On Gratitude 2015

My first memories of Thanksgiving are not unlike most; family, football, and food, food, food. I never have and never will be very excited about Black Friday; as the only large crowds I like are rock concerts and ballgames. But that’s a story for another time. As a society, we have taken the Thanks out of Thanksgiving. People are obsessed with shopping deals and their entire holiday existence revolves around it.

Not this kid.

This year and in all years past, I choose to be thankful. And I’ll be no more thankful today than I am the other 364 days of the year.

I am thankful for over ten years with my wife Anna by my side…

I am thankful my son Trevor’s thirst for knowledge and passion for baseball surpasses my own at that age…

I am thankful my son Joseph shows great interest and compassion for all wildlife; from the smallest critters buzzing around the flowers to the elephants we marvel at on our frequent trips to the San Diego Zoo…

I am thankful for the late nights after work when my daughter Layla joins me in my little office in the  garage, pulling books on the shelf and pointing at the numerous pictures asking “Daddy, what’s that?”…

I am thankful my daughter Chloe is following along nicely on the path set forth by her siblings…

I am thankful that when the San Diego Padres realized they needed a new home, they hired people experienced in building new homes for teams rather than a lawyer whose previous experience was teaching Bill Clinton how to lie to the American public…

I am still thankful my friend and former coworker Danny Lawrence never kicked my ass for all the short jokes I threw his way…

I am thankful my grandfathers’ instilled in me a deep appreciation of music, the outdoors and the value of honest work…

I am thankful our politicians look out for the best interests of this great nation, the common good and never make a decision based on popularity or their respective parties…

I am thankful you all know that last line was bullshit...

I am thankful for the freedom of knowing my life is in my hands, that my decisions are the difference between success and failure in my life…

I am thankful for the hundreds of books on my shelf and how they open a world of reality that has nothing to do with selfies, celebrities and the daily intolerance the sheep of the social networking universe choose to embrace…

I am thankful for men like Alvin York, George S. Patton and Roy Benavidez…

I am thankful Chesty Puller chose the Marines…

I am thankful Tony Gwynn chose baseball over basketball…

I am thankful Tim Young took a chance on this long-haired high school dropout…

I am thankful for my Family of 40,000; three of whom were called home this year yet it continues to grow amid the tragic losses…

I am thankful when Theodore Geisel was told his books weren’t good enough, he refused to believe the lie. Which goes to show the importance in believing in yourself when others don’t…

I am thankful for the works of Louis L’Amour, Andy Andrews and Nick Canepa…

I am thankful that I am the Man in the Arena, and will never take rank with those timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat…

Most of all, I am thankful for freedom of choice. I can choose depression or I can choose gratitude. I choose gratitude. I choose gratitude today and every day. This is a short list, a small sample of the list I add to every day of my life. A man wiser than myself once said “the seeds of depression cannot take root in a grateful heart.”

Truer words have never been spoken…

 

Did You Call Your Dad Today?/Respect By Default

A few months short of nine years ago, we received news my Mom was suffering from a terminal illness. Father’s Day came two days after we got the news and before attending a family function I visited her in the hospital. Mom was sleeping, so I quietly left a note at her bedside and tiptoed out of the room. The note read:

“I just wanted to drop by and wish you a Happy Father’s Day. After all, you did the job of both parents and a hell of a job it.”

Though the family gathering later that day was enjoyable, I carried a heavy weight upon my heart. What was to become of her? What was to become of me? I’ve never been a negative thinker but the facts suggested she didn’t have a whole lot of time left. While speaking of this to a family friend, I was rudely interrupted by someone who asked “Did you call your dad yet?”

Against my nature, I stopped my conversation to acknowledge the person who interrupted. “No, but as you are aware I’ve had a lot on my mind this weekend.”

Not satisfied, the interrupter said “Yeah, but he’s still your dad…”

In a tone I don’t normally use when speaking to an elder, I quietly but firmly said “Someone should have told him that thirty fucking years ago…”

I had no regret for saying it but I must say I was surprised my response quickly diffused the situation; I surely expected things to get pretty heated. Thankfully they didn’t and I was able to spend the rest of the day in relative peace.

This got me thinking, how many other grown men are out there being criticized for having little more than “respect by default”? By this I mean how many fathers out there demand respect from their children, yet not show it in return? It’s the equivalent of a man planting a garden and blaming the garden for not growing when he neglects to water it.

The home I was at that day was the home of my uncle through marriage; not blood related but the respect I have for him is unsurpassed and accordingly, he earned it. He may not have sought and whether he likes it or not, I love the hell out of him. That love and respect was gained through who he is, from the heart and not from what a piece of paper says. He has four sons and their bond used to be something I envied as a child, even jealous of at times.

Yet there was no reason to hold my cousins in contempt for how great their dad is, nor is it their or anyone’s fault my dad wasn’t exactly Ward Cleaver or even Al Bundy. That was the life I was born into and to quote my uncle, we turned out pretty good considering the hand we were dealt.

Reading Huckleberry Finn for the first time was the first example of someone having a dad like mine. Drunk, bitter, conniving? Yep, that was my dad. I couldn’t relate to any of the TV dads or even any of my friends dads. When I watched La Bamba it scared the hell out of me, Esai Morales’ character Bob was the spitting image of my father. I had the opportunity to share these thoughts with Esai himself one day, though I was able to assure him things are not quite as tenuous as they used to be.

There were a lot of resentments and often, I was punished for having the resentments. Even worse, I was a verbal punching bag for many who had issues with him, and punished again for daring to ask why I was being criticized for things my dad did before I was even born. The resentments are gone now, at least as gone as they can be. This is something I never knew was possible. As a man wiser than myself said one night in response to my fierce criticism of my dad, “That’s his cross to bear, you did nothing wrong and you’re only hurting yourself by feeding those resentments.”

Sage advice that helped rid me of decades worth of anger in a manner of seconds.

Father’s Day is a bittersweet time for me, but in years past it was all bitter with no sweet about it. Such is the same with the relationship I have with my dad these days. Long gone are the days I would be criticized for something he did and punished for not liking it. No longer do I live in fear of him and his ways, instead I live with gratitude for who he is now. And it’s been three decades since he cussed up a storm about my mom dating, all while driving to one girlfriends house to cheat on his live-in girlfriend; now he is happily married to my step mom, who had as big a role as anyone in the changes my dad has made.

I’ll never forget what once was, nor will I hold resentments.

I saw my mom cry many times due to him, but the last time I saw her smile was because of him as well. I shook in fear when he came home drunk and took his frustrations out on us, but I also saw the sincerity in his eyes when he said “Mijo I wasn’t a perfect father, that’s why I thank God for your mom and your grandfather”. I was reduced to tears of embarrassment when he would criticize and ridicule me, in front of others, for not knowing something that most kids usually learn from their fathers; but I cherish the times he comes to town and the way my kids faces light up when hands over a bag of cookies, a handful of jerky or a new bike.

No, things weren’t always great and for a long stretch, were not good in any way. But he’s trying, God bless him. He’s honestly and earnestly trying, not to make up for the past but to be the best he can be now. And when you think about it, that’s all we can ever ask about each other…

 

Still Fine

Like roughly half the married couples around the country, my parents divorced when I was seven years old. I can’t say it affected me in a negative way; when my Mom broke the news to me I was actually relieved to know my dad would not be living with us again. In fact, their divorce seemed like a natural thing to do; when he was around, everyone was on edge and most definitely not happy and as far as I could tell, things were pretty good when he wasn’t around. For the record, around four years later I was stricken with the news David Lee Roth had left Van Halen. My little fifth grade heart was crushed, life as I knew it was over. Mom and Dad divorce, oh well; one of the greatest rock bands ever break up, Oh the humanity! Go figure.

I was blessed that in spite of the hardships my Mom endured as a single mother of three, our home life was much better than other cases I’ve heard of and witnessed on the aftermath of an acrimonious divorce. In many cases, the children suffer more than anyone and the effects can last well into adulthood.

On something of a lighter note, the pending “Divorce” between the City of San Diego and the Chargers has left thousands of children (read: lifelong Charger fans) at a loss for (nice) words for all parties involved. Upon reading the news earlier tonight, I was saddened just as many other fans were. Even more, I was disgusted to know that they would be moving in with the Raiders. “What a terrible PR move” I initially thought to myself. But they’re leaving, so they wouldn’t care too much about their PR in San Diego.

In the coming weeks and months, we’ll be subjected to plenty of hemming and hawing over who did what, who should have done what and who is to blame. But like a divorce, the ones who suffer most will be the fans; the ones who truly put their hearts and souls into the team and have little to no say over where the team goes. Personally, I think they’re as good as gone. We San Diegans cannot expect any help from the NFL; they’ve wanted a team in LA for over twenty years and if it takes making America’s Finest City NFL orphans to make it happen, they’d gladly do it. Chargers (dis)Ownership stands to make more money than ever with an LA move and when it gets down to it, football is a business to them, not a game.

Saddened as I will be, I’d say good riddance to an Ownership who contrary to public image is not known as the best local corporation to work for. This from people who have worked many years within the local professional sports community. A few weeks back, I made a halfhearted suggestion that one side of the deal; either the team or the city, would be wise to hire none other than Larry Lucchino as a consultant. If you don’t know Lucchino’s track record, look him up. The man gets things done.

As I was mulling over the possibility of the San Diego Chargers being a thing of the past, I thought of that post and something struck me; not ONE person hired by either side has any experience in getting a ballpark built. Plenty of experience in lawsuits, injunctions and accusations but not one has “Stadium Building” anywhere on the resume. So maybe any feasible stadium deal was doomed from the start. After all, I wouldn’t hire a plumber to fix my car and it makes even less sense (especially on the Chargers end) to hire a lawyer whose past accomplishments include defending one of the biggest liars in Our Nation’s history.

One of the things team ownerships “sell” in the push for a new stadium is the “Identity” the team brings to a community. Yet San Diego has had things which have been part of the local fabric, the very essence of this sleepy little Navy town since long before Barron Hilton brought the Chargers to Balboa Stadium.

The San Diego Zoo is staying put, and its intensive work is inspiring the next generation of biologists around the world; ensuring the vital work of wildlife preservation will live on long after the goalposts are torn down. The cutting-edge research being conducted at the Salk Institute will continue to improve the health of people the world over and who knows, maybe even find a cure for cancer long after the polluted soil below the Murph is finally cleaned up. And even long after the final concrete light standard is hauled out of Mission Valley, the white granite stones at Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery will continue their silent vigil; keeping watch over all of us as we enjoy the freedoms given to us by those who are laid to rest there.

Yes, it would be a sad day indeed when we open the sports page to read about the Los Angeles Chargers. But after reading that last paragraph, can you really convince yourself it matters that much? After all, NFL or no NFL; we’ll still be a damn fine city…

(un)Professional Sports, the (not so) Super Bowl and the Things That Really Matter...

 

Ahhh, Super Bowl Sunday, when mega-corporations across the land pay millions of dollars to shill their product to billions of consumers; vying for the attention of those whose life desire is to spend way too much money on things they don’t really need. Where corporate executives who wouldn’t know an infield shift from shinola get the best seats to the best events, simply because the company coffers spit out enough money to house a hundred families so their logo can be displayed in fonts larger than the actual team names and logos. (Okay, that last line was inspired by a moment I had on Opening Day 2004, when a bunch of corporate stiffs yelled at me to sit down when I was cheering Our Padres in an extra-innings situation.)

But seriously, I dare you to ask yourself, when was the last time it was about the game? Every College Bowl Game is sponsored by someone; and the original names are much less prevalent than those of the corporate sponsors. Hell, even Disneyland has cornered the market on the congratulatory speech and nowadays, the now-classic “I’m going to Disneyland” line seems relatively harmless next to the less endearing side of human nature Professional Sports now exposes, with much help from the social networking universe.

If you’re reading this blog, chances are you found it through Facebook and if you have Facebook, it is safe to say you have seen literally thousands of examples of how we (we meaning SOME) have cast the game itself aside in favor of unearned bragging rights; a sociological phenomenon I have termed “the Illusion of Accomplishment”. Surely in the past week you have seen posts regarding the NFL and throughout the past year, a large chunk of the words coming across your newsfeed have had to do with Major League Baseball and any of the other major sports. How many of those posts have spoken not of appreciation of one’s chosen team; but of derision towards an opposing team?

I relish a good conversation on the greats of the games; The Johnny Unitas’ of the world; the Willie Mays’, the Larry Birds and the Wayne Gretzkys’; good talk about legendary players. Sadly, such conversations are rare a find as a Bud Selig fan at Petco Park. Bragging about something one had nothing to do with is the rule nowadays and it makes me wonder; are people that insecure in their own abilities they feel the need to use the doings of other to feel good about themselves?

In this life of mine, I have learned that balance is key to just about every endeavor. One example is not only knowing but living the balance between honest reflection and living in the past. Reflection aides in learning from the past; living in the past means one has learned nothing. In a perfect illustration of imbalance, look at Raider fans (and yes, there is no shortage of examples of serious imbalance among Raider fans); they’ve lost ten or more games in thirteen of the last fifteen seasons. Yet whenever question about the current state of their team, a fan will ask “How many rings you got?”

Living in the past, while living in absolute denial of the present situation. It’s easy to use the Raiders as an example, in fact almost too easy. Something like the saying involving fish in a barrel. But if you look at the average fan of any team, much of the same mentality is there; one person claiming superiority over another merely because a differing choice in favorite teams.

Even the accomplishments of the players themselves have taken a back seat to off-the-field behavior and in some cases, the athletic skills of players can’t even find room in the car among all the celebrity gossip and media-fueled drivel. Take Richard Sherman; great player and by most accounts, a solid man in his community. Yet most conversations about him start and end with his brash, loudmouth ways; while only occasional mention is made of his athletic prowess. Some guys out there make even Dennis Rodman look relatively tame by today’s (lack of) standards, and they don’t even have to wear feather boas and sleep with Madonna to do it.

I find it humorous and saddening at the same time, how many people will eat that kind of thing up, while the rest spend even more time complaining how ridiculous it all is. I know it may sound hypocritical, seeing as how I’m taking the time to write about it, yet I write about it from an outsiders view; rather than hem and haw over what’s going on in the world of sports fandom these days I look at it in the larger context of how it reflects who we are as a society and when I look at it that way, I must say I am not impressed.

Just over nine years ago, my Mom passed away during what was looking to be a championship season for the Chargers. Alas, our Chargers stunk it up, at home against New England in a bitter playoff elimination. After the game ended, guys were throwing their hats on the ground, yelling at their wives and tossing their jerseys in the trash can. I was irritated at first, of course I wanted to see LT and Phillip Rivers hoist the Vince Lombardi Trophy. But the irritation lasted only a few minutes, as I was all too aware of what a TRUE LOSS was. Momentarily I wished I was small-minded enough to think a football game was the end of the world. I look back on that moment as the moment I started losing interest in professional sports as a whole, as to get involved was to invariably have to deal with those with the “Illusion” way of thinking.

Lately, I have been thinking much of the Chargers only Super Bowl appearance, a day my brother and I stationed shotguns by the door so we could fire a shot in the air every time they scored. (Something we did for every televised Charger game when we live in New Mexico.) For us, it was about the game yet being it was our first, you can bet there was also a big party. Yet we manages it well, those who were there to party had no seating rights; those who were there for the game got preferred seating.

I’m working today and a big part of me is glad I am. Most Super Bowl parties these days are filled with people who know nothing about the game and you can bet tomorrow more than one person at every party will be rooting for Seattle simply because someone else is rooting for New England, and vice versa. Observe those around you, you will be amused; at least until you realize some of the people rooting hardest don’t know Tom Brady from Tom Cruise. There’s nothing more irritating than hearing someone talk nonstop about something they know nothing about. Yet for those who enjoy the game as much as the party, I salute you. You’re in it for all the right reasons.

I tip my SD hat to those of you who watch the game for the game; who follow their team for the team, and who respect the history and traditions. And for those who would claim superiority over another person, even over a professional athlete simply because the team you like is better than the team they root for or play on, I give you the old Chub Feeney salute…