The JackB

"When you're in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, 'Damn, that was fun'." Groucho Marx

Family

An Easy Fast Doesn’t Provide Atonement

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This happens to me…Every Year. In the days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur I become more restless and unsettled.

Every year I write posts about this and share thoughts about religion, casting away sins and self love.

There are levels of intolerance discussed within these pages. As a father I think about what sort of obligation I have towards my children and I ask myself if I am hitting the mark.

The Truck Driver

My son walks into my office today and tells me about how this truck driver intentionally blocked an aisle in the parking lot today and forced cars to drive the wrong way.

“Dad, he told mom and I to use common sense and go the other way.”

I asked him if the man was rude or polite. He says the guy was obnoxious.

“Dad, because he wouldn’t move mom and all these other cars had to drive the wrong way, we almost had an accident.”

His story sets me off and I ask for a description of the man. My son wants to know if he can go along for the ride and I say no. “Dad, I want to see what happens.”

I tell him not to worry and that I am going to take care of this. He looks at me and asks why I look so angry and I tell him that it the driver’s behavior is unacceptable and I am going to fix things.

As I walk out the door I hear multiple voices asking me to remain calm.I turn, smile and say don’t worry.

Five minutes later I reach the shopping center and the truck is still parked there. It is blocking an entire aisle so I am confident all I need to do is find the driver.

The Truck Driver

I see a man pushing a hand truck towards the juice store and I am certain he is the driver. I park my car, take pictures of the truck and head over to the store.

There is a juice store employee standing outside. I ask him if they normally receive deliveries at 4:15 and he says no. This one was supposed to be there at 7 Am.

“Why didn’t you tell him to move his truck to the far side of the lot so that he wouldn’t cause a traffic jam in the lot?” There is silence and then the employee shrugs his shoulders at me.

I explain why I am angry and mention that this store put my family at risk. It doesn’t matter who was driving. He is part of the problem. He says he is sorry and offers me a smoothie. I say no and then the driver reappears in front.”

“Did you tell a woman and a boy to use common sense?”

There is a hard edge in my voice and I feel my hands flexing. He tells me that he said use common sense but claims he was talking to himself.

“So you ignored your own advice, chose to block traffic and then almost created a six or seven car pile up.”

He takes a step backwards and apologizes, but I am not pacified.

“I am not a woman. I am not a 12 year-old boy. Tell me to use common sense. Ignore me. It is what you did before. Pretend your work is more important than the safety of others. Pretend that I am not the very angry father of the family you put at risk!”

I know I am on the verge of shouting. If he doesn’t apologize I am going to make the kind of scene he doesn’t want. But he does apologize again. He tells me the other driver was sick and that he is sorry.

“You should be thankful I wasn’t hear to see you put lives at risk. You should be thankful I am not any more upset than I am, but we aren’t through. I will submit a complaint. That is not me wagging my tongue. That is a promise.  Next time show some consideration for others.

Atonement

Night falls and I think about what happened. I don’t feel badly about what I said or that I filed a complaint. Safety comes first and there is no excuse for his parking his truck that way. I am certain he tried to take advantage of being a man who was faced with some children and angry moms.

Yet I can’t help but think of my own mistakes. I am not perfect. There are lots of things you can rap my knuckles for.

It won’t be long before Yom Kippur officially starts and my fast begins. It won’t be long before I have ample time to focus my attention again inwards and ask all the hard questions.

I read Torah every Yom Kippur for a little more than 25 years, but I haven’t read the last two and I miss it. Can’t decide why I miss it, but I know that I do. Not sure that it is important.

My gut tells me that the past several years have lead to this point and that we are on the verge of something really big. Good things are coming, or so I think. And so I take a moment to listen to the words of the songs below and to think.

Some words continue to remain unread.

Letting Go

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The Magic Bridge / El Puente Mágico (Explored !)

Dear Grandpa,

It is a quarter to five on a Friday afternoon and I have just finished speaking with my mom. She tells me that you are refusing to eat and that you won’t take your medication. She says that you say that you feel rotten and that all you want to do is sleep. Mom and I don’t mince words- we see you preparing yourself for whatever it is that comes after this place.

Your doctors say that there is no way to tell how long it will be before you decide to see what lies beyond door number one. It might be six months or it might be two weeks. Most of the time we wouldn’t think twice about the time frame. We all know that at 97 you are closer to the end than to the beginning. Those are your words, not ours and that is ok.

No one wants to see you go but we understand that it is going to happen. But the thing is that your granddaughter’s wedding is coming up in slightly more than two weeks and that presents an interesting dilemma for us. Do we push you to eat and take your medicine and see what happens.

Those aren’t heroic measures. They don’t conflict with your request for a DNR. There is no doubt that getting some food into you will help. There is no doubt that your meds will help ease your discomfort.

Your daughters have asked me to go talk to you. I am the oldest grandson and everyone knows that you treat me differently. Everyone knows that I can make requests that others can’t. If I ask you to eat you are more likely to do so than if your daughters do. We don’t have the parent/child dynamic- it is still that grandfather/grandson with the caveat that we have a friendship. You have told me your stories and I have told you many of mine. I have established my credentials with you and you listen.

I am torn about this. You have lost a step but for the most part you are all there. The problem is that you heart is broken and no one can fix that. It is 18 months since grandma died and we see how you miss her. I can’t imagine what it means to be married for 76 years or how big a hole her loss must have created for you.

But I do understand pieces of it. I know a little bit what it means to have loved and lost. I know a little bit about a lot of things, but you know this because we have talked about it.

So grandpa here is the conundrum I find before me. Is it fair for me to ask you to get back on your horse for one last ride. Is it fair for me to push a little bit and remind you that the wedding is so very close. I feel confident in saying that grandma would want you to go and that she would want your great grandchildren to get another chance to be with you. There probably won’t be another chance for the entire family to be together…this is it.

You probably won’t read this but in case you do I am going to answer my last question and say yes. Yes, I am going to come visit today. In a short while I will walk into your room and see if I can gently persuade you to eat and take your meds. When I close my eyes and think about what I think you would advise that is what I hear. If you fight me on it I am going to push a little bit. I will remind you that it is your chance to see us all together again.

I’ll tell you outright that your grandson is selfish enough to ask for more time with you and then we’ll see what happens.

When I leave I have to call my sisters and report. I have to tell the middle one whether she can wait to come in from out of town or if she needs to hop on a plane sooner.

See you soon.

Love,

You favorite oldest grandson

TheJackB’s Father’s Day Gift Guide

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“I am not one of those who in expressing opinions confine themselves to facts. I don’t know anything that mars good literature so completely as too much truth. Facts contain a great deal of poetry, but you can’t use too many of them without damaging your literature. I love all literature, and as long as I am a doctor of literature–I have suggested to you for twenty years I have been diligently trying to improve my own literature, and now, by virtue of the University of Oxford, I mean to doctor everybody else’s.” Mark Twain- Speech to the Savage Club, London, 7/6/1907

“You can’t depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus.” Mark Twain

“Our chief want is someone who will inspire us to be what we know we could be.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

Have you ever noticed that sometimes the post that you write doesn’t match the headline that you have written. It happens to me all the time. I suppose that you can attribute to composing at the keyboard. I don’t work with outlines. I simply write the tale that is being told inside my head. Ignore all that and keep reading. The good stuff is below.

Father’s Day is coming soon and I have a list of things that I want. Some of them might be more difficult to obtain but it doesn’t mean that I can’t dream, scheme or work to obtain them. So my friends here are some of the things that I would like.

1) A personal chef and trainer. Been looking at this 42 year-old body and it is showing signs of the mileage. Since I can’t trade it in I figure that it is time for a tune up. Note that I expect that along with the chef and trainer will be time to take advantage of their services. I figure that one way to do that is to have the studios use me as the star in some action film. I haven’t ever wanted to be an actor but damn if Keanu Reeves can do it so can I .

So Hollywood make me an offer, pay for the trainer/chef and then pay me to get back into the kind of shape that my body wants to be in.

2) A Paid Vacation– I haven’t had a paid vacation in years. I am ready to take time off where I don’t spend any time on the trip working, thinking about work or wondering if I should be thinking about work.

3) A Book Deal– It is on my bucket list, writing a book that is. I am ready to be paid to write the great American novel or maybe just the good one. Hell, pay me and I’ll write the average one. Relax, it won’t be average. You publishers don’t need to be nervous because the 17 long time readers of the blog, my family and five friends will buy copies of it. And 25 years after I die it will become required reading in school and students will come to hate my name as they will associate it with homework.

4) A New Car– I have a 2000 Honda CRV with 110,000+ miles on it. I’d like a convertible but I would settle for a new sedan that has some power under the hood.

5) A trip to Israel– Some of you might ask why this isn’t listed under paid vacation and to that I would answer because. Because I promise the kids that I would take them to see our family and friends. Because it will be an amazing trip but it is not going to be the relaxing trip that the paid vacation is. This will be great fun. I haven’t been back in far too long so I am ready and as mentioned the kids have never been.

6) An iPad2– Never thought that I would say it, but I am jonesing for one of those suckers and I don’t have the cash to buy it now. But that doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t list it.

7) A Flatscreen TV– Don’t own one. Got an old 26″ Panasonic that works well and has been reliable, but I am ready to upgrade.

8) Peace of Mind– Had it, lost it and am looking hard for it. I expect that I will recover it sooner or later but don’t expect my sanity to come along with it. I lost that at birth I expect that we’ll be saying that I am still crazy all these years later forever. It is ok, I am good with it.

There is more to say and more to write but no time to do so. So for now I shall bid you adieu. Until we meet again….be good.

 

The Best Thing My Father Ever Said To Me

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Churchill taught

A thousand years ago the Shmata Queen yelled at me because I hadn’t gotten a colonoscopy. Even though she took great pleasure in stories about my digestive distress she told me she thought that I was being ridiculous because I hadn’t given some doc the chance to explore my nether regions. I explained that I do things in my time and on my schedule to which I received some sort of growl that sounded like “men” and assorted mumblings that probably weren’t complimentary. I of course responded with a hearty, “I love you too dear.”

Somewhere before, in between or after this conversation my parents expressed their frustration concern regarding my desire to do things on my schedule. Now you’ll forgive me for the lack of precision regarding the chronology here, but the reality is that it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because this is how I have been my entire life. My mother likes to tell the story about how when I was around a year they thought that I might be deaf.

Apparently I didn’t always respond to them when they called my name and they began to grow concerned.  So my father conducted his own test of my hearing. He stood behind me and banged on some pots and pans. According to family legend I turned my head and glared at him as if I was irritated that he had interrupted whatever I was doing to entertain myself.  Important side note for those who are new to the blog. When I was five I got in trouble for doing something and was sent to my room. Not long after I was sent there I came back out and challenged my father to a fight, with the premise being that if I won I would be allowed to come back out.

In case you are wondering he failed to entertain my idea and I remained stuck inside my room.

Fast forward from 1974 to the present. My new friend Leon sent me a link to a very interesting article. Let me share the beginning with you:

YOU believe, because it is one of the last self-evident, incontrovertible truths, that raising a child is one of the most influential jobs in the world.

And that’s why you will find what comes next so difficult. All those extra bedtime stories read, violins purchased, chess clubs driven to, trips to the museum made, cosy fireside chats delivered; all the arguments over homework and bribes, all the blueberries served, all the guidance offered, all your values instilled, all your world-view shared, all the worry, heartache, effort, blood, sweat and tears of being a responsible parent. All the things you do that make your child special. It’s all for nothing.

Or, as Bryan Caplan, the American academic and author of the new book Selfish Reasons to Have More Kids, puts it: Adoption and twin research provides strong evidence that parenting barely affects a child’s prospects. If parents gave themselves a big break or redoubled their efforts their kids would turn out about the same.

I’ll let you chew on that for a bit. I expect that I will probably blog about it at length. But in the interim let me share with you the best thing that my father ever said to me. Ok, I can’t say for certain that it was the best, but it is up there.

A few years ago dad and I were hanging out together. I don’t remember why or where the family was but I remember telling him that I was frustrated about a few things. It was the sort of conversation that we probably wouldn’t have had before I became a father in large part because he would have told me to suck it up and I would been pissed off by it.

Truth is that I expected the same sort of response this time, but I was so irritated that I just blurted it out. And that is when he surprised me by saying that he used to worry about what I would do career wise but that he didn’t worry any more. That is the abridged version of the conversation, but you get the point.

It might sound silly, but sometimes when things feel rough I think about it and it takes the edge off. So thank you dad, you still make a difference and an impact in my life.

Know Your Own Worth

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The world ain’t all sunshine and rainbows. It’s a very mean and nasty place, and I don’t care how tough you are,
it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it.
You, me, or nobody, is gonna hit as hard as life.But it ain’t about how hard ya hit. It’s about how hard you can get it and keep moving forward.
How much you can take and keep moving forward.
That’s how winning is done! Now if you know what you’re worth, then go out and get what you’re worth. (emphasis mine)
But ya gotta be willing to take the hits, and not pointing fingers,
saying you ain’t where you wanna be because of him, or her, or anybody! Cowards do that, and that ain’t you!.
Cowards do that, and that ain’t you!

That line in bold is the most important part of the entire quote. That doesn’t diminish the importance or significance of the rest of it because the rest of is applicable too, but right now that line in bold is what really catches my eye. It resonates because a bunch of the fellas and I have found ourselves walking through unfamiliar territory.

We are a motley bunch of boys who are all somewhere in our forties. Some are married, some are divorced and some are somewhere in between. We are all highly educated college graduates who have been working in the so called professional world for longer than we care to admit. Twenty years or so ago we would get together to play poker, hit a bar or watch a ball game. The conversations would range from the very mundane to things that were more serious. We looked at the future and saw nothing but potential. There were endless opportunities and all we had to do was work hard to reach them.

No one questioned their value or ability. If anything we thought about how long it would take to get wherever it was we wanted to be. The attorneys talked about becoming partners and the doctors talked about whether they would start their own practices. The rest of us had our thoughts and ideas about what we wanted. Girlfriends started to be more rigorously evaluated than in the past. Now we started listening more carefully to what sort of values they had and how many kids they said they wanted. I remember a few conversations where guys laughed about birth control and said that it didn’t matter because if their girls got pregnant they would just get married sooner.

It wasn’t as shallow as it might sound. It was a tacit acknowledgement that they had found someone that they thought was special. And sure enough not all that long afterwards the marriages came followed the arrival of children. Conversations evolved and we laughed about how we were turning into our fathers and prayed that the wives didn’t turn into their mothers. Retirement was still a long way off but not so far away that we ignored it. Apartments morphed into condos/townhouses and houses. For some of us extra cash began to dry up- private school tuition drained those funds as did silly things like kitchen/bathroom renovations.

More time passed and we bore witness to major changes. The Oklahoma City Bombing, Columbine and 9/11 are just some of the things that helped open our eyes to possibilities that we had never considered. And of course wars in Iraq and Afghanistan played a role too. We were the generation that came of age during the end of the Cold War. We were in our early twenties when the first Gulf War started. We remember going away parties for guys in the service who set out to remove Saddam Hussein from Kuwait. Some of the guys weren’t retired and consequently got to go back to Iraq a decade later.

But it was different because they weren’t so young anymore. They weren’t old but the shine of youth had been wiped off of their faces.

And now when we gather we see bodies and faces that look different than they once did. Hairlines have changed, waist sizes adjusted and lines have begun to crease our faces. Those were expected, albeit not always wanted. But what wasn’t expected was how very different our forties would be. No one expected that there would be so many battles to fight. No one expected to see jobs outsourced and layoffs announced. No one expected to find out that they weren’t being hired because some twenty something-year-old kid would work for less.

So we banded together and talked about ways to overcome these things. We looked at each other and spoke about the foolishness of companies ignoring our wealth of experience. We stared each other in the eye and promised that it would get better because it had to. But that didn’t necessarily happen. The divorces and foreclosures still came. The fight to earn a buck became more serious than ever and we wondered how we came to be in this place.

Realized that much of our self-worth and masculinity is tied up in our ability to provide for our families. And when that was removed we found ourselves bereft of something that was more important than we had realized. We laugh about our twenties and talk about wanting to go back but no one wants to go back to tiny apartments, Ramen noodles and Spaghetti O’s. No one wants to stress out over how to pay for a new set of brakes. Twenty years ago we did a lot of that work ourselves but cars have changed and it is not always so easy to do what we once did even though we are physically able.

So we try to lean upon each other and lend what support we can because there are no other options worth considering. And through it all we remind ourselves that many are fighting the same battles. We stare in the mirror and promise to be our own advocates for change and recognize that part of our knowing our own self worth is taking the time to tell others.

Twenty Five Years

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The words below are the opening to a post I didn’t like. So I am going to start again. You can find the beginning below the block quotes.

Twenty-five years ago a sixteen year-old boy left his home in  Los Angeles and flew to Israel. It was the beginning of a trip that would change his life, an adventure that would provide a life time of stories and experiences that impact him to this day.

I know all these things intimately and instinctively because I am or I was that boy. This blog is peppered with posts about that trip. Some are posts about things that happened during that trip and others are tales/thoughts that came because of things that happened as a result of it.

As a father I think of my parent’s faith in myself and the program I was on and am somewhat amazed by it, but very grateful. The gift they gave me is impossible to describe and I only hope that I can pass on something as valuable to my children.

I often talk about my children being a large part of why I write this blog and that hasn’t changed. So kidlings take a look at the next part and know that I am thinking about you as I write it.

It sounds silly, but sometimes people need a reason to live their life and not just dream it away or so it seems to me. I have many reasons for living not the least of which is that I find the experiences those pleasurable and those painful to be far more satisfying than dreaming. I suppose it might sound kind of funny coming from a dreamer such as myself, but it is true.

My great-great grandfather was married twice. He was born and raised in a village in Lithuania that doesn’t exist anymore. We can thank the Nazis for that. They took care to destroy all who were there or so I am told.

My great-grandfather came to America around 1900 or so. He came for the same reason that so many other immigrants did, a better life. All five of his children were born here in the U.S. and it is because of his choice that I am privileged to have been born here too.

He was one of many children, my great-grandfather.  A number of his siblings were born after he left Lithuania and several chose as he did to leave to start new lives elsewhere in places like South Africa, Israel and the U.K.

My children have heard this story a few times, but I don’t think that they really appreciate how incredible some of this was. They are growing up in a world in which distance is insignificant- long distance telephone calls are made without regard for cost or hope that this time we’ll have a clear connection.

Facebook, email, webcams and the like all make it simple to stay in touch. That is their reality, but when my great grandfather left the old country it was a different world. The idea that you could reach out and touch someone didn’t exist. Letters can and were exchanged but it wasn’t always so easy to see that they were sent and received. If someone moved it could be challenging to find a forwarding address.

And so when I left for Israel in 1985 I set out to meet family members that we didn’t know very well. My great grandfather’s little brother had never been to the U.S. He spoke six languages, but English wasn’t one of them. My aunt knew the same three words that he did.

I remember meeting them at the bus station and communicating via a mix of Hebrew, Yiddish, and gestures but we made it work. It was a big deal for the family, my going to Israel. We had lost touch with the relatives there. It had been about twenty years since there had been face-to-face contact and close to a decade since there had been any communication via letter.

It would be nice to say that upon my return to the states that communication continued and that we never lost touch, but that wouldn’t be true. We sent a few letters back and forth, but things fell apart again and we lost touch.

Fast forward another twenty some years. My parents go to Israel and they connect with the family. This time it is different. Email addresses are exchanged and the family uses Facebook to connect. Social media to the rescue, who knew.

This past week my uncle’s youngest son and wife came to the U.S. It was their first trip to the U.S. and we had an awful lot of fun together. But something else happened while they came that sticks out, that I am processing.

They brought pictures with them- old pictures. We got a chance to see my uncle as a boy, as a soldier, father and grandfather etc. It was the whole progression of life. It was very cool and I really appreciated having the opportunity to “meet” aunts, uncles and cousins that I had never heard of.

Now it may be that my great grandfather knew about all of the siblings and their children. Remember that his father got remarried and had more kids. Remember that communication was challenging. But looking at some of these photos with my cousins I found myself asking questions that I couldn’t answer.

My great-grandpa has been gone for decades- there aren’t old letters that we can read or refer to and all of his children are gone. But that is not what bothers me. What bothers me was seeing photos of family that was murdered. Pictures of relatives slaughtered by the Nazis decades before I was born.

Hard not to look at them and wonder who they would have become or what they would have done with their lives.

But it also helps to explain why I enjoyed taking pictures with my cousin and why I smiled so broadly as my kids talked to their Israeli relatives. Because it was one more way for us to tell Hitler and his ilk to go fuck themselves. We’re here, they are gone, period end of story.

And more importantly a branch of the tree has been restored. Life is good.