Father's Day

The CEO of the company where I work wrote a piece for Linked-In about his Father.   His father only had 6 fingers, and he wanted to learn to play the piano.  No one would teach him, so eventually he taught himself to play.  He wrote:

Whenever I doubt or question if I will be able to do what I need to do to make my business successful, I think of my dad and the lessons he taught me. I think of the importance of determination, persistence and grit in achieving great accomplishments. These were lessons he taught not with words, but actions and it is those lessons that remind me each and every day to make sure every note counts.  While my dad passed away nine years ago, his lessons keep on teaching, and I am SO grateful for him. 

He asked people to share how their Dad and the lessons they learned from him have made a difference in our lives.

It got me thinking about my dad and the things he's taught me over the years.  In no particular order:

• Safety first
• How to anchor furniture to the wall so it doesn't fly around and land on your during an earthquake
• How to drive a stick-shift car (that was a doozy)
• How to read a map
• How to read a weather map
• How to BBQ (and how not to BBQ)

More than a list of things - my dad's taught me joie de vivre.  I'm not sure if I can really describe how my dad embodies this - I think it's joie de vivre plus a bunch of other things.  My dad loves life.  He's up for any adventure - even still in his 80s.  He'll try just about anything at least once - even some really stupid things.  When he was a kid, he and his friends built a wood frame and lit it on fire.  They charged neighborhood kids a nickel to watch him dive through the flaming frame into a pool.  On his paper route, there was an obnoxious dog that used to chase him when he rode by on his bike.  Rather than avoiding the dog, he put on his track cleats and gave the dog a little kick in the ass with the spiky shoes.  The dog didn't bother him again.

My dad made a model volcano (a pocket size one and a huge one) that he would load with chemicals (not vinegar and baking soda) and explode it.  Ashes would fly so far in the air and cover everyone around the model.  But you know what - they (and I) came to learn how a volcano works and why they erupt - and we had fun doing it.

He taught for years and years at a community college in the earth science department - he, my friends joke, is an "ologist and an ographer" - he taught over the years, geography, geology, meteorology, oceanography, and I'm sure some other ologys.  Looking through some reviews and ratings of him from when we was teaching brings a smile to me.  One reviewer said:

He is an absolute gem. He's full of amazing stories that'll keep you intrigued! He's always available to lend a helping hand. He's truly a legend and one teacher that you will never, ever forget.

That pretty much sums it up - if you know him, you'll likely never ever forget him.

I learned how to shoot stale mini marshmallows through a blow gun, I learned that if you light dry-cleaning plastic bags on fire, they make a strange whooshing/chirping sound as pieces melt off.  I've learned how to pick up tarantula spiders, how not to approach snakes, about all kinds of rocks, about flying raccoons, that when trees fall it is exciting.  I learned the proper way to make a vanilla malt and milk shake.

I absolutely love my dad, and every minute I get to spend with him.  He's taught me so much over my life.  Whether we're watching TV, sitting quietly next to each other, taking walks, talking on the phone on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, talking about the weather, seeing musicals, taking the subway, or making milkshakes - every minute brings me an indescribable joie de vivre.

My quirky, amazing Dad

Took the subway in LA to see the Space Shuttle Endevor

When I was little - eating grapes

The best seat in the house!

Loved and hated this seat - but riding with my dad was amazing!

He's always up for anything

Vanilla milkshake and malt time - the best!

He was saying, like Nixon, "I'm not a crook..."

Cookies - always cookies!

Up for a selfie - YES! Olvera Street in Los Angeles.

Catalina Island - we rented a golf cart to drive around the island

Up for a hike?  Yes - Red Rock in Los Angeles.

Having a moment with the cats

He had no idea what was on the picture behind him ;)

The irony of life

It's been a long while since I've written.  I've thought long and hard about many things, but what draws me to write today, is again, life and death.  2018 started out pretty shitty.

Bruce, my step-grandfather, was getting up there in age.  He was 96 years old and passed December 18, 2017 at 6:20am.  I first met Bruce around 1984 when his daughter, Sally, married my Dad.  My mom passed the year before.  Bruce was a funny "old" dude.  He had big ears a big laugh and a quiet personalty.  But, oh boy, was he interesting.  He was in the Army in World War II, worked for the Union Pacific Rail Road, was an avid gardner, and travelled - A LOT.  I remember being in awe of his tales from his travels - especially Egypt.

Over the last several years, Bruce was slowing down - duh, he was in his 90s.  His mind was sharp but his body was showing signs of fatigue.  He had to have a pacemaker at one point, and I think when he had to have the battery or the pacemaker itself replaced, he had a reaction to the dye and almost died on the operating table.  When Sally asked him if he saw a "light" when he flatlined, Bruce said something like - "No, my eyes were closed."  He always had a wry sense of humor like that.  As he got older, he got more tired.  It was visibly more difficult for him to get around.  He was more winded and everything took more effort.  He started using a cane, and I think for a time, he used a walker.  Then, he stopped leaving the house as much, then he stopped leaving the house.  Then he stopped getting out of bed as much, then he stopped getting out of bed.

He was diagnosed with a tumor in his esophagus and learned it was cancer.  It was inoperable cancer.   It was going to kill him.  They arranged for hospice care for Bruce (in-home) and it was only a matter of time.

I, thankfully, was able to see him about a week before he passed.  I was in LA to see my dad (we'll get to him in a second) and we went to see Bruce.  He was so tiny.  He complained of being cold.  But he had all his wits about him.  My dad and I sat and talked with Bruce for a little more than an hour.  He told tales of some of his travels (his fave trip was Egypt).  He talked about the various things on his walls - one wall was full of railroad-related things - his working life.  One wall was full of his Army things - his war life.  One wall was full of his travel things - his adventurous life.  He said he wanted to be surrounded by the things that made him happy - and all of these things did just that.

He talked about hoping he lead a good life.  He said several times that he thought he did, and that he thought he did the right things.  He talked about some of the time when he was in the War and how he found ways in the system to get things - film for his camera - and how to get the film home to his parents to be developed.  I didn't know, but he spent the first part of his time in the Army in Northern Africa, and then went into Europe after D-Day.

He complained that he was cold, tired, and wanted a steak.  He said he loved when the "large gentleman" came to bathe him.  At the end of his "bath", given to him while he was in bed, the man would take warm towels and massage his feet.  He said it felt so good, and that he loved that.

Many years ago, he self-published a book Act 2: WWII - The Adventures of Bruce Monkman 1941-1945.

After being refused by the Navy in December 1941 (right after the bombing of Pearl Harbor) on two separate occasions "small hernia", Bruce defied his mother's wishes and went to join the Army on December 23, 1914.  Apparently the Army wasn't concerned by small hernias.

During his medical exam for the Army, Bruce had to:

     "...sit in a chair, bare bottom and all, with the doctor at my side about three feet from me, who whispered quite loudly, "Can you hear me?"  Naturally I could hear him; it was just below normal talk.  I passed my hearing test with flying colors.  I'm in the Army now."

The book is fascinating with many with pictures and documents Bruce kept from his time in the War.  He was always proud of the time he spent in the military.  He was active in his Army reunions - making pins and keepsakes with the logo of his division on them.

When I talked with Bruce in December, he said that now he's basically the only one left from his original unit - they had all gotten old and passed.  As I sat there, listening to him talk about his life, I kept thinking of the irony.  To my left was Bruce - sharp as a tack, but with a failing body.  And, to my right was my Dad - decent body, but with a failing brain.

How overwhelmingly maddening.

Shortly after Bruce passed at home surrounded by his wife and two daughters, my Husband and I got word that his Uncle Paul was diagnosed with Stage 4 Colon Cancer.  Paul was just 68 when he passed.  He retired at the beginning of December 2017.  He had a retirement party planned in Mid-December but had to cancel it because he wasn't feeling well.  His daughter took him to urgent care on December 20th and he got the diagnosis then.  He passed on January 20th at 3:16am.

He had plans.  All kinds of plans of things he wanted to do after he retired, but he never got the chance.  It's so tragic.  Of course, we know that we won't live for ever.  But life has a funny way of evading people at the most fucked up times.

I was talking recently with a friend of mine about this, and she posed this question - would it be better or worse if every human had a known expiration date?

My mom passed in her 40s - so much life left to live.  But she did live a lot - she and my dad traveled all over the place, and took my brother and I camping all around California and vicinity.  We had lots of fun and did lots of things.  But, come on, she left a 12 and a 14 year old and her husband way too soon.

Bruce was around for 96 years - full of life and adventure.  Sharp as a tack until the very end.

Paul got 68 years, and was robbed of time to be free of work obligations and free to do what he pleased.  Now, he wasn't a shut in who never did anything.  But still - he had plans.

Contrast this to my boss's grandmother who is still healthy as an ox at 102.  And, I sat next to a lady on a flight the other week who was on her way to stay with her mom, who is 105, for a week while her caretaker has a vacation.

How would things be different for these people if we all had the same expiration date?  I've thought about this since she said it.  In one way it would give us a timeline to work back from.  In another way, we'd have this looming "end" moving ever closer as the years progressed.  I'm not certain if this would be a blessing or a curse.  Maybe both.  It sort of reminded me of a movie called "In Time" with Justin Timberlake and Amanda Seyfried.  In this movie, people stop aging at 25 and only live a year later unless you can buy your way out.  Of course, the rich, can do this, but those of less means can't.  I guess if it came to this in real life, people should ALL have the same expiration date - no exceptions.  But, hey, life isn't a science fiction book (yet).

I think this helps strengthen my desire make the most out of life NOW - don't wait.  It might be too late.