Sorry I lied, Mr Pallet

 I think I'm writing this because I still feel bad that I lied to Mr. Pallet, my junior high teacher and coach.  I met Mr. Pallet in the 7th grade, I was new to junior high, nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs (I love that line and just had to use it).  Mr. Pallet was my Geography teacher and boy was I intimidated by him.  To me he was a tough boxer masquerading as a junior high teacher.  He had a stocky build, raspy voice, and what looked like a broken nose and crooked lips.  On top of this he talked tough, he would shut anyone down who spoke up out of turn in class with "don't speak unless I pull your chain".  To a shy kid like me in a strange new school he seemed pretty scary, but you know, he had a very well behaved class.  And I found out as time went by he was funny, smart, and taught well- I just made sure I didn't speak without having my chain pulled.

Junior high had school sports and I found out my rapidly growing body was not too bad at knocking littler people over on the football field.  And there were lots of little people in junior high, now here was something I could do while hidden in a uniform wearing a helmet.  Instead of feeling scared, I could be scarry to someone else, felt pretty good.  Sorry all you little suckers, but not sorry enough to stop knocking you over.  After 7th grade football season was over I decided I should just keep on playing sports and basketball tryouts were next.  It didn't occur to me that not being able to dribble, shoot, make a layup, or know any of the basics of basketball would be a problem for me so I was shocked when they said I didn't make the team.  The coach was kind enough to say I could be the manager and that sounded pretty good to me.  I think I was thinking something like student coach, but in reality it had more to do with picking up wet towels in the lockeroom.  Not sure why but Mr. Pallet asked me about my basketball plans and when I told him about maybe being the manager the look on his face was enough to give me some doubts about the position.  In fact I think he just kind of scoffed at the idea of me wasting my time as a basketball manager and suggested I come out for the wrestling team that he just happened to be coaching with Mr. Pike.  There was a catch though, wrestling was only for 8th and 9th graders and me being a seventh grader meant I could only go to practice and not wrestle in any competitions.  To my 7th grade brain, there was no down side to that so the next thing you know I was sweating my butt off in wrestling practice with the 8th and 9th graders.  Neither Mr. Pallet or Mr. Pike had ever wrestled so it was kind of funny to see them trying to teach us wrestling moves from a book.  I can remember them laughing at themselves as they tried to teach us the moves while looking at the pictures in the book.  It was fun and in time I got decent at wrestling and had a winning record in matches in the 8th and 9th grades all the while Mr. Pallet and Mr. Pike kept on coaching us.  

In 9th grade I had Mr. Pallet again in the classroom and he was the head 9th grade football coach also so we saw quite a bit of each other.  I had grown to really like him, he was my favorite teacher and anytime he would talk to me one on one I felt he cared for me more than any teacher had before or since.  I did have one problem though- he was about my height and when he would talk to me he would step in close, put his arms on my shoulders and speak really close face to face.  It was never inappropriate but for a kid raised in a family of non-touchers it made me feel really weird.  I just decided that he was Italian and that's the way Italians talk.  

We had a sports assembly to honor the athletes when I was in the 9th grade and us guys on the wrestling team decided to get Mr. Pallet a gift to give him at the assembly.  We collected the princely sum of $30 (it was a princely sum to me) and one of the guys said his dad could get a really nice watch wholesale for that amount so I handed over the money to him and sure enough he came back to school with a fancy watch.  At the assembly I had to get up before the whole junior high and present the watch to Mr. Pallet, I was very tongue tied and very proud.  He seemed to like it, smiled real big, and tried it on right there in front of everyone.  I hope it really was a good watch.

Fast forward to high school, I was back in football and wrestling.  Same sports, same team mates, but new coaches, new bigger world of high school.  Once again sports was something I could feel comfortable doing.  Everything went along well until the 11th grade, I was still growing and had outgrown my wrestling weight class.  The next weight up had a senior who was pretty good in his class and there was nowhere else for him to wrestle so the only thing I could do was lose weight to stay in my weight class.  It was a disaster, I went from eating like a horse to eating like a bird and my energy and strength went from strong as a horse to weak as a bird.  I was getting beaten by wrestlers from other schools that I had beaten easily in the past.  Clearly something was wrong, I was arguing with my parents about not eating (some days I only ate one orange) and I had never argued with them before.  My school work fell off, I almost quit geometry- I couldn't think straight. My world had lost it's joy and everything seemed gloomy.  One of my worst showings on the wrestling mat was when I was easily beaten by a not very good wrestler in the high school gym one night.  After the match I headed for a side room off the gym to sulk and Mr. Pallet followed me there, he had come to watch his former wrestlers and was really concerned about me.  He asked me what was wrong, of course I said nothing was wrong and even when he asked me point blank if I was eating enough I lied and told him I was.  Team loyalty can be pretty strong and wrong sometimes.  

From the moment I told that lie I felt guilty, Mr. Pallet was my favorite coach and teacher and I had lied to him.  It bothered me that I lied to him when he was just looking out for my good. I got though that time of funk in my life and that was the last school sport I ever went out for.  Life moves on and graduation, marriage, children, career and a of lot other things crowd into the things you want, need, and have to do, still that guilty feeling would creep up from time to time.

When our oldest son went to school, who should be one of his teachers but Mr. Pallet!  I was pretty exited to find that out!  Really looked forward to parent teachers conferences, but it didn't seem appropriate to bring up that old lie while other parents were waiting to talk to Mr. Pallet. Some other time I would do it.  Then one day I saw him and his wife eating in Pizza Hut and went over to their table to say hi and once again, it seemed awkward to bring up that subject while they were there to enjoy a meal.  Another time I'm sure would be better.

It wasn't too long after that when I was saddened to hear of Mr. Pallet's passing.  It seemed he was all too young to die and now I realized I could never tell him I was sorry I lied.  It wasn't like he needed to hear it, I just wanted to say it for my own conscious, a rather selfish thing to think about in the time of someone else's death I realized.  But I genuinely was saddened for his sake and for his family's sake at his passing.  He was in my opinion a beautiful person, not with that fighter's face, but on the inside he was beautiful.

Speaking of beautiful, every so often I run into another beautiful person- Mrs. Pallet, she reminds me of Kathrine Hepburn.  I usually say hi to her and she remembers me as one of Mr. Pallets old students.  She is always kind and smiles when I bother her to tell her Mr. Pallet was my favorite teacher and coach.  I know I wrote this little post to assuage my guilt, but I'm hoping somehow I can give it to her and she will like it because it involves her Mr. Pallet.  

You can never go back, but what if you could?

 Sometimes I wonder what my 69-year-old brain would tell me to do if it was living in my 16-year-old body?  I especially think about High School because it was an unhappy time for me that I couldn't wait to get through and get on with life.  Somehow my 16-year-old brain had come to the conclusion that the whole world was watching me and if I did anything wrong I would probably die of embarrassment. I was only free in solitude or with the few persons with whom I was close to, then I could actually be myself.  Otherwise, whether walking down the hall at school, on the football field, riding the school bus, or sitting in church- pretty much anywhere I was, I was nervous about what I said or what I looked like or what I did.  I became what they called a shy person.  In hindsight I think I had become a self-absorbed person.  Everything was about the image I was projecting and whether it meet up with my perceived image I thought I deserved.  For that reason, I rarely enjoyed myself for fear I might forget about my image and do something embarrassing and that was a tragedy never to be experienced in my mind.  This thinking also kept me from connecting with other people on anything other than a surface level because I was just too busy thinking about me.   I guess I was a slow learner because it took years for me to realize that most people are so absorbed in whatever is going on in their life that they aren't looking that closely at my life.  For example, the whole school probably was not really as focused on the fact that the shirt I wore to school on Friday was actually the same shirt I wore on Tuesday and the teachers were probably not discussing it in the teachers' lounge either.  The final blow to my warped sense of self-esteem came late in life as a result of a divorce at the age of 48 which I found extremely humiliating.  But you know, the good thing about hitting bottom is you only have one direction to go from there and that is up!  At that point I decided I couldn't be any more embarrassed by anything I did or that someone did to me so I may as well just enjoy myself and if someone thought I was no longer cool- well that was their problem not mine.

So now I think what it would have been like to go to school with hundreds of kids my age and actually enjoy the process.  I love people and now I think it would have been a blast to have all those people to hang out with and have fun with.  It wasn't like we had so much responsibility that we couldn't be having fun most of the time.  There were some kids who actually did seem to have fun and didn't seem to care one bit about what people thought of them, I envied those kids, but I was looking at them from so far a distance away that I never even imagined myself in their shoes.

What would I do if given a chance to be young again but without the self-limitations?  Definitely have more fun!  Enjoy people!  Laugh! Pull pranks!  Tell people about Jesus!  Who knows?  I might even go to an after-school function!  Date lots of girls!  They were all gorgeous at that age!  I can see I may have gotten into some trouble without my self limiting behavior so I better just put away those plans to build the time machine back to 1970 and be thankful for where I've been, where I am, and where I'm going.  Yeah, I'm boring- just ask Cathy, but I'm pretty steady.

It has been about a week since I wrote the above blog and there is one more thing I wish I had done in High School and that is I wish I had been a champion for the poor, the unpopular, the socially awkward, and the slow in mind.  I saw them teased, ignored, and sometimes bullied and I wanted to step in and stop it but was too afraid that I would become the target if I tried to defend them.  I think I could have made a difference in how kids treated each other but I was not a champion, I was a chicken and that is one of my regrets from school.

Sudoku and life

This puzzle was fresh and new when I started, I had a fair amount of confidence it was going to be easily solved. Answers fell onto the page pretty quickly and I was seeing how the end would go from the way the beginning was progressing.  But somewhere a number didn't fit, well that's odd, but I can just keep going and that will probably resolve itself easy enough, sometimes that happens you know.  Problems just sort themselves out on their own sometimes, right?  But then another number didn't fit and another number that I was sure had to go in a square made another number in an adjacent square not work anymore.  What's going on here?  I buckle down and try harder but the more I try the more wrong answers I get.  Finally, I quit trying and go to the answer section.  I'm not going to cheat, just get a little help.  I start erasing wrong answers, but I don't write down the correct ones, that would be cheating, I just need a reset to get rid of the wrong answers.  Fair enough right?  I'm human, I make mistakes right?  Right.  Then I go back to work, this time with less enthusiasm but still I'm going to get this puzzle done for sure.  The trouble is the page is messy from erasing all the wrong numbers and the new numbers don't look so spiffy as I write over the erased squares, but, with a little more help from the answers section I get it under control and pretty soon the puzzle is complete.  All the numbers are right now and I made it to the end.  Not like I expected, the puzzle is tarnished and no one is giving me accolades for a puzzle well done, my head droops a little and I go on to the next puzzle.  Time goes on and eventually I have completed a whole book of puzzles, some well done, most rather mediocre, a few done really badly.  This puzzle book is my life, at one point enthusiastic and full of answers, but eventually tarnished and just glad to get by with whatever help I could find along the way.  No greatness here, never have been great, never will be, but that's OK, daydreams of greatness don't bring greatness, Greatness brings its own set of problems that I don't want anyway, so I'll just keep on doing what I know best- getting it done the best I can with whatever help I can find.

 

My children’s toilet paper revenge

 Please understand I really wasn’t trying to be so hard on you kids, times were tough, money was scarce, so we made tough choices.  Toilet paper was just not very high on the list of niceties in our day. We bought the cheapest one to get the job done and if I had to choose between putting food on the table or nice toilet paper in the bathroom I’d do it again. Fortunately now it’s no longer a this or that decision, we can afford good food and nice cushy toilet paper.

I think I have uncovered a revenge plot while visiting some of you lately. I think the minute my car pulls onto your street the orders are given to make the big toilet paper switcheroo and everyone jumps into action swiftly switching out nice cushy two ply toilet paper in all your bathrooms for the cheapest thinnest single ply toilet paper you keep just for this occasion. This toilet paper is what my friend Dan calls “John Wayne” toilet paper because he says “It don’t take no crap from nobody” except he doesn’t say crap. It’s probably imported from China and made from recycled wax paper.  

So look, I get it, we put you through a lot but please have a heart and put the cushy two ply back in the bathroom.

The old daddy birdie

 About once a year birdies all over the world talk about their daddy birdies with reverenced tones about how good a daddy birdie they are and sometimes special gifts are given or dinners and special messages sent to their birdie daddy.  This happens to me, I have six birdies who send me good wishes on this day and I sometimes wonder how this all came about.  I never set out to be a good birdie daddy, it just happened, but how did it happen?

Well my first memory of a birdie daddy was when I was just a little birdie and my mommy birdie and daddy birdie let me sleep in their special nest with them, I loved it!  It was so warm and cozy!  But after a while I got pushed out of their nest into my own little nest and it wasn't so warm and cozy and I was scared and felt alone.  My older brother and sister birdies were all sleeping in their own birdies nests and doing quite fine so I decided this was just the way it had to be.  Besides a new little birdie was now sleeping with my mommy and daddy birdies and she was so cute and tiny!  At least our nests were all close together in the same tree so it wasn't too bad, but still I sometimes cried at my mommy's nest door to come in but she said no and so I eventually gave up on that idea.  Plus I got to be a bigger and bigger birdie and I didn't even fit in their nest anymore so it was all good.

In time my older brother and sister birdies flew away from our tree and found a new birdie to live with and they began having their own little birdie families.  I found that interesting, but somewhat sad because I missed them.  Also the little birdies they had were meesy and seemed kind of gross to me.  They would fuss and cry over just about anything and then spit up their food and worst of all they would poop in a diaper that the big birdies had to change- Phew!  It smelled really bad and I hated the thoughts of getting my hands messy with anything as gross as that!

Then one day a pretty little birdie offered me some delicious cookies and I really liked them!  They were even better than my mommy birdie's cookies.  She kept giving me cookies and I decided I liked that pretty little birdie and that we should make our own nest in a new tree just like my older brother and sister birdies did.  Up until then I never really thought about how nice it would be to have my own nest in my own tree.  My pretty little birdie had all kinds of ideas on how to make the nest nicer and we set about working on the nest with much enthusiasm.  Pretty soon I found out that mating was more fun than playing football, working on the farm, or even eating!  

So mating and working kept my busy for a good while, until my pretty little birdie said she was going to have a little baby birdie just like my brother and sister birdies had.  I was surprised that baby birdies could be had so easily!  I wasn't so sure I wanted one of those crying, fussing, spitting up, pooping baby birdies but once they start to come, you can't send them back I was told.  When the babie birdy hatched I found he was so cute!  And the other birdies said he looked just like me!  How could I not be happy about that?  Yes, the baby birdie was fussy, cried over I don't know what, and made some pretty smelly, gross messes, but my pretty little birdie took such good care of him I rarely had to bother with any of that.  In fact taking care of the new baby birdie became my pretty birdie's passion and she fussed and coddled him day and night.  Sometimes I felt like I was all alone in my own nest with my new little family even though we were all together.  In time things eased up a little and me and my pretty birdie would spend some time together and wouldn't you know it?  Another little birdie was on his way!  By then the first little birdie was getting a little big for the nest and we set him up with his own little nest.  It was just perfect and I thought any little birdie would just love it!  But he didn't, he stood at the door of our nest and cried to come in just like I had when I was a little birdie.  I knew we wouldn't all fit in one nest once the new birdie arrived so we worked at making the first little birdie as comfy as possible in his new nest and given lots of time and crying on his part, he finally agreed.

And so it went, another new little birdie would show up and the one before it had to be pushed out of the nest.  It got easier though as the older birdies started sleeping together in their new nests and they kept each other company.  This happened six times!  By then my pretty little birdie was showing signs of wear, yes, she still gushed over the newest baby birdie, but the gushings were not quite as enthusiastic and she was getting woefully behind on keeping all the nests up in our tree.  Of course I was busy during the day working for our food and to pay the forest manager for our tree but when I got home it was MY turn to spend some time with the birdies.  At first I wasn't sure what to do, but I found they like being read to, being told stories and in general just being played with.  Eventually I found we could watch cartoons together while my pretty little birdie desperately tried to get the nests all in order.  Cartoons were the greatest!  I could just lay around and do nothing but enjoy the cartoons and I was watching all the birdies at the same time.

In time the little birdies didn't want to just watch cartoons or be read to, they wanted to play soccer or be taken to music lessons and things like that so I kept pretty busy doing those sort of things.  And even better, I found the older the birdie, the more they could help me with work around the yard!  In fact they became so good at helping me that other birdie families hired them away from me to help them do their work!  But no worry, there was a steady supply of fresh birdies moving up the ranks to help me.   That is until the last birdie came up the ranks and then wasn't there to help me anymore, that was a sad day for old daddy birdie.  By then I was an old birdie and lots of things had gone on over the years.  All the baby birdies had grown up and left our tree and their nests and even my pretty little birdie wasn't so happy to be with me anymore. I had grown tired and not so fun to be with anymore.

But!!  On that special day my baby birdies, now much older, still tell me I was a good daddy birdie. I sometimes don't believe them when I think how I never really wanted to have a bunch of baby birdies and sometimes I wasn't even the good daddy birdie I could have been.  However, I think I'm graded on a curve and that's good for me, there were so many bad daddy birdies out there that made me look better than I really was.  Plus!! my baby birdies grew up to be smart, good, birdies and that makes me look even better than I deserve also.  

So all to say, even though I didn't know what I was doing, I tried to do my best most of the time and with the help from my former pretty little birdie we got them all out of the nests and it seems to be just enough to get happy daddy birdie greetings every year.

Love you crazy birdies, daddy birdie

Death stop bothering me

 Life is full of fun and money, tried sex once was sweet as honey.

Who would know that fun would pass, and sex and money they don't last?

All the while the years click by, seconds, minutes, days, they fly.

While hanging on to time quite tightly, thoughts of death sneak up nightly.

But I push the thoughts away, besides- I lived another day.

What could possibly go wrong, with a man so smart and strong?

Hearts don't fail or cancers come to people over sixty-one.

I'm sure of that as people die (sometimes younger ones than I).

Then I think of all my chores, on thoughts of death I slam the door.

Somehow death can't tackle me, I'm sprinting on eternally.

(I could keep that lie alive, better at age twenty-five).

Ugly thoughts of end of life are brought to me by aching knees, various pains, and short memory.

This old body's showing signs of something I would call decline.

What the Heck? This shouldn't be! It's not the plan I had for me.

Don't ask me how, don't ask me why, somehow I thought I'd never die.

I'd keep on chugging endlessly, strong body, mind, and energy.

The details they do fail me know, but I'd succeed someway, somehow.

Aren't I the captain of my ship? barking orders from my lips?

Don't I decide which tack to sail? who gave the order I should fail?

I'LL NOT HAVE IT FOR ONE MINUTE! I'M THE CAPTAIN I SAY DAMN IT!

oh, so sorry, got worked up, just don't want to drink that cup

That cup of human frailty, for it brings loss and misery.

I'm fighting off that dark, dark, night when my life will take its flight.

To places I have never been, "no thanks" I'll stay right here again.

I want to be my own good god while walking on this earthen sod.

I chafe against any bit, that tries to make my will submit.

But I know what fool am I, mortality I can't deny.

And whatever makes me think I can pull back from the brink?

Have I had so much success, I think I'll never make a mess?

If I look back on my lifes trail, what gives me hope I will not fail?

Scattered all along behind, failures are not hard to find.

I've failed before will fail again, it only a matter of how and when.

So I have to honestly, think about my destiny.

Thought I hate to admit, to a higher power I must submit.

I'm not really any good at fixing me the way I should.

It's going to take a better plan to make of me a better man.

I look around and see, there's one who's call a Deity.

He's been trusted for so long, and even worshiped by a throng

of people oh so much smarter, the Bible seems to be their charter.

Though it says lots of things, there's one theme of which it rings.

And that theme is "live by faith", and you will find unending grace.

Grace to me the chafing one, to whom he says "please be my son".

Grace to get you through your trials, grace to others too (who wouldn't normally bring you smiles).

Grace to live, grace to die, and grace to trust he doesn't lie.

So now take a deep, deep breath, stop that worry about death.

And where we will go after that, my Good Lord didn't build no shack.

He's been making quite a place, it's all a part of his his good grace.

If faith it takes then faith it'll be, but solid rock faith you won't find in me.

It's stammering, stumbling, weakly me, until I reach eternity.

When that comes faith won't be needed, in fact faith will be unheeded.

We shall see him face to face, then all we'll think about is grace.

But faith for now however weak, is all my friend that we should seek.

A conversation with Jesus before death

 When I found out Sue Gansz (Shotts) was dying from COPD I wasn't too surprised, she had been a smoker and was on oxygen for a while already.  I knew she was a believer and I started to imagine a conversation she might have with Jesus in her last days.  Thoughts formed in my head and they evolved into a poem which I started, stopped, restarted, then finished after she died.  Here is the poem.

Hello Jesus, Susan here

Hello Jesus, Susan here

I'd like to talk, can you come near?

My voice is low, breathing weak,

It's getting hard for me to speak.

I know I'll see you any day,

but just a visit now I pray?

I want to ask of things ahead,

I'm thinking, thinking on this bed.

Hello Susan, Jesus here

Of course you know I'm always near.

So ask away I'm here for you

There's nothing more I'd rather do

Than talk with you and calm your fears

I want to wipe away your tears.

Oh Jesus, first I want to say

That life has drained me day by day.

I started off so strong and smart

but things have happened from the start.

Habits came and took their toll

while disappointments dimmed my soul.

Here I lay on deathbed sad

just wishing for the life I'd had.

So soon this life on earth is through

but there's much more I want to do.

I want to trade this weakened me 

for one who's strong with energy.

I want to run and not grow tired

I want to think with thoughts inspired.

I want to jump in mighty leaps

I want to never face defeats.

I want to write a hundred books

I want to have the cutest looks.

I want money to fall from trees

and rake it up whenever I please.

I want to eat and not gain weight

with heaps of goodies on my plate.

I want to sing upon a stage

with fans who think I'm all the rage.

I want to learn, I want to teach

I want to tan upon the beach.

I want to drive a car real fast

but never run it out of gas.

I want to laugh, I want to play

but mostly, I want the old to go away.

Jesus I've said a lot of things

please tell me what my future brings.

Oh Susan dear, you make me laugh!

in heaven you will make a splash!

I think though when you see this place

these thoughts of yours will be erased.

Once you see the Holy Fire

It's hard to keep these small desires.

You know I've spent a lot of time

making heaven so divine.

It only took me one short week

to make the earth of which you speak.

But if these things you still must do

then You Go Girl! I tell you true.

Thank you Jesus, you're so kind

but one more thing is on my mind.

I hate to ask, it might be sin

but such a state of hate I'm in.

The Devil's had with me his way

I really want to make him pay!

Could you lock us in a room

and leave me with a sturdy broom?

With which I want to beat him sore

and have him begging for no more?

For all the trouble he has caused

revenge is mine! and then I'd pause

And follow you in every way

never to sin another day.

Susan, Susan, what you ask!

I do not think that you can grasp,

The trouble that the Devil's in

he is the father of all sin!

I have the biggest axe to grind

that Old Snake- he's mine, all mine!

But when I throw him in the pit

stand close by me and on him spit!

He will give you no more trouble

I'll vanquish him on the double.

Now Susan dear you need to rest

you're passing through the final test.

Thank you Jesus, it's hard to breath

please send your angels with all speed.

Thanks for taking time with me

my fluttering eyes now angels see.

Rest well my child, they're almost there

your limp body they will bear,

And bring you to me oh so fast

then we will hug in one sweet clasp!

The Spirit of God from that embrace

will have you singing Amazing Grace!

Then voice and body ever strong

you will roar with the heavenly throng!