Gender Issue...

I don’t recall where I first saw this, but each time I see it I get a smile, enjoy. If you want to have a vote on who provided the best reasons, make sure those who will be casting favor your gender. It is always a split decision otherwise.


A Spanish teacher was explaining to her class that in Spanish, unlike English, nouns are designated as either masculine or feminine.
“House” for instance, is feminine: “la casa.”
“Pencil” however, is masculine: “el lapiz.”
A student asked, “What gender is “computer?”
Instead of giving the answer, the teacher split the class into two groups, male and female, and asked them to decide for themselves whether “computer” should be a masculine or feminine noun. Each group was asked to give four reasons for its recommendations.

The men’s group decided that “computer” should definitely be of the feminine gender, (la computadora”} because:

1. No one but their creator understands their internal logic.
2. The native language they use to communicate with other computers is incomprehensible to everyone else.
3. Even the smallest mistakes are stored in long term memory for possible later retrieval: and
4. As soon as you make a commitment to one, you find yourself spending half your paycheck on accessories for it.

The women’s group, however, concluded that computers should be masculine, (“el computador”) because:

1. In order to do anything with them, you have to turn them on.
2. They have a lot of data but still can’t think for themselves.
3. They are supposed to help you solve problems, but half the time they are the problem: and
4. As soon as you commit to one, you realize that if you had waited a little longer, you could have gotten a better model.

"When I'm Sixty-Four"

When I get older losing my hair,
Many years from now.
Will you still be sending me a valentine
Birthday greetings bottle of wine.

If I'd been out till quarter to three
Would you lock the door,
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four.
                                Paul McCartney, John Lennon

There is a special place in my heart for these lyrics. Released in June 1967 on Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band...one month after I proposed and one month before I was married. Under the warm summer night's deep blue blanket, with an ocean breeze lightly scenting the air like fresh cut flowers the two of us agreed to come together for a lifetime in sharing the joys and sorrows of living. Several times before that union we would ask, ....when I'm sixty-four? Since that union we have ask,...when I'm sixty-four? Of course we have both responded in the affirmative, although I have detected some hesitation on occasion I think she was just keeping me in check.

Anyway as stated...Many years from now...there never really was any seriousness to the response. It was puppy love, an association to music we both liked, from our era, by a group that made us sing in the shower and dance till quarter to three. It wasn't reality, I mean good grief, sixty-four, that was a million miles away and so far beyond comprehension, and geez, it was really old.

I don't know who said it but, "Life Happens." This just seems to be appropriate. In several days, less than that really but I'm putting this off for as long as I can, I will be sixty-four. You see turning 30 meant nothing to me, it was just another birthday, as was 40, and 50 was very special and I looked forward to it. You see there was no real reference marker. What made all of those and the birthdays in between not that big a deal. I still had my lovely bride by my side. My rock, my companion, my best friend. So now a true test of our commitment has arrived, an established reference marker. Will you still need me will you still feed me when I'm sixty-four. With joy, jubilance, a warm heart, contented soul, a smiling sense of extreme wealth, and the blessing of all that is good in this life she hung around so I have the answer to this age old question. Yes, and I couldn't be any happier.

Oh, and it is not really that old, but it was a million miles away, we have travelled at least that far together.

Give me your answer, fill in a form
Mine for evermore
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four.

 

Chicken or the Pig?...Commitment

Another segment involved in the development of me has been commitment. I am not saying I am one or the other, chicken or pig, but sometimes I am one, other times I am the other, and on occasion, both. Huh? There are two kinds of commitment as I see them. Let us use breakfast as the goal. It takes commitment to accomplish a goal. In the case of breakfast there is a commitment from the chicken, the egg. So the chicken is somewhat committed to the breakfast. Then there is the bacon or sausage, the pig. I would have to say the pig was fully committed to breakfast.

So, as I became me I had to make commitments. When it comes to my family, my marriage, my desire to protect them both, I am a pig. I am a pig when it comes to protecting the freedom of this country. In regards to the Marine Corps I will always be a pig with a touch of chicken. It was not in the cards for me to make it a career, but even now when it comes to the organization, its history, my service to it, my belief in everything it stands for, I’m a huge pig.

The level of commitment will and has dictated the success and attainment of the goals I have set. Some have been reached by being the chicken and others have been reached by being the pig or both. But in either case I was required to make a commitment, work hard, devote time and in some cases money. Like everything in life there have been rewards, losses, successes and failures.

Through all of this I was then either the chicken or the pig. I committed to remain a free man, stand by my word, and represent my family name with pride and honor. I committed to do whatever it would take to provide for them regardless of what sacrifices I had to make. There was a time I had three jobs. We had a time when I had no job and moved in with my in-laws. Rest assured I was a total pig in the commitment to get employed and get us back out on our own. My commitment to graduate Marine Corps Boot Camp was repeated when I went through the Academy, 15 years older and no where near was I physically as prepared like when I was coming out of high school. The commitment of the chicken wouldn’t cut it. The commitment to work in a career that required the carrying of a sidearm made me a pig (no pun intended) to do and commit to whatever it would take to go home at the end of shift. I succeeded even though there were those that wanted to prevent that. I must confess that the tour of duty in Vietnam had a lot to do with that commitment to survive. That I still carry. Oink Oink.

What makes me, what makes all of us? Commitment is one of those things that I relate to when I have to define who I am. Whether I have been the chicken or the pig I have attained the goals, most of the time. In some cases the results defined regret and regrets that I didn’t commit defined other results, more or Les.

Love at first sight...no lust...no love...lust...whatever!

I have always said it was love at first sight. She has always said it was the hormone driven lust of a fifteen year old. We haven’t agreed on much else since. We are living proof that opposites attract. It really doesn’t make any difference if we agree it will always work out, we will come to terms, strive for the common goal and support each other the best that we can with what we know to be a lifelong friendship and a love that goes much deeper than on the first day of school on a hot September day in 1961.


I was new to the school and having moved into the neighborhood only a month before school began I had only met a few people. As it turned out two of them were in my Biology class. The three of us arrived early and were in the classroom at least 10 minutes before the bell. Who knows if it was boredom or just stupid we began participating in what would soon be defined as horseplay. Not a term that I have ever really understood, there being no horses involved.

The rectangular classroom was set up with tables that would become the platform for the butchering of bugs, frogs and of all things leaves. All of the tables, 6’ across, and two abreast would face the teacher’s desk that sat facing all of the tables on an elevated platform. The rectangular shaped room had two means of entry and exit. When seated for class there was no view of the back entrance. We were seated facing the desk of dominance and having a rather vocal bout discussing who knows what, when above our noise rose the voice of the custodian of the elevated desk whose name was prominently displayed on the engraved plaque we all had taken notice of but didn’t pay much attention to. The voice, from the backdoor echoed through our marrow and we immediately, as if responding to a siren, yielded our boisterous activity.

Mrs. Wise, previously identified by the engraved plaque demanded,
“You three stop that horseplay right now and take your seats, quietly! Leslie, take the seat against the wall.” Her index finger was directed to a singular schoolhouse chair, the kind with its own desk top. It sat facing the opposing wall that contained both doors, was much too close to the elevated desk, right up against the platform. Not within arms’ reach, but close enough. It had never even passed my line of sight and its existence wasn’t even a thought until the finger demanded my attention in its direction. As I relocated myself the six or seven feet to the chair two things became evident. The back of the chair had been crudely carved with the identification of “hot seat” and Mrs. Wise knew my name. I don’t think there were 10 people in the school of nearly 3,000 that knew my name. Now I am freaked out. Silence had taken over my body, a chill I wouldn’t feel again until combat possessed my being and the realization that Mrs. God was not going to be a push over defined the remainder of my activities during my sophomore year of high school. I mean who knew who she told who I was. I would be sitting in the “hot seat” with a clear view of both doors as the other victims of Biology 101 would step into boundaries of the Walls of Wise.

With only a minute or two before the tardy bell would ring its penal warning a young girl of 15 would walk through the backdoor, a door I would have never seen, an entrance that would have gone unnoticed, an event that would have had no impact on my life, an event so distant it would have never had an effect on my day, let alone my high school career, my being and the rest of my life. She was as tan as could be from the wonderful summer sun that caused her skin to glisten like liquid gold against the white blouse that was so neatly tucked in to the black skirt that stopped just above the knee leaving more glowing skin and allowed the imagination to fill in any blanks. I think this is where she got the lust idea. I wasn’t filling in “centerfold” data; I was contemplating if what else was there was as good as the visual package. She was cute, was she fun, did she like to dance, did she play sports, and was she going with someone? What else was there to this really fabulous looking “woman?”

I leaned forward in my new found seat and whispered to my equestrian playing friends,
“I just saw the girl I am going to marry.” Directing them to the back of the room with a slight nod of the head so as not to get anyone else’s attention they would both slowly turn to look. One of the horse playing partners would slowly turn back, lean forward and identify the future Mrs. With the control I don’t think I have ever demonstrated since, with a calmness I have never known I replied,
“You know her?”
My new best friend, the one person outside of my family I would have died for confirmed he has known her for years, they have gone to school together as long as he could remember.
“Do you know where she lives?”
“Oh yea, she lives down the street from Burnett.”

I didn’t have a clue where Burnett was, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before that information became common knowledge. Later that day, the first day of the rest of my life, my newest best friend would take me by and I would be introduced to the girl that would change my purpose of life. Did I want to kiss her? Yes. Did I want to hold her? Yes. But more than all of those “lust” things that a 15 year old thinks about as the hormones race around and about with no specific direction or purpose more than all of that stuff, I wanted to know her. I’m still working on that.

It wouldn’t be until I returned from Vietnam that she would accept my proposal, the second happiest day of my life, the first was being directed to the “hot seat.” We had dated, off and on, graduated high school together, shared in dancing, dating and dining for just over six years before we were married. The list of days that were really happy days was getting longer, and every one of them included her…still do.

Sacrifice

When I discussed in “What Makes Sammy Run” I listed several of the things that I internally believe made me the person I am. Following discipline was sacrifice. I don’t really think that what I might feel is a sacrifice I made to be in anyway comparable to what my parents and grandparents had to deal with. Two World Wars, the Great Depression, The Crash and all of the elements that followed the devastation of these events. What has been described many times in many forms what developed was recovery, growth, a stronger country, a gained appreciation for this country, its people and its freedoms but with tremendous sacrifice. The minor sacrifices I made though are equal in the “recovery” aspects that helped me develop.

It was, to a degree, a sacrifice to accept without question or debate the trip to the Post Office. As I look back I think it was a healthy choice. I sacrificed four years of opportunities to advance my education, time to develop relationships with people I met in school and went on to local colleges and passed on employment opportunities that may have led to a more financially rewarding career. It would turn out to be a very minor and insignificant sacrifice. I got an education that would provide a solid foundation for growth. I met friends that would last a life time; I would learn independence, camaraderie, loyalty, teamwork, dedication to duty, honor, and what it really means to be a part of the whole.

During that time I would make the sacrifice afforded by the borders of the U.S. and volunteer to serve in Vietnam. More fortunate than others I survived and the “recovery” saw the development of what would become at an early age a man. Before I would turn 21 I knew I was ready for marriage, hard work, providing for a family and holding my family, family name and my respect for this country and those that choose to protect it to a level much higher than many, equal to some and below only those that gave all.

The list of things I could call a sacrifice could be pretty long, like having to work almost every holiday for years in my chosen career. Also like having to be away from home and family for almost six months for training. But again it would show a growth as to who I have become by providing me the opportunity to make those holidays that I didn’t have to work that much more rewarding and precious. A Christmas with my son, and just being home, was so much more when I had earned the seniority to have those days off.

So sacrifice is a part of who I am. But it is not the degree of sacrifice but the recovery and growth from it that helps one develop good character, trust, and loyalty. In some part it is responsible for being able to commit, have compassion, learn from mistakes, share knowledge and live without guilt of regrets. Well, more or Les.