A Little Story

                             Just a Little Story

In the middle of a pandemic; international upset; conspiracy theory; propaganda and the big lie ---just a little story….

I have been trying to regain my tennis game.  Not that it was all that noteworthy, but a reasonable game to be regained.  My father played tennis for USC and squash at Harvard.  I was JV all the way and never was able to beat my father.  However, I love the game and it has become a focus for me since I returned to the Bay Area.  I have a regular game with my oldest son and have been hitting with a pro at a local tennis club.  Notably, my granddaughter Grace and I won a championship over Labor Day at my daughter’s tennis club where all of her children are excellent players.  Her husband has been influential as the number one player at Tufts University in Boston. 

 Two days ago, I went out to hit with the pro at their club.  To my surprise, my 12-year-old grandson was on the court with Sebastian the pro.  Hey Fred, Sebbe said,  Owen is going to take the lesson with you.  Are you ok with that?  Of course, I said.

We played a game of 2 v. 1 to 9 points a game.  Owen was not allowed to drop shot me since I can’t run that fast.  Other than that, it was everyone playing hard.  My forehand is my best stroke and Owen figured that out quickly and pounded my backhand all afternoon.  Just to emphasize the level of play here – Owen is crushing the ball and I am hitting as hard as I can.  The pro? He is trying pretty hard.  The three of us played for over an hour and one-half.  Since he was winning, Owen would have played longer but the pro and I were done.  The best part of the entire experience you might ask? As Owen is getting on his scooter to go home, he turns to me and says “GP ( my nickname) You are getting better!!”

Coming from a 12-year-old it was high praise.

It is all about being present and available.

C’mon man – “ you’re getting better”. high praise indeed.

Connectivity

Connectivity

I was busy this week and thinking about what to write.  What I was busy with became the topic of this post.  Connecting.   It doesn’t matter if you are related, work with, play with, talk to…If you do not take the time to reach out and connect, those relationships will wither and maybe even die on the un-watered vine.  I had lived the last many years somewhat isolated from friends and family.  What I learned --- when you are not physically close, you have to take a lot of time writing or calling to maintain and deepen those relationships.  If you are not connecting, those relationships cannot flourish.  Since I have moved closer to my family and friends, my connections have improved.  I now play a regular tennis game with my oldest son; I speak frequently to my daughter (mother of 4); I speak multiple times to my younger son and daughter; I played and won a tennis tournament with my granddaughter; I have connected with old business partners and now serve on a valuable research board.  You might think, of course, I have improved my connection with those people because I am physically close to them.  However, the surprising part is that I am closer to my friends and family that live many miles from me?  Many are kind enough to write through my blog, and that has heightened my attention to recognize the time that passes between phone calls or messages.  I am more cognizant of the important people in my life and the importance of keeping the conversation going.  When there are long gaps in communication something else fills that void.  Texting and email are “old school”,  replaced by Instagram, Twitter, etc., but the value of in-person or voice communication is still the most effective way to expose your true feelings.  To protect our fragile egos, we have developed all sorts of communication venues that will either mask our feelings or give us the strength to express them without retribution.  The extraordinary effort by my friends and relatives to stay in contact has given me a gift of infinite value.  To be sure, it is a mutual effort.  The result has been a full understanding of our lives, our issues, and problems but most of all it demonstrates every day how much we care about each other.   I write to express feelings but the human voice is still the most powerful.  When I hear your voice, I feel your happiness and your pain.  I am honoring the effort we make to communicate directly.  To feel the happiness and the sadness through your voice is the direct route to the heart.  Never forget that the keyboard is like negotiating through a third party it mutes my feelings.

For all those that make an effort to stay connected --- thank you.

With love

Fred

9-11-2001

Tuesday, September 11, 2001

September 3rd was Labor Day in 2001.  I had been in NYC with my children and was due to return to San Francisco the following week on Tuesday.  As often happens in NYC the weather turns beautiful when the calendar turns to the ninth month of the year.  So, it was this year as we enjoyed the final week of summer.  Tuesday the 11th was the first day of school.  After saying goodbye to my son and daughter, I headed to JFK.  Simon drove me to the airport as he had done many times in the past.  I was a frequent flyer on American during its time as the premier business airline before it devolved into the excuse it is today.  Customarily I would go straight to the Admirals’ Club to check-in for my flight to San Francisco.  I knew the women who worked behind the desk.  They were always helpful.  Saying hello to Stephanie she told me she had checked me in and the flight was on time.  I was early, sat down, and started to read the New York Times.  I watched the monitor at what appeared to be an object hitting one of the towers of the World Trade Center.  At that time many reporters were assuming it was a private aircraft that had gone terribly off course.  At that moment Stephanie came up to me and said Mr. Steck the airport will be shutting down in the next few minutes.  You will have to leave; I have rented you a car at Hertz.  It was the last one, you need to go now.  I would never see her again.  Not because of some tragedy but because the world of travel would never be the same and the luxury of breezing up to the Admiral’s Club was gone forever.  I arrived at the Hertz counter by bus, and indeed, I was given the last car in the parking lot.  The immediate issue was where would I go? I was on an island as in Long Island – hence the name.  All bridges, trains, roads, and airports were closed.  I could not return to Manhattan although I could speak to my children, who were now safe at their mother’s home.  Due to the extraordinary generosity of a dear friend, I was able to stay in a spectacular home on the beach in Sagaponack.  Unless you were a permanent resident of Sagaponack,  no one was traveling to the Hamptons.  It was uniquely and beautifully quiet.   A combination of guilt and ineptitude overtook me.  Guilt because I was living in a beautiful place that was completely divorced from the reality that was unfolding 100 miles away.  Inept because the world had stopped moving.  Every day I would wait to speak to American Airlines to see if and when flights would resume.  I would debate the idea of driving to San Francisco or taking the train.  I was working by phone but even that was a challenge as, unlike today, there was no access to the platforms that have transformed the office into the home. Obviously, we have recovered and moved forward, but we are not the same. Many of us cannot recover and all of us should remember.

Tragedies are localized.  In the middle of these horrible world events, so many of us are just far enough away to not be affected.  The movie Casablanca had very little to do with history or reality except it is a dramatization of people who live a markedly different life in the middle of a world crisis.  The current pandemic is an example of how chaos and crisis are very localized.  Covid becomes real when a friend is sick or dies. However, for those untouched, mask-wearing and social distancing become a political issue. 

On this 20th anniversary of the attacks on the US,  I am remembering how I spent those days attached to the horror through phone and television while walking the beach on a spectacular fall day.  I am reminded of the need to have and develop a keen sense of empathy for those that live in the eye of the storm.  We cannot all live the same challenges, experience the same sadness, but we can acknowledge the truth of others’ struggles. We can embrace the truth of the other man’s challenge, seek understanding and help when and where we are able.

Blessings

Dog Days of Summer

The Dog Days of Summer

The period in the zodiac between July 3 – August 11th or 20 days before and after the alignment of Sirius with the Sun. Generally considered the most oppressive days of summer --- days that are not “fit for a dog”. 

For me, the “Dog Days” are now. The last week of August and the first week of September. Gone is that initial warmth of summer when you leave the house for the first time without an extra layer.  The gap in your daily schedule that was filled with chauffeuring the children is suddenly and deliciously filled with the opportunity to have a moment to yourself.  Those sounds and smells of summer are now a distant memory.  Suddenly replaced with a new school, the trauma of new teachers, friends, routine, and every other thing under the sun.  I always felt the “dog days “ were these days.  The end of summer when it was still hot.  My children and I referred to these days as the three “H’s” --- hazy hot and humid.  An especially meaningful description of the miserableness that is New York City at this time.

It is so dry here in California and it appears the State is burning up. Crises are everywhere and we are just exhausted. The “Dog Days of Summer” is an apt description of how I feel as we limp towards Labor Day.  The promise of shorter days and cooler temperatures. The smell of leaves as early decay sets in on the landscape. Mother Nature finally allows the trees to rest and the fires have hopefully exhausted themselves leaving their trail of destruction.  The lack of resolution surrounds us ——— tragedy, war, death, illness, poverty.  The finger pointers and the liars are rewriting history. Instead of pulling together, we are pulling apart. Denying the obvious need for change by rewriting history, lying, and self-promotion. There was nothing relaxing about this summer. Fall holds the hope of renewal as what is left of the freshness of spring and early summer dies and falls to the ground. Autumn brings rest for nature and the hope that winter brings much need moisture to a world in need of water. It is my favorite time of year, Wouldn’t you like a word that encapsulates the renewal that fall announces. The hope and joy of that fall smell as you kick through that pile of leaves. Much to my surprise, there is a German word for exactly that feeling as we kick through those old leaves in hopes winter will wipe the slate clean for next summer.

HERBSTLAUBTRITTVERGNÜGEN.

Hairbst-laowb-tritt-fair-gnuu-ghen

“Kicking through piles of autumn leaves”

GRATEFUL

I am struggling to find a positive topic today. Then I take stock of where I live and the joys of day to day life in the United States. It is not the usual listing of freedoms that our leaders pontificate on or the ones that they are trying to limit or outright take away. It is instead that freedom to awake in the morning knowing that something is possible and you are allowed to attempt to achieve it.

History is a subject that the majority of our “leaders” fail to either know or understand. Here are a few facts that would help you to understand what is going on halfway around the world in Afghanistan. There are approximately 38 million people that live in Afghanistan, a country 1.6 times larger than California. The female population is roughly 48%. There were 20 million people in 2000. Most of the Taliban hierarchy lives outside the country and there are no women in that leadership group. The average age of Afghans is 18.4. The average age of Americans is 38.4. Most of the young women born after the Taliban fall in 2001 have never known what it is like to live in a country ruled by an oppressive male dominated government. There are 6 countries that surround Afghanistan. The largest borders are shared by Iran and Pakistan. Both countries whose governance is dominated by men.

So when you awake this morning, think about all the possibilities the new day affords you. You can think about voting for someone who wants to take away your reproductive rights, your voting rights or your right to the truth. Or you can think about the 16 million Afghan women who in the blink of an eye lost their right to show their faces, speak, produce children with a man of their choosing, to be educated, to pursue a vocation of their choosing. Most of all they lost their right to the possible…

We should be grateful…..

There is no ”I”…

The thin line between doing the right thing for yourself and doing the right thing,,,

Thought I would do a little light reading last night --- The Constitution of the United States.  The preamble of this document is copied below along with the last line.  I was struck by the fact that the only pronoun used in this document is the pronoun “WE”.  Like the expression “there is no ‘I’ in team,” there is no “I” in the Constitution.  We must be appalled by the narrow-mindedness of the small thinkers that occupy leadership positions in this country.  Those that defend your right to be selfish.  Nowhere in the Constitution does it address your right to be shellfish.  We do have the ability to speak freely; we do have the right to our spiritual beliefs; we do have many rights which allow us to lead lives as we so choose.  However,  in the face of a countrywide crisis, rather a global crisis, we do not have the right to be selfish.  I do not have the right to make you or anyone else sick just because I can or because I believe in a false narrative that the government is somehow usurping my freedom by requiring me to follow simple health guidelines to protect my fellow citizens.   If you are foolish enough to believe the government does not know where you are right now you are naive.  We the people are here to form a more perfect union and we are here to secure the welfare of all citizens.  Just because you do not want to does not mean that is your right. Abbotts, DeSantis, McCarthy, Noem insist on your right to not care about your effect on others. 

They use the term” personal choices” to support their lack of leadership.  Nowhere in any US Governance document does it address my right to a personal choice that can make a member of your family sick.   These are small-minded people with the knowledge that they do not need everyone to get re-elected. They are speaking to a misguided constituency who does not understand what this country is supposed to be.  We are enormously flawed but we are also enormously hopeful in our view of what we think we are or what we think we could be.  Narrow-minded leaders are similar to organizations that fail to change and innovate..  Those that do not innovate will perish under the weight of their closed thinking.  I am reminded of the fact that in this life we cannot go it alone. We are most successful when we stand up to the bullies and when we work as a team.  My work experience is full of stories where our biggest successes were because of our ability to work together. My personal success is in large part the work of the many people that have helped me and continue to help me in my pursuits. I am repulsed by the intolerant leaders who exalt their defense of the Constitution and the rights of the individual.  Yes, there are rights but there is no “I” in the description of those rights.  There is no place that it says you can cause pain and suffering on another; there is no place that the Constitution says you can inflict emotional pain on another through transmitting a disease that will prematurely take a loved one.  Here is how I think about using the pronoun “I”. I pray that we will expel the small-minded leaders that say we do not need to do the simplest things to mitigate this global pandemic.  I hope we can show the selfish leaders that their focus on protecting their job is not why they were elected.. I hope we can stand up and express a voice of inclusion, a voice of protection, a voice of solution.  Being tagged as Conservative or Liberal does not definitely make you selfish.  These are broad political terms.  Those who define themselves as conservative by denying that the Constitution is about “We” are not critical thinkers. If you cannot treat someone with dignity and respect why would we ever think you can lead. They are the bully in the playground seeking attention.  People on this planet need help,  claiming that I have some ill-defined right to walk through this life without acknowledging the needs of others is selfish and small-minded.

This is a time to stand up to the bullies to acknowledge the strength in a team approach and a solution-driven approach to solving a crisis of health and welfare for all.  

 “We the People of the United States in order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, ensure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare (to promote the basic physical and material well-being of people in need) and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity (all future generations of people or Decedents of people), do ordain and establish this Constitution of the United States of America.”

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

Entlistungsfreude

ENTLISTUNGSFREUDE

ent-liss-toongs-froy-duh

The sense of satisfaction afforded by crossing things off lists

I’m baaaack!--- with another incredible German Word that encapsulates the very feelings we have when experiencing life’s average activities.  As we approach the 18th of August I think about my father as that is his birthday.  He was a consistent list maker.  I can still envision his yellow-lined legal pad with every line filled with things that needed to be accomplished.  Some had lines through them to indicate that the task had been completed.  We teased him about keeping lists, but at the same time, we had fear of being on the list.  I am a horrible procrastinator and feel keeping a list would be a good thing for me and my efficiency.  My mistake was I always thought I could keep the list in my head.  I often ran out of storage space but where do you purchase more brain storage.  It is not in the Apple store.  There are different styles of list keepers.  My mentor kept a fresh cup of sharpened pencils at the ready-to-take notes and was never without a 3 x 5 note card for that purpose.  When I kept notes they were usually on a “post-it” or a scrap of paper or in the margins of a newspaper or the reverse side of food product packaging.   The real note-takers were like my father. A yellow legal pad or a bound notebook is for the professional list keepers.  Those were and are definitely more efficient and more professional for the serious note and list maker.  Of course, I can now take notes on my phone or electronic device.  Honestly, these devices cheapen the activity. As my favorite commercial for a Mexican beer would say…” I don’t always make lists but when I do I prefer a yellow-lined notepad”. Although we can make our lists on our phone, computer, or any electronic device, they lack the extreme satisfaction of physically crossing out a list item.   It is the physical motion of ridding yourself of just one more thing to do.  When the list is completely lined out it is a physical representation that you actually accomplished something with your day.  Somehow deleting it from your phone does not provide that true representation of completion. A list is like painting a room – making the list is the preparation of the walls, crossing things off the list is the actual painting and when the list is completely crossed off ---- you stand back and feel that immediate sense of accomplishment.  However, like the room you just painted there is always another room to paint and another list to make.  Lists provide things that your colleagues cannot; self-motivating – only five more items; Self-critical --- I haven’t done anything on this list; Self-rewarding --- I really did a lot today; Representing yourself – here are last weeks list. Self-satisfaction – look what I did.

No matter how you keep your list or what drives you to maintain your list, one thing a list will always give you----ENTLISTUNGSFREUDE

Damn it!!! Where did I put that list?

SPACE

Space has been in the news recently, especially since the tone-deaf richest man in the world thanked us all for funding his 4-minute joy ride.  Let’s be clear this was no better than a very expensive carnival ride into just enough atmosphere or lack thereof to see the curvature of the earth and an excuse to spray champaign over his paid audience.  I have been thinking about space in a less spectacular but perhaps more relevant fashion.  When I lived in NYC working in the financial service industry, space seemed particularly important to everyone around me.  It wasn’t near space or deep space it was much closer to home. Specifically, the size of your dwelling.  The discussion was not about propinquity but about the size of the capsule surrounding you.  The first question was--how big? Not where it was or what the neighbors were like but how many square feet.  I am thinking of buying a house in the Hamptons.  First question--how big is the house? Now I am not picking on NYC, I experienced the same proclivity to size in California. The focus on space was more specifically the focus on the space you and your small body occupy.  I fell into this morass of comparative relevance. I signed on to the “space race”.  I bought and occupied a lot of space when I purchased a large ranch and subsequently built a large home.  There were many wonderful moments during that occupation but the moments had little to do with the size of the space those moments occurred.  Late last year I was able to relieve myself of all of this space.  Now I live in what would be considered small space.  On a comparative basis it is not very impressive but….

I was walking to dinner the other night.  It was actually the night after Mr. Tone-Deaf’s wild ride.  What came to mind was not how little space I occupied or owned but how I felt at that moment.  I was more aware of the feeling of freedom, the cool breeze; the independence of not being in an enclosed space.   I was feeling my surroundings, cognizant of my steps, my breathing, and the world around me.  I was focused on the immediate experience of the space that I occupied.  What makes the experience unique is how I feel and who I am with.  The size of the room is of little importance if I am truly engaged.  We occupy a very small space, the intimacy of it depends solely on how we engage with each other not the grandeur of the building.   Being in a castle or a one-room cabin, our space is of no importance to the actual interaction between us.  Having a large space might be impressive but it is only impressive to people who value confinement.  It has nothing to do with the value of our intersection. What I have learned in the last year is the value of making use of the space around me no matter the size.

“Now it’s time to leave the capsule if you dare

This is Major Tom to Ground Control

Ground Control to Major Tom

Can you hear me, Major Tom?”

---David Bowie

A Star

It doesn’t have to be a Michelin star or even two or three

Living in NYC and working in the financial service industry I was focused on ratings at restaurants.   I was usually entertaining and thought that was important to clients.  When a treasured friend of mine went to work for one of the most successful restaurateurs in the US,  I started to focus a little more on what makes a restaurant memorable.  Along that ride, I became friends with several people who had decided that this most challenging business should be their life pursuit.  Surely the interest in restaurants finds its basis in the very act of preparing food for another person.  It is,  aside from—you know, the other thing –  one of the most intimate of human acts --- the experience of preparing nourishment for family, friends, or those in need.   I love talking restaurants with the people in the business.  A lovely couple who owns a restaurant think they bore me with restaurant talk but I thoroughly enjoy talking shop although I do not own a restaurant.  It is the preparation of sustenance, that intimate act that draws people to this industry.  I love going into their restaurant.  Why? Because they love it.  Another couple from Italy owns a small restaurant in Sausalito. They work seamlessly together.  Ask her what the special is and you will be greeted with a detailed explanation of why this salad is an experience in travel to her home town.  It is her life experience that is being presented to you in the form of special preparation.  Ask her to pick out a wine and you can hardly wait to hear the enthusiastic presentation of its unique qualities.  What makes a restaurant memorable is the journey it takes you on and the demonstrable love that your guide exudes.

I have been fortunate enough to attend many well-regarded restaurants, many of these sported some number of stars.  In the end, these rankings are really just the opinion of an organization or an individual.  I suppose it is valuable if you are in unfamiliar territory similar to why you need a map if you are lost.  Food and wine rankings serve a function but they don’t serve the experience.  A Robert Parker rating is a good clue but, in the end, it is “his” view and not your unique experience.  The quality of the restaurant is the quality of the overall experience.  Think of the number of times you exited a restaurant without taking a moment to reflect.   The restaurants that leave us with a glow of having experienced something special are the true stars.  Amongst the many things that make this activity so difficult, is the challenge of bringing your best act every night.  A successful Broadway play is entertaining every night, but the actors don’t have to create new words or music. But if you are trying to create a unique dining journey, you have to innovate constantly.

 How the restaurant and its “actors” make you feel is the most important ingredient in tonight’s specials.  There are no rankings that can capture the personal capital given by those restaurants that we love from the moment you walk in the door.  Of course, the food is important however, there are so many other factors that make Bell’s of Los Alamos a sophisticated memorable French experience in a one-street town, or the party atmosphere you feel at Santa Ynez Cucina from the moment you walk in; or the trip to Balsamo, Italy you can experience through the warmth and enthusiasm while dining at  Sandrino in Sausalito. These restaurants are stars as each experience is beautiful, unique, and delicious

Search for the restaurant that owns your emotions as well as your palate.  You know – the one you are still talking about the next day.

A Chance Encounter

The other night I was having dinner at a lovely little Italian restaurant in Sausalito.   There are several things I like about this restaurant. It is owned by a hardworking couple from Bolzano, Italy in the Trentino-Alto Adige Region.  They will speak in Italian as I am trying to learn Italian.  The food is fantastic.  I was sitting on my own with an open table next to me.  A young couple came in with a baby about 3 years old.  The mom sat next to me while the husband retreated outside with the baby.  She communicated with her husband on the phone as they decided what to order.  I turned to her and said there is plenty of room for your child on the bench and suggested that her husband should come and join her. She replied that it would be a bother as her son had a lot of energy.  I explained I had five children and many grandchildren and that it would definitely not be a problem. She tried to convince her husband that it was indeed ok for them to sit down together in a restaurant as a family.

 While she was waiting for her husband and son to come in, she turns to me and said “I just never know when my son will behave.  We both work and I worry that I am not being a good mother.”

I was struck by the idea that she felt compelled to tell a stranger about an intimate fear that I suspect many mothers have concerning their children and the multiple roles mothers play in their family and the outside world.  There is so much judgment surrounding the way we behave by others.  Somehow, those that judge manage to compartmentalize their own inadequacies when casting judgment on others.  I remember when my first wife and I were taking our first child to San Diego on a vacation in La Jolla.  She (the baby not my wife) cried the entire trip.  I am pretty sure if they had taken a vote the other passengers would have thrown her off the plane (the baby not my wife).  I experienced a similar scene recently on a trip to Denver.   We were packed into the cattle car know as Southwest Airlines. There was a mother alone with her baby and three-year-old.  The baby cried the entire trip.  I felt so badly for the mother as there is literally nothing you can do to alleviate the problem.  What was different about this flight was the people that actually tried to help her.  Trapped in this tin can we all landed safely and the baby fell asleep upon landing.  I am sure you all have noticed that the airlines have literally taken all the romance, adventure and fun out of traveling – what a miserable experience the airlines have created moving people from one place to another. Again, I digress – back to the mothers and judgment. 

The young mother sitting next to me had a career as did her husband but it was she that felt doubt about her success as a mother.  I convinced her that her husband and child would be welcome in this small restaurant.  They were a super cute family.  How sad that she should be concerned about her qualities as a mother.    Her husband had no such concerns as to the potential conflict between work and parenting.  In truth, it is the men that create the cultural challenges that plague women and their self-esteem and concerns over their success as either mothers or careers.  In western culture, we believe we are making progress as to equality and opportunity.  In the eastern world broadly defined, women face a steeper incline to equality.  The cultural differences between the east and the west are complicated and not easily defined. I would be presumptuous to take on defining the multiple differences in this blog.  What this encounter with this young mother brought to my attention was the difference between our broad understanding of equality and how it plays out on the small stage of a young family.  On the surface this family was charting their course as we would assume people do today --- they both have jobs; can enjoy a night out and start a family. In the best of times, all of these things have their challenges and successes.  Yet for all of the outward positiveness of their pathway, this young mother is questioning her role, her ability, and the outcome. The depth of these conflicts in real-time in her world is severe enough that she discusses it with the guy sitting alone on the banquet of a small restaurant.  I like to think at least she picked the right person to express those fears .…

Vernissageversuchung

Vernissageversuchung

Vehr-niss-sarje – fair-zoo-cchoong

       Vernissage-temptation

“The urge to test whether paint marked “wet paint” really is still wet”

 I am driving in the city, there is a police car in front of me.   I think about how surprised he/she would be if I hit the police car. Now I am not talking about a full-scale crash. No, just a tap to let them know I am back here.  Now I have discovered a word for just this kind of thinking.  Vernissageversuchung!!  It is my first thought when I see the “wet paint” sign – I wonder if it is still wet—I’ll just tap it to see…   just ever so lightly touch the paint and sure enough --- it is wet.  Now, what to do?  Walk away ? or the other inexplicable thought—- I can make it better by rubbing it so that it blends into the untouched part.  Neither of those choices is either possible or satisfying.  One of my personal favorites is “no parking”.  Surely that is for everyone else.  The issue is I have a high percentage of parking where I am not supposed to and nothing happens, which only encourages me to ignore such signs in the future.  Same with Do Not Enter – for everyone else.

Is it just arrogance as we travel through space in our self-absorbed mode of transport? Are all the warnings just for the other person?  Are we that special?  In need of constant reassurance or are we still children needing to test it out for continuing ed.?   Think of the frozen pole.  As many times as we see the kid’s tongue get stuck on the frozen pole, we are pretty sure it will not happen to us.  At their earliest stage, babies start learning to distinguish themselves from outside objects.  They soon learn not to put their hand on the hot stove.  Now babies have an excuse after all they just showed up to the party.  But what is our excuse when we do things that we know will have a negative result and we do them anyway.   The idea that the world is centered around us as individuals come in various sizes.  Touching the wet paint could be just curiosity, tapping the police car is just naughty and risky. Doing the wrong thing purposely is a combination of arrogance and self-centeredness arising from failure to distinguish the self from external objects. That is the baby’s excuse, for the adult, it is a feature of mental disorder -- narcissism, hubris, or just stupidity. 

Somehow when we do something that we know will have a negative result, we do it anyway.  Is it arrogance or selfishness involving a sense of entitlement, a lack of empathy, and a need for admiration---narcissism ---- sound familiar? Fill in the blank and you will define a long list of featured political and governmental leaders.  The perfect example is Ted Cruz’s trip to Mexico while his entire state of Texas is in crisis.  He had to know it was wrong, but he did it anyway. Clearly, the paint was wet and he chooses to sit on the bench.  For most of us, the result is small and annoying but for people in power, the inability to recognize and heed warning signs has consequences well beyond cleaning the paint off of your fingers.   The fact that they cannot or choose not to recognize their faults is a very big reason and perhaps the only reason to not put them in positions of power in the first place.  However, we, too, touch the wet paint….

SONNTAGSLEERUNG zohn - tahgs - leh - roong

SONNTAGSLEERUNG

Zohn – tahgs – leh-roong

In the short time that I have been seeking understanding of how writers are published, I discovered most writers are willing to share their thoughts on the “how” of publishing and thoughts on how one improves their writing,  In the time that I have been in the Bay Area I  met two writers that have been seriously helpful.  One lent me a book that I will focus on over the next several writings.  Those who follow my blog will remember “Surdenfraudeh”. 

I have been trying to learn Italian.  As I have said it would have been better if I had started 50 years ago but I did not.  In my study of languages, I found German to be a challenging and intimidating language.  Given my German heritage, I was nonetheless interested.   One of the unique parts of the German language is the combination of words that become a singular word with a  meaning that can encompass complex emotions.  Mark Twain said it this way “These things are not words; they are alphabetical processions.”  In the next few weeks, I am going to explore some of these “alphabetical processions” and delve into how I relate.

The first word I have decided to explore is Sonntagsleerung. It is apropos as I usually finish my blog on Sunday evening and then schedule it to post Wednesdays.

I have been plagued by the Sunday depression for as long as I can remember.  Most definitions of this condition indicate that depression comes from the anticipation or dread of the coming work week or a future event. For me, this definition is more akin to anxiety or dread as in a term paper is due on Monday; you are to appear in court; a bill is due; a client meeting and on and on. I am not sure that is depression as much as it is anxiety or just  anticipation (like Carly Simon’s song by the same name) “We can never know about the days to come but we think about them anyway Anticipation, anticipation”)  The Sunday “blues” or sonntagsleerug occurs because something has concluded.  Sundays start out well enough.  You sleep in a little; maybe linger over coffee a little longer; kids stay on the computer a little longer---Sunday mornings are stretched out and softer.  That is, of course, unless you have decided you need to go to church, and then you have created a whole other source of anxiety and scheduling. Let me not digress.  Sunday morning is generally pleasant and fun but as the day moves forward the conclusion comes closer.  For me, that is when that feeling of maybe a bad piece of fish found its way into your stomach as it begins to feel unsettled.  The bathroom does not hold the solution.  It is just that feeling of unease: like a first date or your turn at the plate or you are about to give your speech.  Whatever biological occurrence begins when things are just not settled it is that feeling that comes upon me Sunday afternoon.  Then I start thinking about everything ending.  Honestly, I try to think about Dr. Seuss’s famous line “Don’t cry because it is over, smile because it happened”.  I gain some solace for the moment I recall these words but it is temporary relief.

It’s the conclusion of something you really enjoyed against the insecurity of something you might not, with a dash of loneliness for good measure.

I just cannot find the words to fully and accurately describe the feeling of depression on Sunday so I found one:

Sonntagsteerung

Father Time / Father’s Day II

Father Time

Time is relative to expectation.  I spent Father’s Day with my youngest son and his fiancé.   I would have, of course, enjoyed spending time with all of my children, however, given they live in different parts of the world, time and distance prevented that occurrence.  We had a fantastic time together.  Time flew by and then it was over.  When each of my 5 children were born it seemed that there was nothing but time to enjoy their growing up.  But now that they are adults the time, in retrospect, like my Father’s Day weekend just flew by.  The speed at which time travels is a matter of perspective.  When my children reach out to me or I reciprocate time slows down.  When I don’t hear from them time accelerates.  The speed of time is siloed in the experience associated with the event.  I moved into a new home and would like to remodel it.  However, the city and its regulations are making that process difficult.  In this effort, time is moving very slowly and additionally frustrating.  Once the project is completed and I look back I undoubtedly will remark on how much time has passed since I moved to this new location.

As a father of five, I have been extraordinarily fortunate.  These individuals are well on their journey which like aleatory music will at times appear random but hopefully be rewarding. The unknown will slow time.   For them, the process to this point may have appeared to take a long time yet as that journey proceeds time will accelerate and they will wonder where the time went.  Along with speed, we forget much of that time.  The more that I am able to see them and experience part of their journey time moves at a more leisurely pace.  For my children who live a long journey away, time will move faster for without the luxury of witnessing their journey time will live in the past. My experience with my children has for the most part been an exhilarating journey full of accomplishment and pride.   For those fathers less fortunate either through economic position or health, the time has moved slowly.  If you could choose which pace time moves in this respect it would be a difficult choice.   I want time to slow down; however, as their father, I only wish my children’s life path to be a smooth one. 

This Father’s Day brought up a diverse set of emotions and curiosity as I reviewed the time I have been given to share the lives of these wonderfully accomplished individuals.  The price one pays for the opportunity to excel and enjoy life’s experience is the speed at which time travels.  For me, the time has moved at an accelerated pace.  Yet the more time I allocate to those that I love and care for the easier it is to apply the breaks on time.  One week after Father’s Day I am thankful for the time allotted to me to experience the incredible journey my five children are traveling.

Tick tock, tick tock

Happy Father’s Day

Last Sunday was Father’s Day in the US.  There are similar holidays in countries around the world, celebrated at different times of the year. As an example, Italy celebrates fathers on March 19th.  I have written about mothers and the incredible load they carry in the family.  In a world trying, at least in some countries, to embrace broader equality, establishing well defined roles for Mothers and Fathers has been challenging.  My prospective of what it is and means to be a father is determined in large part by my experience as a son. My experience with my father was not perfect but then I have not been perfect either.  However, when you look at the entirety of his work my father was an valuable role model. He was an excellent father.

Fathers have a unique role in a child’s life.  I am not establishing a value of importance or influence between mothers and fathers, but they are different and their influences are unique. Even if those roles are merged or carried singularly. Mothers role is all encompassing especially those mothers who work and raise their children.  Even in families where child raising is shared, the father brings a certain power that is not better than, but different from the mothers.  Mothers are kind, nurturing and supportive.  Fathers present an image we are trying to measure up to or an approval we are trying to gain. This is equally observed by both sons and daughters.  It is no longer the province of sons.   For a father, this is a heavy responsibility that often can go wrong.   Children need to have a father that brings a benchmark that is positive and of value.  This Father’s Day I am thinking of my father as a father and about his son that became a father.  My father passed away twenty-two years ago.  He was an accomplished individual.  Living up to those standards has been, at times, an uphill battle. .  He was a respected attorney who was practicing law until the day he was taken to the hospital.  He was in demand until the end.  An accomplished tennis player, sailor, piano player and father.  Although we grew up in a “traditional” middle class home my father treated my two sisters and I equally.  We could all throw a baseball, play tennis, sail and most important achieve intellectually.  He prepared his children to support themselves in the world to come.  I was not afraid of my father but respected him greatly as he was well written and thoughtful.  There was nothing “shoot-from-the-hip” about him.  He was detail oriented and researched all subjects. I did not always agree with him, but his DNA and style of family governance remains with me.  He was orderly and took care of his possessions .  There was orderliness and then there was his order.  I am not sure he knew exactly what I did as a career, but I wanted him to be proud of me.  It is what fathers continue to bring to the family dynamic.  We just want our fathers to be proud of us.  Somehow, we just assume our mothers will be but our fathers need proof.

Parents set the stage and are watched and as children we observe their every move.

My father set a tone in the household and as I have aged, I have realized just how important his example was. He did not distinguish between male and female.  It was equally important that his daughters were every bit as successful and as prepared for success as his son. Certainly, in male dominated cultures and households, that is not always the case.  My sisters were also skilled athletically which is attributed to his working with all of his children on their athletic skills.  He was detailed and organized. Perhaps a little OCD but, hey, a little OCD goes a long way. His interest in gardening and dedication to his roses has been engrained in his three children.  He was brilliant, a certifiable genius.  Now I am not claiming I received all of that but my two sisters certainly did – Stanford, Columbia, Law school etc., etc.  His strong work ethic; moral compass; his advice wasn’t always the advice you wanted to hear but it was always even handed, non-judgmental and well thought out.  He understood his role as patriarch and was always there to help you consider all the ramifications of the problem. He also understood importance of family and of being there when things came off the rails.  He was not a wealthy man but when it came to family, health and education there was no budget.

I am hopeful that I have embraced many of these qualities as I am a father of five.  So, on this Father’s Day I am thinking about my father and all he passed on to me consciously and unconsciously.  What I miss most is his good counsel.  Not the solution but the voice when I needed someone to talk to.  I said the same at his funeral – “ I miss you dad, I miss being with you but most of all  I miss your good counsel.”

Happy Father’s Day.

Emil Steck, JR. 1912-1999

Schadenfreude: shaa-duhn-froy-duh

The sense of enjoyment upon hearing the problems of others. “Jeremy had a feeling of schadenfreude when his ex-wife’s second marriage failed.”

My daughter mentioned this word to me the other day.  I struggled to admit that I did not know the word; its definition, nor how to use it.

Schaden damage + Freude joy

Donald Trump’s coronavirus infection draws international sympathy and a degree of schadenfreude

When we first discussed it, I was amused as I thought about all the times, I have felt a sense of schadenfreude.  When you experience failure and then that same failure is experienced by another you have a sense of pleasure at the failure but it also validates your own miscue.  It proves that whatever you were doing had a real degree of difficulty and that failing was not so bad because others were also struggling.

The Trump example is something that many of us experienced as we fantasized about his failure and potential fall from grace.  It is or was hard to hope for the worst in the middle of a pandemic and a failing economy just to smile at his failure.  That is the catch 22.  Wishing for his failure meant others had to experience the same. Schadenfreude wrested on the famous is a great sport as they have the bandwidth to sustain transitory failure.  Wishing the same on a more common figure has consequences that are super unfortunate and potentially debilitating.

If I fail and now hope that you also fail, we have not advanced either cause.  Schadenfreude is not exactly wishing for failure rather it is the enjoyment of failure.  Taking pleasure in someone else’s misfortune is karmically bad. 

Our society has learned to welcome the idea of joy through failure.  The most benign is wishing for failure or gaining pleasure if the other person’s athletic team loses...  Where does this put me when I wish that Joe Biden would succeed but I smile at Mitch McConnel’s failure.  Defining success in terms of winners and losers has not been a successful way of advancing society as a whole.  If we can only gain pleasure through the loss of another, this will eventually have a negative outcome for society.  It is a second cousin to jealousy and that is a sad waste of time.  To be jealous gives power to that person with whom you are jealous.  That energy focus takes away from your ability to find your path or your achievement.  Likewise, schadenfreude focuses on the joy of someone else’s failure. It doesn’t improve your life in any way. Conversely, it focuses your energy on failure and then finding joy in that failure.  This sucks the air out of the positive energy to excel and achieve. If I am recognizing and celebrating the failure of one individual over another, I am using up time that could otherwise be constructively applied.

Although a humorous turn of phrase, schadenfreude represents an endemic problem with our society.  If I am a Republican, I am looking for Democrats to fail --- schadenfreude.  If I am a celebrity watcher, I am waiting for Kim K to declare bankruptcy --- If I am a Seattle Seahawks fan, I am waiting for the 49ers quarterback to be injured ---on and on ---the idea that we can get joy out of a failure is at the core of many of our issues.  I am not trying to make the world better I am waiting for the other country to fail so I can get pleasure out of their missteps.

A more positive way to look at things requires empathy.   I want the US to succeed and positively contribute to the world but I also want China to succeed as well.  There are seven, about to be nine billion people in the world and most of them need help.  I cannot receive joy because of their failures.  Wishing for my competitor to fall on their faces might make me smile but it hurts so many other people.  I have a lot of friends who have made money and have had successful careers.  I cannot receive joy out of their failure or demise.  What I want for them is to make the world better.  I want them to receive joy not from failure but from success...  Of course, I understand Schadenfreude because I am human and a failure where I also failed might make me smile but it has not benefitted either of us.  We would have been better off solving the problem and thus improving both of our lives and those around us.

Ok, ok, I will continue to have a feeling of schadenfreude at “Moscow Mitch’s” failures —— ———- I am not that kind….

Locked Part II

…. It was not a one-time event. As a matter of fact, locking the keys in the trunk of a car, any car, became “my thing”.  I was just afflicted with a teenage boy's lack of focus.  It was generally the sound of the trunk locking that broke my reverie.  Amazingly people continued to give me their keys in spite of my track record.  As I got older, I graduated from the simple act of “keys-in-the-trunk” to more sophisticated forms of inattentiveness.  In general, I had an unusually difficult time associating the day and time of a particular event with the proof of admittance to the event, i.e., a ticket.  There is a silver lining created by events that do not require attendance.

My two sons and I have a particular interest in sports.  Not an obsession but a broad knowledge and interest in all sports.  Growing up in the San Francisco Bay area we were blessed with teams that excelled in sports.  Think 49er’s, Warriors, Giants, Cal Bears, and the Stanford Cardinal.  In addition, these two men are good at sports.  We enjoy playing and we enjoy going to sporting events.  My youngest son attended Michigan State University.  A general violation of our Pac 12 allegiance but that is another story.  In Eugene, Oregon, MSU had lost to the Oregon Ducks in 2014 when the two teams were ranked 7th and 3rd nationally.  Marcus Mariota was the Ducks quarterback. It was not close: 46-27.  The following year these two teams had scheduled a rematch in East Lansing.  My youngest son was excited about attending a Big Ten school with big sports.  My eldest son was living in Philadelphia at the time and was a stalwart supporter of the Pac 12, having gone to UCLA when they were a basketball powerhouse. 

Given that as the background, we all decided that it would be super fun for the three of us to meet in East Lansing and go to the game in Spartan Stadium.  A modest edifice to college football that holds 100,000 people.  There are few things in the sports world as fun as going to a big game in a big stadium.  So, it was decided – I would fly in from the west coast; Alex would come in from Philadelphia and of course, William was at school studying in East Lansing.  I was in charge of getting the ticket because, well, I am always in charge of getting the “good” tickets.  I called Richie, the ticket broker; bought great seats on the 50-yard line and Richie mailed the tickets to me.  I promptly put the envelope in my backpack so as not to forget them.  I have experience in locking keys in trunks; misplacing tickets and showing up on a wrong day, so I am cautious.  The weekend arrived and we all found our way to East Lansing.  That night we had a great dinner and agreed to meet the next morning for brunch as game time was not until 4:00 pm.  With a clear head the next morning we met for breakfast and after I headed to the room to retrieve the tickets for the game.  

As I mentioned I had put the envelope in my backpack so as not to forget them.  What I did not do was open the envelope.  I mean why would I do that as I knew the tickets were inside.  They were inside the envelope, EXCEPT the tickets were for the Univ. of Michigan versus Oregon State game.  Wolverines v. Beavers is NOT Spartans v. Ducks.  Turns out the Oregon schools had both scheduled games in Michigan – Richie (ticket broker) had sent me the wrong game!!!! Again, my lack of attention to detail had not improved from the evening I retrieved the coats many years in the past.  I was horrified and proceed to self-flagellate and just commonly beating myself up.

The Silver Lining

I walked down to Alex’s room; knocked on the door; entered the room and threw the tickets on the bed.  Picking them up he instantly realized the problem.  He turned to me and said.  “I know how badly you feel, but I would not beat myself up too badly.  Remember we came here to be together and that has not changed, the game is incidental.  Let’s go to a sports bar, have lunch, enjoy the game and each other.”  For all the parents or potential parents reading this----no matter how many children you have, how many occasions you attend, or how many issues you resolve it is that comment that makes it all worthwhile and rests softly in your heart forever.

I have had many occasions where I arrived on the wrong day, locked the keys in the trunk, or otherwise “ruined” the event.  However, it never is the event.  Our world has become or maybe always was event-driven and yet, it is not of lasting importance.  It is the opportunity that the event provides.  The opportunity to be together.  Not on text, the phone, or Instagram; it is the special moment that allows us to reside in each other’s company.  To embrace and feel the human interaction with those we care about.  The nuance of body language; the unique tonal quality of the sly turn of phrase or just the physical closeness that “the event” has provided the backdrop.  In the end, it was the best trip.  It also secured a special foundation for me to become closer to my sons.  It opened the door to a level of conversation that provides depth, understanding, and love.

Oh, Michigan State won. 

Locked

Some things are just hard to forget….

My habit of being distracted leading to the wrong thing happening at the wrong time began many springs ago.  Springtime in California is marked by a welcome warmth interrupted by a cold wind coming off the ocean.  As the interior valley heats up, the chilly ocean breeze races onshore towards the heat of the interior.  It is a time of bright sun and the beginning of the warm dry summer.  As I have mentioned in previous essays, my older sister had to do everything first.  It was in just such a spring that my sister announced her engagement.  It was her only but she was the first in our family, however, there would be more.    Remember the guy in the green MG and my younger sister and I throwing shoes out the window? – it was that guy.  It is amazing that boyfriends and for that matter girlfriends never quite accurately reflect their parents.  The boy/girlfriend is always so much better.  Nevertheless, if you are the parent you have to make an attempt to be inclusive or at the very least meet them.  It was on just such an occasion that my parents were meeting the parents of their daughter’s fiancé.   In a moment of “how did he make that decision” my father who came from a land-locked state decided after graduating from Harvard Law to become a member of a yacht Club. This club would be the center of many family adventures and stories.  I will not digress as this is about a very specific dinner which, for me set the stage for other such events.   My parents invited the soon-to-be in-laws to dinner on a lovely spring evening at their club.  For my grammar school self, there was nothing memorable about this dinner because it was boring ---The aforementioned wind came up and the outside dinner became quite cold and uncomfortable.  This is before the outside heat lamps whose sales have sored during the pandemic.  I was looking for something to do so my father took the risk of giving me the car keys and asking me to fetch coats and jackets for everyone to ward off the cold as dinner had not yet concluded.  I still can remember the relief of being able to leave the table, wander around the building and eventually come to the car to perform my requested chore.  A couple of important facts which will become obviously relevant: 1) Cars in this era had manual keys not attached -to-the-internet clickers.  2) You could jump-start a car but none of the electronics worked like the windows. 3) you could break into cars but not trunks. 

Reaching into my pocket I retrieved the keys; unlocked the trunk of the car and picked out all the jackets and sweaters I could find.  Balancing all these garments in one arm I slammed the trunk of the car and at that very moment without touching my pocket I realized that the keys were not in my hand or a pocket. They were in the trunk. They were in the LOCKED trunk.  Horrified would be the best way to describe that sick empty feeling which overtook my entire being.  The there-is-truly-no-way-out of this feeling. With my empty hand, I pounded on the trunk as if punishing it and me for locking itself.  To say I walked slowly back to the dinner table would be a massive understatement. There was the hope, of course, that my mother had a spare key or there was a hidden key somewhere on the car or my father had an extra key -- none of these hopes materialized.  After multiple “good -boys” and smiling thank you as I passed out the welcomed pieces of warmth, I whispered in my father’s ear the real result of his trust in his 10-year-old son to do his bidding…

Maybe because we were on best behavior in front of the new people; maybe it was resignation that it was done, but my father always surprised me when faced with an irritating problem.  Granted he was not happy but there was no extreme admonishment for what I had done.  After dinner he called AAA; a man came and broke into the car and managed to start the engine so we could head home --- a full hour away.  Perhaps it was punishment enough that I had to sit in the back seat with the cold wind blowing on me for the hour-long drive.  Remember the car could run but the electric window did not work.  Somehow the service guy had managed to lower the window to unlock the door.  He had started the engine but the trunk remained locked and the window open. I was locked in a pattern of inexplicable missteps that would continue into my adult life

(to be continued…)   

Alone

The wind had been blowing hard for days.  The actual temperature was 50+ but it was the cold that made your ears hurt.  Not frostbite just that pain that made you wish you had that knit cap after all, no matter what it did to your hair.  I was walking on one of those days, working on my 10,000 steps, when the faint sound of something other than the wind made its way through the cold. It was a somewhat plaintiff sound but with a rhythm that was distinctively the blues.  It was definitely not John Coltrane or Sonny Rollins.  He was standing alone on the cliff facing the imposing water of the bay, the Bay Bridge, and the hills of the Tiburon Peninsula. Playing his saxophone with feeling and, for him, he was equal to the aforementioned greats. The bay was a spectacular blue dotted with sailboats challenging the wind which was fresh but not dominating. In his singleness, he was playing before none and an audience of many.  He was content as he performed before the unseen.  My guess — this is his happiest moment.  I am awe-struck by the singleness of us when juxtaposed to the background of many.  As he played to the beautiful bay and the unseen admirers to the east, a quarter of a mile behind him Highway 101 was rushing people to their destination in single fashion with a destination of the numerous.

I ponder our desire to be together, yet our need to be alone. Is it our preparation for our solitary exit? Perhaps we only have the strength or the energy to deal with the one and not the many.

There is something comforting about being alone but, are we?  Alone with his music yet playing to the world in front of him. Perhaps it’s the responsibility to the crowd that challenges us and requires so much effort. To be in a group, big or small, requires effort and focus.  Alone the work is not as great or varied and the focus can be concentrated, perhaps purer.

Being alone and loneliness are two different things.  Being alone can be contemplative, introspective, a chance to accomplish without interruption.  Loneliness feels sad with no accomplishment, unhappy or uncomfortable with self

For me, the dichotomy is the comfort of being alone but I have great joy in being with others.  I don’t want to be that cranky old guy.  Perhaps it is becoming lazy, unable to muster the strength to deal with multiple human interactions.  What is concerning is how much easier it is to be alone. The internet feeds into that. The unintended consequence is how much harder we have to work to be in the presence of others and that has negative consequences.  Look at Washington DC and how hard it is for these people to work together or just to be with others in a meaningful way.  Cocktail talk dominates the discourse rather than the effort of real conversation.  It is easier to hide behind the keyboard. This gives the illusion of being with the group, but in fact, you are still alone.  The control of how long the conversation lasts is in your hands.  If they ask the wrong question - press delete, mute, or pause.  Think how many buttons on the keyboard allow you to exit, but there is only one that says enter. There is always an exit when you are with the group but not when you are alone.  Striving for that inner peace. Is our true purpose to come together, to be a community? Are there greater forces that pull us to be alone?

I have a party to go to….. 

Popularity Contest

As early as grammar school popularity is a driving force as we conduct a life outside of the home.  If we are lucky enough to have caring parents, we assume that other humans will like us as they do.  How are we to know that being liked is not an immediate part of growing up.  I wanted to be liked in school.  Even in grammar school being liked was important.  However, it is hard to find the right path to popularity.  You can be a great athlete.  Even in grade school the kids that were good at sports were generally liked.  You could be good-looking or pretty.  It is true the pretty girls were always popular.  Puts a lot of pressure on them at an early age but they are popular.  Good-looking guys were also popular --- good at sports was a big plus. If you were not pretty or good looking you had to find other ways to move your liked quotient up the scale.  You could be funny.  Making people laugh is always a good way to be popular.  There were many hurdles to becoming popular and remaining so.  One of the rituals in grammar school was choosing teams.  Being picked number one, of course, was the true testament to your athletic ability and your popularity.  Number two thru 5 was good, not perfect but you were definitely in the hunt.  If it was baseball the popular meter needle really started to get buried after number 5.  In baseball, you had nine chances or actually 18, if you weren’t picked by the first team you had a chance at the second team. If both team captains passed on you it was a double blow to your self-esteem.  Suffice it to say I got picked because you had to get picked.  Waiting for my turn to bat some of the kids thought they would be bullies and played that trick where one kneels behind you and the other pushes you so you stumble and fall.  Stung by the idea that I was no better than number 9 I got into a fight with one of these boys after I was humiliated in front of the others as I fell to the ground.     I think this might have been number one in a two-bout lifetime fight career. It was an early lesson that plays out in any sport --- the person that retaliates gets the punishment. I received detention and sent home. That wasn’t fun either as It was probably like going to the commissioner’s office.    I don’t think Ms. Smith understood the complexities of being in grammar school and struggling to be liked.  What was more crushing was the next day?  The last day of school and my last day in grammar school as I was moving on to Junior High School.  It was recess and I was playing some game with bean bags.  In a not well-thought-out demonstration of end-of-school exuberance, I threw one of the bean bags up on the school roof.  I claimed it was an accident but Ms. Smith was having none of it.  She brought my fellow students into the classroom and said that I had done something disrespectful in throwing the bean bag on the roof.  She gave me an opportunity to be contrite but she had already poisoned the well.  She then told the class that they would determine what kind of citizenship grade I would receive for the year.  The scale was simple enough. “1” was obviously the best, and “5” was citizenship failure.  Much to my soon-to-be psychologically damaged self, my classmates all voted to give me a 5 in citizenship. I felt like the gladiator that could not kill the three-legged lion-- thumbs down. 

If popularity was not important to me then why is this memory so clear when others have faded.  What I remember is the event; what I don’t remember is the people that I thought were so important at the time.  I remember my behavior and how unimportant my popularity was after all this time but what is important is how I could have behaved better and thus had a different result.  After all of these years, I am rethinking the importance of being popular versus the importance of one’s behavior.   Clearly, this event was important to me because I remember it above all of the other days in grammar school. For all of the effort, we put into wanting to be liked by our peers, their importance dwindles and evaporates as time passes. What remains is what we do. What we accomplish, how we treat others, and how we help make the lives of the people better.  It really isn’t a popularity contest and when it is, it is soon forgotten.  I don’t remember the people but I remember the lesson; what you do in life is what matters not the applause.

Popularity is fraught with conflict and a false premise.  We vote for politicians based on some twisted sense of popularity as if they care about the individual.  I think that energy could be better directed at kindness to others who are in need rather than those we wish will reciprocate our kindness by affirming our popularity.  Popularity is ephemeral.  The more people like us the more rewarding our lives will be.  What is more likely is that they will forget and so will you. What makes our life better is the goodness we extend to others regardless of whether or not they pick us to be on their team or vote to give us a better grade. 

Mothers

It’s easier to become a mother than it is to be one.  There is no job that demands so much skill and receives so little training.

I have been blessed by being surrounded by a lot of mothers.  I, of course, have a mother who we will talk about a little further on.  I have two sisters and they are both mothers.  They have seven children between them and two of those women are now mothers.  I had two wives that became mothers.  I helped with that part. They produced three daughters, two are now mothers with seven children between them.  These children are all too young to be mothers but three of them probably will be...  If motherhood could be measured by the success of their children, then the mothers that have surrounded my life are all incredible.  If you measure motherhood by their personal success and accomplishments, they have all excelled.  Finally, if we measure motherhood by their success at producing children that add value to mankind then they have all been outstanding.  I know a lot about all of these mothers.  I have a general and very specific knowledge of how they grew up.  I have a good idea of what they enjoy doing and a clear memory of their achievements.  I even have a pretty good idea of their disappointments and shortcomings.  In short, I know a lot about these wonderful mothers except one… My mother.  My knowledge of my mother is limited by the number of years that I lived under the same roof.  I do not know anything about her growing up.  Oh, I have pictures but I have no first-hand knowledge or memory of her in the formative years. I missed the first 30 years of her life.  I knew the adult.  My adult mother was a strong and exacting person.  She had a very specific way of doing everything.  She believed in the strength of women and her daughters are proof of that.  Although she was a stay-at-home mom, she raised her daughters to be accomplished young women with diverse interests and accomplishments.   Politically conservative she was socially accepting of all people with whom she connected.  What I missed was my mother playing at the beach as a child. Was she athletic; did she have play dates; did she date in high school; did she date at all; a self-starter at school? I experienced the end result of growing up but not the experiencing of growing up.  That is reading the story after the good part has been redacted.  I know a lot of this information about all the other mothers of my life.

I understand that parenting is changing but while I was having children fatherhood was relatively simple to understand.  The vestiges of hierarchy still existed.  ‘Wait until your father comes home,’ was still an expression of potential dread or something big was about to happen.  Motherhood is complicated and extraordinarily demanding.  Nurse, cook, disciplinarian, chauffeur, coach, teacher, spiritual guide, counselor-in-chief, and consoler-in-chief. Oh, and she also has a career.  My mother was all of these, like most moms she was not perfect and had her weaknesses.  I know she liked to play bridge, she like her dogs, she was very particular about how she dressed and where she shopped for everything from food to clothing.  But mostly she ran the show and we all deferred to her. I am in awe of mothers and all they do while still trying to remain attractive, fun, and relevant.  It is a tall order.

On this day after Mother’s Day, I wish them a moment of quiet reflection on the breadth of their accomplishments and the depth of their abilities.

I still wonder what my mother was like in junior high Scholl or better yet don’t you want to know what she did that she never told her mother?   It is that part of her life I will never truly be able to appreciate or know.  I will just have to be content with knowing the adult mother. 

Happy Mother’s Day