More and more often I wake up wishing I were a black woman. Or a Hispanic woman. Or even a Cocker Spaniel. Because it is getting increasingly difficult to be a member of the white race. And for that matter, to be a man.
The most recent instances are the Starbucks matter in Philadelphia last week, and the incidents at The University of Portland and Syracuse University. I’m not going to explain what happened here. If you live in a bubble and don’t recognize what happened, Google it.
The head of Starbucks, in a grand PR move, announced they are closing all stores for a day for, “training” of their employees. Wonderful. Why is it, in 2018, that we still need to have training for sensitive racial issues? Why are we still having sensitive racial issues? What exactly is slipping through the cracks when employees are being hired in the first place? Why is this not happening as often with black employees treating white customers differently?
And why are young men being raised and taught that it is still okay to make sexist and racist remarks, in light of what has transpired over the past few years? Who exactly are their role models? Where are their mothers? Their aunts. Their sisters?
I always intended this blog to be primarily entertaining, but more and more it is getting difficult to ignore the issues growing out of control around us. With all of the global conflict and political slop ongoing, the two main issues continue to be racial and sexist discrimination.
In movies, George Burns played God. He was white. Morgan Freeman played God. He is black. And he was much more convincing, don’t you think?
For members of the white race who think this does not pertain to them, go back and watch the 1967 film, “Guess who’s coming to dinner”. Watch the entire film. And then, afterwards, look in the mirror and tell yourself how you really see yourself. Or better yet, watch the recently released, “Hidden Figures”. I’m not kidding, do it.
Regardless of how many awards it won, I didn’t (and won’t) see, “The Handmaid’s Tale”. Why would I…why would anyone want to watch something that deals with the mistreatment of women in such a manner?
Bigotry and sexism are two of the worst plagues on our society. Of course there are many, many more. But those two are holding us back from becoming a better society. A decent society. Isn’t that what we’re really talking about here, just being decent? Not stellar, not special…just, decent.
Here’s the positive thing, these two things are easily changeable. TEACH YOUR CHILDREN. I realize it is not quite that simple. But it is. Teach them what is right and what is wrong. Just as simply as explaining it is not okay to steal, that you must share. That you can’t butt ahead in line, you must wait your turn. Treat everyone with respect. Treat everyone as equal…not because you have to, but because they ARE equal. Treat them in a manner in which you want to be treated. I’ve yet to meet anyone who wants to be abused or discriminated against.
Obviously, the problem is, the people doing the teaching are not always those best equipped to be doing so. And children ALWAYS exemplify what they see. Even if it is subtle. Always.
White people seem to get bent out of shape when there is a black uprising every time a “Starbucks” type situation occurs. Many that’s because it is still happening. And it no longer needs to be. I’ve read, and I’ve heard them respond, “What’s the big deal, why didn’t the two men just up and leave and not say anything?” The people asking those questions didn’t have their ancestors dragged off in chains or were being told where to sit, where to eat, and where they could go to school.
Like the men accusing women today of being too sensitive. “Relax gals, it’s only a joke”. These are the same men, that if you made a similar overture towards their 16 year old daughter they’d be prepared to fight you to the death. They protect their own, but for everyone else, there are no rules. They are forgetting that these 16 year old girls grow up and become mothers and raise men of their own and so it goes on and on.
White people, wake up and realize you are no different and no better than anyone else. That you are going to die one day and you just might meet Morgan Freeman instead of George Burns.
And men, strive to be better life forms. I would say human beings, but more and more that’s lowering the bar. Try to treat all women like you would your 16 year old daughter.
If any part of this blog has pissed you off, then you’re part of the problem, not the solution. Please don’t read it anymore.
Yesterday, my wife and myself attended a life celebration honoring the career of H. Ralph Schumacher Jr. Ralph was married to Liz Schumacher, who owns Garden Accents of West Conshohocken, PA, where my wife, Madeline has worked for many years.
Through Liz, I was able to meet Ralph, who passed away in July of 2017, dozens of times. But I never really got to know Ralph, who was about 25 years older than me, all that well. I think I was always a bit intimidated by him.
What I came to know, and was confirmed yesterday, was that he was a giant in the field of Rheumatology, primarily at the University of Pennsylvania. And I am not using that word, “Giant”, loosely.
As I sat there and watched very brilliant people give testimonial after testimonial I realized how often we can be surrounded by greatness and not realize it, or take the time to really get to know someone.
Dr. Hal Rutenberg is another prime example. I have been honored to call Hal, who I believe is 82, my friend for nearly twenty years. I was fortunate enough to get to know Hal as my wife has been friends with his wonderful wife Patrice for some time, and we have come to know them as a very special couple. Hal is a practicing cardiologist, and perhaps the most brilliant man I have ever met. His life experiences and recollections can leave you speechless over a nights’ conversation.
But he’s not just a leader in his field, he’s also an accomplished (still performing) Jazz musician, a great husband and father, a war veteran, and a tremendous sports fan. More importantly, he’s the nicest and most down to earth person you might ever meet.
I believe we all have these people in our lives. People who run very deep who we often never get the time to really know or appreciate. And many of these people may be of an older generation, people we have so very much to learn from. I’m hoping that all of us take the time to get to know these people in our lives, instead of having to hear after the fact what a difference maker they were.
Take the time to get to know these people in your life. They will enhance your life. And perhaps pass along a bit of wisdom that you can carry with you for a very long time.
It’s better hearing things first hand, as opposed to a life celebration remembrance. You can become part of that life if you choose to.
Early yesterday morning I headed off to the local Wawa, part of my daily Saturday routine. There was one open space in front of the store. I wasn’t able to pull into the space right away as an older woman in a Toyota Camry had just finished backing into the space directly alongside and was getting out of her car…slowly.
I waited, patiently, as her door opened. Four seconds. Then, as the elderly woman exited her vehicle. Eight seconds more. As she closed the door and cleared my path. Ten more seconds. I stated to experience real empathy for what it is like to have your body grow old and slow you down.
I pulled in and exited my vehicle. As I approached the front door this same woman was still making her way inside. I waited behind her as she shuffled into the store. A few moments later I found myself behind her at the Colombian coffee urn, my wife’s favorite. Thirty seconds later I found myself in line behind this same woman at the register. Slowly pulling out her change purse to complete her transaction.
After I had been checked out, having been slowed down long enough, I went out the opposite side door, rushed to my car and backed out of the parking space before she had a chance to get to her car. As I backed out I could see her slowly moving towards her car. It brought a smile to my face that this woman was self sufficient at her age. Good for her I thought.
I pulled out of the parking lot and headed home. About a mile down the road, cruising at a speed of thirty miles per hour, I was approaching a light that had just changed from green to yellow and I began to slow down. When all of a sudden, from behind me, here comes Grandma, in her gray Toyota Camry, passing me on the right, doing 65 (in a 35 zone), leaving me in her dust. She blew through the yellow light and continued on her merry way.
I couldn’t be sure but it looked like she was giving me the finger as she passed by. Well, probably not, but I’d like to think so.
Now, my smile turned into a grin, and soon thereafter, a giant belly laugh. What a strong V6 will do for your morale.
Netflix certainly doesn’t need any free advertising, but that’s exactly what they’re going to get from me today.
I was five years old when Lost in Space debuted on television in 1965. Even though the first season was in black and white, you couldn’t have put together a show more suited to keep kids glued to their TV’s. A cool spaceship, the Jupiter 2, a wise-ass robot, laser guns (12 years before Star Wars and a year before Star Trek), alien monsters (the Cyclops), not to mention the Chariot. And John Robinson flying around in the jet pack!
The show was created by Irwin Allen who also brought us classics like, “The Time Tunnel” and “Land of the Giants”. Can you imagine being a little boy growing up in his house?
Guy Williams (Zorro), June Lockhart (Lassie) and Angela Cartright (Make Room for Daddy) were already television veterans by the time the show came on the air. In the original pilot, is was supposed to be 1997. Of course, in reality, we failed to live up to the expectations of science fiction. I remember 1997 as being pretty dull, actually.
Early trivia questions. Who was the actor that played the Robot (Robot B-9 officially) and who was the person who voiced the Robot? “Danger Will Robinson” was one of television’s earliest catch phrases. And who wrote the theme music to the original series? The answers later.
The show ran for three years and yes, was campy, and yes, became ridiculous. But again, to a boy who was 5 when it started and 8 when it ended, you see through all of that. Waiting each week for a new insult of the Robot by Dr. Smith was something for a 5 year old to look forward to, such as, “You Nefarius Nimcompoop!”
I just finished watching the 10 episode reboot of Lost in Space on Netflix. For anyone who was a fan of the original show, please have no misconceptions about comparisons from one show to another. There are barely any at all. Regardless, the new show stands very well on its own. Or should I say flies well on its own.
The villain in this series, Dr. Smith, is now female, as opposed to Jonathan Harris, who played the original. Judy, the eldest Robinson daughter, is bi-racial, and only Maureen’s daughter as husband John came into the picture a bit later. When the show begins Mr. and Mrs. Robinson are not on exactly the best of terms. There is not just one Jupiter spaceship, but many. And the robot, well, he’s not their robot, but an alien and he’s hands down the star of the series so far. And there are no laser guns. Barely any weapons of any kind. That’s a nice change. Actually, most of the changes are positive. Parker Posey as Dr. Smith was a questionable choice. On many episodes she wanders about like a female “Dude” from The Big Lebowski.
There are tremendous special effects, but the new series does not rely on them. The cast is stellar, especially the parents, and the kids are not as annoying as they are on most series, in particular Will.
Trivia Answers. Okay Bob May was the actor inside the Robot shell during the series. And Dick Tufeld played the voice of the Robot. John Williams, of Jaws and Star Wars fame, composed the original theme, yes, 10 years before Jaws reached the screen.
Even if you weren’t a fan or the original series, even if you’re not particularly a science fiction fan, give this show a try. You’ll be pleasantly surprised. It will make you forget the film version starring William Hurt.
If you don’t watch, I just may need to call you a, “Bubble-headed Booby”.
We’re taking the Duffy Time Machine back to 1968. West Philadelphia. Eight year old Mike Duffy (aka Me) is living in harmony with Mom, Dad and my three brothers at 6333 Girard Avenue. Attending St. Donato’s Catholic Elementary School.
For some unknown reason, by the age of 8 I had already developed a keen skill for casually removing items from a specific place for which I did not claim ownership, originally, anyway. Stealing? No, more like misappropriation of material goods with the intent of eventual return.
I can’t really explain how it started or why it started. It wasn’t for monetary gain, unless you count the money I stole. It was more a sense of accomplishment. Um, wrong word. A sense of achievement. A skill. Like making a hole in one with no one around.
Anyway, the family involved won’t be named here on the remote chance that any of them are still alive and could one day read this blog.
One day I was in the home of a friend. We were upstairs playing in his room, when he had to use the facilities. Now there were plenty of things right there in his room that I could have taken. G I Joes, Matchbox cars, Silly Putty. But instead I wandered into what turned out to be his parent’s bedroom. I focused on a wooden night table and opened the drawer and there it was! A plastic banana. At least that’s the first thought that came to mind.
It made its way out of the drawer and into my front pocket with ease. I slid the drawer shut as I heard the toilet flush, and soon thereafter there was a call downstairs for dinner and I made my way out the door and home. Along the way getting a few stares from Mom and Sis who were focusing on the front of my jeans.
Once home I made my way upstairs but that offered no level of privacy. The three maniacs I shared a bedroom with were all at home, so I made my way down to the basement, or dungeon as we called it. You had to have a very good reason to go down to that room. It had to involve small unrestricted animals, stashed food or Playboy.
As I started to inspect my stash I realized it wasn’t a banana at all, even though it was slightly curved. It had groves of some kind…and wait…a button! Having no sense of the importance of what could be I pressed the button without hesitation and it produced a subtle, whirring sound. It was a low level, calming sound and movement which I had never experienced.
“Oh my God, where did you get that?” The booming eruption came from Mom, who was on the steps behind me. I never quite figured out how she was able to move from place to place undetected, but there she stood.
“Um…I found it”. Not one of my better lies, but a good fall back. “Found it…where?” “Um, in the alley”. Several smacks later I coughed up the truth, along with a bicuspid I believe. “I don’t care how you do it, but you take that back, and don’t let anyone see you!” Mom was used to issuing orders in a house of five unruly and uncooperative men. But this seemed different. What she was telling me, as much as my eight year old mind could decipher, was that I was to replace the banana in the same manner in which it had been removed, and to leave no trace, regardless of the manner in which I did it.
In the days that followed multiple offers to return to the scene of the crime to play with my friend were, for some unknown reason, rejected politely. And suddenly, it was Sunday morning. The routine for most families was 9:00 mass. My usual routine was to leave out the front door, dressed in church clothes, run around through the back alley, change into play clothes and find some trouble to get into.
That morning, I had an agenda. I peered out the window until Family X passed by, then headed around the corner, up their driveway and to the back door. Mom had inferred by “whatever means possible”. And even at eight I knew this was a possible suicide mission. I wasn’t given a cyanide capsule, just the image of the heel of my Mom’s shoe in my mind banging against my head was enough t keep me focused.
The back door was locked. The front door too. Lower level windows…locked. What is with these people? Don’t they trust anyone? Next up, shimmy up the post of the rear awning, onto the awning and check the 2nd floor windows. I loved being eight! So much agility.
My luck was changing. One of the rear windows was cracked slightly. I quick tug and lift and I was inside. I made my way back to the parents bedroom when I was hit with a lightning bolt. There were two nightstands. And for the life of me, I could not remember which one it went into. I broke into a quick version of, “Eenie meenie miney moe” opened a drawer and in it went. But it wasn’t lost on me that as I closed the drawer, inside there was another banana! Almost identical.
Oh my, how the mind of an eight year old works. Mine anyway. Fifteen minutes later I’m sitting at their kitchen table enjoying a bowl of Frankenberry cereal, playing a mock game of Spin the Bottle with one of the bananas, whirring away, when the back door opens and in walks Family X, Mom holding the box of danish, which promptly dropped to the floor. “Ooh, Cherry”, I exclaimed as I was grabbed by the left earlobe.
I was ushered out the door with four spoonfuls to go (and without my cherry danish) and ten minutes later Mom and Dad X were at our front door, greeted by my Mom. It was explained that not only had I stolen from them, but that I had broken into their home. I was summoned downstairs, now having changed into my, “Lost in Space pajamas”, looking as innocent as Dr. Smith himself. “Well, what did he take?” Mom uttered casually. She knew all too well that they could never admit what was taken. I didn’t know it at the time but Mom was a master. The flustered couple grumbled something about keeping her son away from their son and staying away from their home, blah blah blah. It wasn’t difficult to realize later that I learned from the best.
That ban lasted about a week. By then I was back in their home, playing as usual. It was not lost on me that there was a different lock on several of their doors. No matter. Picking locks for me, even at eight…no problem.
Most of us are born of one mother. In today’s society some of us are fortunate enough to have two. At one time I actually had three.
Of course, I was born of Lucille, aka, the Big L, aka Lulu. She remains on the job. A bit shorter, a little bit shaken by the events of lung cancer, but still going strong at 84.
When I was first married in 1984 I gained a second mother, my mother-in-law, Dolores. She was (and is) a good woman and we never had any issues that I am aware of, until I decided to divorce her daughter some seven years later. Even after that I never felt like she had totally abandoned the mother role. I kind of forced her hand.
And of course, there was mother number three, Mother Nature. Now a lot of people have Mother Mary as well, but she and I parted ways many years ago. Nothing against her personally but her kids, you know, a lot of bad seeds there. Mother Nature though had always been steadfast. Reliable. Warm. Loving. I said warm, right?
So, following my divorce in 1991 I was down to two mothers, officially. Mother Nature and Lulu. Then, in 2002 I was remarried, and for a brief while was back up to three mothers, with my new mother-in-law, Marion. Sadly, we never really had a chance to connect all that often and she passed on not long after my marriage to her daughter, Madeline. But I was fortunate and happy to have her in my live for as long as I did.
Back down to two mothers. Nature and Lulu.
And as of today, now down to just one. No, don’t worry, the Big L is alive and kicking. Saw her last night and spoke to her today and picked her up a large tub of Johnson’s caramel corn at her request. She’s okay, although in a few days she won’t be feeling very great.
No, as of today, me and Mother Nature are on the outs.
I am off this week. Doing some home repairs and the like. Driving back from Home Depot, today, April 17th, at 1:30, there were snow flurries descending from the sky. April 17th. Snow flurries. That’s it. I give. Really, I do. You ever hear about those kids who leave home, move far away and never write or visit? You ever wonder why that is?
It was a long winter. Cold, snowy, with very few decent days. But then Spring came. Four weeks ago to be exact. And aside from three nice days last week it has basically not been Spring, but Winter-lite.
Okay, I realize we are not the Midwest. We didn’t get snow dumped on us this week. But, we are NOT the Midwest. We are the Northeast. And it is not supposed to snow on April 17th. My heater is not supposed to be running 24/7 by mid-April. The birds are not supposed to be seeing avian therapists in mid-April.
So, sorry, but Mom, time to check you into that home we have been discussing. Long ago I abandoned Old Man Winter without flinching, but he seems to have a knack for reappearing even though he’s not wanted. Pretty much like Roseanne. So, try and track down the Old Man and the two of you, take a nice, long vacation. Someplace really cold, like Pluto. It’s feeling a bit awkward anyway, not being a planet anymore and all. Mom, honesty is the best policy. Get out. And stay out. You’ve been on the job way too long. We’re talking Kelly Ripa long. Time to retire. Hand off the job to say, the Tooth Fairy. Which, by the way, is that title even politically correct anymore? Should it just be the Tooth Custodian?
Mom, you and the Old Man can set up shop on Pluto, drink as much Starbucks coffee as you’d like (oops, too soon?) They have one open there already, don’t they?
So, Lulu, you’ve got to carry the burden on your own now. It’s been quite a while since that happened. Even at 4’10” I’m sure you can handle it. You’ve always been toughest broad I’ve ever know.
Mother N, feel free to come back, once you’ve learned the meaning of the word warmth.
I’ve lived 57 plus years on this planet and never before has that phrase seemed to ring so true. Sad to say. Left vs. Right. Religion vs. Atheism. Black vs. White. Rich vs. Poor. Male vs. Female. The list goes on and on.
Exactly what is it that we’re failing to grasp?
Right now, the gap between the left and the right couldn’t be bridged with the Golden Gate. Have we not learned that we cannot solve this problem by clinging tightly to our beliefs while pointing a finger towards the other side? Yes, we have significant differences. But what is scary is there seems to be little effort in trying to understand the other side and find reasonable compromise. It doesn’t help that we have a leader who preaches division, not unity. It’s easy to wrap ourselves in our beliefs and stand with the crowd. It’s difficult to be a patriot, standing alone for what you truly believe is right.
Is this what the founding fathers wanted? And don’t get me started there. If I have to hear about the founding fathers one more time I might be sick. Isn’t “free speech” just good common sense? Did that have to be written down? And why do we manipulate their words from several hundred years ago to dictate legislation on gun laws today? In a world that resembles nothing of what it once did. People who know what it is to be sensible and just and giving and fair don’t have to be told to do so. They recognize it as a way of life. It really is that simple.
More than 150 years after the Civil War, more than 50 years after the civil rights movement, why is it necessary to explain to ANYONE that Black Lives matter? That every life matters. Think of these idiots who believe in “White Supremacy”. There’s an oxymoron if ever I heard one. The race of white men has been in charge for how long now, and exactly how f***** up of a nation are we? So much so that we have a national holiday named after a man that had nothing to do with discovering this country. And yet, every year, every major city has a parade in his honor.
Why is it that religious people feel threatened by people who have no religious belief? Why does that have to effect their own faith? It’s sort of like marrying outside of your religion, you know, you can’t weaken the team. Isn’t all that matters is being a good person, regardless of your belief? Who is the better person…the maniac who kills in the name of God or the peaceful and giving person who believes in nothing?
Do the rich really consider themselves better than the poor? Do the rich who believe in a “next life” really think any of what they possess in their 80 years here is going to amount to a hill of beans on their Judgment Day? Does that belief get them through their day, and if so, who are they kidding? The truth is, they don’t believe in anything, that’s how they enable themselves to live the way they do.
Women are finally getting their day. Sorry, poor choice of words. Their time. To be heard. To be listened to. Not to be dictated to. Not to be ordered. Not to be abused. The men recently outed who feel shame should feel shame. And a hell of a lot more than that. And yet, people like Bill Cosby can spend millions of dollars to try and avoid paying out millions more. Or going to jail. Not everyone deserves a comeback. Ask the millions of women who have been abused or taken advantage of if they got what they deserved.
So, is the problem US…or THEM? Maybe the problem is that after all of this time, we still have an US and a THEM. And not a WE. Doesn’t that document start with, “We the People”? I don’t recall seeing anything about US or THEM.
People need to stand up and speak their truth regardless of the uncomfortable circumstances it places they in. And they can do it without offending the other side. In a manner that says, “I am different from you, but striving for the same thing.” Because of that I can say…
“I am a member of the Left and proud of it”.
“I have no religious affiliation whatsoever but think no less of others who have faith of any kind”.
“I support people of every color and religion. Because I believe we are all equal.”
“I believe everyone should pay a percentage of tax in direct line with what they earn, and that the rich should never be granted any special favors in this regard”.
“I believe women need to be respected. And treated 100% the same in business. And never abused in any format, for any reason. And that any man who creates abuse should be outed and forever marked because of it”.
Speak your truth. Don’t conceal it. Don’t be like the cowards who say one thing in private, then another in public. They are the worst of the worst. They are the reason nothing changes.
It’s 2018 people. What exactly are we waiting for?
I’m one of those dinosaurs who still reads. And I’m not ashamed to admit I still read…newspapers. Yes, the physical, black and white newspapers made with paper and ink. I realize we’re depleting both trees and octopus’ but I can live with that.
Generally I read daily the Philadelphia Inquirer and the USA Today. I usually throw in the weekly Main Line Times and the Sunday New York Times. I used to read the Delaware County Daily Times but had to stop after reading the columns of Christine Flowers. You want a real dose of reality and how the world has gone to hell in a hand basket? Read that column once or twice and you’ll swear off reading forever. The fact that someone like that can have a column attests to how great a country this is, but, much more so because we have the option to ignore words that displease us.
As for the New York Times, thank goodness for that publication. Paying $6.00 for a Sunday edition does not pain me in the least. But, I can only take the harsh reality of that paper once a week. The rest of the week I crawl back into my bubble and try to remember what life was like when I was five.
Okay, daily, first I go to the obits. And not to make sure my name isn’t there. Reading the obits keeps you grounded. It reminds you there is finality to life. That on every given day there are a bunch of people who were just here a moment ago. Yes, I want to know how old they were and what they died of. When an obit hides either it really pisses me off. Although not so much as when they explain that, “Mr. Smith, 57, died of natural causes”. Natural causes? 57? What is this, 1814? Just tell us that he died on the toilet when a king cobra that someone next door had flushed came up through the pipes and bit him on the ass cheek. We can take it.
Even those don’t bother me as much as the lucky bastards, “Surrounded by their loving family” at the time they pass. They fail to mention that by the time the obit appears this, “loving family” is already rummaging through the attic and the fireproof safe to pilfer whatever they can before the reading of the will.
By the way, do they still have a, “Reading of the Will” and if so, when was the last time, aside from the movies and television, that anyone actually attended one? I’d like to know.
I don’t mind getting my news a day or two late. For me it beats reading it off of a computer screen, or, gulp, even worse, a phone. I like the process of buying the paper, holding it and reading it, and then recycling it. Much like reading a real book, as opposed to an E-book. Heavens to Mergatroid. And anyway, with most of what the news encapsulates nowadays, wouldn’t you rather have that news a day or two late? Besides, without papers, what would we have to put underneath the pumpkins that we carve at Halloween?
I have to say I enjoy the daily section of the USA Today that gives us the little State by State blurbs. That is the true essence of how far humanity has fallen from greatness…or even from mediocrity. Example, Anchorage, Alaska: “Officials say a man was injured when a moose he kicked to get out of the way on a trail stomped his foot in return”. It’s a shame those blurbs don’t come with pictures because I’ve been waiting to see exactly what a person looks like who watches, “Ice Road Truckers”.
Charlottesville, Virginia: (brace yourselves)…”Morgan Hopkins, arrested for exposing her breasts during August’s white nationalist rally, has filed a lawsuit against city police and arresting officers, although her indecent exposure charge was dropped.” Think about it. This woman likely, is a mother, or is going to become a mother someday. And we wonder why the human race has no chance of survival.
The one section of the paper that is a must read, every day, is the comics. If, “Pearls before Swine” doesn’t improve your daily mood, nothing will. If you don’t laugh a little at the start of each day, it’s like getting behind the wheel of your car every day without your seat belt. You’re not going to last very long.
Here’s the best part of physical newspapers. Read, and then write, a letter to the editor. It still works. It gives you an idea of what the (common) man and woman is thinking, and gives you an opportunity to express your opinions, no matter how crazy they are. I’ve had more than a few published and that about tells you all you need to know about the direction we’re headed in.
Here’s one thing to stay away from, mainly in the USA Today. If you come across a series of diagrams, where it shows multiple rooms, a man-like figure and dotted lines, look away. Something very bad has happened. Now, if you see the same thing in, “The Family Circus” comic strip, read on. Oh, that Jeffy.
I’m sure everyone has been through this. You’re walking through a bookstore (you remember those, right) and you come across the “self help” aisle. You look at the titles and think, “No way, not for me”. Buying one of those and checking out would be the equivalent of buying condoms at CVS when you were 17. Okay 18…okay, 25!!!
In early 2001 I was going through a crisis in my life. Forty years old, personal relationships in crisis , infrastructure crumbling. Of course, I went to therapy. That was truly a lifesaver. But like people who only have Medicare, I needed a supplement. Enter, “The Book of Awakening” by Mark Nepo.
Sure, the entire book was not for me. But enough of it opened my eyes to so many things going on in my life that were right in front of my eyes and yet, I could not see. Sometimes it is not enough that the people closest to us tell us what they see wrong. We need an outside opinion. And quite often, this opinion comes from the most unlikely of sources.
I tried a few other books as well, such as, “The Four Agreements”. Many of them were helpful in their own way. But, “The Book of Awakening” has become my bible so to speak. I keep it right in my nightstand drawer. If I’ve had a day of conflict or of issue, I pull it out and read a few passages. It’s sort of like a GPS. Even though there are a few detours it always seems to get me back on track.
One of the things I’ve found in my adult life is that so many of us avoid therapy, or even non-traditional help because we feel there is a stigma attached to it. “There must be something wrong with him”. I hate to reveal the great secret, but there is something wrong with every one of us. In my opinion, someone who goes through their entire life without assistance is not well at all, they are simply ignoring something that can open their eyes and their hearts.
Many of us don’t go to the doctors until something is wrong…or until that thing in our scrotum has grown to the size of a lemon. Or we don’t venture into the dentist office until the pain in our mouth is so bad we can’t breathe without having to sit down. But for many more of us we do the right thing…checkups. How many times have you heard, “Found it during a checkup and we were able to treat it in time”. Preventive care. We do it with our bodies, with our bridges, why not the mind and the soul?
Mental and emotional health is exactly the same thing. Even more important. Checking in with our selves, or our spouses is not the only answer. If you were diagnosed with a sprained ankle and a doctor told you a brace would help, you’d wear it, right? Right? Ease the pain, provide support.
Think of those terms…ease the pain…provide support. Same thing, different affliction.
There is no doubt we all carry a load under the surface. If you live in today’s world and you don’t, well, you are truly ahead of the game. For the majority of us, it’s time for a checkup.
No one is saying you’re going to crack and rip up the linen department at Bed, Bath and Beyond. But if you did cleanup would be, well, very close by. But don’t ignore the signs. Don’t deny yourself assistance. You deserve it. And your family deserves it.
Therapy and self help are nothing to be ashamed of. I was in therapy nearly fifteen years and it made me a better person and helped enhance my life. Don’t buy into the critics…”There’s nothing wrong with you…have another donut”.
If you don’t have the courage to start therapy, venture into Barnes and Noble and take a good look around. And hurry, before they, like a lot of retail, becomes a thing of the past.
Trapped in a Happy Life 