Thankful

I am thankful for another day. Yes, it sounds like just another positive quote. However, the quote takes on a new meaning as I grow older. For instance, I heard a song played on the radio that I hadn’t heard in ages. Even though I hadn’t heard the song in ages, the lyrics came to me naturally as I sang and danced in my car to the tune. Yes, I said dance in my car. I do those crazy things. If I had died the day before, I would have never heard that song again and remembered how much I liked it. It really is the simple things in life that we take for granted.

I am thankful for my mother’s toasted cheese sandwich made with Velveeta. Everyone else calls this a grilled cheese sandwich, but it’s always been a toasted cheese to me. Once, I went to Waffle House and ordered a toasted cheese. They brought me two slices of toast with a cold piece of cheese in between them. Naturally I took it back. Apparently, I was the only person in the world that called the sandwich a toasted cheese. The waitress pointed out to me that they have a grilled cheese sandwich on their menu, but I had ordered toast and cheese. Apparently, I mumbled as well as I soon understood that she had misunderstood me. Nevertheless, there’s not much that beats a good toasted cheese sandwich made with Velveeta. The kind where the melted cheese flows out the sides. Once the cheese flows out the sides of the toast, a pretzel or chip is used to scoop up the melted cheese. You have to scoop it up before it cools, though. Otherwise, it loses its pizazz somewhat. Add a few pickles on the side and you have a delicacy that can’t be found in any fancy restaurant. I could probably live off of these sandwiches. As a matter of fact, I think I did for a period of time.

I am thankful for bratty, spoiled kids. The kind that you see at Wal Mart screaming and acting like heathens. The kids whose parents can’t control them. Why would I be thankful for these nerve racking brats? Because it makes me realize that I did a pretty decent job with my kids. I never had the embarrassing moments in Wal Mart or anywhere else. My daughters were always respectful when we were over someone else’s house. I never had to use any drastic discipline or lame time out tactics. I wish I could take all of the credit, but I realize that I am not perfect by any means. I was fortunate enough to have help from people with good morals and overall principles. Whatever the reason or reasons, I was and still am blessed to have great children.

I am thankful for my dog, Lucy. No matter what kind of day I have had, Lucy meets me the same every day. Her nub of a tail wags so fast that her entire body shakes. Unable to stand in one spot, she circles me in between leaps and licks. She also does her best to tell me how happy she is to see me. Although you have probably heard of people tell of their pets talking to them, they are usually hallucinating or just telling you what they think they see and hear. Although it makes no sense to anyone else, it makes sense to them. Lucy, on the other hand, actually talks. I can’t understand what she’s saying, but she talks. In actuality, she gets so excited and full of nervous energy that her lips and jaws chatter. She makes a funny noise when this occurs that mimics talking as her jaws move. Her most enduring characteristic, however, is the nightly ritual of giving me a good night kiss. As soon as I get in bed, the tiny, 12lb Yorkie pins me down to shower my face with a tongue bath. Sometimes she doesn’t even wait for me to get under the cover. With Lucy, it’s never a quick, simple lick of the tongue. It’s an entire facial cleansing. She would lick all night if I’d let her. Reluctantly, she leaves and finds her spot for the night at the foot of the bed. As for myself, I turn over and go to sleep feeling loved with all of my problems washed away for the night.

I am thankful for the knowledge and abilities that God has given me. There are times when I get disgusted. I don’t think I’m where I should be in life or in my career. I think that I am the smartest person in the world and deserve more. Then I realize that there are a few people actually smarter than me. I also realize that I have had more opportunities than most people. I have probably overlooked more opportunities than I have I have recognized. I’ve actually accomplished almost everything that I’ve aspired to. I wanted to have a little girl…..I had three! I wanted to get my college degree…..I got two. I wanted to write a book…..I wrote two. When I look at things from that perspective, I realize I am successful and can accomplish anything I want. I am thankful that God has given me the ability to keep learning new things and to keep aspiring higher.

I am thankful that God has a purpose for me. I’ve always reminded myself that I was put here for a reason. I tell myself that often. I’ve always believed that I would change the world somehow. Unfortunately, I haven’t figured out the “how’ part yet and struggle to understand my exact purpose. Nevertheless, I truly believe that I have a purpose and will somehow change the world in a positive way. I am thankful that God has not grown tired of me failing him. My life quest has probably been in front of me my entire life, but I have always moved in the opposite direction. If I were God, I would have lost patience a long time ago. Thankfully, God’s plans never fail.

I am thankful for my wife, Crystal. On my numerous endeavors to find my purpose, she has supported me at every step. These endeavors have resulted in many different incarnations. I have changed my thinking and habits several times in what probably appears as out of the blue to her. Most of the time, these changes probably don’t make any sense to her. However, she always follows me blindly despite the lack of logic my path seems to go. I would have quit following in fear of the quick sand ahead, but she put on her wading boots and follows me on the safari of the unknown.

I am thankful for my English teacher at Bethel University, Cindy Fuchs. What started out as just another class turned into self-discovery for me. When I first enrolled in Bethel’s Success program, I looked at each class as nothing more than something I had to do to earn the credit needed to complete my degree. Through creative writing assignments, I re-discovered my passion for writing, storytelling, and literature. Impressed with my essays and writing, she commented that I should major in English. After the success in her classes, the remaining courses became more than just credit fillers to me. I became entrenched in my studies in History, Art, and Religion. Every class was a new learning experience. I was actually sad when the journey to my Bachelor degree was over. I loved learning. Mrs. Fuchs’s comments had ignited my love for learning in general, and fueled my lost love for creative writing. Without her, I wouldn’t be writing this blog now. I wouldn’t be listening to obscure podcasts. I wouldn’t be setting a goal of performing on stage at Spillit, a storytelling company in Memphis. Without her inspiration, I probably wouldn’t be exploring new ideas. I would probably be self-growth stagnant.

I am thankful for my four grandchildren. I say grandchildren as the Fonz says the word “wrong” when admitting he was wrong about something. In other words, I stretch it out because it is difficult to say at times. It’s hard to say because I sometimes feel that I am not ready to be a grandparent. It seems like only a few years ago when I was taking my daughters to school, attending school plays, and selling candy for them for school fundraisers. I was more than just a dad; I was Superman in their eyes. I enjoyed being Superman. It was all that I planned to do. I never planned for them growing up and having lives of their own. To me, they were always my young children. “Time marches on,” said Tracy Lawrence. Suddenly, all of my children were gone. Superman was now just plain Clark Kent. What was Clark to do now? No more death defying rescues. No more soaring through the sky. Those days were gone. Superman was just an ordinary person now trying to fit in in the real world. Then I thought of how beautiful those grandchildren were. I thought of how I could make memories with them that they will remember forever like I have of my short time with my grandfather. I can still be Superman to them. I also realized that I was still alive. I realized that there were plenty of opportunities and adventures that awaited me. New avenues that I haven’t been down before, new technologies to learn, new places to go. After all, there were how many Superman movies? After contemplating my outlook, I began preparing for Superman II.

I am thankful for the holiday season. One of my fondest memories as a child was singing “To Grandmother’s House” in my 2nd grade music class. All I can remember of the lyrics are “over the river and through the woods, to Grandmother’s house we go.” I’m not sure why I remember that moment. We had never had a music class before that day. The class was a small room that looked like it had been used for storage for some time. Against the wall was an old piano covered in dust. The librarian handed out the lyrics to the song along with a storybook to color that followed the song. I’m sure that I probably knew all of the lyrics by the end of the song, but forgot them shortly after. I was too excited to have the next four days out of school. I wasn’t really sure what all the fuss about Thanksgiving was, but I knew that Christmas would soon follow. That meant presents! After eating Thanksgiving dinner, we dug the artificial tree from the attic and began transforming it into a Christmas tree worthy of Santa. The next 4 weeks of school flew by. If Santa was a subject, I would have made an “A” because Christmas and how many days were left were the only subjects I studied. When Christmas morning finally arrived, Santa had been generous. At the time, it was the greatest day of my life. As I grew older, I have tried to replicate that day every year on Christmas morning. Even though I am older, I still have the spirit of Christmas. Materialism aside, I want to make it bigger and better every year. As an adult, I still remember the anticipation of the holidays when we sang “To Grandmother’s House” in what turned out to be our first and only music class. I want to still be that little kid that still believes in Santa. In many ways, I still am. It’s a blessing and a curse.

I started this blog by giving thanks for another day. There was time, however, when I didn’t think I had anything to be thankful for. A coworker had wished me a good morning and exclaimed that it was going to be a great day many years ago. “What’s so great about it?” I asked. “You woke up this morning,” he replied. I smirked and rolled my eyes. Years later, I would appreciate the meaning of his words. We are all blessed to have another day. Can you imagine not waking up? I can’t. I reallize that I am far from it, but I want to excel in a Christian life. I want to please God. I want to be a better follower of Christ. I can’t lie, however, and tell you that I’m going to be happy to die. There are things I haven’t done, things I need to do, things I need to say. I don’t want to go to bed and never have those chances again. Life is short. The end could happen at any moment. I might never have those chances. That’s why I’m thankful for one more day. One more day to summon up the courage to take those chances. Whenever I think about my problems, I think about the alternative. Sorry, but I’m not ready for a casket. I want to live. In the next year, I will be jumping out of an airplane, telling a story onstage, and possibly taking even more college classes. I am thankful that I have had the experiences of life to learn the meaning of the comment from my former coworker. I am thankful for my life and everything in it. I am thankful for one more day to live it.

Go Gadget, Go

Technological advances have made our lives incredibly easier over the last 20 years. I remember my parents planning out their trips on a Rand McNally Road Atlas each year on vacation. Never patient enough to learn how to use an Atlas, I thought Google Maps was the greatest invention since sliced bread.

I printed out many driving directions on Google maps that took me and my family on many vacations across the Bible Belt. After a while, I figured out that the return trip was the exact opposite route as the departing route. Since ink for my printer cost more than the printer itself, I decided to save money by only printing the directions from our departure. This worked fairly well until we went to an event in Memphis where I ended up in Arkansas as I tried to return home by following the opposite of the departure directions. How was I supposed to know that downtown Memphis is comprised almost entirely of one way streets? Why couldn’t Memphis be like California where almost everything goes both ways?

It’s hard to imagine our lives without our smart phones and electronic gadgets now. Even though my kids can’t remember life without the internet, I try to explain to them that it really hasn’t been around that long. Although Al Gore invented it in the early 90s, wide-spread use didn’t really begin until 1995-96. I remember vividly when the internet became mainstream as I had subscribed to America Online shortly after completing Windows 3.1 for Dummies. I’ll never forget the $500 phone bill from the long distance connection required to sign on. I also remember the $150 charge from AOL for usage in excess of my 10 free monthly hours.

Over time, I became an avid user of the internet and the many technologies that evolved from it. I began banking online, used Napster to steal music and burn CDs, searched for jobs, and completed my MBA online. Although I might be considered a geek by some, I’m not quite qualified to join the elite squad at Best Buy. I do consider it quite the compliment, however, when people approach me for help with their software and gadgets. You wouldn’t believe how smart some people think you are simply because you can make a chart in Excel.

I enjoy helping people whether it’s much effort or not. Older individuals, however, are a different story. I’ll help an old lady cross the street, but teaching her how to log on to a computer is a different story. Everyone has heard someone say that senior citizens shouldn’t be allowed a driver’s license. I have no problem with the elderly driving. I am often mistaken for a senior citizen myself as my car creeps along the roadway (gas is expensive; can’t afford to waste it!). In my opinion, they can drive as long as they want to as long as the car doesn’t have satellite radio, gps navigation, electric windows, or anything else that resembles technology.

My objections with the elderly’s use of technology are based on several years of experiences helping my parents and others perform functions ranging from setting an atomic clock to formatting a hard drive. I joke about the clocks, but formatting the hard drive was no laughing matter.

I had formatted a friend’s dad’s hard drive and re-installed Windows on because he had complained that his desktop had become too slow. It had become slow because it was consumed with temporary internet files and hidden spyware. After the lengthy process of formatting and re-loading windows, I verified that that his computer was in like-new condition. He called me back two days later complaining that I didn’t get all of the files off of his computer. Since he had paid me $50 to fix his computer, I felt that I owed it to him to investigate. He claimed that the same files that were on there before were still on there. He was right.

After he had gotten his computer back, he went to the same sites that had infected his computer to begin with. Nevertheless, I burned another 2 ½ hours formatting and reloading Windows on his computer again. Afterwards, I showed him that the file locations that contained the garbage infecting his computer were vanquished. I had earned that $50. What started as an easy pay day had turned into legitimate work. I never wanted to format a computer again. As it turned out, I wouldn’t have to. He informed me a week later that he would get someone else to fix his computer this time as I didn’t get rid of the files that were causing his computer to slow down. Yes, he had been back to the same sites that originally caused his problems and the issued had returned.

As much as I try to avoid the elderly and technology, I have no choice but to help my parents when they ask. It’s my duty, after all. My mom is not a problem. She intentionally avoids anything that appears overly complicated for her. She still owns a VCR for crying out loud. She still calls me to set the clock on it, though.

My dad, on the other hand is a different story. My first encounter assisting him with his internet went unhinged. Well, it went unhinged for the most part. He eventually forgot his password for his router on his wireless internet connection. “It doesn’t have a password,” he insisted. Luckily, I was able to find the sticker containing the password on the bottom of his router.

I had set him up with wireless internet so he could stream Netflix and other channels on the Roku I had gotten him. He had overheard my brother and me talking about Netflix and some of the other free channels on the Roku, and he wanted to get in on this “free TV”. Within a month, however, he had cancelled his Netflix subscription and quit using the Roku. “There’s nothing on it,” he complained. I tried to explain to him how to use the search function to find what he wanted, but it was a losing battle.

After talking to him about my aunts whom he hadn’t talked to in almost a year because of the long distance charges associated with calling them, I explained to him the concept of video calling. He looked at me like I had claimed to have returned from an alien abduction or something, so I demonstrated a video call to my wife from my phone to her computer. I could tell that he was thoroughly impressed with the space age technology, so I bought him a web cam and set him up with a Skype account.

He made contact with his sisters and was enamored that he could see them on his computer monitor while he talked to them several miles away. Soon, he was calling me on Skype. Not once or twice, but all the time! After a few ignored Skype calls, he finally called me via his landline. “Why don’t you ever answer when I call you on the computer?’ He asked. I explained that Skype should be used for special occasions like long distance relationships. If he wanted to see me, he could just come over my house. I’m not sure if he liked my rationalization or not, but he soon gave up using Skype when even his sisters were ignoring his frequent video calls.

After he grew tired of Skype, he found another outlet for making long distance calls. Always one to leap at the “As seen on TV” offers, he had ordered a Magic Jack phone system. I had discovered this in a pile of magazines in his living room floor. “I couldn’t get it to work,” he replied when I asked him about it. He was delighted when I hooked it up for him. He even cancelled his local phone service. All was well until his yearly subscription ran out and he forgot his password to log on to his account and renew.

Recently, my dad asked me what I thought of e-readers. I told him that I liked them because I could adjust my fonts and make the text easier to read. “What’s a font?” he asked. “I won’t need my reading glasses now,” he said after I demonstrated how easy it was magically turn a regular e-book into a large print e-book for the old and nearly blind. Within a few days, he purchased a Nook similar to mine.

“How are you liking your e-reader?” I asked him a few days later. “I can’t get it to work,” he complained. It seemed like I had heard this before. I was beginning to understand why the Unabomber despised technology. “It only downloaded half the book,” he grumbled. As it turned out, he had only downloaded the free preview of James Patterson’s latest novel. Nevertheless, I showed him how to search for and download books, and then promised to show him where to find free books after he gets used to using his Nook.

I joke, but I am more than happy to help my dad with his technological problems. It’s my duty to help him just as it everyone’s duty to help their parents with whatever their needs are without complaining when doing it. For that matter, it’s my duty to help anyone when they are in need. If nothing else, it makes me feel better about myself. If I can help someone else accomplish something, there’s a slight chance they might even feel better about themselves.

Interestingly enough, while my dad takes a step forward, I relax on my drive home while streaming radio programs from the 1930s-50s on the Old Time Radio app on my phone. While he reads the newest bestseller, I’m listening to classic radio mysteries from the golden age of radio. I love the stories from the era when a night’s entertainment was driven by your imagination. Who would have though when these stories were told that you could see and talk to people miles away through your computer, or there would be books with no paper?

Technology has taken our world to new heights. It would definitely be hard to imagine our lives without our iPhones. Then again, we were making it alright before Bill Gates and Steve Jobs came along. While technologic changes move at warp speed, sometimes I think we should just slow down, put the gears on cruise, and enjoy the ride. Truthfully, sometimes I feel like channeling my inner George Jetson and shouting at the top of my lungs, “Jane, stop this crazy thing!” Then again, I wouldn’t be able to go anywhere if the technologies of the last 20 years had not happened. I would have to call my dad and have him show me how to read the Rand McNally Road Atlas.

Rebel Without a Cause

It was unearthly hot. I couldn’t go wrong with my nifty app, I thought. I had downloaded the app to navigate us around D.C. before we had left for vacation. The app sounded great in its description and reviews. All I had to do was select which historical place that I wanted to go and it would provide me with metro and walking directions. Truthfully, it was a great app. It didn’t prepare me, however, for the terrain and encompassing environment.

We had previously walked a mile from our last metro stop to the National Zoo. Within the National Zoo, we probably walked another 2 miles. I’m not complaining about the walking within the zoo as that is to be expected in any zoo if you want to see all of the amazing creatures and exhibits. Unfortunately, we had gotten there an hour before most of the exhibits were open. This meant that we would have to walk longer to pass the time while waiting for the major exhibits to open. Did I mention the scorching heat? I should have learned from my trip to Japan to carry an umbrella. I had noticed in Japan that many pedestrians and sightseers carry an umbrella when walking the streets to block the sun’s rays from baking their skin. I was not that smart.

The navigation app suggested a mile walk from the zoo to the White House, our next stop. Although I’ve never been in the military, I admire those that routinely embark on several mile hikes in combat boots. The mile-long walk on a continuous incline from the zoo to the White House in the scorching heat was one of the most strenuous work outs I have ever had. Besides the baking sun, the incline did not bother me much that day. As I tried to get out of bed the next day, however, I felt like the lady from the Emergency Alert ID Bracelet commercial when she said, “Help! I’ve fallen and can’t get up.”

After finally making it to the White House, my wife and I took the normal pictures posing in front of the gates of the White House. For whatever reason, there wasn’t a huge crowd on Pennsylvania Avenue that day. In fact, it was relatively quiet. After taking a few pictures of each other posing and basking in the elegance of the historical surroundings, we trekked across the street to a bench directly across from the White House. It was then that we noticed the little old lady camped across the street from the White House. Besides a brief encounter with a Nation of Islam activist throwing Travon Martin’s name around, this was my first encounter with a genuine protestor.

Out of curiosity, we approached her sidewalk campsite. With frayed, grayish hair and her skeletal frame, she spoke softly as she handed us literature concerning her cause. I couldn’t decipher what she was saying repetitively to other sightseers that gathered near her campground. “Stop helping Israel!” was the only rhetoric that I was able to interpret.

We quickly left her campsite to allow other sightseers to listen to her message and to land on the empty park bench set in the inviting shade. It wasn’t long before a loud commotion arose. An Egyptian and anti-American protestor began shouting propaganda in front of the White House. Before he got to a good rant, another sightseer began contesting him in a pro-American debate in which he easily won to an ovation of cheers from other tourists. As I relaxed and listened with my back turned to the event, the ovation continued as the defensive American walked past me. I was surprised to see that the man the crowd was cheering was garbed in a flowered dress and Minnie Pearl hat. Along with the many attractions that were free, apparently tickets to the circus were free as well.

After we had ventured back to our hotel, I laid on the bed wondering what to do with the rest of the night and the next day. There wasn’t much that I could do that night. The stiffness in my joints and muscles from the hike from the zoo was beginning to take effect. I decided to take a look at the literature from the elderly lady protesting across from the White House. I had thrown my copy away, but my wife had kept her copy for a souvenir. I glanced through the material thinking that it would become circular file material if it wasn’t for my wife’s scrapbook hoarding habit. It wasn’t long, however, before I became enthralled in the old lady’s story.

The pamphlets provided very little information. There were some dated illustrations of nuclear missiles, but what captured my attention was the fact that she had been calling her campsite on Pennsylvania Avenue home since 1981. The idea that anyone would go to such extremes for such a long period of time to support their cause amazed me. I found it admirable to say the least. I wanted to learn more about her and her cause.

The woman’s name is Connie Picciotto. Since the early 1980s, she has battled freezing conditions, sweltering heat, hecklers, beatings, and various other conditions to support her cause. I enjoyed her story as I read further. The only problem was that I could not determine exactly what her cause was or what she was fighting for. She rambled about issues that reminded me more of a Cold war history lesson than anything current. In my unexplainable desire to psychoanalyze everyone I meet, I began to realize that she was probably using her “cause” was probably an escape from reality.

She had lost the one true love of her life, her daughter, in a custody battle that was fought in Spain and the U.S. Her husband had an affair with a woman she had thought was her aunt. She was battered by her husband and deemed crazy by the authorities. She had a difficult life to say the least. Although her story is filled with sadness, it is also filled with paranoia. Maybe she really was crazy.

It became apparent to me that when she embarked on a new life on the Washington streets that she was seeking an escape from her real life. From her story, I am reminded that we should never judge a book by its cover. Everyone has their own demons that they deal with in their own way. This is the part where I should say that the woman should turn to God. However, this is much harder to do for some than others. I couldn’t solve Mrs. Picciotto’s problems if I tried. At this point, I think it wouldn’t do any good as her alternate reality has become her actual reality.

As a society, we are our brother’s keeper. We should take an interest in one another. We can’t solve everyone’s problems. What we can do, however, is try not to judge. Mrs. Picciotto is not the only one who has put on a veil to mask who she really is inside. Most of us have done it at some point to hide our innermost feelings and insecurities. Some go to more extremes than others.

I threw Mrs. Picciotto’s literature away with no intention of reading it until I realized I was unable to move from the effects of our trek from the National Zoo that day. I am glad I got a chance to read her story. In my mind, she went from a sideshow to a real person with an amazing history.

For more information about Connie Picciotto, visit http://prop1.org/conchita/