Rites of Passage 11-6-2012
I remember it vividly; it was Christmas and dad and I were sitting at the kitchen table, solving the world's problems over a shot and a beer. The discussion was getting heated, as we started discussing how we would solve certain social issues. When the discussion turned to political parties, we found ourselves -- just as we were -- on opposite sides of the table. After my making a salient point, I could see dad's mind working doubly hard. He remained quiet and his face changed so much I thought he was in distress. Suddenly he smiled, reached out his hand to shake mine and announced, "Today, we are the same age."
I must admit I was not prepared for that.
What he meant was that he considered me his equal. I was still his son, but now he considered me an adult -- a man. He commented that he had co-workers my age, and he considered them men worthy of respect. He always gave me his love but, at that moment, he also gave me his respect.
That was a great day.
That day was like a rite of passage for me. From then on I was still the son, of course, and he was still the dad, but we were men who could discuss issues intelligently, taking sides, defending our position, and respectfully seeing the other's point of view. But that was only one rite of passage that defined my journey into manhood.
There was also the day I received my driver's license. We lived in a Snowbelt state, and dad would not let me drive alone, until I had skidded around a corner and buried the front end in a snow bank. We would get up before dawn and drive to the local parking lot. There, a huge pile of snow awaited us. He would tell me to slam on the brakes, while pulling hard to the right on the steering wheel. This would send the car into a skid, and the result would be that I would bury the front end in the snow bank. He would then exit the car, and watch as I tried to get out of the bank. Once I was able to get out by myself and avoid hitting anything in the process, I was pronounced "ready" for the privilege of driving on the road with him.
Then came the day it snowed and mom wanted something from the store. Dad tossed me the keys and announced: "Let the boy do it. He can drive like a man."
That was a great day too.
Men, what rites of passage did you pass through on your way to manhood? What rites of passage do you bestow on your sons?
I must admit I was not prepared for that.
What he meant was that he considered me his equal. I was still his son, but now he considered me an adult -- a man. He commented that he had co-workers my age, and he considered them men worthy of respect. He always gave me his love but, at that moment, he also gave me his respect.
That was a great day.
That day was like a rite of passage for me. From then on I was still the son, of course, and he was still the dad, but we were men who could discuss issues intelligently, taking sides, defending our position, and respectfully seeing the other's point of view. But that was only one rite of passage that defined my journey into manhood.
There was also the day I received my driver's license. We lived in a Snowbelt state, and dad would not let me drive alone, until I had skidded around a corner and buried the front end in a snow bank. We would get up before dawn and drive to the local parking lot. There, a huge pile of snow awaited us. He would tell me to slam on the brakes, while pulling hard to the right on the steering wheel. This would send the car into a skid, and the result would be that I would bury the front end in the snow bank. He would then exit the car, and watch as I tried to get out of the bank. Once I was able to get out by myself and avoid hitting anything in the process, I was pronounced "ready" for the privilege of driving on the road with him.
Then came the day it snowed and mom wanted something from the store. Dad tossed me the keys and announced: "Let the boy do it. He can drive like a man."
That was a great day too.
Men, what rites of passage did you pass through on your way to manhood? What rites of passage do you bestow on your sons?
Thank You 11-13-12
I watched her as she approached the door. With her youngest resting comfortably in the stroller, she pushed with one hand, her older daughter being reined in by her other hand. I waited and watched, as she calculated how to keep control of her children, while opening the door.
Then I stepped up. I swung the door wide and held it open. Her smile said it even before the words, "Thank you."
As I passed her in the aisle, I nodded a "you're welcome," and returned to my shopping. But her smile stayed with me: such a simple act was received with so much gratitude. I liked that.
Over the years I have been the recipient of unexpected kindnesses, so I can relate to her feeling of gratitude. I remember the time the mechanic checked out the engine, when the "Check Engine" light came on. He announced it was a loose gas cap: no worries, no charge. I recall the time the gate agent called me forward and asked if bumping me to first class would be all right, allowing a couple to travel together. I recall the time one driver stopped a line of traffic, so I could make a left-hand turn. This good deed allowed me to arrive at the hospital emergency room just as the ambulance crew wheeled her into an examination room. The "thank you" I spoke seemed so inadequate compared to the gratitude I felt, but it was all I had.
Sometimes we forget to thank those who offer an act of kindness to us. We do this without thinking; we simply forget. Perhaps we can seek out and thank those who offer us an act of kindness. Perhaps we can thank those whose profession it is to serve: the pastor, the teacher, the military person, the police officer, or the fireman. And then there are still others who offer a service to us -- the mail carrier, the bus driver, the company janitor, the store clerk, the DMV associate -- folks who often go unnoticed and unappreciated, doing their work for a public that often doesn't acknowledge the value of what they do.
I have tried to make a habit of thanking those who have offered me a word of kindness or concern, or who have given me the gift of their time, effort or service.
And thinking of that, allow me to thank you. You have given me the gift of time as you read this. It is appreciated.
Thank you also for all you're doing to be a model man in today's difficult world. It's a world where thank-yous may be in short supply, but that's the funny thing: when you do the right thing, it has a way of making you feel good anyway.
Then I stepped up. I swung the door wide and held it open. Her smile said it even before the words, "Thank you."
As I passed her in the aisle, I nodded a "you're welcome," and returned to my shopping. But her smile stayed with me: such a simple act was received with so much gratitude. I liked that.
Over the years I have been the recipient of unexpected kindnesses, so I can relate to her feeling of gratitude. I remember the time the mechanic checked out the engine, when the "Check Engine" light came on. He announced it was a loose gas cap: no worries, no charge. I recall the time the gate agent called me forward and asked if bumping me to first class would be all right, allowing a couple to travel together. I recall the time one driver stopped a line of traffic, so I could make a left-hand turn. This good deed allowed me to arrive at the hospital emergency room just as the ambulance crew wheeled her into an examination room. The "thank you" I spoke seemed so inadequate compared to the gratitude I felt, but it was all I had.
Sometimes we forget to thank those who offer an act of kindness to us. We do this without thinking; we simply forget. Perhaps we can seek out and thank those who offer us an act of kindness. Perhaps we can thank those whose profession it is to serve: the pastor, the teacher, the military person, the police officer, or the fireman. And then there are still others who offer a service to us -- the mail carrier, the bus driver, the company janitor, the store clerk, the DMV associate -- folks who often go unnoticed and unappreciated, doing their work for a public that often doesn't acknowledge the value of what they do.
I have tried to make a habit of thanking those who have offered me a word of kindness or concern, or who have given me the gift of their time, effort or service.
And thinking of that, allow me to thank you. You have given me the gift of time as you read this. It is appreciated.
Thank you also for all you're doing to be a model man in today's difficult world. It's a world where thank-yous may be in short supply, but that's the funny thing: when you do the right thing, it has a way of making you feel good anyway.
Say Hello 11-20-2012
As we all know the calendar has become increasingly crowded with special days to commemorate this or that. Beyond the holidays honoring presidents, religious observances, military victories, ethnicities and civil causes, there are fun days like Valentine's Day, Halloween, Groundhog Day, and World Hello Day. That's right: World Hello Day. Founded as a day to make the world a friendlier place, November 21 is the day to dazzle that friend or co-worker by telling them hello. Now for those interested in promoting world peace and cross-cultural relations this could be done with an hola! a guten Tag! or an ahlan wasahlan! Then again, if Spanish, German or Arabic pronunciation worries have got you down, fear not! A simple "hullo" will do too.
Celebrated by people in more than 180 countries, World Hello Day began in 1973 in response to the Yom Kippur War between Israel and a coalition of Arab states. Its objective is simple: greet ten or more people on November 21. And the rationale driving this outlandish behavior? It's nothing less than the far-fetched notion that somehow personal, one-to-one communication is an important starting place for promoting world peace or -- if nothing else -- at least a little bit of goodwill. This annual day of smiles is the brainchild of brothers Brian and Michael McCormack, graduates, respectively, of Arizona State University and Harvard.
This simplest of gestures has been recognized by some pretty good company too. Thirty-one winners of the Nobel Peace Prize have acknowledged the value of World Hello Day, as an instrument for promoting peace and enhancing relationships between people everywhere. Now if you think about it, saying hello is not that big a deal, really. Yet, it's funny how a wave, a smile, even a nod cuts through our typical standoffishness like a knife through warm butter. Such is the power of this most basic of civilities that it seems to have a disarming quality about it. It's just a hello, but it's often a surprise to the person receiving it.
Cast a few out this Wednesday, and see what you get in return. You just might be surprised yourself.
Celebrated by people in more than 180 countries, World Hello Day began in 1973 in response to the Yom Kippur War between Israel and a coalition of Arab states. Its objective is simple: greet ten or more people on November 21. And the rationale driving this outlandish behavior? It's nothing less than the far-fetched notion that somehow personal, one-to-one communication is an important starting place for promoting world peace or -- if nothing else -- at least a little bit of goodwill. This annual day of smiles is the brainchild of brothers Brian and Michael McCormack, graduates, respectively, of Arizona State University and Harvard.
This simplest of gestures has been recognized by some pretty good company too. Thirty-one winners of the Nobel Peace Prize have acknowledged the value of World Hello Day, as an instrument for promoting peace and enhancing relationships between people everywhere. Now if you think about it, saying hello is not that big a deal, really. Yet, it's funny how a wave, a smile, even a nod cuts through our typical standoffishness like a knife through warm butter. Such is the power of this most basic of civilities that it seems to have a disarming quality about it. It's just a hello, but it's often a surprise to the person receiving it.
Cast a few out this Wednesday, and see what you get in return. You just might be surprised yourself.
The Best Gift 11-27-2012
The brothers gathered together to survey the room full of goods. Mom and dad had wanted all of their possessions to be divided among their children and it was now time. A plan was formulated that would ensure that each sibling would receive that which had meaning to him or his family. Some pieces were easy - gifts that had been given reverted back to the original giver, the organ would be passed on to the organ player, and since there were three brothers, any collection was divided three ways.
The day grew long as each item brought forth a time of remembering. "Do you remember when Dad brought that home?" "I can still see mom's smile when she was able to buy that." More stories were shared than items divided - but that was the nature of the day.
One box held a pleasant surprise - mom had saved every one of dad's letters to her. They were engaged to be married, but the war interrupted their plans. He donned the uniform and was stationed in Europe - part of a medical unit that treated frontline casualties. She stayed home and worked in a factory, buying war bonds and collecting items for the war effort. Each sacrificed for the good of the other, and shared their life in letters. He shared what he could about his days, careful not to reveal war-sensitive information; she sharing what she could about her days, careful not to reveal any upsetting information.
The brothers sat down and started through the box. The prose bespoke their heartache of separation, their devotion to each other, and their willingness to sacrifice for the good of the country. But most of all they shared their hopes and dreams for the future - a time of peace, a time of family, a time of love. They left a legacy of love and courage to their children.
Men, when was the last time you wrote your wife a love letter? There is something about taking a pen to paper and pouring out your heart's feelings that is special - both for you and for her. You don't have to be a polished writer, just heartfelt and honest. If the very thought of her brings a smile to your lips, then tell her that. If you can't wait to see her at the end of a hard day, tell her that. If you love the way she laughs, her cooking, or how she cries at movies - tell her that.
Mom and Dad were not writers, but they wrote from their heart. Mom tied a blue ribbon around her letters, dad kept his in a cigar box, but both read and reread them many times. Every now and then one was tear-stained, or folded over to fit in a pocket, but all were saved for a lifetime.
Guys, there is no time like now to write a letter.
The day grew long as each item brought forth a time of remembering. "Do you remember when Dad brought that home?" "I can still see mom's smile when she was able to buy that." More stories were shared than items divided - but that was the nature of the day.
One box held a pleasant surprise - mom had saved every one of dad's letters to her. They were engaged to be married, but the war interrupted their plans. He donned the uniform and was stationed in Europe - part of a medical unit that treated frontline casualties. She stayed home and worked in a factory, buying war bonds and collecting items for the war effort. Each sacrificed for the good of the other, and shared their life in letters. He shared what he could about his days, careful not to reveal war-sensitive information; she sharing what she could about her days, careful not to reveal any upsetting information.
The brothers sat down and started through the box. The prose bespoke their heartache of separation, their devotion to each other, and their willingness to sacrifice for the good of the country. But most of all they shared their hopes and dreams for the future - a time of peace, a time of family, a time of love. They left a legacy of love and courage to their children.
Men, when was the last time you wrote your wife a love letter? There is something about taking a pen to paper and pouring out your heart's feelings that is special - both for you and for her. You don't have to be a polished writer, just heartfelt and honest. If the very thought of her brings a smile to your lips, then tell her that. If you can't wait to see her at the end of a hard day, tell her that. If you love the way she laughs, her cooking, or how she cries at movies - tell her that.
Mom and Dad were not writers, but they wrote from their heart. Mom tied a blue ribbon around her letters, dad kept his in a cigar box, but both read and reread them many times. Every now and then one was tear-stained, or folded over to fit in a pocket, but all were saved for a lifetime.
Guys, there is no time like now to write a letter.