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| Kirk Douglas |
This must be my month for Kirk Douglas stories. But they seem to fit, so I'm not apologizing.
In one of his books, he wrote of how he was serving as an emissary of the United States, and was eating a meal of grubworms with a tribe. He turned to the tribal elder, saying, "Today is Thanksgiving in my country. We give thanks for what we have today."
The man replied, "We give thanks for what we have every day."
Douglas wrote of how he suddenly felt very small. This man, who literally had nothing, was grateful for what he had, including a meal of grubworms. The same for everyone in his village. Douglas, who made a good living, gave thanks once a year, as do many of us Americans. He learned something that day, and hoped to pass it along in his book.
Like the actor, I too felt tiny upon reading the man's statement. I am sure I'm not the only one, and all of Douglas' books have been best sellers, so that man has made quite an impact. The elder knew what was important in life and has passed along his lesson. We need to be grateful for what we have instead of concentrating on what we don't have. Be thankful to God each and every day for what He has given us. Not just on Thanksgiving, but 365 days of the year.
We've all heard the expression 'Being born with a silver spoon in their mouth,' but this is one of my favorite stories. Kirk Douglas was born into an impoverished family, and his mother said the way he came into the family was when she looked into the backyard one day to see a gold box lowered by a string made of silver. She rushed out in the cold, opened the box, and saw a naked baby boy. Elated to at last have a son--The woman had five daughters--She took the child into her home.
As the family was always short on funds, Douglas always asked about the box. His mother said when she went back outside, it was gone. He constantly wondered if that didn't bother her. No, she replied. When she saw him, she could care less about the box.
I would have liked Kirk Douglas' mother. She knew what was truly important, telling her son at an early age how he was far more important than gold or silver. And she tried passing that along to him. It took a long time--long after her death--for the lesson to sink in, but eventually, he learned it.
Other parents have taught this lesson to their children in various ways. It's a beautiful analogy, and Douglas will insist today it's a true story. After all, his mother told it to him.
For those who doubt it, remember Baron Munchasen's famous line, "Vas you dere, Charlie?" Have faith in the words of our parents, who have let us know throughout the years in various ways we are far more valuable than gold or silver. And their value to us is immeasurable. We may not realize it growing up, but we do as we get older.
Cherish your family. They are your gold box.
Mizpah
I'm in the midst of reading Peter Ford's wonderful biography on his father, Glenn, one of my favorite actors. About halfway through it, Peter, who is an email friend of mine, stated his father never said, "I love you," to his son.
Kirk Douglas has won accolades all around the world. The one thing he wanted more than anything he never received. It was a pat on the back from his father. He wrote of once being taken out for ice cream as a child by his father, and treasures that moment. To Douglas, that ice cream cone to this day means more than any award he has.
Why is it we cannot say those three words? Are we supposed to be 'tough'? Is it not manly? It can't be the latter, as there are women with the same problem. Perhaps we think they already know it. Or even more tragic . . . in many cases, the love isn't there.
My family has never been short on sharing love, so when I read the above stories, I want to reach out to those people and embrace them to let them know someone does care about them. (I come from a family of huggers.) We were taught at an early age "I love you" is not hard to say, and my sister's bunch has carried on the tradition.
My nephews are a perfect example. They're all ex-jocks who jokingly like to act like they're 'bad', but they can all say "I love you" without hesitation. They don't look around to ensure no one is watching, or whisper it under their breath. They know no one is going to snicker at them. They've been taught it's beautiful to say, not a sissy thing.
It's only three words, and if you can say it, you'll make someone's day. With all the profanities we utter daily, "I love you" shouldn't be so hard.
My sister, bless her heart, is a very understanding woman. She and some friends have started a ministry for mothers and a friend and I were picking up supplies for it. I'd asked what they could use and one of the items was sippy cups. Hey, not a problem. That's what brothers are for.
So we go to Wal Mart, get a few things, and being a bachelor who knows nothing about this stuff, I call Sis. The problem is, I ask her about spit cups.
Now, she was with a bunch of her friends at bunco. Great opportunity to roll her eyes and say, "Guess what he just said!" She didn't. (Thank you, Sis.) She knew it was a guy thing.
Two weeks later--we're getting supplies for the ministry again--and yes, I did it again.
Now, before you tell me I need to quit dipping--I don't. This is merely a guy thing. There is a huge difference between men and guys. If you don't understand what I am talking about, you need to read Dave Barry's Guide to Guys. Women may not agree with it, but it will allow them to understand us. A perfect example Barry gives is of four men who er, had a touch too much to drink one evening. So for some fun, they decided to go off a ski ramp. At night. In a canoe. Yes, a canoe. All they got were a few scrapes.
I know. Sounds ludicrous, doesn't it? The women I tell that story shake their heads. The vast majority of the men widen their eyes and say, "Cool." ( I think I've given them an idea.") I then tell people the rest of what Barry wrote: "The moment they pushed off--They were guys." The women get ill, the vast majority of the men go "Yeah!," pumping their fist.
So . . . I'll continue to buy babies spit cups, slouch, have my Dew in the morning, put BBQ sauce on my scrambled eggs, think John Wayne's the best, and the Western is the only type film out there.
Sue me. It's a guy thing.
There was a time, and those who went to grade, junior, and high school will testify to this---this was my time of year.
"Son, the house is on fire!"
"Just a minute, Mom. It's the bottom of the sixth and the bases are loaded."
Yes, I was quite a baseball addict, especially when it came to the playoffs and World Series. I even was fortunate to go to two games of the Series in 1985.
But something changed. Perhaps I did. I dunno. I know for a fact baseball did. The playoffs are now longer than "War and Remembrance" in order to bring in more television revenue, and they're actually talking about lengthening them again. In short, what they are saying is this: "Okay, we're already letting a second-place team a la the wild card into the playoffs. Let's do it again." What they are really saying is it doesn't matter if you get first place or not.
Look at the bats they use. My stars. They shatter like the glass in a shop that has a bull running through it. Why? They're light, as everyone wants a quick swing. Go to the Louisville Slugger Museum and see the bats the great hitters used. They aren't the toothpicks they players use today. It should make today's hitters ashamed of themselves. Most batters today use a bat in the low thirties weight. Babe Ruth's bat weighed 54 ozs. It didn't seem to hurt his hitting.
Yesteryear's players also played in flannel uniforms. Enos Slaughter wrote of losing nine lbs in a doubleheader. I cannot even fathom today's players attempting to do this.
They played through their aches and pains. Carl Erksine popped his shoulder his first major league game and never said a word, not wanting to lose his job. He pitched in pain his entire career, throwing two no-hitters along the way. Lou Gehrig broke every finger in his hand during his streak.
Today's players would be on the disabled list.
Now it's labor unions, and are they on steroids. I miss the days when the worse argument was a ball or strike or artificial turf or grass.
The players are fun to watch, but the innocence has been lost.
It just ain't the same.
I love getting up early, seeing the moon still shining and the stars twinkling high in the sky. Cricket wonders why I rise so durned early, but she lives with it. We look out the window to see if the deer are here, and if they are treat ourselves to a majestic view.
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| Fred Rogers |
Mr. Rogers was right. It is a beautiful day in the neighborhood, and I for one intend on enjoying it to the fullest. We feed the deer and other animals, letting them know our property is a sanctuary. I view the sky at night, grateful I can still see the stars, knowing in town it's an impossibility.
Mr. Rogers was someone we always made fun of, but he taught kids to accent the positive and eliminate the negative. In today's day and age, that is the opposite of what we think, and he wouldn't be as popular as he was. Yet he influenced several generations of children to the point his show ran for years after his passing.
We need Mr. Rogers once again. His positive attitude and his teachings--They were simplistic, not beating the children over the head, merely making a point and going on.
And maybe we adults need to watch the show as well.
As you may know, I live with my parents, which can be a sometimes interesting situation for a forty-seven-year-old slob like me.
Currently they're out of town, and I have to admit, it's strange:
*No pasta dishes
*No vegetables
*I don't have to leave the toilet seat down
*The phone isn't ringing as much. (I finally told one solicitor to call back in a few weeks.)
*No political talk around the house
*I'm not being chided about my horrendous posture
You know what? I miss them.
