The month of December is filled with incredible highs and lows - at least for me. I've written twice already this month about two of the most wonderful experiences I've had during this month - the birth of two of my children, my eldest and my youngest.
Unfortunately, today marks the anniversary of one of the worst lows I've had too - the death of my father, John Hughes, who passed on this day 31 years ago. The good news was I had, with my bride and two children in tow, just visited my parents less than two weeks before his death. My dad had literally begged me to come visit him and mom so he could see his only granddaughter and the newest of his grandsons, my boy who had been born in July of that year.
I had resisted the visit because we were broke and I didn't want to incur any more charges to credit cards. However, for whatever reason, I finally gave in to my dad's requests to come visit and arranged the trip, going into further debt. The weather was beautiful in Southern California while we were there and we spent most of our time simply visiting with my parents.
My dad, on several occasions, said things like, "This will probably be my last Christmas" and "It will likely be the last time I'll see you". As a 33 year-old man, unaccustomed to discussing death, I kept telling my dad to "Quit being so morbid". I have to confess that he did look weak and tired, but I didn't want to face the facts that my old man, who had had several heart attacks over the years and had undergone open heart surgery, might be as sick as he said.
This, after all, was the toughest person I had ever known - and still, to this day, have ever known.
When the day came for us to return home, he hugged me longer than usual and kissed me, then telling me how much he loved me and how proud I had always made him. We were both choked up as I, and my family, left. There were things that I should have said that day that I didn't. I will always regret that I didn't have the courage to do so. That day was December 9th, 1979. 10 days later my father died.
I was out on sales calls on December 19th, 1979. I had finished a lunch appointment with a client and instead of returning to my office, I decided to make some cold calls on clients in the nearby area. It was a clear, beautiful day in Denver. So, after making a couple of calls, I finally returned to my office in downtown Denver.
When I walked in, I knew something was wrong almost immediately. My secretary had a strange look on her face when I said hello, and as I glanced into my office, my wife was in there, speaking on the telephone. I was puzzled. My bride quickly hung up the phone and when I walked in, she closed the door behind me. She then came to me, hugged me and said, "Your Dad died this morning."
Like the trooper she always was, my wife had already started the wheel in motion. She had made plane reservations for me for later in the early evening, and had arranged for her parents to babysit our children, so she could join me later.
The next several days were awful. My mother and brothers were waiting for me, and arrangements had already been made. My mom, of course, was in state of shock as she told me the events of the day.
My dad had not been feeling well so had told my mom he was going to lie down. A few minutes later, my mom heard a sound come from the bedroom. She went into the bedroom and called, "John...John..." several times. There was no response. As we determined later, the sound she heard was his last breath. My dad had suffered his final and fatal heart attack.
I don't know that I have ever cried as much as I did over the next few days. Though we all knew my father wasn't in the best of shape, none of us expected him to die so suddenly. Compounding my general sadness over the loss of my father was the fact that I simply didn't take the time to tell him all the things I should have when I visited only a few days before.
It is now 31 years later and it is still one of the biggest regrets of my life. I miss him almost every day and wish he were here so that I could tell him those things. Knowing I am 64 and my life is in it's December, I know I'll be seeing him sooner rather than later is also knowing I'll have that opportunity again.
Old Fart Mike
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
Surprise Christmas Gifts
Today, is the birthday of my youngest child. My wonderful son, Kevin, who weighed 8 lbs. 9 oz. at his birth, 28 years ago.
In early March of 1982, my bride and I were very surprised to learn that a third child would be on the way later in the year. We had had a very difficult time in conceiving after the birth of our first child and felt we were extremely lucky when our second child was born. My bride had suffered miscarriages, and, as we were in our mid-thirties, we felt that our time was up for having babies. So, we had pretty much resigned ourselves to the fact that we would have only two children. But God had different plans for us. As is always the case with His decisions, we were blessed with the addition of our beautiful baby boy. Kevin always has taken our comment about being surprised the wrong way, unfortunately, thinking he wasn't wanted. This has never been the case, of course, it was just we were incredibly surprised that we were pregnant.
Since his mother had undergone an emergency C-section with the birth of Kevin's older brother, Ryan, some 3 1/2 years prior, and medical procedures had not yet reached a point where natural childbirth could be conducted after a C-section had transpired, we were able to schedule Kevin's birth.
His older sister's birthday was December 8th, and we didn't want to conflict with that, so we opted for December 10th, allowing for a separation of a day in between the two - allowing the two children to have their celebrations apart from one another.
We were living on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, where few facilities existed, so we had to make the trek to Beaufort - 40 some odd miles to Beaufort Memorial Hospital, and actually driving off an island via trestle bridge that had been closed the winter before in typically high winter winds, which did not us ensure getting off the island, to the mainland in some pretty bad weather. We left rather early in the morning that fateful day, excited about the arrival of the newest member of our family. As was the case with our other two children, we had decided not to determine the gender of the forthcoming baby, preferring to be surprised.
We had narrowed down names for a boy to either Colin, Connor, or Kevin, deciding to make up our mind once we actually saw our newborn child. We arrived at the hospital about 45 minutes prior to the 9:00 AM appointment for "delivery" - that's how excited we were - and checked in.
At a little after 9, I kissed my bride and she was wheeled away to the delivery room. I was left to wait, praying that all would go well. Since I knew I had a few minutes at least, I snuck outside and chain-smoked about 8 cigarettes in succession. Returning, I was advised that I was the father to a new, healthy, baby boy and that my wife was doing fine. Though it sounds trite now, I about jumped for joy. And, I silently said a prayer of thanks.
A few minutes later, while my wife was still recovering, I saw - and held - my beautiful baby boy for the first time. Though I had done this twice before with my other two children, nothing compares to the joy of meeting you newborn for the first time. Tears, of course, were shed, as I, again, was delighted with newest addition.
When my bride came to in her room a little while later, she too, was able to become acquainted with this little ball of wonder. He had a full head of hair, and dark eyebrows. We smiled, kissed each other, and him. Obviously, we had to examine our baby, checking for all his fingers, toes, and the like. He was beautiful, just like the others.
After a few minutes, the subject of a name came up. My wife said, "He looks like a Kevin" - something I had been thinking a few minutes earlier. So, our boy now had a name. Our third love affair began that day.
The days, months and years pass all too quickly, as parents throughout history can tell you. Today, our youngest progeny celebrates his 28th birthday.
Over the years, there have been so many wonderful moments - and as I said about my daughter, who just celebrated her birthday 2 days ago - the highlights of those years are too many to list here.
However, watching him grow into the fine young man he is today has certainly had it's impact on my life.
There are specific moments we've shared I'll never forget. Going with him & his mom to pick out his dog, a Golden Retriever he named Mercedes, and seeing the smile and love on his face. The weekend we spent together going first to Norman for an Sooner football game, then on to Dallas to watch the Cowboys play the Giants, spending the night at a hotel, was memorable, and a chance for us to re-bond. Picking him up from football practice at Kelley, when his Pads smelled so bad it stunk up the car and us laughing so hard, I could hardly drive. Taking him and his friends to OSU to register for classes for the first time; the Dad's days we spent together; Our Vegas trip celebrating his 21st birthday; seeing him fall in love; so many more.
He is a remarkable young man. An incredible sense of humor, plus a sensitivity unknown to most young men of his age.
Over the years, I have been blessed with many Surprise Christmas gifts, but he was absolutely the best.
Old Fart Mike
In early March of 1982, my bride and I were very surprised to learn that a third child would be on the way later in the year. We had had a very difficult time in conceiving after the birth of our first child and felt we were extremely lucky when our second child was born. My bride had suffered miscarriages, and, as we were in our mid-thirties, we felt that our time was up for having babies. So, we had pretty much resigned ourselves to the fact that we would have only two children. But God had different plans for us. As is always the case with His decisions, we were blessed with the addition of our beautiful baby boy. Kevin always has taken our comment about being surprised the wrong way, unfortunately, thinking he wasn't wanted. This has never been the case, of course, it was just we were incredibly surprised that we were pregnant.
Since his mother had undergone an emergency C-section with the birth of Kevin's older brother, Ryan, some 3 1/2 years prior, and medical procedures had not yet reached a point where natural childbirth could be conducted after a C-section had transpired, we were able to schedule Kevin's birth.
His older sister's birthday was December 8th, and we didn't want to conflict with that, so we opted for December 10th, allowing for a separation of a day in between the two - allowing the two children to have their celebrations apart from one another.
We were living on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, where few facilities existed, so we had to make the trek to Beaufort - 40 some odd miles to Beaufort Memorial Hospital, and actually driving off an island via trestle bridge that had been closed the winter before in typically high winter winds, which did not us ensure getting off the island, to the mainland in some pretty bad weather. We left rather early in the morning that fateful day, excited about the arrival of the newest member of our family. As was the case with our other two children, we had decided not to determine the gender of the forthcoming baby, preferring to be surprised.
We had narrowed down names for a boy to either Colin, Connor, or Kevin, deciding to make up our mind once we actually saw our newborn child. We arrived at the hospital about 45 minutes prior to the 9:00 AM appointment for "delivery" - that's how excited we were - and checked in.
At a little after 9, I kissed my bride and she was wheeled away to the delivery room. I was left to wait, praying that all would go well. Since I knew I had a few minutes at least, I snuck outside and chain-smoked about 8 cigarettes in succession. Returning, I was advised that I was the father to a new, healthy, baby boy and that my wife was doing fine. Though it sounds trite now, I about jumped for joy. And, I silently said a prayer of thanks.
A few minutes later, while my wife was still recovering, I saw - and held - my beautiful baby boy for the first time. Though I had done this twice before with my other two children, nothing compares to the joy of meeting you newborn for the first time. Tears, of course, were shed, as I, again, was delighted with newest addition.
When my bride came to in her room a little while later, she too, was able to become acquainted with this little ball of wonder. He had a full head of hair, and dark eyebrows. We smiled, kissed each other, and him. Obviously, we had to examine our baby, checking for all his fingers, toes, and the like. He was beautiful, just like the others.
After a few minutes, the subject of a name came up. My wife said, "He looks like a Kevin" - something I had been thinking a few minutes earlier. So, our boy now had a name. Our third love affair began that day.
The days, months and years pass all too quickly, as parents throughout history can tell you. Today, our youngest progeny celebrates his 28th birthday.
Over the years, there have been so many wonderful moments - and as I said about my daughter, who just celebrated her birthday 2 days ago - the highlights of those years are too many to list here.
However, watching him grow into the fine young man he is today has certainly had it's impact on my life.
There are specific moments we've shared I'll never forget. Going with him & his mom to pick out his dog, a Golden Retriever he named Mercedes, and seeing the smile and love on his face. The weekend we spent together going first to Norman for an Sooner football game, then on to Dallas to watch the Cowboys play the Giants, spending the night at a hotel, was memorable, and a chance for us to re-bond. Picking him up from football practice at Kelley, when his Pads smelled so bad it stunk up the car and us laughing so hard, I could hardly drive. Taking him and his friends to OSU to register for classes for the first time; the Dad's days we spent together; Our Vegas trip celebrating his 21st birthday; seeing him fall in love; so many more.
He is a remarkable young man. An incredible sense of humor, plus a sensitivity unknown to most young men of his age.
Over the years, I have been blessed with many Surprise Christmas gifts, but he was absolutely the best.
Old Fart Mike
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
My Little Girl
On this day in 1974, my life changed for the better with the arrival of my beautiful 6 pound, 1 ounce baby girl. My wife and I, who had been married less than 4 years at the time, had decided to wait awhile to have children, and like most expectant parents at the time, didn't know exactly what life had in store for us with the arrival of a new baby.
When my bride first found out she was pregnant, she rushed to my office to tell me. Her excitement was so great that en route, she received a speeding ticket - probably the only one she has ever received. When she came into my office, she was flustered, so I got up and closed my door. She said, "I have something to tell you - we're gonna have a baby!" I got up and rushed to her and hugged and kissed her.
We did the things that were in fashion those days, including practicing the La Maze method of giving birth. We learned how to breathe properly, and I was to be her coach in the delivery room, helping her along the way. We read books about new babies and becoming parents. We bought furniture for the new baby, and friends had baby showers for my bride.
It was incredibly exciting and, at the same time, anxiety filled. The last six weeks or so seemed like they would never end as my wife expanded in size and we awaited the birth. We opted not to find out beforehand the sex of our baby, preferring to wait and be surprised, the old-fashioned way. I was secretly hoping for a girl since the female gender were a rarity in the Hughes clan, but, as with all parents-to-be, the overriding sentiment was simply for a healthy baby.
When the day finally came, a long labor ensued and, finally, the doctors determined that my bride and I needed to suspend our La Maze method in favor of some drugs for my wife to complete the birthing process. As I was then shuffled into a waiting room, I prayed long and hard that everything would be okay.
After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only 15 or 20 minutes, a nurse appeared behind the glass partition with a tiny little baby wrapped in a blanket to show me. My heart was beating so fast it wasn't funny. I finally had to motion to her to unwrap that baby, after attempting to mouth the words, "What is it?" several times.
When she did expose the baby, I saw that I had a Daughter. Before I knew it, I realized I had tears streaming down my face.
A few minutes later the doctor said I could come see my daughter and my wife, both of whom were doing well. Since my bride was mostly knocked out, I had the privilege of holding my beautiful little daughter first. It was then I knew depths of love only a parent can know. It was then I knew that I would lay down my life for this little life that I helped create.
The years, of course, now seem to have gone by in a blur. She is married for almost 10 years and has a wonderful child of her own.
But, the memories I have of her throughout the years are vivid. Seeing her bundled up in a snow suit where she could hardly move. Having her come into the backyard with her little friend. Having her cry out with glee, "Daddy!!!" when she saw me walk in the door from work. Taking her to a father/daughter square dance. Sitting on my lap, cuddling and watching TV. Watching her competitiveness, as she swam on swim teams, and won so many events. Seeing her go out on dates. Watching her drive. Taking her off to college. Seeing her get her college degree - the first woman on either side of the family to do so. Falling in love. Walking her down the aisle. Having her tell her mom & I she was pregnant, and doing so in a way only she could do. Being there when she gave birth to our grandson.
There are so many more things I could say about this wonderful woman and the memories I have of and with her. She grew from a beautiful baby into a beautiful woman. But, to me, she will always be My Little Girl.
Old Fart Mike
When my bride first found out she was pregnant, she rushed to my office to tell me. Her excitement was so great that en route, she received a speeding ticket - probably the only one she has ever received. When she came into my office, she was flustered, so I got up and closed my door. She said, "I have something to tell you - we're gonna have a baby!" I got up and rushed to her and hugged and kissed her.
We did the things that were in fashion those days, including practicing the La Maze method of giving birth. We learned how to breathe properly, and I was to be her coach in the delivery room, helping her along the way. We read books about new babies and becoming parents. We bought furniture for the new baby, and friends had baby showers for my bride.
It was incredibly exciting and, at the same time, anxiety filled. The last six weeks or so seemed like they would never end as my wife expanded in size and we awaited the birth. We opted not to find out beforehand the sex of our baby, preferring to wait and be surprised, the old-fashioned way. I was secretly hoping for a girl since the female gender were a rarity in the Hughes clan, but, as with all parents-to-be, the overriding sentiment was simply for a healthy baby.
When the day finally came, a long labor ensued and, finally, the doctors determined that my bride and I needed to suspend our La Maze method in favor of some drugs for my wife to complete the birthing process. As I was then shuffled into a waiting room, I prayed long and hard that everything would be okay.
After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only 15 or 20 minutes, a nurse appeared behind the glass partition with a tiny little baby wrapped in a blanket to show me. My heart was beating so fast it wasn't funny. I finally had to motion to her to unwrap that baby, after attempting to mouth the words, "What is it?" several times.
When she did expose the baby, I saw that I had a Daughter. Before I knew it, I realized I had tears streaming down my face.
A few minutes later the doctor said I could come see my daughter and my wife, both of whom were doing well. Since my bride was mostly knocked out, I had the privilege of holding my beautiful little daughter first. It was then I knew depths of love only a parent can know. It was then I knew that I would lay down my life for this little life that I helped create.
The years, of course, now seem to have gone by in a blur. She is married for almost 10 years and has a wonderful child of her own.
But, the memories I have of her throughout the years are vivid. Seeing her bundled up in a snow suit where she could hardly move. Having her come into the backyard with her little friend. Having her cry out with glee, "Daddy!!!" when she saw me walk in the door from work. Taking her to a father/daughter square dance. Sitting on my lap, cuddling and watching TV. Watching her competitiveness, as she swam on swim teams, and won so many events. Seeing her go out on dates. Watching her drive. Taking her off to college. Seeing her get her college degree - the first woman on either side of the family to do so. Falling in love. Walking her down the aisle. Having her tell her mom & I she was pregnant, and doing so in a way only she could do. Being there when she gave birth to our grandson.
There are so many more things I could say about this wonderful woman and the memories I have of and with her. She grew from a beautiful baby into a beautiful woman. But, to me, she will always be My Little Girl.
Old Fart Mike
Friday, November 26, 2010
The day after -
Yesterday, of course, was Thanksgiving Day. It is the time, once each year, where we Americans stop - or at least are supposed to - and give thanks for our many blessings. According to most, it began in the early 1600's, as Pilgrims began the practice of celebrating a Harvest festival as was customary in Europe at the time.
Over the years since, Thanksgiving Day has morphed into what it is today, a National Day of thanks for our many blessings - and on the lesser side of things, a day to stuff ourselves with Turkey and the many accompanying foods that make up our feast of the day; watch football; and prepare for the onslaught of "Black Friday", the horrendous start of Christmas gift buying.
As I awoke today, I thought of just how fortunate I - and my family are. Though none of us are wealthy, we live rather comfortably compared to the majority of the world. Yet, like most, I find myself complaining almost daily about some little thing or another. Today, it was about how cold it was outside when I walked down my driveway to get the morning newspaper. I temporarily forgot that I had this rather large home I lived in that sheltered me from the cold outside - a cold that many of our homeless had to face last night without any type of roof over their head.
I also didn't give a second thought to the fact that all I had to do was press a button and my garage door opened magically, thereby enabling me to avoid lifting that incredibly hefty door physically AND cutting the distance I had to walk to & from the paper in the driveway in half.
Nor did I think of the blessing I have in being able to afford to subscribe to the daily newspaper - instead of having to find a days-old one. Or, the fact, that I could read at all - something that many in the world can't do.
As the morning progressed a bit, I became upset when my wife told me her car wouldn't start as the battery was dead - she'd have to use mine. Not for a second did I give thanks that we had two cars which enabled her to not miss her appointment.
All I described occurred in a relatively short period of time this morning and I'm sure there will be other things that transpire throughout the day that I forget to recognize, or give thanks for. Just as there will be tomorrow and the 364 days until next Thanksgiving Day.
It will also happen to all who read this.
I suppose it is human nature to complain when something doesn't meet our satisfaction, but should we reserve our gratitude for only one day a year? We all know the answer to this question. We just don't practice it.
Old Fart Mike
Over the years since, Thanksgiving Day has morphed into what it is today, a National Day of thanks for our many blessings - and on the lesser side of things, a day to stuff ourselves with Turkey and the many accompanying foods that make up our feast of the day; watch football; and prepare for the onslaught of "Black Friday", the horrendous start of Christmas gift buying.
As I awoke today, I thought of just how fortunate I - and my family are. Though none of us are wealthy, we live rather comfortably compared to the majority of the world. Yet, like most, I find myself complaining almost daily about some little thing or another. Today, it was about how cold it was outside when I walked down my driveway to get the morning newspaper. I temporarily forgot that I had this rather large home I lived in that sheltered me from the cold outside - a cold that many of our homeless had to face last night without any type of roof over their head.
I also didn't give a second thought to the fact that all I had to do was press a button and my garage door opened magically, thereby enabling me to avoid lifting that incredibly hefty door physically AND cutting the distance I had to walk to & from the paper in the driveway in half.
Nor did I think of the blessing I have in being able to afford to subscribe to the daily newspaper - instead of having to find a days-old one. Or, the fact, that I could read at all - something that many in the world can't do.
As the morning progressed a bit, I became upset when my wife told me her car wouldn't start as the battery was dead - she'd have to use mine. Not for a second did I give thanks that we had two cars which enabled her to not miss her appointment.
All I described occurred in a relatively short period of time this morning and I'm sure there will be other things that transpire throughout the day that I forget to recognize, or give thanks for. Just as there will be tomorrow and the 364 days until next Thanksgiving Day.
It will also happen to all who read this.
I suppose it is human nature to complain when something doesn't meet our satisfaction, but should we reserve our gratitude for only one day a year? We all know the answer to this question. We just don't practice it.
Old Fart Mike
Monday, November 22, 2010
November 22nd
"...all of us... will bear the grief of his death until the day of ours." - Adlai Stevenson
On November 22nd, 1963, the unthinkable happened. The President of the United States, a young, handsome, and witty man, with a beautiful wife, and two young children was assassinated. His name, of course, was John Fitzgerald Kennedy. He was the first Irish Catholic President ever elected to the highest office in the land.
I was a Senior in high school at the time when our principal, through the P.A. system announced that he had been shot. He then left the radio on so that all of the faculty and students could hear. It was early in Southern California where I grew up - and when the broadcaster announced that our President had died, at approximately 11:00 AM PST, everyone was simply stunned. We looked around at each other but none of us spoke.
Some of us, like myself, who idolized President Kennedy, were heartbroken. Word quickly was passed that an all-school assembly would take place shortly. I don't remember how much time elapsed until the entire student body, along with all members of the faculty assembled in our gym, but it was a grim and silent affair. The thing that stood out in my mind then - and still does now - was when one of our teachers, Mr. Lanzarotta, recited the Walt Whitman poem, "O Captain, My captain". Many in the assembled crowd couldn't help but sob. Others like myself, somehow held back the tears - until later.
We were released from school shortly afterward. But it was not with the glee that would usually follow an early dismissal from school. There was absolutely nothing to be happy about.
I arrived home to find a tearful grandmother with the Television on. Both my mom and dad arrived home at their normal times from work. They, likewise, were very upset, fighting back the tears. For one of the very few times I can ever remember, we ate while in front of the TV - a practice not ever condoned in our household. We spent most of our next three days in front of that television. Mealtimes too.
My family was an Irish Catholic one - just like JFK. So that was one of the reasons why I idolized him. I've often told people that, aside from family pictures and Jesus, Kennedy's was the only other person whose picture adorned the walls of my family home. The other reasons I suppose were many. He was the first President I ever really paid any attention to. I imagine that was because of my age - nearing adulthood. Also, because of his relative youth in comparison to the man he was replacing (Eisenhower). Other attributes that appealed to me were his incredible wit and beautiful wife and family.
He inspired many in my generation and his death - at least to me - was the beginning of the end of innocence. Only a few short years later, I volunteered for his brother, Bobby, who was running for President. His assassination was the final blow to my innocence.
The Kennedy brothers offered so much hope to us all back then. Yet today, 47 years later, JFK's assassination seems to merit only brief mentions in the newspapers. It doesn't seem to be as important as Justin Bieber winning awards at last nights American Music Awards show.
I suppose that is how life - and, eventually death - goes. But, for those of us who were around in those days, we will never forget where we were when we heard the news of the assassination of JFK.
Old Fart Mike
On November 22nd, 1963, the unthinkable happened. The President of the United States, a young, handsome, and witty man, with a beautiful wife, and two young children was assassinated. His name, of course, was John Fitzgerald Kennedy. He was the first Irish Catholic President ever elected to the highest office in the land.
I was a Senior in high school at the time when our principal, through the P.A. system announced that he had been shot. He then left the radio on so that all of the faculty and students could hear. It was early in Southern California where I grew up - and when the broadcaster announced that our President had died, at approximately 11:00 AM PST, everyone was simply stunned. We looked around at each other but none of us spoke.
Some of us, like myself, who idolized President Kennedy, were heartbroken. Word quickly was passed that an all-school assembly would take place shortly. I don't remember how much time elapsed until the entire student body, along with all members of the faculty assembled in our gym, but it was a grim and silent affair. The thing that stood out in my mind then - and still does now - was when one of our teachers, Mr. Lanzarotta, recited the Walt Whitman poem, "O Captain, My captain". Many in the assembled crowd couldn't help but sob. Others like myself, somehow held back the tears - until later.
We were released from school shortly afterward. But it was not with the glee that would usually follow an early dismissal from school. There was absolutely nothing to be happy about.
I arrived home to find a tearful grandmother with the Television on. Both my mom and dad arrived home at their normal times from work. They, likewise, were very upset, fighting back the tears. For one of the very few times I can ever remember, we ate while in front of the TV - a practice not ever condoned in our household. We spent most of our next three days in front of that television. Mealtimes too.
My family was an Irish Catholic one - just like JFK. So that was one of the reasons why I idolized him. I've often told people that, aside from family pictures and Jesus, Kennedy's was the only other person whose picture adorned the walls of my family home. The other reasons I suppose were many. He was the first President I ever really paid any attention to. I imagine that was because of my age - nearing adulthood. Also, because of his relative youth in comparison to the man he was replacing (Eisenhower). Other attributes that appealed to me were his incredible wit and beautiful wife and family.
He inspired many in my generation and his death - at least to me - was the beginning of the end of innocence. Only a few short years later, I volunteered for his brother, Bobby, who was running for President. His assassination was the final blow to my innocence.
The Kennedy brothers offered so much hope to us all back then. Yet today, 47 years later, JFK's assassination seems to merit only brief mentions in the newspapers. It doesn't seem to be as important as Justin Bieber winning awards at last nights American Music Awards show.
I suppose that is how life - and, eventually death - goes. But, for those of us who were around in those days, we will never forget where we were when we heard the news of the assassination of JFK.
Old Fart Mike
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Veterans Day
Yesterday, was the 235th birthday of the Marine Corps - and Today, of course, is Veterans Day. I happen to have T-shirts that my bride found for me bearing the Bulldog mascot and the USMC logo on it. I wore yesterday and am doing so again today.
Though I was fortunate enough not to have been shipped overseas to Viet Nam during my stint in the Corps, I knew many, many Marines who did go. Some didn't come back, and some did - though they came back changed - either physically, or mentally.
My dad was also a Marine. Unlike me, he enlisted in the Corps a month after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. He was almost 31 years old at the time; married; and, a father of two sons. He didn't have to enlist, yet felt it his patriotic duty, despite leaving his wife and two boys at home in Chicago to fend for themselves. At his age, he was called "Pops" in boot camp, because most of the rest of the recruits were at least 10 years younger than him.
My dad, after boot camp, fought in the Pacific. If you watched any of the recent HBO series "The Pacific", they spoke of the 5th Marines from time to time. That is the unit my father served in. He fought on Iwo Jima, Tinian, and Saipan and probably some other islands, both those are all either my brothers or I can remember.
My dad returned home finally sometime in 1945, the year before I was born. He was the victim of "Shell-Shock" or what they call today Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). According to what my brothers have told me, he spent several months in a military hospital in San Diego before they allowed him to come home to his family. They recall that he was indeed a different man upon arrival home. Shaking almost uncontrollably and nervous as hell, he would drop to the ground upon hearing a loud noise. His sleep and that of the family was interrupted virtually nightly by his screaming and crying. It took a while - don't know how long - for doctors to get this under control. Fortunately, by the time I was born and old enough to know anything, this by-product of too many battles had ceased.
However, like so many veterans of combat, he would never discuss much about it. About all I could get out of him was where he had fought and that it was awful. Though we lived in California from 1954 until he died in 1979, he would never even take my mom to Hawaii. He steadfastly refused, saying, "I've had enough of islands to last me the rest of my life."
The last couple of days I've been reflecting on Veterans, Wars, the Marines, and related things, so this one really hit home. My Dad's birthday was just a couple weeks ago too - October 23rd. Had he lived, he would've been 100, as we was born in 1910.
My time in the Corps was - after Boot Camp - just like having a poor-paying job. I lived on base at El Toro in Santa Ana, California - a mere 30 miles or so from my parents home. Had my own car and actually only had to stay on base one out of every four nights and one out of every four weekends, so, when I had something going - a date, a party, etc. - I just got in my car and took off. It was simply a minor inconvenience. However, the Unit I was with was a Helicopter Training Group.
What this meant to me was that my fellow Marines were either rookies, like me, or returned veterans from Viet Nam. The purpose of our Unit was to train the rookies to go over to Viet Nam. So, I had interaction with both. We lived in a barracks that was divided off into cubicles with 4 beds. In my particular cubicle I had 2 returned Vets and another rookie. In the cubicle directly across from us were 3 rookies and 1 vet. I was close friends with all of these guys. We were like brothers. 2 of the Vets had PTSD, including one in my cube, and I will never forget the night I took him to a party of my friends from work in L.A. He had flashbacks and refought the war for a long time, until I and a guy I used to work with brought him down and restrained him. Obviously, it ruined the night for him and the 30 or so Civilians that were there. He was a war hero too, which makes it even worse. He had received a Bronze Star for his heroic efforts during his tour in Viet Nam.
Two of the guys - the rookies - went to Nam, and never returned. One was a helicopter gunner (I was trained for this too, as a back-up - which they did to all the Clerk-typists, since these guys were getting killed so quickly), and the other was simply a "Grunt" or infantryman. One of the Vets went back for a 2nd tour and was KIA. Another of the "rookies" came back missing a leg, and at least one has PTSD. Don't know what happened to the others.
So many of the other guys I served with were so messed up after their combat tour, it wasn't funny.
I also remember one day, I was in uniform in downtown L.A., going to my former place of employment to visit my friends, and while crossing the street, having someone spit at me and yell out "Baby Killer!!"
The sad part of it all is that while I feel so blessed that I didn't have to go fight in Viet Nam, I've always felt a little guilty too. So many of my friends went and I, somehow, avoided it. So, while I served and am "Technically" a veteran, I never had to pay the price by fighting overseas in a war. I think about this from time to time, counting my blessings while fighting my guilt.
Though I was fortunate enough not to have been shipped overseas to Viet Nam during my stint in the Corps, I knew many, many Marines who did go. Some didn't come back, and some did - though they came back changed - either physically, or mentally.
My dad was also a Marine. Unlike me, he enlisted in the Corps a month after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. He was almost 31 years old at the time; married; and, a father of two sons. He didn't have to enlist, yet felt it his patriotic duty, despite leaving his wife and two boys at home in Chicago to fend for themselves. At his age, he was called "Pops" in boot camp, because most of the rest of the recruits were at least 10 years younger than him.
My dad, after boot camp, fought in the Pacific. If you watched any of the recent HBO series "The Pacific", they spoke of the 5th Marines from time to time. That is the unit my father served in. He fought on Iwo Jima, Tinian, and Saipan and probably some other islands, both those are all either my brothers or I can remember.
My dad returned home finally sometime in 1945, the year before I was born. He was the victim of "Shell-Shock" or what they call today Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). According to what my brothers have told me, he spent several months in a military hospital in San Diego before they allowed him to come home to his family. They recall that he was indeed a different man upon arrival home. Shaking almost uncontrollably and nervous as hell, he would drop to the ground upon hearing a loud noise. His sleep and that of the family was interrupted virtually nightly by his screaming and crying. It took a while - don't know how long - for doctors to get this under control. Fortunately, by the time I was born and old enough to know anything, this by-product of too many battles had ceased.
However, like so many veterans of combat, he would never discuss much about it. About all I could get out of him was where he had fought and that it was awful. Though we lived in California from 1954 until he died in 1979, he would never even take my mom to Hawaii. He steadfastly refused, saying, "I've had enough of islands to last me the rest of my life."
The last couple of days I've been reflecting on Veterans, Wars, the Marines, and related things, so this one really hit home. My Dad's birthday was just a couple weeks ago too - October 23rd. Had he lived, he would've been 100, as we was born in 1910.
My time in the Corps was - after Boot Camp - just like having a poor-paying job. I lived on base at El Toro in Santa Ana, California - a mere 30 miles or so from my parents home. Had my own car and actually only had to stay on base one out of every four nights and one out of every four weekends, so, when I had something going - a date, a party, etc. - I just got in my car and took off. It was simply a minor inconvenience. However, the Unit I was with was a Helicopter Training Group.
What this meant to me was that my fellow Marines were either rookies, like me, or returned veterans from Viet Nam. The purpose of our Unit was to train the rookies to go over to Viet Nam. So, I had interaction with both. We lived in a barracks that was divided off into cubicles with 4 beds. In my particular cubicle I had 2 returned Vets and another rookie. In the cubicle directly across from us were 3 rookies and 1 vet. I was close friends with all of these guys. We were like brothers. 2 of the Vets had PTSD, including one in my cube, and I will never forget the night I took him to a party of my friends from work in L.A. He had flashbacks and refought the war for a long time, until I and a guy I used to work with brought him down and restrained him. Obviously, it ruined the night for him and the 30 or so Civilians that were there. He was a war hero too, which makes it even worse. He had received a Bronze Star for his heroic efforts during his tour in Viet Nam.
Two of the guys - the rookies - went to Nam, and never returned. One was a helicopter gunner (I was trained for this too, as a back-up - which they did to all the Clerk-typists, since these guys were getting killed so quickly), and the other was simply a "Grunt" or infantryman. One of the Vets went back for a 2nd tour and was KIA. Another of the "rookies" came back missing a leg, and at least one has PTSD. Don't know what happened to the others.
So many of the other guys I served with were so messed up after their combat tour, it wasn't funny.
I also remember one day, I was in uniform in downtown L.A., going to my former place of employment to visit my friends, and while crossing the street, having someone spit at me and yell out "Baby Killer!!"
The sad part of it all is that while I feel so blessed that I didn't have to go fight in Viet Nam, I've always felt a little guilty too. So many of my friends went and I, somehow, avoided it. So, while I served and am "Technically" a veteran, I never had to pay the price by fighting overseas in a war. I think about this from time to time, counting my blessings while fighting my guilt.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
The Election
So yesterday marked the mid-term elections of 2010. As predicted by just about everyone - Republicans, Democrats, Tea-partiers, pundits, et al., the Republicans took back the House of Representatives, but narrowly missed out on recapturing the Senate. It was a landslide of sorts.
Here in the reddest of red states we became even redder. Virtually every state office is now held by Republicans from Governor to assessor. And the lowest majority was for the Governors race where the Republican candidate won by a mere 60-40 percentage. Take that you evil liberals/progressives/democrats!!
On the National scene, numerous Tea Party candidates won, but fortunately, we were spared by not having the wackiest of the wacky winning. The Witchcraft girl from Delaware who was unaware of the provisions of the First amendment lost, as did Sharon Anngle in Nevada. Those two would've had some trouble explaining their votes to people in the Senate, let alone their constituents.
Now, of course, it appears Mr. Man Tan will become Speaker of the House replacing Nancy Pelosi, the most hated of all Democrats by the Republicans (well, maybe not, after all there is a President named Barrack HUSSEIN Obama, and a Senate Majority leader named Harry Reid).
The question on my mind today is how the Republicans will view this election. Will they see it as a mandate for Republican Policy defeated so soundly just 2 years ago? Will they see it as a repudiation of Barrack Obama? If so, I suspect they will govern badly.
My belief is that this election was more about people being fed up with gridlock. I think our fellow citizens would simply like the two parties to finally quit spending so much time fighting each other and for once, put their energies together and do something jointly FOR the citizens of their country. Helluva concept, isn't it?
That was how Obama was elected - Hope and Change. And I think he really tried. But when the opposing party takes a position of "Just say no" to each and every thing that he proposes, "Hope" quickly fades, as does the ability to change. The biggest fault I see with Obama is he lost his ability - for whatever reason - to communicate to the American people after he became President.
The Republicans, on the other hand, have mastered the art of Public Relations and marketing. How else can you explain the fact that lower middle class people have bought into supporting tax cuts for the top 1% of income earners while their own earnings have dropped over the past decade? How else can you justify that this same class of citizens generally don't support financial reform? Or, while their health benefits are being cut, or eliminated by the corporations they work for (if they still have a job) they've been convinced that the health care reform that was passed is bad? Better yet, how can they believe that tax cuts for corporations - the same ones that send jobs overseas to save payroll - is a good thing?
And, of course, then there is the rising of the Tea Party. This has come about - supposedly - because of the TARP and stimulus programs enacted by W. and Obama in an effort to save a world wide collapse of the economy. According to the top economists, these programs averted TOTAL collapse. Had they NOT done so, a depression would have occurred that would have made the first Great depression look like childs play.
The Tea Party people claim they want to take their country back. From Whom? Do they have a clue about anything except raw anger? They don't want to pay taxes. OK, I understand that, but what about the services they get from the taxes that are paid? They are sure quick to support a strong defense. Do they really want to eliminate Social Security? Medicare? Gimme a break. Think before you speak. Slogans are nice, but don't vote for people based on them.
Well, I'm starting to just rant now, so I better end. But Okay, Republicans, the ball is back in your court after a VERY short absence. Though you didn't do very good with it when you had it, now it's your turn again.
Old Fart Mike
Here in the reddest of red states we became even redder. Virtually every state office is now held by Republicans from Governor to assessor. And the lowest majority was for the Governors race where the Republican candidate won by a mere 60-40 percentage. Take that you evil liberals/progressives/democrats!!
On the National scene, numerous Tea Party candidates won, but fortunately, we were spared by not having the wackiest of the wacky winning. The Witchcraft girl from Delaware who was unaware of the provisions of the First amendment lost, as did Sharon Anngle in Nevada. Those two would've had some trouble explaining their votes to people in the Senate, let alone their constituents.
Now, of course, it appears Mr. Man Tan will become Speaker of the House replacing Nancy Pelosi, the most hated of all Democrats by the Republicans (well, maybe not, after all there is a President named Barrack HUSSEIN Obama, and a Senate Majority leader named Harry Reid).
The question on my mind today is how the Republicans will view this election. Will they see it as a mandate for Republican Policy defeated so soundly just 2 years ago? Will they see it as a repudiation of Barrack Obama? If so, I suspect they will govern badly.
My belief is that this election was more about people being fed up with gridlock. I think our fellow citizens would simply like the two parties to finally quit spending so much time fighting each other and for once, put their energies together and do something jointly FOR the citizens of their country. Helluva concept, isn't it?
That was how Obama was elected - Hope and Change. And I think he really tried. But when the opposing party takes a position of "Just say no" to each and every thing that he proposes, "Hope" quickly fades, as does the ability to change. The biggest fault I see with Obama is he lost his ability - for whatever reason - to communicate to the American people after he became President.
The Republicans, on the other hand, have mastered the art of Public Relations and marketing. How else can you explain the fact that lower middle class people have bought into supporting tax cuts for the top 1% of income earners while their own earnings have dropped over the past decade? How else can you justify that this same class of citizens generally don't support financial reform? Or, while their health benefits are being cut, or eliminated by the corporations they work for (if they still have a job) they've been convinced that the health care reform that was passed is bad? Better yet, how can they believe that tax cuts for corporations - the same ones that send jobs overseas to save payroll - is a good thing?
And, of course, then there is the rising of the Tea Party. This has come about - supposedly - because of the TARP and stimulus programs enacted by W. and Obama in an effort to save a world wide collapse of the economy. According to the top economists, these programs averted TOTAL collapse. Had they NOT done so, a depression would have occurred that would have made the first Great depression look like childs play.
The Tea Party people claim they want to take their country back. From Whom? Do they have a clue about anything except raw anger? They don't want to pay taxes. OK, I understand that, but what about the services they get from the taxes that are paid? They are sure quick to support a strong defense. Do they really want to eliminate Social Security? Medicare? Gimme a break. Think before you speak. Slogans are nice, but don't vote for people based on them.
Well, I'm starting to just rant now, so I better end. But Okay, Republicans, the ball is back in your court after a VERY short absence. Though you didn't do very good with it when you had it, now it's your turn again.
Old Fart Mike
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