Mob Mentality.....would you join in?

There is no human quality quite like joining groups. For example; do you belong to the Democrats, Republicans, or Independents?Were you raised in the following faith communities Catholics, Protestants or Muslim? Are you single, married, or divorced? Does someone call you a mother, father or a grandparent?  Which group do you wave a banner for Pro choice or Pro life? Do support or oppose Bruce/Kaitlyn Jenner's transformation? You see what I mean, we either feel safer (physically, emotionally or spiritually) in large groups or want to stand out in small groups (a big fish in a small pond is not the same big fish in an ocean.)
   Sometimes the choice to join a group can happen in just a few seconds, with drastic consequences.  The following story happened on Labor Day weekend in the Circle of Orange during the International Street Fair over thirty years ago. It was hot.  Not just regular California Labor Day weekend hot this was like Africa Hot.  My girlfriend and I had been walking around the food and craft booths for about thirty minutes.  We were sweating and uncomfortable.  I made the executive decision to go to a friends apartment overlooking the Circle to get a few minutes in the cool air conditioned apartment.  We buzzed Don's apartment and he was excited to let us in.  Don and his wife had only been here a short while and were enjoying showing off their new home.  
    I walked to his window over looking the street fair and asked if I could open it and peek outside.  The building was built in the twenties and a lot of fixtures were very old including the window.  I  pulled up on the window and let go (assuming it would stay put, not knowing it required a stick to hold it open.)  The window came down with a crash and all the glass fell down to the street below.  Worried that someone got hurt I quickly looked outside and saw everyone was unharmed.  For some reason I screamed out, "Who threw that rock?"  There was six people right below us standing around reviewing the broken glass.  One of them was a young man who was a punk rock fan (dressed in wild clothes with colored hair sticking up and pointing in different directions.) The five other people all pointed at him in unison.  He ran off as fast as he could.  I could hear some of the five yell, "Stop him."  No one did. He got away as fast as his legs could take him.
    I will always remember that day and the choice everyone made, wondering if I would have joined in?

I'm Your Huckleberry Tombstone

This is a scene out of the movie "Tombstone." The reason that I like it (besides the fact that Doc Holliday is a dentist that carries a gun and delivers justice with swift Colt accuracy) is because the bully in this scene believes he is going to get the jump on a slower less menacing opponent. What he gets is someone his equal. He doesn't like that, but realizes he can't get out of this situation.
   
   I don't like bullies.  I never have.  They are usually people with little self confidence that feel the need to put others down so they can feel better about themselves.  Bullies come in a variety of shapes and sizes.  Most people see a bully as someone large and menacing. Not true.  One of the meanest bullies I knew was only five foot.  
   Have you heard of the pecking order.  This was a dissertation written in 1921 by the Norwegian zoologist Thorleif Schjelderup-Ebbe.  It was based on his study of hens (female chickens) and how they determined who would have access to food first.  They would use their beaks to prove who deserved the top position. Doesn't this sound familiar?  A person who will talk ill-will about someone else to make that other person a social leper.  How often did this happen in high school? Middle school? Elementary school? Now?  We see bullies everyday.  
   Like I said before, "I knew someone who was only five foot tall, but was the meanest bully on the block."  She only smiled when she was talking bad about somebody. She would get a belly laugh when telling a story about how someone was fat or stupid.  She was cruel.  She felt good talking bad about others because "pecking" someone down means you get to eat first. 
   The thing about bullies is they are truly weak emotionally. If you stand up to them and challenge them emotionally and mentally  you will win.  They usually get their way in life, but when a victim stands up to the bully the bully doesn't know what to do.
    Don't let a bully put "Huckleberry" on your tombstone!

My 423 foot mistake in Oklahoma City.

A few weeks back I joined my son Bobby on his quest to move to Chicago. That Thursday morning we left Albuquerque and nine short hours later we made our way to the Bricktown Convention Center Hotel. I wanted to make this a memorable night for him so I asked the desk manager if there was a steak house in town that was worthwhile.  He stated, "Mickey Mantles Steakhouse is the best!" This sounded like a great recommendation plus the manager also reminded us that with our room reservations we also got free shuttle service back and forth to the down town (Bricktown) area.   It was agreed that Bobby and I would meet downstairs at six for the shuttle ride.  As a side note, Mickey Mantle is the best baseball player to come out of Oklahoma. For two baseball fans this was going to be great.

    I was the first one downstairs and I asked the desk manager which way to the shuttle. He pointed toward an elderly black gentleman sitting by himself in the lounge chair.  He looked a little like BB King (except he didn't smile very big and when his mouth did open I could see that his front teeth were gold!)  Bobby joined me as I began to ask Luther about driving us to the restaurant. I asked him, "How far is Mantels?" He mumbled something and started to walk outside. Bobby and I followed him to a minivan. We got in not knowing if we were going to dinner or a legalized cock fight.  About a minute into our shuttle ride I became "chatty." I practically told this guy our life story before he joined the conversation.  He talked about being eighteen and spending two glorious months at the beach in California before being sent back to Oklahoma.  I imagine his two months were probably during the Nixon administration.  
   By the end of his short story about blondes and bikinis at Venice Beach, we arrived at the restaurant. "Here you go, enjoy dinner" said Luther. We walked inside the small and dimly lit restaurant.  We were greeted by a young female hostess who sat us down.  I looked around looking for pictures or memorabilia of Mickey Mantle, but could see none (maybe there were some in the back or in the bathroom, I thought.)  Our waiter came up and mentioned the specials of the evening and took our drink orders.  Bobby and I made small talk about his conversation with his girlfriend which distracted me from looking for more clues about Mickey.
   Our drinks arrived and the waiter took our order for dinner.  I kept looking around for any sort of clue regarding the relationship of the name of this restaurant and its interior decor.  My soup arrived (the Lobster Bisque was a good choice.)  Bobby was eating his salad when my curiosity could no longer be held back.  I called over the hostess and asked her about the name.  She replied, "I don't know why it's called Mantels, I've only worked here three months.  I'll get someone who knows."  A minute later our waiter showed up and I asked him the same question.  His reply, "You want Mickey Mantles. Those bastards opened up the same year we did and we have been fighting them over the name ever since. We're 'Mantels'.  As in wine mantel."  I was stunned at the mix up. I asked him, "Where is it located?"  He said, "just down the street."
   As you can imagine how confused and disappointed I was that we  ended up in the wrong place on a night I was hoping to make special for my son. Bobby is a baseball fan and I thought this steakhouse would be memorable. We finished and walked outside where I could see the sign for Mickey Mantle's restaurant.  It was only 423 feet away.  Ironically,  this was the average distance for a Mickey Mantle home run.

A New Start....what would you leave behind?

Tuesday night we get the keys to our new home.  Julie and I are packed and ready to move.  We are only going two miles away from where we are now, but it seems so much further.  The reason is that this represents a collective fresh start for the both of us.  
The old condo was picked out by Julie four years ago.  I joined her in 2013.  In the last 32 months this sweet little home has been the source of family and friend frivolity. It has kept us warm in the winter and cool in the summer. There has been lots of laughter and love exchanged under this pretty little roof. 
This small condo has also endured much sadness We lost Julie's mom and sweet cousin Sheri. My dad passed last year as well.  We endured a terrible court battle for my matrimonial independence (I don't think this little home could stand one more box of deposition materials.) 
   We are taking our clothes, furniture and cookware.  We would like to leave behind our sad memories from the last 32 months.  So tonight Julie and I are going to write down on a piece of paper all the sad memories we would like to move away from.   We don't want to forget about those we lost, we just don't want to be sad about it anymore. When talking about my dad I would like not to "tear up." I want to talk about how funny he was or how much love he gave my kids. Julie would like to talk about how much fun it was to grow up with Sheri, not how tragic it was that she died so suddenly. 
    We don't want to talk about negative people who were in our lives for so many years and now are not.  We want to leave the negativity behind.  No more "Did William do this? Did Tracy do that?"  They are in the world, they just don't need to be in ours. We really have control about who we talk about and how much time we spend thinking about them.  Unfortunately, we have let these people occupy the residency of our minds. 
We are giving them an eviction notice tonight.
   In addition to the sad memories of our loved ones that we will write down, we will include the list of those people and topics that take away from our positive energy.  When done with this list we will put it in a small broken suitcase and leave it in the middle of our old bedroom.  We will ask this home to do us one more favor and keep this suitcase and its contents as we begin our New Renaissance period. 
(The name of our new street is Donatello.)

If you could go back in time....would you?

Yesterday I was having a talk with a very wise friend.  We discussed the ever popular question, "Would you go back in time?" I said, "Yes, with what I know now!"  He responded, "Oh no, you can't cheat.  You need to go back without knowing what happened."
I sat back with raised eyebrows.  I have never thought of these rules for this mental game.  I always thought about how much I would change by righting all of my wrong decisions.  Now I'm being told that I can go back, but I will probably do the exact same thing.
   My wise friend said, "I won't go back, just to repeat the same mistakes."  I quickly agreed, but as the day went on I thought about some moments in time that I wish I could go back.  I was thinking about a vacation we took in 1999.  It was a cruise to Alaska.  We had the best time.  None of us had ever seen glaciers before.  We spent an entire day in Glacier Bay watching these gigantic chunks of ice "calve." The kids held butterflies in the palms of their hands in an aviary in Victoria.  Mary had her hair done for the first time by a stylist.  I danced with my little Mary every night (and I even had her brothers take turns dancing with her- she was six and loved to dance.)  The kids and I went panning for gold at a camp in Skagway.  We took a train ride into the hills above Juneau.  In Ketchikan we watched the locals carve a totem pole.  The boys stayed up late to watch a comedian perform on the ship. They thought he was the funniest guy ever, of course they were 9 and 10.
We dressed up several times for formal dinner nights in which the boys and I wore suits and the girls wore pretty dresses. It was fun.
   Would I go all the way back to 1999 to experience life again? I don't think so.  There were good times as well as the bad ones, but if I go back it would be another twelve years before I would see Julie.  I just can't risk that.  I've already waited a long time to be in her life.  I have pictures from that vacation and I have my memories. 
       I sure would like to have one more dance with Mary.

The story of the man who discovered "Laughing Gas" for Dentistry....a laughing matter?

When I was a freshman at the UCLA School of Dentistry they told us a story of Dr. Horace Wells.  He was a Connecticut dentist who had the pleasure of trying Nitrous Oxide while attending a sideshow at a traveling circus.  He was so surprised by his lack of sensation he had an associate (John Riggs) pull one of his own teeth while under the influence of this novice gas. He felt NO pain!!  
     Imagine discovering a way to work on patients (medically or dentally) without pain.  This was 1845 and no such method was available.  Revolutionary was too small a word to use.  This was beyond anyone's wildest dreams.  Horace really thought he was onto something.  Since he tried this on himself, he decided to try it on 12-15  patients.  It was a success! Almost all the patients felt no pain.  He now wanted to show the world.  Friends told him to patent the idea and he would be rich.  Horace always responded the same way, " pain relief should be as free as the air!" He didn't want riches, he wanted to help his fellow man.
    Horace went to the Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston.  in front of a room of 200 dentists, surgeons and students he asks for a volunteer.  A man with a toothache raised his hand and was brought up and sat in a chair in the center of the auditorium.  Dr. Wells administered the Nitrous Oxide to the young man and then proceeded to extract the bad tooth. The patient screamed in pain. The audience became an ugly mob yelling, "humbug and fraud!" Horace was mystified. This had worked before, it had worked on him why didn't it work now.
   He was discredited and humiliated.  He quit dentistry. Within a year he committed suicide.  During that year his partner (Dr. William Morton) practiced using Nitrous Oxide on patients in the practice.  He noticed that there was a small percentage of patients that the "Laughing Gas" did not work.  Dr. Morton then went to the same medical auditorium that was the scene of Dr. Wells failure a year earlier and performed an extraction with no pain.  He yelled out, "Gentlemen, this is no Humbug!"
   Sixteen years after his death, Dr. Horace Wells was recognized by the American Dental Association for his discovery of modern anesthesia.  Six years later the American Medical Association also acknowledged him.  To imagine how many millions of people have benefited by his work is staggering.  I try and imagine the last year of his life filled with that overwhelming feeling of failure and loneliness.  All he wanted to do was help his fellow man. He gave up too early.  A couple of months after his death his discovery was given life.  He never realized it!
   It took me nearly three decades to realize why my instructor told us this story.  I thought for so long it was to understand that a small percentage of the population do not respond to the gas.  Actually, I think he was telling us to face our failures and keep trying. Giving up too soon is not a "laughing matter."

   

I am a Bull Whip Enthusiast....just like Indiana Jones!

 When the movie "Raiders of the Lost Ark" came out I was a freshman at CSUF.  At that point, movies were still magical and really let me dream about endless possibilities.  One dream was the ability to master a bull whip.  Indiana Jones used his bull whip to subdue a crowd, to escape death and to capture his lady love. Here was a man that had no fear.  He jumped off a ship and hung onto a periscope of a submarine for "I don't know how far?" He battled Nazi's and withstood the "Wrath of God!" I wanted to be him.  I can remember telling my parents how "cool" it would be to crack a whip.  At that point the only thing I was cracking was zoology and chemistry books.
   Some months later my parents came back from a Mexican Rivera cruise.  My dad had bought a twelve foot bull whip from some leather shop in Mazatlan.  As a boy, his hero was Clyde Beatty the lion tamer.  My father had fantasized not to be a dentist, but to someday be that brave man with the power to subdue the "King of the Jungle."  He had taught himself how to crack a whip and had even somehow taught his little dog "Taffy" to jump through a hoop.  So with some experience with a whip, my dad gave me a demonstration.  It was not pretty, but he made it crack!  I watched him do it again, at which point he handed it to me and said, "try not to kill yourself."  I was so excited I didn't really understand what he meant.  
    After a couple of tries, I was stinging.  I had hit myself with the whip and it was not pleasant.  Somehow, I wasn't discouraged. I kept trying and finally it happened.  The Crack!!! It was empowering!!  I couldn't believe I could make such a load scary sound.  I did it again and again.  It was awesome. Most of my friends would not even try it.  That made me feel great.  I felt that I had conquered "Everest."  A feat few would even attempt.  That was in 1982.
 Fast forward to 2015. I am now able to snap a cigarette out of someone's mouth (although I have few takers.)  I am now on day 5 of my trip to Chicago with my son Bobby.  My cousins in Eureka, Missouri are enthusiastic and willing to try just about anything.  Every single cousin (male and female) tried the whip. Is this a state thing? In California, I can hardly get anyone to try it.  The Missouri residents don't want to miss out on being the one who can make it crack.  The girls are the ones who really give it the most effort.  Don't ever judge a book by its cover! Without question my female cousin, a few years younger than me was able to put some extra effort into the process.  As you can see below she was able to make it happen.  She felt empowered!  This new found talent made her feel a little stronger, bolder, maybe a bit like "Indiana Jones"?

   

               Here am I showing everyone how to use the whip.  As much as I enjoy cracking the whip, having a student accomplish this made me feel even better!  I left behind my whip. I thought that  this new student may teach another (don't worry, I have another!)

The butterfly story......when to know to let go.

This is a long one, but I promise a happy ending.
Dave

Once a little boy was playing outdoors and found a fascinating caterpillar. He carefully picked it up and took it home to show his mother. He asked his mother if he could keep it, and she said he could if he would take good care of it.

The little boy got a large jar from his mother and put plants to eat, and a stick to climb on, in the jar. Every day he watched the caterpillar and brought it new plants to eat. 

One day the caterpillar climbed up the stick and started acting strangely. The boy worriedly called his mother who came and understood that the caterpillar was creating a cocoon. The mother explained to the boy how the caterpillar was going to go through a metamorphosis and become a butterfly.

The little boy was thrilled to hear about the changes his caterpillar would go through. He watched every day, waiting for the butterfly to emerge. One day it happened, a small hole appeared in the cocoon and the butterfly started to struggle to come out.

At first the boy was excited, but soon he became concerned. The butterfly was struggling so hard to get out! It looked like it couldn’t break free! It looked desperate! It looked like it was making no progress!

The boy was so concerned he decided to help. He ran to get scissors, and then walked back (because he had learned not to run with scissors…). He snipped the cocoon to make the hole bigger and the butterfly quickly emerged!

As the butterfly came out the boy was surprised. It had a swollen body and small, shriveled wings. He continued to watch the butterfly expecting that, at any moment, the wings would dry out, enlarge and expand to support the swollen body. He knew that in time the body would shrink and the butterfly’s wings would expand.

            But neither happened!

The butterfly spent the rest of its life crawling around with a swollen body and shriveled wings. 

It never was able to fly…

As the boy tried to figure out what had gone wrong his mother took him to talk to a scientist from a local college. He learned that the butterfly was SUPPOSED to struggle. In fact, the butterfly’s struggle to push its way through the tiny opening of the cocoon pushes the fluid out of its body and into its wings. Without the struggle, the butterfly would never, ever fly. The boy’s good intentions hurt the butterfly.

As you go through school, and life, keep in mind that struggling is an important part of any growth experience. In fact, it is the struggle that causes you to develop your ability to fly. 

   Four years ago my daughter Mary decided on an education in Culinary Arts.  She wanted to go away to college and chose the Culinary Institute of America.  I didn't want her to go right away, I just didn't feel she was quite ready to be so far from home.  I asked her to stay and do one year of community college here before going.  I believe that one year could make a difference.  Well, she didn't want to wait and everyone else said, "She should go."

  We packed her bags and took her and her mother to Long Beach Airport.  Her mother was going to help her settle in at the dorm and make sure that she had all she needed till we saw her again at Christmas.  I cried so hard at the airport, afraid of what life would be like for her without me to help her (as I had done for the last eighteen years.) I would miss her so very much, but this was her wish and I didn't want to take away this chance at having happiness.  She appeared confident and didn't cry at the airport.

    They arrived safely and got a motel room close to the school.  The next day they put her belongings into her dorm room and attended some orientation classes.  She didn't want to stay at the dorm room she went back to the motel with her mother. The next day was the similar (more orientation by teachers and counselors.)
Again she would not stay in the dorm, she went back to the motel with her mother.  The fourth day she didn't want to continue, she wanted to come home.  She had not eaten in days and could not sleep. Mary didn't know anyone and realized she was 3000 miles away from home. She was overwhelmed!
   Her mother called me and said, "You need to get a ticket for her to fly home with me.  She hasn't eaten or slept in days and wants to come home.  I have already talked to the school about getting our money back for part of this first semester." I told her mother, "Put Mary on the phone."  Mary got on the phone as I asked, "Mary, what are you feeling?" She responded, "I just want to go home." She started to cry which made me cry.  I was the only one who didn't want her to go and now I had to do the hardest thing I have ever done.  I told her, "You can't come home, you need to stay and finish this semester.  If you finish this semester and don't want to go back in January than that's fine, but you have to stay." She didn't answer me, I could hear her softly crying and putting down the phone. Her mother picked up the phone as I repeated what I had just told Mary.  I also told her mother to take her to the school counselor (who had probably dealt with this before.)  I told her mother that it was time to come home and Mary was not to come with her. 
   I knew that if I allowed Mary to come home at that point in her life she would never develop wings of her own. She would likely not finish anything.  I didn't want to teach her to quit.  This was so hard! Mary stayed.  That first month was tough.  We would call her every night.  I would e-mail her stories about my life and advice on meeting people. She didn't know anyone there and she was a bit introverted. 
  She made friends. She did well in classes. She survived.  She came home at Christmas and decided to stay in school.  Mary just celebrated one year as a chef at the famous Maialino Restaurant in the Gramercy Hotel in New York. She taught culinary at a school in Italy for six weeks last summer.  She lives in Brooklyn and goes back and forth on the subway everyday and night to work.  She pays all of her living expenses at the tender age of 22! 

My little caterpillar has become a beautiful Butterfly!!!

  

Saying Goodbye to Bobby.

Twenty five years ago Bobby came into my life as a eight pound fourteen ounce baby boy. The following decade included, diapers, training pants, Dr. Seuss marathons, fighting over what to eat and what not to eat, how to be a good boy, Sunday school, kindergarten, elementary school. the second decade included baseball, soccer, homework, first Communion, swim team, trumpet lessons, karate lessons, Disneyland, Knotts Berry Farm, trips to Alaska, Washington D.C., Boston, Virginia, Lake Tahoe, Laughlin,  Christmas excitement, Easter Egg Hunts, Valentine Days cards, school dances, Homecoming, Prom, graduation, college, major change, College graduation, parental divorce survival and now a new life destination: Chicago!

Bobby has been planning this move for two years.  He has saved his money, carefully studied where to go that would be best for his occupation.  He found just the right apartment in an area that is safe and yet not too expensive.  He has found just the right person to share his life.  She will join him in nine months.  He understands that this will be a challenge for the two of them, but he knows he needs to stick to his game plan.  
  His plan included packing all that he owns into a U-haul and driving cross country (over two thousand miles.) When I heard his plan I volunteered to go with him.  No matter how old they are, I always feel that in some way they need me.  He was completely capable to do this on his own, but he was thankful that I offered to come along.
   We met outside Julie's condo at 4am on Wednesday.  It took us fifteen hours to make Albuquerque that first day.  The next day took us nine hours to make Oklahoma City. The day after was eight hours to make St. Louis where we took a breather to visit with relatives for two days.  Swimming, sword fights, bull whip demonstrations, barbecues, blackjack, and volleyball games with the cousins was all done during the next 48 hours.
   Today we left at 4 am for Chicago.  We made it in under six hours, unloaded the truck in 30 minutes (he didn't believe his old man could move so fast!) We got a sandwich and hopped on the trains to Midway Airport.  I kept telling him that he didn't need to come all the way to the airport to see me off.  He insisted, saying it would be good for him to learn all the stations.  I knew why he was coming and so did he.  
   We made it to the station and he walked with me as far as he could.  Just feet before the passenger only section we said our good-byes.  As I hugged him I started to quiver and cry, but I was surprised when I could him crying too.  I looked at him and he said quietly, "this is hard." I tried to make him laugh by passing my hand over my face and changing from a frown to a smile.  It only worked for a second. We both started to cry again.  I told him, "You are going to do great here!"  I was trying my best to be as strong as possible.  I don't know what was exactly going through his mind, but I know what was going through mine.  I was being dropped off by this twenty five year old man

and all I could see was this little boy. I love him so much!

What kind of Ghost will I be??

I’ve decided to write about what I will do if Becky’s dream comes true and the Southwest plane goes down.  First of all, I believe that I will probably walk the earth forever. My reasoning is this, Heaven may not let me in because I did eat meat on a couple of Fridays during Lent.  Hell doesn’t want me because I’m a bit too “Chatty” and even the Devil wants some quiet time.  I’m to old for Limbo and Purgatory has hit it’s limit of Mater Dei Graduates.  So I will walk the earth as a ghost.

   Since I have a couple of days to decide what kind of spirit I’m going to be here are my thoughts.  I don’t want to be scary ghost like the ones that show up in those movies that come out to the theaters around Halloween every year.  No chains, no creaking, no blood dripping down the walls and definitely no sneaking around!

I would like to be a mischievous yet fun spirit.  The kind that people would not be scared to have me around, but happy to see me go.  For example; I may go to Kelly’s house and loosen the top to every single salt and pepper shaker in the house. I may go to Lorraines home and edit her profile page on one of her participating dating sites to something that would attract men of a height of 4 foot or less. I may go to Lora’s house and cover every toilet with clear plastic wrap so that in the middle of the night she would get a warm wet surprise.  I may park someone’s car in the red zone.  I might have the urge to write limerick’s with lipstick on a bathroom mirror.  I might want to change all of someone’s scheduled DVR programs to only reruns of “Law and Order.”  I would definitely put silly frames around license plates like, “Morticians keep it stiffer.” 

   Well, you get the idea.  

BOO, BOO WHO?

Last Will and Testament.....

Last week I found out the exact date my son wants to move to Chicago.  I am going with him.  He is renting a U-haul truck here in Orange County and dropping it off in Chicago, at which point, I will fly home. 
So last Monday I made flight arrangements.  I came into work Tuesday morning as usual when I could see my assistant looked upset.  She told me about a terrible dream she had the night before. It involved a Southwest airplane that caught fire in midair and then crashed to the ground killing everyone.  
The funny thing is I had not told anyone I was flying SouthWest. She is the kind of person that does not really keep track of 'details.'  So the fact that she had this "vision" is a little on the creepy side.  I am not one to fall for this kind of "apocalyptic clairvoyance", but just in case she is right and becomes the next "Jeane Dixon" here is what I plan to leave behind:
To

Mark Lester- I leave my humor and wit.
Bobby Lester- I leave my amazing hair and good looks.
Mary Lester-  I leave a heart full of love and kindness.

Kelly Wilmot Cook- I leave $2.39. Enough money to buy a carton             of eggs to throw at unsuspecting high school band members.
Lorraine Jacobs Cross - I leave $4.49. Enough money to buy a bag of ice cubes to throw at unsuspecting high school band members.
Lora Martin- I leave my personal "rape whistle" to use when you catch Kelly and Lorraine torturing high school band members.
Mark Miller- I leave my 1978 polaroid camera with six pictures left to be used when Kelly and Lorraine utilize their inheritance. 
Steve Pniewski- I leave my personal "Angels Sombrero" and "Mike Trout fish hat" To be worn at my funeral while you sing the theme from "Shaft!"
Elijah Weems - I leave my Calvary Sword and Whip (every eight year old needs a sword and whip!)
Chris Hruby- I leave my list of divorce lawyers to avoid!
Bill Tuli- I leave my favorite Shoe horn!
Rosa Jimenez- I leave my trophy from a Grade II win in horse racing. And an old sleeping bag (used only 48 times in the Wilderness.)
Sonja Leysen Key- I leave my David Cassidy lookalike photo taken  of me at Black's Beach.
John Lindsey- I leave my Rubik's cube (the one with two missing tiles.)
Debbie Fourmont- I leave you my album of horse pictures.  May they bring you a smile like they did me.
Gina Regan - I leave my 10% off coupon for "Ms. Lora Martin's Finishing School for Wayward Girls."
Sarah Rowling- I leave you three jars of my candied pecans.  I owe you a lot more, but Kelly kept stealing my jars.
Greg Reynolds- I leave you my Harmonica just in case you decide to give up on the drums. And one of my mankinis (color is your choice.)
Mark Telles- I leave you my most recent month of "BodyBuilder" magazine--the "Venice Beach" Edition.
Chip Carin- I leave my Banjo.  This has brought me serenity and peace in between dental patients. Oh, and a Mankini (your choice of color, you may need to arm wrestle Greg for the green one.)
Ed Baugh- I leave my brass knuckles which can be used the next time you come to visit California. (oh, and of course a Mankini. Your choice of color, although a scrum may occur at the time of distribution!)
Sunny Rolfs - I leave you my car.  It probably needs a major detail. (The smell inside may remind you of something unearthly, pay it no mind.) Oh, and gas.  I didn't fill up before I left because, well you know.
Maria Otramba- I am leaving you my high school yearbook. I hope this time you sign it.
Don McKenna- I am leaving you all the contents of the bottom drawer of my nightstand.  I think we both know what you need to do.
Robert Fleischman- I leave my "good" pair of Nun-Chucks to be used on your next visit to National City.
Emelia Harril- I leave you one of my Mankini's.  You will look the best in it and you will probably win the scrum battle.
To the rest of my friends I am going to have my brothers set up a "Money Wind Booth." You will each have a turn at a thousand dollars.  The catch will be that the booth will contain two thousand Kennedy Half dollars.  From wherever I may end up in the afterlife, this should be fun to watch.

To Julie I leave more gratefulness than I could ever express with words. You have made my life more joyful and full of laughter than I ever thought possible. All of my love and the last $64 in my checking account that my lawyer and ex-wife are fighting over.


See you all on the other side....

Nature versus Nurture.....which do you believe?

I would like to use the above recent photograph as a place to start with my question of "Nature versus Nurture."  

These are my two sons (Mark and Bobby, aren't they both so handsome?)  I would like to first point out that they take after their mother and me in different physical ways.  Mark has her hair and skin color and Bobby has mine.  The two of them are different emotionally and verbally.  Mark is animated when he talks, he always has been since his first word.  He is a great story teller! He told a story the other night to the entire family that had us laughing and crying at his theatrics.  Bobby is the strong silent type (Clint Eastwood comes to mind.) When he speaks up everyone listens, he chooses his words carefully!  He is an incredible man of observation.  He should have been a secret agent.

When I look at this picture I can't help but think of my dad.  He babysat my kids with my mom at least once a week for their entire childhood, so they spent plenty of time with him. Of course I spent my entire life around my dad, so his "antics" rubbed off on me or were these traits already in my genetic makeup. Mark is making what I call "The Cheese" face.  Bobby is being very cavalier with giving the photographer "The Bird."  

Now you might think that these are totally "Dave" traits.  You can think that, but I see my dad in both of these things.  Perhaps I got it from him and passed it on--or my kids watched the both of us. My father was never shy about showing his funny side to the kids. As much as I asked him to be more conservative about his behavior around the kids he would just give me his stock answer, "I'm a Senior Citizen, I can do whatever I want!"  Well, how can you argue with that?  If you knew my dad that was just who he was.  

My question is this, would they be like this if they were orphans?

My friend Lora has a 22 year old daughter who has not really spent much time with her father.  He was not a nice man and they did not want to be around him.  What's interesting to me is how many traits the daughter exhibits that are just like her father! If you were to talk to Lora she would tell you it's uncanny. One very simple example is the way her daughter drinks an ice cold beverage. She will make a sucking noise to get a small amount of fluid every time she leans back to imbibe.  It is just like her father.  When Lora watches Delanie drink, it's like watching her ex husband.  How is it that something as simple as that can be passed on without observation(Nature?)

My grandpa lived in St. Louis,  stammered and stuttered when he was a boy.  I was born in 1963, he was born in 1907.  So when I started to stutter in first grade (1968) he was 61 years old. I never heard him stutter! My mom told me that he was picked on by kids (non-Irish) in the neighborhood ( they would surround him like wolves and attack him.  My great grandmother told him to put a rock in each hand  and swing like crazy when attacked.)  Sometimes an emotional event as traumatic as that can start a young man on the road to verbal roadblocks. My grandfather was a very eloquent speaker when I knew him.  

I stuttered when I was beaten and afraid at St. Catherines Military School.  Obviously "Nature" took over with this.  Somewhere in my DNA is a gene that expresses verbal dysfunction under duress.

My little six year old cousin Jackson was eating breakfast next to his grandpa (Cousin Ricky.)   Julie and I were watching and observing how their facial muscles were exactly the same in motion during mastication.  Now that's hard to copy (nature.) 

Giving "The Bird" and giving "The Cheese" Nature or Nurture?

I wonder how much choice we really have?

Trying to enjoy the journey.....can I?

In a couple of weeks, I am going on a cross-country automobile trip to Chicago.  My son Bobby is moving there and I offered to go with him so he wouldn't hazard this trip alone.  I am goal-oriented! 
No, I'm not trying to impress anyone with this on my resume...I am practically OCD! I have already made out a driving schedule for each day going through the SouthWest heading to the MidWest.  
What I haven't done is figured out how I am going to enjoy seeing everything that is new to me!  How will I slow down to enjoy the "Wow" factor of America?  And how about spending five exclusive straight days with my son (who I will probably not see for a couple of years) in the confines of a van? I'm just not thinking about any of that, only the goal of arriving in Chicago on time.
   I have always been this way.  I have a hard time enjoying the moment, usually living in the future.  What needs to be done next? That's my idiom.  I wish there was a middle ground for me.  
There can be, I just need to find it on my journey. 

I used to love digging when I was a boy.....

When I was a boy I loved to dig.  I was fortunate enough to have a backyard with a huge dirt lot.  My dad one time found a tunnel that was deep enough to hide me and three of my friends.  I don't know why it was so important.  Maybe the feeling of accomplishing a goal everyday (digging a little deeper.) Maybe it was the fact that I had made the perfect spot to win a game of "Hide and Seek." Maybe it was a place that I thought was all mine and I could just hide from the world.  It took me weeks to make that tunnel.  When my dad found it he made me fill it in.  I was disappointed, but that gave me another goal (filling it back in, which I accomplished.)
   Nowadays I don't dig any holes in the dirt.  I haven't had a garden in three years.  I loved digging in my garden.  I would take a shovel to the hard ground, turn it over and add mulch every year.  Then I would plant my tomatoes.  I loved that!  I have loved gardening since I was a boy and it is only in the last three years that I haven't had a garden.  I live with Julie in her little condo and there is no yard.  I have been offered by friends to come over and use their dirt for my garden, but that just doesn't seem to be the same.  I like the freedom to walk outside at any moment and look down at the growing little plants, picking weeds and watering when necessary. That represented "Freedom" to me.  Something that was completely mine that I took care of and that I produced a product which was so important to me.  It nourished my body and soul!
    I think the forefathers of our great nation had this in mind when they declared independence from our soverign in 1776.  We wanted to be left alone to dig, make our own sustanance and have the freedom to make our own choices.  Sometimes, I wish I was ten again and all I had on my mind was digging.

Can you dig it?

taking chance...will you?

It's funny how some people will cross a street without looking and others will wait for the car that is a mile away to pass before crossing a street.  Life is not always as dramatic as those examples, but you know what I mean.  Most people know what level of "risk" they are willing to take in life.

  Last month I had the pleasure of being taken to lunch by my son, Bobby.  We talked for two hours.  What really mattered the most was talking about his future.  He is moving to Chicago at the end of this month to start a new life there.  He wants to get into stage acting and comedy.  He has saved his money and found a place to live.  He will give it a try for a few years. 
What makes this decision difficult is that he has a young lady in his life. Her name is Katherine.  They have been friends for four years and are now dating, seriously.  Bobby told me that he thinks about being away from her and how hard that will be.  I asked many questions about her.  Mostly amounting to, "Is she a good partner?"  His answer was, "Yes!"  
   I told him that if he feels this way about her, perhaps he should ask Katherine to move out to Chicago with him.  He was afraid to ask her in case it didn't work out.  I told him, "What if it does?" He said again, "What if it doesn't?"  I told him, "You'll never know unless you try."  This went back and forth for a while.  He doesn't want to hurt her if the situation doesn't work out.  I understand, hurting people is not what we like to do.  I told him to think about it.
   Last weekend we had a party for the family.  Bobby brought Katherine and introduced her to our visiting Missouri family.  She reminds me of Julie.  Katherine is genuine, friendly, hard working, smiles a lot, and talks kindly to Bobby.  That last part is what I wanted most in a partner and I get it daily from Julie.  Anyway, at the party I found out that Katherine recently asked Bobby if he might want to have her come along and live together in Chicago.  He was relieved!  He just couldn't take the chance to hurt her. Katherine on the other hand didn't see any hurt in the future only hope for happiness.  Hope. I like Hope!
    Bobby is leaving for Chicago in a couple of weeks.  Katherine will join him in May.  She needs to finish some obligations before she goes.  I like that she understands what an obligation is!  Last weekend at the party I put up a Piñata for everyone to have fun with. I gave all our guests the chance to use a big stick or my ten foot bullwhip (yes, I own a bullwhip! I actually own two. I thought I would be the next Indiana Jones back in 1982. That story can wait for another post. )  I demonstrated with the whip and quickly knocked off one of the legs of the bull shaped Piñata.  Of the sixteen or so guests at our little party only Katherine took up the opportunity to try the whip on the Piñata.  I gave her a quick lesson, but it really takes a lot of practice and you do get whipped in the process from time to time.  As you can imagine, she ended up with a nice whip shaped welt on her leg.  She also ended up with the experience of trying a bullwhip.  She was all smiles.  A person has to be willing to go outside of their comfort-zone sometime to get what they want. It's not easy.
   Katherine took a chance...will you?

Misunderstood.........do you understand?

Look ahead in the road!  Do I mean look far away or is there an actual cranium in the road?
   I think that I explain myself probably too much when I talk simply because I don't want to be misunderstood.  Why does that bother me to be misunderstood?  I wish I knew.  Perhaps this goes back to my elementary school days at St. Caterines Military School.  Punishment was swift and aggressive back then.  Served with paddle, belt or a swagger stick!
   I have always wanted to be a teacher.  I feel that I am very patient and I like to give long drawn out explanations.  Some people may find these explanations take too much of their time. I don't want to be wrong or perceived incorrect.

In 1963 my father started his dental practice in Orange.  My mother and him had met other dentists in the area and asked for referrals of any patients when they were too busy.  They had made a full schedule of appointments for that first day.  By lunchtime no one had come through their door.  They were waiting for that little bell to announce someone had come inside.  They were discouraged and wondered what they had done wrong. Just then the phone rang and it was one of the patients that had been scheduled.  She told my mom, "I thought you were closed since your door is locked."  Misunderstanding.

1000 square feet... Saying thanks

Julie and I live in a two bedroom small condo.  She is selling it so we can move to a three bedroom moderate condo.  We feel with an extra bedroom we could let one of our kids visit or when our friend Steve Pniewski comes to town we can offer him a real bed in a real room.  Lately, when Steve visits he uses the blowup bed with Star Wars sheets (bought for Julie's seven year old nephew) and sleeps in the living room.  It's not perfect, but it works for now.  We also would like a little more room to share entertaining friends and family.  We both enjoy celebrating life!  We work so hard that sometimes we forget to "live." So if we had a little bigger place those celebrations would be easier and more doable.
   This little home has been the restaurant, park, theater, stage for so many parties and gatherings over the last four years. We celebrated Allison's 30th birthday, Valentines Day, Meet the Parents Day, Kentucky Derby Day, Mother's Day, Thanksgivings, Christmases, birthdays for nieces, nephews and siblings.  
Not once did this home complain.  She was so happy to be filled with love.  She has given her all with only a 1000 square feet.  For that, Julie and I are eternally grateful.  We will never forget this friend.
   When all the furniture is moved out and we are standing by the front door to lock it for the last time, we will say a very quiet "Thank You."  

Cousin Ricky...my fast four legged friend.

Today 'Cousin Ricky' is running in the third race at Los Alamitos Race Course.  Five years ago I owned a mare named "Impressive Flight." She was a very fast racehorse who won her first two races in England.  I paid to have a stud named "Council Member" sire her.  He was the last standing son of "Seattle Slew"--so you can imagine I had high hopes. 
  'Cousin Ricky' was born on March 30, 2011.  He had a brown coat with a white star on his forehead.  He was beautiful! I named him after my favorite cousin from St. Louis.  My REAL Cousin Ricky is the funniest, nicest, most "down to earth" man you will ever meet and he means the world to me. I usually named my horses after my children, but this horse seemed different. My Cousin Ricky is different (in a good way.) I was hoping this little colt would be too.
   As Cousin Ricky (the horse) grew, I would go and visit him every few weeks.  He would come up to me and sniff my hand to see if I had any treats for him.  I would brush his coat and pet his long nose. If I was in a happy mood he would act like a puppy by jumping around and being goofy with me.  If I was sad he would know it and would come over to me slowly and put his head on my shoulder as if to give my a hug. He was very intuitive.  Well, I would put my arms around him and hug him back. We were friends.  
   It's funny when you go into horse racing you do so for a variety of reasons, but one of them is to make money.  A business requires a certain number of hard decisions to stay profitable.  One of them involves the sale of assets.  Sometimes we would have to sell a horse to cover the expense of another, or to make a profit for that tax year. In 2012 I sold Cousin Ricky to some friends (a group of three people.)  Luckily they were close friends so it wasn't like I lost him at all.  In fact, I went to every race. Cheered him on until my voice became "hoarse." As you you know from previous blogs I also enjoy meeting interesting people at the races such as Dick Van Patten, Mel Brooks, Joel Grey and Bo Derek the star of the movie "Ten."
   In May of 2014 Cousin Ricky was coming off of two straight wins.  The trainer (Jeff Mullins) was concerned about his knees and felt that group needed to put him in a low claiming race.  If you knew that you had an asset that was not going to perform in the future, as a businessman you would have a fire sale to get rid of the merchandise.  That is exactly what this trainer was telling the owners--it was time to put him in a claiming race. Because of how costly it is to feed and train a racehorse, they agreed to the race.  When you enter a claiming race you are putting up your horse for a particular price.  If someone wants to buy your horse they need to fill out a claiming ticket and place it in a special box more than 15 minutes before the race.  As an owner of the horse, you do not know if someone claimed your horse until the end of the race when the box gets opened.  
   Cousin Ricky was the favorite in this particular claiming race.  He tripped coming out of the gate, but Drayden Van Dyke, the jockey, pulled him up quickly and raced him to the front. It looked as if he would win easily until the last 100 yards when he started to slow down.  "Runaway Que" ran past him and won by a "neck." I don't know what happened.  Maybe his knees started to hurt him, maybe the jockey didn't see the other horse coming.  It was over and he came in Second...  
    Then they opened the box.  And his name was on the claiming ticket.  A worker at the track placed a red tag on his halter which meant Cousin Ricky had been sold.  The new trainer sent over his groom to take Cousin Ricky to his new home.  We weren't even allowed to say goodbye.  This is the business.  
I drove home thinking about him. My thoughts revolved around how odd it would be that he would be in a different stall.  They may give him a different brand of feed.  The horses next to him would be strangers.  The groom who took care of him the past year wouldn't be there for him any more. 
He wouldn't see me ever again! He wouldn't hear my voice, he wouldn't feel my touch, he wouldn't sniff my hand.  I wouldn't feel his head rest on my shoulders again.  I was very sad at this loss. The drive home was very blurry, as my eyes were filled with the by-products of these thoughts.  It was a business, but a hard one.
   Cousin Ricky ran a couple of more times after that, but didn't do well.  Then we didn't see him in a race at all for eight months. My guess is they fixed his knees and gave him time to recuperate.  Cousin Ricky finally came back but didn't do well going long distances, so they shortened him up--and he got back to his winning ways last month at Los Alamitos!  
I will be cheering for him even though he belongs to somebody else. He will be on the far outside post when the gates open at 3:13 pm today. He will be wearing the #10 saddle cloth.  In my book he will always be a "Ten!" 

p.s. my birthday is 3-13

Drayden Van Dyke 

Cousin Ricky Ready to Run at Santa Anita

Cousin Ricky winning at Santa Anita

                                                Cousin Ricky as a baby sniffing my hand
                                                                         

Julie's seven year old nephew Elijah with Drayden Van Dyke

The REAL Cousin Ricky meets Cousin Ricky

What is a hero?

Growing up my idea of a "Hero" was someone who I wanted to become.  Someone everyone admired for what they could do that most of the public could not.  My hero's growing up were Nolan Ryan, John Wayne and Steve Martin. They were what I aspired to become.  I had no idea really what they were like in person, if they were nice or kind in addition to being Hero's.
  When I was sixteen my parents offered to watch a fifteen year old Down Syndrome Boy whose mother worked for them at their office. We spent three hours watching him for her as she attended some meeting.  This boy was a Whirlwind!  My younger brother and I followed him around, telling him to be careful, don't touch, watch out!  It was exhausting!  I can't give a better word for how I felt that night.  I was so thankful when it was done.
  His mother was sixty five when she dropped him off at our door step.  We watched him for three hours. Three Hours!! I was exhausted and I was sixteen.  Now, at the tender age of fifty two, I can't even imagine how she did it or possibly still does it.  He was not that high functioning of a Chromosome 21 diseased person.  
  When she left I told my dad that she was a "Hero."  I don't think he completely understood what I was saying, but I knew. My dad's idea of a hero was Clyde Beatty the lion tamer or Doc Severinsen the trumpet player.  This woman was a "Hero."  She probably didn't think so, she probably thought she needed to get up the next day to take care of her son and do their routine for living. I can guarantee that she never thought of herself as a hero, only as a mother. My definition of a "Hero" has changed since I was a boy.  Now I believe it to be "a person willing to put the needs of others above their own." I wish I could remember her name.  His name was "Carl." Some "Heroes" are nameless, just like in Arlington Cemetery.

Getting picked on in high School... Or How I learned to avoid a pitched egg!

    I remember the very first minute of high school.  I was in a hall way when the bell rang.  A kid about ten feet in front of me whipped around in response to the bell.  As he moved so quickly he lost control of the forty pack of pencils he had in his binder.  They flew everywhere.  Students grabbed the free pencils without any thought of the pain and embarrassment that the freshman was experiencing.  I just watched as the older students laughed and yelled, "free pencils."  I was so worried about my own existence that I didn't think about his.
   About a month into high school I can remember sitting on the practice field with Chris Hruby, Jim Mitzel and Kevin Sanders.  We were just minding our own business when Charlie Hernandez and  Don Ardanaz came up and started to make fun of us.  They said, "Why don't you guys go blow your horns!"  No one laughed as these guys and the other freshman football players thought they were being funny talking about how "gay" we were for being in the band.  Finally Chris Hruby said something very amusing about their lack of intelligence that made Charlie Hernandez feel very small.  Charlie told Chris "Go To Hell!"  Chris's response was, "I did, but they kicked me out for selling you Ice Cream!"  Charlie had no idea what to say to Chris.  He was so angry, yet he couldn't give an intelligent response. He challenged Chris to a fight immediately. Chris said, "No Thanks, I'm busy."  Luckily, Mr. Ickes came by just at that point.  
   Chris and I have been picked on, like so many other band members from so many years ago.  We have learned to deal with the hatred that came with just being a little bit different.  I wonder if this hatred made us select the mates that we ended  up with.  Perhaps that few minutes of hate--over and over again--made us think we were not worthy of a lifetime of love and kindness.  Or just kindness?  Chris and I have both had a very difficult time with our first mates.  Each one has taken more than they have ever given to us.  In each case, we thought that the nicer we were to them, the nicer they would be to us.  Each time we were wrong. During our High School days, we would smile and try our best to please the other kids in our class--by blowing our horns and marching in an entertaining way.  We didn't realize that we were only giving the other members of our class more reasons to make fun of us.  We really thought we were trying to make friends.  
That is what set us up for life.  
    I tease our friend Kelly Wilmot Cook about her throwing ice and eggs at me and my band mates during our games.  She never did! But, other members of our school did this to us--often!  Can you imagine your own classmates throwing ice and eggs at you because you performed for them????  If this happened in this day and age, you can imagine what kind of lawsuit would be attached to this school.  How is it that I have this kind of memory and yet still want to come to our class reunion?  How is it that Chris came to our 30th reunion?  What ever happened to Charlie and Don?  What do they remember? How many female classmates thought that Charlie and Don were dreamy and exciting back during the late 70's and early 80's?  How would they feel about them right now?  
None of us are perfect and none of us peak forever.  At some point our balloon loses air.  When it does will we be ready?  Chris and I have already been at the lowest amount of air, we are ready when that happens again.  Are you?

p.s.  The fall of our senior year Mr. Seil (our school counselor) came into our classroom and was handing out forms telling each student what type of college they could apply to based on their grades and activities.  He called out some folk and would say, "UC schools, Cal state schools, private schools or  Norte Dame (that was Nirvanah.)  As he called my name he said, "Lester you can go to any school you want!"  When he called Don Ardanaz he said, "US Army!"  Don walked up took the paper and went back to his seat with his head hanging low.  He never looked up again during that class.  I would like to say that I took the high road and didn't enjoy his pain. I would like to say that, but I can't. I did enjoy this moment. Some would say, "Karma"...?  I don't know about that, maybe he made fun of me because he wasn't as smart and he knew it.  Or maybe because I was just an easy target because I was smaller and in the band. No one likes to feel inferior, even if they feel this way in their own mind.  

p.s.s.  I hate to be so wordy, but here's another quick story.  Padraic Brown was another athlete who liked to show how strong he was against a stuttering 120 pound trombone playing "A" student.  I was  walking down a hallway when Padraic wearing his Letterman Jacket leaned his shoulder down and "Checked" me hard into a locker.  Him and his friend laughed as I picked myself up.  Thirty years later my good friend Steve Pniewski was in charge of the reunion.  Padraic was on the committee and we were going to meet at The Newport Rib company to discuss the menu for the party.  This was the first time we would see each other in thirty years.  I had prepared myself.  I was going to boast about being a doctor (yes, Steve I am a real doctor!) I was going to boast about owning race horses, having a beautiful head of hair, being in great shape and three beautiful kids.  Mostly, try and make him feel inferior to me.  
   When I got there he sat down right next to me and began to talk before I did.  He started to confide in me about his life and how he got divorced many years ago and didn't see his son for years.  I don't know why he felt comfortable telling me all this, but maybe he felt that I was a nice kid in high school and was a nice adult.  
Well, I didn't make him feel inferior. In fact, I felt so bad about what he was telling me that I put my arm around his shoulders and said, "Hang in there, life will get better." I went from an old hate to a sincere concern about his well being in a minute.  Unlike Don Ardanaz, I didn't get any satisfaction out of his misery.  
Maybe between 18 and 48 I grew a little.