Are We Spoiling Our Children with Words?

Posted on September 5, 2016 by Bob Martin

angry little brat enjoying making a grimace for misbehavior

I believe that one of the things that keeps me from being considered a serious writer is my fear of rocking the boat and ticking people off. Today is no exception. I had an idea pop up in my head early this morning, and it has been haunting me ever since. I ran post after post through my head. I plotted out how I wanted to present my idea. Every single time I did this, I also picture people getting upset with my words. I could see some people thinking I was pointing fingers. I even had doubts when I sat down to rest today and the Ellen DeGeneres Show was on. It also made me question whether or not I was correct in my thoughts. So here goes. I am going to go through with my thoughts. I will say that these are about life with our daughter.

The title asks if we are spoiling our children with words. Most parents in some form will spoil their children. We want them to be happy. Even families that struggle to make ends meet will save, scrimp, and forgo items for themselves to make their child(ren) happy. We all talk about how we don’t want to spoil them, but we do. We don’t want to see our children wanting – even if it is that new toy that they don’t really need. However, tonight’s post has nothing to do with materialistic purchases. It has to do with the words that we use with our children.

Raising children today is so different than when I was raised. I often read on FB about how children today are disrespectful and it is because they aren’t beaten. While I know that people are not advocating that we beat children, the posts seriously question whether we have become too easy on our children. Friends often state that a spanking here or there for bad behavior, back talk, or other wrong doings is not a bad thing. I see the old adage of “Spare the rod, spoil the child” being tossed around. Are these people correct? I am not so sure about that, but have we gone too far to the other end of the spectrum.

I will admit that my brothers and I were “disciplined” by our parents. My mother could throw a mean pair of wooden Dr. Scholl sandals. She didn’t have to get up. You smarted off and wham, you got it. Our dad did the more common spanking. Although, karma did step in every once in a while. I can remember my brother bringing his foot up to protect his back-side only to break my dad’s finger. Now we were not abused! I need to make sure that is known. I can honestly state that I hardly got a spanking or sandal due to being the youngest of 4. I watched my brothers and learned what not to do. My friends, while growing up, can usually attest to similar events.

Today – today this is not acceptable. I am happy to say that we have never brought hand to bottom for our daughter. I am not sure if this is because we are those parents or if it is because we have a daughter. They are definitely different than boys. Yet, perhaps, we are hurting our children by the way they are being raised today.

This weekend, we had a friend of our daughter’s for three days. This child is an easy-going child. The two get along wonderfully. However, our daughter does have friends that are all similar. They are leaders who want to be in charge. They take turns, but it is not always easy. Add to that a little bit of homesickness and the friend getting a little extra attention and our only child has to deal with the single-child syndrome. This prompted this post. Yes – I am finally getting to it.

While out bike riding today, our daughter, her friend, and I stopped in a parking lot of a playground. We decided to park and let them play. I started moving toward the playground and our daughter called out to wait. I told her we were moving just 20 feet away. I parked my bike to see just the friend. Our daughter was still sitting in the parking lot. I waited, counted to 10, took some deep breaths, and rode back to her. She proceeded to tell me how she felt that we were leaving her out since I would not wait for her. She also brought up a couple of other items from the weekend. I used a word on her that I had never used before. I told her that she was acting selfish. You would have thought I had just used every four letter word in the book on her.

This actually prompted a longer conversation about her actions and expectations. Our daughter is not a bad child. We are very fortunate that we were blessed with the young person we received. She is thoughtful, caring, curious, and beautiful. At the same time, she is an 8 year-old who acts like an 8 year-old. This means that she needs to learn. She needs discipline. She needs parents who will be helping her to become an adult who can deal with the world in life. Today provided one of those moments. So what did I learn from this event?

In today’s world we are very concerned about making children feel good about themselves. We find ways to reword negativity. Instead of saying “No you can’t have that”, we say, “Do you think that is a good choice right now?” or “Perhaps we should work out together how to make this happen.” Coaches no longer tell a child that they are not good enough to make a team. If a child fails at something, we find causes outside of the child not putting in the effort or maybe, just maybe, the child not having the talent or skill required. We would rather avoid the child being hurt for a few moments thereby not teaching the child.

This happens at home, at sports, in music or dance classes, at school, and many other places. We are concerned about the self-esteem over preparing them to be able to deal with difficult situations. Now, before I get lambasted, I am not saying that we need to make children feel like garbage. I do believe that when and where we can we should be encouraging them to do their best, but not at the cost of them never being able to deal with the downside.

I felt bad after the event. I started playing with words in my head. I have read the books and articles. I know I broke their rules. I should have said something like, “Honey, I know that you are dealing with some feelings this weekend. Can we talk about this so that you can feel better?” Part of me would like to be able to go back and do just that. The other part of me smacks me in the head. There are times when we need to call it like it is. Today, our daughter was being selfish. She normally isn’t, so I called her on it. She bounced back in five minutes – I felt guilty all the way home.

I will continue to try to build our daughter’s self-esteem. However, today made me think long and hard about what we are doing to our children. We are spoiling them with our words. We are blaming anything and everything for their actions, words, and behaviors. What will be the price for this? What will happen the first time a high school teacher or professor tells them that their work does not meet expectations? What will happen when their boss says that he/she doesn’t care that their relationship came to an end, they were still expected to work.

So I promise our daughter that I will call her out on her behavior and actions. I will encourage her to do her best (not be perfect) at what she does. I will also let her know when she is being selfish, jealous, uncaring, or just a brat. I will do this for her so that she will be able to deal with life when I am not here.

So there. I put my thoughts to paper. I guess now I wait to see if I offended.

Thanks for meandering with me tonight.

Posted in Do right thing, family, Lessons, Love | Leave a comment

Lessons from Labor Day in a Small Town

Posted on September 3, 2016 by Bob Martin

ontario houseI have written in the past about what it was like to grow up in a small town. It was an experience for which I would not change no matter the offer. I often relate the town of Youngstown to Mayberry. I will admit that growing up in such a small community is not for everyone. Many people prefer a faster pace. I still find it funny since I was one of the few of my friends who always planned to stay right there in Western New York. I was going to raise my family in the area in which the locking of doors at night was strictly something you didn’t have to do. Yet out of all of my brothers, I was the one to take-off. I went from the town without a stoplight to Los Angeles. I am not sure you could have two more opposite ends of the spectrum in which to live. Just the same, I find myself often reminiscing and reliving memories. It is this time of the year, Labor Day and the week after, which really sparks the memories – even more so than Christmas.

Labor Day marks the end of summer. While I did love school, I was not unlike every other kid in lamenting the coming of this holiday since school was only two days behind. Just the same, this time of year meant so much more than school. It was when our little community had a chance to shine only to be followed by Lewiston the next weekend. It also was a time in which you had a chance to see the results of the hard labor that your Nana put you through all summer. It was a time filled with color, smell, excitement, and community.

During my years of growing up, Labor Day was a town celebration. The town’s fire department hosted a parade and field day. The event took place in the park in the center of town. Later toward my final years in town, with the building of a new building for the fire company, the field day moved towards the edge of town. Regardless, as a young person it was time to run with your friends, spend your quarters (then dollars), and have fun before you were forced to go sit at a desk for 180 days.

One of my favorite memories comes from when I was very young. The Stone Jug, a bar at the time which my cousin later converted to a bed and breakfast/bar, was shut down for the day. It became family and close friends only. The parade came down Main Street right in front of the Jug. All of the family, Mom, Dad, Nana, cousins, Uncles, Aunts, and others all lined the lower and upper porch watching the parade. We applauded, cheered, and begged for the candy throwers to get it up to us. After the last unit passed by, the race was on to the field day. I will admit that it did have a nice size beer tent for the adults. As a kid, you only knew of that as the place you went looking for more quarters. What was really cool was that since most people knew each other, you didn’t beg quarters just from Dad. After a few pitchers, almost any person would disperse the coins.parade

The other nice thing about our little village is that kids were safe to roam all over. When we got bored with the field day, we would run down to the local store for ice cream or a pop (Yes. WNY). We could also run back to the family establishment. Since it was closed, the kids had the run of it. We played shuffle board, pinball, pool, and had free kid drinks. The best was sitting with Uncle Martin. He would talk to us and tell us stories. Then when he got tired of us, he gave us a few bucks and out the door we went.

A similar weekend played out just a few days later in our neighboring town, Lewiston. Now Lewiston’s has the fancy name of Peach Festival. A celebration of the harvest coming in. They have a slightly larger fair and even have a Peach Queen and court. Just like our town, it started with a parade and ended with a fair where kids had a chance to run with friends and not worry. The other thing about the Peach Festival was that it took place two days after the start of school. This gave you a chance to know who was going to be in your class and who you wanted to pair up with.

As I aged, these two weekends took on a different meaning for me. Around the time I was 6 or 7, my dad started a junior Drum and Bugle Corp sponsored by the fire department. We marched ahead of the fireman in all of the parades they attended. Later, we merged with other corps and became field competitors. We still did parades and these two were always on our schedules. Once I started marching, these parades came to signify the end of the season. These two weekends became our last little hoorahs. Our last chance to hang with our fellow members before bringing the season to a complete end. If you turned 21 before the next season, these became the last two chances to march and perform.

I loved the fact that these two communities, all the way through my childhood celebrated what and who they were. These weekends truly became a look at who we are. It was a chance for neighbors to get together and be with each other. It was a time to celebrate being a Youngstownian or a person from Lewiston. Sadly, the Labor Day Field Day is gone. I understand that there is a parade and picnic, so I am glad to hear that there is still time to celebrate together. The Peach Festival, according to my niece, is still going strong. They will be crowning a new queen in a few days

While I loved these two weekends and the communities celebrating the fact that they were small communities. There was something else that Labor Day signified.  It was time for those in the small communities to celebrate the harvest. The road side stands were full with fruits and vegetables. If you had a garden on your property, you were reaping what you sowed. It was no different on our street – our little dead-end road of 5 homes. I believe 4 out of the 5 had gardens. It was time for picking.

All summer long, my Nana, Wanda, would make me get up early to “get the weeding done before it gets hot.” All summer long I dreaded the hours I would be spending in this rectangle of first dirt and then plants. The only thing that made it bearable was my cousins having to do the same thing just a few feet away. Dirt clod wars happened regularly. All summer long, you questioned why. Then it happened.

Nana would always supervise the harvest. We would fill basket after basket of tomatoes. We would look for the green beans, and other edibles. She would go to Tom’s and buy even more tomatoes and fruit. We would sit out in our backyard for hours running tomatoes through the crusher. Plop, plop, plop they would go in. The juice and meat would come out one area and the remains would go dropping into a bucket for compost. Your arm would feel like falling off, but at this point, you did not question – you knew.

You knew why the work had to be done and the rewards that were coming. All weekend long you work the fruits and vegetables. Then on Monday, you hopped on the bus and off to school you went. When you returned home, the magic had started. I always transport back to these days.

I would get off the bus. If it had rained, I slowly walked up the driveway. I took in the scent of the leaves as they fell off the tree. There is a smell. It is a crisp smell. I reached the door of the breezeway and, before I could even open it, I knew. I pulled open the door and was met with a welcome home smell that few kids will know. On the table in the breezeway were at least two roasters filled to the brim with homemade spaghetti sauce simmering away. The smell of the tomatoes mixed with all of the spices just wrapped around me like a warm hug. No matter how tough the school day had been, it fell away as I walked in the breezeway. I would stand there and just take it in. Often I would search for a spoon to sample the cookings. Then I grabbed the handle of the door to the kitchen.

If I thought the breezeway was the smell of heaven, then the kitchen proved that there was something greater. I would walk in to pots on the stove simmering away with homemade jams – strawberry, raspberry, blackberry – Heaven. Sampling of these was trickier since Nana was around to supervise and those suckers were hot. These smells weren’t just the smells of good cooking – to me, these were the smells of love. I knew my Nana loved us and cared enough to go through all of this work so that we could enjoy all winter long.

I can still remember the first summer we didn’t put the garden in. My summer was free from all of the weeding and hoeing and other duties. My fall was void of memories. There is a black hole for that year.

So yes, I love Christmas, Thanksgiving, the 4th of July each for their own reason. However, Labor Day was a time when my Nana would start her Labor of Love. Each and every year, I go back to those days. I understand what she was trying to teach us. I look to the sky and thank her for all that she did.

Fresh homemade peach jam in a glass jar close-up. HorizontalSmall town living doesn’t have shows every night or professional teams. It does have community pride. Neighbors taking care of each other, and people like my Nana still doing what they do best – taking care of their families.

Thanks for meandering with me tonight.

Posted in Lessons, small town | 8 Comments

We Got Which Teacher?!

Posted on August 22, 2016 by Bob Martin

Office workerWe are in the middle of the wonderful season of Back-to-School! Some schools have already been going for two weeks, ours has completed one week, and some will be starting soon. The most wonderful time of the year for parents and some students. It is also an exciting time for teachers as well. They have had some down time over the summer while also planning what they will do with those fresh faces that enter their classrooms looking for knowledge, friendship, attention, and new teachers. Social media is filled with stories letting us know that summer break is not really summer break. We have all seen those stories. This post is about something else that I have seen postings about over the last couple of weeks. People are posting about waiting to see who will have the honor of teaching their precious child. Worse, I have seen comments of dread and worry about getting (or finding out you have) a certain teacher. The “My Child has who?” syndrome.

Now I want to start by admitting, and probably ticking off fellow educators, that not every teacher is great. Not every teacher is the person for whom a movie will be made. Most teachers are just good people who work very hard at what they do. They try to engage their students, they try to offer a safe place, and they try to be there for those young people who occupy seats in their room. Yes. There are also some people in the field that might want to consider something else, but for now they are teaching. Yet each year, teachers go through the trials as parents decide whether or not they are deserving of the children assigned to them.

I understand, as a parent, that moms and dads want the best for their children. They want to feel as if they have the best teacher in the school and not just a teacher. They want to make sure that they get the teacher that the other parents have rated as number one. They want to make sure that their children will succeed in life, and one way to do that is by having the best educators. Again, I cannot blame parents for this. I too look hard at the people who have been selected to spend 8 hours a day, Monday thru Friday, in front of my child. Just the same, parents need to realize it will be okay. The person who the children will look up to and come home bragging about will do right by your child. Even if you don’t get the teacher your child (or you) wanted, life will be okay. Perhaps, by not getting the teacher of your choice, your child might even start to learn to stand-up for him or herself.

The first thing that parents need to know is that teachers do not spend time at night thinking about ways to pick on a specific child. They do not have time. I have heard comments about how a teacher hates a child and will do anything to make his/her life miserable. At the secondary level, a teacher spends 52 minutes with a class. Those students move out and another class moves in. I have yet to meet a teacher who has the time to hold that grudge throughout the day, into the night, and on to the next day. I know when my students used to come to me and talk about how a teacher is always picking on them, I asked, “What are you like in class?” After getting through the whole, “I am an angel”, we tend to find out that sometimes the student will do things to aggravate the teacher or cause some levity during class. In other words, the teacher may get down on the student in order to get the class back in order to allow for learning. Yes. Teachers do have bad days, but I hope and pray that when our daughter complains, I will dig deeper before blaming the teacher.

I will admit that sometimes it is not the student and it is not the teacher. With that many students going through a classroom, it is bound to happen that a teacher and student do not click. I had it happen in my class and some of the best teachers I will ever meet will admit that it has happened to them. Teachers will try different techniques to not become friends but at least make a working relationship. At the same time, parents can help their children learn to work to do the same. As I spoke with the students mentioned prior, I used to ask the students what can you do to make this better. We didn’t always hit a home run in the first discussion, but we would continue to talk and try different things. The hardest one for students to accept was the sit down. I used to suggest that they sit down with the teacher with whom they were disagreeing and work out a plan to get through the year. These students are learning a valuable skill.

Parents also need to realize that not every teacher is of the warm and fuzzy variety (have you ever seen my picture). Just like each student has their own style, so does each teacher. I used to tell my students in middle school that I could be mean or nice, the choice was theirs. I worked with my students on the first day to establish expectations. We talked about what their job was and what my job was and how we could make the class work. I definitely was not the hugging type. I still remember after the first three days one year of having a parent conference. The child told his mom he wanted to switch and how mean I was. At the start of the conference, the mom started explaining the reason for the meeting. I respectfully asked if the student could explain – she agreed. He then mentioned how scary I was because I demanded that students turn their work in as they entered the class, I forced them to write homework in their journal, and I expected them to work. The mom sat there staring at her student. “That’s why we are here?” I proceeded to ask the student if I ever yelled at him or any student to that point – “No.” I asked if I ever embarrassed a student in the class – “No.” The mother told him she wasn’t going to move him. Shortly after that meeting, I found the student hung out in my classroom. He high-fived in the hall, and, oh yeah, he became an A student.

I will admit that while I wasn’t soft and cuddly, those students became my kids and those classes became a family. The students would talk with me when they were troubled and came to me when they saw another of the “family” being picked on. My families went through divorces, deaths, coming outs, births, and other aspects of life. Interracial primary classroom learning to use laptop with their

The point I want to make though is that don’t judge the teacher before you have a chance to see what happens with your child. Just because another parent thinks that the teacher is bad doesn’t mean you will think the same. Just because your older child didn’t click with a specific teacher doesn’t mean that teacher will not become the favorite teacher of your younger student. Just because your child comes home and says the teacher is mean doesn’t mean that this is the case. It is a chance for open-ended questions and possible ways to work through finding solutions to relationships that will carry them into the work world.

In the end, not every teacher-student relationship will work. Yes. A parent must be willing to, after allowing the student to try to work through it first, talk to the teacher and if needed the principal. Sometimes a change is the only answer. But remember this – no teacher goes to school in the morning looking for ways to make the life of a student one of misery. No teacher wants to have to struggle through his or her day. No student and no teacher is perfect. In the end, it is a room filled with young people and one adult trying to learn. That is why a teacher is there. To teach. So please, before you scream, “We have who?!” Take the time to get to know the person and not the stories and rumors.

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Lesson From Making a Bed

Posted on July 12, 2016 by Bob Martin

20160712_204340I wasn’t going to write this evening. I will admit that I had plans to be lazy and just let the evening go by watching America’s Got Talent. However, I learned a lesson tonight that I thought I would share. So here I am, ignoring the knife throwing to share a new lesson that I learned. It all deals with the making of a bed. A very simple task that is done time and time again in every (or almost every) house each day. So what can tossing some sheets, blanket, and a pillow onto a bed teach?

Before I get into the actual lesson, I want to share some back story. Lately, I have noticed people sharing stories about children and the trials and tribulations of raising them. The most recent dealt with what it is like to raise a 9 year-old. The mother went on to describe a child that I would not want anywhere near my home. She described back talking, tantrums, arguments, and oh so much more. I will say that she did break from her description to talk about how every once in a while she does see her little girl come out from behind the demon.

I cringed when I read this blog. Part of the cringe was due to the fact that in less than 6 months, we will have a 9 year-old. I could not take my eyes off the words describing the thing that will soon be inhabiting our home. I now live in fear of waking up one morning in the future to find that our daughter is no longer. I also cringed because not only was the one parent sharing her thoughts about her child, the comments that followed echoed the posting. Parent after parent commented that the author must have been writing about the commenter’s child. It blew my mind to read what parents were writing about their children. When did we start demonizing children?

Now I need to stop here and admit that our daughter is NOT an angel. She is cute, she listens, she is well-behaved, she talks back, she slams doors, she is eight. However, she is our child and she is learning. That brings me to the lesson.

Tonight, after a long day of play and activities, we handed our daughter the sheets to the two beds in her room. She was told to go make the bed on her own. I know, I can already read the thoughts of “So what our kid has made a bed for years.” While our little one has had to make the bed every day, up until now one of us has either made or helped make the bed after it had been stripped. I know some adults who refuse to do this. But tonight, we sent her on her way. I waited for the call for help to see sheets half-heartedly placed on the bed. I started the count to 10 and only made it to 7. “Daaaaaaaddddyyyyyyy? Can you come here?”

I was tired so I had resigned myself to helping. Instead, she had already placed the sheets on the one bed. She called me in to show me how she was folding the blankets to be placed at the foot of the bed. She moved slowly, carefully to ensure that the corners met perfectly. The sides had to match up. She meticulously smoothed the wrinkles out of the blanket. She pulled back the top sheet. A five-star hotel would have been proud.

She then pulled out the trundle and started the struggle with that mattress. She pulled it up and out on the fifth try. She moved about the bed and worked hard to get it matching the upper bed. I stood there for over ten minutes watching the beds be made. Once the beds were done, the pillowcases had to be stuffed. I have never seen someone take such care in cramming a pillow down into a case. She did.

So what did that teach me? It gave me hope for the future. All too often, I hear or read about how lazy the young people of today are. I see comments on how they cannot complete a job and always look for others to do it for them. I hear parents comment on how they need to step in to help their children. Tonight, I saw none of that.

I was reminded of my former students this evening as I watched our daughter. I was reminded about how if you work with young people and help them learn the skills they can eventually go on their own and accomplish great things. Tonight was just a simple bed. However, I learned that our daughter, just like every other kid, wants to be able to do things on her own. She will ask for help over and over again, and as long as you have the patience, it will eventually move from doing, to helping, to watching. Tonight I watched. That is what we need to do with every young person. Keep patience. Move them toward independence and then, most importantly, be ready to stand back and let them go.

The bed had a couple of wrinkles. It took a heck of a lot longer to complete than if I had just done it. I would have put the top sheet so the design was inside. I could have…………just stayed quiet and let her go.

It is funny that making a bed can mean so much to me. I saw the future. I saw our daughter moving towards independence.

The best thing about this is that our daughter is not special. By being in education, we get to see so many young people. Each and every one of them is capable of independence and are working towards it. With all the rhetoric about our country going downhill, I am happy to report that it is not. I have hope that the young people of today will do better than us. At least my daughter can make a better than me.

Thank you for meandering with me tonight.

Posted in Do right thing, family | Tagged | Leave a comment

Lessons Learned From Painting a Room

Posted on July 7, 2016 by Bob Martin

20160703_200551During this past week, I spent four days trapped in our daughter’s room. I accepted the challenge to repaint the room – changing it from a little girl’s room to that of an older, more mature, young lady. It happened. She looked at me a month ago and asked for me to change her room. She was ready to grow. I was not. Yet, I accepted the challenge and completed it.

The funny thing about being trapped in a room for four days is that you get a lot of time to think. So many things came through my head. I figured out how to kill a character or two in the current murder mystery I am writing. Then I had to figure out the clues left behind for the detectives. This guy is tricky so I am still working that. Once I stopped writing in my head, I let my thoughts wander. That’s when I realized that painting really lends itself to lessons about life. Here is just some of the ramblings that went through my head.

The first lesson I learned is that nothing in life is quite as easy as it seems. When our daughter first asked me to take on the task, I thought about the painting I did last summer of the living room and dining room. It has large open walls with a few corners and open ceiling. I also was using the same colors. I thought that was easy; how hard can this be? HA! I did not think about the fact that I had sky blue on the ceiling and hand-painted cartoon characters on the wall. The fact that she wanted stripes didn’t seem so bad. I forgot that the closet was open so that walls turned a number of times. I forgot about the taping, scraping, spackling, and cleaning. I didn’t think about moving furniture back in forth in a little room. As I started tackling the jobs, I thought about how this really matched life. So often we agree to do things without really looking at how much of a commitment it will really take. This job reminded me of many times in my past when things were presented to me much like I looked at the painting. It will be an easy, not much time needed job. I learned, or was reminded, that when I look at taking on new jobs, I really need to make sure that I really know the commitment I am promising.

The next lesson that kept coming up time and time again is that you cannot quit once you have started. You need to see things through to the end. There were so many times in those four days that I wanted to stop and yell defeat. I know a number of people who do painting on the side, and I could have offered any one of them a job. Yet, our daughter was depending on me to finish the job. At the end of each day, my body was sore (I am sure anyone who has painted a house would agree). I went through a shirt a day which can now only be used for work around the house. I finished the second coat on the ceiling only to see half blue and half yellow and felt as if this job would never be done. Throughout it all, I had a little one watching the progression of the job. She saw me complete each task. I need her to see me complete the job as a lesson that you never quit (Okay – you can quit some things). This job actually reminded me as I get ready to head back to work from a few weeks off of the tasks waiting for me. It gave me the strength to go back and have the same attitude. I hope our daughter takes away the same.

Painting this room by myself taught me how much better life is with a partner. Normally when I start at a job of this size, my wife jumps right into the mix with me. She is normally there by my side helping – not so this time. My wife was only a couple of days into her recovery from her second knee replacement surgery. While she wanted to be able to help, it would have been a little scary to see her using a walker while on a ladder. However, it is not just in painting that I truly appreciate my wife being my partner. I often thought about how much easier things could be with the right partner by my side. I made sure to say right partner because our daughter did try to come in and help. I allowed her to try. I helped her learn how to paint, and we worked together. I went back over those areas after she left. You don’t want just anybody to be your partner, it has to be the right person. Doing this by myself made me realize just how much my wife means to me. She is that right partner. I missed her on this project and am so thankful she is by my side in all other endeavors.

The last lesson, that I will share, is that it is hard being the parent of an only child. Back in20160701_120154 January, I wrote about the Single Child Syndrome. Now I am looking at it from the viewpoint of the parent. Single children deal with a different world since they do not grow up having to deal with siblings. They must learn all of the social skills through interacting with friends. I believe parents of these children also must deal with situations unlike those of multi-children parents. I am the youngest of four – not only are their four boys in my family, but the time span between births is only 4 years 8 months. I think by the time I was ready to grow and move through different mile stones, my parents were happy just to be done with another one. I think there was little sentimentality in my walking, my talking, my being ready to move to the next phase. I also think that as my brothers moved through the phases, my parents were too busy running herd over us to be sentimental. Since we only have one child, these moves through stages hit hard.

When our daughter came to me to ask for the painting, it came out as…”Daddy. I want to change my room. I am too old to have Ariel on my wall. Can you paint over them?” I asked her to think about it. “I have. I need a room for a grown-up girl.” There would be no talking her out of this. She was ready whether I was or not. I was not. I started thinking about it, and this seems to be a June/July thing. Each summer she announces another big change and how she is ready to be more grown-up. I believe that it has something to do with preparing for the next grade in school.

So I accepted her wishes. I walked into her room and looked at the cartoon characters that have been on her wall since before she was born. Ariel and Flounder over her bed. Pooh greeting her as she entered. Tigger reading a book behind her dresser. I stood looking at each. Remembering. I remembered walking a baby into this room and showing her each character. I remember walking the room at two in the morning with a crying child showing her each one hoping to get her to calm down. I remember rocking her as she was fed and making silly voices so that she could hear her friends talk. Then there were the stars and planets to come off the ceilings. Stars which held her wishes. Now they fall so that I can paint over the sky and sun. This job made me accept that our daughter was growing no matter how much we wanted her to stay young. Time moves forward and our daughter is skipping down the road of the future.

20160701_091906So with paint brush in hand, the sky and sun disappeared. The radio actually played Here Comes the Sun with the first brush of paint. The roller moved over Tigger and I heard Cat’s in the Cradle. It was more than just the music tugging at my heart-strings. But paint over them I did. The characters kept showing up. More paint to remove her childhood, but nothing can remove my memories.

So now the job is done. She has a room set-up for a pre-pre-teen. It has taught me about myself and about her. I will take my lessons with me as I move on to the next project either at home or work. I will look at our daughter differently. She is still young – just not as young as she was yesterday. She wants to grow-up. While we will make sure that that doesn’t happen too fast, we will need to let it happen. She will always be my little girl. However, now that Tigger, Pooh, Ariel, and Flounder do not greet me when I step into her room, I find that I am ready to walk with her into the next phase of her life. I am excited to see where it takes us. I fear that this part of her life will be over all too soon. I will enjoy it while I can.

So that is what I learned from painting a room. Thank you for meandering with me tonight.

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Father’s Day Thoughts

Posted on June 19, 2016 by Bob Martin

Collage 2016-03-23 21_54_07This morning I was sitting quietly taking advantage of the quiet time when our daughter came running down the steps, across the room, jumped in the chair with me, and squeezed me tight. She lovingly wished me a Happy Father’s Day. Yes, today is the day when many children reach out to their dads with thanks, or take a moment to remember the dads who are no longer with us. The nice thing is that while the words don’t happen every morning, the hugs, at least for now, still occur every day. I am not sure how long these will last, hint hint teen years, but I will take them as long as she gives them.

Prior to the nice hug, I had time to sit in silence and think about Father’s Day and what makes a dad. FB is full of comments stating that anyone can be a father, but it takes a special man to be a dad. This saddens me because judgements are being made about people without knowing them. Yes. There are a number of men who father a child and then walk away. They want nothing to do with the child. The words I have for them, I will not post here. There are also men who want to be part of their children’s lives but cannot. I feel for those men today.

So what makes a good dad? I don’t know. No manual comes with a baby that tells you what to do. We are all doing this by the seat of our pants. Yes, if you go to any book store, there are a number of books on parenting and how to raise a child. I found two problems with these books. The first is that they disagree with each other. The second is time. Who, once a child enters the home, has time to sit down and read all of these books? I really feel that parenting comes from using the examples and mentors in your life to show what to do and what not to do. I also think that common sense is a big player when it comes to parenting. Finally, time. I notice that when people tell me that I am a good dad, it has nothing to do with what I am providing for my child, but the fact that I give my time.

I also think that I am lucky in the fact that I am an older parent. I had the chance to watch my friends raise children. I watched as their children grew into some great adults. I made mental notes as to what they did and how they did it. I also had the chance to mentor young people before having my own. This helped me a lot since you are not allowed to spank another person’s child. I had to learn to get my point across without hitting and yelling. This took time and patience. I now know how to do that with our daughter. I am able to take all of those experiences and roll them together into being a parent. Even with all of that information, I still screw it up and screw it up often. I am fortunate that our daughter doesn’t seem to care. She still trusts and loves me.

Mostly I pull from those who raised me. I, along with a number of my friends, were fortunate. We all belonged to a Drum and Bugle Corp as we went through our pre-teen and teen years. This group had a large number of adults who really cared about each and every child in the group. These parents all had the titles of mom and dad. They all acted as parents to us. I did not have one dad; I had ten. I remember spending time at my friends’ homes and never feeling like a guest. I was one of the family in each house, and my friends were siblings in our house. I had many different examples of parenting to pull from and quite often pull from different dads based on what is happening. Each and every one of those dads are rolled up inside of me today.

But in the end, I am the person I am today because of my parents. All of the other parents helped to shape and mold me, but my parents were the first to start the sculpting process. So most of my fathering style comes from my dad. I believe that he did not follow the style of parenting back in the 60s and 70s. My dad was a man who believed in family above all other things. He spent time with his boys. He believed in teaching us what a man was and how a man treated a woman. He showed by example of what it means to take care of a family. He brought joy into our lives. Unfortunately, our time together was very short. However, he taught me so much in those 14 years.

My dad taught me that you have to let children follow their own path. We often talked about 12734134_10153415752330509_3170381203124848043_n (2)what I wanted to do with my life. He never once said to me that I should be this or I should think about that. He wanted to know my dreams and encouraged me to go after them. I still remember him bringing home an old IBM electric typewriter from work. I would sit and type stories on it, and he would read them. What I think I liked most is that he didn’t pull the parent response. He didn’t gush over a story. Instead, we talked about my writing. He told me what he liked. He asked me about what I could change. He found ways for me to try to be better without destroying my want and love for writing.

My dad defended us when he had to, but he also expected us to do right. If a parent or teacher approached my dad about something one of us had done, he would get the facts from both parties. If we were in the wrong, we knew that we would have to sort it out. However, if we had done nothing wrong, we could see the grizzly bear come out. I can still remember my dad taking on the school when he found out how my brother’s third grade teacher was treating him. There was no way a teacher could justify pulling the hair of a third grade student. My dad knew it and defended my brother to the end.

We learned to love from this man by his actions. His love for us was always there and visible for the world. He showed us that my mom was his equal in the relationship. They worked together to make a family. I cannot remember him ever saying a derogatory remark about her or any other woman. He worked midnights so that he could be with us during the days. He also taught us to love our community as he volunteered with the fire department and then started a youth group. My dad taught us that love is not limited to family. I truly believe that he loved each and every kid that came through that group. He wanted them all to succeed just as much as he wanted it for us.

He gave us experiences instead of bunch of toys to be tossed away (though our toy box was full). We went camping. We went fishing. We made memories that have lasted over 50 years. To this day, some of my favorite memories are when he would take me to work midnights with him. He was a yardmaster for the railroad. He worked high in a tower overlooking the railyard. My toy trains were big 200 ton (according to a website) diesel locomotives. I would spend the nights up in the tower helping to put trains together or down in the engines running around the yard. My dad found a way to give time and memories.

I will also admit that my dad was not perfect. He was not a superhero. I knew this, and I knew it early on. I watched along with my brothers as he had his first heart attack. I went through the fear of being a young kid and seeing my dad fall. Fortunately, we were at a firemen’s event and help was there on the spot. Just the same, dads weren’t supposed to fall; he did. I think too often we expect dads to be invincible and then do not know how to deal with the fact that they are human. I learned that early on. I watched as he dealt with open-heart surgeries. I saw him struggle with what would happen with us if he didn’t make it. Perhaps the fact that I saw the impurities made him that much more of a dad to me. I am sure he hid a lot from us, but he made sure that we knew that he had struggles. In the end, the struggles became too much for him.

The day after my last final of ninth grade, a week after he went into the hospital after another heart attack, two days before my oldest brother’s graduation, the call came to inform us that we no longer had a dad. He fought it as long as he could, but in the end it was too much for his heart – June 19, 1980. Since this day falls around Father’s Day each year, I often wonder what I would say to him today if I had one more chance to see him.

 

Dad.

Thank you. Thank you for everything you did in those short years we were together. You were my rock, my mentor, my dad. You and mom worked together to make me the man I am today. Each and every day I think of you. I miss you. I love you.

While the pain of losing you has subsided, there has always been a void in my heart. I know that you have been with me through every up and down my life has taken. I know that you were with me when I left for the military. I felt you next to me at the alter when my beautiful wife walked down the aisle. I could see you standing next to the crib in the hospital on the day our daughter was born. You are there and will always be there.

I wish your grand-daughter had a chance to meet you. I so wish she could have known the man you were. We talk about you often. She knows a lot about you, but never has had the chance to hold you, hug you. This is the loss I know hurts the most.

Most of all, know that mom has never stopped loving you. She worked hard to become both mother and father to us. I believe she did you proud.

I work to live up to the example that you set for me and my brothers. I hope that we are half the men that you were.

I will carry you in my heart until the day that we get to meet again.  

Love,

Your son

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Lessons from a Hokey Show

Posted on June 18, 2016 by Bob Martin

AdobeStock_50888666I must say that I never thought I would be writing about a Disney show as the subject of one my posts – especially one that many would consider to be hokey. Like many of the Disney shows when I was a child, today’s shows would make an outside believe that there are little to no problems in this world. Yes – the characters all have some conflict of which they must struggle, but the good news is that no problem takes longer than the allotted time of the show – unless it is a two-parter. I will say that there is slightly more diversity going on where the characters are concerned, but just the same – according to Disney the world is sweet and Mom and Dad can help you solve all problems (even when they are the problem). As a matter of fact, the only thing really missing in these shows, when compared to those in the 50s, is Mom wearing a pearl necklace while cleaning. This is all to be expected since the shows are made by Disney and shown on their own channel. And where our daughter is concerned at a young age, I am okay with these being her favorite shows. The world will show its cruelty soon enough.

The show to which I will be writing about is Girl Meets World. This show is not every one’s cup of tea. My own niece told me that she doesn’t like it. Like many it is a little too sappy for their taste. It also doesn’t help that this show is supposedly a sequel to Boy Meets World. While it does use many of the same characters, it really doesn’t fit as a sequel. It has a totally different feel than the original. The first was, I believe, more of a young person’s comedy with nice messages mixed in. The new version is a sappy show filled with feel good messages with some comedy mixed in. It is a “nice” show to watch as a family with young people. It can open up conversations. So why does it take today’s writing? The episodes that are being shown this summer.

Up to this summer, we watched the main young people move through middle school. The shows provided a message to viewers that middle school problems, even bullying, could be fixed by good friends sticking together and working towards a resolution. Even bullying was a 20-minute problem. At the end of last season, the students promoted to high school. Just like the original series, their favorite teacher, in this case the main girl’s father and star of the show, gets transferred with them since the parents signed a petition. Now that the show focuses on high school, the messages are a little different. They still solve every problem, but the conflicts have a slightly different message.

The first couple of episodes, oh my the conflict took longer than 20 minutes, dealt with the kids having to deal with the change of schools and expectations. The students were no longer the kings of the school. They were being picked on by the upper classman, but even the bullies did it for a ‘good’ reason. Even the teacher struggled being in a new place. This episode had two nice things going for it.

The first message that we could talk with our daughter about was that change is not always easy, but that is no excuse to stop trying. In my 30+ years of working with young people, I remember so many of them talking with me about having to deal with change. All too often, parents and adults go over the top trying to make things easier for kids. We try to remove the hurt, pain, and struggle. Even this show had the parents try a couple of things, but failed. Finally, the parents realize that the students must be allowed to struggle. They do.  The students do not instantly become kings, they stay at the bottom of the totem pole, but at least they understand that life changes. I think the other thing that resonated with me was the teacher. He, unlike most teachers, had the chance to see his students after he had taught them, but in a different setting. He voiced what so many teachers, mentors, and parents think about so often – did I prepare them to be able to do their best. Notice I did not say succeed. That is truly up to them, but did I prepare them to be able to do their best.

Last night’s episode would be a good one to show at back to school night. (spoiler alert) The main character gets her first D. She does not shine; she struggles with a class. It gave a slight insight into what happens when a kid ‘fails’ for the first time – I know that a D is not a failure. The episode, while still keeping that feel good message, looked at the student’s attempt to come to terms with not being the best and the parents’ actions. Some of it rang true.

The student did not know how to accept and move from a low grade. It didn’t help that her friends informed her that the grade would be on her permanent record- something they never had to worry about. That may sound silly to think a single test would damage a transcript, but that is a true reaction of some students.  One failure will ruin their chance to be anything, get into a good college, and destroy all of their dreams. So much pressure is placed upon these students that they have to succeed at everything, that one dip can seem like a life ending event. It also showed that instead of buckling down and working, the student wants Mommy and Daddy to fix it. She also goes to the teacher and asks for a retest or extra credit. This is spot on to what teachers deal with each and every day. It is up to the teacher to give the student an A instead of them earning it. I am not saying that this is every student, but I am sure teachers will agree that they hear this all too often.

The father also decided to try to fix it. He went to do a teacher-to-teacher talk. The dad went in talking about how the kids have always been good students. He went in saying that the test was too hard. He said that high school was tough and giving a D would make his daughter not have the self-confidence to work hard. He was shocked when, after stating that she made his daughter look like a D student, the teacher responded with, “She is.” The father was told that currently his daughter’s work had EARNED her a D. She could change that.

Mom followed with her own meeting after seeing her daughter tired from studying. Mom is the tough one with whom nobody messes. However, she is does not follow this path. When I first saw this, I thought that they had left reality at this point. However, after thinking of some of the parents with who I worked, I can say that I did have some parents like this. The mom actually met with the teacher (by the shows timeline at 6 am) just to say thank you. This mother understood that the grade was up to her daughter, and that they would do what they could to help the student raise the grade.

This was a great show for parents. The teacher was not giving a bad grade. The student earned the low grade. She was not being mean. She was not picking on this one student. She did not wake every day with thoughts on how to destroy this child. She had a set of expectations of her students, and she stuck to those expectations. She did not give grades – her students earned them. She did not give one student extra credit because she was a good student. She stuck to her guns. Funny enough – the principal never was brought into the situation. I really liked when the teacher explained that one test does not change a permanent record. It is just an example of what the student has learned. It is up to them to do better the next one. They can ask for help, but you can’t ask for a grade.

The only sad part of the show, for me, is the ending. The student decided to start studying. Low and behold, her next test was an A. I would have preferred to see a C and everyone be proud of an earned C. They resolved the problem too quickly. I would love to have seen this carried over as a subplot. Students do not get As after one night of studying. The Disney message was strong at this point – all will be wonderful.

I know that we have just entered summer. I know that brains have turned off for the next 11 weeks. However, this would be something for families to watch before the start of the new year. Yes, you may be covered with Disney sap by the end, but it still would be something for families to understand. Students need to work for their grades, and they won’t always be an A.

That’s all. Thank you for meandering with me.

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Finding Some Silence

Posted on June 15, 2016 by Bob Martin

20160611_182215It has been a full 10 days since I have had the chance to sit and put words to ‘paper’. So much has happened in the world, our country, and my own life. It feels as if some person, the keeper of time, took switch in hand and turned up the RPMs to life. We no longer are traveling at 33-1/3. We have gone past 44 rpm and have even surpassed the old 78. Yet, life continues. We get up each morning, we take a breath, and we start our day. Life continues.

For the last few weeks, my office has been on summer work hours. We work 4-10s (4 days, 10 hours each). This allows for the office to be shut on Fridays, supposedly to save money. It also means three-day weekends. Since our little one and my wife are now off for the summer, I actually get up very early and head into work so I have a few hours to get work done before others show up. It doesn’t matter that I leave the house early since they would be asleep even if I left for the normal hours. So early to bed, early to rise, makes a man able to have some time in silence.

Here in Southern California, we go through a season of June Gloom. Early in the morning, we have clouds form over the ocean that are then pushed over the land. If you wake up early enough, you will generally find yourself in fog and mist. I like this time of year though a number of SoCal residents prefer the warmer days. One reason I like it is due to where we live. While we are part of Los Angeles, we are in the mountains. The gloom tends to burn off quicker at this level. This makes going down into the valleys interesting since you can see the fog and clouds just hanging below waiting for you to pass through them. It is even nicer when you drive back up the hill and break through into the sun and blue skies.

The other reason I like June Gloom is for the silence. Mind you, it is pretty quiet at 4:30 in the morning – fog or no fog, but the addition of the fog seems to remove any remaining morning sounds from the area. Quite often when I am out and about at this hour, I get transported back to the mornings of basic training. While the call of the bugle was anything but silent, the march from roll call to the chow hall was quiet with only the sound of the boots hitting the pavement. The sun was not up, cars were not moving about, just us. The trainees, their lovely Training Instructors, and a few birds. Otherwise, no sound.

As I mentioned earlier, fog adds to the silence of the morning. Having lived in the land of fog, the UK, and even growing up in Western New York, I have experienced my share of foggy mornings. I can only imagine that walking in a deep fog is probably the closest I will get to suspended animation. You cannot see anything (believe me, I have been in fogs in which anything more than a few inches was obscured), you really cannot smell anything, and the sound has been deadened. One is in silence. One is left to be with him/herself.

In the last few weeks, I have been walking out my door to this June Gloom, this wonderful fog, this peaceful silence. At first, I walked at got in my car and off I went. As each day passed, I have found that I am lingering longer and longer in my backyard before getting into the car. This morning I sat. I sat there in the dark. I sat there in the middle of the fog. I sat in silence. I have found that the silence is starting to sneak into other aspects of my life. I no longer turn on the radio in the car. My drive is in silence. I no longer turn on music or news when I reach the office. I listen to quiet for the first couple of hours in the office. Even tonight, while sitting with my daughter, who is reading, there is no sound in the room – just peace.

I want to admit that this can be a scary thing to do. When one does not have outside sound filling one’s ears; you are left to your thoughts. At first, I found my brain was full of its own noise. I went over lists of things to do. I thought about issues that were happening with the family. I replayed old problems in my head. I worried about the future. I worried some more. After a while, though, your brain gets the message that it does not have to be fully active all of the time. It finally will settle into its own silence. Then you get to enjoy both outward and inward silence. You get to think about nothing. You can find a new inner peace.

So what does fog and silence have to do with the opening of this post. I am finding that the more that is happening in the world, the more I need silence in my life. It all started a few weeks ago with the killing of a gorilla. It moved through politics and the naming of candidates for the upcoming election. Finally, this week with the tragic murders of the men and women in Orlando and today, the death of a 2 year-old while at Disney World. It seemed like everywhere one turned the news was all over the place. Even listening while listening to a musical radio station or watching a comedy on television, the breaks all had some bit of information about how additional facts were coming out and how we needed to watch or listen to be up on all of the stories.

While the radio and television and their advertisements for news is not new, the 24/7 barrage of media is still a relatively new thing for our world. There is no turning off the information. It is always on. What makes it worse is that the stations know that they cannot just repeat the same facts over and over so they break in to the story as soon as something new is discovered. The problem is that they do not give the people a chance to check on whether or not the new fact is accurate – it gets broadcasted with the understanding that it can be corrected later. It just doesn’t stop.

Add to this, the fact that social media allows everyone to voice their opinion and facts. Facebook is not a place of refuge from current events. One cannot find some respite from the speculations of how things could have been, should have been, or how they would have handled it. I see friends, life-long friends, in full blown arguments on how things should be handled. I see others jumping into conversations and verbally attacking people who they have never met, but feel comfortable enough calling them every name in the book just because they disagree. I see and hear a lot of talk, but no one seems to be listening.

Through all of this, as I sat this morning in my shroud of silence, the lyrics to Simon and Garfunkel’s Sound of Silence played in my head. While I am sure the song had a different meaning when first written, the words seem to be talking about today:

Ten thousand people, maybe more People talking without speaking People hearing without listening

It seems like so much is being said but nothing new is being voiced. It feels as if so many people are hearing without listening. They hear the words but are not listening to what the other person is saying,

The above comments are not just about the normal every day person. It is really about our leaders. They talk but say nothing. The do not listen to each other. There is so much that they could learn, but they let the words fall in the well of silence.

So, for now at least, I am turning off the noise. I am sitting in my silence. I will not isolate myself. I will turn on the noise to keep up with new events in the world, but then off it will go again. I would rather be walking around in no sound than in the sound that is currently happening.

So tonight I wish everybody the chance to find that silence. Find that peace.

Thank you for meandering with me tonight.

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Second Communion

Posted on June 5, 2016 by Bob Martin
Photo by lizbarlakphotography.com/

Photo by lizbarlakphotography.com/

Tonight is one those nights where I truly write more for me than anyone else. I hope that others will be able to read and enjoy, but in the end, this is one of those things that I put down so I can remember later.

Last week, our daughter made her First Communion. I am not sure why it’s “made” rather than “take or took”. None the less, she made her First Communion. Now for those who are not that familiar with the Catholic faith, this is when a member of the church first receives the Body and Blood of Christ. This normally takes place at the end of second grade. It is a big first step for a young person as they move through the sacraments.

So last week, our little eight-year-old took a step in her faith. A young girl normally wears a simple white dress. Her Nana, remembering the old days, bought a veil to go with the dress. She looked beautiful. I saw a glimpse of the future to the how she will look if and when she decides to marry one day. If you ever want to see a Dad turn in to putty, let their little dress in this fashion and then have them come and take your hand. I looked at this little angel staring up at me and then looked down at the tiny little fingers that held my hand. Then add her quietly asking, “Daddy? Do I look pretty?” Pretty? That is not the word to describe how she looked. I just stood and stared.

Of course this moment was broken as she let go of my hand and started twirling and dancing around the room followed by jumping off the couch to make the skirt poof out. She is our little girl. She knows when to be quiet and beautiful and then how to bring laughter into the room. So with that off we went to the service.

We arrived early – very early. My wife was concerned with all of those that were coming that we would be able to all sit together. It was nice because it gave us time for some photos and quiet time in the church. Soon the others started to arrive. 34 in all, young men and women gathering in their finest. Moms, Dads, Grandparents, Aunts, and Uncles the families filled the church. It was nice seeing these young people, who only a week earlier in their t-shirts and shorts were running around, taking the service so seriously.

I had the good fortune of being a lector for this Mass. I had the chance to be more than a spectator. I also had the chance, due to an elderly mother with a walker and wife with a new knee, to sit in the front row which is reserved for the handicapped. When it came time for the actual communion, we were sitting a few inches from our daughter. Add to this the fact that her Godfather was a co-presider and the Mass turned out to be more than we could have expected or hoped for.

I was nervous for our daughter when the time came. She had been so excited for the last few weeks, I was fearful that she would drop the Host. She smiled as she stood next to me waiting her turn. It was not her normal smile. This smile had a huge amount of pride behind it. She knew that she was becoming a full member of the parish. She stepped forward but kept looking at her mother and I. When her turn came, she did just as practiced. I felt proud of her and myself. I kept it together. For some reason, the only time I almost lost it was when one the Matriarchs of the parish stepped next to me in line and placed her hand on my shoulder. She looked at me and the joy she showed almost made me get that dust in my eye. I think it was because we were able to be at our normal Mass where all of these older members have watched our daughter grow since 10 days old.

Of course after the service, one must celebrate. We gave our daughter a choice – she chose Gordon Biersch – a place she has been to almost as much as church. Family and friends gathered to eat and celebrate.

I sat there, that night, as the proud papa. I thought back to my First Communion. Quite frankly, I remember nothing about it. I remember the classes that led up to it, but not the actual day. I know that St. Bernard’s held a special Mass just for the students to be able to make their First Communion. I remember the priest like it was yesterday, Fr. Foley. I do know that our family also went out and celebrated. I actually had one of the munchkins from The Wizard of Oz serve me that day. He had long since left Hollywood and worked at one of our local restaurants. However, that, I think, is where the similarities end. I think this day meant much more to our daughter than it did for me.

The one thing that gets mentioned every year when we celebrate those receiving their First Communions is that this is the first of many. The priest normally makes a plea that we see all of these young faces again next week and the week after. The sad thing is that we may not see some of them until it is time for Confirmation. The priest talks to the kids and tells them that they are welcomed every day.

Our daughter took this to heart. I will say that while she was excited about last week, this week and going to church was much more exciting for her. I truly believe that she was counting the minutes until church this week. All she kept talking about was making her second communion. She kept asking when it was time to go. She really wanted to do it all over again. Though this she was looking forward to being able to do it with her parents. She positioned herself between us as we moved to the altar. She kept looking back at me showing me that no longer were her hands crossed over her chest – they were in prayer form ready to receive. She was more excited to receive it just like everyone else and not in a special format. Tonight she told me she was looking forward to her third.

So that was her special day. I write this one to share, yes, but more importantly to print out and put away for her for years from now. I want her to remember this day. I hope she can do it without my words, but they are here just in case.

Thank you for meandering with me.

Photo by lizbarlakphotography.com/

Photo by lizbarlakphotography.com/

Posted in celebrate, family | Tagged | 4 Comments

They Did What?

Posted on June 3, 2016 by Bob Martin

Good evening all. It has been a while since I have had time to write, and I have missed you all. Writing, for me, is such a release and I have so missed putting my thoughts down and sharing. Part of the thing that has kept me writing is that work has kept me realllllly busy. The other reason is that the world has been so negative of late, and I was finding it hard not to touch on some of those topics. While I do accept and deal with the negativity, I don’t like to spread more of it.

With that in mind, tonight’s post might seem that I am bringing negativity into the world, but stay with me and I will try to bring it around to positive. I want to share some of the events that I have witnessed or been part of over the last week. I bring these events up because I am concerned for our young people. I see so many posts about younger people not living up to expectations. However, like I have mentioned in the past, they learn their behavior from somewhere.

The first one happened at our daughter’s First Communion. I really had expected to be able to write about this beautiful ceremony, and I am sure in a few days I will. However, I will share the events after the Mass. Now if you are not Catholic and never been to a First Communion, I want to let you know that this is supposed to be an extremely reverent event. Normally, after the service the children are brought up on the altar for pictures. A group shot is taken and then individuals. On most occasions, parents line up civilly and await their turn. NORMALLY!

I lectured at this Mass and walked out with the procession during the closing song. We walked out the back and I quickly walked around the side of the church to get back in to take photos. I walked back in and stopped. There on the altar were the children and the parents. The two people in charge were trying very hard to regain order. They started getting the parents back down onto the floor so that pictures could start. I attempted to move toward this cloud only to be pushed back not once, not twice, but three times. I swear I thought some rock band had walked out to start a concert. But wait…there’s more.

My mother had the chance, along with my brother, to fly out for this special event. Since my wife just had knee replacement surgery and my mother uses a walker, we had the chance to sit in the first row which is reserved for those who are handicapped. During the fray mentioned above. My 78-year-old mother stayed in the pew sitting quietly waiting. My wife turned around in time to see a mother climb over from the second pew into the first. She CLIMBED OVER the pew in church. She then, without hesitation, while still standing on the first pew, climbed over my mother. My mom sat there not knowing what to do and when my wife said something, the lady ignored her and moved on.

I get it that not everybody attending the Mass was Catholic and may not understand the service. However, I would think that any person would have enough common sense to know that this is not acceptable. The children stood on the altar watching all of this unfold. Some of them actually had fear in their eyes as they watched all of this.

The next situation happened this morning at a Starbucks near my house. This Starbucks, like most, is extremely busy. The parking lot has enough spaces, but when it gets busy it can mean that you are parking a bit away from the building. We pulled in hoping to get in and out with some drinks and be on our way. However, life throws lessons at you at the most unexpected of times.

The benefit to my wife’s surgery is that we have a handicap placard for a short time. Okay. That benefit might be more for me than her. So as we entered the lot, I saw a blue spot right in front of the building. This would be perfect so that we could all go in and place our order. While my wife gets around on the cane, it does still take a lot of effort with the cane. So that chance to get something feet from the door was a great surprise. Then we saw a bigger surprise. In-between the two spots was the blue thatched pattern with big letters stating – No Parking. Although it might have been hard to read with the car that was parked directly on top of the writing. We were able to get a spot on the far side, and left the family in the car while I went in for our order. I know – this is not the end of the world.

I did take a moment to look at the car and see a driver sitting there. For once, I went over and knocked on the window. She refused to open even a crack. I pointed beneath her and said, “This is a no parking spot, and you are blocking people who need the handicapped from parking here.” She shrugged her shoulders and turned away. I then realized that she was typing away on her computer. Only later did it dawn on me that she was sitting in the parking lot using the free Wi-Fi from Starbucks.

I mentioned something to the employee who told the manager. I could hear the manager respond with, “I don’t run the parking lot.” The poor employee turned back to me and tried to smile when she said, “The manager will go out in a minute.”

The last event came at K-Mart. We stood in line waiting for the person ahead of us to be checked out. She stood their talking away on her phone. While I have seen this many times, this person surprised me. I watched a few times as the clerk tried to talk with her, and she refused to halt her conversation to even acknowledge the man. So we all waited for her to break the dialogue in order to give the clerk money or a response. He stood there very calmly and waited. She finally finished and left.

Now I started this by saying I wasn’t going to be negative and yet it seems like that last 1090 words are nothing but negative. Well, that is dependent on how you take things. I stopped today and wondered why the world brought these things into my life. At first I was allowing events to take me down. I could sense frustration and stress over these and other events. Then I stopped.

A friend recently gave me a book, that I am half-way through, and it talks about life much like I have tried to live over the last year. Find the reason. Find the lesson. Find the good. So that is what I am doing. I am looking for the lessons.

I pondered about this and hear is what I heard come to my head. What about you? What have you done? I started wondering what I have done in recent days, weeks, months where I have put my wants above all others. I may not have climbed over pews, but I am sure that I wronged others. I am sure that I have been self-centered to the point that I was totally unaware of my surroundings. I am taking this as life’s message to me that before I can worry about what others are doing, I better make sure that I am doing right.

So negativity? NO. Positive. These events happened. I cannot change that. What I can change is me. So I am walking away from this by being making sure that I am not forgetting to look outside of me when I act. I will make the change to not do actions that cause hardships for others.

So I invite all to find that positive.

Thanks for meandering with me.

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