Miracles

I believe in miracles. No, really - I do, and I also believe that miracles come in all shapes and sizes, from the tiniest of miracles that often have an impact much greater than their size would indicate, to the biggest miracles that most people wouldn't even consider possible. Pick your definition of miracle - but do yourself a favor and make it a good one and believe - because miracles do happen.

For this post, I'm going with the definition on my mac widget:

 Miracle - noun   A highly improbable or extraordinary event, development, or accomplishment
                            that brings very welcome consequences.

 Nice, isn't it? Allow me to shed some light on just why that definition, and the miracle that I'm grateful for, speak to me. I have a friend, Tony, that I've known since I was 14 years old. I don't know that we were especially close friends in those days, but that is of no importance here - because one of the things that is so amazing about the bonds of true friendship is that things like time, distance, life events - both good ones and not-so good ones, have a way of making a very strong bond between two people. Someone can be thousands of miles away from you and that distance does nothing to lessen the mark that person has on your heart, your soul - your very being.

I'm pretty sure that Tony was a smoker from the time I met him, right up to the day he went to the doctor three years ago thinking he had pneumonia. Does it really matter? No - not to me. What matters is that on the day he went to the doctor as a grown man, far traveled from the days of being the 14 year old boy that I met in 8th grade, he would be diagnosed with stage 2 lung cancer.

I'm a firm believer in the notion that what happens to any one of us, can - and does happen often times, to us. I'm not a smoker, but I have spent a number of years working behind a bar that gave me a pretty serious second-hand smoker status. It's often incredibly difficult for smokers to quit smoking - despite all the evidence of the horrid things that smoking tobacco can do to people, despite any other logic that it's a disgusting habit to have even if it didn't have the potential to destroy someone's health and very life. Never mind the fact that cancer often finds its way to someone who's never smoked in their life.

As I move ahead in my journey, now in middle age, the bonds of friendship grow substantially and so does my appreciation of them. I'm blessed to be very friend rich and I have some longstanding friendships that have existed and strengthened - some of them are closing in on forty years now!  I said closing in on forty years - so don't go thinking I'm farting dust yet. I digress. Given my values on my longstanding friendships, the news that Tony would be facing the fight of his life was devastating. I felt scared, hurt and damn near helpless. I'm not a doctor, not well connected in the medical field and therefore able to point someone I care about towards the best possible care in order to facilitate the miracle I now needed to hope for and believe in. My fears were minimal when they stood alongside the fears that Tony and his wife, Charlotte were living in. When fear is that big it can consume people. Everything about life in the world that doesn't stop or slow down for anyone, can disappear in that heavy fog of fear. What could I possibly do or say to help my friend with what he was now facing?

I'm not one to toot my own horn, but for in the moments when I know a song and can play it well. Metaphorically speaking. One thing I know that I can do, and do very well, is offer a kind word to someone I care for at a time when they need it. This usually seems like a very small thing for me offer up and to acknowledge.  I don't really give much thought to what my kind words will mean to someone that I give them to - though I'm well aware what the words mean to me and how they make me think of the person I'm directing them towards. I just know that I deliver sincerely and consistently - and I'm willing to repeat myself many times over if need be to make the kindness of my words sink in.

My fears about what Tony was about to go through quickly faded when I started to think about the kind of man Tony had become in the thirty plus years I've known him. From the time I met him as a boy, Tony has always had a very unique way of putting his mindset in the best possible place it needs to be for any given situation. I had no idea just how important this kind of thing can be when I was a 14 year old boy, but I have a pretty damn good idea how important something like this is now, as a middle aged man. Tony has always had a way of sidestepping all the mental blocks and getting exactly to the right way of thinking about something.

I thought about how Tony got into doing magic and how he made it seem so easy, how he was so confident in performing magic as a sideline to his day job. Many years later, Tony would develop an interest in more of mentalist type of shows/performing. If you knew Tony, you would easily see why this was such a natural progression for him to head in. I'll say it again:  Tony has always had a very unique way of getting his mindset into the exact place it needs to be in for any given situation.

What I said to Tony, and anyone I talked to about him, is that if anyone can convince their body to rid itself of something as horrible as cancer, and I will say with complete certainty that I firmly believe people can indeed do this, it's Tony - and it's Tony because of the way he has always been able to place his mindset exactly where it needs to be.

I couldn't think of anything else I could say that would reach Tony - or anyone I would talk to about Tony with that was more important than this. I could tell Tony that I'm here for him if he needs to talk, I could tell him that I will keep good thoughts, prayers, hopes and positive healing thoughts/vibes for him - and I believe that prayer means having more faith than supplication. I did say these things to Tony, as well as saying that if he needed me to drive down for any reason at all, to never hesitate to call me. As powerful and sincere as my words felt to me, I had no control over how Tony would hear them and what they might mean to him. Everyone says something to someone during times like these - and let's not underestimate the value of people keeping good thoughts for us during the toughest moments of our lives, but I'm no fan of empty words.

Tony sounded awful in the times I spoke with him after his diagnosis. Who wouldn't? He sounded scared - who wouldn't? There wasn't any hope that I could see in him, and believe me, I was looking and listening for even the tiniest bit of it. I couldn't see it, couldn't feel it. I knew that God forbid, I would face something so horrible, that I might have even less hope than I saw Tony having - and mind you, that was none. I don't even want to think about how my own hopes could likely slip into serious negative deficit there. So what I held onto, as tightly as I could, was the notion that if anyone can convince their body to rid itself of cancer, and I DO believe that people can do this, it's Tony.

I've lost count of how many times I've said this to Tony in the nearly three years since his diagnosis and treatment and life after treatment. Same for the amount of times I've said these words to anyone and everyone I've mentioned Tony and his fight to. I've held onto these words and my belief in them - and I will continue to do just that.


I had lunch with Tony last week. In the phone tag that led up to us having lunch, I could hear in his voice that he was down, scared again. I wanted to look him in the eye and I knew if I did that and talked to him about what might be going on that he wouldn't hide anything from me. What started out as simple as two old friends deciding that lunch on a regular basis was both doable and necessary, now took on much more importance. I called Tony at his office to confirm the time and place for lunch. For a guy who is now a certified hypno-therapist and who makes every effort to choose words that have a positive effect, Tony sounded 180 degrees in the opposite direction - though as soon as he realized it was me calling, he turned on the charm a bit. I can have that effect on people sometimes. Nope, this wasn't going to be a lunch with two old friends trading laughs - at least not entirely.

This lunch would end up going pretty deep, and for both of us. Within seconds of sitting down,  Tony told me how he was concerned with the results of his latest cat scan. Who wouldn't be? He sounded tired, beaten, and accepting of that. Not cool. Understandable perhaps, but not cool - not from Tony and his amazing mindset abilities. Those mindset abilities are exactly what brought Tony out of treatment from cancer, out of them removing more than half of one of his lungs and out of what they told him was a 16-17% chance of being alive a year after what he went through.

I listened as Tony told me he felt beaten and defeated. That wasn't easy to take in. Worse still, he told me that if he would have felt this way back when he was going through his original treatment, that he would've given up. I can't even explain how unlike Tony this statement was and it scared the living daylights out of me. I stopped him long enough to remind him of my original statement that I've held onto since this thing started nearly three years ago. It's not really my statement, it's more my observation of exactly the person that Tony is and what I knew he can do. Sometimes we can forget things we do well ourselves - so this was me merely reminding him of something he already knew.

So I did that, and I didn't pull punches - I went straight at it. "I know", Tony said, "but this is different - I don't know what it is, so I can't fix it."

I didn't have time to think, because as soon as I had the thought, the very words of that thought came flying out of my mouth: "Then BLANKET that shit - you tell your body, convince your body to get rid of whatever this is that is causing the problem!" - easy for me to say that when I'm the guy sitting on the good side of the table. Pardon my language, but what the fuck do I know about any of this? Nothing, but I'm not smoking anyone out here because I know a fair amount about how Tony can put his mindset exactly where it should be and keep it there. That is what I know. I also know I hated hearing Tony tell me that the cancer stood a 70% of coming back. That 70% chance was what he seemed to be thinking about - and who wouldn't, but for the fact that doing so clouds the miracle that has already gotten us this far - 17% chance of being alive a year after the hell he'd already been through. I know he made it through those suck ass odds, because he focused on that 17% chance and that was the percentile he wanted to be in. Nearly three years later, that target is nailed dead center. Isn't 30% nearly twice the 17% that he landed in? You bet it is, but how do you convince someone of that when they have been through the hell of cancer and the reality is more like any time they feel the least bit under the weather they are going to wonder if they're going to have to revisit anything close to the hell they've been through?

Easier said than done, but you keep trying. You keep believing, you hold on tight to prayer that is stronger in faith than it is in supplication. God is good - you don't have to ask for this, you should know it. I don't know the bible from cover to cover, and I'm not here to preach - but there is a verse that reads:  If you have faith the size of a mustard seed...nothing shall be impossible for you. That may very well be the most inspiring verse I've read in the bible - and perhaps it shouldn't be, but I find that verse an incredible concept to wrap my mind around. Faith that small is akin to a smaller percentage - say of 17% or so. It's tiny. It's easy to have, to hold and to forget about and lose. That's all the bigger it need be in order for nothing to be impossible for you if you have that much faith.

I like that verse because it's clearly believable when I apply it to my friend Tony's situation - from the start of this battle to now. 17% is as tiny as a mustard seed when I consider the higher percentage that within it exists a possibility of someone I love not being in this life anymore. The wonderful thing about this verse is that it clearly states the amount of faith one needs to have nothing be impossible for them. It also doesn't say most things, or some things will be impossible - it says nothing will be impossible.

Yes, I believe in miracles. Deep down, when doubts and fears cast a shadow over all I hold dear to me, I believe in miracles. Tony was alive and well a year after his treatment - standing strong and grateful for being in that smaller percentile that he knew he wanted to stand in. Don't believe in miracles? You might do well to rethink that one. I'm not writing about my friend in the past tense. Yesterday was the day when Tony went to the doctor to see the results for his recent cat scan. I know he was scared. Who wouldn't be? Any other time he's gone in for this, he gets back to me and says something like "results: no cancer - but we already knew that didn't we?" - this time seemed different and try as I did, I couldn't not be afraid for him. I was talking to a friend yesterday afternoon and I asked her to keep a good thought for Tony as today was the day. I hung up minutes later and checked my email. There was an email from Tony with "Doctor" as the subject line. I felt a lump in my throat and my heart rate change as I clicked to open the email. Tony was very brief, but the words, "no cancer" were there!

No cancer. Two words that made my day - not to mention Tony and Charlotte's day. The same two words that made me cry - but I'm secure enough to appreciate a good reason to cry, and this is certainly that. It's also standing in a smaller percentage of a circle that has nasty, heartbreaking and horrible things as its majority. That, dear people, is a miracle. Miracles are a bit like snowflakes - no two are alike, though sometimes they can be very similar. I believe in the miracle of miracles and I believe  my friend Tony's amazing ability to put his mindset in the best possible place is returning. Thanks for making my day by sharing such good news with me Tony - you know what to do from here, but if I see that you need reminding, you know what I'm going to say to you.

Politically Incorrect Costume...

Would that I could, this Halloween, dress up as a giant drum of MSG, that magical flavor enhancer that most Asian restaurants use to make their food taste so good. My problem with MSG is that it's basically salt, and I'm a guy who almost never picks up a salt shaker. These days I try to eat as healthy as I know how to being middle aged( yet a bit more youthful than my years). I also tend to think that if you have good ingredients and you do the right things with those ingredients, you don't really need some magical flavor enhancer.

So I struggle with working for an employer who is a bit less than honest about the use of MSG in his food. We live in an age where more people want to know what they're eating for all kinds of reasons, such as allergies - and these can be minor to very serious. Some people simply don't like things and will avoid what they don't like at all cost. I struggle with knowing so much less about the food I'm serving to people because my boss thinks that anyone who asks about his ingredients is asking because they want to copy his recipe. So many times when I ask him about a specific sauce when a customer has asked me to find out something for them, he'll answer "It's a brown sauce." - I can see that. Duh.

And so it is, my thoughts of dressing up as a big drum of MSG. I think it would be hilarious to have a big red drum covering me from say, just above the knees up to my shoulders and walk around visiting the tables, tossing handfuls of white MSG everywhere - "I make EVERYthing taste GOOD, M-S-G...yeah, you KNOW me!"

I could visit every table, like a manager - "how's everything taste tonight folks?...good, right? Damn straight it does, that's what I come to work for people, it's what I come to work for!"

For all of the people who ask for no MSG in their food, I could visit their tables too - "Good evening folks, I understand you didn't want me in your food this evening - mind if I ask  why?....allergies? Pffffffft, please! Allergies, schmallergies...nothing to worry about here folks, it's all in your head. I don't care what your waiter tells you, I've been intimate with each and every item on this menu - and I'm proud of my work, I personally sign off on each and every appetizer or entree that makes its way out of that kitchen - and I never miss a day of work, so put THAT on your fork and BITE ME, folks. Uh-oh....did I say that? what? I'm where? Good night folks - I'd like you to think of me whenever something tastes good."

No worries folks, I know that such a costume would be politically incorrect and I need my job to keep a roof over my head and food on my table - and I'm very blessed to be able to say I can do that when so many others can't these days. So I'll take the good with the bad, and hope that I will always see the glass as half full. I'm not wearing a costume this year - not that I've worn one for quite a few years. It would be kind of funny - but not everything funny needs to play out. Happy Halloween.

Heavy Heart & A Groove Silenced

 This is a post I did back in August when I learned that one of my favorite drummers, Richie Hayward, had passed away losing his battle with cancer. I'm not sure why I let it  sit so long - I suppose I wanted to let my thoughts simmer a bit to see if I had anything else to say. I think this about covers it for me:



It's been a bit of a bummer of a summer for me, at least in terms of some people passing away much sooner than I, and many others would like. On Thursday night of this week, I got a text from a friend saying that Richie Hayward, one of my favorite drummers had passed away. Not the news I was hoping for and completely contrary to the vision I held in my mind of seeing Richie play a blistering show with Little Feat, the cancer whose ass he seriously kicked was just a tiny spot in the rear view mirror. There was so much love, prayers & well wishes for Richie once he left the band to undergo his treatment for liver cancer, that I really believed it would bring him back in good health, back behind the kit where he belonged.

I've been a big fan of Richie's playing since I was a kid in high school. None of my friends understood what I liked about Little Feat, or Richie's playing when I first started getting into Little Feat - I couldn't have cared less what they thought. The album that hooked me - and they were called albums then, was the live LP, Waiting For Columbus. It was 1978 and I had a hard time grasping the concept that none of my friends that I could talk music with liked this album! What's not to like? I have to admit that I was a mere kid of 18 then, and I had favorites that caused me to almost ignore (I said 'almost') some great stuff on this album - but now I couldn't live without every tune.

It would be a year or so before I could mention Little Feat to another person and actually have them say something good to go with how much I liked them - and as a very young man, I lacked the words to say why I liked them so much - I liked them so much because it was great music, and it still is.

When Lowell George passed away in 1979, it seemed that I wouldn't get to see Little Feat live. Fast forward to 1988 and my first Little Feat show at the Newport in Columbus, Ohio. Amazing - everything I hoped it would be and more. I didn't have great seats, but the music more than made up for that. Even from way too far away, Richie floored me.

A few years later I would take a job running a drum shop for a local music chain and a phone call to Scott Miller at Pearl drums would land me backstage passes to a Little Feat show in Cleveland. I was incredibly excited at the chance to finally meet Richie Hayward. From right at the foot of the stage, Richie was barely visible behind his kit, which trembled on its riser under the powerful grooves that Richie laid down.

Backstage after the show, Richie could not have been any nicer. We talked about tours he did with Joan Armatrading and Warren Zevon. I was amazed that Richie seemed to be enjoying the conversation because so many times when you meet famous musicians, they may speak to you, but there's usually the vibe that conversation will be brief and they've got someone more important to talk to than you. Not so with Richie Hayward. He asked me when I last saw the band and when I told him it had been 1988, he looked at me and said, "oh you can't stay away that long...come and see us again soon, don't wait that long, you're missing out!"

Indeed I was. Like anyone who has ever picked up a pair of drumsticks, Richie's playing was very inspirational to me and it left a mark. Never really thought about it until just now, but when I say his playing was inspirational, I don't mean to say that I wanted to play like he did - what I'd want would be to give myself to the song the way Richie did. I've always thought that the best drummers want to make the song, the band sound good - they like playing songs more than drums.  I don't know of any better example of that philosophy than Richie Hayward.

When you get into the upper echelon of musicians, to me at least, one drummer isn't better than another, you start to realize how different they are as artists and you celebrate those differences. Like any great artist, Richie never stopped evolving - I've always loved listening to his playing and I always will. I had the pleasure of talking to Richie a couple more times since meeting him in Cleveland. I'll always remember him coming offstage having just burned through Little Feat sets, that had his fan blowing towards him on the left of his kit - it's hot up there in Richie's seat, oh man is it ever hot up there! - his hair blown all over the place and soaked with sweat, a big smile on his face and looking like he'd just gotten off the ride of his life. Perhaps he had at that, and how incredible that after 40 years in one incredible band, he could still come offstage smiling that way.

So it's with a very heavy heart that I come to terms with one of the most incredible grooves that music has ever known has been silenced. My own sadness here is quickly put into perspective when I think of those who knew Richie and loved him  - his wife Shauna, his children, the rest of the band, how much heavier their hearts are right now, and how much of them is now missing with Richie gone. We'll all survive, but Richie took some of all he touched with him, just as he put in various influences into his playing. My heart aches for Richie's friends and family - people who are missing Richie the husband, the father, the band mate - and I hope that they are comforted during this difficult time when time itself is the miracle that heals, but at times like these it sure feels like time can't move fast enough.

I'm more than a little sad that I won't get the chance to talk with Richie again, that the dream I've been holding onto of seeing Richie healthy again and up on that bandstand where he belonged won't happen in this life. I still can't believe he's actually gone, and I pray he's at peace now and that he knows how much he's loved and missed. I realize that I'm lucky I had the chance to meet him a few times, how thrilled I am that the last time I talked to him was in my home town and when he saw me coming he smiled, pointed at me and said, "hey man! - I remember you!" - uhm, yeah...Richie remembered me.

So the groove may be silenced, my heart heavy because of that...but the thing I need to remember is that Richie's grooves will never stay silent for me - I'll always enjoy listening to that man play and I'll always hope that I can cop a fraction of the feel that Richie had into any music I may play, and I'll cherish the memories of the times I had the pleasure of talking to Richie in person - now that I think of it, I was always the one who ended those conversations - Richie always seemed like he'd talk to me indefinitely. Rest in peace Richie, and to Bill, Fred, Kenny, Paul and Sam - and Richie's family and friends, I wish you all comfort - my heart is sad for the loss all of you are feeling.

Counter

I mentioned having a counter story to the boy gone dog story my mother loves to tell. I don't remember anything about her story - I was too young. I do, however, remember a very amusing story that took place some years later with my mother, both of my sisters and I being at a shopping mall somewhere in Southern California. My mother would say she remembers nothing of what I'm about to share here - which makes me think it's selective memory. My mother has never been afraid of someone having a belly laugh at her expense, consequently, neither are any of her grown children.

I may have been around ten when this little incident happened. I remember watching it all unfold and thinking things were about to get interesting. Nobody had easy access to video means of documenting such events in those days. For crying out loud, a treat was spending an evening viewing slides of family pictures on the wall of my grandparents' living room. Yes, we were that old school. Nobody said "Old School" in those days. Forgive me, but I don't remember what was hip then - well, other than things like viewing slides on the wall of a living room with the lights turned off. That seemed hip back then, at the very least it was a treat. My Lord does that ever make me feel every one of my fi......never mind.

So this story, which I rather like - and I swear did indeed happen, had my mother, my sisters and I heading down the middle aisle of a store, Sears comes to mind, but that's really not important. We may have even passed the place where all things child retaining/restraining were kept - I suspect that things like that are kept at various & sundry key locations in all stores - much the way fire extinguishers are placed. You just shouldn't be far from either should the need arise.

 As much as I recall, we were heading down the middle of the store, Lynne - my older sister was probably a bit to the right and in front of my mother. I was a step or two behind them both and Kerrin, my younger sister, was just off to my left. She was little then - remember this, it's important. When I say she was little, I mean she was under four feet tall. I know my height references from this time period because I intended to become a professional basketball player when I grew up - and I constantly monitored my height progress. I even had a bet with Lynne about what point in my life I would reach a height of six feet. The details of that bet are sketchy - but there was no money exchanged.

My mother would regularly assess where her children were in relation to her. Very aware of her surroundings, seeing things out of the corners of her eyes and being mindful of where we all were. Ready to act on anything quickly - you know, like a child needing to be restrained. Kerrin had started to drift a bit off to the left, which, surprisingly, gave way for a woman who appeared to be about 60, heading up to pass my mother on her immediate left. This woman was no taller than my sister Kerrin was. My mother, seeing what she thought from the corner of her eye to be her youngest child, put her arm around the shoulders of this very small adult woman. It didn't take long to realize this was a mistake.

My mother instantly gave an embarrassed apology as this poor woman looked up at her. I can still see this woman's face and still hear my mother saying, "I'm so sorry" - I was too young to comprehend much here - had a I been in my teenage years, I would've razzed my mom about it. Not at ten - I wasn't raised to be anything but respectful of my parents - but the teenage years often disregard the values given up to that point. The whole incident took about 3 seconds to play out. I remember watching it unfold and being very interested as I knew what was about to happen. Three seconds is a fairly long time for this kind of a scene. One and a half seconds is a very long time to have your arm around what you think is your youngest child, but is instead an adult woman who is old enough to be your mother.

I might block something like that from my memory too - then again, I think I might laugh it off. Nothing against the little woman here, it was an honest mistake - my mother didn't mean to offend this woman, I don't mean any offense in sharing the story. There you have it - my story pales in comparison to my mother's favorite story, but I have gotten some laughs with this one.

A boy gone dog...and a little person

My mother has a favorite story about me when I was a child of perhaps two or three years old. She absolutely loves to share this story and I absolutely love it when she does. My stepfather, Steve, seems to feel that mom is embarrassing me when she shares this story with company in my presence. He needn't worry on my account, I'm not the least bit embarrassed when my mother tells this story. This really isn't my story to tell, it's my mother's story and she tells it much better than I. When I share it, I feel like I've stolen the world's funniest joke and the entire world knows it. I share the story because I love the way my mother's face and very kind eyes light up when she tells the story. They light up the same way when she's around her grandchildren - or even speaking of them for that matter.

As the story goes, my mother was in a store with my older sister, Lynne and her younger son, me, and things were not going well for her - mostly because of me that day. She says she reached a point where she couldn't stand it any longer and by it, she means me and my attempts at running amok in the store. How does a mother reach her boiling point and instantly know what she needs to do about it? I have no idea, but my mother had done exactly that.

My mother says she "Marched right over and grabbed a child harness that had a leash on it, and put it on him - right there in the middle of the store, in front of everyone." - What? First of all, when your mother is either marching, or telling you to march, this spells trouble. Mother's have no reason to march or tell their children to march unless they have reached their boiling point. Secondly, how in the world do you know where to find a harness to put an unruly child in? Does every mother know where to find these things in a store? Should they? For anyone who might be wondering where they might find such an item should they need it, I'm going to suggest you look right in the middle of the store - in front of everyone. They just might thank you.

So into my new harness I went. Mom didn't have to ask a store employee where to find the harness - she knew. She acted. The harness had a leash. Problem solved - or so she thought. According to my mother, what happened next was completely unexpected. Legend has it that I immediately seized the opportunity to capitalize on being in this harness with a leash. Quick thinking young lad that I was then, I got down on all fours shouting to everyone, right there in the middle of the store, the exact location where all child-restraining products are stocked, and announced that I was a dog. Then I started barking like one. I guess this numbed my mother, but before she could think of what her next action should be, a total stranger came to her rescue. Up walked a man who grabbed me, stood me up and smacked me on my ass and said, "now listen to your mother!" and in an instant he was gone.

I don't remember any of it. I love hearing my mother tell this story, and I hope to again soon. Another reason I'm not embarrassed to have this story told in front of me? I have a pretty good counter story, but I'll put that one in the next post.

The Safest Place On Earth

There is a place from my childhood where I always felt safe. In this place, I never had any reason to be afraid of anything or anyone. The world could pass by me and I always knew I would get to where I was going safely and perfectly on time. Nothing could harm me in this, the safest place on earth I thought, and I wonder how I knew this as a boy. Sometimes you just know things and there is never any reason to question them. You just know and nothing can change that.

The place I'm referring to is my grandfather's car, with my grandfather driving it. My grandfather used his car the way anyone used their car - to drive himself to work, to the store, errands - all the normal things one needs and uses a car for. My grandfather, along with my grandmother, brought eight people into this world and in doing so created my perfect model of what a family should really look like. Any time I questioned my own immediate family, which I seemed to have to do a lot as a child, I would look towards the family that my grandparents created and take comfort in knowing that I was a part of that.

I felt safe around my grandparents, and most importantly, I felt loved every second of the time I was around them. I suppose that's why I always hated leaving their house. Even after moments where I would be scolded by either my grandmother or grandfather, I knew I was loved and I knew I never had to question that - ever. There was something different about being in the car when my grandfather drove, and I don't think I've ever seen anyone drive with such a sense of control and calm as my grandfather did.

He drove the speed limit, stopped at every stop sign, slowed at the exact moments he needed to, never panicked at the wheel, never drove in a way that would make anyone riding in his car nervous about a single thing. Although I didn't know why as a boy, it amazes me to this very day that I never felt safer than I did riding in my grandfather's car when he was driving. Think about how many possibilities there are for accidents any time you get behind the wheel of your car. Endless really - either on a ten minute drive to the store, or a lengthy drive to whatever destination you may have, more opportunities than any of us think about for disaster of any number of levels to happen. Yet my grandfather drove so perfectly that an accident and his car were like opposing ends of magnets - disaster of any kind seemed to head in the opposite direction.

I felt as safe riding in the car with my grandfather as I did sitting on his couch. Nobody could ever get me someplace more safely than he could. He saw everything, though he never really spoke about it. His every move was deliberate, nothing happened by accident or chance. I think about riding in my grandfather's car as a child, when things get too crazy and seem to go too fast. I try to slow my thinking and soak up how unflappable my grandfather always was. It's my warmest memory of a man I loved but foolishly never told him enough while he was here. His very being held me and looked at me calmly telling me that I would always, always get to where I am supposed to be, and these days I give that more thought than ever before. I miss those rides in my grandfather's car. Many years later, as a grown man of 30, I wanted to take my grandparents and my sister who was in town from California, out to dinner at a new restaurant that a friend and former coworker opened. Since my car was small, I didn't think my grandparents would be comfortable riding in my car, so I just assumed that they would follow me to the restaurant.

As we walked out of their house, I said they could follow me and that I would be sure to drive cautiously so that my grandfather didn't lose his way. I remember thinking to myself, 'wow...this man has never lost his way anywhere, and here I am talking to him as though such a thing were even possible'...and then my grandfather said something that I'd never imagined he would say to me:

"Chris, why don't you just drive us all up in my car?"

Oh.No.He.Didn't. Oh yes, he did. I can't even describe the feeling I had all of a sudden. Me, drive my grandfather's car, with both of my grandparents in it? My grandfather, the most patient and calm man I've ever known. The man who made me feel safer in his car than any other place on earth, the man who made the best barbecue chicken I'll ever have, the man who lived his entire life with the most incredible sense of calm I've ever seen - is asking me to drive his car?

I could live my whole life and never ask my grandfather if I could drive his car, or if I could drive him anywhere. He was the world's best driver, the world's safest driver. Never a close call, never a sudden stop. Patience, I'll wait, we'll get there and we'll get there on time. My grandfather always knew the way to anywhere he needed to go and as far as I could tell, he never questioned that. Now he was trusting me, his first grandson, now a grown man, to get him there. This man saw me try, saw me fail, helped me get up, and repeated this process many times during our years together. I didn't realize it then, but my grandpa was telling me, in the same calm way he walked through everything in his life, that he was trusting me to get him somewhere and to get him, and my grandmother and my sister and I somewhere safely, and he trusted me behind the wheel of his car, still the safest place on earth I have ever known. I hope he felt as safe with me driving as I did when he was driving - and yes, we got there and back, safely.

Sharing?

I have this neighbor, George, who passes by in front of my apartment every day. Nice enough guy, always waves hello, says hello and remarks pleasantly about the day if I actually cross paths with him at the mailbox or in the parking lot. He's one of the handful of people that my dog, Bentley, barks at every time he sees him pass by our front window. I don't know George well, I have no idea what he does for work, fun or anything else. I barely know his name and I think in the four years I've lived here that I've only heard him use mine a time or two. That's fine - I can handle the existence of friendly waves in the parking lot as he goes about his day and I go about mine.

I've had very few conversations with George and they've been very brief. Things like a pleasant remark about my dog, my new car, the weather - nothing other than passing formalities. I'm fine with that. I do my best to be a good neighbor and be considerate of those living in close proximity to me. Having said that, I was a little surprised by the interaction I had with George as I was leaving for work on Monday night.

My job requires me to wear the following: black pants, black socks, black shoes, a white collared shirt and a red tie. Since this is my job right now, and I like keeping a roof over my head and food on my table, I comply.

So I'm dressed for work, heading down the sidewalk to my car and I look up to see George heading towards me from the parking lot. I give a friendly nod of the head not really expecting anything more in return - perhaps a "have a good one" or some other brief passing remark and then I'm on my way.
 Before any of what I thought would happen took place, George says:

"You look like a NERD!....just sharin'"

Hmm, I thought. This guy must've killed 'em in kindergarten! I wasn't so much insulted as rather surprised that this kind of remark came out of him, and that he thought it was appropriate to voice that, but it didn't really bother me. I chuckled a bit to myself and replied, "why do I look like a nerd??" as I opened my car.

"Because you're wearing a necktie!" said George. I smiled and said, "well I have to wear one at work, so I guess I'll suffer through it....have a good evening!" and I got in my car and headed to work. Again, I wasn't really bothered by what George said so much as I was a bit curious as to what his idea of appropriate "sharin'" seemed to be. Seems a little odd, but whatever. I may just let Bentley bark his fool head off at George when he walks by. Tell him boy!