Fatherly Advice or How to Make Sure That They Don't Put Onions on Your Burger

It was crowded at Onie’s, the lakefront hamburger joint. This was a regular stop on our family boating excursions on the large lake we loved so much.  The lake boasted 525 miles of shoreline full of deep coves to explore.  Dad was always Captain. We would seek out glass surfaced coves for skiing and private spots to anchor and swim.  We would beach the boat on sandy, wooded islands and spend time hanging out with other boating enthusiasts. Mom might pack a picnic, or we would head to Onie’s place.

Dad had mastered the skill of smoothly docking the boat. My job for as far back as I can remember was to jump out of the boat onto the dock and grab the handrail on the bow to make sure we stopped in just the right place.  I knew how to do a quick and neat tie-off on the dock’s cleats. Boat secured, we headed into the grill pronounced Oh-Nies. That’s a long I and accent on first syllable.

Mom secured a table for us.  525 miles of shoreline and only two places you could dock your boat and eat!  It was packed and I was around ten years old.  I was painfully shy. I don’t mean to be cliché. It actually caused me physical pain to move outside my comfort zone and talk to strangers.  My stomach would clench, I would get shaky, and my muscles would tense.  My mother would gently ask that I say hello to whoever was addressing me, but my throat would dry up.  She would usually answer for me to save me the distress.

I walked to the counter with Dad. He always placed the orders.  He rattled off what the others wanted and then turned to me and said, “Tell him what you want.” Surprised that Dad was not ordering for me, my throat closed. There were people waiting behind us.  The short order cook was busy flipping burgers and dropping baskets of fries. The order taker looked impatiently at me as I remained silent.  Dad knew what I wanted. I looked at him with pleading eyes. He ordered for me.

Relief. Ahhhh. I can breathe.

We sat at the table and talked happily. I absorbed the excitement of people happy to be boating after long work weeks. The place was jammed and you would have to turn sideways to make your way between folks to leave, or use the restroom, or make your way to the counter.

The previously impatient counter guy shouted out our order number.  Dad squeezed his way through the crowd of hungry boaters to get the tray of food. He returned and Mom distributed the burgers, fries, and hot dogs. 

I was a picky eater.  When Dad had ordered my burger he had clearly said “No Onions”. As usual I immediately unwrapped the sandwich and opened the top bun to check that they got it right.  Nope. There on top of the meat was my standard mustard and catsup with tiny chopped up onions inextricably mixed in. I complained out-loud to my parents. Mom said to just scrape them off. Ugh, that never worked. “I can’t eat this”, I said. 

Then it happened. My father looked directly at me and said, “Take it back”. What?  He wanted me to go through that crowd of impatient and hungry people and ask for a new burger?? Yes, he did.  I pleaded with my father to do it for me.  I think that with my freeze-up at the counter being fresh in his mind, Dad decided this was a teachable moment.  He said that everyone else was happily enjoying their food and if I wanted to take the sandwich back, I would have to do it myself. Mom tried to volunteer to do it for me.  Dad drew a line in the sand. I was near tears. And then he said something that has stuck with me to this day.

Still looking directly into my eyes, Dad firmly said,” LeGette, you have to assert yourself.” He continued on with some tough love advice. “Have some self-confidence. They got your order wrong. Make them fix it.  You are going to have to stand up for yourself for the rest of your life. You can start now.”

I can’t say I was happy. Or that it was easy. I slid sideways between people and went to the counter, burger in hand, and shoved it forward. Impatient guy, “What’s wrong with it?”. I squeaked out “onions”. He grabbed back the sandwich, chunked it in the trash, and hollered out to the cook,” Hey idiot, I wrote NO ONIONS on this order!”.

Wow.  That felt kind of good.  They quickly corrected the issue.  I returned to the table with new sandwich in hand. Dad gave me a big smile and said, “Way to go, buddy!”. Now that felt great. My father is a master Dad.

Through the years he would use a similar method to show me how to navigate life. To be confident. To be a man. To be kind, but to stand up for myself.

Thank you Dad.

Pulse by the Numbers

Nine seconds

Twenty

Three months

Forty Weeks

Fifteen Hours

Seven months

12 months

18 months

Five years

Fifteen years

Sixteen years

Eighteen years

Twenty-one years

One hundred sixty to one hundred eighty

One and ninety-six one hundredths minutes

Fifty-three

Two billion three hundred sixty-six million seven hundred sixty-nine thousand four hundred fifty

It takes a couple on average three months to conceive life.

It takes Forty weeks to carry a baby to full term.

It takes an average of fifteen hours of labor to give birth.

It takes seven months for that baby to learn to crawl.

It takes 12 months on average for our children to start taking steps.

Your child needs eighteen months to begin talking.

We start kindergarten after five years of life.

We relish or regret our first kiss about fifteen years in.

It takes us sixteen years to enjoy the freedom of driving a car.

We earn the right to vote or fight for our country only after putting in a full eighteen years.

After twenty-one years we have finally earned the right to enter a nightclub 

and dance until dawn arrives.

A snapchat video made in Orlando 

is nine seconds long.

Snaps are meant to disappear.

In a nine second snap twenty shots from an AR-15 assault rifle can be heard.

The shots are being fired in a nightclub called Pulse.

The average pulse rate of people dancing is 160-180 beats per minute.

Twenty shots, Nine seconds.

That is just under two minutes to stop the pulses of fifty-three living, dancing, breathing humans. Forever.

 2,366,769,450 seconds each of those fifty-three beautiful people could have expected to live in a world without guns.

Finding Balance in a Wobbly World or Cell Phones in Heaven

It feels like the earth is wobbling on its axis. The stars don’t line up in the sky quite the way they used to. I need to get to the ocean so I can look at the horizon and make sure it’s still there. Is there still a sharp line that separates the ocean from the sky? Or has the sea begun to leak into the atmosphere blurring the delineation between heaven and earth? I need evidence that our world is not tumbling off course. I need assurance that the sun is still holding fast to us, not letting us slip from the safety of its gravitational embrace.

My mother died less than three months ago. I hadn’t realized that she was responsible for maintaining the balance of the earth. But it must be so, because since she has left everything seems off kilter.  I find myself searching for something to hold on to. Or someone to hold me so that I stay on my feet.

Who is going to hold out their arms to hug me every single time they see me? Who can I talk to on the phone every night? Who will be interested in my cholesterol levels or my blood pressure?  Who will tell me how I need to treat mouth ulcers or a scalp condition?  Who will take daily interest in every detail of the lives of my two daughters? Who will be promoting my wife’s next book to every person she encounters?  Who will risk driving everyone crazy to make sure that we all get together at the holidays as a family? And most importantly, who is going to tell me just how handsome I am? 

The answer to all these questions had always been “Mom”. 

A couple of weeks ago I had lunch with my brother and he said, “How can someone be here all this time, and in the next instant they are gone?” Exactly. I want to pick up the phone and ask her. Reading my thoughts, he says that they need cell phone service in heaven. I laugh, and later that day, imagine how the conversation would go if we could just make that call: “Well, that’s just ridiculous. I haven’t gone anywhere. I don’t know how in the world you could think that I would leave any of you. I can’t possibly go anywhere. There is too much to do.  I have to take care of things.”  But Mom, I would protest. I haven’t seen you in weeks. She would reply, “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. I’m right here. I haven’t gone anywhere. I don’t know what you are talking about.”

And as always, my mother is right. It is ridiculous. She has not left us. All I have to do is call and listen for her to answer.

I wrap up our phone conversation, “Thanks Mom. I’m really glad we talked. You made me feel better. I know that you haven’t gone anywhere. Ok. Bye, I love you.”

I want to call my brother and thank him for making me think of that question to ask Mom. I might not have called if he had not planted the suggestion. Who knew that there were cell phones in heaven?

Maybe when I wake up tomorrow I’ll remember that I can just call her whenever I want. She’ll tell me to use Peroxyl for the mouth ulcers and the Rite-Aid brand of dandruff shampoo. She’ll ask how my Doctor’s visit went. I’ll fill her in on what the girls are up to. She’ll ask when my wife’s next book is coming out. And she’ll tell me how proud she is of all of us and just how handsome I am.

Maybe tomorrow the earth will right itself. The stars will take their normal positions. Maybe the sun will shine a reminder my way telling me that it is holding fast to us, that we are safe,  and that my mother is just a phone call away.

She never left the place she had been all along. Our Hearts. 

"You think the dead we love ever truly leave us? You think that we don't recall them more clearly than ever in times of great trouble?" Albus Dumbledore, The Greatest Wizard to ever Live

The Wavering is the Hardest Part or Random Thoughts While Showering

Have you ever noticed that ideas come to you while you are in the shower?  Or fragmented thoughts come together very rapidly?  Maybe it's because we leave the distractions  behind. Or maybe the hot water forces us to relax and let our brain pay attention.

I am purposely posting the following directly to the blog. No editing. This is the product of ten minutes in the shower this morning. I have to get it out of my brain and on virtual paper because I need to run out the door to work.

Waves

I am wavering
on the beach
regarding the ocean
and it's mystery
Oh Ocean, how do I love thee?
Let me count the waves.
Sea waves send sound waves
magically across airwaves
to a drum in my ear
which sends pulsing waves
to my brain
brain waves are the currents
of neurons crashing
across synapses
saying to my body, my soul
"Relax, you are home."
For now I must leave you
and follow the tide out
and return in a year
to ponder the ontology
deep within your waves.
Today I must wave "goodbye."

Theme Song to The World has Gone Insane

Theme song to the Blog! HERE

Experimental Version HERE: LEGETTE attempts some bass and lead!!

Please comment on the version you like best. Or if you like either. Or if you like the sentment even if my musicianship is lacking.