Trying to Get Ahead

I get frustrated at times because it seems like whenever I start getting ahead a little financially, BAM!, something happens. Get a little money from my tax return? Oh, that loud noise was the washing machine refusing to wash any more clothes! Get a little reward at work for doing a good job? The mailman just delivered the updated quarterly real estate tax that went up by – look at that – the same amount as my reward! How about a raise at work? Oops, not even enough to keep up with inflation. It sometimes feels like the more money I get, the more bills I get without even buying anything. Maybe I should stop trying to get ahead.

This is an area I give my parents a ton of credit. It’s not like we had a lot of money when I was growing up, but they always seemed to figure out a way. Sometimes they didn’t pay a bill, or we had to get by for a couple of weeks on powdered milk (Warning: not for the faint of heart). If I ripped my jeans playing street hockey or football, I didn’t get a new pair. No, Mom put a patch on them or sewed up the tear and I was good to go. As Dad used to say, “As long as we have a roof over our heads, food on the table, and clothes on our back we’re OK.” It’s that simple.

Don’t get me wrong, there were times I knew we weren’t very well off, but for the most part I didn’t think about it much. That was mostly because my parents were so positive that everything would be OK. I also think a large part of it was that they didn’t even look to the things they couldn’t have. They didn’t think about getting a brand new car like some of the neighbors did every two or three years. A dependable used car in good shape that ran well was enough for them. They didn’t think about going out and buying the latest model television. Until the one we had was unwatchable or died, we didn’t get a new one. Taking a trip to Disney was out of the question. If we drove to my Aunt and Uncle’s house in New Hampshire, that was a vacation!

Looking back through somewhat fading eyes and with less than 20/20 vision, I think we were pretty happy as kids. We played together, we did stuff with friends in the neighborhood and we made do. Though a few of my friends seemed to have a lot of money, there were a lot of families in the same place as mine. We had a house to live in, rented or owned, we had three good meals a day (and a few snacks thrown in to boot), and we always had clothes to wear, even if they weren’t the newest and greatest fashion. I don’t think any of us really cared.

So why, forty years later, does it bother me that I’m not getting ahead? I think it may be that there are things that are almost within reach, that they’re just beyond my fingertips but I can see them. When you can’t even imagine buying a new car financially even if you may need one, it doesn’t bother you as much as when you have almost enough saved to do it. It seems like every commercial on TV is for cars when you’re getting tired of the one you have but can’t afford a newer one. It’s like the car industry is taunting you, daring you to buy a new one with their nobody-is-turned-down credit.

Thankfully, I can break the spell of the so called American Dream by just looking back over my life. Mom and Dad never lived the high life, never really got ahead financially, but they were happy. As a kid, I was happy with the little I had because I had something way more valuable – a family that loved each other. I don’t need more stuff or new stuff, I just need to be more grateful.

It really is that simple.

Playing Games, Telling Stories and Singing Songs

My wife and I spent the weekend on Martha’s Vineyard and were on our way back to our car on the shuttle bus when a Dad and his kids caught our attention. This man was great with his kids and was fully engaged with them, something you don’t see enough these days. Pretty much from the time the ride started, he was playing games with the kids, especially a young girl who was probably about five-years old. They played thumb wars, they played I Spy, and they played Simon Says (no small feat in a dark vehicle, I must say). However, what truly impressed me was when the little girl asked to play the Quiet Game.

Listening to them brought back a lot of memories from when my kids were younger and we were on the road. We used to play games, tell stories and sing songs when we drove. Obviously, we didn’t play thumb wars, that would be hard (and dangerous) to play while driving a car around town. We did play a lot of I Spy and finding the alphabet on license plates and signs along the way. However, the Quiet Game was not one we played too much. I think it worked the first few times we played and then they caught on to the real reason my wife and I wanted to play. My kids never asked to play the Quiet Game.

Telling stories was always fun for us and the kids. We did it a couple of different ways. Sometimes we took turns telling a story, each one of us getting our own few minutes to weave a stunning narrative. Sometimes, one person would start a story and go on for a few minutes, say “and then…” and the next person would pick up from there. We usually went around the car once or twice, but there were occasions we went around three times if the story wasn’t fizzling out. On longer trips, after telling stories for a while and saying we needed a break, the kids would ask for one more. I’d say okay and let them know it was going to be a short one and then proceed to tell them this amazing tale, “Once upon a time. The end.” There would be howls of protest that it wasn’t even a story and I’d usually give in and tell them one last good one. 

Singing songs was another great way to pass the time in the car. We’d sing songs from the kids’ classes at church, oldies but goodies that everybody knows (B I N G O and Bingo was his name O!), songs from their CDs (yes, even at five or six, they had their own music), and other songs the kids and my wife and I liked. I preferred them singing Beatles’ songs than most of the stuff that was played on the radio. It also helped that my wife and both the kids are musically gifted. Heck, the kids even made up some songs of their own that were pretty good – and they both still write songs today.

As we got close to the parking lot, the little girl yawned and then said to her Dad, “I think I’m going to sleep in the car.” Her brother agreed shortly after and gave a hearty yawn himself. I thought that was a perfect ending to the night. They obviously had had a lot of fun and now they were spent. There were so many times on longer rides that our kids were laughing and singing and suddenly there was silence. One of us would take a peek back and they’d both be out cold, safe and secure, sleeping in a car like only kids can.

I hope that Dad enjoyed his ride home, realizing how special it is that he has a great relationship with his kids and realizing that there will come a day when they won’t think he’s the most awesome Dad in the world, a stage all kids go through. I’m sure he occasionally took a peek back at his sleeping kids just to make sure they were okay, and probably smiled as he thought about when they were babies and how quickly they had grown. I remember those days like it was yesterday, because in some ways it was. It doesn’t take long for them to go from sleeping in the back of the car, to asking if they can use the car to go over a friend’s house. I just hope my now grown kids have as fond memories of their younger years as I do.  

Goofing Around in the Back of the Car

With the start of warm weather, Road Work season is in full swing here in the Northeast. Even though most of it is done overnight, the work can continue past the 6 AM stop time and cause traffic issues for those of us trying to get to work on already busy highways. One day last week that scenario played out for me and I was stuck in a traffic jam about 7 miles away from my exit. After a few minutes I was behind a school transportation van and couldn’t avoid noticing a little girl in the last seat because she was staring straight at me. Once she got my attention, she smiled and waved to me until I waved back.

As we inched up the highway I noticed she was doing the same thing to other cars that were passing the van, with mixed results. A few people waved back and she’d smile and go on to the next car, but most of the people didn’t even acknowledge her existence. When the traffic stopped, she would stare at the car next to her, concentration on her face, just waiting for someone to look at her so she could smile and wave to them. It appeared to me that some people gave their full effort to not look at her. Maybe they didn’t want to smile while sitting in a traffic jam, thinking that maintaining the angry face would make the cars in front of them go faster. In that little girl’s world, traffic jams are not a problem.

That incident reminded me of riding in the back of our station wagon as kids. When we all went somewhere in the car, us younger ones sat in the way back part of the station wagon. Did I mention there were no seats back there? Back in those days, seat belts were not required and no one used them, so for us to be sitting back there was no big deal. We could have a lot of fun in the back end of the car. There were many opportunities to annoy my older brothers sitting in the back seat: I could simulate a bug crawling on their neck; I could pull their hair and duck down behind the seat; I could tap their shoulder so they looked at the person sitting next to them and then laugh at them for falling for that old trick; I could sing really loud and/or off-key right behind their ear. Yes, there were lots of things I could do and they couldn’t do anything because we were in the car. As long as I didn’t hear Dad say “If I have to pull this car over...” I felt like it was anything goes.

When bugging my older brothers got boring we’d play games back there, like counting the number of cars of a certain color, or looking for cars from other states if we were on the highway. If we weren’t driving on the highway, we’d exaggerate the turns and roll into each other or amplify the bumps and bang the roof. Eventually, it would get out of hand and Dad would give us the old “If I have to pull this car over…” bit again and we’d calm down – at least for a while. At one point, we had a station wagon that had a third seat – that faced back instead of front. I don’t know whose brilliant marketing plan that was, but you could only fit two kids in it comfortably, it forced you stare at people behind you and it kind of made you feel nauseous going backwards all the time. Besides, it was no fun in the back if you couldn’t even roll around a little bit. I think we just folded the seat down and didn’t use it after a while.

One fond memory I have is riding in the back end of my oldest brother’s 1965 Barracuda. If you don’t know what they looked like, they had a big, sloped rear window. I remember my younger brother and I would lay back there and pretend we were in a military airplane. One of us would say, “Pilot to bombardier. We are over the target area.” The other would reply, “Bombs away!” and we’d whistle to simulate the bombs falling and then make the explosion noises as we made a direct hit.  That was one of the few times that the trip was too short and coming in for a landing was not welcome. 

I want to be more like that little girl in the back of the van, in whose world traffic jams are not a problem and can even be fun. Maybe I should start smiling at people and waving to them. If they don’t smile and wave back, I can always pretend I’m flying high above the traffic in my B-52. Bombs away!

Respect for Police

Last week was a horrible week around here with the Boston Marathon bombings and the subsequent manhunt, shootings and capture of one of the bombers. Things like that are just not supposed to happen around here and it was quite shocking. There are many people whose lives will never be the same. Though this was a tragic, horrific attack, one good thing that has come out of it is the newfound respect for our first responders, especially the police. Police officers, firemen and EMT’s all rushed to help those hurt, seemingly without regard for their own life and not knowing if there were more bombs set to go off.

People cheering for and applauding the police is not something you see much anymore. Most of the time they are being yelled at, or spoken about poorly or even having stuff thrown at them while they’re trying to do their job. I know there are some police officers who are not doing what they should be or aren’t the nicest people, but I think that most of them are doing their job excellently. Their job is not easy, dealing with all us knuckleheads out there who seem bent on breaking the law. They’re the guys you love to hate – that is, until you have an emergency and then they’re your best friend. I am as guilty as the next guy when it comes to the love/hate relationship with the police.

It wasn’t always that way. When I was much younger there was a police officer who was really a great guy, whom I’ll call Officer B. We often sat on a stone wall on the corner of a main road and a side street that a couple of my friends lived on. Officer B was a motorcycle cop, at least in the warm weather months, and he would often stop and talk with us when we were just hanging out. He got to know us over time and would talk to us like he was our big brother, just talking about sports, girls and life in general. Never once did I feel like he was watching us, though I did feel that he was watching out for us.

Even as we got older and moved into our teen years, Officer B would still stop and say hello and hang out with us for a few minutes. Maybe neighborhood policing was the new fad in police work back then, but I don’t remember any other cops doing that kind of thing. I think that part of the reason my friends and I liked him was because he was just a guy who, instead of trying to lecture us, took the time to talk to us – like our baseball coach or the guy who owned the Sunoco station where we always got our candy, soda and STP stickers. I guess they didn’t treat us like kids.

Now fast forward about three or four years. My best friend Tony, another guy and I were riding around town in Tony’s car on a typical Friday night when we got pulled over by the police. At the time, we weren’t doing anything wrong, just cruising around looking for something to do (translated: looking for some girls to hang out with) when the blue lights were flashing behind us. So we pulled over and were ordered out of the car – with guns pointed at us. I knew right then something wasn’t right, so we did what we were told to do. Apparently, a blue car was seen leaving the industrial park at a high rate of speed after a break in and Tony’s car was light blue. They searched the car and found nothing but some tools – a screwdriver, some wrenches and the tire iron for the car.

There was one young police officer who, maybe to win some points with his superiors, took these common tools for working on your car as proof that we were the guys who had done the break in. He even told us those were “hard evidence” against us. We told him we hadn’t been anywhere near the industrial park and there was nothing found in the car that would have been stolen from there, yet this guy was having none of it. As far as he was concerned, we were guilty. Just when I thought we were all going to jail, Officer B showed up out of nowhere. He looked over the situation and asked “Barney Fife” what was going on. When told of the crimes we supposedly committed, Officer B told him to let us go, that he knew us and we wouldn’t have done it.

Officer B came over to me and we talked for a few minutes while the crowd that had gathered dispersed. I thanked him for sticking up for us, but he just laughed and told me he knew we couldn’t have been the guys. One, because he’d known me for years and two, because they were looking for a dark blue car, not a light blue car. As quickly as the situation occurred, it was over, all because of a cop who took the time to get to know some kids over the years. Obviously, Officer B hadn’t heard about my foray into the elementary school when I was younger. Otherwise, things may have turned out differently that night.

Safe Driving

It’s kind of strange that my son is driving now, legally, as he got his driver’s license in December. The first couple of times he went somewhere on his own, it was both comforting and scary. Comforting because we didn’t have to take him and then go pick him up, but scary because neither my wife nor I were with him. I know that doesn’t seem logical, because it’s not. That’s what happens when your teenage children start driving. It’s not him I'm worried about; it’s all the other crazy drivers out there. So when he came home we were relieved, although we didn’t show it. Even though we’d been looking at the clock every few minutes, when he came through the door we gave him a nonchalant “Oh, you’re back already?”

My son is a very good driver and it’s not like he’s been going far. He went to one of his bandmate’s house for practice, to the school, and of course, he ran some errands. This is one of those happy occurrences when you’re teenager gets their driver’s license. One day he wanted some ice cream, so my wife told him if he wanted it, he had to go get it. We paid for it, but we didn’t have to leave the house. He was happy to get his ice cream and we were happy to not have to drive to the store.

Both my wife and I started our driving careers running errands, too. If I wanted to use the car, there was usually an errand I had to do for my parents.  A quick trip to the supermarket for some milk or bread was definitely worth it in order to be able to use the car for the evening. It didn’t matter that our car was kind of old and tired, it was transportation. It meant that I wasn’t going to just be hanging out at my house or one of my friends’ house, we were going to be out and about. Sometimes it even meant I was out on a date! That was infinitely better than being home.

Other than my one run in with the cops when I was trying to get home on time, I wasn’t a crazy driver. As a matter of fact, my friend Tony used to tell me I drove like an old lady. I used to get pretty ticked off about that, because I was a pretty good driver. No accidents, no police chases and no tickets. So if not taking crazy chances in my parents’ car and driving only slightly above the speed limit means I drove like an old lady, then I guess I drove like an old lady. However, this was coming from a guy who had his own car and who never saw a speed limit he obeyed, and who thought yellow lights meant stomp on the gas before it turns red and you have to stop.

There was one time we were cruising around and I really thought we were going to die. We were coming out of a side street onto the main road through town and, as usual, Tony didn’t want to wait. However, there were long lines of traffic coming both ways and the lane we were sitting in was led by a huge tractor trailer truck. Sitting in the death seat, I looked to the left and saw the truck was not slowing down, then looked to the right and saw no break in the traffic and no one slowing down to let us in. I did this a few times, the truck getting closer and closer, bearing down on us and blowing its air horn, and I thought, This is it. We’re going to die! I closed my eyes and braced myself for impact, waiting for the sounds of screeching tires and metal smashing into metal. Then I heard…nothing.

I opened my eyes and we were driving along, the car and our lives intact. I looked at Tony, and he laughed at me and asked me if I was okay, or if perhaps I needed to go change my pants. The answer was no to both of them. To this day I don’t know how we made it out of that one without a scratch. I never did feel totally comfortable driving with him after that, even though I never got in an accident riding with him.

As my son starts his driving career, I hope he drives like an old lady just like I did. He can take his time running our errands and going to his friends. Eventually, we’ll stop looking at the clock and thinking he’s been gone for a long time. All I care about is that he makes it home safely.