Mister Toads Wild Ride, Revisited…

A few years ago, I wrote about my experiences of teaching my youngest daughter how to drive.  I tried searching for it in my blog, but over the years, I’ve somehow lost that original story.  Too bad, it probably was a good one. 

What made me think to look up an old post on this blog is that just recently I’ve had to revisit driving training again.  No, I didn’t have another child.  If I had, there would be a doctor who I saw several years ago that I would be punching in the mouth.  The training involves my youngest daughter, again.  She didn’t forget how to drive, she does pretty well for the limited two years that she has had her California license. 

It’s that in the infinite wisdom that is my ex-wife and her husband, they bought her a gorgeous late 60’s VW square back station wagon.  The car has been a project of theirs for the last couple of years.  They have spent many weekends rebuilding the car almost from scratch.  The finished car is really a very pretty car to look at.  It will be a great car for a teenager to drive back and forth to school and work.  A cool car for Southern California.

The drawback.  It’s a four speed manual transmission.  Have you ever tried to teach a child how to drive a stick shift?  It’s like trying to herd cats or push spaghetti uphill.  It can be done, but with much difficulty. 

Now, my personal car is a BMW 5 series with a 5 speed manual transmission.  A stick shift (not the pedal shifters) but one that is easily driven.  This VW is a pain in the ass to drive.  The clutch has to be pushed down hard, the stick has to be moved hard to change gears, and the car drives like a slug.  Add to all this a teenager who knows nothing about why there is three pedals and not just two on the floorboard. 

So I begin the teaching process of how to feather the clutch and accelerator while still working the brake and getting the car into gear.  I am revisiting what it took to have patience with a teenage driver again.  I realize that you truly never get to escape these responsibilities.  However, there are days that I think I’m just getting too old for these “E Ticket” rides anymore.

An All-Star Game in My Backyard, Almost…

For anyone who knows me, this time of year is the best.  Hot weather, a chance to wear shorts (which I do most of the time anyways, I just don’t look funny doing it in the summer), enjoying a frosty beverage, enjoying a cigar and watching baseball.  Other than the playoffs and when my team (the West Coast Halos) is playing, the All-Star game is the best. 

The All-Star game is a chance to watch the best of the best play (usually) and a time when baseball is not too serious. A time when the players and the fans seem to be having fun.  It is after all a sport meant for entertainment and we all need to remember that.

This year is fun because the game is almost in my backyard.  Anaheim Stadium is a 20 minute drive from my house.  I won’t get the chance to sit in the seats and enjoy the game live, but knowing that it is all happening just down the freeway is exciting. 

 Of course this year the All-Star game will have a bit of sorrow mixed in.  The former owner of the New York Yankees, George Steinbrenner past away last evening.  A man who defined baseball in the modern era.  I was never a fan of George’s but I will admit that he made the Yankees and baseball as a whole a much better sport for all of us.  A baseball boss who was never afraid to get his hands dirty and who made sure that only the best product was on the field. 

So, sit down, grab a cold one and enjoy the summer classic that is the All-Star Game.

A Father’s Day Gift…

I wrote this tribute to my daughters last year and thought I’d update it and reprint most of it.  Being a father is a very important gift and I think it’s important that we remember why we became parents.  I hope you enjoy it.

It’s Been My Privilege… 

I have the honor and the privilege to be the father and step-father to three beautiful daughters.  They are constant reminders of why I was put on this earth.  Not only are they the loves of my life, they are regular fodder for many things I have written
throughout the years.

A long time ago, I discovered that being a father isn’t an obligation or a right.  It wasn’t something men were supposed to do just because previous generations had.  I found out that it is a privilege, a gift to us and one that shouldn’t be taken lightly, EVER.  

As holidays go, I love that third Sunday in June.  Father’s Day is my time to celebrate the fact that I am a dad.  It was a chance for me to look back at their lives and see what I was given to mold, teach, and raise to the best of my ability.  In return, they have taught me so much, such as patience and how to view the world from their eyes.

My daughters are 22, 18, and 17 respectively.  All have grown up to be beautiful young women that would make any father proud.  All three continue to strive to be the best that they can and really, what father could ask for anything more.

Now don’t get me wrong, these three are not angels.  They have their moments.  I’ve
spent many nights waiting up for the missed curfews.  There have been dramas galore with school, girlfriends, and boyfriends.  I’ve had to mediate arguments between daughters and the other parent or step parent.  However, nothing that couldn’t be resolved with a little love and patience.  

I have a saying that I tell my daughters frequently, “I may not like you at the moment, but I will ALWAYS love you.”  All three know that I will move heaven and earth for them. 

So all you fathers out there, as you await a breakfast of cold cereal or burnt eggs served by your kids, remember you have been given a privilege. 

Happy Father’s Day…

 

One Down, Two to Go…

After four years of homework, class juggling, boyfriend drama, moving into a dorm, out of a dorm, into school housing, out of school housing, and two different apartments, her mother and myself finally have a college graduate.

Yep, my oldest just graduated from a Southern California school this weekend.  Of course, her mother and I are very proud of the accomplishments she has been able to do while in school.  She and about 1,000 of her closest classmates all walked the aisle to get their diplomas.  A really neat sight to see as they cheered not only themselves but their fellow graduates on Sunday.  The only thing that ran through my head was, ”Damn, all these recent graduates will be my competition for a job, crap! 

She majored in Communications with an emphasis in Public Relations and a minor in Marketing.  She worked at the school paper and was even offered the position of Editor.  She turned it down only because she wasn’t a Journalism major and wanted someone else who was to have the position.  She is currently working at a P.R. firm as an intern and will probably be offered a full time job after the summer.  Thank god, now maybe she could start supporting her dad…Nah, probably won’t happen.

With my oldest out, my middle child starting college in September and my youngest starting her senior year in high school, we should be done with kids in college in about 5 years.  I don’t know what I will do without all that drama that comes with college, the moving, the boyfriends, the stress of finals, etc. 

Election Day Volunteering…

He was very serious.  He made his statement and he wanted an answer.  The three older women who were working with me all turned to await my decision.  My mind raced, what was the answer?  Was it the green envelope or the white?  Was the answer yes, or no?  Where was the nearest exit and could I get there before he clubbed me over the head with his cane.  My mind went from trying to find the answers to a complete blank.  Not a damn thing came to my mind.  This was not how I had envisioned my day, at all.

As I have gotten older, I have begun to realize that we all have some sort of ‘bucket list’ that we keep in our heads.  A list of things we want to do before we kick that proverbial bucket ourselves.  For many its skydiving for the first time, or seeing a part of this world that we haven’t seen before.  However, for some reason, mine was to work a polling place on Election Day.  I know, call me crazy but I love to live on the edge.

It all began when a friend told me a couple of weeks ago that she volunteered to work at a polling place and that they were paying people.  A little cash register bell went off in my head.  Who couldn’t use a little extra money by sitting around and watching people mark a ballot?  It’s something different to do, it gets me out of the house for the day, and I might make some contacts for my next job.  So taking her advice, I got on-line and volunteered with the local voters registrar.  I got a call the next day from someone I can only describe as ‘overly friendly.’  It seemed like I was doing her a huge favor for volunteering.  That should have been my first clue.  Doing this good deed wasn’t going to be the ‘cake walk’ I thought it was.  Our telephone conversation was nice and she  asked if I could attend a training meeting.  Sure, how hard could it be to make sure that someone gets the right ballot to vote with?  I mean, this is like having a government job, right? 

I arrived at the local library that was hosting the training session.  The room was set up to host about 50 people.  There were only six of us.  I was handed a manual as I walked in.  It was thick and had over a 150 pages.  This was not a good sign.  The guy running the training session was, ‘overly friendly’ as well.  We start with the training, and he describes the ‘Eslate’ voting booth.  It’s an electronic voting machine collapsed inside of a suitcase.  Clever idea until you need to put the damn thing together.  The six of us looked like kindergartners trying to play with an Erector Set. 

After the chaos of the voting booth, we move on to different scenarios that can happen while at the polling place.  This is the part were I should have been listening more carefully.  Especially when that gentleman with the cane and serious look wanted some answers on Election Day.  We wrapped up the training and I headed home.  Whatever answers I needed, it would be in the manual.  No problem.

I sat down and read the manual the next day.  Well, I didn’t really read it, more like skimmed through it.  This didn’t seem to be too hard and besides, two of the women who I would be working with have been volunteers before.  It all seemed like a babysitting job for the day.

Flash forward to Tuesday, Election Day.  The alarm goes off at 4:45 in the morning and I had just enough time to shower, grab a coffee, and head to my ‘babysitting job.’  I was assigned to work at a polling station located inside of a retirement village about twenty minutes south of my house.  I meet the three women working with me, all who were at retirement age, and we began our setup.  I started the ‘tinker toy’ building of the electronic voting booths while the ladies ran around and taped up what seemed like a hundred signs inside and out of the polling station.  We were in a rush as the polls needed to be ready by 7:00 for the first voters.  We finished with about 5 minutes to spare and waited to open the polls.  The time arrived and we switched on the electronic voting booths and yelled, “The polls are open. ”  There was no line, no anxious voters outside waiting for us to open.  Nobody at all.

So we sat, and we sat some more.  The ladies and I talked about our families, our pets; they talked about their husbands and their kids and grandkids.  With this much time to kill, you find out way more than you need to about your co-workers.  About an hour after opening, we had our first voter.  It was time to start the fun, or so I thought.  Each of the ladies at their tables checked our first voter in.  Verified who she was and what precinct she would vote in.  Then she was sent down to me so that I could punch her access code up so she could begin to vote.  I handed her the small slip of paper containing four digits to access her voting machine and directed her to one of the voting booths.  With a quizzical look, she proceeded to a booth and stood looking at it.  This should have been an indicator of how my day ways going to be.  “Oh, young man, could you come here and explain how this works?”  This was a phrase I would hear repeated throughout the day.

The Election Day ran in spurts as some voters trickled in and other times there was a line to vote.  When we were busy, I was a bit more stressed.  Getting voters through the process can be daunting, especially when the ballot is 10 pages long.  Most voters were patient and figured out the voting machines.  Some wanted to make changes such as political parties that had me rushing to the manual for answers.  Henceforth my confusion on what colored envelope and how to pull up the right ballot.  Many of them came to vote just so they could have conversation with their neighbors.  A chance to be reacquainted with their friends. 

As we approached the time to close the polls, which is 8:00 in California, everyone started to get antsy.  “Can we pull down the signs at 7:30?”  No, we can’t.  “Can we start packing ballots in the box?”  No, we can’t.  These anxious ladies wanted the evening to end.  I don’t blame them; I was tired, sore, and looking for a glass of wine and a cigar to end my day. 

Finally, the time had come to close the polls.  I have never seen three ladies of retirement age move so fast in all my life.  They had the signs down, ballots counted, boxes packed, they were even coming over to help me disassemble the voting machines.  Taking our very long list of things to do, we checked off all our responsibilities, signed the appropriate papers, gathered all our boxes and equipment, and carried them outside.  As the voting gods were being nice to me, they place our collection spot right outside our door.  We didn’t have to load it in somebody’s car and drive it across town for collection.  I bid farewell to my three all-day companions and wished them well.  We all climbed into our cars and proceeded home.

Would I do this again?  Maybe.  I probably wouldn’t have if I had known what I was getting into from the beginning.  It was a long day and there was a little bit of satisfaction in knowing I participated in the process.  I met some good people.  I also met some bad people.  Nevertheless, the experience was interesting.  I can now check off this item from my ‘bucket list.’