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?