Time well spent is all guy wants

sweden-mapNo matter where you are at any given moment today it’s either tomorrow or yesterday somewhere else.  Years ago I visited Sweden which is nine hours ahead of California.   I returned to work and a colleague handed me a fax sent from Stockholm.  He pointed to the date and time.

“Here’s a message from tomorrow,” he chuckled.

I shared this story with Maggie, my 7th grader, who worried about the end of the Mayan calendar December 21st (2012).  

“The world can’t end,” she sniffed.  “I want to grow up and open a beachfront café.  I have a lot to do.” 

I tested faith-based rationale.  “Only God knows when the world ends,” I soothed.

Maggie still seecalendar Mayanmed anxious.  My youngest daughter is a linear thinker.

“No worries, kid.  It’s already tomorrow in Australia.  If the world was ending, it would be on the news by now.”   She smiled and hopped upstairs. 

The imminent New Year gave me reason to pause.  We expend time in blocks of minutes, days, or years.  They often pass by without our noticing.  Consider one minute, when either a decision we make or action we take possibly affects our life’s outcome.  In only a minute we can miss a plane and an opportunity. We can make or lose fortunes.  We can lose, or gain, a loved one.        

Time cannot be bought but it does have a price.  It’s only free when you don’t have to do anything or be anywhere.   Often there is little regard for how we use it.  work bench vise

My wife Hun gifted me time one Christmas.  She told me exactly what she wanted, where to get it, and saved me from playing shopping roulette.  She pined for a work-bench vise, preferably one to clamp two-by-four’s and not my skull.    

I executed operation-sweep-her-off-her-feet with a trip to the hardware store.  I went from a time deficit to time spared.  I figured I’d use the extra time to do something she wanted.      

She decided on a family shopping trip to a big city mall. 

The four of us walked inside single-file.  I noticed a congregation of leaners, sitters and snoozers, guys biding their time waiting for their mates. 

Hun split the clan – I had Kate, the 10th grader, and she took Maggie.

I trudged behind Kate who hunted for a deal.  A mixture of holiday and rap music blared throughout the store.  She zeroed in on a target and removed a woolen item.  It had the circumference of a bike tire.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“An infinity sinfinity scarf neon pinkcarf,” she said.  “It’s a circle so you don’t have to tie it.”

I wondered how many minutes it takes to tie a regular scarf. She scurried off.  I remained alone in no man’s land next to a rack of scarves.  I scanned the store and drifted into the intimate apparel section, an area that befuddles most guys.  A sales clerk intercepted me.

“Can I help you find something for your daughter?”  

“Egad, no.”

“It’s for your wife, then?”

“Umm…”  An uneasy feeling chilled my soul.  A premonition warned me of danger.  I turned to see Hun’s glare.  She stood tall; arms crossed and frowning with disapproval.  It was time for me to relocate. 

“No luck finding binoculars,” I told her.  She wasn’t amused.  I decided at that moment to trust my instinct:  Never pass on a good opportunity to shut up.  My testosterone level sank to pre intimate apparel conditions.  photo hourglass

I’m ready for 2014 but won’t overlook the remaining days of 2013.  I’ll yearn to enjoy each moment and not take anything for granted.  I’ll watch for the positive and amusing episodes that occur on any given day.  I’ll make sure to notice them.      

I appreciate your time reading Etc. Guy this past year.  Many of you sent thoughtful and encouraging notes.  I’ll continue writing.  I hope that my best times, as a writer, are yet to come. 

### Please take the time to share this article.  Send me a note at eric@etcguy.com or visit www.etcguy.com and join my Facebook page.  Happy New Year.

Posted in Holidays, Parent and Kids | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 53 Comments

Wife Trumps Husband at Christmas

marriage signThe human brain starts working the moment one’s born.  For guys, it stops the moment they speak to their mate. 

Guys process information in the left hemisphere of the brain, or left brain.  We’re task oriented problem solvers.  I took a survey and discovered that my left brain dominates my right brain 65% to 35%, often to my demise.  Researchers conclude that women process equally well between the two hemispheres.  They are more creative and aware of feelings.  Women make up more than half the U.S. population.  Fellas, it’s a no-brainer.  We’re outnumbered and we’d better learn some right-brain exercises.  

My wife can read my mind in real-time.  I also read her mind but it’s usually about a week later.  I feign comprehension.  The best problem solving skills still rarely help me decipher what’s happening.

I endured a particularly rough interrogation one summer day.  She wore her sunhat, work gloves, and attacked the yard.  Dirt covered her jeans and forehead.  Grime coated her sunglasses.  “Where’s my weed-eater?” she asked.

I hesitated, uh oh.

“Wouldn’t start,” I said.  “I took it apart, reassembled it, discovered extra parts, and gave up.”

“The question was… Where is my weed-eater?” OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

“It’s on the curb with a FREE sign.  Someone else can have the headache.  Use the back-up.”

She peered over the fence.  “It’s gone!  I told you, don’t mess with my stuff.  What was wrong?  Why didn’t you tell me? ” The questions shot out in rapid fire.    

I had hoped her questions were rhetorical. I vaguely recalled conversations about her stuff versus my stuff, and the responsibilities of managing our collective stuff.  I rationalized and solved the problem.  The weed-eater was broken.  Expedient, and independent, decision-making became another problem.

“Congratulations, you just gave away your weed-eater.  The other one is now mine.  Maybe you’ll get one for Christmas.  Try your right-brain next time.”

What I thought was initially ours, was actually hers, but not decidedly ours.   Regarding the back-up weed-eater, which I thought was still ours, it’s now hers. 

California is a communal state.  We co-own our stuff except for several possessions.  The hockey equipment is mine, the blender is hers.  She’d argue that the blender is communal property because the entire household benefits.  It’s not just hers.  She’s welcome to wear my hockey gear but probably wouldn’t view the gesture as a fair trade.  My right-brain stormed.  I realized that apart from jewelry, nothing is really hers. 

The holidays will save me though.  I’ll get another chance to sensitize and learn from Christmas past.  She coveted a “Snoopy dog” – a beagle – one Christmas but settled on a rat terrier pup.  The pooch had a bald belly and freckles.  A drill sergeant has more hair.   The pup climbed in her lap.

“That mutt might need sunscreen someday,” I said.  “Or Rogaine.”

She flinched.  Did I really say that?  Later that day they both got even.  The puppy was hers but its dog-doo became mine.

One winter day I greeted my wife in the driveway.  I helped her unload a box.  It weighed about forty pounds and I guessed that it was electronic equipment.  I asked what it was.

“It’s a present,” she said.

“Shall I wrap it?” I asked.

“No, that’s OK.  You run short on paper and wreck the corners.”

“Shall I put it beneath the tree?”

“Sure, take it inside.  It’s yours.  Open it.”

Suspicion never entered my mind, but panic did.  It was two days before Christmas and I hadn’t started shopping.  My anxiety, and associated guilt, quickly elapsed because of the size of the box.  She got me a big present.  Big can be good.

I opened the box puzzled to find another wrapped container.  I thought this was the box-inside-another-box trick.  I wouldn’t fall for it, but played along.  I eventually uncovered a kennel. 

It moved.  I pressOLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAed my nose against the cage door.  Two eyes met mine.  I focused harder and saw hooves not paws, crooked teeth and a horn.  “Baaah… baaah.”

“What gives?” I asked.

My wife grinned ear to ear, hemisphere to hemisphere.    

“Merry Christmas to the man who thinks he has everything.  Enjoy the new weed-eater, it’s all…yours.”  

Be sure to visit Eric’s blog at http://etcguy.com or contact him at eric@etcguy.com.  You can join the Etc. Guy Facebook page too.  Merry Christmas.

 

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No Gravy for Pets this Christmas

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAI stepped in it before I said it.

It was the dawn of December 26.  Sunlight peeked over the horizon, chasing away a cluster of stars faintly twinkling in the western sky.  I yawned and switched on the coffee pot.  The aroma of Arabica beans wafted through the house.  I had the morning to myself.  It’s just me, hot coffee and a Christmas tree. 

The coffee pot gurgled.  I poured myself a cup and glanced at the tree.  Ribbons littered the floor.   An ornament caught my eye.  I stepped closer for a better look. 

“Hmm, this one is loose.  It’s about to …..SQUISH.  $#@*!”

I’ll remember that Christmas for a while.  Our mutt, Radio, must have mooched a Christmas snack from one of the kids.  The hound re-gifted me a present that was hidden beneath a pile of wrapping paper.

Dog-doo oozed through my socks between my toes. I crawled on my knees to the banister and shrieked upstairs.  “Who fed Radio last night?!”   

My voice boomed and jolted Hun from a deep slumber.   

“You woke me up for that?  I was dreaming.”

“I’m dreaming of giving away this mutt.  She knows better than to mess in the house.”

My kids, now awake,sleeping dogs and cat stood in their pajamas.  “But Dad, it’s Christmas.  We fed Lilla and the cats turkey and gravy, too.”

An hour later, after throwing away my socks, hunting for landmines, and power washing the carpet, I sat with my coffee which was now ice-cold. 

Humans are the only animals that own others, simply for the pleasure of companionship.  I wonder who gets the most pleasure, them or me.  I’m their provider and doorman.

Hun and the kids picked Radio, a curly-haired Chesapeake-Lab mix, from a litter ten years ago.  I was away goofing off.  Radio’s adoption foreshadowed later events.  Whenever I’m gone, I often come home to new critters.  Our large yard has plenty of running space, but I wonder if Hun is grooming me to stick around more often.  I’ve returned home to find new cats, chickens, guinea pigs, rabbits and goats.  My initial discontent is replaced by this rationale: Coming home to new pets is more acceptable than coming home to a new man. OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Radio, a sweet mutt, doesn’t swim or fetch.  She also gets car sick.  Lilla, the Rat Terrier-Chihuahua mix, is like a banker.  She makes deposits except they’re in our house.  Hun got Lilla four Christmases ago during my mother-in-law’s recuperating stay after back surgery.  In addition to a post-operative mother-in-law, a preoccupied wife, and two pre-pubescent daughters, I had a puppy. 

Lilla, SwediLilla at door windowsh for “little,” has spiny legs, a bald belly, and wing-like, tortilla-chip-shaped ears.  She’s blended with parts of other dogs too embarrassed to be themselves.  She chews wood trim, raids the laundry, and shreds underwear.  Eleven inches at her shoulders, Lilla treads underfoot.  She clings to me like a barnacle unless a squirrel is in view.  Lilla and Radio will get new chew toys this Christmas.

Our three tomcats, Velcro, George and Ringo, paid a price to live rent free.  Hun had them neutered.  “It’s not like they’re castrated,” she said.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

“Are you kidding? No guy believes that.” 

Velcro, a birthday party favor, was named after climbing my leg.  I ripped him off before he reached vital organs but not without crying.  Hun found George on Craigslist and Ringo found us Halloween night.  Even with their “junk” removed, the cats retain enough testosterone to hunt gophers.  For Christmas they’ll get catnip, and then their stoned eyes will gaze at me. 

We have two other male pets but they live in cages.  The unnamed rabbit is cute but worthless.  Our chatty parakeet, Rocket, talks incessantly and repeats his name ad nauseam.  He flies laps inside the house for physical exercise and vocally trains by mimicking the telephone.

“Maggie, answer tRocket XMAS cagehe phone,” I shout from upstairs.

Daaad… it’s just the bird.”

At Christmas, Rocket’s cage is adorned with miniature wreaths and candy canes. 

I haven’t yet started Christmas shopping for my human family because it’s complicated and confusing.  I also work better under pressure so I’ll procrastinate another two weeks.  Shopping for the pets, though, is a cinch.  They’re part of the family and deserve Christmas tidings.  I’ll just make sure to hide the gravy.

###  Be sure to join the Etc. Guy Facebook page by visiting www.etcguy.com.  Thanks.

Posted in Holidays, Pets | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 63 Comments

Humor Writer Biff America Keeps Skiers Laughing

 

Humor writer Biff America

Humor writer Biff America

My parents practiced the rhythm method but I still can’t dance.

 - Biff America in ‘Steep, Deep and Dyslexic’-

His face and hands were tanned and weathered.  Both were symptoms of someone who spends more time outside than in an office.  He wore a wool flannel shirt, a woolen cap, and well-worn jeans.  He opened the door, kicked snow from his boots, and walked inside.

“Hi Jeffrey,” the barista said.  “The usual?  You know where it is.”

I was on my first leg of a quest to find out where the humor writers are and was about to meet a long-time favorite of mine, Biff America aka Jeffrey Bergeron, in a Breckenridge, Colorado coffee shop.  Well known for his sharp and edgy wit, Bergeron keeps skiers wondering what he’ll write about next.  Bergeron is a former radio ad copy writer with a comedic gusto that nearly matches his insatiable demand to ski.  His career has migrated uphill faster than a rope tow and higher than a chairlift.  Through his alter ego Biff America, Bergeron is a popular television entertainer, comedian, radio host, and the author of ‘Steep, Deep and Dyslexic,’ a collage of stories published over a ten year period in multiple Rocky Mountain newspapers.  He has interviewed Hollywood celebrities and former Presidents.  Bergeron also served two terms on the Breckenridge Town Council.  Bergeron’s ‘Biff America’ is a Colorado icon.  I wondered what made him tick.

Breckenridge TV 8

Breckenridge TV 8

I first saw the Biff America TV morning show thirty years ago.  The show was produced, as he explains, in a “gerbil-powered TV station” and recorded in a studio resembling a college dorm room.  The Biff America Show was the Rocky Mountain version of Wayne’s World.  He poked fun at bad hair, ugly ski gear, and mispronounced words.  His humor was as steady, and blustery, as a February blizzard.

Biff’s irreverent columns push the margin, but he lets readers decide whether the lines have been crossed.  He freely volunteers stories about topics other people keep private, whether it’s smuggling beers into a family reunion or being searched at the airport for nose-hair clippers.  He takes on subjects others take far too seriously and can weave together a story involving prostate exams, dog walking, and interior paint selections, all on one page.

I contacted Biff after reading his obituary which didn’t let on it was autobiographical.  Apparently a squirrel jumped inside Biff’s car, climbed up his pant leg, and caused him to crash into a tree.  The squirrel left the scene but Biff did not.  “How sad,” I thought, “what a loss.”  I reread the byline—“by Biff America.”  I knew then I wanted to meet the guy who would use such an unusual way to make contact with his readers, and wanted to let him know I appreciated his work.  I contacted Biff and let him know I was in town.  We sat down for coffee.

Thanks for meeting.  I’ve enjoyed your work for a long time.

Breckenridge Ski Area

Breckenridge Ski Area

Sure thing, but I need to prepare for a back-country ski trip later this morning.  A powder dump is forecasted near Marble [Colorado].  So what’re you doing?

I’m finding out where all the humor writers are.  I’m from Colorado but now live in snow-deprived Chico, California.  I’m sneaking in a few ski days and wanted to track you down. 

I lived in Northern California once, back during my salad—eating years and also spent some winters in Southern California.  I try to ski the Sierra every spring if there’s good corn snow.

So, what kind of name is “Biff America”?

[Sigh].  It’s one of those childhood nicknames I can’t shake.  I was a smart-alec kid in Boston.  Biff was okay back then and even into my 30’s.  But I’m almost 60.  How many guys my age call themselves, “Biff?”

I guess only you, Biff. 

Well, it’s my persona anyway, my pen-name.  Biff pays the bills but he’s not Jeffrey Bergeron.

A Bergeron plays for the Boston Bruins.  When did you move to Colorado?

I moved here in the mid-1970s.  The East Coast is crowded and has puny mountains with lousy snow.  Yeah, we have the Bruins but I really like the Red Sox.  I’m not related to Bergeron the Bruin, who’s a French Canadian.  I’m an Irish-Catholic Bostonian.  Ah, maybe there’s some French in there….

Did you start your writing and TV career in Colorado?

Yep, I started in the 1980s with TV-8 Summit Television in Breckenridge and began writing ten years after Al Gore invented the computer.  Before writing humor columns, I wrote radio ad copy.  I wasn’t formerly trained in journalism and barely scraped through high school.  But I have an uncanny ability to remember details—which I embellish.

How did you get into humor writing?

Near Leadville, CO

Near Leadville, CO

My parents and siblings had a great sense of humor.  I clowned around a lot at home and school.  Writing radio ad copy work got me going because you really have to be concise and to the point.  You need to get listeners’ attention.  I eventually recorded ads and needed to be animated.  Biff America is animated.  The radio work led to the TV show…which I wrote.  One thing led to another and I got published in newspapers and magazines.  Now thinking about this, I’ve been writing a long time and Biff’s persona has carried me through.

You are known as a humor writer, but you also write serious articles.  What prompts you?

I write serious when an event moves me.  I guess I’m more of a serious guy that can write funny than a funny guy that can write serious.  The serious stuff comes from personal experience because I had a stake in the story.  To some degree I knew the people involved and wanted to make a point, whether the story talked about cancer, gun control, gay marriage, legalizing marijuana, or campaigning around town in my Vespa scooter.

You were also on the Denver radio-waves.  I’m glad you received that exposure. 

That’s right; I had a show on KOA-AM 850 in Denver for nine years, not to be confused with the KOA Campground on Interstate 70.  It was my trip to the big city.

Who were your most memorable interviews?

Interviewing Richie Havens

Interviewing Richie Havens

On TV I interviewed actors James Earl Jones, Robert England (Freddy Kruger), Jon Voight, Peter Fonda and musician Richie Havens.  On radio I interviewed Christopher Reeves, Jimmy Carter, Ralph Nader and Lance Armstrong.

That’s quite a list.  How does a humor writer get to interview a former President? 

I interviewed President Carter on a multi-state radio show I co-hosted.  It was a matter of persevering.  And good timing.  He’s fascinating.

Were you nervous interviewing President Carter?

President Carter was wonderful and gracious.  He was promoting Habitat for Humanity.  Before the interview I researched his work and listened to his Presidential speeches on energy policy.  They were on-line.  I also read his book.  His kindness glowed.  I picked up on that while on the air.  I wasn’t nervous.

Did President Carter have a sense of humor?

I asked whether his staff received the $100 I sent to his Presidential campaign.  He laughed and said he heard it was only $50.

Steep Deep and Dyslexic photoTell me about your book “Steep, Deep and Dyslexic.” Reviewers describe you as a mix of Andy Rooney and Garrison Keillor.

Backcountry Magazine sponsored Steep and Deep which was published in 2006.  It’s a collage of newspaper articles where I talk about recreation, family, living people, dead people, politics, connubial bliss, God, and sex, love and body parts.  One reviewer said he blew beer through his nose.  I haven’t met that guy.

Your book received high acclaim from the Denver Post and in 2005 you received the Colorado Press Association award for both humor and serious writing.  Do you have plans for another book?

Yes, but I’m in the early stages.  I still write for Backcountry Magazine, of course from the viewpoint of a wise-guy, aging, skier.  I love to write but like to ski more days than I work.

I understand you are friends with John Nichols, author of ‘The Milagro Beanfield War‘.  Have you considered writing fiction?

Oh, I don’t know…maybe.

ski colorado brochure 1950sYour humor is to Backcountry Magazine like Patrick McManus is to Field & Stream.  What are your favorite topics?  

I like to write about myself, a subject I’m familiar with.  Like when I’m skiing with younger guys or with my wife.  I gasp for air while they breathe using scuba-tank-size-lungs.  When you poke fun at yourself it doesn’t intimidate others.  I’ve screwed up a lot, so there’s plenty to write about.  I write about topics that many only think about.  I have a broad mesh in my filter.

What are the most challenging stories to write?

Any story about myself, where I’m not proud of my behavior, or situations that are painful to recount.  ‘Steep and Deep’ gives readers a peek at that when I talk about my parents, or the time a friend died in an avalanche.  Though it hurt I still wrote about those experiences.  Unfortunately I know a lot of dead people.

Who most influenced your writing career?

My brother is a brilliant writer for a Boston newspaper.  I can’t say he influenced me much as he’s just too good.  Novelist and poet Jack Kerouac (On the Road) changed my life.   Former syndicated travel writer, David Gonzales, was also very supportive in my early years.  Other supporters were Denver Post columnist Steve Lipsher and author John Nichols.

Do you blog?

No, I have a Facebook account but that’s it.  I’m a print guy, which is good.  The editors can fix my terrible typing, spelling and grammar.

You served on the Breckenridge Town Council.  Why does a humor writer get into politics?

Yeah, I served two terms.  I wanted to represent the ski-bum, the hard working guy or gal barely getting by.  I wanted to maintain a town where a person like me could get established.  I was not beholden to the developers or any corporations, just the working person.  They needed a voice.  And I also wanted to protect our local resources and the area’s natural beauty.

I had observed many Council meetings over the years and my largest hurdle to getting elected was my name.  Citizens didn’t think I’d take the job seriously.    Once elected, I soon realized how difficult a job it is.  We considered the impacts of development, affordable housing, and sustaining our local economy.  Behind the scenes were many forces, and pressure, to take one side over another.  The job was difficult but I tried to listen to everyone.  The issues were not as clear as I thought.  I learned that I couldn’t please everybody.

Enjoying the Rockies

Enjoying the Rockies

I’m still involved in the Town’s Open Space Advisory Committee.

You mentioned the protection of natural resources…can you elaborate?

Yes, it began prior to my term when my wife and I got involved in a ballot measure to establish a town tax for preserving open space.  As an elected official…that word “official” sounds weird…I eventually became involved with local water politics.  The Town of Breckenridge has some of the oldest and most senior water rights in Colorado.  It was interesting to learn the options the Town had to improve management and storage of the Blue River before it reaches Lake Dillon, which is owned by the Denver Water Board.

Do you plan to retire?

From TV, yes.  I’ll still do some freelance TV work if the opportunity presents itself but won’t actively seek it.  I don’t want to fill my schedule having to be somewhere.  I’ll continue to write and can do that anywhere at any time.  I want to ski more than I work…did I already say that?

July 4th Emcee

July 4th Emcee

What advice do you have for aspiring humor writers?

Embellish, be edgy, but know your audience.  I write for a PG-rated audience and I’ve seen colleagues flop when they pushed beyond social tolerance.  Summit County is known for its ski resorts, but the area also has a long history, charm and ambience.  Breckenridge was explored in the 1800’s by trappers and miners.  We’re a close knit community with less than 10,000 people.  But I have a broader audience.  The Breckenridge Ski Area can attract up to 20,000 skiers on a peak day.  We’re an international destination.  So my audience includes the locals and tourists, whether they come from Lubbock or London.

That said, edgy is good… but I don’t want to lose my coffee club membership.  Oh yeah, and write your own fan mail.

You’ve had a broad career and are multi-talented.  Do you also perform colonoscopies?

Funny you ask, I just had one.  They found a Timex in there.

Soon, time ran out.  Bergeron needed to pack for his ski trip and daylight burned. I handed him two souvenirs, a hat from a Chico’s Sierra Nevada Brewery, and a complimentary Sky Mall Magazine from my airline flight (these magazines sell things people need, like underwater treadmills and dog bunk beds).  We finished our coffee session discussing ski equipment.  I told Biff about my rig.  “Dude, your stuff is old.  You need all-terrain skis and bindings….”

Etc. Guy and Biff

Etc. Guy and Biff

He offered me a ride and I hopped in his car (sans squirrel) for a shuttle across town.  He dropped me off, waved and drove away.  What I appreciate most about Bergeron is that through Biff America, I’m transported to an era when life was simpler and the world less complicated.  Today, his humor is sharper and more perceptive than most comedians.

I’m glad he wasn’t done in by a squirrel.

If Breckenridge is your destination, spend a few moments Sunday morning reading the Summit Daily News where you’ll find Biff America’s column.  You can also find him in the back pages of Backcountry Magazine.  Or visit Biff’s site  to download Biff America: Steep, Deep, and Dyslexic .    ###

Eric Miller lives in Chico, California with his wife and teenage daughters.  He’s a lazy backcountry skier and prefers chairlifts over skins.  He travels the country to interview humor writers.  Read about his “Humor Project” at www.etcguy.com.

 

Posted in Humor Project - Interviews, The Humor Project | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

Veteran Pen Pal Comes Knocking at Door

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAPreviously published in the Chico Enterprise-Record (2012) & updated for Growing Up Chico Magazine (2013)

Eighty words bridged seven thousand miles.

“Write to a soldier and cheer them up,” said Mrs. Larsen, while coordinating a holiday writing campaign for her fourth grade class.  My daughter, Maggie, carefully focused on the task.  Her vocabulary was simple, the paragraphs short.  She talked about her hobbies, family, school, and pets.  The letter was boxed with sixty others and mailed, destination unknown.

“You may not hear back,” I told her, “but we’re proud you tried.”

In 1971 my dad, an Air Force doctor, received orders to Vietnam.  My family wept. Writing him letters made me feel better.

Five months passed and an envelope arrived, with a US Army return address.  It was from a sergeant named Julian Alvarez.  Alvarez could not reveal his location but said he was alright.  My family read his letter several times.  We wrote personal messages on a Memorial Day card and mailed it.

Summer passed and we wondered if our pen pal was safe.  The weeks blended together and before long school started again.  Then one day I received an amazing phone call.

“May I speak with Mr. Miller?” the man asked.  His voice was polite but serious.

“Who is this?” I challenged.

“This is Sgt. Julian Alvarez, you sent me a card.  I’m back from overseas and my brother lives in Chico.  I have a gift for your daughter.”

Stunned, I hesitated.  “Sure.  Come for dinner.”  I hung up and wondered if I made a wise decision.  “He was sincere,” I explained to my wife.  “Let’s meet him.”

We tidied the house and I started the barbeque, figuring a soldier merited a thick steak.

We were antsy—my family of four had a blind date. The dogs barked when Sgt. Alvarez arrived.  He wore his uniform, stood nearly six feet, and appeared to be in his mid-20s.  We made clumsy small talk at first but loosened up during the evening.  A cordial fellow, his conversation was purposeful.  Alvarez received 30 letters and was happy to get ours from Chico.  “I replied to everyone,” he said.  “Your family and another from the East Coast were the only families to write back.  Chico is near my hometown and I wanted to personally thank you.”

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAAn eight-year veteran, Alvarez joined the army at age 17 and fought in Iraq and Afghanistan.  Our letter reached him in Afghanistan.  He led a team that provided convoy security for NATO forces.  Each soldier carried 120 pounds of gear for a mission that typically lasted 20 hours.  His longest mission, while under attack, was 70 hours.  He directly confronted the enemy numerous times.  Fortunately he was never wounded in battle.  “We lost several guys,” he sighed.  We listened quietly as he continued. “I got hurt a few times.  Explosions from roadside bombs rocked our vehicle.  We bounced around inside.”

He missed family and friends, but also trivial freedoms.  “I couldn’t leave base to buy a candy bar.  I took that simple liberty for granted.  And I felt bad for my mom who was alone.”

Alvarez was awarded the NATO medal for excellent conduct, and the Afghan Campaign medal with two campaign stars.  He returned home to the Bay Area in September 2010. After dinner he presented a camouflage bandana.  “Army chaplains hand them to soldiers who ask.  Can I give it to Maggie?”  I read the language printed on the bandana and recognized verses from Psalm 23, “The Lord is my shepherd… though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil…“  I smiled and nodded.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAI’ve stayed in touch with Julian since our dinner two years ago.  He now attends the University of Alabama and studies communications.  He still serves in the Army Reserves.  I’ve never served my country in the way Julian has.  I appreciate his sacrifice and taking time to  contact us.  He even made time to visit Mrs. Larsen’s class.  I asked what I could do for him.

“Military moms struggle with worry.  Can you promote Blue Star Moms?  Blue Star Moms helped my mom.”

Friendships can begin in unexpected ways.  Like this one, because of a fourth-grader’s letter to a soldier.

To contact Blue Star Moms visit www.bluestarmoms.org.   Thank you, Julian.  Happy Veterans Day.

### Readers: Please share this article with a Vet.  Let them know they’re appreciated.  Be sure to also visit the Etc. Guy Facebook page at www.etcguy.com.

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Dad’s Halloween Costume Scares Neighborhood, But the Kids are OK

Etc Guy Maggie caramel apple“Those who matter don’t mind, and those who mind don’t matter.”  Dr. Seuss

The mornings after Halloween are the only days of the year my kids get a hall pass to eat caramel apples for breakfast.  The apples are healthy, which offsets the caramel, and the peanuts have protein, so the menu is justifiable.  It amuses me to watch them peel sugar mats from their teeth.  Their distraction also gives me time to raid what’s left of the Halloween candy.

Kate, my high-school junior, has out grown trick-or-treating but Maggie still wanted to go.  She’s in eighth-grade and borders on the fringes of aging out.  I’ve always accompanied my kids Halloween night.  When the kids were toddlers my wife and I masqueraded as bee-keepers, hockey players, and clowns, fun stuff.  Halloween is the one day when you aren’t expected to be yourself.  Then again, maybe one’s true self comes out.

Maggie is almost a big kid and I knew my window of opportunity to trick-or-treat with her was closing.  She invited me to chaperone, but only if I dressed up.

I wore speedos and cowboy boots.

Etc Guy Dad and speedosHER: What?!? You can’t go like that!!
ME: I’m Michael Phelps.
HER: Eww…You don’t look like him. You’re TOO flabby.
ME: It’s muscle.  Besides, I need to be with you in case there are weirdo’s out there.
HER: [Silence]

She usually talks a mile a minute but was dumbfounded.  Parenting sure is fun.  My costume was a hit though the after-effects may facilitate my neighbors’ visits to counseling sessions.

Dad’s, here’s how I created an awesome Halloween costume:

Hat = $2.  Found one at a garage sale
Speedos = $15 (Bought a new pair, not used speedos.  C’mon, I have standards.)
Tony Llama boots = FREE, found buried in closet
Time spent laughing with daughters = PRICELESS

I posted this photo on the Etc. Guy Facebook page yesterday morning.  So far I’ve had about 300 views an hour and it’s still early in the weekend.  There is power in the speedo.  Please share my page if it makes a friend laugh.  If I’m teased that’s okay.  It’s the price I’m willing to pay to have a complete blast with my kids.  They’re growing up fast and I just can’t get enough of them.

As for my wife, she thinks I’m a royal knucklehead and is afraid we won’t be invited anywhere for Thanksgiving or Christmas.

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Wife Tricks Husband Into Eating Eggplant

If eggplant had a Facebook page, I wouldn’t LIKE it.  I would not be a friend. eggplant photo1

I love fruits and vegetables but regardless of its specie, eggplant may as well be liver.  I spring away from eggplant farther than a cat sidesteps puddles.  My mom once duped me to eat it though she had good intentions.  Maybe she figured it would lower my cholesterol or prevent cancer but it was probably on sale.  Between eggplant and burnt toast, Mom’s cooking stunted my growth.

eggplant with vegetables posterI inherited Mom’s cooking skills.  I lived on Top Ramen, bean burritos and pizza during my bachelor years and ate cardboard and salsa when the cupboards were bare.  My palate was simple and undiscerning.  Watching paint dry was more exciting than preparing food.  Today my kids whine about my culinary offerings.  At breakfast they grumble that the eggs are too crunchy.

My palate changed after I married Hun.  She made food cool and can whip up a meal with the slightest of ingredients.  If the breadbox has stale sourdough, the fridge has hamburger, and there’s flour in the pantry, Hun will create a meat loaf to rival any diner’s.  She’ll make pizza dough, pasta noodles, and pie crust from scratch faster than I can vacuum her Ford.

food eggplantHun can disguise any cuisine.  I’ll think that I ate one thing, and then later discover I ate something entirely different.  Consider the dish ratatouille, a comfort food. I was enthralled with the Disney movie, Ratatouille, but didn’t notice how the main character prepared the dish.  Hun cooked a stew and I recognized the tomatoes, onions, zucchini and peppers.  After my third helping she told me it was loaded with a dozen eggplants.   For all I know she also laced it with Ambien®, which explains my sleepy libido.  My wife is a trickster.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA She’s unpredictable with her cons.  One afternoon I nearly gobbled what I thought were treats.  Five rows of chocolate sprinkle covered cupcakes beckoned like sirens.  I was about to sneak one but thought better.  To pull off my heist I couldn’t eat just one.  I’d need to eat an entire row to keep the numbers even.  Visually they appeared delicious but the textures seemed awry.  They were powdery dry and smelled earthy.  It’s unlike Hun to botch an entire batch.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAA carton leaned behind the cupcakes.  I put on my reading glasses and looked at a photo of baby tomato plants wrapped in mud cakes the size of hockey pucks.  The box said “Plant-tone.”  She nearly tricked me into eating peat!  To protect my kids, and myself from memory lapses, I taped a sign to the “cupcake box” as a community service.  Sure enough, tomatoes sprouted two days later.

My wife occasionally bakes liver treats for our mutts.  Any fool, and neighbor cat, can smell liver from a mile away.  The organ reeks of sweaty socks and its aroma contaminates the upholstery and drapes.  Hun recently threw me another curve ball.  I hurried home for lunch one day and saw a box of Buddy Biscuits on the counter with a picture of gingerbread men.  I’m a sucker for gingerbread cookies and in my haste I grabbed one.  I spit out the cookie faster than sour milk and reread the box.  Hun bought the dogs liver flavored gingerbread men.  I made another sign to protect the kids and myself.  I may be my wife’s husband but I’m certainly not her buddy.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAAt least most Halloween candy comes in pre-labeled wrappers.  Halloween candy is presumably safe for me to eat but for the kids’ sake, I’ll double-check the Kit Kats and Hershey bars to feel the square edges.    I might even sniff them for liver or eggplant.

But to really be sure I’ll eat them.

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Daughter’s Dating is Dad’s Dilemma

Parenthood was simpler when Kate was four.  Life before high school and boys is a foggy memory.  I yearn for the toddler years when she bummed rides on my shoulders.  I’d gladly relive having a sore neck.  Kate’s now sixteen and college is on the horizon.  I try not to waste time watching it fly by.

At sixteen my mindset was in the gutter.  I was a wannabe sexual dynamo.  My biology teacher taught basic anatomy, but it was Ritchie Wiley’s stash of dirty magazines that opened my Pandora’s Box to lust, frustration and anxiety.  Rounding the bases and scoring had multiple meanings, assuming I reached the batter’s box.

farrah_fawcett_bestFarrah Fawcett was the pin-up angel of the 1970s.  Any high school boy who wasn’t brain dead had a Farrah poster tacked to the wall.  Our collective testosterone levels peaked more abruptly than a NASDAQ composite.  My folks nonchalantly allowed my brother and me to ask out girls.  “Just don’t be stupid.” Though we got A’s and B’s we still did stupid things.  The source of said stupidity was inside our genes, and jeans.  Good grades may mask stupidity but they don’t prevent it.

NASDAQ composite

Unlike the fathers of the gals I dated in high school, seemingly aloof men reluctant to meet me and too stoic to counsel their daughters, I want to advise Kate about dating.  Not all boys are bad.  I’m sure a few young men with strong morals roam campus.  But the problem, whether I like it or not, is that they have reproductive organs.

 

Dad's Teen Boy trap_31HrrX6DmSL__SS500_I considered banishing Kate to her room, covering the house with barbwire, or setting traps near windows.  But that’s infeasible.  For one, kids need freedom.  Two, I’m not a skilled handyman, and three, traps require maintenance.  Plus, if I caught a boy, what do I do with him?

I decided to engage this modern day dating dilemma metaphorically.  Kids’ exposure to dating, whether through TV or social media, is a different concept than when I was in high school.  These media are loaded with sexual content and innuendo.  Kate and I spend quality time skiing together.  The message she needs to hear is that intimate physical contact can have more bumps and slips than a ski run.  The aftermath of a break-up can be a thousand times more painful to the heart and mind than any fall on a ski hill.  My heart ached when Shelly Snodgrass dumped me for a senior, Sammy Schnitzel.  They flaunted their love on campus while I powerlessly sank into despair. Dbl Black Diamond sign

Kate won’t understand it now, any more than I did back then, that she’s too young to think about mate choice.  My advice to her is to become friends with boys, enjoy their company, but to keep her hands in her pockets to protect her heart.  I wish I had control over her daily environment but the reality is that I don’t.  If you’re one who thinks you can control anything, you’re deceived.  Try holding a cat over a filled bathtub.  So parents, talk with your kids, meet their dates, and repeat this cycle like Groundhog’s Day. Maintain honest communication.  Their biological clocks won’t stop unless we perform surgery on them.  But I’m sure there are laws against that.

Father knows best elinor donohueA New York Times article reports that the choosiness of females has gradually declined over evolutionary time.  I’m unsure how that translates to me, but when it comes to Kate, I strive to keep our communication open.  Setting boundaries early on will set the stage for her success.  And she will be a success.

I offer these nine dating principles you can use to facilitate awkward and amusing discussions with your teenagers. Loosen or tighten them as you see fit.  Have a conversation you’ll never forget.  And good luck.

Nine Dating Principles

1. I/Dad will meet all proposed dates beforehand.

2. Stand firm on your beliefs and morals.

3. Keep your priorities in line: your beliefs, family, school, friendships, activities. No behind-the-scenes dates.  We need to know where you are and what you are up to.

4. Keep an open communication with Mom and me so we can help you be the best you can be.

5. Slow movement of relationship.  Let the relationship grow in its own time.

6. Make decisions based on what is best for you and not based solely on the relationship.

7. Because it’s okay with a boyfriend’s/girlfriend’s parents to do something does not mean it is okay with us.  If he/she has different morals, stop the relationship.  This is difficult and will result with hurt feelings.  But it must happen.

8. No inappropriate physical contact, texting, or Facebook posts.  No public displays of affection.  No passionate kissing. Modest hugging and handholding is okay.

9. No texting after 10 PM.  Curfew is 11 PM unless you clear it with us in advance.

I agree with these principles and will uphold them to the best of my ability.

Signed, Dad/ Daughter/Son

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Words of Wisdom

Mark_Twain humorist 2Regarding today’s Federal government shutdown:  “We have the best government that money can buy.”

Mark Twain, American author and humorist (1835-1910)

Posted in Words of wisdom | Tagged , , , , , | 1 Comment

Parents Trek Through Uncharted Facebook Space

star-trek-photoI was advised to meet older women.

I asked why.  My wife, Hun, has an open mind but I suspect she wouldn’t appreciate me connecting with older women, younger women, or any women, for that matter.

“Women ages 55 and up are the fastest growing segment of Americans on Facebook,” the instructor said.  “They use social media to share family photos.  The average Facebook user has 150 friends.   To generate more LIKES on your Etc. Guy page, meet older women.  They’ll refer your site to their friends.  Let’s say you have 100 friends, and each has 100 friends.  If they all shared your site and LIKED it, you’d reach 10,000 people in a heartbeat.  With 10,000 LIKES, you’ll attract advertisers.”

JK Rowling NOT writingI shared her advice with Hun.  “Yeah, right, who has time for Facebook?”

Clearly, she doesn’t fit the 55+ demographic, partially because she’s not yet 55+ and partially because she’s a workaholic. I’m one of Hun’s 30 Facebook friends.  I tabled this strategy and didn’t think much about older women until one called me last week.  It was my 71-year-old mom who lives in Colorado.  She sounded concerned.

“Kate is in a relationship?”

“What?  How did you know that?”

“I visited her Facebook page.  Who is this boy?  You’d better talk with her.”

Etc Guy 135 Likes“Oh, that…” I said.  “She asked permission to change her status.  Kate and I are Facebook friends.  She’s interested in a boy but another wants to ask her out.  Since she’s a junior in high school I told her she ought to say she’s married, a foster mom, and lives with ten cats.”  I hope keeping track of one boy is easier than monitoring an entire herd.  Parenting sure seemed simpler when Kate was eight.

My mom, the Colorado grandma, is one of 950 million Facebook users.  Nearly half of Facebook’s customers spend 55 minutes daily interacting with friends and family.  Kate’s other grandma learned the news the old fashion way—via a phone that hangs on a wall.  She had a similar reaction though.

Hun and I, like others, are parent-trekking through uncharted Facebook space.  We tried to resist social media but know it is here to stay.  Facebook’s popularity has grown exponentially since its launch in 2004, and will gross several billion dollars this year.  We’ll just figure out how best to maintain our values using this medium.  Either we change or get left behind.  I could send Kate to a ranch outpost in Wyoming, one without electricity-powered Facebook, but it would probably end up being a dude ranch with too many dudes.

zac efron blue shirtWe are slowly catching up to the Facebook revolution.  Six months ago Hun bought me a smartphone for my 50th birthday.  Now I can text Kate and visit her Facebook page anytime, from anywhere.  Plus, I can actually use the phone to talk.

We got Kate a smartphone for her 16th birthday.  Last night it chirped and interrupted the TV news. I picked it up to turn it off. A text message read: “Love ya, call you later.”  Egad, an elephant made its way into the room.  I never intended for my folks to know about my affections for a girl when I was a teen.  I nearly texted back but refrained.  I couldn’t formulate my thoughts but next time I may just say, “Me too.”  Signed, “HER DAD.”

elephant photoThough we’re bombarded with social media and text messaging, the bottom line is that parents better adapt to their kids’ culture.  We can still teach our values but will have more luck if we understand their way of life.  Some things haven’t changed since I attended high school…raging hormones, going “steady,” break-ups, make-ups, partying….that’s nothing new under the sun.  However, the technology curveballs are flying and must be caught.

I reflect on my parents’ adaptation in tracking their grandkids.  They’ve evolved from listening to AM radio shows to using Facebook.  Faceless communications with Facebook and brief text messages aren’t necessarily bad things.  At least the generations are interacting.

I sure miss the Lego days.

facebook logo soloPS  Join the Etc. Guy Facebook page by visiting www.etcguy.com and click on the logo.  You don’t need to be over 55.  To become an Etc. Guy Fan click LIKE.  Feel free to leave comments below or send me a direct message at eric@etcguy.com.

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