All Those Little Pieces

I know this guy, known him for close to 40 years, that everyone I know agrees is a bit strange. Nothing terrible, he’s a good guy and has a lot of friends, there’s just something a bit “off” about him. I find myself getting frustrated beyond belief every time I’m with him for any extended amount of time and that has made me wonder about a few things.

I wonder what it is that allows me to set the standard of what being a bit off is? I’m thinking that we all have to use ourselves as the measuring stick when it comes to these things. I mean, this friend for instance, he sits around and wonders about others just like the rest of us. While doing this, “normal” is him. His standard is himself, as it seems it should be. I can’t see how there can be any other measuring device. When any of us are talking to others about someone, and we all do, we’re comparing them to ourselves and that begs the bigger issue. How are you, me, or any other person, the standard?

I know when it comes to me, at times people must think I’m as weird as it gets. I sit and write about every issue that confronts me and put it out for the entire world to see. That’s certainly not the standard of the vast majority of people. Yet, in my mind, it’s the normal thing to do. I often wonder what I’d think if one of my friends did the same thing. Odds are I’d be talking to friends about this person and we’d all agree, this guy aint right.

I’m not saying that it’s anything so bad that we push someone completely out of our lives but don’t we all, whether we like it or not, feel that everyone is a bit “off” at times? Of course we do. I think that’s part of being human. We have that ability to look past the faults of others. The question is, who decides the faults? It’s you, it’s me, it’s the inner being of all of us.

We’re all a little broken in some way. I’ve stated on numerous occasions that I’ve got more issues than T.V. Guide but somehow they’re forgiven by the world at large and I’m able to go along my little immature life without being constantly hammered about it. I can’t imagine what life would be like if we were called onto the carpet for all our idiosyncrasies.

In A New York Minute

A friend of mine that I went to school with replied to an email I had sent her with news that can never be easy. She said she was sorry she couldn’t attend the Halloween party I had asked about because she was out of town. She told me she was in Florida because her Sister had died. Wow, tough note to receive, so much harder to write.

The thoughts that ran through my head were many. First of course was sorrow at what my friend and her family were going through, what a tragic event for anyone. I hadn’t even known she had a sister. I sent my condolences and let her know that I was here if she needed anything, the typical response to such news. What else does one say. I mentioned the incident to a few friends but didn’t want to spread the news very far simply because it’s not my place to decide how and when people hear such news.

Whenever anything like this happens, I think we all have the same type of reaction. The sorrow is obvious but at some point we internalize the news and, at least in my case, think of my own family. I sent my own Sister a note telling her about it and said that the news made me think of her and that I just wanted her to know that I was thinking of her and loved her. She responded by saying thanks and said that I had made her day. That was nice to hear.

At my age I think most folks live away from many members of their family. Friends have moved on with their lives and you just don’t get to see people as much as you’d sometimes like. My siblings are spread out, Karen’s in East Lansing, David is in Chicago and Steve’s in Orlando. Obviously we don’t see each other very often, as a matter of fact, the last time we were all together was when Karen got married around six years ago or so. The point I’m trying to make is the fact that, no matter how sad this sounds, I may never see any of them again. I know we can say that about anyone at any time. Hell, something could happen today and I may not see my next-door neighbor after I just saw him drive away this morning. Kind of freaks me out.

I’m not saying anything here that hasn’t been said before. I realize that life happens and we have no control over so many things, I just think about this stuff when something like this happens. I don’t know how close my friend was with her sister; I do know she couldn’t have seen her very often as she lived in Florida. It’s just that the idea that I may not see any of those important to me ever again kinda scares me. I guess it’s just a part of getting older that can’t be too pleasant.

Can You See The Real Me

Was at a friend’s place a few weeks ago when an incident happened that required the help of all the guys that were there. Someone had driven their car into a position that made it necessary for a number of us to go out and literally pick up the car in order for it to be able to move. While all the guys were dealing with the car, a number of the women that were there came out and watched. While this was happening, one of the women commented to me, while laughing, about how it was a macho fest kind of thing going on. Another woman that was there with us said that it wasn’t true for me. She told this woman that I was the most real person around and we all three laughed.

I’ve been thinking about that statement lately and I think I like it. I like the idea of being thought of that way. I think it means that I’m not looked at as one that puts on airs and I think that’s a good thing. I’m quite sure my writing has led to that kind of thought about me and I’m also just as sure that women feel that way about me more than men. Whereas my male friends make fun of me on a regular basis for my “sensitivity”, they still read the blog and I know I’ve struck a chord with a number of guys just from the reactions I’ve received from a number of posts. I think I say what they want to but would never say in public. Women, on the other hand, seem to “get” what I’m saying and tell me so on a regular basis. I’ve always said I write for chicks and if you’ve been a blog follower for the last few years, you know what I mean.

I think I’m the way I am, as most are, because of the way I grew up. Having a single Mother during my teen years and my sister pretty much raising us when I was very small obviously had a huge influence on my thought process. I think my brothers are also in step with me on this emotional level, though they’ve always done a better job of throwing on the macho air I spoke of earlier. They each have followed my writing regularly and have shared their thoughts on numerous posts both as comments on the blog and through conversations we’ve had.

So, I think this real thing can mean a few things. Yes, I write with a great deal of emotion and I’m not afraid to show my “feminine” side. I also think it means I’m kind of in touch with how most of my friends think. I look at that statement and it looks so, I don’t know, ego driven. Anyone who knows me knows that a large ego is nothing I ever have to deal with as I regularly suffer from the complete opposite.
I make the statement because of the notes and comments I’ve received over the years. Not only from friends but from folks I’ve never even met. It’s a pretty cool feeling to write what I feel and find I’m not the only one thinking that way. It’s rather freeing, if that makes sense. Sort of gives validation to this jumbled mass of thoughts that are constantly running around up stairs.

A Drop In The Bucket

You notice the little things in life. The smallest changes in my everyday living seem so inconsequential yet, noticing them gives me pause as I think of the reasons for said changes. I notice that I’m only filling my gas tank only once every two weeks now that I’m working. When I was unemployed I would buy gas at least once a week. The obvious reason for the change is that I’m working six days a week, I don’t have time to do much driving and therefore, well, obviously I don’t need to buy gas as often as I used to.

Since I was a teenager I, like many others, have always had a coffee can or one of those large water bottles that I throw change into. I’d dig into it when I needed some gas in the car or, back when I was a smoker, a pack of cigarettes. When I moved to California I’d go to Tijuana and buy one of those ceramic “Piggy” Banks you could always find on the road. After I got married I remember Shelly and I bought one in the design of a Big Mac. The kids were very young and we decided to always empty our pockets into the “Mac” at the end of each day. After a number of months we gathered in the Living Room and cracked it open. It was quite the family event as we had told the Kids we’d get them a surprise with the money we had in the “Mac”. We ended up with about three hundred dollars and we took the kids to Disneyland and we all had a great time.

I currently have one of those water bottles that I spoke of earlier. I empty my pockets of any change and drop it into it on a daily basis and it can quickly amass a decent amount of cash that can be used for anything I may need in a pinch. While I was out of work it was quite the savior for a number of “emergencies”. After a while there wasn’t much left and it had stopped serving any purpose except to take up some space in my room.

Getting back to work I’ve noticed a change in the bottle. The level is going back in the right direction and it’s getting more silver into it again. When you are constantly digging into it, the silver is the first to leave the confines and eventually, all you have left is the copper color of pennies. I actually do what I can to not spend any of the change I gather during the day. I like to empty my pockets and drop it into the bottle when I get home. Like I said, it’s the little things in life that get noticed.

The C Word

I haven’t written much lately and that’s simply a case of my mind being in a decent place. I found work at a place that, so far, seems like something right up my alley. That’s a good thing. I like the type of work, the give and take with the people is something I’ve always enjoyed and have always been really good at. It’s been about a month now and I feel I’m getting into a comfort zone. That being said, that comfort zone has allowed other things into my head, some good, some not so good. I feel I am now getting the time to think about old things and allow new stuff to enter into this body of contemplation that’s been dormant for the last month or so.

Over the last number of months there seems to be a rash of cases of my friends or their family members being diagnosed with Cancer. They’ve been diagnosed with different types but the disease is just as devastating to their bodies, their minds and their entire circle of loved ones. My brother Steve was diagnosed with Cancer of the Liver almost two years ago and he was fortunate enough to have a transplant in a rather short space of time and he’s “cured”. I use the quotes there because I wonder if anyone is ever really cured. The games this insidious disease must play with ones mind is something I can only view as an observer and it’s so far reaching that I’ve felt like I’ve swung and missed at every pitch.

Since I’m more involved with the victims in these cases I’m able to see, on a daily basis, the effects Cancer has on an entire circle of people that surrounds the actual victim. I, along with many others, have seen instances of strength and courage normally reserved for World War II movies and have swelled with pride just watching these demonstrations both from a distance and up close. We’ve also all seen the damage done to this same circle of people mentioned above.

The more people I talk to about it, the more I realize that nobody is immune to this most evil of words I’ve ever heard or spoken. I, personally, currently know seven people that are either fighting Cancer or, just as sadly, have a family member dealing with it. I can’t do much else but think of these heroes every minute of the day and hope the pain they feel will soon go away. I post my status on Facebook on a frequent basis and have decided to honor these bravest of people by adding that number of friends that are facing this issue head on. I’m sure it’ll need updating and hopefully not just adding to the number. My little way of honoring them, if you know what I mean.

Cancer. What an ugly, ugly word. I can’t imagine anything decent being thought of about it. I’ve always been taught that names of things are capitalized when written out. I don’t think Cancer deserves that kind of respect. It’s a small little protest but I won’t use capital letters when writing it anymore. cancer, you don’t look so intimidating now.

An Old Post Revisited

Another sleepless night spent beating myself up over things I’m sure others would find unimportant. I just can’t seem to turn my brain off on these occasions and when my head starts sifting through thoughts, well, it’s always the bad ones that stick. I sift through the thoughts and almost everyone begins with the words, “I wish”.

One of the first posts I ever put up on the blog was titled “I Wish”. I was just rereading it and it’s pretty amazing how encompassing it is. I thought I’d reprint it here with a few updates and omissions. This is what I do when I can’t sleep and I’m feeling the world is coming down all around me. Thanks for your indulgence:


I wish I didn't make fun of that girl named Jean in Mrs. Mitchell's class in third grade.

I wish I wasn't a fat kid growing up. I'm sure my self-confidence would have been much higher throughout my twenties after I lost all that weight.

I wish Lucky would go lay down when I tell her to.

I wish Lucky knew how much good she has done for me over the last few years.

I wish my wife had never asked me why I found something funny, just let me find it funny.

I wish I could relive the month of May 1984 every month.

I wish I hadn't turned down the opportunity to dance with people that mattered.
I wish I didn't listen to certain songs over and over again when all they do is make me cry.

I wish I could explain why certain songs mean so much to me.

I wish I were better at double jeopardy. I have single whipped.

I wish I wasn't so afraid to be touched.

I wish I didn't long to be touched so badly.

I wish I were as good a singer in public as I am in my car.

I wish the television show "Freaks and Geeks" lasted longer.

I wish I still worked at the Vons on Balboa and Genesee.

I wish I liked to drink alcohol.

I wish I were a better Father.

I wish I had been a better Husband.

I wish I knew how to talk to my son.

I wish I had a belief in a higher power, for all the wrong reasons.

I wish people could understand how I don't.

I wish people didn't take their public lives so seriously, lighten up, I find it hard enough to make it through my private life.

I wish I didn't like Carly Simon's "The Carter Family" so much.

I wish I wasn't such a chick.

I wish I had the courage to backpack through Europe when I was younger.

I wish I had the courage to do it now.

I wish I had seen "Dances With Wolves" on the big screen.

I wish they would still let you go to the gate at airports to sit and wait for your party to arrive just so I could see all those emotions that I adore.

I wish it didn't cost $550 to put new tires on my car.

I wish money did grow on trees.

I wish I did have stock in the electric company.

I wish public speakers would pronounce immediately correctly, it's not ahmediately.

I wish I didn't have so much time on my hands.

I wish I didn't wear a watch. (I don’t anymore)

I wish I owned a professional baseball team. (Just to see all the games for free).

I wish I could be my friend.

I wish I could figure out why I find that so difficult.

More Daddy Issues

About a week ago I got a comment on a post that I found really interesting. Someone had stumbled across the blog and recognized my last name. It seems she used to work for my Dad when he owned the “ Head Shop” in Wyandotte when I was young. She said that Dad had given her a job at a tough time in her life and had made her feel safe. It was really a very nice comment and an even nicer thing to say about Dad. I called Dad and told him about it. He didn’t remember her by name but said it felt really good to hear the comment and that he had helped a number of kids back then. It also brought a number of conflicting thoughts into my head.

The first being the question of why not me? Why did he find it so easy to become so emotionally involved in some complete strangers life yet couldn’t tell you the date of any of his kid’s birthdays? I know, it is what it is and nothing can ever change that. I do, however, find myself getting these feelings of jealousy whenever anyone tells me about what a great guy he was. It’s really something to hear others talk about him like that. I have no doubt that Dad was a hero to many a scared kid that would happen upon the “Shake Shop”, that was the name of the store he had back then. It’s a very positive thing for him to be remembered like that. As I’ve said, there are probably numerous “kids” that recall him in a fond manner. It does, however, just go to help explain what I’ve said so many times before.

The relationship he had with these kids was plastic. It made it easy for him to shine. The woman who wrote the note about him said that those that hung around the store never knew him outside the “Shake Shop” and I think she, and anyone else in her position at the time, believe the man they knew to be different in his “personal” life. The sad thing is that she’s probably right. He was very different at home. He simply wasn’t there emotionally. It’s so strange to think that the things he could give to these total strangers so easily, were unavailable to his family. I know my brothers and sister would have gladly taken that plastic Phil that others were afforded but it wasn’t an option. We had the Dad we had and that’s what we have to live with. So be it.

If I were to talk to Dad today about any of this, he wouldn’t get it. I’m totally convinced that he thinks he was the same at home as he was at the shop. That he was the cool guy that made us feel safe just like the woman who wrote the note felt. Ok, let him believe it. There really is nothing to be gained from trying to hurt him. I know that he got the warm and fuzzies just hearing what this woman said about him and that’s a good thing. I don’t think I would have told him if she had said anything disparaging. There just wouldn’t be any point to it. He feels good about what I told him and I think I’ll just leave it at that. I feel good when I write about it so I’ll also leave it at that.