What I Learned From A 10-Year-Old " Gross Boy"

I was ten years old when I met Steve. He was twelve and his family owned a camp, two cottages away from my family’s camp on Crescent Lake in Raymond, Me.

I was a scrawny, shy and insecure kid. 

For some reason Steve took an immediate liking to me and even though he was older and smarter we became fast friends.

After a few days of hanging out together Steve asked me to sleepover at his camp.

I immediately said, “ I don’t think you’d want me to”

Steve gave me a curious look and said, “Why?”

“Because I’m a gross boy.”

"What’s a gross boy?”, Steve laughed.

 “I pick my nose and fart a lot.”

I always laugh when I tell this story but as I think about this I realize that I do the same thing, when I am at my best, in business and personal relationships today.

I believe it is important to be who you are and set the parameters for the relationship up front so that everyone knows what the expectations are.

Even as a 10-year-old I was aware of this.  Steve knew what he was getting into and that has allowed us remain and grow as friends for almost 45 years.

Besides, it allows me to still pick my nose and fart a lot.

F@%*! ! As a Term of Endearment

I couldn’t watch the clinching game of the 2013 World Series with my kids and nephews so I did the next best thing and started a group text with all of them. As our collective excitement grew there was a liberal use of “Fuck”.

Fortunately, my dad doesn’t text and my brother in-law Gil, who is also a huge baseball fan wasn’t in the text group either.

As my son Brandon started to send a text that contained “Fuck” his phone auto-corrected fuck to Gil. When he sent us a text explaining what had happened we exchanged a plethora of texts like “Gil that” or “no Gilling way!”

Fuck is almost always used as a way to express great joy or positive excitement in our family.

I first became proficient at using fuck to express myself back in 1965 at the age of six. No need to explain why but basically I was a pissed off, frustrated little boy who learned that by using words like fuck, asshole and shit on the school bus I could make the other kids laugh.

Each day I would walk from the back of the bus swearing just loud enough so that several of the kids could hear and they would always laugh as I got off the bus. The reaction simply made me feel good and cool.

The bus driver was Curly Littlefield, a short, bald and very nice man who everyone liked. One day as we were driving home from school the kids on the bus were being loud and boisterous. Curly pulled the bus over, stood up and proceeded to yell at us all and warned us not to make any more noise.

As we proceeded to the next stop, which happened to be mine, my internal anger was growing. I didn’t feel that Curly had been fair and I didn’t like it.

This was about to become a defining moment for me and when I juxtapose it to 1965, small town America and the fact that my dad was the town manager it makes me laugh even more.

This time, as I moved to the front of the bus, I didn’t swear going up the aisle. I moved quickly and angrily past Curly and as my foot hit the pavement everything turned to slow motion.

I took one step away from the bus, turned raising my right hand in the air, with my middle finger extended and yelled “FUCK YOU!!!”……… As soon as the words expelled from my mouth I knew I was in big trouble.

Curly wasn’t a particularly nimble man but in that moment he exhibited the speed and agility of a bus-driving athlete on steroids. I actually think he took one step as he stood up and propelled his cherubic body into the air and down the steps of the bus. How he didn’t hit the sides of the narrow opening I’ll never know.

Years later I remember seeing the iconic cartoon of a mouse giving the finger to an eagle as it swooped down to eat him. I felt that defiance in the moment that I yelled “FUCK YOU!!! But by the time Curly hit the ground, inches in front of me and began his red faced yelling, I suddenly became a very small six year-old who knew he was in big trouble.

Curly knew my dad was the town manager and he told me he was going to contact him immediately and tell him what I had done. Of course there were no cell phones so Curly had to contact dad after he was finished with his bus route.

I slowly made the long walk home deciding that the best thing for me to do was to pack my bags and run away.  Like a hobo, I went home, got a stick and a blanket to wrap my clothes in and carry over my shoulder. Before I could make in out the door my father pulled into the driveway in his Ford station wagon.

He was remarkably calm and restrained as he asked me what happened and what I said. You see, dad never swore around the house when I was a kid so I certainly didn’t learn those words from him. I do think he asked me where I learned to talk like that and I’m not sure what my response was.

What I do remember is him saying something like “This is going to hurt me more than it is going to hurt you.”, as he proceeded to pull down my pants and wail on my naked, little ass.

It definitely hurt me more them him!

The next day I had to apologize to Curly. That also scared the crap out of me but he was fine and I certainly stopped swearing on the bus.

However, my swearing never stopped or truly subsided. If fact, because I can be stubborn, and in my younger years, angry, I used “Fuck!!” more often as a way to express anger.

What I found over and over again is that using “Fuck!!” in anger never lead to anything positive. I didn’t blame it on “Fuck” itself because I felt that “fuck” was such a quick and effective way of expressing deep emotion.

In the 48 years since I yelled,  “Fuck you!” to Curly I have accomplished many things. My greatest accomplishment has been to be a terrific, kind and deeply emotional father.

As game six of the World Series ended and the string of 189 text messages containing a lot of fuck and Gil in place of fuck I signed off by texting, “The coolest part for me was being able to share this with you. Gilling Awesome!”

Dad might still want to spank me but it won’t change a fucking thing.

What We Can Learn From Shaker Exposing Himself

My dad is a natural historian. He tells great stories from his 1930’s depression era youth, spent three years writing the history of his home town (Surry, Me.), and has done an incredible job with preserving our family history and accomplishments through his OCD approach to saving every article, letter and award that related to members of our family.

Several years ago he was asked to be the guest speaker at a Surry Historical Society meeting. In developing what he wanted to talk about he said to me, “Do you think I should tell them the story of Shaker.”

I was perplexed, as I had never heard anything about Shaker or who he was. I replied, “Who was Shaker?”

Surprised, dad said, “I never told you the story of Shaker?”

“No.”

There was a momentary pause and then dad continued. “ Shaker had thirteen inches soft.”

It took a second for me to understand what dad was saying and then I started howling with laughter as dad continued the story, obviously delighted by my response.

“Shaker would sneak to the edge of the blueberry fields while the women were bending over raking and then he would take out his penis, shake it at them, and run off into the woods.”

Dumbfounded, I asked “Was he arrested? Did anyone do anything about it?”

Dad and Mom grew up in Surry

“No,” dad replied, “people just seemed to accept it and called him Shaker. He wasn’t hurting anyone.”

To put this in perspective you need to know that this occurred in the 1930’s in a coastal Maine town with a year-round population of about 400 people.

I have told this story many times and the response is always one of shock and laughter. Over time as I watch what is happening in our society today and I think about the other stories dad has told me, I think there is a deep lesson we can all learn from the way that this community reacted to Shaker.

Dad also had a close friend named “Bullfrog” Trundy. Bullfrog sat on a bullfrog when he was six years old and was forever known as Bullfrog.

Bullfrog’s mother was unwed and lived with a black man. Again, from Dad’s experience, nobody cared. The community reacted to the family in the same way they reacted to any family. Everyone helped each other.

Abby and Lena were a well-known and respected gay couple who were members of the church and productive members of the community. Again, from dad’s experience, nobody cared that they were lesbians. It was simply live and let live.

This combination of stories, the timeframe in which they occurred, and the way the community reacted with kindness and common sense is inspiring and puzzling to me.

How were they able to do handle things so simply almost eighty years ago when some of the same issues cause us so much stress today?

In my mind it is simple.

As a small town, where most people were in the same socio-economic situation, it was easier to develop trust and understanding. With that trust and understanding racism and negative judgment is reduced and people develop forward thinking, instead of acting angry and distrustful.

Who knew we could learn so much from Shaker exposing himself?

If you’d like to hear these stories in dad’s words please click on the link below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3JTQVH4BvwQ&list=HL1382302954&feature=mh_lolz

What if Her Own Words Could Make Her Feel Better?

My mom is 79 and dealing with the ravishes of Alzheimer’s and the accompanying depression and anxiety.

There is a family history of Alzheimer’s and mom was always sure she would develop it. I know the anxiety always weighed heavily on her.

Mom’s anxiety impacted her even as a young mother and wife. She was and is a beautiful, vivacious and intelligent woman with limited energy stores. When her energy level would drop and the stress of life would increase, especially if she had a deadline at school or even planning a family and friends event, she would be prone to outbursts and tantrums. We did a lot of tiptoeing during those times. We knew we had to do little extra around the house, as mom would then go to bed. Dad’s mantra became, “Do it for your mother, it will make her feel better.”

As a child I didn’t understand these events or have the cognitive ability to process them. I simply took them as meaning that I was bad and I better do something to correct it.

In my perspective this set up a family dynamic and pattern. Mom would have these events and my sisters, dad and I would work to make everything around her clean and orderly so that she would feel better when she got out of bed.

She was frequently felled by migraines and as she got older she starting having other physical issues. When she was in her late 40s and early 50s she had a problem with her throat that lead to seeing ear, nose and throat specialists and as she aged she started having various aches and pains leading to a diagnosis of Fibromyalgia many years ago.

She developed stomach problems and self-diagnosed a gluten allergy. She cut out gluten and still has stomach issues.

One of my favorite stories was when she called us all in the spring of 2008 to tell us the doctor had just left a message on her answering machine that the pain in her leg was lymphoma. The next day she went to the doctor to find out it was a lipoma. A fatty benign tumor in her leg. 

Mom also can’t hear very well and for some reason doesn’t want to or can’t wear hearing aids. This also impacts her interpretation of every conversation.

When I took her to Boston for the lipoma appointment and they explained everything to her and how they didn’t need to operate she again complained about the pain but pointed to the wrong leg in talking about how it hurt.

As the years progressed we began to see a decline in her cognitive abilities at the same time that dad was handling diabetes and beginning to walk with very small steps and losing his once robust energy. His doctor decided that he needed his leaky heart valve replaced and he had surgery in November of 2009. This operation started a rapid decline in my dad. The biggest issue was the damage to his cognitive ability and his energy issue was not fixed.

Parkinson’s disease ultimately was the cause of dad’s energy issue and the short steps.

This is the point where daily tasks and living on their own began to become very complicated for mom and dad.

Dad could no longer, “Do it for mom to make her feel better.” And mom’s anxiety and depression began to mount, leading to further physical pain issues.

She developed a focus on the smell of dad’s urine. He had to use Depends because of a major blander issue. We used to laugh that even though dad walked very slowly and owned several acres he couldn’t pee outside because mom had a sensitive nose and could smell it.

They each had events caused by their individual and collective diseases and personalities and they decided to move to a beautiful apartment and assisted living facility in Blue Hill, Me.

As with any move, this was a stressful and emotional event. They were leaving their beautiful retirement home on the ocean that they had worked their whole lives to build.

For the first few weeks of their move they seemed to be ok. As mom told me on a walk her biggest issue was the smell of dad’s urine.

After a few weeks mom started to complain that her throat was constricted when she was in the apartment and she was convinced she was allergic to the carpet. We had the carpet cleaned, did several tests with mom in and out of the apartment, had mom see a specialist and by all accounts everyone agreed that it was highly unlikely that she was allergic to the carpet. Mom persisted and became obsessive in her pursuit to have dad allow her to have the carpet taken out. Many mornings she would stand over him yelling that he didn’t love her and that the carpet was killing her.

I witnessed some of these events and watched, as dad would simply slump in his chair with his head down as she stood over him yelling. She would then leave the apartment and slam the door. Then dad would turn to me a say, “She does this everyday.”

My sisters and I did our best to negotiate and look for solutions. They both went to counselors but the stress and all of dad’s illnesses caused him to break down and he had several events that lead to a single, irrational, angry suicidal event for dad.

We knew at that point that we had to get him in his own place with proper care. After a brief stint renting a house and having people come in to help with his care we moved him to the Maine Veteran’s Home in Bangor. He has adjusted well and is thriving.

We also moved mom to another apartment and had the carpet removed. She has had a hard time adjusting to living alone and had many, many issues related to pain. Her constant need for pain medication and complaints that literally extend from head to toe have overextended the nursing staff and we have hired additional care for her.

My sister Lynn has been incredible in organizing visits and visiting mom and dad. My sister Lorna manages the finances and visits more often than I do because of her proximity. Fortunately we also have a deep love and respect for each other, which allows us to work together for mom and dad’s care with honestly and kindness.

This past week I brought both to our family camp to be together for three days. It was simply the best thing I have ever done with them.

Their first night in bed together at camp after several years was touching, funny and loving. I captured a brief clip on video and it is inspiring, especially when you juxtapose it against the process they have been through over the last few years. It reinforces that true love is possible.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RiI_2M5D4Pw&feature=c4-overview&list=UUflDacPFKwZE2-lDfHjXPqg

I was also able to capture a conversation that I had with mom. She had no pain while she was at camp and was surprised by how good she felt. This lead to a wonderful conversation about how the mind and emotions impact the body.

http://www.youtube.com/wa

tch?v=qTiaJlJU8wE&feature=c4-overview&list=UUflDacPFKwZE2-lDfHjXPqg

Because of her Alzheimer’s she may not remember this conversation or how she was able to understand this connection. I hope that every once in awhile she can watch this video and her own words and thoughts will help her to feel better.

I guess I am stilling trying to “Do it for my mother because it will make her feel better.”

I hope it works.