Boomer Journey…

Do you remember the first time you heard this song by The Beatles?  I was at the cusp of adolescence in the mid-1960s, wondering what life was going to be like when I turned 64.  Sixty-Four was way off in the future and I had little time nor interest to think about growing old.  Fast forward to 2020…  I just turned 64.  Aches and pains.  A fraction of the strength I had at half this age when I was once as strong as a bull moose.

These days, I think about growing old—a lot…

And yes, I really am 64.

The way we think at 14 is considerably different than how we think at 64.  When we are young, we don’t have the experience and wisdom we will have gained by age 64.  The wisdom and experience we have at this age come from a culmination of things we’ve been through over a lifetime.

Kind of like a slow cooker.

It’s like being five and being told “don’t touch the stove, it’s hot…” and knowing the darned thing is HOT at 64.  Sixty-Four is a mixed blessing of wisdom and the depressing nature of growing old.  At 64, you’re a survivor and hopefully have kept your mistakes to a minimum.  With any luck, you are surrounded by people who love and admire you who will always stand by you even if you’re slumped over in a wheelchair.

I’ve always had a soft spot for the elderly—probably because I was raised by and hung out with old people when I was growing up.  I am also sensitive to the vulnerability of the elderly and little children.   I lived in an apartment complex in Arlington, Virginia across from Fort Myer overlooking the Potomac.  In those days, there were plenty of federal retirees who were enjoying the benefits of the Federal Housing Act with a nice place to live.  I had the good fortune of an incredible grandfather, Lt. Paul Proctor, who was retired from The White House Police Force (Secret Service).  He was tough, but also kind and gentle with a little boy who had thousands of questions.

With great patience, my granddaddy answered my questions and showed me the ropes.  When I had questions, he had answers.  “Granddaddy, what holds water in a toilet bowl?”  He’d respond, “A toilet bowl is like an elbow, like the trap like you see under the sink, only it is made of china…  It holds water…”  He understood the raw curiosity of a little boy and took the time to explain.  My sister and I felt safe with my grandmother and grandfather.  They took care of us during some very tough times.

My grandfather was well read, experienced—and had been through a lot.  He was a man of great faith and suggested we practice the same.  I knew every church in Arlington, Virginia because he made the rounds and knew everyone.  By the time I arrived in 1956, he was 62, old and sick from a heart attack and colon cancer.  He lived another 10 years and died at age 72 on a spring evening in 1966.  He will be forever missed and his positive affect on my sister and me will be forever felt.

When I think of being 64, I think of the values we were taught growing up.  Simple courtesies lost to the winds through time.  My grandfather was an extraordinary mentor and the quintessential gentleman.  He always reminded us the magic words were “Please” and “Thank You.”  There were no exceptions to this rule.  You just did as he suggested.

Not enough of that today I am afraid.

There were simple telephone courtesies that were extended to my mother who passed them along to us.  My mother was a stickler for telephone courtesy.   “May I please speak to…” and “One moment, please…” were to be practiced anytime we used the telephone.  Anytime I called someone and said, “Is so and so there?”  I was promptly corrected and informed how to ask for someone.  My mother was an operator at the Chesapeake & Potomac Telephone Company, also known as C & P.  She had telephone etiquette down to a science and you had better remember that.

My mother also practiced the King’s English.  It’s like fingers on a chalkboard whenever I hear people speak—or attempt to speak—today.  Our language is so trashed from what it used to be.  It has become the norm.   Whenever I hear a news anchor end a sentence with a preposition—example, “this is where it’s at…” my mind spins off the rails.  Another one is, “I’m all done now…”  My mother always said, “Cakes are done, people are FINISHED…”  I’ve never forgotten her command of the English language and how important it was.  It formed who I am now.

It also leaves a lasting impression of who you are.

I find myself comparing the way we were brought up in the 20^th century the way kids are brought up now—and wonder whatever happened to society.   We’ve lost those simple courtesies my grandfather and my mother practiced.  What’s more, we’ve become decidedly foul-mouthed.  Hearing a news anchor say “shit” on national network news was an eye-opener recently when even “damn” was unheard of at one time.  My grandfather didn’t even care for the word “guy” when we were kids.

I can lament how I’d like to see us return to a different time when people understood the practice of respectful disagreement.  However, society has become so polarized we’ve managed to put aside common decency and regard for one another.  We’re downright nasty with anyone who doesn’t agree with us.   Politicians have become stunningly disrespectful with the American people and with each other.  Corruption is the worst we’ve ever seen from Washington.  Sound bites from Washington resemble a heated confrontation on the Jerry Springer Show or Maury.  People attack one another instead of having a civilized discussion.  But then, it just wouldn’t be entertainment were it not for conflict.  Haven’t we seen enough reality TV?

As my former mother-in-law, Lucile, so often said, “Don’t let them tell you how to act…”

As I crest 64, I think of that song and its words a lifetime ago.  I suppose a lot of us do.  It gives me food for thought on a hot summer night when I reflect on what my elders taught me long ago.  As my granddaddy so often said, “If you’ve nothing kind to say – say nothing at all…”

 

When I’m Sixty-Four

When I get older losing my hair
Many years from now
Will you still be sending me a Valentine
Birthday greetings bottle of wine

If I’d been out till quarter to three
Would you lock the door
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I’m sixty-four

You’ll be older too
And if you say the word
I could stay with you

I could be handy, mending a fuse
When your lights have gone
You can knit a sweater by the fireside
Sunday mornings go for a ride
Doing the garden, digging the weeds
Who could ask for more

Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I’m sixty-four

Every summer we can rent a cottage
In the Isle of Wight, if it’s not too dear
We shall scrimp and save…

Every summer we can rent a cottage
In the Isle of Wight, if it’s not too dear
We shall scrimp and save
Grandchildren on your knee
Vera, Chuck and Dave

Send me a postcard, drop me a line
Stating point of view
Indicate precisely what you mean to say
Yours sincerely, wasting away

Give me your answer, fill in a form
Mine for evermore
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I’m sixty-four

Paul McCartney

When you’ve been around for as long as most of us have, you’ve learned a thing or two from life’s long journey.  I hope by now you’ve landed in a good spot as you cruise into retirement and are surrounded by good people.

I can tell you I am surrounded by a great family and friends who’ve been by my side through the good times and bad.  They’ve stayed.  They’ve been supportive.  They’ve always found a way to lend a hand.  I will admit to you I’ve gained and certainly learned more from my failures than I have my successes.  Pain teaches.  Pain leaves a lasting indelible impression that hopefully keeps us from making the same mistakes again.  With dumb luck and common sense, we glean something positive from adversity.

Human interaction is a tricky thing.  There are people with whom we have great chemistry and there are those we wish we’d never met.  I’ve had both.  I bet you have too.  This brings me to the point of this Boomer Journey.

What keeps us searching for elements in people that are not there?  What keeps us chasing unhealthy relationships?  What do you do when you reach out to a friend and you’re met with the sound of crickets?  I think, by nature, we want what we cannot have.  You know this is true.  Relationships go off the rails with our expectations of others.  This applies to acquaintances, friends, our children, a significant other, neighbors, our parents, cousins, siblings, coworkers, a cruising buddy, business partner, the mailman, your plumber, the gardener, your boss, and just about anyone else you can think of.

The list becomes endless because relationships we develop over a lifetime are infinite totaling hundreds and sometimes thousands depending upon how well traveled you’ve been.  I will tell you what I’ve learned from a lifetime of both rock solid and badly broken relationships.  True friends and family are those who have stuck with me through thick and thin—friends I’ve known a lifetime and even those I’ve known a relatively short time.

They’ve stayed.

Great friends are those you never have to chase.  They call.  They show up.  They reach out without having to be reminded.  Just when you’re beginning to give up on life, they call to remind you of how much you are needed.  Marvin McAfee, 87, a wise old curmudgeon and dear friend, said to me, “If you have to chase anyone, to remind them to remember you, what for?”  Marvin had been around long enough to know what mattered and—what didn’t.  He understood true friendship is free choice.  Be in a relationship because you want to be there—not because you feel like you have to.

By the time, you crest the age of 60, it is good to inventory the relationships you have and ascertain their value.  Are they healthy or are they toxic?  Are you struggling with a friendship and why?  A great relationship works like a well-oiled machine and fits like a Brooks Brothers suit.  It works well even if you don’t agree on everything.  You find peace with each other and look forward to the times you spend together.  Under the best of circumstances, you can’t get enough of one another.

Toxic relationships, on the other hand, are long on struggle.  They make us apprehensive and on edge, wondering what’s next.  They’ve become an unhealthy habit.  You feed off one another and not in a healthy way.  They’ve learned how to push your buttons and you’ve learned how to push theirs.

Is this the way you’d like to spend the rest of your life?

Has a friendship become toxic?

Or—was it always?

As we continue this journey together, it is time to pause, reflect, and continue looking ahead—with less attention paid to regrets and uncomfortable memories.  It is time for you to get focused and begin working on new memories and healthy relationships.  One of the best ways to feel better about life is giving back.  Volunteer work where you’re helping those less fortunate is a good way to feel better about yourself.  Veterans, the elderly (shut-ins), young people in need of a great mentor, the poor and destitute, the homeless, battered and abused animals—you name the cause.  The list of ways you can help others (and yourself) is endless, even if it’s helping a neighbor who could use a good friend.  Reach out and ask how you can help.  There are many organizations and individuals who could use your help and your heart.

The best way to open the door to the rest of your life is to open it and examine the possibilities.  If volunteer work or a second career isn’t your bag, consider something you’ve always wanted to do but never had the time or money to do.  Book that trip to Europe or Australia.  Consider driving across North America.  Canada and Mexico are right next door depend upon where you live.  Put a fresh coat of paint on your house or apartment.  Load up the CD player with the music you grew up with.  No matter how old you are, it will make you feel young.

The best way to look at this time in your life is for the opportunity it presents.  You are, with any luck, retired or perhaps dependent on a part-time job.  This is the time to spread your wings and fly.  Imagine yourself on an aircraft carrier at the end of a catapult.  Then, mentally launch with a fresh mind and new dreams.

 

Remember when you were a snot-nosed kid and knew if you misbehaved someone in the neighborhood would tell your parents?  I grew up in a suburban neighborhood like that.  Our neighborhood became my first lesson in obeying the rules of society.  One chilly night in the 1960’s when I was about 12, a buddy of mine and I were banging on the side of a neighbor’s house just for fun—then—ran and hid in the darkness of my back yard.  We weren’t smart enough to know when to stop, of course.  Nope—we just kept doing it—laughing hysterically in the chilly autumn darkness.

My neighbor would come outside looking for us and we were well hidden.

Giggling—we came out from hiding and my neighbor was waiting for us.  He stopped us in our tracks.  We were scolded for our misdeed and told never to do it again.  “Off the hook,” I naively thought.  Not a chance.  The next day, my neighbor knocked on our front door and wanted to speak to my father.  That was the one-two punch from my neighbor, who had relocated from New York to Maryland and knew all the tricks—including getting my ol’ man involved.  He wanted justice served—and it was.  My posterior became scorched earth—which was plenty of incentive never to do it again.

The ol’ man was never big on warnings.  I got clobbered and it was a very effective discipline tool.  When I was too old for a spanking, I was grounded and forbidden to go anywhere—for the rest of my life.  Once I was of legal driving age, he took the car keys whenever I didn’t obey the rules.  There were consequences for bad behavior, and my sisters and I knew it.  No Twinkie defense or claiming I was having a rough day.  My father always knew how to make a rough day rougher.

No second chances.

When we were growing up, there was none of this “three strikes and you’re out” stuff.  If you acted up, you got spanked and were confined to quarters.  This approach to child rearing spawned more responsible law-abiding citizens and safer communities.  We were raised to understand stepping out of line meant consequences.  My folks didn’t want me to be a problem for society later—and it worked.

So, tell me—when did right become wrong and wrong become right?  When did we reverse polarity and behaving like a jerk became the norm?  And—when did we become armed with all kinds of lame ass excuses for bad behavior?  When did the police go from being the good guys to being abandoned by society?

When we were growing up, we were instructed to obey the law.  This was especially important when we received our driver’s licenses.  If we got a ticket, car keys got taken and we were instructed to walk—to school and everywhere else.  It was a fate worse than death having to tell your friends you were grounded.  It was easier to say, “My car broke down…” rather than tell your buddies you were under house arrest.

What changed between then and now?  Have baby boomers been guilty of not teaching our kids the same values we were taught?  Have we been too busy working excessive hours, building careers, and buying vacation homes?  This will naturally offend some of you because you know it is true.  It hits a little too close to home.  Did you spend enough time with your kids?  I can tell you I personally haven’t committed enough time to my kids, and they have suffered as a result.  Kids need parents and they’ve needed us.  That said, what happened between The Greatest Generation and us?

If the Greatest Generation was guilty of anything, it was wanting us to live in a better world than they did.  They wanted us to have more and made it easier for us.  They didn’t want us to struggle like they did growing up in the Great Depression.  They wanted us to live in a more stable world than they did.  What’s more—they succeeded in giving us just that—the peace of a good night’s sleep.

When we were growing up, there was normally a stay-at-home parent waiting for us when we came home from school—someone to offer us a snack and get us busy with homework right after Popeye and Three Stooges Show.  Where I grew up in Washington, D.C. we had Captain Tugg (Lee Reynolds), Fantail, and Bill Gormly at WTTG Metromedia 5 as good role models.  “Don’t do this at home, Kids…” they told us.  We also had Captain Kangaroo in the mornings to show us how it was done with his grandfatherly kindness.  There were “Leave It to Beaver” and “Dennis The Menace” reruns in syndication with good moral messages.  We learned from Beaver’s lesson, got on with our lives, and played outside until the streetlights came on.

When did society begin to break down and why are we in the mess we’re in?  As children, we were always instructed to obey and respect Officer Mike.  Officer Mike was our friend and we were instructed to respect him and what he represented.  We were also told to respect the law and do as instructed by a law enforcement officer.  Hands on the steering wheel at 10 and 2 and wait for instructions.  No confusion.  Nothing to really understand.  Just do as you are told.  “License and registration, please…”

Can anyone explain to me how doing as instructed by law enforcement became, “I don’t have to do what you order me to do—I know my Constitutional rights!”  You kidding me?  You’re going to tell a police officer how it is and what you will and won’t do?  Someone who puts their life on the line everyday to ensure your safety who would take a bullet for you.  Then—when you’re faced with a home invasion robbery at 2 a.m. and you expect them to rush in and save you?

Sorry friends—can’t have it both ways.  Respect for the law and law enforcement is something to be practiced 24/7 with no time off.  Law enforcement, despite bad cops, has earned our respect because it has maintained law and order for centuries.  Too many officers are dying today because society has gone off the rails and the streets have become dangerous.  Yet, there are those who suggest we defund the police and disband police departments.  It just doesn’t work that way regardless of which side of the fence you’re on.  We need the police—and they need our support.

Perhaps, you don’t see a need for the police.  Okay…  Well, consider this.  What would happen if you were in trouble and there were no police to come?  Imagine if we didn’t have the police.  What then?  Good cops have always taken the rap for bad cops.  There are far more good cops than there are bad.  Yet—bad cops get all the attention and society and the media tend to feed on it.  Somewhere in our minds, we treasure the idea of doing what we want when we want.  It’s secret fantasy with a lot of us.  It’s like when the parents were away when we were kids.  That worked until something went terribly wrong and you were in trouble when the parents got home.

We don’t honor good cops enough—the ones who go above and beyond the call of duty to serve and protect us.  When I think of committed peace officers, I think of Sergeant Steve Owen, who was a 29-year veteran of the Los Angeles County Sheriffs Department.  He served the people of Los Angeles County for most of his adult life and was very committed to public safety. Owen was answering a burglary call in the Los Angeles suburb of Lancaster on the high desert when he was met with gunfire and killed execution style by a California prison parolee with a long criminal history.

Sergeant Steve Owen is but one example of a great law enforcement professional and humanitarian who was gunned down in the line of duty who served us for three decades.  This is how dangerous the streets have become for law enforcement.  To survive, a cop cannot always wait for the right moment to fire a weapon or tackle a suspect.  Wait and you get maimed or killed.  This is split-second life or death decision.  How many of you could do it?  I don’t know about you, but I couldn’t think that fast.

I also don’t sport that much self-control either.  I’d answer a child abuse call or a domestic violence situation and I’m not sure I could contain myself.  That would make me a lousy cop wouldn’t it?  It takes an extraordinary soul to be a good cop.  Sergeant Steve Owen was one such person.  He did it very well and for a long time when he was robbed of his life on what seemed a routine burglary call.

I will never support police brutality and the maiming and killing of citizens in the heat of anger and rage.  What happened to George Floyd in Minneapolis should never have happened to anyone.  Floyd’s history aside, nothing justified the actions of Minneapolis Police Officer Derek Chauvin, who knelt on Floyd’s neck for more than eight minutes while the man begged for his life and died.

Change in law enforcement must come from within via extensive screening, discipline for officers who are chronic abusers, and better pay and benefits for officers and their families.  It is becoming harder and harder to recruit good people because it has become more dangerous out there and there’s little incentive to step up.

Back when we were kids, the streets were dangerous for law enforcement, but not like they are today.  There has never been a more dangerous time to be a cop.  Not only has it become more dangerous for the police, they are lacking support from the public, government, and the media.  It is time to adjust our thinking.  They need our support as much as we need them every day.  Law enforcement must become a priority and taken seriously.  Otherwise, imagine a world without the police.

 

I hate to be such a pest…however, it’s time for a reminder.

While you’re sipping your morning coffee and bellyaching about having to wear a mask or having to stay at home or not being able to take that cruise or long-awaited vacation – or because Costco is out of toilet paper – consider the bigger sacrifices made to ensure we get to breathe free. Consider how much Americans had to do without during WWII and the Great Depression – and consider for moment how fortunate we are today.  We’re not dealing with extensive shortages, paper and rubber drives, gas rationing, or blackouts.

We have it damned good.

No one really wants to be reminded of it – but, times have been way tougher and for far longer than we’ve had to endure this year. We’ve had a few months of inconvenience, hardships, and what I consider small disappointments considering what previous generations have been through. WWII hit overnight. Men – largely – were whisked off to war in two theaters a world apart. All we had was the mail to keep in touch if it came at all.

Telephone?  Forget it…

We did without our loved ones for four long years. Many never came home. They were laid to rest in foreign lands – or there wasn’t enough left of them to honor and bury. Thousands came home permanently damaged physically and mentally – for life. They wept for what they lost in battle. They grieved their losses in ways none of us can fathom. A whole bunch of them built the America we have today. If you bump into someone in their latter years wearing a hat honoring their unit – give thanks and be grateful for the sacrifices they made for all of us.

If you are suddenly unemployed, I feel your pain. My prayers are always with each of you in hopes your lives improve and you can get back on the rails. I have been through layoffs and I have had my share of financial hardship in a lifetime. I find it is best to pause and count my blessings because I have many.

Bask in the glow of your blessings. Thank God for the people who love and need you. It is good to be needed – even when you’d like to escape to the closet and scream. Take an accounting of how fortunate we are as free Americans.

Stop all this political infighting and remember – we are AMERICANS. We are free due to the incredible sacrifices The Greatest Generation – and millions of our ancestors made to make a better world for us. Close your eyes. Say a prayer. And, remember those who are out there all over the place working hard to keep our world a safer place.

Cops, Firefighters, Men & Women in the armed forces, and healthcare professionals working grueling hours around the clock without time off – just for us. For humanity…

Don’t let the headlines sour you on law enforcement. There are way more good cops than bad ones. Every time a police officer dies or is maimed for life in the line of duty, a piece of us dies.

And one more thing – why are the races battling one another? We’re born to this world as we are in all our colors and beliefs. Let us not forget those who’ve paved the way toward less racism and equality. God bless all of them. In America – we’re all supposed to be created equal. Let us stop dwelling on the wrongs of our ancestors and – instead – focus on what has been done right.  They left us the greatest element of all – freedom.

Gang – the Post War years have been the best in our Nation’s history. We just have to keep working at what we’re supposed to be as our founding fathers envisioned. Their vision wasn’t perfect and we remain a work in progress. We’re known around the world for our never ending self examination. Let us remain the safe haven we’ve always been for those who come from troubled lands yearning to breathe free.

Let’s keep pressing toward the mark…

Ever find yourself wishing for a time when there wasn’t the information overload we’re experiencing today?  To be honest with you, I am in news burnout.  Heard and watched all I can stand.  Everywhere you turn, you’re being inundated with excessive amounts of information from CNN, MSNBC, Fox, the networks and Madison Avenue.

Madison Avenue and the pharmaceutical companies are always trying to sell you something.  They smell baby boomer health issues and the almighty dollar.  They inspire a lot of paranoia in a few of us.  Erectile Dysfunction (ED) is a big one.  No man will ever admit he has that problem.  Other men have it.  Poor souls…

I don’t know about you, but when did we become so addicted to the news with this huge thirst for information, dirt, and juicy gossip?  And—when did the news become a source of entertainment instead of just the news?

Man, do we love dirt—as long as it’s someone else’s.  We’re a society of nosy busy bodies.

Best I can remember, the news became entertainment and an addiction the morning of September 11, 2001 when most of us were affixed to the screen—frightened beyond anything in memory short of the Kennedy assassination or the Shuttle Challenger in 1986.  Ground Zero, The Pentagon, and Shanksville, Pennsylvania became utter fascination for the masses who’d never seen anything like it in this lifetime.  Something we hope never to see again.  The world was imploding right around our ears.  A disaster movie, with people running in the streets, became real that morning.  We’ve never been the same either.  Our short-lived unity in the aftermath of 9/11 has turned into hate and division in an environment void of real leadership.

Perhaps our passion for the news arrived when President Clinton was caught with his pants down with an intern and we became educated about the finer points of DNA and that unfortunate and embarrassing spot on the dress.  Or was it Anthony Weiner and those educational online images he shared with the masses?

So many scandals, so little time…  I must get back to my garden.

If you were born between 1946 and 1964 and identify as a baby boomer, you remember classic television with a cathode ray tube in a big cabinet.  You’d switch it on and it would take the better part of 45 seconds to a minute to warm up and deliver a picture.  If your eyes were closed, you could hear the picture appear with the crackle of electronic stimulation. And—when you turned it off, a little white dot would appear mid-screen and gradually disappear.  You’d turn out the lights, then, turn the TV off and watch the elusive dot slip away into darkness.  I always wondered where it went.

When we were growing up a half-century ago, the news wasn’t around the clock like it is today.  It aired in the evening and only when there was real breaking news—not this meaningless teaser tabloid stuff we have today.  That was when the networks interrupted “Flipper” or “Lassie” with a Special Report.  CBS had a voiceover we were all familiar with—Harry Kramer.  He announced “The Edge of Night…” followed by the menacing sound of a piano.  And—when there was trouble, you’d hear him say, “This is a CBS News Special Report…” followed by Walter Cronkite or Dan Rather.  When they said “Special Report” or “Breaking News” you knew they meant it.

When did “Breaking News…” and “Special Report…” become the media’s way of crying wolf?  And, what about that, Wolf?  It’s to a point where I don’t take Breaking News and Special Report seriously anymore.  Who would?  Sometimes it’s just the news.  Lester Holt and Wolf Blitzer come on the air every evening with the words “Breaking News…” and no one takes them seriously.  I hit the remote and move to HGTV or TVLand.

Yesterday’s news had a strong element of integrity.  It had better be accurate or heads would roll in the newsroom.  And—it had better be real news.  I remember the Reagan assassination attempt in 1981.  The late Frank Reynolds was anchoring that afternoon.  Reynolds was handed misinformation indicating President Reagan had died.  He quickly learned he’d been handed bad information.  It had to be one of the worst moments in his career.  He hit the ceiling on the air and thundered (I am paraphrasing), “Let’s get this right!”  I also recall his euphoria with the first Space Shuttle launch—Columbia—that same year.  He was thrilled at the speed of the Space Shuttle compared with the Saturn V Apollo launches in the 1960s.

He was as giddy as a child.

Who can forget the Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo launches with CBS News Anchor, the late Walter Cronkite, who got us excited about space and who yielded the excitement of a kid when the Eagle set down on the Moon and Astronaut Neil Armstrong announced “The Eagle Has Landed…”  It was a wonder Chronkite didn’t wet his pants.  We’d done it.  We achieved President John F. Kennedy’s vision for America.  He inspired us to go to the moon and safely return to the Earth.  And, Chronkite took us by the hand to the moon.  He clearly enjoyed educating all of us on the finer points of getting to the moon right down to how astronauts took a bathroom break in space.  The one and only time they wanted and needed gravity.

We’ve learned in recent times the news isn’t news anymore.  It is gossip and it is opinion.  Always a panel of pundits standing by to render opinion instead of a news anchor sharing the news.  Does anyone remember when the news went from being the news to being biased reporting and gossip much as it is today?  The news is more about the opinion of the anchor or reporter than it is news.

No thanks—I think I will pass…

Do you remember the times friends cheated playing board games or skipped a base in the Great Neighborhood Kickball Challenge?  Perhaps a buddy of yours got a new bicycle—a 10-speed English Racer with all the trimmings and a generator light—and you were stuck with a low-buck one-speed coaster brake special.  The nerve of it all.  Heck, I’d run home and whine on my mother’s knee about whatever wasn’t fair that day.

She said, “Honey, life’s not fair and never will be…”

Did you ever grow worn out hearing this drivel again and again from your elders?  Seemed so pointless.  Parents just didn’t understand and were never going to.  But maybe you didn’t understand quite yet…  Your folks surely did.  They grew up in The Great Depression and went through a world war.  Our whining, pissing and moaning was laughable to them because we surely had it better than they did.  We had it good.  When we were kids growing up in the fifties and sixties, we didn’t understand Mom was right—and so was your father in case that didn’t work and you decided on Option B.

Life isn’t fair.  The only fair things in life are birth and death.  Even these elements leave me in doubt about what’s fair.  Some of us experience traumatic births with a lot of complications, all of which we would never remember.  Death really isn’t fair either.  Some of us die in horrible head-on collisions, in a fire, on the wrong end of a gun, a plane crash, or falling off the roof of a house.  Others of us will go peacefully in our sleep with no memory of that massive heart attack or stroke.  Now that isn’t fair – especially if you died being hit by a car.

Confound it those tiresome things our parent used to tell us.  Some of us had very supportive parents who stood by us through a lot of foolish ideas and failures.  Others of us were parented by doom, “Honey, don’t you try that…” and “I don’t know what you’re ever going to do…”  Good grief!!!  Why even get out of bed!!!

I was raised by loving parents and grandparents, however, endless doom and gloom.  My mother and grandmother were fine people.  They loved me to death.  However, they were just afraid of everything.  Couldn’t even go outside and watch a good storm because you’d be struck by lightning.  “Get in this house, you’re going to get killed!!!”  My mother was always big on “You’ll catch your death of cold!!!” and “You’re going to break your neck!!!”  Anything I wanted to do led to their overprotectiveness and “Jamie, don’t you try that…”  However, I had to go out there and try it, whatever it was, and learn it worked or it didn’t.  I always took pleasure in trying something that wound up a smashing success, then, doing the best I could to rub their noses in it.  When they didn’t respond or I got a “That’s nice, honey…” I had beaten them at their own game.

I thought I could teach the teacher.

What I failed to acknowledge was, my elders had something I didn’t—experience.  They knew, more or less, what worked and what didn’t.  My dwelling on what was fair and unfair was pointless and they knew it.  They’d been to the University of Hard Knox and I barely understood which side of the bed to get out of.

In 2020, we’re finding how unfair life can be.  COVID 19 is a good example.  I’ve had long-time married friends who lived in the thriving community of Escondido, California just north of San Diego.  When COVID 19 began to unfold in March of this year, they both caught this disease and became very sick and in the hospital.  They were the only people in Escondido at that time who had it.  Bob died in three days—a shock for all of us who knew him.  He’d been a successful airline captain and automotive historian.  He was a perfectionist.  His wife, Joyce, a lovely lady who survived COVID.  This is one of the best examples I can think of fair versus unfair.  Bob and Joyce had everything going for them.  They lived the good life and were very responsible people.  COVID plucked a very healthy man from the planet in days.  Years earlier, their son was killed in a motorcycle accident.  Let’s talk about unfair.

Moore, Oklahoma has been devastated by EF-5 tornadoes repeatedly since 1999.  A neighborhood flattened and eliminated by insane winds—yet one home remains standing amid the rubble untouched.  Fair?  How did one family dodge disaster when everyone around them lost everything?  This could never be viewed as fair.

An MD-80 airliner crashed on takeoff in bad weather and the result of pilot error.  Some 148 on board were killed along with two on the ground.  One little girl survived.  Fair?  How did she manage to escape when so many others died?  In truth, it just wasn’t her time.  She was meant to go on somehow.

Take the humble slot machine for example.  Dozens of people visit that machine and walk away empty handed.  One disheveled schmuck walks up, inserts his debit card, pulls the lever and walks away with $50,000.  Would you consider that fair or fate?  Las Vegas is the best example I can think of when it comes to fair versus unfair.  One person loses to the house, which always has the advantage, while the next guy strikes it big and walks away with a down payment on a new Lincoln.

Such is life and the game of fair.

Perhaps you could write this off to dumb luck or fate.  Depends on how you look at life.  Some days, you get the elevator while others you get the shaft.  Wish I’d thought of that saying first.  Now that’s not fair.

My mom would agree…

 

• Jim Smart

I’ve been watching this COVID 19 pandemic with utter fascination—and frustration.  COVID 19 has proven to a large degree what we’re made of here in the United States in 2020.  Baby Boomers and generations born since have never really had to want for anything.  We really have nothing to feel blue about—yet we whine endlessly about inconvenience and what we don’t have.  We always want a little more.

We want our freedom, yet we’re unwilling to do what it takes to keep it.  COVID 19 has been a bit of a shock for a lot of us – a real pain in the posterior – but nothing the likes of what the Great Depression and World War II were like for our parents.  Yet we complain endlessly in what is still the land of plenty.

Our parents were faced with huge sacrifices beyond anything we’ve seen since World War II.  Goods normally available before the war became unavailable.  Motor fuels were rationed as were other goods like tires, manufactured goods, food, and the rest of it.  If you were out of ration stamps, that was just too bad.  You did without.  During World War II, there were goods you just couldn’t get—period.  Yet, our parents muddled through and found a way to survive.  They got through it.  They didn’t complain.

Consider this.  Our parents were separated for four long years by war, with no real assurance they’d ever see one another again.  Men and sometimes women grabbed their duffel bags, said goodbye, and jumped on trains, planes, and ships.  They went to Europe and they headed to the Pacific.  They sat in fox holes and were turret gunners high over the enemy, wonder if they’d live to see the next day.  Loved ones went to the mailbox and were greeted with atmosphere – wondering if a loved one was dead or alive.

Communications were never immediate.  It took weeks for letters to arrive.  Time passage drove people crazy.  Letters would arrive, only for the family to learn their loved one had been killed in action.  There was that horrible sickening feeling any time a Telegram showed up or there was a knock at the door because it was never good news.

When the war ended, Americans and our allies healed our wounded and buried our war dead.  Veterans came home and tried to adjust to a new normal.  A good many suffered from combat fatigue or shell shock, known today as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  Many would never know any level of normal again because they had seen so much.  They came home horribly messed up from action.  Some came home to “Dear John…” letters and painful goodbyes—wives and fiances who had moved on.

It may surprise you to know a good many women went off to the Pacific and Europe as well to support the war effort.  They had a very profound effect on the war.  Those who stayed stateside worked in factories on 12-16-hour shifts to support the war effort.  They built bombers, tanks, Jeeps, and untold thousands of other machines to support the war.  There was no rest for the weary.  It was a long four years.

That leads me to this.  There has never been a better time in America in terms of prosperity for those who’ve managed to remain employed in good paying jobs with benefits.  For those who’ve been laid off and lost good productive jobs with benefits who are now waiting tables who’ve lost their homes, it has been damned hard, with no real end to the misery.  Opportunity isn’t what it was in the mid-20^th century when we graduated from high school and college and right into good paying jobs.

The overall post-World War II economy in America has been pretty good, yet there is room for improvement because we’ve fallen behind.  We are not what we were in the 1960s and ‘70s.  We’re getting paid less these days.  There have been recessions—several of them—since WWII ended.  On average, the economy has managed to maintain and recover time and time again. These days, I’m not so sure.  The economic outlook is dismal despite all the chatter from Washington about a great economy.

We’ve also had our share of military conflicts.  We seem to thrive on them.  Wouldn’t be America without a good war—right?  Keeps industry and the stock market humming.  The Afghan’ and Iraqi conflicts have been the longest in U.S. history.  Seems we’ve forgotten those making the real sacrifices—men and women in uniform out there and their families—making the world safer for us.  They come home from tougher times than any of us can imagine and who notices?

Does anyone care?

Big military airlifters land at Dover AFB, Delaware bringing home our maimed and war dead— and generally no one seems to notice.  The news media certainly doesn’t unless it happens to be Memorial Day or Veterans Day.  The media is too focused on who’s going to win the November election.  I don’t see news crews ar Dover AFB showing America the debt it owes to our great men and women in uniform.  A jetliner full of passengers taxis up to the gate and passengers are asked to keep their seats while a draped military casket is unloaded from the baggage bay.  For the most part, passengers are respectful.  They understand honoring one of our war dead.

We must never forget.

However, we as a nation have a lot to answer for.  We owe our fighting patriots our best—standing watch 24/7 all around the world for us.  We need to acknowledge the sacrifices made by the very few for the many of us.  And, by the way—let us never forget our men and women in law enforcement, fire fighters, paramedics, doctors and nurses, and disease researchers across the globe working around the clock—all working under grueling conditions to keep hearts beating.  They ask for nothing in return but the respect they have surely earned.

COVID 19 has been something the likes of which we’ve never seen in modern times.  We weren’t around for the Spanish Flu of 1918 that killed millions worldwide.  There are still some here who remember this horrible outbreak a century ago.  There have been epidemics over the decades—difficult bouts with the flu for many of us, some more notorious than others.  I fell ill with Swine Flu in 2009.  I didn’t realize I had it when I was at a car show and my body temperature shot up to 103, and everything I owned ached.  I thought I was going to suffocate when my lungs filled with fluid.  Day by day, my body fought this horrible flu.  I’m still here to talk about it.

When I was 10 in the summer of 1966, I fell flat with the flu and a high fever of 104 and was down for a solid week.  When I was lying in bed in a hot upstairs wondering if I was going to die, I got my first taste of Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass on a modest AM radio at my bedside.  It kept me company.  Seems like when we were growing up in the 1950s and ‘60s we had the flu every winter, and sometimes in the summer.  Worst case would be catching horrible flu at Christmastime.  Too sick to play with our toys— which was an unimaginable fate for a kid.

I’ve always wondered when a real pandemic like you see in the movies and the news would happen in the United States and how we would respond.  There have been horrible outbreaks—like Ebola, H1N1, SARS, and efforts to halt the spread.  COVID 19 has been the first to really cross our shores with and infect us catastrophically.  At this writing, we’ve lost nearly 130,000 to this virus and it is expected to get higher.

In our quest to get back to the streets, beaches, restaurants, and the malls we’ve been decidedly careless and certainly foolish—and at the expense of human life.  Since when did lockdown and the mandatory wearing of masks become an infringement on our freedom when, in fact, this is an international health emergency that has affected most of the world? South Korea, as one good example, has managed to keep this virus at bay.  How?  By doing exactly what Koreans were told to do by the experts—not politicians.  They stayed home and they toughed it out.  And, you know what?  It worked and they are better for it.  The spread of Covid 19 was minimal because people behaved responsibly.  They considered the greater good instead of themselves.

Stay At Home orders, the mandatory wearing of masks, and social distancing really haven’t been much of an imposition for most of us considering how good we’ve had it.  Yet, there are those who just don’t get it.  They refuse to wear a mask and do what it takes to protect their health and the health of others.  My belief is do what you want if it affects only you.  When you choose to endanger the lives of others—such as your family and loved ones, then, you’re in for a rude awakening because the consequences are severe.  If you spread disease intentionally, you become responsible for illness and the loss of life in others.

The Greatest Generation, who endured the Great Depression and fought a world war to keep us free had it much worse than we have.  You don’t hear these patriots complaining about The Great Depression and a world war.  They did what they had to and survived tougher times than we’ve ever seen.  They’ve been our moms and dads, aunts and uncles, our grandparents and our friends.  It is our duty to maintain and protect the abundant world they handed us and focus on making the world a better place.

We owe them.

Let us all think outside of ourselves and focus on the greater good.  Set the proper example by wearing a mask, practicing that 6-foot rule, and try as best you can to stay at home until disease experts get this pandemic under control.  And remember—we’ve been blessed with a world that has never had it better in modern times.  Let us stay the course and ride this thing out.  We can win if we work at this together.

• Jim Smart

From the time we are born, we learn fundamentals of relationships beginning with our parents, siblings, and extended family.  Those first interactions are with the woman who has given us life—our mother.  Close by under the best of circumstances is our father.  Together, they teach and guide us as we make our way through childhood.  If they’ve been on top of our upbringing, we emerge into the world as responsible adults.

Being a parent has never been easy.  It is  the toughest job we will ever have, the most rewarding, and certainly the most thankless—and that’s okay.  We’re not in the parent business to get gratitude.  As responsible parents, we are supposed to stand by our children through the toughest of times—keeping them on course to where they don’t become a burden to society.  The reward is when they turn out as responsible adults.  If you bring a child into this world, you must first be willing to accept responsibility for them, and that’s a tough one to chew in the hardest of times because child-rearing can get darned challenging.  I find I am most comfortable holding my son when he’s sick, has a fever, is barfing on my shoes, and needs to know everything’s going to be okay.  It is comforting to be comforting.

As your children grow into adults, you have to begin the slow process of setting them free and letting go – allowing them to make their own way.  It is always good for you to be there for your kids as an advisor.  However, in letting them make their own decisions, you allow them to make and accept responsibility for their own mistakes.

What hurts the most as a parent is watching your kid go through the pain of being hurt because what hurts them hurts us.  My wife and I are late-in-life parents.  We adopted our son at birth at 50 and 52 respectively.  It is remarkable how many people comment on our “grandson,” only to be politely corrected that he is our son.  Late in life parents who adopt children should always be mindful of the emotional needs that come with children of adoption.  Children of adoption sometimes have abandonment issues even though they have no memory of their birth parents.  Most of the time adoption goes smoothly as long as you’re truthful with your child and explain why they were adopted.  It is very important for them to understand that they were wanted – not unwanted.  Adopted children struggle with the belief they were unwanted – which creates a lot of emotional issues.  They need to feel secure in your arms and know they are safe.

At 52, I was more ready to be a father than I was at 32 when my first born arrived in 1988.  I had a lot to learn about being a father at 32 and had a long way to go toward being a better father.  I’ve made a lot of terrible mistakes as a father and a step father—and as a long-distance father two-thirds of a continent away.

I made a tough career decision in 1994 that moved me in Los Angeles when a career decision should have been given more thought—where I put my children ahead of my career.  A divorce followed, further straining an already fragile relationship with my kids.  No one has ever said on their death bed they wished they’d spent more time at the office or on the road.  The deepest regret has always been not having spent more time with the family.

No matter how much you love your children, distance puts incredible strain on the relationship.  As a faraway parent or grandparent, you miss a lot of important moments in their lives.  As a long-distance father, it has never been easy for me to watch my kids growing up from far away.  I understand what I’ve missed – and sadly, what they’ve missed in me.   They’re all grown now – two of them with children of their own.  It is surely something watching them raise their kids.  Each is doing an incredible job and I am so proud of them.  No matter how much I want to be a part of my grand kid’s lives, it will never be the same this far away.  I have to stay on top of video chats with them, which don’t happen as often as I’d like between my busy schedule and theirs.

Chances are in this far-flung society you’re a long distance parent or grandparent.  You understand how challenging it is emotionally to miss your kids and grand kids.  If you have a tight budget and can’t travel to see them, rely on modern technology to keep you close.  There are video chat apps that enable you to stay close to those you love.  What’s more, these apps are free which means you’ve run out of excuses not to call.

I’ve learned with my kids not to hover over them as adults.  I didn’t learn this one easily.  I learned it the hard by overthinking their intent.   I know they love and miss me.  I also know they’re on the same trip I was as a young man.  Sometimes, there just isn’t the time to call or write because life keeps them buried with growing families.

It is true a child is the one relationship you as a parent have where they grow up and go out into the world—and without you.  It takes a lot of courage to set them free and allow them to live their own lives.  This is where you have to be strong enough to know how much your child loves you—and find the courage to let them go – and without the tiresome guilt trips (you’ve broken your poor mother’s heart!!!) you got from your parents.  If you hear from your kids with any regularity, you are blessed.  Most of the time, communication is sparse and not as often as we’d like.

Whether it is your child, a friend, or a member of your family, it is always best to emotionally set those you love free and see where where your relationship goes.  If you hear from them without a reminder, you have a healthy relationship.  If you don’t,  it is often best to step back and see if they circle back around to you.

Jim Smart

When you get to be our ages, it seems like time has flown by.

But—has it really?

Sit there and watch a clock tick. Does it tick any faster or slower?  One-One Thousand-Two-One Thousand-Three-One Thousand… Time passes at the same speed it always has. The perception of time depends upon how busy you are and how occupied your mind is. If you’ve nothing to do, you’re bored, and you’re watching the clock, time seems to pass slowly like it did when we were kids.  You’d be sitting in class on a hot afternoon anticipating school being out for the summer.  Then—school would be out and time would fly by.  Busy versus not busy.  Having a good time versus not having a good time.

Boomers lament the passage of time much as mankind always has.  We regret how much time is gone.  Yet, we forget to make good use of the time we are handed.  Time is such an easy element to be reckless with, yet it is the most valuable commodity we have.  You can always make more money.  You cannot make more time.  Think about it—as we use up time it is gone forever—like the sands of time in an hourglass.  God doesn’t add sand. We treat time as a tangible element we can put our hands on.  Yet, it slips through our hands with fluid precision.

Captain Kangaroo showed us how to read a clock face.  The Captain infused the human element into a clock face with Grandfather Clock.  The eyes moved and the clock spoke.  There was such emotion in a clock face.  Comedian George Carlin said it best when he did a monologue on time.  He described the intense emotion in a clock face where the right side of the  clock face seemed to go faster than the left side where the hands had to fight gravity on the way back up to the 12.

Dunno about you, but Grandfather Clock was a living breathing character – and that set the tone for my perception of time.  I’ve been cautiously watching the clock all of my life.  And – because I’ve been in publishing for approaching 40 years, I’ve never stopped watching the clock and the calendar.  Deadline after deadline after deadline.  It is an obsession – wondering when I will ever stop watching these lifeless objects.

There is a healthy way to look at time. It is always good to make the best use of time— however, it is also healthy to relax and not fret about the time, especially if you’ve been working hard all your life.  If you’re in retirement or darned close to it, view time as the situation warrants, and stop looking at your watch and the calendar.  Retirement and a calculated slowdown are good elements to have going for you.  Slow down—just don’t stop.  Without purpose and activity we wither away and die.

For one thing, time is something most of us have been careless with most of our lives.  We throw time to the winds because we perceive there’s always more of it when in fact our clock starts ticking the minute sperm meets egg inside another human being who also has just so much time.  God loads the hourglass and our lifetime begins.  When we are young, we perceive we have all kinds of time.  Old age is way out there in the future.  “I wonder what it will be like when I am old…” especially when some old guy comes hobbling past us with a walker or in a wheelchair.  Man…

I recall my mother’s 50^th birthday…in 1973.  It was depressing because I saw her as growing old when in fact she had a whole lot of time left.  She had a good productive 10-15 years left before dementia robbed her of her mind and identity.  She lived in a mental cocoon in her last years—a safe haven where she didn’t have to worry anymore.  She could gaze into space and surface only as desired with a sense of peace in her eyes.  She passed peacefully in her sleep at age 84.  My dad, who was a heavy smoker, didn’t have as much time because cigarettes were his vice and were taking a toll on his cardiovascular system.  And, no matter how many invasive procedures he had performed—bypass surgery and stents—he just couldn’t quit. He had such a peaceful look in his eyes when he took a drag and exhaled.  The room would be full of second hand smoke.   Heart disease took him at 72 when, otherwise, he would have lived well into his nineties.  He was a hearty soul with a rugged constitution.  He just could never give up that burning passionate experience of a good cigarette.  He’d sacrifice time for the pleasures of a cigarette.  When I cleaned out his work shop after he passed, I was stunned at the ashes all over the floor.  A good cigarette was worth more than time.

How we treat ourselves has a very large effect on how long we live.  Those of us with a passion for sweets operate at a disadvantage.  As long as the cookie jar is full, we are happy and content—that is until we stand on the scale and look in the mirror at our naked asses.  Some of us are cursed with rotten genetics and have that going against us all our lives.  High blood pressure, diabetes, cancer, dementia, and other elements that can shorten our lives as it did our ancestors.  In that light, we just have to do the best we can with the life we’ve been given.

We take time for granted or we tend to view it as a curse.  As young people, we take it for granted.  “I’ll think about that tomorrow…” as so it goes.  Tomorrow comes and we seriously consider putting whatever it is off to next week.  That’s human nature unless you’re a high productivity Type A personality.  Then, it becomes everything to get it done and move on to the next big project.  The older we become, the more urgent things become when, in fact, we need to slow down and stop pressuring ourselves.

In old age, there are a lot of regrets—things we perceive we should have done.  My advice is to get in the things you can and stop fretting over the things that are suddenly out of reach.  That trip to Europe.  Building your dream home.  Moving to paradise whatever your paradise is.  That’s called acceptance and finding peace in it.  Again, we’re given only so much time—and life has a way of getting in the way and using up a whole bunch of it.  That great American novel I’ve been thinking about writing?

I’ll think about that tomorrow.

Jim Smart

I’ve had dozens of dogs.  Some great—some quite forgettable.  One common thread has passed through all of them—loyalty…  What makes dogs the greatest creatures on the planet is unconditional love and loyalty.  I’ve witnessed horribly abused dogs that stick by their masters through all kinds of abuses.  That’s true unconditional love and loyalty.  I think if you abuse a loyal and loving creature, there’s some terrible Karma waiting for you somewhere.  I firmly believe all dogs go to heaven—even the mean ones.  The mean ones are mean because some human taught them how to be that way.

I think the world would be a better place were it run by dogs.  Why?  Dogs live in a pack mentality—a pecking order from the most dominate to the least.  With dogs, there’s law and order.  Some dogs, by instinct or by nature, just naturally lead the pack.  Others will tend to challenge the leader and either take over or get mowed over.  You will find there are also dogs happy to follow the pecking order within the pack.  They’re not interested in leading.  There’s always the Alpha dog in every pack who leads the pack and calls the shots.  From the top down, there’s a proper pecking order and this seems to work in the dog world.  It gets a little more complex in the human world.  Your relationship with your dog should always be you being the Alpha—the leader.

With dogs, I’ve found there’s no facade – no BS.  They either like you or they don’t.  If they don’t like you, you better walk away clean and mind your business or expect a soft tissue injury.  I think dogs are the best judges of character.  They can smell a bad person.  If they don’t like you, there’s a solid reason why they don’t and perhaps you need to take a long look in the mirror.

The whole time I was growing up, I wanted a dog.  My mother was a cat lover.  We always had cats—Manx cats—the ones with no tail. In fact, I got so used to tailless cats that whenever I saw a cat with a tail, it looked odd to me.  We had a succession of litters of kittens who grew up to be Manx cats.  It all began with a single black and white Manx named Puttins from a pet shop in 1965.

When I reached adulthood and entered the United States Air Force, I made up my mind I was going to have a dog.  Of all the dogs I’ve had over a lifetime, I remember Susie and Buster most—mother and son miniature dachshunds—my first ever doggies I got when I got to my permanent duty assignment in Southwest Oklahoma.  My neighbor, a retired USAF master sergeant who was also my landlord, presented my first wife and me with a young female doxie.  She was a sweet little female.  We named her Susie.

A year later, we found a nice couple in Blair just north of where we lived in Altus who had a miniature male dachshund.  The two doxies met, fell in love, and a litter of puppies ensued.  I believe there were six puppies, which looked like a basket full of tiny sausage links nursing on their mother.  Buster was one of those puppies.  Susie and Buster became the best of friends.

Susie and Buster were an inseparable pair until Susie succumbed to heart disease and testicular cancer took Buster.  Buster was most memorable of the two because when he was defecating in the back yard, his tail would curl up like question mark, which begged all kinds of questions I couldn’t answer.  Susie was a sweet lover.  She’d sit outside our bedroom door and cry, laying in an indelible guilt trip that lives with me today.  I heard her cries and always gave in.  She’d come in and nibble on my ears and neck.

Years later, there was Brawny, a combination Shih Tzu and long hair Dachshund, who used to sit in front of my Magnavox stereo console and listen to whatever I was playing. He would listen, cock his head to the changing tones, and gaze into space.  Poor Brawny ingested antifreeze in our garage and died from ethylene glycol poisoning.  It was a miserable lesson—a horrible mistake I would never make again.  I didn’t know dogs loved the taste of antifreeze so, without thinking, I left a bucket of antifreeze in the garage.  We left him in the garage with that bucket of antifreeze not understanding the dangers.  We came home to a very sick dog with no way to save him.  His kidneys had crystallized and he plummeted into renal failure.

There was a succession of Afghan hounds.  Most memorable was Shan or “Shanners” who was a beautiful dog.  When I wasn’t paying her enough attention, she’d take her long muzzle and—given her crouch level height—would nudge me right where it would get her the most attention.  Ignoring her was never an option.

Dog lovers and owners are a unique breed unto themselves.  Unless you’re heartless and leave your dog outside unattended day and night, you become your dog and your dog becomes you.  They do backyard time and share walks with you around the block.  I speak to my dogs like I do people.  They enjoy the interaction and actually sit there and listen to my boring dissertations.   I hug them and show them abundant love.  Although they don’t speak my language, we understand one another.  Sometimes, you get lucky and find a four-legged soulmate who becomes an extension of you to where the two of you become right and left-brained.  They know what you’re thinking and you know what they’re thinking.

When I think of colorful four-legged soulmates, I think of my buddy Fritz who passed a few years back from old age.  He was a Chow mix who was the puppy from hell.  He tore up everything in sight.  He was a Walmart litter dog picked up from someone giving away Chow pups.  I knew when he laid his head on my wife’s chest there was no escaping the experience I was about to be handed.  This dog was going home with us like it or don’t.  He was a bit of a chore as a pup and we seriously considered finding him a home.  Instead, we took him to a professional trainer and had him neutered.  He evolved into the greatest friend I’ve ever had.  He just had to mature and mellow.  Fritz and I were the best of friends and for a long time.  He always knew what I was thinking.  When I was bummed and in a funk, he’d nudge me with solid eye contact, I’d pet him and my troubles just seemed to melt away.

Fritz had an autoimmune disease that caused muscle degeneration.  A couple of times, we thought we were going to lose him.  Yet, he endured.  He lived to be 15.  In those last days, he took a mental vacation and slipped into dementia.  He’d blankly stare into a corner and pee right where he was standing.  His once puppy face had turned gray.  Watching Fritz was like watching “On Golden Pond” as the seasons changed.  A once young and vibrant dog had grown old and it had come so fast.

We took Fritz to Doctor Dave at the Antelope Valley Animal Hospital.  Dave looked at him and said, “It’s time…”  We all knew it was.  I held Fritz’s head close to my face while Dave administered the sedative that allowed Fritz to slip into a deep sleep.  I heard his breathing slow.  I sent my wife, Barbara, and son Jacob out of the room.  Doctor Dave gave Fritz the lethal injection and felt my best friend slip away.

I weep as I write this.

There came a time when I believed Fritz needed a friend.  We encountered a litter of Husky mix puppies.  One of them, a sweet female, placed her chin on a milk crate and glared at me with her big brown eyes.  It was destiny much as Fritz was.  I tried to look away.  There was no looking away.  She had her eye on me.  We took Rosie home and introduced her to Fritz.  Rosie has been a great companion for nine years.  Like Fritz, she always knows when I am in a funk.  Her wet nose will nudge my elbow and I know she understands.  She has been in a funk ever since Fritz died.  Sometimes, we sit and weep together at the loss of a great friend.  Like Fritz, Rosie is growing old too and is beginning to fade.  I feel that all too familiar ache in the middle of my chest.

Dogs are very social creatures who thrive on interaction with other dogs and with their human companions.  To live good healthy lives we must show them love and affection and treat them like our human companions.  With that, they live longer and give us back way more than we will ever give them.

If I may offer any advice to boomers, it is to tie your heart to a great dog as time continues to slip into the future.  As we enter our twilight years, it is vital to connect with a great pet be it a dog or a cat.  Cats tend to be independent, yet a true cat buddy will always walk up to you with its motor running and rub its whiskers again your hands and face.  We share the planet with hundreds of thousands of different species.  Let us show them love, embrace them, care for them, and let them know what they mean to us.

—Jim Smart