Footprints (republished)

I was thinking about footprints.  

Various shapes, sizes.  Easy to find on a beach as you walk along the shore.  Perhaps not so welcome when you find footprints on your newly cleaned floor.  As a kid, my family would drive to the dunes at a state park along Lake Michigan and we'd see signs requesting visitors to watch where they walk, to stay on the path and not disturb the ecosystem.   

I wonder about the footprints I've left behind and what became of them.  Were my footprints welcomed like the ones at the beach?  Were they seen as an intrusion like the messy ones on a clean linoleum floor?  Did I care enough to not damage the "ecosystem" of the people I walked with?  

Teddy Roosevelt had a famous line: "Walk softly, but carry a big stick."  While I admire TR greatly, I'd like to amend his statement to: "Walk softly, and carry a big heart."  

We never really know what happens to our footprints, but if we carry a big heart, they can be lasting, and loving, impressions for people to follow.  Sort of like a trail for the ones who come after us.

Live your life and make a difference.

The Gift Of Hope

Five years ago, we bought a house and moved in.  The girls lobbied most of the summer for a dog.  Hannah and Emily would search the Internet and each morning, Kim and I would find a new picture of a dog.  On the refrigerator.  In our bathroom.  Taped to the TV.  Somewhere.  Everywhere.  Each morning.  Every morning.  Some evenings, too.

I was won over pretty quickly, but being the dutiful (and scared that I might end up sleeping on the couch or in the garage) husband, I kept to the party line.  “We don’t need a dog.”  Eventually, Kim wore down too.

And Bailey came into our life.  A beautiful Golden Retriever.  Two years old.  Housebroken. 

And near death.

When we picked Bailey up, we could easily count her ribs.  She was more than shy, more than timid.  She was afraid.  Noises.  Quick movements.  If I took off my belt, she’d run.  It was weeks before we realized she could bark.  She was silent.  Quiet.  Almost sullen.  And like I said, afraid. Neither Kim nor I said it out loud, but we didn’t think Bailey would last more than one or two weeks.  If that.

The Vet said she’d be fine, though she was malnourished.  Started her on a regimen of pills.  Vaccinations.  Food.  Water.  Mostly love.

Now? 

Still timid, mostly with men and boys.  Playful.  Protective.  Sleeps in Emily’s room, though Kim is her favorite.  Funny how that happens!

As a counselor and teacher, I saw many kids like Bailey. 

Afraid.  Malnourished- not only from a lack of food and clothes, but from a lack of care, of compassion, of love.  One as sad as the next.

Without Hope.

When we would have visitors in California, I enjoyed being tour guide.  One of the places they wanted to see was Hollywood Boulevard.  There was a major discrepancy in what they imagined it looked like and what it actually looked like. Gone was the glamour, the elegance, the money.  Instead, dark, dirty, grungy.  Run down.

I remember following one street kid.  Probably late teens, early twenties.  Walked quickly.  Some popcorn had spilled on the sidewalk and without breaking stride, he reached down and scooped up some with his right hand and shoved it into his mouth.  A few steps later, there was a half-eaten Twinkie.  Again without breaking stride, he scooped it up and ate it.  How hungry he must have been.

It’s been years since I watched that young man.  As I write this, I can still see it happen.  I see him.  I picture other kids like him.

I’ve always wondered what his life . . . their life . . . was like that would chase them out of their homes and onto the street.  How bad it must have been.

Certainly no love.  No Care.  No Compassion.  No . . . Hope?

A rather one-sided view, I’m sure.  Don’t know the reasons these kids landed on the street.  Just that they are there.  Existing, not living.  Functioning day to day, night to night.  Surviving.

You know, I believe in kids.  Always have.  Their resilience.  Their toughness.  Their ‘smarts’.

I think as adults, beyond food and shelter, beyond clothes and a place to sleep, we need to give our kids a future.  We need to give our kids lessons of love, of compassion.  We need to care.  We need to help them understand that they have a place in life, in our homes, in our hearts.

We need to give them The Gift Of Hope.  For it is with The Gift Of Hope where our children see their future, our belief in them.  Without The Gift Of Hope, there are no dreams.  There are no wishes.  There is no future.  Hope gives our children a chance, an opportunity.  We need to do this for our children, for ourselves.  We need to do this.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

 

 

 

 

 

 

What's In Your Suitcase?

Go on any trip lately?  We’re in the middle of summer, so vacations abound, I’m sure.  People coming.  People going.  Long trips.  Short trips.

Ever go on a trip and forget to pack something?  Something as simple as a toothbrush or deodorant?  Easily remedied at any convenience or grocery store.  Forget a pair of shoes?  A sweatshirt that you meant to take “just in case”?  A little more costly, but again, easily remedied with a stop to a department or shoe store.

When I was growing up, we traveled around in a beat up green Plymouth station wagon.  The radio didn’t work very well, so we sang.  Each of us.  Didn’t matter how old or how young.  It was expected.

Well anyway . . .

On a trip somewhere, we stopped for gas and to use the facilities.  We took our turns, dad last because he worked the gas pump and paid the clerk.  We climbed in, took off and began singing. The sound was off.  Didn’t sound right.  A voice was missing.  Mom turned around and counted heads.

Yup . . .

My brother, Jim was missing.  We turned the car around, went back to the gas station and there he was.  Sitting in the dirt near the front of the store.  Crying.  Angry.  Scared.  All of us scared.  Being a father of three, I can’t imagine the worry, the fear my parents must have felt.  Having worked with missing and exploited kids, well, I don’t even want to go there.

But Jim was forgotten.  Something not easily remedied by a trip to a convenient store or a grocery store or a shoe store or a department store.  Pretty serious.  Don’t really know how it happened.

I don’t remember just how far we had gotten because I’m four years younger than Jim and he was pretty young at the time.  But, really scary.

Back to the suitcase . . .

I think each of us have suitcases.  Some large.  Some small.  Some fancy.  Some plain.  And in it are all the things we might need to bring along on a trip called, “Life”.  To a lesser or greater extent, each of us has tools and skills.  Some born that way.  Some have to learn it.  And for others, they might not have the means or skill to acquire what is needed on that trip called, “Life”.

And at times, what we have in our suitcase just might fail us.  We forget what’s in that suitcase. 

We lose our patience.  We lose our temper.  The listening skill we’ve learned along the way is abandoned.  The ability to reason and see all the options is left at the gas station just like my brother Jim was. 

We end up hurting feelings.  We end up causing anger.  Might even cost us a job.  Sometimes not easily remedied.  Sometimes more than just a turnaround and head on back.  Sometimes much more difficult than that.

Might be the time to see What’s In Your Suitcase.  Might want to check out just what is . . . or isn’t in it.  Might want to take the time to take stock and determine what exactly is needed before we proceed on that trip called, “Life”.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

Endings

Those of you around my age, remember watching the last episode of “M.A.S.H.”? 

Hawkeye tried to get B.J. to say goodbye, and he wouldn’t . . . at least until the very end, the last scene.  The episode was titled, “Goodbye, Farewell and Amen”.  Fitting, I guess.  There was an attempt at a spinoff or two, but not very successful.  I think it was because of the original characters.  Their affection for one another.  Their interdependence on one another.  Their annoyances with one another.  Their togetherness.

Hawkeye, B.J., Hot Lips, Frank, Charles, Klinger, Radar, Father Mulcahy and of course, Colonel Potter.  They were real to us . . . to me . . . as much as our next door neighbor is real, perhaps more so. 

Hated to see it end. 

Not so much the show, but the characters. 

To me, movies and television shows are all about the characters.  Same with books.  I have to love or hate the characters.  Nothing in terms of indifference will do.  As a viewer or reader, I have to care.  And care deeply.  I do that, I hope, in my own writing.

Yesterday, Emily and I watched the replaying of the last episode of “iCarly”.  It was so sad.  So very sad.  I got choked up and had to fight tears.  I’m not sure why it hit me as it did, but it did. 

I mean, these were kids!  Having to say goodbye to one another.  Having to leave one another.  Carly left for Italy to be with her dad.  Her older brother, Spencer, stayed behind and would be by himself.  Freddy and Sam somehow separate because Carly was their glue.

I know it happens.  Lord knows I’ve had many Endings in my life. 

My dad passing away along with two of my sisters.  Leaving Wisconsin and my family three separate times.  My son moving away from home.  Hannah heading off to college.  Friends and their friendship, who I thought would last forever, somehow left my life . . . perhaps, I left theirs.  Not sure.  An Ending though to be sure.  All Endings.  And sad.  All sad.

I don’t do Endings very well.  Not well at all.

Yes, I know that each Ending is an opportunity for a new Beginning.  I get that.

But Endings hurt too much.  There is so much pain involved.  To me, more pain than the fear of beginning again.  I don’t like Endings.

My youngest, Emily, has told me many, many times that, “Everyone deserves a happy ending.” 

It’s a rule with her.  For each of us, too, perhaps.

I try to explain to her that life doesn’t necessarily have happy Endings.  Her reply is simple: “Well, it should!”

Perhaps if we focus on new beginnings instead of the Endings, maybe it would be less painful.  Perhaps if we focus on the excitement of change, of the opportunity to begin again, to begin anew, it might hurt less.  Not sure, really.  Honestly not too sure.  But, it’s something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

Wish Upon A Star

“Star light, star bright;

First star I see tonight;

Wish I may, wish I might;

Have the wish I wish tonight.”

And then we’d shut our eyes and make a wish.  Right?

I think each of us grew up with that little poem, those hopes, those dreams.  Those wishes. 

I wonder sometimes how many wishes I’ve made looking up at the stars in my lifetime.  Stretched out in the backyard.  Sitting on the dock at the lake.  Around the campfire while we stuffed ourselves with s'mores.

My daughters, Hannah and Emily and I decided that the brightest star nearest the moon was their grandfather . . . my dad . . . watching down over us.  Just keeping a watchful eye. 

I know that I’ve spent some nights in silence as I considered him watching us, wondering what he thought of me, my life, my family.  I wish my dad would have been around for my kids.  How they would have loved him, and he, them.  But he had passed on well before I met my wife and we had our kids.

And, about those wishes . . .

As a kid, my wishes were simple.  Kid stuff.  All about me, as most kids’ wishes tend to be.

As I got older, the wishes were more like bargains.  You know the kinds where we’d say something like, “If I get this, then I’ll . . .”

And then as I got older yet, and after Kim and I had children, my wishes became about them.  Keeping them safe.  Having them grow up strong and confident.  Finding someone to love and more importantly, someone who will love them.  Someone to take care of them.  Keeping them from harm. 

Wishing for their happiness.  That their lives be fulfilling.  That their dreams would come true.

But the thing about a dream is that it doesn’t happen on its own.  Dreams must be pursued.  Dreams must be worked for.

I mean, if wishes just happened because you saw a star and made a wish . . .

No, wishes like dreams, have to be worked for.  There should be some sort of effort.  A plan. 

Wishes are like life . . . they have to be lived.  Any wish worth having is like a goal . . . gone after, pursued. 

Otherwise, wishes like dreams, are just hopeful and happy thoughts.  In time, forgotten.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

My Favorite Room

My Favorite Room is our downstairs family room.  Hands down favorite. We just painted it in a warm tan, almost but not quite adobe.  The color embraces you, welcomes you. 

It’s decorated with Navajo art.  Sand paintings, small and large.  Painted tiles of pueblos and a desert ranch.  A peace pipe.  A large painting of a native women gazing at a pueblo dwelling from a balcony.

I’m not sure why or how I’ve come to love the Navajo culture.  I think it was early on when I’d read Louis L’Amour westerns.  My dad had a large paperback library and I’d snatch them after he’d read one, sometimes rereading the same one over and over.  My dad knew I was reading them, so every now and then, I’d find one on my dresser or my pillow.  He and I liked the Sackett adventures the most. 

Later on I started reading Tony Hillerman and it was he who introduced me to Jim Chee and Joe Leaphorn and the Navajo culture and country.  Since then, I’ve read and studied a bit on my own.  And our downstairs family room is our . . . my . . . tribute to those people.

My Favorite Room is peaceful.  Cool in summer.  Warm in winter.  Restful. 

I can think.  Imagine.  Watch a movie.  Rest and sometimes take a nap.  Write a little . . . okay, a lot.

It’s my sanctuary.  My get away.

My Favorite Room.

I think each of us has a place where we go when we need to.  We need a place to go.  To recharge.  Retreat.  Regroup.  To think and plan.  Perhaps quietly celebrate.  Maybe lick our wounds.  Sometimes alone.  Sometimes with others.  Mostly alone.

Each of us needs a place like that.  Without it, we run out and get used up like a battery that loses its power or energy.  Without it, we wind down and can’t wind back up.  Without it . . .

I suggest you discover one of your own. 

Within your house like mine.  Maybe outside of your house.  The back deck facing a woods.  A riverbank.  A route you take for a walk or for a ride on your bike. 

Make it your own.  Use it when needed.  And perhaps, even when it isn’t needed.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

 

Take A Different Road

I’m pretty much a creature of habit.  Perhaps we all are.

When Emily and I drive to school, I take one of three ways, usually the same way.  Hannah and I took the same route.  I guess I’ve always done this sort of thing.

I remember as a teacher in Wisconsin, one of my department mates was amazed that I had lived in the same community for five or six years, but didn’t really know my way around.  Mark would say, “Just get in your car and drive sometime.  Really, just drive!”

But I didn’t. 

Instead, I’d ask him for directions, take out a map (way before GPS was born) and otherwise get lost a lot.  As I stated in a previous post (I, Compass), I suffer from Anti-Directional Lewis Syndrome.  It is a malady that affects most of us in the family.

So as a result, I stick to mostly the same route each day, day after day . . .

My wife, Kim, knows the county much better than I do.  It could be because she teaches in a school that is the furthest North in the county so she had to find different ways to get from home to school and back again because of the volume of traffic that exists in the D.C. Metro and Northern/Central part of Virginia. 

I think Kim knows the county better than I do partly due to the fact that she teaches Behind The Wheel (Driver Education) so the kids take her all sorts of places.  Mostly Behind The Wheel is safe, except for the time a young lady drove up over the curb and into the woods (yes, really!). 

But because she allowed kids to drive her places, she’s seen more, knows more routes, and can get around much easier than I can. 

Got me thinking . . .

What if I . . . we . . . experimented a bit with our routine?  If we broke out of our norm?  If we stepped out of our pattern?  Stretched a bit?  Explored a little?  Opened ourselves to new experiences?

If we decided to take a different route, a different road, a different path, it might not be the fastest or the quickest and could actually take us longer.  It might make us uncomfortable.  It might test our patience.

But . . .

It might make life . . . our life, our world more interesting.  We might see a little more.  We might learn a little more . . . about our world . . . about ourselves.  About life.  Something to try.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!