OK, my next assignment was to write an essay or short story about an influential person in my life. My instructor described this as a "fine, fine essay" "You really brought Tony to life." I thought it was lousy - no false modesty I promise you. What do you think?
Tony's Kids
Tony never finished High School. It seems so odd because he was so smart and articulate. But regardless of how high he rose through the management ranks of his company, it was still there in the back of his head. He really had a chip on his shoulder because of it and he would show anyone who looked cross ways at him that he was just as bright and well read as they were.
I suppose his outspokenness and outgoing personality in some way were his compensating for his lack of education. He was hard to miss. Everyone knew Tony and just about everyone liked him. All this probably had something to do with why Tony loved little kids so much. Not teenagers or ten year olds, little kids, especially babies. Kids were not a threat to him. They certainly didn't have more education than him and they weren't about to tell him what to do.
Tony must have liked kids. He had six of his own – three boys and three girls in thirteen years. He had a new one to play with about every two years. As each of the kids became toddlers, they would be invited into the evening ritual of going to the drug store for coffee and a coke. It was Tony's escape from working around people that he saw as over educated and dumb as rocks.
Tony was a handsome man and always got to know the waitresses by name. He got into the habit of bringing his youngest toddler along for company and to show them off to the waitresses at the drug store. But only the little ones – no teenagers allowed. As each kid grew up he or she dropped out of the group to be replaced by the younger kid.
One night Tony was at the bowling alley having a coffee and killing time. That night there were mixed leagues bowling so there were a lot of young kids because their mothers couldn't or didn't get baby sitters. Most people probably thought these kids were a nuisance but not to Tony. He saw them as little people to talk with. He saw a little 5 or 6 year old boy playing on one of the arcade games. Tony walked over and started talking with the kid. While they were talking he noticed something that looked like a fleck of dirt above the kid's eyelash.
"Come here little man, you've got something on your face" he said.
Tony grabbed the offending fleck and gave it a quick tug. The kid started screaming for his mother. Tony had pulled a stitch out of the boy's face. The kid continued screaming as Tony sheepishly explained to the boy's mother had happened. I can just see the redness of his face when he realized what he had done.
That little embarrassment didn't slow Tony down. After all he had six grandchildren to spoil.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Writing Class
I'm taking an online course in creative writing. It isn't what I expected. I wanted some professional criticism of my writing and to learn some skills. The instructor is a woman that lives near San Diego and has written dozens of books and thousands of magazine articles. She's knowledgeable for sure, but she believes in only encouraging you - no negative criticism. That's a problem for me. She also wants everything "G rated". That was an immediate obstacle for me, but it has forced me to think and write outside my comfort zone.
A recent assignment was to pick something that you can't throw away from your purse, wallet or junk drawer and write a 1000-1200 word essay about it. Then edit it down to 500 words. In the essay we were told to "arrive at a basic truth." Here's what I wrote:
I carry a plastic card in my wallet that’s never been used. It looks beat up and discolored because it has ridden along with me for so long. It may be used once in my life – maybe never. It’s a Medical Device ID card. It says that I have a Guidant CRT-P pacemaker, Model H/120, Serial No. 103547 that was implanted on August 8, 2006. Pretty mundane stuff.
When I received the card after getting this pacemaker – my second, I glanced at it and quickly put it in my wallet wondering what use it was to me. The answer is that it isn’t much use. It’s of no use getting through airport security. It’s not something you pull out to show friends. I don’t get a discount on my next pacemaker with it. The one thing it may be used for is to verify the identification of my pacemaker when it’s replaced sometime soon. But there is something else far more significant that makes it very useful. It’s a reminder.
A reminder of why I have that thing in my upper chest wall. It reminds me that I’m alive.
That’s pretty big. I didn’t die on October 28, 1997, -- the day I was “mostly dead” as Miracle Max said in The Princess Bride. I’m here right now. That’s something that changes you. You hear a lot about people who’ve had near death experiences. When they talk about it they often use the phrase “stop to smell the roses.” There are a lot of religious awakenings too. But that’s not me.
It’s subtle change. It made me realize how much I love good people. I can’t get enough of good people. I am astonished by how many good people there are. People who are generous, caring, supportive and comforting. Regular people who go to work, take care of their kids, are good to their parents and all the everyday stuff that a person does. People who quietly go about their lives successfully without notoriety.
My kids are good people. They know that there are some nasty lasting consequences of my being “mostly dead” that day. The disease that probably caused the heart episode has also invaded my nervous system and left me with very low blood pressure and other ugly symptoms. My kids know that I struggle with these problems. One reason I know this is because my oldest son once told me that he was worried because he knew that when I had to sit down to avoid passing out, I might self consciously only sit for thirty seconds rather and the three minutes that I really needed. That simple acknowledgement meant everything to me. Not only is he concerned about my well being but he has taken the time and interest to truly understand what I’m dealing with. That’s what a good person does.
You can easily spot a good person. They listen, they remember and they care enough to follow through. When they ask “How are you?” they really want to know. A good person has time for you. They don’t ask “Is there anything I can do?” They jump right in and help without being asked.
But the best thing of all about good people is they make you want to be a good person. They make you want to pay attention to people. They make you want to be there for your family and friends, your co-workers and even strangers. They make you want to be unselfish. Because in the end, doing the right thing – which is what being a good person boils down to – is its own reward. It gives you that private satisfaction that can’t be matched by any award or recognition.
I have literally had a second shot at life. It has made me appreciate how many good people have stepped up and supported me, comforted me and just plain been there for me. It has made me want to be a good person.
You don’t have to have a near death experience to appreciate good people or to be a good person. Just live a decent life and do the right thing. You know what it is. Anyone can do it.
A recent assignment was to pick something that you can't throw away from your purse, wallet or junk drawer and write a 1000-1200 word essay about it. Then edit it down to 500 words. In the essay we were told to "arrive at a basic truth." Here's what I wrote:
I carry a plastic card in my wallet that’s never been used. It looks beat up and discolored because it has ridden along with me for so long. It may be used once in my life – maybe never. It’s a Medical Device ID card. It says that I have a Guidant CRT-P pacemaker, Model H/120, Serial No. 103547 that was implanted on August 8, 2006. Pretty mundane stuff.
When I received the card after getting this pacemaker – my second, I glanced at it and quickly put it in my wallet wondering what use it was to me. The answer is that it isn’t much use. It’s of no use getting through airport security. It’s not something you pull out to show friends. I don’t get a discount on my next pacemaker with it. The one thing it may be used for is to verify the identification of my pacemaker when it’s replaced sometime soon. But there is something else far more significant that makes it very useful. It’s a reminder.
A reminder of why I have that thing in my upper chest wall. It reminds me that I’m alive.
That’s pretty big. I didn’t die on October 28, 1997, -- the day I was “mostly dead” as Miracle Max said in The Princess Bride. I’m here right now. That’s something that changes you. You hear a lot about people who’ve had near death experiences. When they talk about it they often use the phrase “stop to smell the roses.” There are a lot of religious awakenings too. But that’s not me.
It’s subtle change. It made me realize how much I love good people. I can’t get enough of good people. I am astonished by how many good people there are. People who are generous, caring, supportive and comforting. Regular people who go to work, take care of their kids, are good to their parents and all the everyday stuff that a person does. People who quietly go about their lives successfully without notoriety.
My kids are good people. They know that there are some nasty lasting consequences of my being “mostly dead” that day. The disease that probably caused the heart episode has also invaded my nervous system and left me with very low blood pressure and other ugly symptoms. My kids know that I struggle with these problems. One reason I know this is because my oldest son once told me that he was worried because he knew that when I had to sit down to avoid passing out, I might self consciously only sit for thirty seconds rather and the three minutes that I really needed. That simple acknowledgement meant everything to me. Not only is he concerned about my well being but he has taken the time and interest to truly understand what I’m dealing with. That’s what a good person does.
You can easily spot a good person. They listen, they remember and they care enough to follow through. When they ask “How are you?” they really want to know. A good person has time for you. They don’t ask “Is there anything I can do?” They jump right in and help without being asked.
But the best thing of all about good people is they make you want to be a good person. They make you want to pay attention to people. They make you want to be there for your family and friends, your co-workers and even strangers. They make you want to be unselfish. Because in the end, doing the right thing – which is what being a good person boils down to – is its own reward. It gives you that private satisfaction that can’t be matched by any award or recognition.
I have literally had a second shot at life. It has made me appreciate how many good people have stepped up and supported me, comforted me and just plain been there for me. It has made me want to be a good person.
You don’t have to have a near death experience to appreciate good people or to be a good person. Just live a decent life and do the right thing. You know what it is. Anyone can do it.
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