Ode to a Temporary Dad

I cannot remember his name. I cannot remember the way he looked or how he spoke. I cannot remember where he lived or what he did for a living. What I can remember and what I will never forget is the affect he had on my young life and the gift that he gave to me a perfect stranger.

His appearance in my life was brief a few weekends over a two-year period. I was ten years old and a member of the local Boy Scout Troop.

I was not the most outgoing scout but I enjoyed the various events especially working toward earning my merit badges. I made several new friends and I was looking forward to the first overnight trip when someone hit the emergency brakes and brought my scouting dreams to jarring stop.

It seems that at the time the rule was that each boy must be accompanied by his father on any overnight outings. Which left me out in the cold. My parents were divorced and my father was an irresponsible alcoholic who could not be counted upon to participate in any parental activities. None of my uncles lived near by and there were no family friends of the male persuasion available.

I was fortunate enough to have a Scout Master who understood my situation and who went the extra mile to ensure my ability to participate in overnight activities. He was unavailable for the role of weekend father because his sons were already members of the troop. However he did get on the phone and explain my predicament to a friend of his who volunteered his services.

Nervous does not begin to describe how I felt on the weekend of my first ever-camping trip. In 1969 being in a single parent family was still rather rare and I was not sure how I would handle a weekend where all of my friends were with their dad's and I was with a stranger who had volunteered to be my temporary dad. Would we get along? Would he even like me? Thousands of thoughts chased each other around my head while I waited for the big event.

Saturday morning arrived and found me waiting in front of my house with my pack and sleeping bag. I was going to ride with my Scout Leader and his friend. They finally arrived and introductions were made. It was not as bad as I imagined. He was just a guy and he appeared to be as nervous as I was. He broke the ice by offering everyone a sample of venison jerky that he had made himself after a recent deer-hunting trip. While I was not interested in the hunting part I did listen intently when he described the backpacking and the wilderness skills that he had.

By the time we arrived at the campground we were becoming old friends. We chatted a bit and he taught me how to build our tent. Most of the day was spent in-group activities and my focus drifted from being without my "dad" to just participating. Time passed and before I knew it the sun was setting and all the scouts drifted towards their fathers for some quiet time before dinner.

I found my way back to the tent where my "temporary dad" was waiting. I sat next to him and watched the bonding taking place all around the campground. My thoughts must have traveled pretty far because the next thing I remember was "dad" placing a hand on my shoulder and asking me if I wanted to go for a walk. I shrugged my shoulder, got up and followed him out of camp.

Eventually we came to a small lake and sat quietly for a while skipping stones across the water.

Finally he looked at me, smiled and told me a story.

He said that not to many years ago he had found himself in a similar situation. He was a scout and his father was no longer around. He did not go into a lot of detail but what it all boiled down to is that someone had volunteered to be his "dad" for a few weekend trips and it had made an impression on him. While it was never the same as being with his real dad in some ways it was better because his "temporary dad" wanted to be there and he made the trips special in his own way. He said that he had made a promise to himself that the best way to pay back his "temporary dad" was to do the same for someone else if and when the opportunity presented itself.

He told me that this was his opportunity and the only goal he had was to make sure I had the best of all possible weekends.

I sat quietly digesting what he had told me. Finally I gave him a tentative smile and thanked him for coming along. Just than we heard the dinner call and he gave my head a quick rub pulled me to my feet and shouted; "Last one back in camp is a rotten egg!"

That and the other weekends we spent together were memorable in their ordinariness. It was as if we had formed our own little family of boys/men without dads. We hiked and ran and swam and told ghost stories under the stars. When the trips ended we went our separate ways.

Once my scouting days were over we drifted apart and lost track of each other.

As an adult I would have liked the opportunity to personally thank him for all he did for me. Since that is not possible, I mean how can I find him if I cannot even remember his name, so I thank him by attempting to pass on the lessons he taught me. I offer a shoulder where I see one is needed. An ear where I see a child who just needs someone to listen. Or a good "last one to the pool is a rotten egg" when all that is needed is someone to remind them that life is really all about having fun. Especially when you are ten.

If (with apologies to David Gates)

July 1980 found me in love or at least I believed I was.

We had met the previous Thanksgiving over a game of Spoons. I had been sitting comfortably at home lingering over a slice of one of my mothers perfectly baked Pumpkin Pies when the phone rang. My presence was requested for a night of cards with several friends. Reluctantly I pushed myself away from the table and set off on a remarkable journey.

I was the last one to arrive and before I could say hello I found myself in the last remaining chair waiting for the cards to be dealt. Looking up I was immediately captured by a pair of the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen, I am pretty sure that there was a face that went with them but I could not get past the eyes. They glowed with a warmth that was almost physical and when their owner laughed they shined brighter than a harvest moon.

We were finally introduced and much to my dismay it turned out that she was only visiting for the Thanksgiving weekend and would be returning home on Sunday. Cards were played, hands were dealt, and people won and people lost but the only memory I have of the evening was meeting her.

She was staying with my best friend so I was able to spend most of the weekend with her. Sunday came before I knew it and as we said our goodbyes we promised to write.

Our paths next crossed most disastrously over the New Years holiday. She came back for a visit hoping to see me again. A group of us were planning to spend New Year's Eve on the Rose Parade route. All signs pointed to a fantastic night when without warning all of the omens went south.

Apparently she was not the only one who had planned to spend New Years with yours truly. Two other girls that I had dated off and on over the past year were there. So what did I do? Did I follow my heart and spend the evening by her side? Of course not, I did what every twenty-one year old male would do. I let ego and hormones take over and ended up falling for someone whom I had just met and I ignored everyone else including her.

Fortunately she was much more mature than I was and over the next few months we spoke over the phone and through many letters and she did eventually forgive me.

As spring waned and summer appeared on the horizon I flew to her hometown to visit her and her family. She gave me the nickel tour and we talked through the night. We discussed love and marriage and again her maturity saved me from my lack of, she explained that while we did love each other it was much to soon to talk about a permanent relationship.

Summer arrived and she came back to California for a visit. My grandmother offered her spare bedroom, which allowed for a longer visit.

We spent a lot of time at the beach. We went to the Long Beach Arena and saw the Eagles in concert, which as it turned out was their last before their first breakup.
We grew closer and spent many hours talking about our dreams and our futures. While I was already working she had just graduated from high school and was narrowing her choice of colleges. Life was beautiful.

The 4th of July found us roaming the streets of Disneyland with thousands of other celebrants. Haunted Houses were explored and the Caribbean was sailed once again. We chased each other around Tom Sawyers Island until we collapsed from laughing so hard.

Nine o'clock found us sitting above the entrance of Space Mountain waiting for the fireworks to begin. A band was playing a cover of "If" by Bread. As we listened to the lyrics our mood became less playful and a bit more serious.

She looked at me and I could feel her eyes capture my soul. She whispered that there was no "If" about it that she had everything she had ever wanted right here and she gently kissed my lips just as the fireworks filled the sky.

Unfortunately most fairy tales in there original telling did not have a happy ending neither does this one.

At the end of the summer she chose to move to Los Angeles so she could attend USC. She said that one of the deciding factors for her was the proximity of the campus to me.

Before school started she came out for new student orientation and once her obligations were completed we had a chance to talk. Or should I say she talked and I failed to listen.

She explained that being eighteen and on her own for the first time that she needed some space. Not because she did not love me. Not because she had a burning desire to date someone else. It was lust because she wanted to enjoy campus and dorm life a bit without having to worry about relationship maintenance.

Of course being the clod in the relationship I translated everything she said into she no longer loves me. So as college life began for her I allowed us to drift apart. I no longer called and I no longer wrote. In my self satisfied way I assumed it was what she wanted and I never looked back.

Until..

After quite a bit of water had passed beneath the proverbial bridge we somehow ended up at Dodger stadium together. We watched the game and as corny as it sounds it was just like old times.

Of course old times are old for a reason because you can never go back only forward. The end of the game found us standing outside of her car saying goodnight. She smiled and her eyes were just as beautiful as they were on the day we met.

Before climbing into her car she looked at me and said I chose USC to be close to you. If you had just been a little bit more patient both of our futures might have been different. A quick hug and kiss on the cheek later she climbed into her car and drove out of my life for good.

If

Written by: David Gates and Bread

If a picture paints a thousand words
Then why can't I paint you?
The words will never show
The you I've come to know
If a face could launch a thousand ships
Then where am I to go?
There's no one home but you
You're all that's left me to
And when my love for life is running dry
You come and pour yourself on me

If a man could be two places at one time
I'd be with you
Tomorrow and today
Beside you all the way
If the world should stop revolving
Spinning slowly down to die
I'd spend the end with you
And when the world was through
Then one by one the stars would all go out
Then you and I would simply fly away

Islands II

Note: Islands part one was posted on March 11, 2004

So out of necessity he became an observer. On his visits to neighboring islands he began to note the customs and the communication style that each practiced. He was fascinated by his new project and many months passed as hours were spent in laborious note taking. Each evening when he returned home he would transcribe what he had learned into books one volume for each of his island neighbors.

His findings surprised him.

The fault lay not with the other islanders but with him.

When the need arose and he offered help to the other islands, he was welcomed with open arms and put right to work. Usually a feast would ensue once the repairs were complete and everyone would have a great time.

When his island was damaged and help was offered he had never just said yes and welcomed the volunteers with open arms. Rather than accept aide in the spirit in which it was offered he required his neighbors to follow script of his own creation.

"We have our tools and we are ready to help complete the necessary repairs."

His usual reply would be something like, "You no guys the damage is really not that bad, and I can probably handle this myself."

"Hey its' no problem all of us neighbors have to stick together. The more hands at work the quicker the job will be completed."

"I know you all mean well, but I feel bad taking you away from your own islands and your own chores. I am sure I am not the only one that needs help."

"Come on buddy, you have provided assistance to each and every one of us. We are your friends and all we want is for you to allow us to offer a little help. What is the major obstacle here?"

Reading his notes he began to realize how blind he had truly been. He was not friendless the waters around his island were filled with those who wanted to be his friend.

It was he who had issues. It was he who did not understand the meaning of unconditional friendship. Heartfelt offers of aide were made and he spent hours rationalizing until he drove his friends away.

His help was still accepted. His friendship was still embraced. However even the most loving of people will eventually tire of banging their head against the proverbial wall and he had been that wall to his friends.

Here he was all proud of myself for how well he took care of others. Always on the run, always being the first to arrive and the last to leave. He thought his island was perfect.
However, as it turns out he suffered from faults just like everyone else. His fault was having too much pride. His fault lay in his inability to accept honest offers of assistance in the context in which they were given. There is a fine line between selflessness and selfishness and he had made a giant leap over that line. In driving his fellow islanders away he had proven himself to be pride filled and selfish. To pride filled to allow others past his inner walls and to selfish to allow others the same opportunity for good deeds that they had allowed him.

That night as he lay beneath the summer stars he vowed that tomorrow would be different. He knew now that friendship was a two way street and that he had to allow others the same opportunity to give that they had allowed him.

As the moon rose he drifted off into a dreamless sleep with a childlike smile dancing on his lips.

Will We...

Will we ever run out of reasons to justify the killing of our brothers and sisters?

Will we ever see past the boundaries of religion and come to understand that God loves each and every one of us regardless of the building in which we choose to worship?

Will we ever accept responsibility for our individual choices and not blame everything from the government to fast food resteraunts for our problems?

Will we ever come to understand that the best investment for the future of mankind is investing in the education and development of children worldwide?

Will we ever unite as citizens of this world and inform our leaders that we are no longer going to accept war and violence as solutions to international problems?

Will we ever begin to accept that we are responsible for the health of our planet or is it already to late?

Will we ever slow down the technological merry-go-round and consider the consequences of each new discovery before embracing it?

Will we ever realize that we are wasting one of the planets greatest natural resources by ignoring the wisdom of the elderly?

Will we ever embrace those who are less fortunate than ourselves rather than speed past them as if anything could be more important than seeing to the comfort of those who go without?

Will we ever turn off the so-called "reality" shows and step back into the reality of life?

Will we ever cast off the bindings of hatred that have held the human race in bondage for generations and return to the warmth of compassion?

Rainbow

She stood at the foot of disaster. Dancing with the devil until her soul ached from the strain of resistance. Her arms were bruised from the doublewide track of needle marks which served has her red badge of courage. The tattered bag clutched between her skeleton like fingers protected the tattered pages of her faith. A bible on whose pages she had made and broken many midnight promises to walk away from her life as a junkie. However the song of liquid fire was not easy to ignore and for every day clean there were months best forgotten.

Home was the ground between two shopping carts, which served has support for her cardboard roof. Old newspapers replaced the blankets she had grown up with; her pillow was the concrete of her bed.

Sleep did not come easy especially when she did not know where her next fix would come from. Distraction from her addiction came in the form of ghost's remnants of her former life.

Once upon a time she had been living a happy middle class life a living breathing cliché. A house in the suburbs, a mini-van and a Honda Prelude, two kids, a dog and a cat. She had married her high school sweetheart who had become a high priced lawyer before her eyes. Her life was everything she had always thought she wanted except for the profound emptiness.

Until one evening at a fancy cocktail party one of the other wives had offered her a needle with the promise that the contents of the syringe would fill the void that had once been filled by a dream.

Without preamble she found herself addicted. Her husband put her in rehab where she temporarily kicked the habit. She stayed clean for a month but fell off the wagon when she stumbled across some drugs that her husband had missed. One more time through the rehab ringer found her back on the street trying to score even before her release papers were dry.

Her husband had found her curled up in a fetal position oblivious to the world on a street corner downtown. He did not send her to rehab again instead he served her with divorce papers. From there the downward spiral spun out of control. Nothing mattered but the next high, not her old life, not her kids, nothing but the feeling of sweet release.

Barely a year later she had one foot in the grave and with a certainty she had rarely known she knew that the other foot would soon follow if she did not find the strength to fight. The strength she had left was fragile. For several months now she had fought with everything she had to hold onto a small shred of her dignity. Unlike most of the other alley residents she had refused to use her body to get by. She suffered through withdrawals until she managed to collect enough cans and bottles to satisfy her cravings the old fashioned way with cash.

Today found her in a dank dark alley patiently waiting in line with other junkies as the dealer moved down the line collecting money and injecting his customers. She held out her arm and sighed with sweet relief as the warmth coursed through her veins. She stumbled through the alley in search of some privacy where she could enjoy her dance with the devil.

Dawn found her barely clinging to life on the steps of an abandoned building propped up against one of the doors. Through blurry eyes she saw a rainbow and found comfort in its simple beauty. Freedom came to her at last as her body gave up the fight and her spirit soared toward the morning sun.

A sign on the door above her final resting place read: "Rainbow Connection Drug Rehab Center has been closed due to a lack of funding."

Auto Follies

The first automobile accident that I participated in happened on the 4th of July in 1967. My mom was driving us home from a fireworks show in our old red and black Rambler Station Wagon. The man behind her was spending too much time watching the fireworks and not enough time watching the road. No one was injured and the Rambler survived with a few dents and scratches. His insurance company was so relieved to find that my mother was not asking for more than the cost of repairing the car that they paid for our family to visit Disneyland.

Accident number two occurred several years later. After work my mother had picked us up from our grandmothers. On the way home she noticed that in the distance a car was veering into our lane. She slowed down and guided her car (a Cadillac) towards the side of the road. The oncoming car veered farther into our land and my mother continued to slow down and moved all the way on to the dirt shoulder. All her maneuvering was to no avail the car still hit us almost head on. By this time both cars were going rather slow and fortunately once again no one was hurt. The one humorous aspect of the event happened when my stepfather came to pick us up. While checking on the car a police office approached him and proceeded to explain that his "daughter" (my mom, his wife) was going to be just fine.

My first accident as a driver occurred when I was returning home after completing a twelve-hour shift at the restaurant I was working at. I was exhausted. Besides the work schedule the previous day I had just returned from a three-day camping trip in which I had very little sleep. All I remember is turning onto Norumbega which was just blocks from our house. Elton John was on the radio and before I knew it I was fast asleep. I was rudely awoken by my '63 Valiant plowing head on into a parked car, my car was totaled and the other car was damaged but salvageable. I was not hurt just a few bumps and bruises both to my body and my ego.

My next accident as a drive happened on the way to work at one of the worst freeway interchanges in the country. To merge onto the 10 east you must as a driver deal with commuters merging on to the 605 south from the 10 west. There is on average an accident a day at this interchange. In my case I was on my way to work and was part of a five-car pileup that occurred when the first driver stopped short. No one was hurt and my new/old '63 Valiant was the only car to drive away from the wreck.

The next accident I was involved in happened while my best friend was driving. We were just blocks from his house and for some reason when we came to the last intersection he kept going even though the light was red. We made it passed the south bound traffic without incident and we would have been fine if we had remained at the center divider but he kept going and we were broad sided by a north bound car. We spun completely round and the car came to rest against a telephone pole. The impact occurred on the passenger side of the car caving in the door and badly bruising my ribs. Fortunately that was the only injury I suffered.

The last accident I was in occurred in October of 1988. It was the day after the Dodger's won their last world series. I was merging onto the freeway on my way to work. The Eagles were playing on the radio and all was right with the world. Unfortunately disaster was just a few hundred yards ahead. The other driver was having mechanical difficulties and as his forward movement was coming to an end he tried to cut completely across rush hour traffic. He almost made it. I hit him going about fifty miles and hour. My pick up truck spun completely around and ended up two lanes over but facing in the same direction I had been heading. I banged up my knee and developed a touch of whiplash but as in all of the car accidents I have been a part of nothing important was hurt. My truck however was totaled.

It has been sixteen years and counting since that last accident, knock on wood, hopefully that was my last.

Dad's Day

He had known plenty of fathers in his life's time. Any Tom, Dick or Harry could be a father. No education or testing required. No certificate or license. No application to complete and no interview to pass. No special requirements at all. Just puberty and a willing partner can make any man a father.

Yes he had known plenty of fathers. They came home from the office exhausted from their hard days work. They could be found feet up on the couch, beer in the hand and game on the tube. On weekends they were out on the golf course or down at the lodge playing cards with their drinking pals.

Others had divorced their wives or never married them in the first place. Some managed to pay child support and/or come around for a visit once in awhile but the majority made a brief effort than faded away like the morning's fog.

He had known plenty of father's but very few dad's including his own.

A dad.

From the beginning a dad was a different breed of animal. They can be found in the nursery after the birth of their child eyes filled with tears and wide with amazement. In the home they are changing diapers patiently pacing the floor at night with a crying baby.

As the child grows they can be found sitting cross-legged with their princess/daughter enjoying a tea party or walking hand in hand through the woods as she points out each and ever butterfly and asks for the name of each and every plant, tree or animal.

With their sons they can be found creating imaginary battlefields with plastic soldiers only to knock them all down in order to recreate the battle once again. Or spending hours with Lego's until a world has been created on the floor of the bedroom.

In the evening a dad can be found reading bedtime stories complete with different voices and roars depending on the setting. He can be found on his knees beside the bed of his children reciting prayers and discussing the tears of Angels.

On weekends he is the one with not only his kids but several other kids from the neighborhood gathered round him demanding airplane rides. He can be found rolling on the ground wrestling a mob by himself and escaping by using the dreaded tickle maneuver, which leaves his opponents in stitches. He plays catch and Frisbee. He plays hide and go seek and tag.

He is usually the dad who takes the dad less children in the neighborhood under his wing. Answering their questions and attempting to fill a small part of a large void left behind by a invisible man.

Any man can be a father but it takes a special kind of man to be a dad.

Deja Vu

My childhood haunts were bordered by two former convalescent hospitals. One was located about a ½ mile away and situated at the top of a hill. It was featured prominently in a previous post-entitled "Summer Scare."

The other hospital was located about two blocks away, down the street and across an old bridge. However having begun life as a convalescent hospital its twilight years were spent as a drug rehab center before closing due to pressure from local residents who were not happy with the proximity of the facility to their children who were still in there formative years.

Once abandoned the grounds became another set for our summer adventures.

Most of our parents would have displayed more intense displeasure at our choice of locations for long summer games of hide and go seek and ditch. However the over abundance of avocado trees and the begs of green heaven we brought home convinced them to look the other way as long as no one was hurt.

The hospital/clinic differed from the other one in that most if not all of the buildings were of the single story variety. In addition no equipment was left behind except for a few bed frames that were beyond salvage.

Most of our games included hiding as part of the process so all of us soon became familiar with the layout of the various buildings.

One afternoon found me as the designated "it" person who's job it was to search out the other hiders. As I roamed the buildings in search of my fellow hiders I came across a room I had not previously visited. Upon entering I was frozen in place by a vision my young mind could not explain.

The room was empty but in my mind I saw four beds one on each wall. The beds seemed to be higher above the ground than what would be considered normal, maybe waist high on the average adult. Though I was sure that I was alone I could see that rather aged individuals currently occupied each bed. As my gaze traveled from person to person I found my lingering on the woman in the last bed. She appeared to be in her eighties and extremely frail. I was absolutely sure that I had never been in this building before but at the same time I was equally sure that I had know this woman.

My attempt to solve the meaning of this perplexing vision was interrupted by my brother calling my name and telling me I had to go home. I walked up the street playing the scene over and over in my mind trying to decipher the clues.

I found my mom weeding the front yard garden. I asked her if we had ever visited the convalescent hospital before moving to our current residence. To say the least I was surprised when she said that we had. My father's grandmother had been a patient there before she passed away. I was about three years old at the time and my parents had brought me there to visit her. She died within the week of our visit.

I explained to my mother what I had seen and I asked her to walk down the street with me. We returned to the grounds and I asked her if she could remember the building my great-grandmother had resided in. Without err she walked directly to the room in which I experienced my vision. Upon entering she turned to me with questioning eyes and I told her that this indeed was the room that I had just seen Grandma Finn and three other patients in the beds.

Somehow my mind was able to make the connection to the room and bring back a memory that to this day I have no actual recollection of.

The hospital is gone now replaced by a group of six figure homes. I have often been tempted, but have never followed through, to visit the current residents and find out whether anyone has had a vision of four seniors on their last legs propped up in old metal beds. Maybe tomorrow.

Lost

They say he lost his mind on the corner of Spring Street and Seventh Avenue. Dressed for success he stood on the corner waiting for the light to change. In one hand he clutched a custom made leather briefcase in the other a cell phone. To the world he presented a picture of stability and sanity.

The light changed but he appeared not to notice and he never moved. The crowd parted around him an island of silence in a bustling sea of humanity. The five o'clock migration continued but he remained rooted to the sidewalk.

Thirty minutes passed before he began to move. Without much grace he set his briefcase on the sidewalk and sat on it. He carefully removed his loafers and his socks. He stuffed one sock into each shoe and without blinking threw his shoes out into the traffic where they were flattened by bus 994 on its way to the suburbs.

Next he placed his briefcase on his lap and sat cross-legged on the filthy sidewalk. He opened the case, removed a stack of forms and/or correspondence and began folding them into paper airplanes, which he tossed into the smog filled downtown air. He continued to remove documents, shredding them by hand and tossing the scraps into the air creating a blizzard of confetti.

He took the remaining items from his briefcase and began handing them to panhandlers gathered on the corner. Pens, pencils, wallet, credit cards, blank checks, his driver's license and even a picture of his four-year-old daughter all found their way into the hands of the homeless. Once it was empty he even handed over the briefcase.

While checking his pockets he came up with a handful of change, which he carelessly tossed onto the sidewalk creating a mini stampede. People knocked each other over while scrambling for the copper and silver glittering in the afternoon sun. His cell phone he gave to a veteran sitting in a wheelchair who was missing both of his legs.

While his personal drama had begun to unfold a crowd had gathered, whispering amongst themselves while they watched his nervous breakdown happen in real time.

With all of his possessions given away he proceeded to remove his clothing. Once he was naked he folded his suit and placed it on the top of a nearby post box. Oblivious to the catcalls and whistles he returned to the corner but rather than wait for the green light he stepped off the curb and wandered into the traffic. The squealing of brakes filled the air as the evening rush hour was brought to a grinding halt.

When he reached the center of the intersection he sat down and refused to move. Someone finally called the authorities. Communication was attempted but he would not speak. Finally an ambulance was requested and he was taken to the hospital.

With all of his identification gone identifying him became a daunting task. His fingerprints were not in the system and after seventy-two hours no one had filed a missing persons report. His picture was run in the local paper but to no avail. Various doctors spoke to him but he refused to even acknowledge them. He was given a full medical workup but the tests all came back negative giving him a clean bill of health. Several specialists examined him and to the best of their knowledge his brain appeared to be functioning normally.

After two months of attempting to identify him his trail had grown cold and he was declared a ward of the court. Since no family could be found he was institutionalized with the hope that someday he would awaken from whatever spell he was under.

On the one year anniversary of his breakdown a recap of his performance ran in the local paper. One local doctor was quoted as saying, "We know so little about the brain and how it functions that we are still baffled by cases such as this. The amazing thing though is not what happened to him but that it does not happen more often."

Tickled

It was not that he did not dream, it was that he rarely if ever remembered his dreams. Some mornings he would waken with the script from the nights drama on the tip of his tongue, however the memory would always fade with the rising sun.

Which is what made this morning so remarkable. He had not only had a dream but he awoke with the memory intact.

This dream was like no other dream.

This dream had the power to change his life and the way he looked upon the world and for that matter all of God's creation.

This dream actually involved God herself.

Surprisingly, at least to him, the dream was neither solemn nor serious although it did manage to convey what could be labeled a truth.

In the dream he found himself walking down a deserted beach. The sun was a brilliant yellow and sky was so blue it hurt my eyes.

As he walked he listened to the song of the gulls as they soared upon the warm summer breeze. He watched as the waves rushed in to greet the sand.

He embraced a sense of peace that he rarely found in his waking world.

In the distance he became aware of another walker slowly making their way towards him.

As the figure drew closer he was forced to shade his eyes from the glow that seemed to surround the stranger.

However when they drew abreast he realized he had known her for an eternity. His soul cried out with joy for he was in the presence of God.

A thousand questions ran through his mind but he gave voice to none of them. He was speechless and for that matter thoughtless. He could not even form a sentence.

Before he could give voice to questions or confusions God spoke.

"I know what you are thinking and God's gender is not important. I chose to appear in your dream as I am but this is not my normal appearance."

"As to why I am visiting you in your dream my reasons are simple. Angels are not ticklish and I had the urge to tickle someone."

With that God reached out and tickled him until he was rolling in the sand laughing like there was no tomorrow. He laughed until tears were streaming down his face and he was gasping for air. Finally with a small sigh God stopped tickling him, smiled and headed off in the direction from which she had come.

She stopped for a moment, turned and spoke to him one last time.

"I am not really as solemn as most of humanity makes me out to be. I love to laugh, sing and dance. Besides there is nothing I enjoy more than a good tickle."

With that God faded into the distance and he awoke with his soul still smiling.

Whispers

She sat at the foot of his be watching him sleep. She loved how his hair reflected the moonlight as if it were strands of finely spun gold. She found him to be a gentle sleeper, lying on his side with a pillow bunched up under his head.

In the darkness she found herself unafraid. As he slept she could whisper words that her lack of courage prevented her from saying aloud to his conscious self.

"I love you."

"I wish I could spend each and every night in your arms."

"I want to spend the rest of my life by your side."

The quiet of early morning allowed her soul to dance free and unfettered by expectations and promises. Her heart could sing a thousand love songs without fear of rejection. Her mind could whisper Shakespeare's most romantic sonnets without care. Her one true love was asleep and would never know the dance steps her soul longed to teach him.

He was her roommate and her best friend. They had shared the apartment for three years now and she understood him almost better than she understood herself. They had similar interests and they found themselves spending most of their time together: as friends.

They both dated but neither one of their relationships tended to last. Not that their bedrooms were built with revolving doors but they had both seen their share of traffic in the last over the years.

When her heart was broken he comforted her. When his heart was broken she took him out drinking because alcohol was the only way to loosen his tongue.

Both of them seemed to be searching for something more than weekend lovers. As of late she had come to realize that he might just be the one for her. She found him attractive and funny. They had so much in common that often times dawn would find them sitting up over coffee discussing philosophy, art or current events.

She found herself to be filled with mixed emotions. Should she risk their friendship and tell him how she felt? Or should she continue on her current path loving and losing until the scar tissue prevented her heart from loving again.

She had no answer. Her dreams were quicksand and she was trapped. She could not move forward but she did not want to move back.

So she whispered…

What Was I Thinking

In 1986 I was working for the real estate loan center of a large bank. I was the manager of the Records Department and I had a staff of fifteen full time employees and roughly thirty temps at anyone time.

One of my employees was somewhat of a special project who had come to work for me in 1982. His name was Bob and he came to work for me from a center that specialized in placing individuals with learning disabilities in the work force. One of their representatives presented their program to the bank and as it turned out I was the only manager willing to give Bob a chance.

He was thirty-six years old and he had never lived away from his parent's home nor had he ever had a real job. Bob was eager to learn and enthusiastic about his opportunity. While training him was not easy the position did not exactly involve rocket science so eventually he was able to meet the minimum requirements for the job.

His social skills on the other hand were a different story entirely. Bob tended to invade the personal space of the person he was talking to, which of course made a lot of the employees uncomfortable. He would also ask every female he came into contact with out to lunch or to the movies. The answer was always no but he was never discouraged he just kept asking assuming that someone someday would say yes.

My employees tended to look upon Bob as a mascot and everyone tended to look out for him. Whenever possible they steered away from trouble and from the other managers who did not understand him. While Bob did have his problems he was always fun to be around. He was quick with a joke and he knew more about the movies than most Hollywood historians. He was a walking cinema encyclopedia.

Bob's birthday was in March and in 1986 he was going to celebrate his fortieth year. My employees and I got together to plan something special for him. Ideas journeyed around the table but most were impractical because our office was not in a central location and most of the staff had long commutes and were not interested in any kind of after hours get together. Someone mentioned having a potluck luncheon and jokingly added that we should get Bob a stripper for dessert. Everyone had a good laugh but somehow as the discussion progressed the stripper idea became a serious suggestion. Before I gave it much thought my phone was in my hand and I was calling my boss for approval.

What was I thinking? Much to my surprise my boss went for the stripper idea and even offered to contribute to the expense of the party. My boss at the time came across as being very conservative and his approval was very surprising.

The big day arrived and with everyone contributing we had a potluck of dishes from around the world. Bob was the center of attention and happier than I had ever seen him. We had kept the event low key because despite my bosses approval I did not thing senior management would have been happy about the day's entertainment.

The stripper was scheduled for two PM and as zero hour approached I was horrified to find a steady stream of visitors finding their way to the back of our storage room. Apparently word had spread through out the building and before I could protest the crowd was standing room only. To my surprise even senior management was represented by several of the buildings vice-presidents.

With all the mucky-mucks around I saw my career slowly swirling down a porcelain bowl. When the stripper arrived I could not bear to look and I kept to the back of the crowd. I wanted to have a clear get away if things went wrong.

The stripper provided her own music and without much fanfare began her performance. Everyone was clapping along with the music and having a good time. Bob was mesmerized and for a few moments he sat in stunned silence. Than much to my horror he stood up and began dancing with the girl. He followed her as she moved around the group.

Just when I thought things could not get worse they did. When the stripper removed her shirt Bob decided he would play along and so off came his shirt. I just about died. Any moment I expected to here her scream because Bob had grabbed her but my fears were misplaced. The girl knew what she was doing. She removed a t-shirt from her bag and placed it on Bob and than she lead him back to his chair. She explained that the show was for him but that she could only continue if he remained seated.

After that the rest of her presentation went smoothly. To my utter amazement none of the visitors from above complained and a good time was had by all.

To this day though I can't help but wonder: What was I thinking?

Racism and Redemption

Zack attended private school until he completed eighth grade. Just after his graduation his father was laid off, while he found a new job almost immediately the reduction in salary required everyone in the family to tighten their belts. For Zack this meant leaving private high school behind and embracing the wonderful world of public education.

Therefore he was surprised when on the first day of school he ran across several friends who he had believed were attending the local private high school not RHS. As fate would have it their families had also ran into some financial setbacks making it necessary for their sons to abandon the private school route. While they had never hung out together he was pleased to know he was not the only new fish in the big pond.

Zack, while naturally somewhat of a loner never really had much difficulty striking up conversation and developing new friendships. His first weeks at RHS were no exception. Not that they were the type of friends destined for a lifetime by his side, they were however acquaintances who made the transition to public school much easier.

One in particular was Ryan Tibbit. He was a lifetime public schooler but Zack did not hold that against him. They had been seated next to each other in first period study hall and soon realized they shared a common passion: baseball. While the other students were rushing to complete unfinished homework they discovered that each of them had their textbook open with the local sports page buried inside. The clincher was that they were both reading an article regarding the previous nights Dodger game. Though they lived several hundred miles outside of Los Angeles it turned out they both bled Dodger Blue.

They began spending breaks and lunch together, discussing the standings and the possibility of the boys in blue returning to the world series. They both felt the drought had gone on long enough and were ready for some post-season excitement. Zack soon discovered that Ryan and him had something else in common: they both had world-class baseball card collections passed from their father's. Soon plans were being made for Ryan to ride the bus home with Zack on the following Monday so they could compare and swap cards.

Monday came and the boys found themselves sprawled on the floor in Zack's room pouring over binders filled with baseball cards. They found that between the two collections that Ryan owned the rarest overall card while Zack owned the rarest Dodger card. A transistor radio was soon added to the background as the velvet tones of Vin Scully called the action for the day's game.

Time passed and before they realized it six o'clock had come and gone. Ryan called his mom to come and pick him up. They began to clean up the cards when Zack's father returned from work. Zack called for his dad and asked him to come into his room to meet his new friend.

Mr. Wilson stood in the doorway while his son made the introductions.

"Nice to meet you Ryan. Would you mind if I borrowed my son for a moment I need to have a word with him in private."
"Not at all Mr. Wilson, Zack and I were just cleaning up my mother should be here in a few moments to take me home."

Ryan returned to cleaning up the cards while Zack followed his father into his parent's bedroom. Mr. Wilson shut the door behind them and Zack began a mental checklist attempting to determine what house rule he had broken.

His father toward him, his face was red and he appeared to be fighting a losing battle to remain in control of his temper. "May I ask what that kid is doing in my house?"

Zack gave his father a puzzled look; he had often had friends over after school. "We were trading baseball cards, my homework is done and you never said I could not have friends over after school."

"Zack you are not understanding my point what is that particular friend doing in my house?"

"Dad I do not understand the problem, he is just a friend from school. Why is it such a big deal?"

"I will tell you the big deal Zack, your "friend" Ryan is black and I do not want him inside my house. You go back to your room and get him out. I do not care what you tell him but you are never to invite him over again and I also do not want to here that you visited his house. Do I make myself clear?"

"But Dad…"

"No buts. Move it mister. This matter is closed and you will do as I say."

With that Zack's father walked into the bathroom and slammed the door.

Zack was frozen in place his eyes were filled with tears of mystification. He knew his father had grown up in the south but until this very moment he had not know that his father was prejudiced. For his part while he realized that Ryan was black it had never dawned on him that this could somehow make him different. He was just a kid like him who loved baseball. Why did adults have to make the world so complicated? What was the point in judging others by their DNA strands?

Zack dried his eyes and made it out of his dad's room just as Ryan was heading for the door his mom was waiting for him in the driveway.

"Thanks for coming Ryan. I had a great time you have an excellent collection."

"Thanks for having me Zack. Is everything OK you look somewhat stressed"

"Its no big deal my dad was mad at me for having company over without him or my mother being home. He laid down the law. No more after school visits for anyone."
Zack could tell by the look in Ryan's eyes that he did not believe him. He must have sensed something when his father had come into the room. Zack stood in the doorway and sadly watched his friend drive away.

The next day at school things were different. Ryan and him still talked but Zack could already sense them drifting apart. Friendships were difficult enough to maintain without one friend being banned from the other friend's house for racial reasons. Soon Ryan began hanging with a new group in study hall and Zack often found himself pondering the seeds of hate that still blossomed throughout the world.

Postscript: Zack's younger sister was five years behind him in school and had their father wrapped around her little finger. By the time she left private high school he had mellowed with age and Ashley was able to bring home friends of any nationality or race without a peep from dear old dad.

Zack observed the comings and goings of Ashley's friends with a bemused expression on his face. I guess old dogs can learn new tricks and his dad was the proof in the pudding.

Marriage of Fools

She said:

I am going to use
My words of love
To make you dance
To my tune
I am going to play
Those lover's games
I want to see you beg
I want to see you crawl
I want to see you on your knees
Begging me please
Love me tonight
I am going to mess with your mind
I am going to twist your soul
You are going to be my slave
I am going to mold you
Into a man
My kind of man
Who understands
That I wear the pants
That I am the boss
A man who will follow my lead
No matter the cost
You will see the friends
That I approve
You will wear what I choose
Not what you want
You will sacrifice your freedom
For my satisfaction
If you have an opinion
You will wait for my reaction
You will buy me
Everything
My heart desires
And if you tell a soul
I will brand you a liar
You are in my web
There is no escape
Like the black widow
I will drain the life from you

He said:

I am so tired of
Your silly little games
Your constant whining
Is driving me insane
You cannot lead
Where I will not go
If you believe you can
Then you are a fool
I have to be true
To who I am
But you are to warped
To understand
The more you pull
The more I will fight
We have to be equal
Or I will leave tonight
Its give and take
Take and give
From what I see
That is how most couples live
You have to realize
I am not made of money
I love the simple life
Not wine and honey
I am Wal-Mart
Not Beverly Hills
I am Garth Brooks
Not Beverly Sills
I am barbequed burgers
Not Filet Mignon
I am Pismo Beach
Not Caribbean sun
I live check to check
Not Visa to MasterCard

I am happy just the way I am
Nothing fancy
Just a simple man
I cannot change
For anyone
Not you or someone else
So forget the games
And get out of my head
Or pack your bags
And leave instead
Don't get me wrong
I love you still
And no matter what
I guess I always will
But if my choice
Is changing to fit your mold
Or losing you to someone else
I will lose you before I change

Because when it is all said and done
Each and every morning
When I look into the mirror
I must be able to respect the man I see

Goodby, Dad

My father's last appearance in my life occurred in 1971. He had recently remarried and moved to Bishop, California where he had opened a lodge. In hindsight it was not the best career choice for someone who was swimming in a sea of alcoholism.

He had not had any contact with us for several years, partially because of his marriage to the bottle but mostly because he was not paying child support and he did not want to end up in jail.

His appearance was a surprise but was I am sure at the behest of his new wife. They only stayed for a couple of hours and as usual he was clueless when it came to gifts for his daughter. My sister received a dress that was four sizes to big and just as many years out of style. I cannot remember what he brought my brother but his new wife gave me a book on the Indians of Central and South America, which I still have.

A quick aside, I have never referred to her as my stepmother because this was our one and only meeting. They were divorced not much more than a year later.

The last time my father and I spoke was in early 1980. Once upon a time he had belonged to a local lodge and one of the members heard through the grapevine that he was ill and came up with a phone number, which they passed along to my mother.

Ill was an understatement. After years of alcoholism and smoking unfiltered Camels he had not only lung cancer and liver cancer but also brain cancer. According to the lodge members source he had no more than a year left.

I called him one afternoon from a friend's house, not wanting to open any old wounds at home. When he came to the phone a sob caught in my throat he sounded so old. In reality he was only 44 at the time but you could not tell from the timber of his voice.

We made small talk. He asked me how I was doing and how my brother and sister were. We discussed the Dodger's and baseball in general. He asked about my mom. Our conversation was all over the map but somehow we avoided discussing his fate. Maybe he was just trying to protect me from the bad news. He might not have even known that I knew. Whatever the reason our phone call lasted about thirty minutes and I never spoke to him again.

Flash forward six months. I walk in the door just in time to hear the phone ringing.

"Hello?"

"May I speak to Pat?"

"She's not home right now. May I take a message?"

"Whom am I speaking to?"

"This is her son Darrell."
"Well Darrell you do not know me. My name is G and my husband and I have been taking care of your father for the past two months. This is hard to say to someone I don't even know but I have to tell you that your father passed away today."

I almost dropped the phone. My father was dead. Even though I hardly knew he was still my father. As I groped for something to say G continued to speak.

"I also wanted to tell you what a rotten no good son you are. Your father has been living near us for the past six months and you did not bother to call, write or visit. Your poor father died with no one by his side but two almost complete strangers. I hope you can look yourself in the mirror at night because as far as I am concerned he would have been better off without children."

CLICK!

Before I could respond she hung up on me. I was shocked. How could someone speak like that to a teenager who had just lost his father? Obviously there was no way to explain the history of our family. No way to explain that after we last spoke he had moved again and I had no way of contacting him. Of course with her hanging up on me any explanation was beside the point.

I walked out the door into a night that was cold, wet and windy. Without a jacket I wandered the streets until I ended up at my best friends house. Her mother let me in and we sat for hours playing gin rummy and talking about my dad.

For many years I carried a lot of what ifs with me concerning my dad and anger toward the lady who called that evening. However, what ifs will not bring my father back and any family reunion will have to wait for some other place or time. He may not have been a great dad but he was still my father and he had his demons that he could never escape.

I am no longer carrying a grudge toward G. She did not know me. Her only knowledge of our lives came from my father and I have no way of knowing what he had told her. From her perspective all she saw was a man dying alone far from the home of his youth and the children he had loved. With nothing left to show for his life but,to quote from one of my poems:

A faded picture
From long ago
Of three small children
He used to know

Forgotten Memories

As I reviewed my mothers photo albums over Memorial Day weekend I stumbled across several photos of an object I have absolutely no memory of. According to the photographic evidence, which I cannot dispute, we had a clubhouse in our backyard from 1965 until we moved in 1970.

Now I was ten years old in 1970 and I should have some tidbit of memory left from that year. Obviously though the brain cells where evidence of this clubhouse were stored have been damaged over the years. Maybe I should have a heat sink installed inside my brain to keep it from over heating.

Apparently sometime in 1965 I made a big ruckus wanting to know why we did not have a clubhouse at the time. My sister was only two and my brother one so the request had to have come from me yet I do not remember it.

At the time my father worked for a company in Burbank called Zero Manufacturing. They were a company that made various types of machines for factories around the world. One day some large piece of equipment was delivered to the plant inside a large wooden box. My dad took one look at it and decided it would be perfect for building a clubhouse.

He brought it home and along with my mother went to work. They cut a doorway and four holes for windows into the box. My father took some wood and made door for it complete with hinges and a doorknob. From the photographs it appears that they used actual glass for the windowpanes but my mother cannot remember for sure. My father put a roof on it complete with shingles. My mother than painted the outside white with blue trim. She even hung little curtains in the windows.

According to mom this was our absolute favorite toy. We played in it every day for the next five years. When my mom and step-dad sold the house in 1970 we begged them to take the clubhouse with us but they refused. So we parted ways after five years of fun.

I wish I could conjure up some kind of memory concerning this clubhouse but I cannot. It is almost like I accidentally when it comes to that one part of my life in the late 60's.

Brush with Fame

More reminiscing from the river, my mother shared with me a story she never had before concerning earliest brush with meeting a celebrity.

It happened in 1961 or 1962. I was two years old and making my first aware trip to Disneyland. Baby trip do not count because all you do is sleep in the stroller and you are oblivious to the ongoing show.

As we roamed the park we had made our way towards Frontierland, which at the time contained an Indian village complete with an Indian chief. According to my mother the chief fascinated me and I cried when she began to walk away. The chief took notice and walked towards us. He held out his arms and my mother says I ran right to him as if I had known him all of my life.

I guess I was in seventh heaven and did not want to leave. So my mother stood there with the chief while I pulled on his war bonnet and they made small talk.

It was at this time that one of Disneyland's old-fashioned automobiles drove up and stopped near where we were standing. The occupants of the car were a princess from a country that my mother has long since forgotten and Walt Disney himself. Walt according to legend enjoyed giving visiting dignitaries personal tours. He was pointing the sights and sounds of Frontierland out to the princess when he noticed my Indian chief and me.

He beckoned to the chief who along with my mother carried me over to the car. He introduced himself and asked my mother if we were enjoying the park. All the while though he kept watching me interact with the chief, finally he asked my mother if he could hold me. She replied of course and the chief began to hand me over to Mr. Disney. I however would have nothing to do with him. I didn't cry but I also did not let go of my Indian. No matter how they tried I would not allow Walt to hold me.

According to my mom Mr. Disney got a kick out of the whole thing. He told her that he thought she had a lovely family. He told her to have a great time in the park and went about his tour.

As for my Indian chief my mother was finally able to pry me out of his arms but I cried all the way out of Frontierland.

Crossroads

From a distance Josh moved like a tight end weaving his way through the secondary. With a leather briefcase in one hand and a cell phone to his ear, he conducted business on the sidewalk as he headed to the office. He rarely noticed those who shared the sidewalk with him. When they did come to his attention it was only long enough to curse them after a collision.

By all definitions Josh Stevenson was a Type A personality who with all things being equal would probably drop from a stroke or a heart attack before the age of 55. He was an ad executive who handled the accounts for several fortune five hundred companies. He brought home six figures a year not including bonuses. His house and garage were filled with all of the toys that any self-respecting thirty-something would covet.

Josh kept his eye on the ball and dreamed of one day owning his own ad agency. He allowed no distractions to interfere with his long-term goals. He never took the time to stop and smell the roses, watch a sunset or even remove his shoes and walk barefoot through the warm afternoon sun.

On this particular Monday Josh was late for a meeting with a client and was impatiently making his way to the office. He never saw the homeless man or his son until he tripped over the dad and went sprawling across the sidewalk. His suit was ruined and he came off the ground with fire in his eyes ready to give the man a piece of his mind.

As he turned towards the father he noticed a broken wheel chair sitting next to him. Looking down he saw that the homeless man was paralyzed, most likely from the waist down. Still the man should have been more careful about where he sat.

He was ready to give the dad a piece of his mind when he noticed tears forming in the son's eyes. Despite his obvious fear the boy stepped between Josh and the father. With shaking hands and a quivering voice he stood up to Josh.

"Mister I am sorry that you fell, but you really should look where you are going. My daddy's legs don't work anymore and he cannot move them out of the way." While he spoke the boy picked up Josh's cell phone which lay unnoticed on the sidewalk. He brushed it off and returned it to him.

Angrily, Josh shoved the phone in his pocket and looked at boy and his father with scorn in his eyes. "I am not concerned with your fathers problems or yours for that matter. If he cannot move out of the way he should not be on the sidewalk. You and your father have managed to make me late for a very important meeting. My lateness could cost me and my employer a lot of money."

The boy appeared to shrink into himself but he still managed to stand his ground. "Mister we would not have been on the sidewalk if my dads wheelchair had not broken. My dad is trying to find work to support us but he is unable to make it to any interviews without a chair. Could you maybe spare some cash to help us get another wheelchair? I saw one down the street at a thrift store it was only twenty dollars. Could you help mister?
Josh almost laughed right out loud. "First you make me late for a meeting and now you have the nerve to ask me for help. I admire your guts kid but I did not become wealthy man that I am by wasting money on those without the wherewithal to climb the ladder of success. If your poor it is your fault not mine."

He turned to leave but the little urchin grabbed the back of his jacket and stopped him.

"Please mister. We have already slept against this wall for two nights. I cannot move my father by myself. If I get the other wheelchair I can take my dad to the shelter for a hot meal. Mister just a few..."

Josh cut him off. "I do not have money or time to waste on people like you. Why don't you walk to the shelter and ask one of the bleeding hearts that runs the place for twenty dollars and leave me alone."

With that he stormed off, brushing his suit, straightening his tie and calling his client on the cell phone to say he had been detained but was on his way. He did not look back and he never saw the tears in the little boys eyes or the defeat in the fathers.

Later that evening Josh left his building and headed for the subway. He was still furious at the day's events. The collision with the old cripple had led to him being late for the meeting and to his company losing the opportunity to close a multi-million dollar deal. While his boss had been understanding he knew that the memories of those in upper management were long and today's debacle could come back to haunt him.

He came around a corner and was immediately blinded by a sea of flashing lights. Fire trucks and police cars filled the street. Josh was about to cut across traffic to the other sidewalk when he realized a crowd was gathered where he had tripped over the old cripple earlier today.

With growing dread he edged his way through the crowd until he could see what was happening. What he saw would give him nightmares for weeks. A car, driven by a drunk driver jumped the sidewalk and crushed the father and son against the wall, killing them. There was blood everywhere. The broken wheelchair was unscathed by the accident and filled Josh with guilt.

"Twenty dollars," he thought to himself. "Twenty dollars and they would have been long gone before the car jumped the curb. Hell I spend that much tipping waitresses on Friday nights I could have given the boy that and more."

The sound of the boys voice came back to haunt him. "Please mister all I need is twenty dollars to get the chair and take my father to the shelter."

With a heavy heart and tear filled eyes Josh shuffled away from the accident.

He did not remember the subway ride or even driving to his home in the foothills. One minute he was at the scene of the accident the next he was sitting on his deck overlooking the valley. However, for the first time he could remember he did not notice the view or anything else for that matter.

The events of the day kept playing over and over again in Josh's mind. If, if, if, all of the ifs were driving him mad. One gesture was all it would have taken and two human beings would still be alive. But know that was too hard for him. He was to busy being Josh Stevenson ad executive to notice the important things in life.

As he sat there on the deck through the long night Josh realized that the events of the day had brought him to a crossroad in his life. He could move forward as if nothing had happened and keep living life the way he had. Or he could change his lifestyle completely. He knew himself to well to believe that halfway measures would work. He was to addicted to success to cut back and remain in the industry. He had to either walk away completely or not bother changing at all.

In the east the sun was just coming over the horizon when Josh came to a decision. He could not let the deaths of those two human beings go for naught. They may have died but in doing so he thought, they may have saved me. All that I have done before today meant nothing to the universe. From this day forward I am going to contribute, to make a difference, to become a man who can be proud of what he sees in the mirror.

As the sun warmed the chill from his bones Josh entered his house and took the first baby steps of his new life.

Unseen by Josh three spirits remained on the deck in the morning sun. The boy, his father and one who shown with the brilliance of a full moon. They exchanged smiles and slowly dissipated.

Traditions

I spent Memorial Day weekend in Bullhead City, Arizona visiting with my mother. Most of the visit was spent in Laughlin and Las Vegas, Nevada as my mom's favorite past time is playing video poker. I did however find time to revisit our families history by perusing the many photo albums my mother has put together. One of the pictures that captured my imagination was of my great-grandfather Quinto Spelta with his parents that was taken circa 1895. The photograph brought to mind the stories my grandmother used to share about the old country and its traditions.

Just four generations ago in Italy arranged marriages were still the norm.

On a clear day in 1893 Quinto noticed my future great-grandmother Maria Scribante, thirteen at the time, coming home from the bakers. With just that glimpse he lost his heart and made a promise to himself that she was the girl for him.

He returned home and announced to his parents that he had found the person that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Of course, they were taken aback. Tradition did not allow for children to choose their spouses. He had to marry whom the family chose. His father asked about his son's new found love but he had no facts to share he did not as of yet even know her name.

He worked on his parents for several weeks and their resolve did eventually weaken. They told him to find out who his mystery woman was and where she lived. Armed with that information his father would approach the family about arranging a marriage.

Eventually the fathers met and without too much squabbling they were able to come to an agreement. When Maria turned eighteen Quinto and her would be allowed to marry. Unlike most arranged marriages the bride and groom were introduced once before the wedding. They did not have to wait until the walk down the aisle for their first look at their spouse.

Quinto and Maria enjoyed a long and fruitful marriage. Seven children and a move from Italy to Missouri were only two of the grand adventures that they enjoyed. The beginning of their marriage may not have been built on love but over the years they built a foundation that was meant to last.