as the teacher, was the line considering Dean’s marriage to Sandra. “We’ve been married 25 years its been the best 22 years of my life! Now if you ask Sandra she probably will say that it was the best 19 years of her life.” And, that spoke to the reality of any relationship because there is a day here and a day there, a week here and a week there, and, sometimes, a month here and a month there that, according to Dean, “You simply want to take your partner to the highest mountain, push them off and tell God that they slipped.”
Nobody can live with another human being and be “happy” all of the time … that simply isn’t possible. Oh, I’ve attended my fair share of 50th Wedding Anniversary parties and have heard the couple talk about their bliss filled 50 years together. I’ve heard it said, at these celebrations, that “we’ve been married 50 years and never had a cross word to say to each other.” Now, my friends, either they are not telling the truth or somebody sure bites their tongue a lot.
One older gentleman shared, at his wedding celebration, that he was determined that he would never say anything in anger to his wife. He decided that he would take a long walk every time they got into a disagreement in order to allow the situation to cool down. “I must be approaching 10,000 miles by now,” he said. That is the reality of being married.
Another way to look at this special relationship is what I call the “Half-glass syndrome.” I can either consider the glass half-full or half-empty … which translates into marriage in that I can either look at our relationship and consider the good things about our relationship (the half-full concept) or I can concentrate on what is wrong with the relationship (the half-empty concept). One will bring happiness and fulfillment, the other will bring criticism and fault find … and nothing but heartache. It is our choice.
I also believe in the Providence of God. In connection to marriage it means that God brought the two people together for marriage. God knew that this particular individual would complete you and cause you to become all that He had created you to be. Sometimes growth is difficult and sometimes it can test your resolve to stay together, but if you determine that love is the answer then you will always see the glass as half-full.
I write this as Margaret and I celebrate our 45th Wedding Anniversary today … it was 45 years ago, at 8 PM that Margaret Marie Sever and James Wesley Martin stood before The Rev. Charlie Thompson at Allapattah Methodist Church in Miami, Florida and made a commitment to be husband and wife … for better or for worse. We are celebrating the “for better” part!
Quote for today: "To keep your marriage brimming / With love in the loving cup / Whenever you're wrong, admit it / Whenever you're right, shut up!" Ogden Nash
Thursday, September 2, 2010
On being a parent
In Vanishing Acts by Jodi Picoult, the author wrote: “What is a parent, really, but somebody who picks up the things a child leaves behind – a trail made of stripped-off clothing, orphaned shoes, tinny bright plastic game pieces, and nostalgia – and who hands back each of these when it’s needed? What is a parent but someone you trust to keep you safe, and to tell you the truth” (page 145).
Being a parent isn’t easy. Though there are numerous “instruction” manuals, so to speak, in the bookstores, you have to buy them, read them, understand what you have read, believe in what you read and then follow what you have read. Who really is going to do that? Becoming a parent is a lot easier than being a parent.
Overheard recently about being a parent, “If I had known it was this hard I would have prepared better!” But, how does anyone really prepare to be a parent? You can read all those books, talk with other parents, remember how you were raised … and then go forth and simply do the best job possible based on what you know or think you know. And isn’t that at the root of the reality – as parents we simply try to do the best job possible based on what we know or think we know. We do a pretty good job given the circumstances and the information available at the time.
Insights come along with the journey. As I listened to a call in talk show some time ago I was struck by the advice offered to a caller who was wondering what to do with her child who was entering the “Terrible Twos” stage of life. The radio host advice was solid … just work on the relationship do not try to change the behavior, unless it is life threatening or mean spirited, because before you know it the child will have moved on to some other “horrible” behavior pattern and hopefully, he/she will have a good solid relationship with you as their parent to take with them. When I got home I shared this over dinner with my two daughters, who were teenagers at the time. One of them said, “Man, I wish you had discovered this little insight much earlier!” And, so did I.
Parenting is all about the relationship … not control or authority or power … just a relationship, but not as a buddy-to-buddy rather as parent-to-child. Our offspring will always need a parent that they can turn to for advice and guidance – the wise one in the midst of the storms of life. Without a relationship the child will not necessarily be able to trust the source of the wisdom.
Do parents make mistakes? Yes! Are those devastating and long lasting? Sometimes. Can they be undone? Maybe … depends on how much work the parent wants to do and how much the child now a teenager or an adult is willing to open up. Does any parent wish they could go back and do it again? By all means! Who was it that said that we, as parents, should bring one child into this life raise it to full adulthood then through it away and start all over with another child – much wiser and better suited to being a parent?
I will admit that it is much easier being a grandparent … and much more fun! You cannot make any mistakes and if you do, it is the child’s parents who are responsible to correct the mistakes made. That sure let’s the grandparent off the hook … but should it? I’m feeling a little guilty, as I have just written those words. Grandparenting is as important to the emotional and mental well being of the child as his or her relationship with his or her parents. Like it or not we are a part of the village that is raising the child.
And so, the three most important ideas in raising a child by the parents or grandparents are: relationship, relationship, relationship.
Go forth and multiple … enjoy the journey and stop worrying about making mistakes … when the “burden” of parenting gets to be overwhelming just sit down with your child, bring out the Oreos and have an icing licking contest … and enjoy the laughter … it will be memory that both of you will enjoy later in life!
And if you are not a parent then go forth and adopt someone else’s child for the day or for the weekend – both the parents and the child will appreciate the relief you bring into their life!
Quote for today: I have found the best way to give advice to your children is to find out what they want and then advise them to do it. Harry S. Truman
Being a parent isn’t easy. Though there are numerous “instruction” manuals, so to speak, in the bookstores, you have to buy them, read them, understand what you have read, believe in what you read and then follow what you have read. Who really is going to do that? Becoming a parent is a lot easier than being a parent.
Overheard recently about being a parent, “If I had known it was this hard I would have prepared better!” But, how does anyone really prepare to be a parent? You can read all those books, talk with other parents, remember how you were raised … and then go forth and simply do the best job possible based on what you know or think you know. And isn’t that at the root of the reality – as parents we simply try to do the best job possible based on what we know or think we know. We do a pretty good job given the circumstances and the information available at the time.
Insights come along with the journey. As I listened to a call in talk show some time ago I was struck by the advice offered to a caller who was wondering what to do with her child who was entering the “Terrible Twos” stage of life. The radio host advice was solid … just work on the relationship do not try to change the behavior, unless it is life threatening or mean spirited, because before you know it the child will have moved on to some other “horrible” behavior pattern and hopefully, he/she will have a good solid relationship with you as their parent to take with them. When I got home I shared this over dinner with my two daughters, who were teenagers at the time. One of them said, “Man, I wish you had discovered this little insight much earlier!” And, so did I.
Parenting is all about the relationship … not control or authority or power … just a relationship, but not as a buddy-to-buddy rather as parent-to-child. Our offspring will always need a parent that they can turn to for advice and guidance – the wise one in the midst of the storms of life. Without a relationship the child will not necessarily be able to trust the source of the wisdom.
Do parents make mistakes? Yes! Are those devastating and long lasting? Sometimes. Can they be undone? Maybe … depends on how much work the parent wants to do and how much the child now a teenager or an adult is willing to open up. Does any parent wish they could go back and do it again? By all means! Who was it that said that we, as parents, should bring one child into this life raise it to full adulthood then through it away and start all over with another child – much wiser and better suited to being a parent?
I will admit that it is much easier being a grandparent … and much more fun! You cannot make any mistakes and if you do, it is the child’s parents who are responsible to correct the mistakes made. That sure let’s the grandparent off the hook … but should it? I’m feeling a little guilty, as I have just written those words. Grandparenting is as important to the emotional and mental well being of the child as his or her relationship with his or her parents. Like it or not we are a part of the village that is raising the child.
And so, the three most important ideas in raising a child by the parents or grandparents are: relationship, relationship, relationship.
Go forth and multiple … enjoy the journey and stop worrying about making mistakes … when the “burden” of parenting gets to be overwhelming just sit down with your child, bring out the Oreos and have an icing licking contest … and enjoy the laughter … it will be memory that both of you will enjoy later in life!
And if you are not a parent then go forth and adopt someone else’s child for the day or for the weekend – both the parents and the child will appreciate the relief you bring into their life!
Quote for today: I have found the best way to give advice to your children is to find out what they want and then advise them to do it. Harry S. Truman
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
A story: On Military Honor Guard Duty
Without any commentary I offer this story. May it touch your spirit.
I just wanted to get the day over with and go down to Smokey's. Sneaking a look at my watch, I saw the time, 1655. Five minutes to go before the cemetery gates are closed for the day. Full dress was hot in the August sun. Oklahoma summertime was as bad as ever--the heat and humidity at the same level--both too high.
I saw the car pull into the drive, '69 or '70 model Cadillac Deville, looked factory-new. It pulled into the parking lot at a snail's pace. An old woman got out so slow I thought she was paralyzed; she had a cane and a sheaf of flowers--about four or five bunches as best I could tell.
I couldn't help myself. The thought came unwanted, and left a slightly bitter taste: 'She's going to spend an hour, and for this old soldier, my hip hurts like hell and I'm ready to get out of here right now!' But for this day, my duty was to assist anyone coming in.
Kevin would lock the 'In' gate and if I could hurry the old biddy along, we might make it to Smokey's in time.
I broke post attention. My hip made gritty noises when I took the first step and the pain went up a notch. I must have made a real military sight: middle-aged man with a small pot gut and half a limp, in marine full-dress uniform, which had lost its razor crease about thirty minutes after I began the watch at the cemetery.
I stopped in front of her, halfway up the walk. She looked up at me with an old woman's squint.
'Ma'am, may I assist you in any way?'
She took long enough to answer.
'Yes, son. Can you carry these flowers? I seem to be moving a tad slow these days.'
'My pleasure, ma'am.' Well, it wasn't too much of a lie.
She looked again. 'Marine, where were you stationed?'
' Vietnam, ma'am. Ground-pounder. '69 to '71.'
She looked at me closer. 'Wounded in action, I see. Well done, Marine. I'll be as quick as I can.'
I lied a little bigger: 'No hurry, ma'am.'
She smiled and winked at me. 'Son, I'm 85-years-old and I can tell a lie from a long way off. Let's get this done. Might be the last time I can do this. My name's Joanne Wieserman, and I've a few Marines I'd like to see one more time.'
'Yes, ma 'am. At your service.'
She headed for the World War I section, stopping at a stone. She picked one of the flowers out of my arm and laid it on top of the stone. She murmured something I couldn't quite make out. The name on the marble was Donald S. Davidson, USMC: France 1918.
She turned away and made a straight line for the World War II section, stopping at one stone. I saw a tear slowly tracking its way down her cheek. She put a bunch on a stone; the name was Stephen X. Davidson, USMC, 1943.
She went up the row a ways and laid another bunch on a stone, Stanley J. Wieserman, USMC, 1944.
She paused for a second. 'Two more, son, and we'll be done'
I almost didn't say anything, but, 'Yes, ma'am. Take your time.'
She looked confused. 'Where's the Vietnam section, son? I seem to have lost my way.'
I pointed with my chin. 'That way, ma'am.'
'Oh!' she chuckled quietly. 'Son, me and old age ain't too friendly.'
She headed down the walk I'd pointed at. She stopped at a couple of stones before she found the ones she wanted. She placed a bunch on Larry Wieserman, USMC, 1968, and the last on Darrel Wieserman, USMC, 1970. She stood there and murmured a few words I still couldn't make out.
'OK, son, I'm finished. Get me back to my car and you can go home.'
Yes, ma'am. If I may ask, were those your kinfolk?'
She paused. 'Yes, Donald Davidson was my father, Stephen was my uncle, Stanley was my husband, Larry and Darrel were our sons. All killed in action, all marines.'
She stopped. Whether she had finished, or couldn't finish, I don't know. She made her way to her car, slowly and painfully. I waited for a polite distance to come between us and then double-timed it over to Kevin, waiting by the car. 'Get to the 'Out' gate quick. I have something I've got to do.'
Kevin started to say something, but saw the look I gave him. He broke the rules to get us there down the service road. We beat her. She hadn't made it around the rotunda yet.
'Kevin, stand at attention next to the gatepost. Follow my lead.' I humped it across the drive to the other post. When the Cadillac came puttering around from the hedges and began the short straight traverse to the gate, I called in my best gunny's voice: 'TehenHut! Present Haaaarms!'
I have to hand it to Kevin; he never blinked an eye--full dress attention and a salute that would make his DI proud. She drove through that gate with two old worn-out soldiers giving her a send-off she deserved, for service rendered to her country, and for knowing duty, honor and sacrifice.
I am not sure, but I think I saw a salute returned from that Cadillac.
Instead of 'The End,' just think of ' Taps.'
As a final thought on my part, let me share a favorite prayer: 'Lord, keep our servicemen and women safe, whether they serve at home or overseas. Hold them in your loving hands and protect them as they protect us.' Let's all keep those currently serving and those who have gone before in our thoughts. They are the reason for the many freedoms we enjoy.
Quote for today: No man in this world attains to freedom from any slavery except by entrance into some higher servitude. There is no such thing as an entirely free man conceivable. Phillips Brooks
I just wanted to get the day over with and go down to Smokey's. Sneaking a look at my watch, I saw the time, 1655. Five minutes to go before the cemetery gates are closed for the day. Full dress was hot in the August sun. Oklahoma summertime was as bad as ever--the heat and humidity at the same level--both too high.
I saw the car pull into the drive, '69 or '70 model Cadillac Deville, looked factory-new. It pulled into the parking lot at a snail's pace. An old woman got out so slow I thought she was paralyzed; she had a cane and a sheaf of flowers--about four or five bunches as best I could tell.
I couldn't help myself. The thought came unwanted, and left a slightly bitter taste: 'She's going to spend an hour, and for this old soldier, my hip hurts like hell and I'm ready to get out of here right now!' But for this day, my duty was to assist anyone coming in.
Kevin would lock the 'In' gate and if I could hurry the old biddy along, we might make it to Smokey's in time.
I broke post attention. My hip made gritty noises when I took the first step and the pain went up a notch. I must have made a real military sight: middle-aged man with a small pot gut and half a limp, in marine full-dress uniform, which had lost its razor crease about thirty minutes after I began the watch at the cemetery.
I stopped in front of her, halfway up the walk. She looked up at me with an old woman's squint.
'Ma'am, may I assist you in any way?'
She took long enough to answer.
'Yes, son. Can you carry these flowers? I seem to be moving a tad slow these days.'
'My pleasure, ma'am.' Well, it wasn't too much of a lie.
She looked again. 'Marine, where were you stationed?'
' Vietnam, ma'am. Ground-pounder. '69 to '71.'
She looked at me closer. 'Wounded in action, I see. Well done, Marine. I'll be as quick as I can.'
I lied a little bigger: 'No hurry, ma'am.'
She smiled and winked at me. 'Son, I'm 85-years-old and I can tell a lie from a long way off. Let's get this done. Might be the last time I can do this. My name's Joanne Wieserman, and I've a few Marines I'd like to see one more time.'
'Yes, ma 'am. At your service.'
She headed for the World War I section, stopping at a stone. She picked one of the flowers out of my arm and laid it on top of the stone. She murmured something I couldn't quite make out. The name on the marble was Donald S. Davidson, USMC: France 1918.
She turned away and made a straight line for the World War II section, stopping at one stone. I saw a tear slowly tracking its way down her cheek. She put a bunch on a stone; the name was Stephen X. Davidson, USMC, 1943.
She went up the row a ways and laid another bunch on a stone, Stanley J. Wieserman, USMC, 1944.
She paused for a second. 'Two more, son, and we'll be done'
I almost didn't say anything, but, 'Yes, ma'am. Take your time.'
She looked confused. 'Where's the Vietnam section, son? I seem to have lost my way.'
I pointed with my chin. 'That way, ma'am.'
'Oh!' she chuckled quietly. 'Son, me and old age ain't too friendly.'
She headed down the walk I'd pointed at. She stopped at a couple of stones before she found the ones she wanted. She placed a bunch on Larry Wieserman, USMC, 1968, and the last on Darrel Wieserman, USMC, 1970. She stood there and murmured a few words I still couldn't make out.
'OK, son, I'm finished. Get me back to my car and you can go home.'
Yes, ma'am. If I may ask, were those your kinfolk?'
She paused. 'Yes, Donald Davidson was my father, Stephen was my uncle, Stanley was my husband, Larry and Darrel were our sons. All killed in action, all marines.'
She stopped. Whether she had finished, or couldn't finish, I don't know. She made her way to her car, slowly and painfully. I waited for a polite distance to come between us and then double-timed it over to Kevin, waiting by the car. 'Get to the 'Out' gate quick. I have something I've got to do.'
Kevin started to say something, but saw the look I gave him. He broke the rules to get us there down the service road. We beat her. She hadn't made it around the rotunda yet.
'Kevin, stand at attention next to the gatepost. Follow my lead.' I humped it across the drive to the other post. When the Cadillac came puttering around from the hedges and began the short straight traverse to the gate, I called in my best gunny's voice: 'TehenHut! Present Haaaarms!'
I have to hand it to Kevin; he never blinked an eye--full dress attention and a salute that would make his DI proud. She drove through that gate with two old worn-out soldiers giving her a send-off she deserved, for service rendered to her country, and for knowing duty, honor and sacrifice.
I am not sure, but I think I saw a salute returned from that Cadillac.
Instead of 'The End,' just think of ' Taps.'
As a final thought on my part, let me share a favorite prayer: 'Lord, keep our servicemen and women safe, whether they serve at home or overseas. Hold them in your loving hands and protect them as they protect us.' Let's all keep those currently serving and those who have gone before in our thoughts. They are the reason for the many freedoms we enjoy.
Quote for today: No man in this world attains to freedom from any slavery except by entrance into some higher servitude. There is no such thing as an entirely free man conceivable. Phillips Brooks
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