A LOVE STORY - "Beginnings"

Barbara Ann Kissinger was her name.  I do not remember the first time I met her.  She first appeared in my life as the sister in law of the church's new Music Director.  When she came into my circle of friends I was dating Debbie and I do believe I was in love at that point in my life.  Debbie and I had been together for a year or so though now it feels like we had been together much longer.  Later in life Barbara would tell me that when her friends from school were telling her about the other youth at her new church they would single me and Debbie out and tell her "That's Bill and Debbie ... they're inseparable".  Debbie and I weren't inseparable though.  Just a few months after Barbara was told that as a fact,  Debbie and I had a talk in her parent's basement where I was told that maybe we should just remain friends.  It hurt but I respected Debbie far too much to fight her about her thoughts.  I graciously accepted the fact that we were not to be and walked away alone.  I was never one to be  over run with females that were interested in me so I was able to adjust back into single mode of life fairly quickly and easily.

The common denominator between Barbara and myself was my very good friend Valerie.  Val and I had been friends for years and were pretty close.  It was Valerie who I shared my first kiss with in the boiler room of the church one Wednesday night.  Valerie was two years older than me and we talked about many intimate things.  Among those things was the fact that I had never really kissed girl in a deep and sensual way.   Valerie, being the great friend that she was, offered to help me along in learning the basics of romance, which was greatly appreciated and enjoyed.  

Barbara and Val were two grades ahead of me in school even though they both were just a little more than a year older than me.  This was because the school district had a promotion date of October 1 of each year.  Barbara being born in September of 1955 would graduate in 1973 while I being born in October of 1956 would not graduate until 1975.  I never understood why the district settled on October as the cut off date instead of sometime in the summer months which would have made more sense to me.  However that was the setup and as a result Barbara was one of the youngest in her class while I was one of the oldest in mine.

It was towards the end of the school year in May of 1973 when Barbara, Val and their classmates began to plan for their big graduation night.  All of the girls had a date except for Barbara and so she and Val started the search for a likely candidate.   I am not sure which of the girl's idea it was but one of them recalled that I was recently free from Debbie and that I might be willing to escort Barbara on her big day.  Barbara had shown an interest in me lately but she didn't want to seem to forward and so it was decided that Val would put out feelers to me on whether I might be interested in the idea.  The thing to remember is that Val and I were very close.  You might say she was my best friend at school.  We shared a locker together which was unique since she was a senior and I was a lowly sophomore.

On that particular morning I met Val at the locker as usual.

"You know Barb Kissinger from church?" she asked with that wry smile of hers.

"From church?  Not sure.  Why?"

"You know, Jerry and Nancy's sister.  Short?  Like me.  How would you like to tag along to the senior party after graduation with her .... and me and Robert."  She had a little grin on her face as she reached for her textbook for her class.  "You know Barb.  She sings in the choir.  There!  Right there.  Remember her now?"

I turned and looked to my side and saw a short brunette walking past.  She turned her head slightly and glanced at me.  When our eyes met she dropped her head and increased her pace a little bit.  I recognized her as being the little sister of the music director's wife.  

"Oh yeah.  I remember her."  I then felt like I should add a caveat to my recollection.  "I mean I don't really KNOW her.  Just know who she is.  So I would be, like, her date?"

Val flashed a quick grin at me.

"Date?  I guess you call it that.  Party is at King Louie after graduation.  Sheryl and her boyfriend, me and Robert and you and Barb? Think you can go?  It would be almost an all nighter."

I was not sure how to answer this proposition that came out of the blue.  I couldn't give an answer on the spot unless it was a "no".  I would have to ask mom and dad about this and that wasn't exactly a cool answer to give.

"I dunno Val.  I'll have to see." avoiding the question for the time being.

Val tilted her head.  "Well it's in a couple of weeks.  It'll be fun and Barb is really nice.  Come on you'd like her and just between you and me, she really likes you."

Val turned quickly and waved over her head as she walked away.

"See you at lunch!  Have a fun with your math!" she called out as she left

I did not know what to think.  I had a hard time keeping focused on Mrs. Skaggs algebra class as I tried to form a picture of Barb in my mind.  I did know who she was but had not really paid much attention to her.  I had a lot of things going on at the church and I had been trying to keep my mind off of the situation with Debbie to take notice of a relatively new girl at the church.

That night as I lay in bed trying to get to sleep Val's voice kept running through my mind.  "She really likes you".   She was cute.  She had a nice smile.  She was very short.  Then again, short isn't that big of a deal.  I could look past that.  Being at the senior party would be kind of neat.  I had a few friends in the class of '73 and Val would be there to rescue me if things with south for some reason.  I decided to see what mom thought about it on Saturday.  I figured it couldn't hurt to ask.  It actually could be an exciting.

I approached mom Saturday afternoon before I went to play basketball with Larry and Ronnie at the church parking lot.  All my chores were complete so I figured I should talk to her about it while I was still in her good graces.  I found her a little apprehensive when I explained the details of the approaching night.  Val would be with me.  Yes it would be late into the night but Val would be there.  It would be a highly chaperoned party at a well known venue and Val would be there.  This girl I was taking was Nancy Olthoff's little sister AND Val would be there.  Actually I would REALLY be going with Val and just hanging around with this Barb girl .... whoever she was.  As I watched her look at me as she was thinking my thought was "well, this is going to be a big no".

"Let me talk to your dad about this.  You be home for supper?"  she was standing with her hand on her hip as I grabbed my basketball to head out.

"Unless Ronnie's mom asks me to stay to eat, sure."   I grabbed my keys to head over to Ronnie's.  Talking to dad was for sure a positive for me.  That meant she was leaning towards being okay with it and just telling dad what I had planned.  Sure enough when dad and I got home from work on Monday mom gave me the green flag to go out with the seniors after graduation.

I didn't see Barb much over the next week or so.  I talked to her a little at church as the day approached just to get a feel for her.  She was nice, Val was right about that.  She was cute with a nice smile but she didn't seem to know music very well.  I noticed that when I was talking to Ronnie about a new album that had been released she had not shown any interest or knowledge about it.  This was a little discomforting but not enough for me to back out of the Senior Party coming up.  I could overlook a few important things just to get through that night.  It would not be a problem in my mind.

The day of graduation finally arrived and along with it some devastating news.  The morning of graduation, Val's boyfriend Robert had been arrested and was currently in the county jail.  He had been caught on security cams defacing the building of a rival high school the previous night.  No one knew why he had done this.  Val was crushed.  I found out when Val picked me up to go to the LDS Auditorium where the graduation traditionally took place.  I could tell something was wrong when I got in her little green Ford Pinto.  Her eyes were red as she tearfully told me she would not be going to the after party.  I spent the whole ride across town trying to change her mind and to go.  From my perspective this could bring big trouble to me if Val did not go.   We arrived at the auditorium in Independence and as we parted ways Val said she probably would go.  We agreed on a place to meet after graduation and I entered to mostly empty auditorium  to wait to see the ceremony to be followed by a long night of celebration with the new graduates of the Class of 1973 of Ruskin High School.

The ceremony was a long one as all of them from Ruskin High School were back in those days.  I knew what I was in for as I remembered sitting through my sister's graduation the previous year.  One by one the graduates would be announced as they walked across the stage to receive a book like holder for their diploma but without an actual diploma inside of it.  Those would be mailed to the graduates later.  I sat through the whole thing watching many friends from both school and my church go through the ritual of passing into adulthood like so many before them.  I thought of Val as I sat there listening to the speeches.  Val walked across the stage with her head held high masking the heartache that she was carrying.  I watched as Barb, my companion for the next few hours, walked and graduated.  After about two hours or so (probably longer) I went to meet Val, Barb and the others that would be riding together to King Louie to celebrate the end of their public education careers.

We all rode in separate cars to a shopping center where we left all the cars and to consolidate into one car for the ride over to King Louie West.  Val sat in the back seat with me and Barb silently running things through her mind about everything that had happened in the last 24 hours.  The King Louie facility was over on the Kansas side of town.  I had never been there before and have only returned once or twice since that night.  It was huge.  They had a huge arcade, a billiards room with dozens of pool tables.  There was a hockey size skating rink, dozens of bowling lanes.  In short just about everything you could want if you were going to spend the better part of the night there.

Barb walked by my side as we entered.  She was in a great mood with a big smile on her face.  She informed me that she had never been ice skating but she had played pool.  Her father had a pool table in their basement at home.  She had been bowling before but she thought she would have a difficult time at the pinball machines because of her height and short arms.  After talking a bit the group of us decided to bowl a few frames first.  Only four of us bowled as Val wandered along with the group not saying much and not feeling up to doing anything.  After bowling the group spent a little time on the pool tables splitting up into couples after that.  Val went and sat at the concession drowning her sorrows in Coca-Cola.  Barb and I started walking around observing other graduates and stopping to talk to them once in awhile.  Eventually we found ourselves at the skating rink as we found our conversation stalling.

"Want to skate?" she asked as she stopped walking to stare out at the ice.

"I guess.  You want to?"

"I never have but sure, I'll try it if you stay by me."  she asserted.  Just then one of her classmates came crashing into the wall and fell to a stop flat on her posterior in front of us.

"You sure you want to?" I asked her with a smile.  She gave a slight chuckle and affirmed that since everyone else seemed to be having a rough go of it, why not as long as I stayed close to her.   

We went to get our skates.  She wore a size 6.  Tiny little skates that looked like they would fit on a fourth grader.  We sat and I laced up my skates while she worked on getting hers on.  I went ahead out onto the ice while she was working on it.   I was pretty athletic growing up with good coordination and quick reflexes.  I was very surprised at how easy ice skating was to me.  The only problem that I encountered was figuring out how to stop.  I found it very much like roller skating.  I took a few laps totally enjoying the new experience and for a short while forgot all about Barb, my date for the night, preparing for her maiden attempt on the ice.  As I came around on another lap I suddenly saw her on the glassy surface.  She was holding onto the side rail for dear life, slowly trying to work her way around the rink.  The next time I came up on her I slammed myself into the wall in front of her.  It was the only way I knew how to stop.  She gave out a little squeal of surprise when I banged into the wall.

"You said you had never done this before" she laughed out.

"I haven't.  I swear.  You want some help?"

"YES!  This is crazy!" she exclaimed with that beautiful smile.  I do think that was the first time I truly noticed how beautiful that smile was.  It was a smile that I would never forget.  I took one of her hands while she used the other one to hold onto the railing and we slowly made our way around the rink a few times.  We would hold hands the rest of the night.  

The party officially ended as far as King Louie and the school were concerned at around 3 in the morning.  We met up with the rest of the group that had ridden over together to head out to finish off the night.  Barb and I sat in the back seat with Val holding hands.  We ended up at Terrace Lake Shopping Center where we had left the other cars.  Someone found a Frisbee in one of the cars and we spent the next hour or so tossing it between us.  It wasn't long before someone noticed the time and suggested we all head home.  It was around four in the morning as we headed to our cars.

"You riding home with Val?" Barb asked in an almost hoping way.

"Yeah I think I should.  She's had a rough night."

Barb understood the situation with Val and agreed.  Just before I go into Val's car Barb came running up to the window.

"Here."  She handed me a small piece of paper.  "My phone number if you want to call.  I had fun.  Thanks"

"I had fun to.  It was a good time.  I'll call you"

And with that the short little girl with the beautiful smile slid into her Chevy and drove off.  It was the first night of what would become a lifetime together.  A lifetime that was cut off to short but also a lifetime that would be filled to capacity with sharing, living and loving.

It was only the beginning.

ENTRY NUMBER 500

 I finally arrive at the 500th time I have published an entry here in this silly thing called a blog.  I have been thinking about this entry for awhile now.  I want it to be different from the other 499 entries.  I have no idea how this entry will look like.  There is a good possibility that some of what is written here will have been covered somewhere in the previous entries.  Let's see how it goes.

The first entry I published in this blog took place on October 6, 2010.  Doesn't seem that long ago but it has been about eleven and a half years running.  I have not published consistently.  I wrote when I felt like writing, not to meet a schedule.  

Entry number 001 was titled "GOLDEN YEARS".  It had nothing to do with the David Bowie song but may have been inspired by it.  I may have been listening to Bowie as I started writing it.  In short, it had to do with getting old.  My premise was we are always aging until the moment we die.  Those golden years don't happen until we reach our ultimate age, right before we die.  The golden years we all try to get to only last a split second between life and death.  Sounds silly now, but I think perhaps I was trying to come off as a deep thinker and philosopher than just being who I really am.

A few statistics on this tome of mindless thoughts from a "boy" in Missouri:

At the time I am writing, this blog has been looked at, if not read, 86,600 times.  That is an average of 173.5 times for each of the 499 entries.

It has been read in over 18 countries.  Only 55% of the views have been from the United States.  Countries that are represented in the viewing audience include Russia, France, Germany, Ukraine, Sweden, Canada, United Arab Emirates, United Kingdom, Poland, Japan, India, China, Netherlands Brazil, Romania, Latvia and Czechia.

The most read entry, and this really surprised me, was the relating of a story that my grandfather use to tell me about an Indian in the Ozarks named Falling Rock.  Other popular entries include ones about my fear of tornadoes, about two young ladies named Rachel and Alesia and, of course, about Barbara.

These statistics are far larger than I ever expected to attain.  It is still a small blog in the world of the internet but it is out there.  Not all of the 499 previous entries were original writings.  In the early days I did quote Mr. Carlin and some of my favorite songs as well as a quote or two from President Nixon.  The clear majority of entries though are original.

I have written about people in my life.  I have written about events that I experienced as I went down this path.  I have also written my thoughts on things that were going on around me.

I wrote about the summer of 2018.  It was the hardest six month period in my entire life.  It was a time when I lost Barbara, my father, a long time neighbor and good friend, his daughter, and an uncle.  The years immediately before 2018 had their fill of loss as well.  In 2016 I lost my eldest sister and in 2017 I lost a long time friend that I met when I started working at Dit-MCO.  After 2018 I have lost two uncles and four aunts as well as a four coworkers at Dit-MCO who I adored.  One of the most striking posts on Facebook over this past year was put there by my Uncle Jim.  He is the youngest of 5 siblings and after losing his brother (my dad) in 2018, his sister (my Aunt Norva) in 2019 and then finally losing two sisters within the last year (my Aunt Fay and my Aunt Velma) he put up a picture of himself with his brother and three sisters and a one sentence emotion.  "Now all my siblings are in Heaven."  He had lost his family in the space of only a few short years.  I love my Uncle Jim and I know that his faith helps to carry him onward through his life.

I have spent my life observing and listening while occasionally making my maturing thoughts known out loud.  I like to think I was open minded about other ideas and I think I was.  I learned this from my grandfather.  It is okay to be wrong.  It is okay to change your mind.  This is called maturing, growing ... learning.  It is also okay to affirm your thinking and to believe you are correct and not agree with with what others may think.  To be able to stand for what you believe in is very important as part of our growth and maturity.  The important thing is to agree or disagree while being respectful to those who you are speaking with.  There does not seem to be much respect being shown in the world these days.  Disgust and hate have replaced the idea of respect.  What has replaced the importance of respect is the silencing of ideas, not only by individuals but also by corporate entities.  Sorry, I got off track for a bit.  What I was going to say is that these writings that are taken from my observations and some things I have heard and experienced are to show what I have learned from them through my 65 years on this planet.  Not all of it is pretty, but all of it is human.  None of us are perfect.  None of us are totally right in our thinking. What we all are though is human.  As we go about our day to day lives and interactions, I believe this is an important thing to remember.

"I don't think I'm racist."  I spoke these words to my grandfather on an afternoon visit after work one summer day.  His response was short and to the point, "Everyone's a racist .... everyone."  As he said these words he did not exhibit any of his ordinary mannerisms that he commonly used when making a point.  There was no leaning forward at me.  He didn't point his pipe and stub finger at me.  There wasn't a small "hr-mph".  He did not even look at me when making the statement.  He just looked straight ahead speaking steady and matter of factly.  There was no follow up, just silence as we both seemed to let his words sink in.  I have only seen him respond to me in this manner one other time.  It was a personal time when we were alone in the dining room of the old house.  This manner of responding was rare for the old man and reserved for situations that seemed to be very important and personal to him.  The conversation did not go much further than that on that afternoon.  He changed the topic shortly thereafter, his point being voiced and made.

I thought about that short conversation several time over the course of my life.  I still think of that afternoon even today, especially with society being in the state that it is in.  This is my theory on what my grandfather's thinking was.  Knowing my grandfather and his stories of life along with little hints that I observed of him over the remaining years of his life, I think it is pretty close to what he was telling me.  "Everyone is racist.... everyone."  My grandfather lived a life that he thought was proper.  No, he was not perfect.  He had plenty of flaws but when his flaws came out, as flaws always do, he did his best to make it right.  Grandpa wouldn't give this explanation in these words, they are my own, but I think the general idea is there.  The human species is a tribal species.  This is not unusual in nature, many are tribal, some more than others.  The thing about the human species is that although we are tribal that vast majority of humans try to not let that tribalism rule our behavior.  Even men like my grandfather, who are seen by those he encountered as being fair and treating everyone the same, deep down have this tribal sense of belonging.

"I don't think I'm racist."  One day in gym class at Ruskin High School we were playing volleyball.  It was a time when the Ruskin community was becoming more diverse as we were seeing the number of black kids increase every year.  Personally, this did not bother me.  I didn't see it bother any of my classmates that I could tell.  To be honest, it seemed to bother the parents more then us kids.  I had already reached my six foot frame when I was a junior, so I was fairly tall.  During this game that day I had the opportunity to lay down a wicked spike on my opponent across the net from me.  "Yeah boy!!" I exclaimed with a fist pump.  Then I looked my classmate who I had just spiked the ball on.  "Boy, huh.."  The black face looking at me looked both angry and hurt.  I did not say those words intending to hurt.  It was part of my vocabulary.  I did not even realize that he was of a different race.  The words just came out and it hurt and angered him.  I did not respond.  I kept silent.  I should have apologized.  The incident did not progress into anything but to this day I can see his face, I can hear my words.  I should have been more careful, more aware and more sensitive.  I understand that now.  Since that day I have taken care in my words as much as I can.  I keep that moment in my memory as a reminder to do so.

So this is what I got from my grandfather on that day.  We all think others are different.  We all think we are pretty good people and "our" people are pretty good people for the most part.  Every race has great people.  A lot of great people.  Every race also has very wicked people. Not as many as good people but still the wicked ones are out there.  Each one of us understand people of our own race better then we understand people of other races and, of course, each race considers it the better.  All of us have to train our minds to take on an outlook of keeping that behavior under control or better yet, completely hidden and not even thought about.  That tribal instinct should not even be known to ourselves.  Its should be so small in our minds that we don't realize it is there.  Still we have that basic tribalism that stays with us.  It stays with all of us.  "Everyone".  Some are better at this than others.  My grandfather was a master at it.  I am not so good at hiding it as he was.  We all need to try though because in order for this country, this world to survive, we have to.  As for me, I continue to work at it.  I try to see people by what I observe how they live and what they say.  I have a long ways to go.

It took me over three years since we lost Barbara, but I have manage to take another step in moving forward in life.  I won't try to trick you, moving forward has been a very difficult thing to do.  This spring with help from Brett, I began to make this house look more like "Bill" instead of "Bill and Barb".  I got my mind ready to let go of a lot of Barbara in the house.  Mainly her clothes, books and, to be quite frank, junk that she liked to have around.  By this I mean that stuff that didn't bring on strong memories of Barb or our life together, but just stuff that she liked to keep.  The house looks different now.  There is still a lot of Barb there, but I tried to transform into a house that reflects me.  Made it more comfortable for me.  I am happy with the result.  Her wedding dress still hangs in the closet and the shoes she wore on November 21, 1975.  Her chair that she sat in during the last years of her life sits with the crocheted throw that the nurses laid over her after she died.  It was difficult for me to do and I know I should have taken this step a couple of years ago.  It is healthy for me emotionally as well as physically I guess.  I still love her.  I always will.  At the same time I need to keep moving forward in life as difficult as that may be.  I'm getting there with the help of a few special friends, one in particular.  Thank you Lisa for your advice and help.

Barbara's Chair

All of my regular readers know of my love of music, literature and baseball.  What I haven't touched on very much, if at all, is my love for movies.  To start with I have a lot of favorite male actors but there is one female actress that rises above all others.  Sandra Bullock.  It has become kind of a running joke among my family and friends but I do like her.  She is very good in my mind.  Comedies, dramas, sci-fi, she can do anything.  By my calculations she has been cheated out of some 25 Oscars ... just my opinion. 

Seriously, movies have had a big influence on me by the messages they try to get across.   Not all movies are made for a message, most are for pure entertainment value but there are a few that have a statement to make.  I don't agree with all the messages put out there but I think it is a good thing if a movie makes you think after you have seen it.  

I think instead of getting onto all of the messages, I am going to list some of my favorite moves that reach for more than simple entertainment value.  These are not in any particular order as to how I favor them, just a little insight into my thinking.  Let you get to know me a little better.

    "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest"  "Fargo"  "Dr. Strangelove"  "Being There"  "Catch 22"  "Grand Torino"  "Miller's Crossing"  "Network"  "Patton"  "Wall Street"  "Girl Interrupted"  "28 Days"  "Lincoln"  "The Man With The Golden Arm"  "All The President's Men"  "The Sunset Limited"  "To Kill A Mockingbird"  "The Mouse That Roared"  "Lilies Of The Field"  "Shawshank Redemption"  "Waking Up"  "Cat On A Hot Tin Roof"  "Guess Who's Coming To Dinner"  "Dog Day Afternoon"  "Forrest Gump"  "Up"  "Conspiracy"  "The Blind Side"  "Philadelphia"  "A Time To Kill"  and many more if I took time to really think about it.  These movies, though, come immediately to my mind so they are more than likely to be the ones I go to.

Over these 500 entries, I have tried to address things that I have learned during my 65 years.  I told them in song lyrics, the modern day philosophers as I refer to the songwriters as.  There is another subset of philosophers and I have quoted them a lot as well.  Lenny Bruce, George Carlin, Bill Hicks, Richard Pryor told their philosophies by making observations of life and relaying these observations honestly but with exaggerations to show how ridiculous some human behaviors are.  If you listen to them, they will make you laugh, but if you listen to the sub logic under the exaggerations, you find the truth they are trying to bring out.

I also told of my observations through stories that, for the most part, are true and are a part of my life.  Some involved teachers and others came from a few interactions with authority.  A lot of the lessons I learned came from those who I looked up to with upmost respect. Family members and those outside the family.  Teachers and clergy.  Neighbors and classmates.  I have been extremely lucky in life and the people who have been a part of my life.

Observing and listening are perhaps two of the most important tools we have as we proceed through life.  Care must be taken though because observing or listening to the wrong ideas and actions can do more damage than good.  I was lucky and I made some mistakes.  I have made some big mistakes in life.

Hopefully, this blog of stories and ideas, good things and not so good things, can make even a small impact on anyone who stumbles across this collection of entries long after I am gone.

Thanks for reading my dear friends.  A lot has been left untold, but I plan on working at getting those things told in the future.

ENTRY NUMBER 499

Like ENTRY NUMBER 498, I will not be posting this on Facebook so I can pretty much say whatever I want without offending anybody.  More or less, as the mind speaks my fingers put down the words.  I was pretty pleased with ENTRY NUMBER 498 so let's try it again.

 My neighbor Sally turns 86 years old next month.  She is a petite lady rising above the 5 foot mark by about 2 inches.  Her mind is sharp.  She has a friendly and helpful personality.  You have to be careful though because she can also be a fiery lady as well.  She and her husband, Bob, moved into the house across the street back in 1996, good neighbors the whole time.  Bob passed away about 15 years ago and it seemed that Sally made the transition pretty good although it was difficult for her.

Sally is independent.  She is strong and does not like to ask for help although she readily gives help when she sees a need.  During the time when Barbara's health began to deteriorate, Sally, along with my other neighbor Charlene, kept a close eye on Barbara.  Barbara was as much of an independent as Sally is.   During the time when Barbara was still able to drive and able to accomplish things with difficulty, Sally was there.  Barbara would come home from grocery shopping and start to carry a bag at a time to the front porch where she would then carry a bag at a time into the house.  Sally would come over and talk Barbara into letting Sally carry the bags from the car to the porch so Barbara could carry them into the house.  As Barbara's health worsened, the more help our neighbors gave.  I am lucky to have the neighbors that I do have.

Sally, as I said, does not like to ask for help.  She has begun to acknowledge that at her age, she does need help here and there but that doesn't mean she likes to ask for it.  A couple of weeks ago I received a call from Sally asking me if I was busy.  The light bulbs in Sally's garage door opener and her overhead light in the garage were burned out.  Her garage door would not open.  I went over and replaced the lights and Sally pressed the button to open the garage door.  It would not open.  After looking at her door I discovered it was locked.  Somehow Sally had accidentally locked her garage door. I walked her to the door, explained what was wrong and showed her how to unlock the door if it should happen again.  As she was walking me back through the house and thanking me, she slowly broke into tears.  She expressed how she felt so alone and didn't know how to do things.  I told her that her, Charlene and myself were there for each other.  That's what friends and neighbors are for.  We lean on each other.

What I want you to take from the telling of that event are four things.  First, of course, is that Sally is very independent.  Second is that she feels vulnerable as she gets older.  Third is that the lady loves to drive her car.  That is not a bad thing.  Not yet anyway.  She is sharp minded.  She is a good driver and she knows her limitations while driving.  For example she does not drive on the highways.  She knows that her reflexes aren't what they use to be and so she stays on the side roads and never drives far from home.  The last thing is that Sally like a routine.  She does not like change or things that take her out of her comfort zone.  She does not like surprises. This leads us to what happened last Friday.

Last Friday morning Sally had gone to the DOV to renew her drivers license.  While she was there something happened that had never happened to her before.  She failed the eye test..  The lady at the DOV gave her a piece of paper to give to her eye doctor when she went to get glasses.  The paper was a sign of Sally getting older.  It was a paper that the doctor would tell the state if Sally was fit to drive or not.

She showed up at my front door shortly after noon that day.  She was anxious.  A wrench had been thrown into her day to day machinery and she did not know exactly what to do. At the DOV they had given her the name of an eye doctor that is approved by the state who was located in Belton.  To Sally, Belton might as well be a hundred miles away.  She did not know the town.  She wasn't sure how to get there and she certainly did not have a clue as to where the address of the eye doctor was located.

I did my best to calm her down and we talked about what had happened that morning.  I would make sure that we got this taken care of.  I had nothing else to do so I would drive her to Belton for the exam.  We called the phone number and made an appointment for Monday afternoon. After telling her not to worry and giving her a pat on the back, she headed home.

Saturday morning Sally called me again to make sure I hadn't forgotten about Monday's eye exam.  Her anxiety was building and I think she was a little scared that she would not be able to drive anymore.  The way I figured it, she was driving around the neighborhood without any problems so the adjustment to her eyes would be minimal.  That seemed to calm her down a bit for the time being.  I would not hear from her until Monday.

I had told Sally we would leave around three on Monday and so a little before three I stepped out of my house to find Sally walking up my driveway.  I smiled at her and she told me to let's get this over with and off we went.  It was a long appointment.  Sally is a talker and loves to tell stories to people.  I imagine there was a lot of story telling going on during her exam.  She came out of the exam with the paper the doctor had signed telling the state that her eyesight, with corrections, would allow her to drive safely.  She picked out some frames and we headed home with a much relieved Sally.

She insisted on buying me an early dinner on the way home so we stopped at Freddie's and got some pattie melts and fries before heading back home.  Sally was happy.  Today she mailed the paper to the state and now all she has to do is wait for her new glasses before heading back to the DOV for her license and her day to day routine returning to normal. 

Having good neighbors is important.  I am saying that from my perspective.  Me having good neighbors is important and I have two great neighbors, Charlene and Sally.  The three of us are single and live alone.  Sally losing her husband several years ago, Me losing Barb in 2018 and Charlene just lost her husband last July weekend.  We are the same the three of us and each of us need help from time to time.  I put a couch and a chair in the dumpster Charlene had rented last fall and Sally put a microwave and some boxes in the dumpster I rented a few weeks ago.  The theme between the three of us is that we are all in this together and we watch out for each other.  

Good neighbors are hard to find.  I am extremely lucky.  You get a good neighbor, help them.  It is indeed a rarity to have such fine ones.

It is 10:30 pm tonight.  It has been overcast but a nice temperature most of the day.  When I went to the store to pick up my prescriptions, a lady who was walking just in front of me into the store informed that it was a nice day but we would pay for it with storms tonight.  I did not ask for her weather forecast, she just offered it to me.  It is nice to have people feel relaxed enough in this day and age to talk to strangers like that.  It felt good.  She was right though.  Thunder, lightning and rain have arrived in Kansas City.

I like the rain.  I like the sound and the smell of it.  The only problem with rain, especially when accompanied with thunder and lightning is getting Dutch outside to do his business.  He doesn't mind the rain but the lights and the sounds make him rather skittish.  Tonight he will more than likely sleep close to my bed during the night as if I could protect him from it.

This rain is also a good thing for my dogwood tree.  It was one of my gifts from Dit-MCO on the occasion of my retirement.  They gave it to me as kind of a replacement for Barbara not being able to be there.  It was a thoughtful gesture and one that I very much appreciated.

Life is marching on.  I was thinking about that this morning as I sat quietly by myself eating oatmeal for breakfast.  Life does not stop and soon I will be a memory just as Barbara, all my grandparents, my sister, my dad and all those aunts and uncles as well as many friends have become.  Just a memory that will fade to obscurity as the generations come and go.

Going to school for the first time.  Playing baseball, then football and finally basketball and making the school team.  That first kiss from Valerie, who is now herself but a memory.  Time with Debbie and meeting Barbara then marrying her.  Working for dad and finding my place in the labor force. Meeting Ronnie for the first time and all the fun we had discovering music together to spending time with Larry and all the evening in the church parking lot playing basketball.  Seeing Brett for the first time and bringing home as my son followed by raising him on Beatles tunes.  Watching Barbara leave this world and telling people at my fathers memorial service in Alabama about my dad.

Memories.  We hold onto them as much as we can.  We lose a lot of those memories over the years due to time or age.  My dad was starting to lose his memory when Barbara died.  Barbara adored my dad and I think dad kind of like her as well.  To be honest dad "kind of liked" me too.  That was dad's answer all the time.

Me: Love you dad

Dad: yeah well I kind of like you too

It brings an unusual smile to my face these days.  I don't smile much anymore.  I am thinking that maybe I am forgetting how to smile.  What about a laugh?  Almost unheard of coming from me.  My sense of humor is fading like the memories.  I look at this world, in these times we find ourselves and I don't think there is much to laugh about.  As Americans we are divided and there is almost a hatred among the people of my country.  I remember studying and observing the fight to desegregate our country and it feels like just as we are right there. I look around and see that re-segregation is on the rise and moving fast.  The strange thing is that the very people who fought so hard to integregate the country are leading it back into segregation.  It saddens me.

I do not understand America anymore.  Hell, I don't think I even understand human beings anymore.  Everything seems to be upside down and sideways inside out.

I want simplicity to make a comeback.  I want critical thinking to become a thing again.  I want the Constitution of the United States to stand for something.  I want to see a return to true ... TRUE ... freedom of speech in this country.  Without that, this country means nothing.  That is what makes The United States so special.  The right to a free and open exchange of ideas.  We do not have that anymore.  The public square has been dismantled.

I think, at the moment I am typing this, that I am kind of glad I won't be around to see the path this country is headed down and where it ends up.  I truly believe that this country, this Democratic Republic that has proven itself, in my mind, is the greatest country in modern history.

My heart is truly saddened by what I have seen happening to it.

Enough for ENTRY NUMBER 499 in this blog.

DEBBIE

This is a story about a brief teenage love.  I am not quite sure how Debbie interpreted this relationship, but as for me at the time, it was love.  It did not last long and it never became anything more than a youthful experiment in keeping each other company.  I don't even think the words "I love you" were ever exchanged between us during this time.

Debbie was my first REAL girlfriend.  That is how I saw her.  Previous to Debbie I had taken a girl out once or twice or to a dance or something of the sort.  They were just dates.  Debbie was different though.  We were really good friends.  We made each other laugh.  I sincerely enjoyed my time with her and I do think she enjoyed the time with me.

We were in our early stages of high school.  Looking back on the timeline that my life took, our time together lasted only a year or so, if that long.  I think we started slowly dating as freshmen and on into our sophomore year.  Debbie's dad was the minister out my church.  He was a man that I greatly admired and respected.  I looked to him for advice at times and loved to talk with him.  Her father and me did not talk about anything deep I don't think, just small talk.  He was so very intelligent.

Debbie took after her father in the intelligence department.  She was a brilliant student.  This was one place where we differed.  She worked hard at school and produced the reward in grades that she deserved.  Me?  I did not care too much for school work and did what I had to do to get by.  Just as her grades reflected the amount of time and energy she put in to her education, mine did as well.  My grades were decent but well below hers. In addition to her basic education she was also a very good flute player in her high school band.  I remember many times making it over to her house somehow and then walking with her over to the school on Friday nights before a ball game where she would perform at halftime.

Barbara told me the story a few times about when she started attending the church that I and Debbie did.  Barb was 2 grades in front of us.  She said that when her friends started pointing out people and attaching names to them, they came to me and Debbie.  "That's Bill and Debbie", they told her following up with "They are inseparable."  That made me smile in later years when Barbara would relay that to me.  Everyone apparently thought that me and Debbie were destined for each other.  Almost everyone thought that.  There were a few exceptions.

Debbie's mother was a good woman.  She was honest.  Brutally honest at times.  I don't think her mother ever took a shine to me.  She put up with me for that year or so, but it wasn't more than just putting up with me.  Her mother watched the two of us continue to spend time together and kept a close eye on us ... on me in particular.  She was a smart lady and she knew that I was lazy with my school work.  Her thinking, in my mind, was set that whatever this was between and Debbie, it was not going to go much further.  She wanted the best for her eldest daughter and rightfully so.  At this point in time, I certainly was far from the best.

I did enjoy Debbie though during this time.  Whenever I would make a joke or anything of the sort it seemed like Debbie would laugh and call me "You silly goose..".  That became a term of endearment.  I was her silly goose.

Memories of my time with Debbie have faded over the years.  I do remember them being fun filled.  I remember a lot of laughing and not many disagreements at all.  Looking back on that special year or so now, I can see that it was nothing more than a very close friendship that I was lucky to have experienced.  It would be a bar to measure my closeness to people as I continued on in life.

Maybe my feelings started to get too strong towards Debbie as we began our sophomore year.  I think they probably did.  I also think her mother detected that fact and felt it was too soon for Debbie, or even me for that matter, to get involved with.  I kind of think Debbie felt it as well.  One thing that is for sure was that I didn't feel that way.  I do think my feelings for Debbie were getting stronger and hence the thinking I was "in love" with her.

Now I am not sure how everything happened that brought this friendship that was on the edge of possibly going over a line that we were too young to be involved with back to earth.  I do remember it was one evening when I was over at Debbie's house playing ping pong with her. After the game we sat on a little couch in her basement to talk.  I leaned over to kiss her and she put her hand up against my chest stopping me.  The she started "the talk".  I have got to say this for Debbie.  She had the kindest way of breaking up with a person than anyone I have ever seen or heard about.  She spoke of the past and the future.  She spoke of our ages and how much there was waiting for us in life to come before either of us got too involved.  She was gentle.  She was kind.  I left her house that night actually feeling good about her breaking up with me.

I have thought about the decision to break up many times.  I think her mother probably had a lot of input into it.  I am quite sure that Debbie had thought things out very well before acting upon her thoughts.  No matter how it happened or why, it was the best thing for both of us.

Debbie recently reconnected with me through social media after Barbara's passing.  She had been following my updates on Barbara through the surgery and what happened the week after the surgery when God called Barbara home.  I am not sure how long she had been following me or how she found out about Barbara.  I am glad she did though.

As I reconnected with her and looked at her Facebook page, I realized how good of a decision it was when we were teens to branch out from each other.  She became extremely successful as would be expected.  She married a handsome, intelligent friendly man and they were both very very happy.  She had beautiful children and I got to see pictures of her son's wedding and see pictures of her dancing with her son.  Looking at those pictures also revealed how much better she had aged than I have.

Meanwhile, Barb and I got married and began a journey through life together.  We spent 42 years together before her untimely passing.  I have written much about Barbara and our time together and so I won't repeat all of that here.  My readers know what kind of life the two of us had together.

In the end it doesn't really matter how Debbie and I parted.  Whether it was through influence from her mother or Debbie's own personal thoughts that brought us to that point.  The thing is that it was the best thing for the both of us.  What once seemed like the inevitable that we would be together became the inevitable that we would be apart, using our short time together as a small learning experience in the proper way a relationship should be.  I learned that it should be based on respect and love and all the things that get carried by those two things.  Debbie found that in her life as did I.

I will never forget Debbie.  I never forgot her during those many years that communication between us did not exist.  Turns out she was an important part of my life.  She was an important part of my education concerning life.  I like to think that hopefully, she learned a little from that time as well.  I think she did.

And so I would like to say ... thank you Debbie and might as well say thanks to Debbie's mother.  I believe everything worked out the way God planned.  Debbie ended up with a life that befits her and I did as well.

"That's Bill and Debbie ... they are inseparable..."  and Barbara rolled up her sleeves and said, "here, hold my coat."   and with that I smile large.

Thank you for your friendship Debbie.  You were special. You are special.  You will always be a part of my life that I am very grateful for.

HIGH SCHOOL VENDING MACHINE CIRCA 1973-1975

Things have certainly changed since the early to mid seventies as far as a cafeteria in a high school is concerned.  I first noticed this when I went back to my old high school, Ruskin, for a community meeting one weekend.  There was a machine in that room that I had never seen when I was attending.  It was a soft drink vending machine.   When I was in school, all the way from kindergarten until I graduated in December of 1974, our choice of drink of milk.  They did give us a choice though.  We could have white or chocolate milk but a Coke for lunch?  Not going to happen.

When my son was in high school and we would have meetings in the cafeteria at Bishop Hogan or O'Hara, vending machines had grown from just one soft drink machine to two or three drink machines, a candy machine, and a few other machines designed to keep the kids healthy and awake for the remainder of the day.

To be fair, there were treats in the morning before school if you got there early enough.  The special education class of Ruskin would sale donuts and coffee every morning.  Not exactly a vending machine but at least it wasn't the no choice that happened at lunch at the school.  There was a group of about six of us who would arrive at school early and have some social time with donuts and coffee before starting another boring day.

There was but one vending machine in the Ruskin cafeteria when I attended that great school.  It was a vending machine of music, otherwise know as a jukebox.  This juke box was, of course, before the days of the compact disc and so it was filled with 45 rpm records.  It was the juke box in the cafeteria that i began to accumulate information concerning the flip side. or "B" side of the hit side that groups released.  It became a hobby of mine to learn, to memorize which songs were on a 45 rpm record.  From this I spread my knowledge of records to include label, label color, group, the writer of a song, the year it was released, the album it was taken from (although there were plenty of singles that were released only as singles not appearing on an album) onto learning the producers and any other kind of knowledge that could be learned about a record or album.  It was an interesting hobby as long as the music was interesting and for me the music ceased to be that interesting around the mid eighties.

There must have been a hundred songs on that juke box but few songs were played on a regular basis.  Everyday at lunch, there seemed to be a play list that was required to be played over the lunch period.  Everyday the same songs seemed to be played and from this playlist a string of songs are embedded in my memory.  When I hear these songs today, a lot of times my mind wanders back to the lunch periods in high school.

I am going to make a list here of the songs that I remember being played constantly during my years at Ruskin.  I am sure that some of my classmates may have other songs that they remember and I would really appreciate it if some of my classmates would send in songs that they remember.    The songs I am going to list are probably the songs I appreciated the most, not necessarily all the songs that were played daily.

Here are the songs that click in my mind as the songs that were played most often (not in any particular order):

Summer Breeze - Seals and Crofts
Without You - Harry Nilsson
Black Dog - Led Zeppelin
Rock and Roll - Led Zeppelin
Garden Party - Rick Nelson
Foot Stompin' Music - Grand Funk Railroad
Closer To Home - Grand Funk Railroad
Stairway To Heaven - Led Zeppelin
Misty Mountain Hop - Led Zeppelin
Levon - Elton John
Make It With You - Bread
China Grove - The Doobie Brothers
Brown Sugar - The Rolling Stones
One - Three Dog Night
Chest Fever - Three Dog Night
Share The Land - The Guess Who
Bus Rider - The Guess Who

Those are the songs that pop into my mind as I think about those lunches at the school.  It doesn't seem like they ever changed the records in the juke box the whole time I was at Ruskin.  Every year the same songs, with the same numbers were there.  It played the songs at a fairly high volume and it seems like the juke box was constantly playing leaving silence behind during each lunch period.

Loved that juke box.  Taught me a lot of music.  In a way it was continuing our education clean through the lunch periods. 

THE NEED TO WRITE ... SOMETHING

Writing.  For me writing serves as a form of therapy to a degree. Writing allows me to take some thoughts that have been clanging around in my head like a pinball in a pinball machine being played by Tommy, it just keeps going and going never able to pass the flippers at the bottom of the machine (for those either too young or too old or my sister Elaine, that is a reference to the rock opera "TOMMY" recorded by The Who and in particular a song named "Pinball Wizard").  Usually if I have a thought such as that, if I write it down it clears from my mind.  Sometimes, however, I find my head with too many of these kind of thoughts bouncing around and into each other.  This is one of those situations.  Too many thoughts, to many ideas that when I sit to write, I can't decide on which topic to take on.  So I sit and stare at the screen with my mind jumping all over the place and not writing anything even though it is obvious that I have a desperate need to write something.... anything.

Usually when I get into a situation like this I end up writing a long rant that hits on several issues and is totally unconnected from beginning to end and there is not one reader who can follow it all the way through.  Even myself as a reader can't decipher it but I write it down and then decide whether to post it or not followed by forgetting all about it.  Hopefully after this excersize my head will clear out a bit.  Let's see where this takes us and I say "us" because this will be a journey through a messed up mind for all of us.

I trimmed my beard last night.  Trivial though that might seem it is a major accomplishment for me.  I have been sporting a beard for several years now.  While everyone else was going through the mustache era followed by the goatee era I had a beard.  There is a reason for this.  Actually there are two reasons.  The first reason is that I am lazy when it comes to personal grooming.  Well, I do take a daily shower and try to wear clean clothes and be presentable, but haircuts and shaving do not interest me at all.  I have several ball caps at the ready to cover my unruly and balding head.  A few Mizzou caps, a couple of Alabama caps, along with some Dit-MCO caps and others that have been picked up here and there.  My hair has a natural wave to it.  It isn't curly but at the right length the wave grows to be a flip before turning inward once again.  Personally I think it looks pretty good when I put on a cap and these curls slip out from under the cap on the sides.  Others don't agree with me though and I usually give in to the request to cut my hair eventually.  Once the hair is cut, I find it rather refreshing. I tell myself that I am going to keep it cut but then the time comes for when it should be cut, I just don't seem to want to make the time to have it done. Before long those curls are peeking out from the under the caps once again.  It is the same story with the beard.  I first grew the beard because I didn't want to shave every morning before heading out to the office.  After a while though it would grow wild and unruly and become uncomfortable.  When my coworkers started referring to me as "mountain man" it wasn't because I was rugged, it was because my beard looked like Ted Kaczynski when they arrested him in a cabin in the woods of rural Montana.  Sure, Kaczynski was a freaking genius, but that wasn't what my cohorts were referring to.  One day someone asked me why I kept the beard and so the excuse came to light in my brain.  I was not going to shave until Russell retires and that was the position I took for not shaving it.  This was the second reason for growing the beard and it seemed to be an acceptable reason to the work crowd. They knew that although Russell and I had to work fairly closely together, we did not agree on many things and sometimes tempers would flair.  It would be several years before Russell would retire and I kept the beard all the while.  During this time of waiting on the retirement, Russell and I began to understand each other and actually worked pretty well together, but I stuck firmly to the precipice of not shaving until he retired.  As the days went on and the beard stayed, Russell's retirement began to loom on the horizon.  It was getting closer and closer and then, what appeared to be suddenly to me, Russell retired and went away.  That night, with trembling hands and shortness of breath I shaved the beard that had, in a way, began to define part of who I was, much as my spectacles do.  I don't look like "Bill" without my glasses and I didn't look like "Bill" without a beard.  And so when I awoke the next morning without hair upon my chin, I began to grow the beard again and have had it since the day after Russell retired.  Now it grows long but just long enough to be uncomfortable but not long enough to be a mountain man before I trim it down again.  I think I am going to go to my grave with a beard, unless someone decides to have it shaved before I am buried.  That won't bother me though. I won't know if it is shaved or not because, well let's face it, I'll be dead.  It also doesn't bother me because even after I am dead, I hear that it will grow back or seem to at any rate.  Either way, I won't be aware of it so they can shave it or not.  Does not matter to me.

Yogi Berra passed away this week.  I know that all of us will die at sometime and that no one is immune from it, but hearing of the passing of Yogi made me sad.  He was 90 years old so it wasn't like a John Lennon death that came out of nowhere, as a matter of fact his death wasn't even that surprising.  I thought that it was to be expected to receive that news at his age.  The thing about Yogi was that he personified baseball and America as a whole.  He loved what he did and wanted to share it with the world.  He developed his own language of sorts that became known as "Yogi-ism".  The language often did not make any sense at all but everyone that heard it understood it.  He was a very good ball player.  Not a great ball player, at least compared to who his team mates were for most of his career.  Good enough to be a legitimate Hall of Famer though.  Yes, he was good at baseball.  He was a catcher for the Yankees and quite a good one at that and he was pretty well versed in how to use a bat at the plate.  But his glove and his bat was not what made Yogi special.  What made Yogi special was, simply put, that he was Yogi.  It is hard to explain why that was so special in and of itself if you didn't grow up during  his years of playing or managing.  Yogi was Yogi.  He was always himself and never put up a front it didn't seem.  You never knew when one of his Yogi-isms would come out during an interview.  Yogi was why baseball was America's pastime.  Yogi exemplified how to be proud to be an American, no matter what your heritage was or no matter where your family came from.  It really is hard to explain, but losing Yogi Berra is huge and when you ask why the only answer seems to be "well, Yogi was Yogi."

Speaking of baseball, how in the world can my beloved Chicago Cubs win 90 ball games and still be in third place in their division????   That's the way it looks like it will end up as.  The National League Central Division will have three teams with 90 wins or more.  You have St. Louis.  These guys have been playing out of their minds the whole season.  They should get around 104 maybe 105 wins this year.  In second place, and I am still not sure how the Pirates did it, but Pittsburgh will wind up right at the 100 win mark, maybe a couple of wins under or over that and the Cubs, my dear dear Cubs, I see as winning 93 or 94 games this year and finishing in third place.  At best, they could wind up playing that one game playoff to get into the real post season.  It just isn't right.  This is the kind of thing that could only happen to the Chicago Cubs.  All I can do is shake my head and sigh.  I do that every time I look at the standings for the National League Central.  Just a deep sigh released from way down deep inside me somewhere.

On a more positive note, my Kansas City Royals became the first team this year to clinch their division last night.  It has been 30 years since my Royals have won a division title and it was 30 years ago that they won their only World Championship.  Back in 1985 the Royals played cross state rivals  St. Louis Cardinals that saw the Royals make a miraculous comeback in game 6 to tie the Series at 3 games a piece and then destroyed the Cardinals in game 7 that year.  Remember what I wrote about the Cardinals in the preceding paragraph?  There is a very good chance that 30 years after the Royals put the Cardinals down, the two teams very possibly could meet in the Series once again.  If it isn't the Cubs and the Royals in the Series then I want to see the Cardinals and the Royals playing in the Fall Classic.  Every year I begin the season looking forward to the Royals playing the Cubs in the Series and every year my cousins in St. Louis giggle at me. It is possible my fantasy could come true this year.  Either way, whether it be the Cardinals or the Cubs against the Royals, I would be a happy baseball fan.

Next month my classmates who I graduated with me way back in 1975 will get together to celebrate the 40th anniversary of that achievement.  Forty years.  Not all of us have made it through life long enough to see this mark in our personal histories.  Several have sadly died.  The first one that I remember finding out that he had died was Hugh Tigner.  Hugh was a friend, as was his little brother Marvin.  There was only a years difference between the two and they were so different physically.  Hugh was tall, about 6-2 or 6-3 and was stocky.  Not plump stocky, but muscular stocky.  He played football and basketball for Ruskin.  Hugh was smart and he was a very easy going young man.  Marvin, on the other hand stood about 5-9 and maybe on a day after a big BBQ he might weigh in at 110 pounds or so.  While Hugh was smart. Marvin was brilliant.  Knowing and interacting with these two friends made it clear that their parents had done a very good job of raising them.  They were very nice, very honest, very easy going and always had time to listen.  Like so many of my other classmates, I lost contact with Hugh and Marvin after leaving school.  I had my career starting and was married the following fall after graduation and so I let that part of my life slip away from me for the most part.  One Saturday, the wife and I were out shopping and to my delight ran into Marvin in one of the stores.  He had that same smile and shook my hand and we started catching up a little.  I asked him how Hugh was doing and Marvin's face dropped.  His eyelids drooped a little and his smile fell into a somber line as his lips locked together.  He said "You didn't hear?  Hugh died in a car wreck last year" and Marvin tilted his head a bit as he looked deep into my eyes to make sure I understood.  Hugh was gone and I did not have a clue that it had happened.  I apologized to Marvin and told him how sorry I was that Hugh was gone.  I told him what a great person I thought Hugh was and he nodded his head silently, still locking his eyes with mine.  He told me it was okay.  He said that yes, he knew Hugh was a good person and that his big brother was the main person he had looked up to his whole life.  We talked a bit more before we parted going our separate ways.  I never saw Marvin again after that but there are times when that moment in my life does revisit me.  It was the kind of moment that you don't forget, when you realize that at anytime, anywhere anything could happen, even to one as young as Hugh was.  There are other classmates that I have learned that have passed on, some that I felt fairly close to, but none of it hit me like the news that Marvin gave me on that day.

You know, I think I will close this entry on that note.  It seems fitting.  I do hope that when my classmates get together next month that they take just a moment to remember those that are not there because life did not allow them to be.

AMERICAN FLAG OUTLAWED IN SCHOOL?

When I first saw the headline my first thought was "surprise surprise, proud to be an American is not acceptable."  Then I started reading the article and what I read absolutely stunned me.  The article came from the Los Angelas Times (not known for conservative viewpoints at all) and seemed to lay out the facts in a straight forward manner.

The problem arose on May 5, 2010.  The Latino community celebrates this day as Cinco de Mayo.  As part of the teaching of diversity in our world, Cinco de Mayo has become a day that I would wager almost every public school "celebrates".  On the surface this seems like a fairly good idea, at least an idea that I have tried not to slap down except when it gets out of control.  I approve of teaching diversity of ALL cultures.  I think if we are going to teach diversity, it should not be limited to only black culture or latino culture.  I think Irish culture should be taught in March.  St. Patricks Day is as big of an event for the Irish as Cinco de Mayo is for latinos.  Canadian culture should be taught on the second Monday in October to teach Canadian Thanksgiving, or whatever Canadians consider to be their big holiday is.  May Day for Russian Culture, whatever culture has a big day that celebrates the culture in and of itself.  Cinco de Mayo certainly attains that status.

Here is what happened as far as I can understand.  This little school in Northern California decided to hold it's annual Cinco de Mayo parade and celebration in 2009.  The Latino students unfurled a Mexican flag and paraded proudly around the school with it high in the air celebrating what they consider their culture.  In a display that exhibited the need for the teaching of diversity, some non-latino students took offense at the waving of the Mexican flag in their faces and began to shout who knows what at the parading students.  This wasn't right and this would have been a prime time to actually TEACH diversity to some of these kids who took offense at others pride in their heritage.  That may have happened, I am not sure.

Move ahead one year to May 5, 2010.  Once again Cinco de Mayo was on the calender to be celebrated as a tool for showing and teaching the diversity that is the United States.  Some students that weren't Latino decided it would only be fair to display their own pride in the face of a foreign flag being paraded about the school campus and so they donned white t-shirts with the American flag displayed across the chest.  These shirts did not have any racists remarks, American slogans, as a matter of fact they carried no words at all.  Just a simple American flag across the chest.

The latino students were outraged.  They shouted at the kids with the flag shirts calling them racists among other unsavory things.  The school administration anticipating feelings growing to a point of where it could be out of control and possibly bring on some physical confrontations called the kids with the American Flag shirts up to the office and told them to turn their shirts inside out or go home.  Two students decided to stand on principle and go home instead of giving in to crowd that felt this apparently was not a day that being American should be celebrated.

Has anyone heard of the First Amendment?  The Supreme Court has upheld all kinds of cases involving the displaying of the American flag as a First Amendment right.  From hair scarfs displaying the Stars and Stripes to underwear.  It is a right to wear shoes or to make a work of art that displays the American flag with either a positive or a negative message.  When I read this story this morning I was stunned, although I suppose I shouldn't have been.

SCOTUS has allowed the Confederate flag to be displayed freely as a first amendment right although there is an exception.  They would prefer that states do not use the Stars and Bars as part of their state flag in an official manner, which I can understand.  Mississippi got around this ruling by designing a new state flag that included the display, in miniature of all the previous state flag of the state, which happened to include a couple of stars and bars renditions.  The Confederate flag can be argued as being a part of southern heritage, but it is so offensive to a great deal of the American population that it was decided not to allow it as part of State Seals, flags and the sort.  I get that.  I actually agree with it.  However, the average American citizen can display the Confederate flag in any way he wants as often as he wants.

The Nazi flag which displays a swastika can be paraded through the streets by groups of White supremacists through Skokie, Illinois, a highly populated Jewish town outside of Chicago.  Any national flag of any country may be displayed as part of a private display by a citizen of the United States.  Some of these flags do offend certain people and it is understandable that they do.  However part of living and being a citizen in this great country is the fact that you have the right to do so.

When I was young and just a little dimmer than I am now, I came across a basketball jersey that had USSR emblazoned across the front of it.  No surprise it was on sale and so I bought it and wore it to several pick up games that I played in with a church related activity.  I could be told that it wasn't cool and that I should not be proud of it, but it was an Olympic year after Nixon had reach accords with the USSR and I more or less felt it was okay.  No one could tell me NOT to wear it though.  I eventually set it aside and haven't worn it for years.  It sits in the bottom of one of my drawers, just another reminder of my rebellious youth.  In other countries I may have been turned in to the authorities and prosecuted, but not in this country.  This country is special.

The purpose in me writing this is simply to say it is an affront to American history, American culture and The Constitution to strip those kids of their first amendment rights by not allowing them to wear a shirt that simply displayed the flag of their own country because it may offend some kids who are waving a foreign flag around the campus.  If they do not want violence on that school campus, then do away with the parade celebrating the holiday.  Instead focus on teaching the diversity within the classroom forum.  The Latino kids should be able to wear shirts with the Mexican flag on it just as other kids should be able to wear a shirt with the American flag on it.  In my opinion, if you are going to stomp on someones first amendment rights, it should not be the kids who display the American flag.

Right now, SCOTUS is reviewing the case to decide whether to hear oral arguments later in the term or to let the 9th circuits ruling stand and not hear arguments.  I sincerely hope the Supreme Court does decide to hear the case.  It needs to be heard.  It needs to send out a message that the first amendment covers everyone, those who are proud of their foreign history and heritage and those that are simply proud to be an American.

MEMORIAL DAY 2014

When I was young, even before my memory took hold in my mind, Memorial Day was a Holiday that was to be spent in Blue Springs, Missouri at my Aunt Mabel and Uncle Dan's house.  It started mid morning when we would start packing the car up for the trip to that town east of Kansas City.  There would be dishes of food that my mother had prepared both the night before and earlier that day.  Depending upon the dish, they would either be carefully set in the trunk of the car or decided to have one of us kids hold it on our lap for the long drive out there.  It was the day that we gathered our baseball gloves and catcher's mitt and a baseball and place them in the trunk just as carefully as the food was placed there.

Upon arrival at Aunt Mabel's place, we would get out of the car and see people that we had probably not seen since the previous Memorial Day.  My great Aunts Oley, Mabel, Cora Lee,  and Mary who were my grandmother's sisters would all be there. The only great Aunt missing most of the time would be Aunt Irene. My dad's siblings Aunt Fay and Aunt Norva and my Uncle Jim would be there along with their families, my cousins.  Every once in a while my Aunt Velma would make it although she and her husband, my Uncle Duane, tended to save their trips back home for Christmas.  Other relatives that I did not know even though I probably saw them every year would be there and as the crowd began to stabilize in size, the day's activities would begin.

The men and would set up out back and after a little bit of horse shoes clanging on metal stakes, the important thing would start.  The baseballs and ball gloves came out of every car parked in that driveway and the sound of leather popping into leather could be heard a block away as the men played catch and talked.  Us kids would play catch off to the side of the adults and our gloves did not pop as loud but it was what was to be done on Memorial Day before lunch.

After sitting under the large tree in the front yard and eating as one big family, cars would be loaded with people to drive the short distance to the Blue Springs Cemetery.  The Clark family had a family plot there and flowers were taken out to be placed on each of the graves.

The only grave that I could make a connection to in my mind was my Grandfather Clark's.  It was strictly a mental connection though.  Perhaps a spiritual connection would describe it better.  I never knew my Grandfather and he never knew me.  He died when my dad was a child and so to me, my grandfather on the Clark side of my family consisted of a small piece of granite with his name on it as well as the dates indicating his life span.  Dad would take me to other markers and I would hear stories from family members about some of the names indicating who was buried there.  There were more than a few of the markers with little American flags stuck in the ground beside the markers.  These were relatives of mine that had served in the Armed Forces of the United States.  I can't remember if any of them died while active in the service, but my memory does seem like there were a few.

After we visited the cemetery it was back to Mabel's to finish eating, clean up, and then head back home for a quiet evening and the beginning of summer.  Those are the memories of a little child up until probably a sixteen year old when I started to realize what Memorial Day was really about.

When I was sixteen, the war in Vietnam had been escalating and had become an item that led off and closed out each news cast by Walter Cronkite on a daily basis.  At the end of each broadcast, Cronkite would give us the toll of those injured and those killed from both the American and South Vietnam troops as well as the Viet Cong numbers of killed and injured.  It seems like this was part of the news each day every day of my life.  It was as standard of a part of the CBS news as the scores of various sporting events were of the local news.

Looking back it was about this time that I kind of got a sense of the enormity of the war across the ocean.  It was also around this time when I started seeing older kids at the church start to go off to war.  Each year they would hold a draft, which was like a lottery where they would pull days of the year and in the order the days were pulled, if that was your birthday, that would be the order in which you were sent to Vietnam.  I started to watch the draft to see where October 13 was in the order of things.  I was lucky though.  President Nixon ended the draft before my time came due, but that didn't mean the war was over or that the killing in the world had come to an end.

The Vietnam war did eventually end, but it was followed by other wars.  In between the wars there were skirmishes, in between the skirmishes there were events and I came to realize, along with my education in history, that conflicts between nations, or religions, or races never did seem to stop.

As I entered into my adult life I realized that Memorial Day was set aside to honor those who served our country.  The American people took advantage of the situation to decorate and remember others that had gone before, but basically it was to recognize those in the military.

As I came to know the ways of the world and our country I realized there were two days that our country recognized the military.  Veteran's Day was set aside to thank and honor ALL of the men and women who had served the country by going into the service.   Memorial Day however, is set aside to honor, and remember those who died while in the service of their country and there are so many to be honored.

I  take both Veteran's Day and Memorial Day very seriously.  It is the men and women who are honored on these two days that allow me to write anything I want here on this blog.  It is by their service that American's everywhere can make choices.  America still has a long ways to go in assuring equality for everyone in this country, but we work at it and we are able to work at it because of those who fight and are ready to defend this country from having those rights taken away.

It is also because of those that served that has allowed people around the world to at least have a chance at knowing what it is like to live in a free society.

Memorial Day should be one of the most sacred and spiritual days we as Americans mark as a country.  From the pre-Revolutionary and Revolutionary war all the way to the wars we fight today, men and women have given the ultimate sacrifice.  We must not forget that there have been many others who gave their lives while wearing the uniform of the United States Military that were not involved in a war per se', but have been killed while defending embassies and military posts stationed around the world.  There have even been some who have given their lives on the soil of this great nation, some on military bases where they served.  It seems like the killing is an endless event without a break.  It never really ends.

Take moment today, just a moment, to think of all of the lives since the beginning of this nation up until the year 2014.  Give homage and honor to all of those who made the ultimate sacrifice in order to serve the people of this great nation.

And to those who wear the uniform today of the United States Military and put yourselves in harm's way for the people of this country, thank you, and be careful out there and may God bless you all.

SAVING MEMORIES

I am a pack rat.  A hoarder of sorts if you will.  There, I said it.  It is out.  Everyone knows that I have a problem throwing things away.  However, before you pass judgement on me for holding on to things from my past give me a chance to argue my case.  I save, or hoard for you purists, only special things.  They are things that revive my memory that would otherwise fade.

It started many years ago.  Actually I think it started with books.  I have the hardest time letting go of a book from my grasp.  I have no idea how many books I currently have in my house but there are a lot of them.  The first book I remember getting and reading was a Christmas present from my mom and dad.  It was a children's novel that told the story of a kid trying to get on a basketball team only he isn't quite good enough.  It tells of one summer when he worked non stop on basketball, practicing everyday targeting in on his jump shot until it was as smooth as glass.  When he returned to school the next fall, the coaches and the other players that had made fun of him for even trying out for the team the previous year were astounded at the change in his game.  He made the team, wins the big game with a last second shot ... la-de-da la-de-da .. typical feel good ending as too many books tag on at the end.

Another book I held onto for years was one that was kept in my grandmother's house.  It was an old copy of the original story of Pinocchio.  On the inside of that book was a little very basic rough writing that said simply "Danny Hill".  It was my uncles book when he was little.  I have always assumed it was a book from when he was sick and quarantined within the house.  That book traveled with me as I grew up and got married and moved to an apartment and onto the house.  That was one book I was able to let go of, though it wasn't easy.  My uncle was in town one time and I decided to return the book back to it's proper owner.  I gave it to my uncle and he was absolutely thrilled.  He gave it back to me eventually when he moved back to Kansas City and it was placed back into my collection.

Over the years the collection of books continued to grow.  Most of them were paperback and the majority of them dealt with history.  The collection also grew as Christmas brought books to me once in a while.  The collection has finally reached a point where it has to stop and I have stopped collecting books for the most part.  When my uncle died, he left me his entire book collection which has moved into my house.  No more room for books.  Maxed out.

After the book collection was well established, I began collecting music.  It started innocently enough with cheap 45 RPM records but soon I was shelling it out for full albums.  The record collection grew faster than the book collection had.  I was discovering new music by the week and was immersing myself in the sounds that would become the soundtrack of my life.  Every record that I bought marks a place in time for me and brings back a memory from my past that otherwise would be forgotten.  Led Zeppelin's fourth album brings the memory of a party at one of my girlfriend's friends house.  The Rare Earth In Concert Album brings back the memory of laying down a back patio at Scott's house.  Three Dog Night's Naturally album is marked by one song.  The album is full of great songs but this album contained Three Dog Night's biggest hit, "JOY TO THE WORLD".   That song for some reason pushed a button inside of my mothers head and would send her into spin that was reminiscent of the cartoon Tasmanian Devil going in any undefined direction, or so it seemed.  One thing was for sure and that was that the song did get a reaction from mom, and so I played it often if only for the show.  Later I learned how to play that song on the piano which gave me another avenue to get a reaction from her.  Like my books, I was able to let go of one album and like the book, it wasn't easy to get rid of but it was the right thing to do.  When my niece Kelly was a little girl she was up in my bedroom with me and The Best Of Bread was on my stereo.  She took the tone arm and laid down a scratch on the record that was visible and popped everytime I played the record after that.  I finally let go of that album and gave it to Kelly so the memory would stay with her from that day.  There is no way I am going to forget it after all these years now so it is the right thing that Kelly has it.

The album collection continued to grow and has now turned into a CD collection and moving into an MP3 collection.  Each one of them holds a memory from my life that lives inside the music.

The book and music collections are important and are a big part of my life, but they do not qualify as the most sacred of my collections.  In my basement tucked away against the wall close to the corner is a large cardboard box.  In this box is a collection of various items that truly do define the first thirty years of my life.  I haven't added anything to the box for a very long time as it is close to getting full, but what is in there is a treasure.

There are school projects in that box ranging all the way from probably third grade to graduation.  I can look at those projects and remember the time when it was done and the teacher's reaction to it as well as the letter grade that it received.  There are magazines from numerous historical times.  There is a little plastic record in that box that holds the recording of Neil Armstrong as he stepped onto the moon.  There are newspapers dealing with President Nixon and Watergate on through to the day President Ford was sworn into office.  The newspaper that came out the day after the Kansas City Chiefs won the fourth Super Bowl resides in that box.

Every historical thing that happened while i was growing up went into that box.  The walks on the moon, the space shuttle, a collection of Big Eight Basketball history in the form of game programs from the holiday tourneys are all in there.  It has been with me for years and hasn't worn out.

I do not get into the box very often.  It sits in the basement waiting to be discovered by some generation in the future.  When I pass on, there will be some people going through my stuff.  I know this.  As they are going through my stuff, someone is going to stumble on this old box that seems mysterious.  There are no markings on the box to give a clue as to what is inside.  It is just a simple plain box sitting off by itself not bringing attention to itself.  As they are going through stuff and finding things that make them ask "WHY??" one of their eyes will fall on the unassuming box and their hands will reach out to it and pull it towards them.  Then slowly the flaps on top of the box will slowly open and then eyes will widen and a smile will come across a face as an expression of surprise emits from the mouth of the one lucky enough to have opened it.

They will all sit around on the floor together slowly and carefully pulling one thing after another out of the box and discuss it among themselves.  It will be a gold mine and that box will eventually go home with somebody and my memories, my most important memories will be passed on to a new generation and they will cherish the collection.

The collection will not only be a memory of history passed down, but a history of myself passed down as well.

GHETTO LIVING - BACK DOWN TO EARTH

I had written and posted an entry on this blog that was a letter to my former classmates concerning the attitude and the belief that the old neighborhood that they graduated from was a dangerous place to live.  If you recall, one of my classmates had described it as a "ghetto" and the purpose of the entry was to demonstrate that it isn't a ghetto as a matter of fact not even close to a ghetto.

After swapping a few e-mails with the classmate who described the neighborhood as a ghetto, we both came to agree that each of us was rather over the top in our words concerning the neighborhood.

My classmate pointed out to me, correctly, that I over reacted somewhat and took it a little more than personal when I saw my neighborhood being described as a ghetto.  Looking back on the events, I can see where I possibly did over react.  To start with I posted a reply in the thread that was more or less combative and rather terse followed by un-friending all of my classmates on Facebook.  I followed that up with my blog entry which I mailed to the describer of the neighborhood as a ghetto.

While I stand by the over view that I was trying to get across the writing was a little acidic. I used the word "ignorant" and "foolish" many times in describing my former classmates, but was really targeting my friend who described the neighborhood as being a ghetto.  There was a day or two where I feel that he was irritated with me and my writing as well as the attack that I had leveled at him with the writing.  At the same time I was irritated and frustrated that he seemed to refuse to back off of the idea that Ruskin was in truth a ghetto.  It was two days of not feeling good about the whole situation.

I have been friends with the original poster since we were in grade school together.  We had a lot of classes together through the years and we finished by graduating High School together.  It was many years of a friendship that was on the line and looked like it would end under very bad circumstances.  I didn't feel good about that and I don't think he did either.

Let me tell you about this friend of mine and how I saw him through the years.  As long as I can remember he was a sort of leader in the class in his own quiet way.  He was never conceited or self promoting even though he had plenty of reasons that could have led him to be that way.  He always was and still is very intelligent.  He is thoughtful and a good thinker, who thinks things out before speaking.  He was and is an extremely charismatic personality, something that I have always envied.  He is well know in the class even after thirty nine years since graduation.  He is the kind of person that reaches out to others, not seeing himself as better than anyone else.  One thing that I really did envy about him was his talent as an artist.  I have mentioned numerous times how badly I wanted to be able to draw and be a natural artist but I never had that talent.  This was the thing that guided me toward engineering as a career because as an draftsman or engineer, I could draw and make the drawings would be nice and have an artistic look to them.  My friend was a true artist.  He could draw anything.

Over the weekend as we swapped a few emails between us, I think we both came to a couple of realizations.  One of the things was that my classmate was holding some well deserved bitterness over the last thirty years towards my neighborhood and the neighborhood that he grew up in.  I have said and continue to do so, that the Ruskin area did go through a rough period of about ten years from the mid eighties to mid nineties.  Lots of transient people living there was a main force in the communities struggles.  During this time he had run into some situations where his family was trying to deal with the community and things did not work out the way it should have.  During that period of time, in his eyes, Ruskin was not the place it was as he was growing up.  Add to that the fact that his boyhood home and suffered from a major fire and is literally destroyed and his bitterness grew somewhat.

From my point of view, I constantly read and hear things from former residents who are constantly putting down Ruskin as crime ridden and dangerous.  Usually I read these comments and  while they irritate me I am able to shrug it off.  This post last week was different though.  The post took the criticism of Ruskin to a totally new level.  When the word ghetto was used to describe where I live, I felt like it crossed a line.  I felt like it went too far.  Ruskin is growing and changing.  Houses are being kept up and lawns are manicured.  It is far from being a dangerous place to live.  I spent some time driving around the neighborhood this past weekend and affirmed my thinking that Ruskin has is a clean community oriented neighborhood.  I did not see any graffiti at all as I drove around and only one house that was boarded up.  I also went by my friends boyhood home that had suffered from a fire.  It was a bad fire that hit his house.  It is burned bad enough that the city put a sign on the front door specifying that it was dangerous to enter.  I felt like when that house burned, my friend had lost a part of his life and that was indeed a sad situation.

After swapping a few emails we came to a conclusion where each of us went wrong.  He said that he first off he wasn't aware that Ruskin was not what it was thirty years ago but he did know that it was not a ghetto.  He has been through ghettos in other cities and that Ruskin did not come close to being that kind of an area.  He explained to me that he thought I had over reacted with my writing and had taken it too personally.  He is right that I did over react and all my writing on his post was knee jerk at it's worst.  I should have taken time to calm down and write a better explanation of how the area really was now without the anger and irritation that filled what I did end up writing.  I still am proud of the area though and whenever someone goes over negative talking about the area, I do take it personal because it is where I live.  I know what Ruskin is like because I am there day in and day out and I can understand my initial reaction to seeing Ruskin described as a ghetto brought about the anger and frustration that drove my writing, as knee jerk as it was.

The good thing is that we were able to work it out as adults and as friends.  I think we both have a new insight into the the thinking of the other that led to the responses that each of us had toward the others writing and that is a good thing.

So in ending this writing and putting the issue to rest, I want to thank my friend for being patient and for listening and for sharing with me his experiences so that each of us could get past this unfortunate situation.

I feel much better now and hope he does as well.