Our Tolerance

Scribbled on my yellow Post-It note are the following words:
     Our tolerance for everything has produced an unwillingness to restrict anything.

     I have no idea where I stole that from or when I stole it, but I do know that it certainly strikes a chord for me. As I am prone to do, when I encounter a news article, a quotation, or a picture that intrigues me, I cut it out and put it into a file--might sound boring, I realize, but from time to time I encounter situations that trigger a response connecting to one of those cutouts. Today I am sharing one that relates to many situations alive and well in our society.

 

     With each passing month, I suppose my resistance to change lessens just a bit. My occasional "anal-retentive" drive to do so much the right way occasionally shrinks to a "so what" approach. Desiring to follow a set routine marked by a daily to-do list is more frequently reduced to an "I'll do it tomorrow" approach. People tell me I have earned the right to do so, yet I remain somewhat unconvinced. I have routines that I enjoy because they provide me satisfaction at day's end, so forcing me to break away is sometimes a struggle. In short, I do not "tolerate" change simply for change's sake. What I am observing, though, is that it often is easier to simply surrender and accept . . . a task I find difficult to do.

 

     The world is whizzing by faster than I sometimes can understand. Morals, styles, laws--so much, so fast--frequently leave me shaking my head in amazement and often amusement. Do we say "whoa" to anything, or do we just accept the world as it is changing?

 

     As I am writing  and re-reading my words, I sense that I am sounding like an old codger saying that the world is going to hell. In truth, I am struggling this afternoon trying to make my point. Perhaps it would be better if I just dropped the lead-in and got to my focus:

 

*We accept swearing in so many diverse situations that it almost seems natural to hear what many may consider offensive; in particular, the "f-bomb" is treated like an acceptable word; trust me when I tell you that I am no angel, but I do understand parameters of what is and what is not acceptable. However, our guards have dropped, and that is life today.

 

*We accept a society where we find it perfectly acceptable to criticize our country's leaders; in a time where we desire cohesion and loyalty, we instead feel so free--thanks to the ease of social media--to blatantly criticize, ridicule, and demean those same people who were elected to represent us. Our guards have dropped, and that is life today.

 

*We accept the bandwagon jumping that goes along with people's criticism of police, and we are so often guilty of following the loudest critic in the room--whether that voice has any logic to it or not. Our guards have dropped, and that is life today.

 

*We accept that public decorum is left to the individual rather than what is acceptable to others; wearing pants way low in the back, showing as much skin as possible,  . . . the list goes on. To say something, of course, is considered by many to be an act of invasion, so we just go about our way. Our guards have dropped, and that is life today.

 

*We accept the apathy toward the English language, considering it to be no big deal that our writing skills are deteriorating at a rapid pace. Our guards have dropped, and that is life today.

 

*We accept that walking with headsets on limits conversation with others in a world where interaction is needed more than ever. Eye contact and personal conversation suffer . . . , and we often wonder why. Our guards have dropped, and that is life today.

 

*We accept that eating in a restaurant or even in our homes has no bearing on whether we are checking our cell phone or interrupting conversation . . . the "so what" attitude seems to prevail. Our guards have dropped, and that is life today.

 

     More examples could certainly be provided, but the snowball rolling down the hill analogy seems to fit. Because of our almost-blind acceptance of practically all behavior, I sense an unwillingness to restrict much of anything. At what point do we step up and say, "Enough!" It is so easy for us to criticize, yet it is so hard to actually combat deteriorating behaviors. Certainly, I am not advocating physical confrontation, but I am stressing that if we--the adults--do not occasionally point out flaws,  this tolerance will continue to worsen . . . and that, my friends, scares the hell out of me.

To read all my blog entries, please go to michaelagunther.blogspot.com.

"A Sign of an Intelligent Person Is . . ."

"My kid is not reading that book; there's swearing in it!"    

 

As formal academic progress once again resumes, along with it comes the opportunity to assess the learning that occurs in our children's classrooms. Many, of course, welcome the educational opportunities presented to today's kids, yet, somehow, a certain percentage question the motives behind change and intellectual discussion. Before the "attack" season begins, though, I would like to offer my two cents regarding an issue dear to English teachers' hearts: teaching controversial literature.

 

     Many feel that a public school is not the place for discussion of controversial matters. I, however, vehemently disagree. A classroom is a center of intellect, a place for intelligent discussion about a variety of matters--some controversial, some not. By teaching a novel, a teacher and the school are not endorsing the topic; rather, they are providing a forum for mature conversation. My experiences have shown me that my students shine when given the opportunity to present their views; although not all are in agreement, that is the beauty of the discussions. Those who hold differing views are provided the opportunity to voice their concerns, their opposition, their reality . . . without the fear of being ridiculed or humiliated. That is what education is: learning!

 

     My classroom has been the center of tremendous discussions, ones that have made my students think . . . and that is exactly what I have attempted to create. I do not want today's students to be programmed to accept only one perspective; instead, I want them to listen, to process, and to rationalize. It is not of importance to me that in literature discussions that students are merely reiterating the basic elements of literature. Literature is meant to make one think. Many parents, I realize, are threatened by that. Their opposition is usually based upon three key triggers: swearing is present, the Lord's name has been taken in vain, and sex is mentioned. I hear that argument, but I must counter by asking if those same parents think that is what is being discussed in class? That the teacher is encouraging the teenagers to swear, to take the Lord's name in vain, and to have sex? If so, that thinking is quite shallow and way off the mark.

 

     So often, the reaction is immediate: we do not want our children to think on their own. Rather, we want them to be staunch advocates of our own selves. As a parent, I recognize this, but I also recognize that my wife and I could protect our daughters only so far. Our children grew up in the Catholic faith, and we would like to believe that with their moral upbringing that we laid a strong foundation for their adult lives. However, my wife and I wanted our daughters exposed to so many aspects of life including the realities of "the other side of life." They realized that exposure did not warrant endorsement. I share this personal story only to make my point: we wanted them to think on their own; they knew our family values, and they understood what was acceptable and what was not. We did not expect them to be like my wife or me; of course, we privately hoped that they would share a few of our attributes, but we trusted their maturity to develop their own views. That is what life experiences are like. Reading controversial novels is no different. Without a doubt, I would much rather have had my own children intellectually discuss a controversial matter in a structured environment being led by a trained professional than I would have on their own with their peers  . . . and, believe me, they did . . . and their conclusions may have had no rationality to them at all!

 

     I will conclude my explanatory comments by making what I perceive to be an extremely relevant point: I would ask all critics of any novel to perform one task before attacking a book: Read the novel! Those who evaluate the novel based upon looking at a few pages and forming a rock-solid opinion are missing the point: As decreed by the Supreme Court in 1973, a piece of literature cannot be considered "obscene" if only select pages are scrutinized. Rather taken as a whole are the key words that dictate a writing's value. It is impossible to discuss the merits of a book if only a few pages have been reviewed. Again, I stress that a critic must read the entire book. Until that happens, intellectual discussion cannot be held . . . and that is exactly what we expect from our students. We want them to intellectually judge the novels and their lessons . . . but that cannot be done if only part of the book has been read!

     The answer to the question posed in this entry's title is quite simple to me: "The sign of an intelligent person is one who is able to view all sides of an issue before voicing an opinion." Do I expect conformity with my thoughts? Of course not, but what I hope is that our high school students recognize the importance of critical independent thinking. As their adult lives unfold, that thinking becomes their moral and intellectual guide!

About This Running . . .

Getting older every day . . . how do we stop that aging train?

Story time first: I am a runner. I have run since I was 12; safe to say that I have a passion for it. While many may view running as a waste of time and energy, I see it through a different lens. What I see is a way to stay healthy even though I have paid a significant physical price over the years to sustain my passion. For years, I have run marathons, 1/2 marathons, 10Ks,  . . . you get the picture. Without belaboring the point, what readers need to know is that running is a key part of my life . . . but why?

I have paid the price for all that pavement banging: foot surgery, low back issues, intermittent knee pain, torn ankle ligaments have all been part of my life. A sane man may say "back away, boy, and try something else." The response is simple: I have. I bike, I use an elliptical, I ride stationary bikes, and I lift (sometimes)--all activities I enjoy--but running is where my passion lies. When I participate in road races, I see aging runners still hard at it, many of them just kicking my butt, and I walk away admiring the tenacity that they possess. I suppose privately I hope I can still run at an advanced age, but I do quasi-understand that at a point my body will give up and break down completely. I don't want to think about that.

When I run today, I realize I cannot go as fast as I would like. Never a speed demon, I could always compete within my age group; today, it is a rare occasion where that can occur. Given that, however, I love the competition. It would be easy for me to say that I just run, not caring about where I finish. Trust me, I'm lying. I do care; I love the thrill of seeing others running in front of me and the pursuit of them. I love the feeling of going faster as the race progresses; I love the thrill of passing people and gaining spots; I love the feeling of exhaustion when the race is completed, knowing that if I have something left in the tank then I have cheated myself during the run. I love the camaraderie that accompanies the races. In short, I love the hunt.

In truth, what I really love is the isolation of running. As I train, my mind wanders in many different directions, allowing me to organize, to vent, to categorize, and to analyze. Many times I set out to run three miles and end up at six simply because my body is in sync those days. When I'm done, I check my weight, knowing that with the juvenile eating habits I possess (what's wrong with a row of thin Oreos?) that my running has kept me in somewhat of a balance. Running is a passion for me.

On the downside, I get out of bed every morning with achy feet and knees, struggling to straighten up without my lower back hurting. Once the "blood gets pumping," the creakiness subsides, and I'm on my way . . . making sure I walk down steps a bit more carefully so as not to hurt my feet! Many days I say "why?"

The answer is simple: I want to fight Father Time, and I don't want to get overweight (despite my little puff belly that just won't die!). I don't know what is inside me making me abuse myself on the roads. It could be argued, using an ol' cliché, that the "butter dun slid off my biscuits," implying that my sanity level is a bit off center. Whatever the reason, I, and others like me, get out of bed and run; many run at their lunch break while others wait until their day is complete and hit the road. It's a curse, I guess, but I salute those who are willing to make those commitments.

My point? It's quite simple: being energetic does not come naturally to most people, myself included. It requires dedication, encouragement, and personal pride. I suppose most anyone could do it, but that is a big "suppose"; of course, many live with daily physical impairments that prevent any such exercise. However, I suspect that most of us do not exercise because we either don't care to or we are simply too lazy or too tired to make the effort. It all begins with that first step . . . many who think others will laugh at their over-weight efforts are so wrong. When I see someone attempting to exercise, that person immediately grabs my attention and respect because I know how hard it is to do so.  Folks, we live in an obese society, but it doesn't have to be that way for everyone. Running, briskly walking, or any another viable exercise of choice--bending our elbows does not count, by the way--can begin whenever we get the courage to do it.

Obviously, I don't know what the future holds as far as my running, but I do know that as long as the body cooperates with my mind, I will be motoring along the roads trying to convince myself that I am still 25!

I Wonder If . . .

As the summer flickers by, I am wondering . . . wondering

*if Donald Trump were a person of color, would anyone really listen to him? Clearly, he is voicing what the boys at Limby's or Dorey's might say sitting at the bar, but my hunch is that mainstream Americans would probably see him as making racist, unacceptable comments. Trump is obviously Caucasian, wealthy, successful, and outspoken; granted, his comments are not as far off the wall as many would like us to believe, but, because of his pedigree, we seem all too eager to endorse his views. If an Al Sharpton were to say the exact same words, I seriously doubt that we would agree with him. The reason is obvious, isn't it? The underlying "elephant in the room" is racism. I am convinced that much of the opposition to our current President is his skin color, unfortunate as it is for me to write those words. Trump is white, so many hop on his wagon. For too long, I have heard this comment regarding President Obama: "I'm not prejudiced, but . . ."--you fill in the blanks. Seems to me that the "but" carries a powerful undercurrent that disguises many white Americans' not-so-public feelings.

 

*if the Browns could successfully build a winning franchise if they would just give a head coach and his staff four years to jell. This season will be interesting; in all likelihood, the record will not indicate significant improvement, but I have to believe that a "building" culture must be allowed to materialize. When a city as starved as Cleveland suffers through another long year, the coaches take the criticism. For once, I would love to see the owner turn a deaf ear to fans regardless of the season victory totals and say, "This coach is our man, and we are sticking with him." Yep, Mr. Haslam is saying that today after a few days of training camp, but I hope he is still saying it in December . . . and meaning it.

 

*if professional sports are in significant need of dramatic changes. Football's injury lists are sad to see, particularly with the catastrophic injuries that occur more frequently every year; basketball is a close second as our own Cavaliers can attest; and baseball's all-too-common arm blowouts are devastating to the sport. Perhaps shorter seasons could be an answer, but I am perplexed by what appears to be a contradictory belief: professional athletes today are stronger than they have ever been and have the best workout regimens, diets, and flexibility training. So, the logical conclusion would be that the percentage of athletes being severely injured would be reduced; however, the opposite has occurred with injury numbers climbing every sports season. Is it possible that the mantra of "lift, lift, lift--get bigger, get stronger" has created a monster, one that exceeds the human body's capabilities particularly when the strong meet the strong?

 

*if we truly understand the complexity of a policeman/woman's job. Today, of course, an officer's every move is under the proverbial microscope. Granted, as in any profession, rogues exist in uniform; however, we must also understand that much--not all--of a peacekeeper's job is dealing with the "scum"--those who have little if any respect for authority. Certainly, we talk tough after the fact about what should have been done, but given the split-second thinking and reacting that those officers must perform is  something few of us could do. I also must stress that to perform these duties, the financial reward is almost embarrassing. Translated, we ask "cops" (as the term most frequently used) to not make a mistake, to not embarrass people, and to not profile anyone--and I am not just talking about race when I mention profiling. Additionally, we ask them to do this while not making as much money as a bulldozer operator. Something seems out of whack, doesn't it?

 

*if Dover's citizens realize that we just lost an excellent superintendent, but we have the great fortune of having a successor who is equally qualified. I have said it many times, but a person in charge is living in "rare air"--the friends become fewer, the opponents become larger, and the criticism becomes more frequent. Such is the case when a person is a school administrator whose salary and benefits are public knowledge because that information immediately creates opposition. It intrigues me when criticism is leveled at school administrators; their task is to maintain the ship and do what is right for all parties involved: students, employees, and taxpayers. If a person were to examine Dover's record, that person would see excellence in many areas, including financial responsibility. Of course, many will not believe me--check the records, my friends: those are facts, not opinions. The future of the system is in strong hands with responsible leadership in both the top job and the assistant superintendent. Will the issue of a new school again surface? Of course! It was not a Bob Hamm thing; it's a Dover thing. . . and I don't want to wait until the crumbling begins to say, "Hey, we should have done something before this like to maintain the building" (as I have heard many times). Check the facts, my friends--before we spout off about how "a custodian told me that they haven't done anything . . . ," it might be a good idea to actually find out just how much has been spent on that high school building. Again, before we settle on our opinions, let's make sure we know the facts.

 

*if the Common Core opponents are pleased that the accompanying tests have been temporarily abandoned. I would think they are because the teachers certainly are! As I have written previously, the excessive number of tests was a central issue; if the Core is studied, don't be surprised if we find out that it has a strong base. Again, from my seat, the Core is not a problem; we need standards, and we need them enforced. Remember my comment two paragraphs above about rogues? In the teaching profession, unfortunately, random rogues can be found as well. By having standards that are consistent, teachers are obligated to teach certain material, but they are not stuck teaching only that material--teachers still have the freedom to go beyond the Core! For those who are opposed to the Core and know only a limited bit about it, please recognize that, educationally, it holds strong value. As stated in an earlier blog, just give it time to be implemented and perfected--change does not come about without opposition, but it does not mean that change is necessarily wrong.

 

*if you are still reading. You must be, so thanks! Many have commented that they have enjoyed reading my material--I do appreciate it. At my "core," I am just a T-County boy who enjoys life and enjoys writing--thanks again for your support!

mag.gunther@gmail.com
michaelagunther.blogspot.com

Words and Apathy

I'm drooling right now . . . figuratively.

     The masquerading, the posturing, the bragging, the personal attacks that are associated with the presidential campaigning are all in my wheelhouse! Allow me to explain.

     I teach rhetoric and writing at Walsh University, which by itself may not sound overly exciting, but for one who enjoys watching how people try to persuade others to share their perspectives, it is a welcome challenge. Rhetoric, in its simplest form, means the art of persuading. It does not matter if it is a billboard, an advertisement, a plea for financial assistance, or a plan to be elected, all of us are involved in rhetorical situations. So, when a guy like Donald Trump enters the political arena taking on the entire country to subscribe to his beliefs, he provides a wonderful teaching opportunity. In short, Trump is a poster child for my classroom; putting him--and others--under the ol' classroom microscope is perfect for me . . . like I said, it's right in my wheelhouse.

     To preface my perspective, I must stress that I am an Independent voter; I do not cater to the whims of either the Democratic or Republican parties simply because for years I have found their political posturing to be rather humorous and downright frustrating. "Drinking the tea" can oftentimes lead to people believing in extremes . . . that is not me. Rather, I draw my own line down the middle, allowing my reading and my viewing to shape my perspective. Having said that, I am comfortable examining the political views of many without a built-in bias. My main perspective, though, is to examine the tactics that are used by individuals and groups to sway their audiences. Trump, for example, is almost comical in a few respects because of his outright brashness and his criticism of everybody and everything; his popularity is quite high at the moment, probably because he is saying what many want to hear. In time, though, I suspect his act will grow old--we can only be told that someone is richer than us so many times before we begin to tune out everything he is saying. For the moment, though, Trump is running a masterful campaign: He has people's attention; he is speaking in an inflammatory, hard-to-ignore manner; and he is serving as a welcome alternative to his competitors. Right now, he has his audience . . . what more could a politician want? How his game goes from here, however, will be interesting; when he is forced to debate the truthfulness of his comments and when he is backed into a corner with skilled politicians and questioners where he must rely on more than just outlandish rhetoric, his money will not be of great benefit.

     My point is this: Watching the politicians from both political parties stake their claims provides a great classroom opportunity for learning. For parents whose kids are preparing for their high school curriculum (Common Core) and for kids preparing for their college writing classes, here is a golden opportunity to learn--watch and analyze how people shape arguments to their advantage. That is a significant part of the English Core and also college freshmen writing classes. My contention for a long time is that we learn best from our everyday experiences more so than a textbook. Maybe if we ignore party doctrine and spend time objectively watching and listening, we could all learn from the slowly approaching election!

                                                                        . . . . .

     On the other hand, though, all the posturing may not matter that much. For whatever reasons we wish to choose, a growing number of people in our country are apathetic and simply do not take the time to vote. So, while candidates travel, speak, and spend their way to a hoped-for victory, one of the most common sense parts of the process is often overlooked: many people simply do not register to vote! Apathy is alive and well, believe me; opinions are held by everyone, but they really mean little. If we don't register to vote, we are not entitled to be listened to. Bottom line is we need to be informed and part of the process, don't we?

Delmar Clark . . . A Racing Legend!

I love automobile racing . . . always have.

 

    The smell of heated rubber, the screeching of the tires, the occasional banging of fenders, the slingshot moves of experienced drivers, the waving of the flag, the cheers and jeers of the fans . . . it's all a sliver of paradise to this boy.

 

     For me, it began before I had even attended school. My dad started my passion by taking me every Sunday evening to Midvale Speedway to watch the races. We had our set seats, our predetermined arrival time, and our matching enthusiasm. Getting out of that car and walking toward the track, I still remember getting excited just hearing the roars of the cars as they made their hot laps in anticipation of the time trials. As we sat and watched, I was thrilled to see the two different kinds of cars: the super modifieds and the late model stock cars, all being steered by drivers whose names and faces I can still see in my mind. As the modifieds circled the track, they produced a different sound than the late models, a buzzing sound that clearly said "speed." Joe Martincic, Baldy Baker, Dean Mast, Norm Saul . . . the list goes on--all heroes in my book. However, as happy as I was to watch them and try to pick the winners with my dad, nothing made me happier than when the legendary blue Harry Humphries' Ford  with the red and white number 69 came onto the track--Delmar Clark was in the house, ready to kick ass and take a few names.

 

     My admiration for Delmar was easy to trace--he was from my hometown of Gnadenhutten, and his wife played in my mom's card club. Occasionally, he would have his stock car parked outside his apartment, which enabled a crazed fan like me to get to see it up close as it sat on the hauling trailer. For me, the thrill of getting to actually see Delmar and say "hi" was a major moment. In fact, on one occasion, my dad arranged for both of us to visit Delmar and his wife's apartment so I could see his trophies. I was awestruck as we entered that second floor Main Street apartment, and I saw his trophy case . . . blew me away. When a kid meets his idol for the first time, it is a moment never forgotten. Fifty-plus years later, I still remember it so vividly.

 

     Obviously, Delmar was my man; when that car emerged from the pits on the opposite side of the stands, I always told my dad, "Here he comes!" and my dad would say, "I don't think ol' Delmar has got it today," thus sparking our competition. More days than not, ol' Delmar would pick up that checkered flag and take it around the track, and we would smile, clap, and yell . . . great days, my friends. The classic battles with Bud Middaugh, Doc Kinsey, Virgil Tinlin, Tony Diano, Bill Bitticker . . . remain strong reminders of what it felt like to be a kid with innocent and simple joys. I lived for Sunday nights, and as I rode my bike repeatedly in the yard around the house and often made our driveway and garage a race track, I had one vision: race like Delmar.

 

     As life moved along, my dad didn't enjoy the racing as much as I did, so he stopped attending. In need of a ride, I would often go to the track with Delmar's mom and dad, who had as much passion as I did for the sport. At times, of course, I even got to go with Delmar and his wife because they had moved up the road not too far from our house. His living closer added a different bonus; every now and then, he would bring his car to Gnaden instead of leaving it wherever it normally was parked during the week and he would work on it and then go streaking down County Road 39 right in front of my house, making that baby scream . . . I loved it.

 

     Delmar's career was pretty special for a small-town boy because he made it all happen within viewing distance of a whole bunch of local fans. His racing success at Midvale, Barberton, Columbus, and Sandusky ultimately led to his driving the number 21 in a Daytona ARCA Series race; unfortunately, he rolled his car several times at that superspeedway, and, in truth, his racing success soon came to a halt. In time, he even became a friend, a guy I would stop in and see every now and then at his body shop. Ultimately, though, Delmar passed away, and when he did, I got out all my pictures and every newspaper article I had of his big wins, and I looked back over them--he truly was a special man to me.

 

     Every now and then, I will see Mark Malcuit, another legendary area driver who came after Delmar, and I tell him, "There's the second best driver to ever come out of Tuscarawas County--Delmar was the man." He doesn't even know who I am, but he always laughs, and says, "Yeah, he was a good one"--guess I still am a bit crazed!

 

     Here's hoping a few of my readers can put a smile on their faces and remember those magic days of racing. As for this boy, I confess to looking at the speedway every time we head down Route 250, just hoping I can see cars practicing (sometimes even rolling down my window so I can hear the roar!). I still periodically attend Midvale Speedway and enjoy the shows, but, for me, the downright thrill will never be the same. That vested enthusiasm for a single driver fueled my passion . . . I hope that there are kids out there who are like me when I was a kid . . .watching those cars go in circles, keeping their eyes on their favorite drivers, and cheering like crazy for them . . . here's hoping they enjoy the ride as much as I did!

 

Goodbye . . . and Thanks

I lost a friend yesterday.

     Saying Ray was my best friend would be an overstatement. Saying he was a good friend would be much more appropriate. Regardless of the adjective used, the loss humbles me for many reasons. He was a buddy, and, as life unfolds, I realize that in my future I will be forced to face this same scenario more times than I wish to think.

 

     Unfortunately, the end of life is out there . . . we know that, even though we do everything in our power to avoid thinking of it. Two months ago, my buddy Ray Stein was living a carefree, happy life as a husband, dad, and grandpa, enjoying all the freedom that retirement could offer. Two months later, he is gone. Two months later, I feel an emptiness, almost a feeling of disbelief.

 

     Ray was a good man, a helper to many, a military veteran, a dedicated police officer, and a true comic relief. As my brief eulogy, I honor him as a man who not only wore many hats, but as a man who wore them well--he was well liked and well respected, and I thoroughly enjoyed him. I suppose I could continue with praise, but that is not my objective with this writing. What I once again was reminded of yesterday is that living is a treasure.

 

     At yesterday's funeral, I saw friends I have not seen in a long while, ones who took the time to pay respect to Ray. I must admit that mixed with my sadness was a euphoric feeling of being with old friends, ones I spent my college years with and ones who could spin tales that need not be repeated in this blog. However, that is my point: I was with my friends.

 

     At the risk of sounding melancholy, I stood in that funeral home and watched the faces of people I have known for many years. Easy to say that we are past our youth, well into our middle age, and leaning against the door of old age. Each of us, of course, was alone with our thoughts, but I have to believe we were all thinking the same at one point or another: when is it going to happen to me? No, I am not paranoid about the eventual, but funerals have a tendency to rattle us to our core because we know the next one could be us, a friend, or a family member. In my case, it shook me especially seeing the reaction of another longtime friend who truly was saddened, who realized that he had lost a true pal.

 

     I write this blog because I love to write; as I have stated, I have opinions and logic, but sometimes I bear my soul. For what reason, I am not positive, but, if I am feeling something, I have to think that others are as well. Obviously, I am not enjoying writing this today, but I feel almost moved to do so. In my life, I have been gifted to have many friends; I consider myself a fortunate man--with a loving family and loyal friends, how can a guy complain? When I am with my buddies, I feel so comfortable--the thought of not having them a phone call away scares me, to be blunt. Again, the key word is "comfortable"--I suppose we keep each other feeling fresh with our constant banter, but more than that is the bond that unites us. Difficult to pinpoint, but we all know it's there.

 

     From my seat, my writing today is about appreciating what I have; the proverbial "stop and smell the roses" is what I am talking about because that is exactly what I felt when I said good-bye to my friend. On a larger scale, life is not too short--it's what we put into it and get out of it that matters. Needless to say, I am thoroughly enjoying my life and those who are part of it . . . let's keep this game going. While we're doing that, let's take a moment every now and then to remember our good buddies like Ray, and let's not be too macho to look at our buddies and appreciate what we have right now . . . I don't want to wait and say, "I wish I had  . . . ."