Story of an Aging Couple

This is a story of an aging couple
Told by their son who was President of NBC NEWS.*
This is a wonderful piece by Michael Gartner, editor of newspapers large and small and president of NBC News. In 1997, he won the Pulitzer Prize for editorial writing. It is well worth reading, and a few good chuckles are guaranteed. Here goes…
My father never drove a car. Well, that’s not quite right. I should say I never saw him drive a car.
He quit driving in 1927, when he was 25 years old, and the last car he drove was a 1926 Whippet.
“In those days,” he told me when he was in his 90s, “to drive a car you had to do things with your hands, and do things with your feet, and look every which way, and I decided you could walk through life and enjoy it or drive through life and miss it.”
At which point my mother, a sometimes salty Irishwoman, chimed in:
“Oh, bull shit!” she said. “He hit a horse.”
“Well,” my father said, “there was that, too.”
So my brother and I grew up in a household without a car. The neighbors all had cars — the Kollingses next door had a green 1941Dodge, the VanLaninghams across the street a gray 1936 Plymouth, the Hopsons two doors down a black 1941 Ford — but we had none.
My father, a newspaperman in Des Moines , would take the streetcar to work and, often as not, walk the 3 miles home. If he took the streetcar home, my mother and brother and I would walk the three blocks to the streetcar stop, meet him and walk home together.
My brother, David, was born in 1935, and I was born in 1938, and sometimes, at dinner, we’d ask how come all the neighbors had cars but we had none. “No one in the family drives,” my mother would explain, and that was that.
But, sometimes, my father would say, “But as soon as one of you boys turns 16, we’ll get one.” It was as if he wasn’t sure which one of us would turn 16 first.
But, sure enough, my brother turned 16 before I did, so in 1951 my parents bought a used 1950 Chevrolet from a friend who ran the parts department at a Chevy dealership downtown.
It was a four-door, white model, stick shift, fender skirts, loaded with everything, and, since my parents didn’t drive, it more or less became my brother’s car.
Having a car but not being able to drive didn’t bother my father, but it didn’t make sense to my mother.
So in 1952, when she was 43 years old, she asked a friend to teach her to drive. She learned in a nearby cemetery, the place where I learned to drive the following year and where, a generation later, I took my two sons to practice driving. The cemetery probably was my father’s idea. “Who can your mother hurt in the cemetery?” I remember him saying more than once.
For the next 45 years or so, until she was 90, my mother was the driver in the family. Neither she nor my father had any sense of direction, but he loaded up on maps — though they seldom left the city limits — and appointed himself navigator. It seemed to work.
Still, they both continued to walk a lot. My mother was a devout Catholic, and my father an equally devout agnostic, an arrangement that didn’t seem to bother either of them through their 75 years of marriage.
(Yes, 75 years, and they were deeply in love the entire time.)
He retired when he was 70, and nearly every morning for the next 20 years or so, he would walk with her the mile to St.. Augustin’s Church.
She would walk down and sit in the front pew, and he would wait in the back until he saw which of the parish’s two priests was on duty that morning. If it was the pastor, my father then would go out and take a 2-mile walk, meeting my mother at the end of the service and walking her home.
If it was the assistant pastor, he’d take just a 1-mile walk and then head back to the church. He called the priests “Father Fast” and “Father Slow.”
After he retired, my father almost always accompanied my mother whenever she drove anywhere, even if he had no reason to go along. If she were going to the beauty parlor, he’d sit in the car and read, or go take a stroll or, if it was summer, have her keep the engine running so he could listen to the Cubs game on the radio. In the evening, then, when I’d stop by, he’d explain: “The Cubs lost again. The millionaire on second base made a bad throw to the millionaire on first base, so the multimillionaire on third base scored.”
If she were going to the grocery store, he would go along to carry the bags out — and to make sure she loaded up on ice cream. As I said, he was always the navigator, and once, when he was 95 and she was 88 and still driving, he said to me, “Do you want to know the secret of a long life?”
“I guess so,” I said, knowing it probably would be something bizarre.
“No left turns,” he said.
“What?” I asked.
“No left turns,” he repeated. “Several years ago, your mother and I read an article that said most accidents that old people are in happen when they turn left in front of oncoming traffic.
As you get older, your eyesight worsens, and you can lose your depth perception, it said. So your mother and I decided never again to make a left turn.”
“What?” I said again.
“No left turns,” he said. “Think about it. Three rights are the same as a left, and that’s a lot safer. So we always make three rights.”
“You’re kidding!” I said, and I turned to my mother for support.
“No,” she said, “your father is right. We make three rights. It works.”
But then she added: “Except when your father loses count.”
I was driving at the time, and I almost drove off the road as I started laughing.
“Loses count?” I asked.
“Yes,” my father admitted, “that sometimes happens. But it’s not a problem. You just make seven rights, and you’re okay again.”
I couldn’t resist. “Do you ever go for 11?” I asked.
“No,” he said ” If we miss it at seven, we just come home and call it a bad day. Besides, nothing in life is so important it can’t be put off another day or another week.”
My mother was never in an accident, but one evening she handed me her car keys and said she had decided to quit driving. That was in 1999, when she was 90.
She lived four more years, until 2003. My father died the next year, at 102.
They both died in the bungalow they had moved into in 1937 and bought a few years later for $3,000. (Sixty years later, my brother and I paid $8,000 to have a shower put in the tiny bathroom — the house had never had one. My father would have died then and there if he knew the shower cost nearly three times what he paid for the house.)
He continued to walk daily — he had me get him a treadmill when he was 101 because he was afraid he’d fall on the icy sidewalks but wanted to keep exercising — and he was of sound mind and sound body until the moment he died
One September afternoon in 2004, he and my son went with me when I had to give a talk in a neighboring town, and it was clear to all three of us that he was wearing out, though we had the usual wide-ranging conversation about politics and newspapers and things in the news.
A few weeks earlier, he had told my son, “You know, Mike, the first hundred years are a lot easier than the second hundred.” At one point in our drive that Saturday, he said, “You know, I’m probably not going to live much longer.”
“You’re probably right,” I said.
“Why would you say that?” He countered, somewhat irritated.
“Because you’re 102 years old,” I said..
“Yes,” he said, “you’re right.” He stayed in bed all the next day.
That night, I suggested to my son and daughter that we sit up with him through the night.
He appreciated it, he said, though at one point, apparently seeing us look gloomy, he said:
“I would like to make an announcement. No one in this room is dead yet”
An hour or so later, he spoke his last words:
“I want you to know,” he said, clearly and lucidly, “that I am in no pain. I am very comfortable. And I have had as happy a life as anyone on this earth could ever have.”
A short time later, he died.
I miss him a lot, and I think about him a lot. I’ve wondered now and then how it was that my family and I were so lucky that he lived so long.
I can’t figure out if it was because he walked through life,
Or because he quit taking left turns. “
Life is too short to wake up with regrets.
So love the people who treat you right.
Forget about the one’s who don’t.
Believe everything happens for a reason.
If you get a chance, take it & if it changes your life, let it.
Nobody said life would be easy, they just promised it would most likely be worth it.”
Enjoy life, it has an expiration date

The Search For Self

Everyone is out there these days finding themselves. No one is left minding the store. It's a growing up epidemic. never in our history have so many people become obsessed with the need to know themselves, and never in our history have so many become lost, confused and despairing in the process.
Happily, the past four decades have been times of changing attitudes, values and roles. We are finally able to admit (some still reluctantly) that women are as wise, creative and able as men. We have finally been forced to recognize that they have the right to succeed, grow and to contribute to the extent of their abilities; that for those who so desire, there must be no limitations placed in the way of becoming all that they are able to be.
Things have changed for men, too. They are discovering at last how much better it is to have an efficient, capable and interesting woman around than the somewhat empty role model of wife. Men are finding new joy in sharing full responsibility for the social, economic and psychological climate of their homes and families. They have found that in sharing tasks, for instance, both husband and wife are released for more productive, special and personal time.
These discoveries have forced many to redefine roles, to decry the loss of so many years and to set out with determination to rectify this by dedicating themselves to the task of seeking their true selves.
I've heard of a couple who were happily married for eleven years. Then the wife took a phychology course in personal growth. Through it she was convinced that she was missing life being  simply a wife and mother. She learned the jargon about waste of human potential, the value of the individual, the search for identity. Somewhere out there, she decided, was the woman she wanted to be. Before the class ended she left her husband and their four children in the search for self.
I'm not condemning her actions, In fact, I was equally as eager in my own search. It led me around the world twice. I left family, friends, a promising career and wondered in many countries. I listen to great gurus, I read mystical texts, I studied meditations techniques. I admit that there was value in this. A search is always exciting and full of newness. But along the way I found that my search was not bringing me any closer to finding that elusive me.
Eventually I returned. I had experienced wonderful things, made many mistakes, made wrong decisions and had made many new and lasting friends. I had acquired a great deal of knowledge, but once home found that there was nothing I had discovered in my wondering time that I could not have found in my own backyard. Of course, it would not have been so exotic or dramatic, nor would it have made such exciting dinner conversation. But what I had needed to discover -myself - was always with me.
Understanding oneself is a worthy and commendable goal. But it is not necessary to leave everything and everyone in order to do it. The wife of the couple I mentioned, for example, found that single bars, sexual freedom, loneliness, and mystical teachings afforded her a no more conducive environment to knowing herself than would a sympathetic husband, an understanding family, friends and a secure home.
Change is always difficult. People who feel that they have been denied experiences or made wrong choices and have consequently missed life can become frantic about their sense of loss. Rightfully so. There is no greater loss for all of us than a life unlived. But we should keep in mind, before we leave on a search, that even the philosophies most dedicated to knowing ourselves tell us that self-knowledge and enlightenment can come through making a loaf of bread, growing a beautiful garden, or hearing a piece of music.
Oscar Wilde said that, "Only the shallow know themselves," and he was right. There can be no end to the process of self-discovery if we are continually learning, growing and changing. Knowing oneself is a process, not a goal. No one person or place is more conducive than any other in helping this process along.
The tools are not out there somewhere. They are inside of us. Only we can assume the challenge of our voyage. The experience becomes more valuable and meaningful when we take those we love with us along the way. The search for ourselves takes on real meaning when each day becomes a Bon Voyage party.

The Power Of Words

One of our mightiest possessions is the word. Words have the power to build, to store and create, as well as tear down and destroy. We think with words, we organize our world with words. We communicate with words, we inform with words, we build relationships with words. Our worlds are very much limited by the words we use. Sometimes we become so caught up with words that we forget that they are just symbols for things, and we begin to see them as a substitute for the things they are meant to represent.
in reference to: The Greatest Gift (view on Google Sidewiki)

The Power Of Words

One of our mightiest possessions is the word. Words have the power to build, to store and create, as well as tear down and destroy. We think with words, we organize our world with words. We communicate with words, we inform with words, we build relationships with words. Our worlds are very much limited by the words we use. Sometimes we become so caught up with words that we forget that they are just symbols for things, and we begin to see them as a substitute for the things they are meant to represent.

It's important to remind ourselves that words are just phonetic symbols put side by side. By themselves they're nothing. Most of the words we know were learned before we were six or seven years old, to early to fully analyze or understand them. These words were defined for us and we accepted them as presented. For example, if the significant people in our lives felt strong hate toward a particular person or thing, the words they taught us concerning these things became part of our attitude as well. The words soon represented a constellation of thoughts and feelings surrounding those things. Soon we found that were thinking and responding negatively to them. Of course, this couldn't be helped. Nevertheless, it was in this way that we learned what to hate or fear or avoid.

Just as we acquired the words for goodness, hope, optimism, joy and love, we ;earned also to attach negative symbols and discovered early the power of directing them we pleased. We found that words could hurt. As a child, I can remember the standard retort for words bullies: Sticks and stones may break my bones but names can never hurt me! Occasionally this brought a rock or a stick my way, but it was more difficult not to feel the sting of such words as skinny freak, dumb retard. I wonder how many of us still feel the pain of labels that devastated us long ago.

Perhaps one of the great human tragedies is that few of us even stop to ask whether the words we think with and which cause us to fee so strongly are ours or simply echoes which continue to reverberate in our minds. If we stopped to redefine these words, we might discover that many of them are no longer relevant to the present. Words we learned as children may have prevented us from truly experiencing and understanding other persons or things as they really are. For many of us these words continue to serve in their capacity to reject, exclude and judge.

The great humanitarian-scientist, Buckminster Fuller, said that one of the most significant events of his life was when he stopped everything and wrote his own dictionary. He redefined words according to his experience, as what they represented in his reality, not that of others. This effect forced him to re-examined his values and reassess his attitudes. I gave him a far deeper appreciation of the power of words for the remainder of his life.

As adults we know that certain behavior is discarded early in life because it is childish and inappropriate. As wise adults we learn that certain words and labels should be discarded as well because they are hurtful or destructive, and if that means passing the opportunity to tell the latest joke, then we are all the more fortunate for that insight.

There can be no word large enough to encompass the wonder of a human being. To judge others by a single label is to miss them entirely. As a child I may have been a Latin immigrant, or skinny, or a number of things, but I was much more than each one of them. Thanks goodness for those special individuals who learned to look beyond the labels and to know me as a whole person. It's not surprising that they turned out to be the people most worth knowing.

Words so often desensitize us. They can paralyze our senses as well as our better instincts. Words are powerful things which too often take casually. They were created to help us give organization to chaos. But, unless we are careful, they become traps which lead us to apathy, hate and loneliness. we mustn't allow words to control us. They are our tools to enlarge, not narrow, our lives.

Love for Being With Self

I'd like to believe that we are by nature social creatures. Anyone who has ever experienced loneliness - and among us who hasn't - will agree with that. We need each other. But as much as we need to be with each other, we also need to be alone from time to time.

in reference to: The Greatest Gift (view on Google Sidewiki)

Love for Being with Self

I'd like to believe that we are by nature social creatures. Anyone who has ever experienced loneliness - and among us hasn't - will agree with that. We need each other. But as much as we need to be with each other, we also need to be alone from time to time. The thought is expressed beautifully by Paul Tillich. In his book, Courage To Be, he writes, "Our language has wisely sensed the two sides of being alone. It has created the word loneliness to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word solitude to express the glory of being alone."

One of the absolute essentials of my life is to have time to myself. Time to collect scattered thoughts, time for quiet contemplation, time to think things through, or time to just go along at my own pace. To me, it's  a very reasonable demand of the body and the mind that I disengage from everything and everyone occasionally. It's amazing how often I am criticized for this trait. I, say my critics, who love people so much, have no right to be a private person.

This requirement is not new for me. I discovered it early. In my childhood, in my birth country, there were the day-long excursions up into the mountains, near town, the hours of exploring whatever came into a view or grasp, completely absorbed in my environment. There were very special trees that had the most accommodating branches for climbing and for building my own little fortress of solitude, way up high. When I really needed to be alone, that was my place.

I still like to break away on my own and wander to places that invite exploration. Sad to say, I'm less inclined to climb trees these days, but the stars seem just as close and glorious from the backyard of our house, and it's a great deal less strenuous.

I manage to get away by myself few days every now and then. It's a need that reasserts itself at appropriate intervals of my life. I divorce myself from newspapers, TV, telephone, Blackberry, even though it's not always easy to leave these things behind. for me, doing this has its rewards.

First of all, there is the absolute splendor of no static from the outside. Getting far enough away from the sounds of the city means an opportunity to listen to my own heart and mind. I sometimes forget their sound in the constant roar of daily life. Having experienced this for a week or so, the renewing effect it has on my mind and body is unmistakable. Being cut off from a week's worth of news, and the calamities and carnage that are its mainstays, is a very special kind of therapy.

It's most enlightening to discover that, like a never ending soap opera, nothing is really missed by failing occasionally to keep current. In fact, separating oneself from the woes of the world can do wonders for one's outlook and general mood. One returns refreshed and optimistic!

It's so easy to become wrapped up in a routine of people an places that we neglect the all-important time of separation. Even when we find ourselves alone we are sometimes prone to fill the empty space with the chatter of a television set, or the Internet or plugged in MP3 player, almost as if we were afraid of the quiet.

We forget that there is an inner music that's nice to listen to sometimes. Thomas Edison said of his deafness that it was an asset because from it he learned to listen from within. All of us, to some degree, suffer from a different kind of deafness that is caused by ignoring or closing off those inner channels. Solitude is an excellent way of improving our hearing.

Passion for Loving

Perhaps it's time to look again at the ways and power of love.

in reference to: http://www.weebly.com/weebly/main.php (view on Google Sidewiki)