We're moving to the city...

Until I was four years old, my family lived "out in the country". To be more exact, we lived in a rented farmhouse outside the town of Chetopa, Kansas. Since I was too young to go to school, the days were spent playing with the dogs, catching turtles and other reptiles, and skipping rocks on the pond. I remember little snippets of life on the farm, but not much. I'm sure I had a few friends, but I only recall playing with my sisters, and cousins who came to visit on occasion.

Let's just say that I don't remember having much of a social life before the "big event".

I vaguely remember walking through a brand new house that my parents were considering. I was fascinated by the vinyl runners that we were told to step on as we meandered through the "huge" five room house. Two bedrooms, a kitchen, living room, and one bath (indoors).

The next thing I remember was the announcement that we were moving "to town" where I would start school in the fall. An adventure for sure, and quite a different life than the one to which I was accustomed.

We moved to the town of Coffeyville in April of 1956, and one of the first kids I met was a boy named Sonny "Boy" Watson. His family lived across the alley from us, and like most kids on the block, he made his way over to our house shortly after we moved in. Sonny Boy was a big kid with a few extra pounds larded over a large frame. He also knew everything, or so it seemed to this naïve country boy. Yeah, you might say he had his bluff in on me from that first meeting. I could tell that he held a position of power with the other kids as well.

Sometime within the first week or so, Sonny Boy had me in tears and running home to mama. I don't remember if it was a physical altercation, or if he had just hurt my feelings. Regardless, I ran home to be consoled. All was good until the next day when it happened again, and the day after that as well.

Now, one would have to know my dad to understand exactly how, and why, he reacted as he did, but after about three or four days of seeing me run home to mama he had had his fill of it.

He stood up, looking down at me with fire in his eyes, and through gritted teeth said, "The next time you come home crying I'm going to give you something to cry about!" My dad didn't tolerate any sissified behavior, and he made it abundantly clear that I'd better learn to take care of myself when it came to handling that neighborhood bully. I guess that would be the end of that!

My social skills were still in the state of development, and I had yet to learn the fine art of diplomacy, so that left only one avenue available.....the manly art of self-defense. Trouble with that was that, other than some spirited wrestling matches with my cousins, I didn't know much about fighting either. All I knew was the fear of my dad's wrath outweighed my fear of Sonny Boy Watson.

Shortly thereafter, the opportunity presented itself; either go home and get whipped, or start flailing away. I was already crying anyway, so it didn't much matter if I got worst of it. I put everything I had into those punches, finding Sonny Boy's soft belly to be an adequate landing place, and soon we were both bawling and brawling until, much to my surprise, he just up and quit. It was over, and just like that, the bullying was history.

Sonny Boy and I never became best friends, but we learned to co-exist in the neighborhood. Maybe I earned a little respect, or maybe he hadn't expected the little skinny country boy to retaliate. Either way, I no longer ran home crying every time one of those city boys hurt my feelings, and that was a good thing. But, then again, what do I know?

No adult supervision required...

"Playing baseball just for the fun of it; No coaches, no parental involvement, and no pressure to perform."

I was half-watching the national news the other night when I heard the commentator utter those words. Of course in these days of "not keeping score", "no winners or losers", and "everybody gets a trophy" the story line wasn't particularly intriguing. I mean, it seems like every other day there is another story about how competition has ruined society.

We've removed it from the classroom, the sports field, and are working diligently to remove it from every aspect of life. Problem is, you will never be able to completely remove the competitive spirit from competitive people. That spirit is what drives us to succeed.

But, lets get back to sandlot baseball. I rarely see a group of kids gathered at a park, or at a vacant lot with makeshift bases and grass worn down to dirt along the base paths. I don't ever see games with both boys and girls enjoying the thrill of competing against each other, along with the jeers and cheers that often accompany the errors and bonehead plays that everyone makes from time to time. I don't see the variety of age groups engaging with each other as the older kids gently, and not so gently, mentor the younger ones in the "rules of the game".

So, somewhat interested, I began to watch the news story on television.

The first thing I saw was that it was all boys of the same age....no girls involved, and no older or younger kids on the field. There was also an umpire, replete with all the gear, and there were parents watching the game. Wait a minute, I thought this was "Playing baseball just for the fun of it."

Then, it all came out; one of the parents had decided that it was too "competitive" in the league games, so he organized these so-called sandlot games.

Trouble is, they in no way resemble the sandlot games of old. Really, we would have been embarrassed to no end to have our parents show up to watch us play baseball with our friends. No self-respecting kid would have tolerated it. Of course, our games were all-day affairs with kids coming and going as they deemed fit, and parents were either at work or too busy with other duties to waste time watching the kids play.

No, it was truly, "Playing baseball just for the fun of it." No umpires, no batting helmets, wooden bats with taped handles, shared baseball gloves left laying in the field for the one side to use while the other was at bat, and most of all.....no one telling us how it was supposed to work. Was it without competition? Not a chance. Did we keep score? Of course. Was there "No pressure to perform"? Not a chance. The younger ones wanted to impress the older ones, the older boys wanted to impress the older girls, and the girls....they did their best to impress the boys....Pressure to perform? Oh yeah, there was plenty of pressure to perform.

The difference was that it was all self-inflicted. No adults to organize it, no coaches, no parents, no umpires, but most of all, the freedom to just be kids. I'm glad I grew up in a time when we could spend all day with our friends, playing baseball, just for the joy of the game.....

I thought it was great, but what do I know?

Looking back....why?

Looking back....why? I don't know.

I guess it's because I've come to accept the fact that I'm closer to the end than to the beginning. That's a hard pill to swallow for a guy who's always fancied himself as a long-term planner, and one who has always looked to the future.

To be perfectly honest it's a bit unnerving to realize that most of your life is in the rear view mirror, with the horizon looming larger and larger ahead of you. It's not that I'm afraid of what lies beyond; I'm not. I'm very comfortable with my faith, and know that our short stint here on earth is just the beginning.

What, then, should I be doing for the next twenty years, or so?

I continue to work, even though most of my friends can't figure out what I do, or why. However, there's a bit less work on my plate now, and my appetite for doing it is waning. I still enjoy what I do around the ranch, and it's still rewarding to see my clients succeed as I play a small role in showing them the way.

Life continues to be good, and a new life begins everyday!

Looking back....why? There is still so much to look forward to!

I'll continue to plan for the best, and cope with the rest. Will it be good? Who knows? Life holds no guarantees; it's what you make of it that counts.

That's what I believe, but as everyone here is already aware, What do I know!

I'm sorry, but that's absurd...

Later this month, I'll attain the ripe old age of sixty-six. I've seen a lot of changes through the years, some good, some not so good, but for the most part it's been a great ride.

I graduated from high school in 1969, and turned eighteen on the Sunday morning when Jimi Hendrix woke up the folks at Woodstock with his stirring rendition of the Star Spangled Banner.....wish I'd been there to see it in person, but alas, I was hard at work in Kansas.

The sixties were a time of civil unrest, anti-war protests, sit-ins, love-ins, Hippies, and racial strife. It also brought about the advent of that old axiom, "Make Love not War", now what normal, warm-blooded all-American young man could find fault with that!

Yes, I've seen a lot of changes through the years, some good, some not so good.

When I was born in 1951, the doctor spanked my butt for the first time, made a quick assessment of the vital parts, and announced to my parents, "It's a boy!". No ifs and or buts about it; of course my parents took a look and confirmed the doctor's diagnosis.....Yep, it's a boy.

There were more spankings to follow, as my dad was a firm believer in "Spare the rod, spoil the child". Was it wrong? Today, society finds it unacceptable to mete out such punishment, but it taught me that there were boundaries that were not to be crossed, limitations as to what was acceptable behavior, and respect for authority. It's hard for me to find fault with those outcomes.

Yes, I've seen a lot of changes through the years, some good, some not so good.

For my entire life I've known who I am, what I am, and never once considered it to be the least bit odd that my God put me here on earth to be exactly what he intended. On the other hand, I've known a few, very few, people who seemed to be at odds with their gender. It was never a big deal, and everyone has experienced those encounters from time to time. We all understand that sometimes those genetic anomalies occur, and we've dealt with it.

Recently, I read of a case where the parents of a new baby "X" were not going to make a gender decision until "X" was old enough to make that decision for itself.....I'm sorry, but that's absurd.

It's not that I don't have empathy for those few who have to deal with the gender identity issue, I do. But really, is it that prevalent, or is it mostly hype? It seems to me that it gets a disproportionate amount of attention these days, most of it being generated by politicians and those who don't have to deal with it on a personal level, but who love to be a part of the hysteria.

Yes, I've seen a lot of changes through the years, some good, some not so good.

So now, as I get ready to "celebrate" another year on this earth, I have to wonder just how long God is going to allow His children to challenge His creation. But, as always, what do I know.

Music, Manners, and Cowboys

When did we lose our sense of decorum, etiquette, and just plain good manners. Everywhere I go I'm somewhat disappointed in the way people present themselves; the way they dress, the way they talk, and the "me-first" attitudes.

This weekend we attended an outdoor symphony. It was a beautiful venue at a ranch in the Flint Hills of Kansas. It was an event to celebrate the 150th anniversary of the old Chisholm Trail in Kansas, and the day was filled with educational talks, art, and wildflower tours. It really was quite wonderful.

After spending the afternoon attending several of the presentations and checking out the tent full of art, Ms Elizabeth, her sister, and I were looking forward to an evening of music and relaxation as dusk fell over the panoramic vista of the ranch.

The concert was scheduled for two hours, with a twenty minute intermission to allow for a nice stretch, a little visiting, and perhaps a trip to retrieve a beverage.

Now lets remember, it's an outdoor event, so one might expect the attendees to be a little more boisterous than at an event staged inside a concert hall, and they were. People to the side of us spent the entire evening talking loudly, in total disregard of those sitting within earshot. Another, who was sitting a few seats in front of us, made five trips to the beverage tent to retrieve a fresh beer while the performance was in in full swing. With each trip he interrupted no less than twenty people who were seated nearby. We sat near the back and watched the same scene play out over and over in front of us.

The grand finale, however, was when cowboys were moving a herd of longhorn cattle across the pasture behind the orchestra.....wave after wave of people left their seats to take photographs of the cattle. It was rude to the members of the symphony who continued to play. It was rude to the people who stayed in their seats to enjoy both the music and the view of the cowboys and cattle. And, it certainly interfered with the cowboys, who had to break rank to keep people from crowding too close to the longhorns, and causing a safety issue.

Just getting my "beef" of the day written while it's still fresh in my mind.

I would like to hope it will be different next time; I doubt that it will, but as always, what do I know.

You can't make new old friends...

I'm at the point in life when it's comforting to be with old friends, people I've known virtually my entire life, and who know things about me that even I've forgotten.

Once a month several of us meet for breakfast and memories. Sometimes we linger longer than the conversation supports, so we just sit in silence, sipping coffee and enjoying the companionship of  old friends.

Recently, I was reminded of a friend whom I haven't seen nor thought about for many years. A Facebook friend posted a short video about the SST Concorde. and how it was the most beautiful airplane ever built. It was fast, sleek, and short-lived. I never had the opportunity to fly on the Concorde, but my old friend did, and he shared every detail of his experience. A young executive - living large. Unfortunately, he too, lived a lifestyle that was sleek, fast, and short-lived.

We met shortly after moving to Tulsa and became fast friends with much in common. He had played college basketball, I'd played football. We played on the same softball team, played weekend basketball games, and even worked as umpires for a youth baseball league. We and our wives spent most weekends out on the town or at each others' homes playing cards, games, or watching that new television show, Saturday Night Live. We were both young with all the world at our disposal, or so we thought.

My career took off, and so did his. We both spent time on business trips, entertaining business associates, and doing all the things that we thought were important.

Then, about the time we started our families, things began to change. While I started to resent the travel that took me away from home, he seemed to relish it. While social drinking was the norm for business dinners, he began to take it to extremes. Soon the drinking seemed to the primary driver in his life. His home life deteriorated, his business associates began to drift away, and before long he was divorced and jobless.

The downward spiral had started, and I lost touch with my old friend. We've maintained our friendship with his ex-wife, and through her, I've kept tabs on his whereabouts and well-being. Life has not been kind to him, but had he made different choices, perhaps he too, would find comfort in the company of old friends.

I miss my old friend.....wish life would have been different for him, but what do I know.