Life Fact #419: Mentor is a Temp Job

For once, I'm hesitant to project my own feelings or actions upon you the audience or reader of this humble musing. During your perusal of this missive should you find yourself slighted by my archetype, chalk it up to my own mental peculiarities and feel assured it was never my intention to include you in my projection and you have my apologies. For those of us who make it until the end, may we find that grain upon which another pearl will be created.

Mentors play a key role in all of our lives. I imagine the mentor is an off-shoot of a natural behavior we learn as children. The process whereby we ask one parent a question and get an answer that doesn't satisfy us and we seek out the other parent or grand parent, aunt, uncle, etc. The basic second opinion. Just to be clear, I'm not speaking of a child asking permission and using parents against each other to get what they want. Rather, something along the lines of, "Mom, why is the sky blue?" "Honey, the sky is blue because God made it that way." For my own part, this is where i went and asked my grandfather. "Papa, why is the sky blue?" Ever the photographer, he spoke of the sun being a yellow light and the atmosphere of the earth acting as a light filter, filtering out harmful solar rays leaving the sky the color we perceive to be blue. The real answer is a little more complicated, but it was on my level and a very satisfactory answer at the time. He was one of my first Mentors. Here is where the hyperbolic side of me wants to proclaim him the greatest, but i think that would only cheapen all of them. They each fulfilled as they did and that isn't something to be measured.
As time ticks away in life mentors come and go. Some we move away from , some move away from us and others leave this world behind for the next. My best visual analogy would be something along the lines of; our mentors place the cobblestones along our byway.
Now that I've reached what some like to call middle age and my children are all grown and gone, I like to think of myself as being the mentor. I'd like to think I'm handing out sage advice in the grand tradition of it all. I have arrived. Well, that's what I had thought until recently.
I had a nice phone call with my Dad in which he said something very puzzling. I'd rather fall on my sword than misquote him, just know it went something like this. One of his friends whom he'd known for many years died recently and he referred to this man, who is only a few years older than he, as a Mentor. My brain was spinning so fast after he said that i nearly got a nose bleed when it stopped and stopped it did. It was a jarring sudden train wreck kind of stop. What happened you ask?? Well, it absolutely turned everything I knew or believed i knew about mentoring on its head. How could someone in their seventies have a mentor? It's really quite simple, there's always a bigger fish.
With this revelation, I sat back and reevaluated what I knew a mentor to be. After days of reflection, the answer became so painfully obvious I had to give myself a timeout.
The first thing I needed to do was to come up with a better, more complete definition for mentor. I checked the American Heritage Dictionary and a couple of others. Their collective idea of mentor was as woefully incomplete as my own. After days of reflection, i have settled on a mentor as anyone or anything which lends sound advice either through words or actions. Yes! This does sound like everyone is a mentor at one time or another and to that I say, "Aren't they?" Though for the purposes of this I have amended my definition to include the phrase, "and those you seek out for same."
At my present age of Fifty Three-ish, the cast of characters I call on for advice is limited to about three. My best friend, a well grounded and very conservative man of comparable age has yet to fail to show me the other side of whatever it is I naturally see. An old friend, Rob, (I'm pretty sure he's the first Vulcan on Earth) has a innate talent for logical thought and seeing situations in the abstract. Then there is the first mentor, my mother. She had the ability to organically change peoples perception of their work and ultimately change their point of view. In effect, she'd get you to see your work with two sets of eyes. It's a tremendous skill to master. One, as yet, I have not. Unfortunately, she has joined those who've left this world behind. As with all mentors, some of her remains perpetuated by those previously advised.
I got a call from a young man whom I've known for some time. He needed to talk for a while. I could hear the distress in his voice when he said something very peculiar, "...at my age I should have all the answers." I told him that was just silly as I'm twice his age and don't have all the answers. I had him take a couple of deep breaths before I asked what the biggest problem was for which his answer was simple, "My bills," he said. I asked him if he could pay them today and the answer was no. He said with his new job, he should be able to make all of his bills just fine, but it's taking too long. I offered that he might set that feeling aside until payday and take his bills one at a time and not stress over them between this day and that.  He reminded me the bills would still be there and I asked him if he wanted to make everyone else in his house feel the way he does. His answer was, "of course not." This is when I let him on to that little secret, when you are grumpy, you'll make everyone you are around grumpy also. Well, either that or the others will choose to stay away from you. I had him give me a few examples where his reaction to things had affected others in a similar way to his: both positive and negative. He did. Then he told me he never realized his irritation with the progress in his life would affect his home life. He thanked me and had to leave for work. His spirits were better, but I told him it would take lots of practice before his demeanor would automatically lay down his irritations.
I have to thank my dad for opening me up to the possibility that you never outgrow the need for a mentor. Our mentors tend to be those closest to us. and in closing, they can be of any age. The day after I discovered my dad had a mentor in his eighties, I discovered I have a mentor under the age of....well let's just say she's not old enough to drive. She taught me the importance of putting your M and M's in alphabetical order. This is more important than you know. I miss my mom, am thankful for my dad, and love my niece.

Until I write again, Peace Be With You,
Dave

Boys and Their Fathers

     By this point in history, we've all heard the expression "It's like herding cats!" I can tell you from experience this phrase is relative to the "Cats" you are trying to herd!!!
     When it comes to these "Cats", The Shadow, The Jedi, and The Hulk; picture taking is prime-time sports! There were about a dozen taken in total and this is the best one. I love these guys, but damn they are singularly a handful; together they are a three ring show!
     The oldest brother stopped by for a couple of days. The youngest brother is getting married in a few weeks and the oldest isn't able to attend. So, as a consolation, he stopped in for a visit. It was a great joy having my three boys together. Like many of you whom have adult children. I stand in awe of them. They share such great familiarity and yet are so uniquely themselves. One feverishly claws back the layers on the bleeding edge of his career while another is engaged in mortal combat to find the top of the ladder by brute force all the while attempting to help everyone along the way (best of luck with that there Dude), and the other simply endures the modern age while struggling to come to grips with having been born five hundred years too late; as I said, "They are unique!" Despite their individual peculiarities, It's a comfort to know they're all really good guys. One might even say it's sort of a family tradition. One that may have skipped a generation?? At least for my own part. I can't say whether I am or not. I am certain you could easily find people with an opinion in both camps. Well??? Anyway, let me move forward by backing up a bit. Earlier this year through the miracle of modern science, I discovered the identity of my Biological Father. (An Aside: just looking at the term Biological Father. It's so clinical, formal, denuded of emotion. Somehow, it just doesn't seem fair though generally correct.)
     He's an interesting Cuss. I say this with the utmost respect and admiration. Perhaps Cuss isn't the best Nom De Gerre for him. There's always Rascal, Cheeky, Comical, Driven, Focused, Unique, ah hell, how about Dad. He's Dad. In the months since our discovery we've met up a few times for meals and visits. In short, meeting him has exceeded any expectations I could have held. He's married to a wondrous creature who I'm sure was created in a mad scientists secret lab somewhere. She is wicked! Wicked smart, wicked funny, etc... She's just Wickedly Awesome! Then again, she agreed to marry him, so he must have something going for him. Perhaps, he's simply a more experienced Cat. Yep, that's my father in a nutshell.
     Fifty-Three years is a long time to wait to meet your father. It doesn't take a PhD in Gerontology to know, statistically speaking, more water has passed under the bridge than there is left to pass; on this trip. It would be too easy for me and my mental quirks to feel incredibly sorry for myself. Hell, who knows, maybe I should, but I don't. I can't. There is absolutely nothing to be retrieved. All we have is the road ahead. Honestly, I'm really looking forward to it. I do have one confession to make. He does more in one day than I do in a week. If I ever had to follow him around I'd need to see if Elon Musk makes electric roller skates. Seriously, there is no grass growing under his feet.

     For those of you who have known me all of my life, this picture may give you pause. Take a good look. No, it's not me. It's my Father at about twenty. Freaky Huh!? If you thought it was me, you are not alone. I shared this picture, which I've been sitting on for a few months, with a select few of my "near and dear". Without exception, they couldn't place where this was taken. The reason is because they had assumed it was me. There was one exception; my favorite Aunt. Then again, she's her own brand of Wicked. If you get something past her, mark you calendar because you've done something. I will admit, there is a likeness, but i was never that thin. Okay, maybe I was, but the Army took care of that. Then again, there were three heat injuries that helped as well. Perhaps even a few Cheeseburgers too!!!
     One day not too long after we first met I got a call from him and he asked me if I wanted to get together for lunch in Dallas. I sat up straight and said, "yes sir, you bet." I figured he had some sort of business dealings in Dallas and he was squeezing me in between work functions, so I was "Johnny on the spot" at the Denny's where we decided to meet. He had previously told me that he would be unavailable for about a month. I was pretty excited that he had made time to grab lunch. We ate and talked and just visited in general. I told him I had gotten in trouble with Donna for not getting a picture of the two of us the first time we had lunch together and wasn't going to face her wrath on that subject again. He said he had no problem with a picture so I handed over my phone to an employee and what resulted was our first picture together. Even though, we are back lit and it makes it hard to see us, it's one of my favorite pics of all time.
     Remember when I told you about my Father in a nutshell above, spare me a couple more minutes and you'll find out how he became my Dad. I had assumed he was in Dallas for business and that it was luck or clever scheduling which afforded us this lunch. What would you say if I told you he drove up from Houston to  Dallas just to have lunch with me. Hold up a minute. We talk on the phone regularly, we share bad text messages (predictive text can make anyone illiterate), and he drove to Dallas and back for the sole purpose of taking me to lunch. "Boys and their Fathers!"

He drove up a Father and drove home a Dad.



Until I write again, Peace be with you!!!
Dave

Prologue: Operation "Who's It?" a DNA story 35 years in the making.

"None of us are actually afraid of the dark; we are scared of what it conceals from us." Raymond Carver

--I do not fault my parents. They didn't get an instruction manual for life any more than I did. They did the best they could and that is all any parent can do--

I have decided to take a DNA test. Now for most of my contemporaries and even my Domestic Partner Donna, this would be somewhere between entertaining and mildly amusing. However, for me, as with nearly everything else that piques my interest, it's just not that simple. I have put this off for a number of years as not to cause anyone embarrassment and quite honestly, part of me fears what I won't or conceivably will find. This is likely to be a multi-part and quite lengthy posting, so I apologize now for my lack of brevity. Okay, so here is my side of those elements which led me here. Thank You.

(I'm fifteen at this point and terribly naive) On the way out of school that day, I was reminded by the school secretary that I needed my birth certificate by the next day or I would be dropped from Drivers Ed. So, I went home and expected to ask my Mom about it, again, but she wasn't home. The important papers were kept in a metal file box and I took it upon myself to go search for the document. 

I went into my parent's bedroom and stepped into no-man’s land. Being in there without being invited was forbidden. Despite my fears of being caught, i located the box, brushed away a half inch of crud, and opened the lid.  I rifled through the papers and found a birth certificate: The city was correct, born on an Air Force Base was correct, first and middle names were correct, and the birth date was correct. There was just one thing, the last name was wrong... Staring at this document, my young naive brain's first thought was; Wow! I have a brother born the same day as me. Does that mean I’m a twin? This is so cool! I continued searching for the birth certificate, the one bearing my surname and found nothing. 

For expediency, I'll stipulate that I had indeed found my own birth certificate. A revelation with far reaching implications and a singular truth. I am the product of an illegitimate union: A Bastard. Though few people even notice children born out of wedlock any longer, it wasn't so long ago where the last vestiges of this prejudice were firmly and stoically preserved, practiced, and held as something ordained from on high. 

Before I get ahead of myself, yes! I did get in trouble for rooting through the family files. Yes, there was an amount of drama and stories surrounding the origins of my birth. Setting down those stories into a narrative to accompany this journey serves neither the thesis nor those involved. I will however attempt to encapsulate the importance of a genetic history as a compliment to family (genetic or otherwise) and the incredibly fine line between belonging and litter on the highway.

I guess the first time I was truly inconvenienced by the last name I carry had to do with the U.S. Army and my enlistment. Since my Social Security card held one surname and my birth certificate another, I was lumped into a group of people who needed name and citizenship verification. Fortunately, i had recently gotten married and the girl I married took my name. In the truest of bureaucratic moves, they simply added an alias to my Social Security Account. This was good enough for the Army. Well, at least it was good enough for enlistment. 

In the middle of my second year of enlistment, i was selected to go to France for a test. Once again, the dual name thing caused me grief when I needed a security clearance upgrade to include a NATO designation. Eventually, I did get it, but not without some sacrifices. Toward that end, i won't even go into the whole Warrant Officer/ Helicopter Pilot debacle. Just know, at the end of that enlistment, I knew I was finished with the U.S. Army. I don't regret my service. In many ways it saved my life and yes i'd do it again. 

I spent the next thirty years, give or take, attempting to make my Social Security match my birth certificate. Interesting factoid, this was not rectified until I was forty-two years of age and was about to face some legal troubles as a result of the political landscape following Sept. 11, 2001. In the years following the 9/11 attacks I was unhireable due to the name game. This was the lowest. I'd been to the Social Security Administration so often we were all pretty much on a first name basis. One such trip I got lucky and met a man at the Social Security office in Denton, Texas who was originally from Kermit. He remembers the Social Security drives they had in the mid 1970's and in a whip of a pen all that dual name crap was a thing of the past. The other surname will always be associated with the file, but only in so far as a point of record keeping. Words escape me, but just like that I was whole.

There is an old adage: When one door closes another opens. For me, one recurring set of opening doors has led to Psychiatrists and Doctors from one end of my adult life to the other. I know, I know, what does this have to do with a birth certificate? Actually, not a lot, but they all contribute to the main topic here and that's, Why I got a DNA test. 

Studies have shown some mental illnesses to be genetically linked to the father. In my case, given the lack of a listed father on the birth certificate, it isn't as though I can call him up and find out what ails him. So, it's been old school trial and error. The other group of doors connected with these folks are your run of the mill, front line, general practitioner doctor. You know, the guy you go see when you get sick or need a physical. One of their standard forms is a medical history form. This is the form that wants to know if you or anyone in your family has suffered from three columns of diseases. At best, I've only been able to answer that half way.

Last year, I had a spot of skin cancer taken off my forearm which ended up running from side to side. This was the fourth piece I've had removed. In the middle of the procedure the doctor asked me if skin cancer runs in my family... Well, my Grandmother had skin cancer, but other than that I don't know. She certainly didn't seem to have it as often as I get it.  Months later I was at a Cardiologist Appointment and was asked if anyone in my family had a similar heart condition. I remember saying that I didn't know. He wondered if I could find out. We spoke briefly and decided it wasn't that important. 

Much like runway lights, my direction is painfully obvious. Get the DNA test. Don't these tests simply tell you where your ancestors were from?? Uh that should be easy, I’d say Europe, somewhere between Germany and Scotland. Okay, so maybe what I need to do first is to gather some information and do a little research on what it entails and what can be learned. This is a pile of reading and a surprising number of videos on the subject.

I learned quite a bit about the usefulness of DNA testing across a wide spectrum of need. It's time to do it or let it go Elsa!!! I ordered my test and in the next installment, I’ll fill in a few more of the blanks as to what i'm hoping to, and not to, discover.

Until I write again, Peace be with you,

Dave

This past weekend, I made a quickie trek out to Alpine. Really and truly I needed to reset my taste-buds and renew my nose to country air. I just needed to get out of town for a couple of days. I was stale. Berutted: if you like. For a brief case of ad nauseum, my zest was all pith!
This July would have marked two years since i had taken any time to slow down and measure the world around me. Yes, my yardstick was dry rotten. Interestingly enough, once I hit town all I wanted to do was curl up at the hotel and sleep. I'm sure Karl Jung would have a wise theory or two about that, but the next part would have caused him some contradiction. I generally don't dream. I simply pass out and wait for the next day to start, but from the first night I dreamed of running.
Years ago, in a galaxy far far away, I ran. I'd been doing it since I was a kid. If I wasn't running, i was biking. So when I left High School at 17 I weighed about 180lbs, but it was all leg and butt. I could open beers with my toes, but struggled to carry in groceries with my chicken wing arms. Well, the Army got the arms in line with the legs and my first two company commanders were both runners. I had it on good advice that if my commander was into something I better be able to converse in it without sounding like an idiot. So, I started running after hours and early mornings. A few miles here and there. I kept it to a three day a week type thing. Honestly, i was never disciplined enough to be a serious road runner. Oh sure, I did take a crack at it.
In 1984, or there abouts, I and my company commander both ran the Mule Mountain Marathon from Bisbee to Ft Huachuca. He ran the full thing, I ran a half. We both started the race as the first member of a 5 man relay. I remember i crossed the 5 mile mark right at 30 minutes. It was 29 and change and Carrington my commander was about 10 or so seconds ahead of me. (Side note: Alberto Salazar ran that year and he was about 20 seconds ahead of me)
At the half, I crossed walking at just short of 1:40. I felt good. My legs were chapped and sore and my shoes had long since failed, but I felt pretty damn good. I was invited to have beers with my friends that night and i made it through about a half of one before I fell  asleep.
That next year, I met the Hoyt's in Tucson. I'm still blown away. In those few brief moments, i learned what a Father's Love really is. In a nutshell, it's something i'll never achieve, but in my own weird way I do try. That last sentence makes me a bit sad, but it is the honest truth.
At this time in life, i varied between 202 - 215 pounds. Which is too heavy for a runner, especially one of any distance. I was reminded of this regularly. The guy at the local shoe store there on Fry Street loved me. I stopped in regularly to get a new pair of Asics. He took pity on me with some pretty great discounts and naturally I sent everyone to him.
I ran in Tucson, Phoenix, hell the Army had an MWR (morale, Welfare, and Recreation) run through Death Valley. I did that one twice and it nearly killed me. So, that little voice in the back of my head about being too big to run came to the front and with a new wife came a new life. Oh, I still ran here and there, I largely gave up on running until i got back to Alpine in '89.
That period, I would get out and run the loop road, or to the airport and back, I ran in from the road side park out west of town and from the Y. It was a great stress reliever.
One of the last times I went out for a run was pretty early on in my current relationship. I had been going out pretty regularly for a two to three mile run, when one morning I had stopped out by the airport on my way back into town to walk and drink some water and I met a guy who was also out for a run. it turned out he was in town to make a superbowl commercial for Footlocker. Oddly enough, I had gotten a day job as Assistant to the Location Manager for that same shoot. The runner was Joe Falcon. He was a real nice man and yes, he did find it odd that someone of my size was out running. I couldn't believe that I had just met a world class runner in Alpine. The last I heard, he had become a police officer or something of that nature.
So........
I woke up from this dream where I was running around loop road, waving at Roy Dodson, who was painting a door leaned up against the rock wall in front of his house, with fireworks going off at the park in the middle of the day. I sat up. Then, I stood up and my feet groaned. Today, i'm somewhere north of 300 pounds. All the years of pavement pounding and the resulting arthritis and bone spurs reminded me i'm still too big to run, but as long as I keep moving toward the next destination i'm still in the race.
It is my custom to post around my Birthday even when I post nothing further in the year. I recently turned 52 and this will have to suffice as my celebratory post. These days my thoughts are of my family. My aging parents who no longer go to bed late and get up early, but have traded that for something horrifyingly different. My children whom have all grown and found lives of their very own. My little grandchildren whom I could never see enough. Most interestingly, i'm watching all the friends from all the years have their faces betrayed by time and the crisp colors of their hair turned into a rainbow of starlight revealing the pain and wisdom hard won in races of their own.
As I keep moving toward the next destination I pray that each of you stays in the race for you are valued. A little more wrinkle, a little more silver, or even being too big to run are preferable to no race at all.
Until I write again, Peace be with you.
Dave

A Superhero In Search Of His Cape

I'm laying here with no particular thesis in mind. I seem to be stuck somewhere between "Ramble On" and "On The Road".  I assure you I am neither a Plant nor a Kerouac. I am a Truculent Grey-eyed fool playing my part on the grandest stage of all.
My elder son is a Senior in High School and will graduate in June. I have to admit, i'm a bit uneasy with the impending change looming on the horizon. In many ways, he's ready. Though, i can't help but worry about the choices he'll make in the early years after leaving the nest. He's a great kid and has chosen an honorable profession. One in which i think his demeanor and athleticism will serve him well; he'll be a Fireman. I guess it's still allowable to call them Firemen and not some super politically correct euphemism like, an onsite extrication, recovery, and incendiary containment specialist..
I believe, my shenanigans aside, i like Fireman the best!
Easy ladies, but here is a picture of the budding super hero.....

Growing up, as many of us know (though i don't really fit the description), is a perplexing time filled with wonder. As in, I wonder what i'll be when i grow up. Which has been the biggest challenge of my life to date.
I once asked my Grandfather, "Papa, how do you know what you'll be when you grow up?" To which he replied, "Many years from now you'll be cleaning out your desk for the last time and taking stuff home you've never taken before. At that moment, you'll look back and know what you were when you grew up."
You know, that was about all of the "what do you want to be when you grow up?" advice i ever remember getting. In the context of today, it's really not bad advice considering all of the people who work several jobs during their lifetime. For me, it wasn't that i didn't know what i wanted to be, rather it was that i wanted to be too many things; many of which were completely ridiculous. Now, i'm not talking about the run of the mill ridiculous like deciding at twenty to be a Rock Star or a "C" student who is weak in math that wants to be an Astronaut. (Guilty) What i'm talking about is something like; I want to be an Oceanographer! and the only ocean i'd seen was on TV. I still love Jacques Cousteau! Also from a tender age i wanted to be a Writer/Photographer. You say "That doesn't sound ridiculous". Well, let me tell you, i might as well have had aspirations of being the King of England. (More on that in a future post if i think about it.)
The point here is that when i was growing up we never talked about what we wanted to be when we grew up. I don't know if that led me to where i'm at today or if it were simply the choices i've made or a combination of the two. Be that as it may, I did talk to the boys about it. I asked them often and no matter how ridiculous their responses, at the time. I never beat them up about their choices. What i did do was to ask them how they applied to other jobs in the field. I always left them with a question. For instance: let's say they wanted to fry an egg. I'd ask them if frying an egg was all they wanted to do with it. I'd ask them if they'd like to make an omelette or possibly learn to make custard. The lesson here is about flexibility and being able to roll with the punches that life throws at us without becoming bitter and cynical.
In the short go, it has led to both of my guys knowing where they want to be ten years after graduation. Now, those of us with enough ground under our boots know that life has a way of steering you, but in the meantime they are both on a good course.
So, to tidy up the end of this visit i'll say that my little super hero will be attending EMT classes this Fall or the Fire Academy. Since he'll only be eighteen, there is a chance he won't be selected for the Fire Academy this year. Until he is though he'll be satisfying the other requirements for the job he seeks. I am proud of him, but in our Viking home it only counts when you cross the finish line.

Until we speak again, Peace be with You, Dave