hero

Today I delved into my sub conscious and found a distant dream/goal that I first encountered in the eighth grade. I was reminded about a classic author and I remembered a book I read in school. I don't think it was for a class but I read it because I heard he was the best. From the moment I first picked up Dicken's "David Copperfield" I was hooked. The first page contains the best writing I had ever encountered. "Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anyone else, these pages must show."

I was reminded of this passage when a friend told me that she was re-reading "Great Expectations". I offered that at one time Dickens was my favorite author. I lied. I just wanted the conversation to continue. Although my most favorite book IS "David Copperfield". I enjoyed Dickens style. I thoroughly enjoyed this book. " To begin my life with the beginning of my life, I record that I was born (as I have been informed and believe) on a Friday, at twelve o'clock at night. It was remarked that the clock began to strike, and I began to cry, simultaneously. " From those lines on I was hooked. I read the whole think in the fall of my freshman year in high school.

I believe now that that has been the goal of my life. To be the hero of my own life. I dare say that I am still working on it. But the successes that I have enjoyed in life thus far have been the parts of my plan that have been purposefully achieved. I have known love and lost it. I have known love and won it. I continue to savor that victory.

I have two beautiful children whose lives hold as much promise as my own life did (and still does as I am still breathing). I must admit that the children's ages now provide an immense challenge to my wife and myself as to make me think that my hero status is in terrible jeopardy. But then things happen that can change my mind in an instant. They are beautiful, smart, generous and loving kids. They will go far in this life.

Does parenting make me heroic? I don't know. At times maybe. Plucking a baby from a swimming pool before he tries to breathe under water. Yeah, I did that. My 18 month son slipped not a foot from me. I grabbed him before he even thought to breathe. He is fine. Forgotten all about it. Of course, he has had 13 years.

Or pulling splinters?, Or cleaning scrapes and cuts? Answering questions?

Helping my daughter with her school project? Does that make me heroic? Maybe. But we all do that. Homework? I don't know.

I guess I am still trying to figure out that Dickens line. "Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anyone else, these pages must show." Maybe that is what this blog is all about. I don't know. I don't know if I can be called a hero just yet. Maybe that is the struggle. Maybe I should re-read David Copperfield. I will have to clean out the garage to find it. Wish me luck.

D.

Turning Fifty

During the past two weeks I turned a half a century old. I was given the opportunity to savor the joys of having a party in which my family (some) and friends (some) showed up to help me celebrate. It was a great party. My wife planned it exquisitly. She did not plan on surprising me but she did. I knew about the party, I knew about the attendees, but she put together a scrapbook that was just incredible - highlights of my life, my family and cherished moments.

Fifty years of living one can accumulate a great many dreams, ideas and accomplishments. Well, I had the first two but was kind of depressed about my lack of accomplishments. After looking at the friends who made the great effort to attend my celebration I have no doubt about my accomplishments. I have great friends. I still have great ideas and dreams, so, who knows. Maybe someday.

Depressed about my accomplishments? Yeah, kind of. I had dreams about what I wanted to do with my life. I can't say that my life has turned out exactly as I planned but I can't complain about how sweet it is. I wish I had written a bestseller, I am still working on a book of poetry, I have several ideas for plays, but the time to complete those tasks is hard to find. I have ideas. They come to me while driving, while fixing breakfast, while mowing the lawn. The thoughts are always popping into my head. I always have paper around for notes. I have lots of notes. I just need to write them down and get back to them when I have time to consolidate them.

I shouldn't be depressed. I still have time, desire and abilities. I just don't have time currently. I can squeeze in a half hour here or there, but nothing consistently. There are so many distractions just in living. So I write what I can, when I can. I write this blog. I still think. I still have ideas. Someday...

I think I have had a great first fifty years. I look forward to the next fifty years.

David

Family Reunions

Wow, what a wonderful two weeks. This summer my family had our 20th (21st? - who's counting?) family reunion. We have them about once every four years, so ours have been going on since 1933. The family story (from my cousin Patsy) states that my Grandfather and Grandmother and four kids were traveling out one 4th of July holiday to a picnic at other relatives farms. There was an auto accident and my aunt, who must have been four or five years old, broke her arm. Grandma said that from that point on she would not travel on July 4th and everyone could meet at her farm for the festivities. And so, our family reunions were born. We don't do them every year though. Off years are for in-laws families and individual families to establish traditions of their own.

This years reunion was fantastic. The planning was terrific and the venue worked out great. This year we had a total of 37 families attend. There were at least four families missing. Some cousins live in Europe and could not attend and some have young families and gas prices were pretty high this summer. But the rest of us got together and had a great time.

We got together to talk, reminisce and to make rope for the younger members. I believe every member of our family has (or should have) a piece of rope made at our reunions. During the years on the farm in North Dakota, there was always a need for rope. Sometimes it was difficult to travel to the hardware store for supplies so Grandpa bought a rope machine. Rope making is a collaborative effort and we have a lot of fun when we make rope. I remember when I was a kid there was alway beer around. Sometimes the beer mugs are just set on the grass to free the hands for ropemaking. (Sorry Uncle Don). Sometimes beer got spilled by little nephews. But we always had fun. This year was no different. I saw my cousins setting up the rope machines for their kids, grand kids, and nieces and nephews. Traditions get passed on. This, to me, was the best part of the reunion. The traditions, the re-connections, the rope-making, the talent show, the breakfasts, the dinners.

A hearty thank you to my cousins, Mary and Michelle. You, and all of your helpers, did a great job.

Dust Devils

We began our trip at 5:30 AM on Friday, July 25th. After an uneventful trip up the Eastern Sierras we approached the little town of Walker, CA on Hwy 395. A nice little town of inconsequential significance. This little town is on the edge of the Sierras and Antelope Valley. Walker is on the north end of the Walker River canyon. I mention these landforms because that will give you an idea of the wind patterns. While driving through the town we were driving behind a semi tanker truck with two trailers.

On the northern edge of town we could see the wind swirling on the side of the road. The wind started kicking up the dust and assorted weeds and small shrubs. It looked like a tornado. (dust devil –noun- a small whirlwind 10–100 ft. (3–30 m) in diameter and from several hundred to 1000 ft. (305 m) high, common in dry regions on hot, calm afternoons and made visible by the dust, debris, and sand it picks up from the ground. From "Dictionary.com") My wife suggested that we pull over and let it pass. I was about four car lengths behind the tanker truck. I was waiting to see what he was going to do. He was going to go right through it. The dust devil crossed the road and hit the second trailer on the tail end. The trailer moved about 1 to 2 feet side to side. It was amazing how much power that little wind storm had.

We made it our destination after a, finally, great trip. It is great to see Mother Nature at work.

David

away

This blog may be dull the next few weeks. I will be away on a trip and my opportunities for blogging may be limited. I will try to keep my faithful readers (or interested parties) up to date as to my whereabouts but I will be on the road. I will write more when I return.

Thank you.

David.

Crows

During my walk a few days ago I mentioned that I saw some crows fighting it out in a tree. Today (Saturday, July 19th), I had another experience with crows. This time I have a picture. These crows somehow got caught in the unused batting cage of a local high school's baseball field. The cage is attached to the dugout. The gate from the dugout was open and there was also a small opening in the chain link fence on the other side which they could easily have walked through. But these crows (I am told they are pretty smart birds) could not seem to find the way out or remember how they got in there.

The birds did not seem to be panicking but they were flying from their perch on a small storage box to the opposite corner of the cage. It occurred to me that they may be disoriented from their predicament and it has not occured to them to walk out. Could it be that in their predicament they just didn't think to walk? They fell back on their skill of flying. That which they do best will get them out of this mess. I shall bring some seeds tomorrow in the hopes that I can coax them out.

We shall see what happens.

UPDATE: (Sunday, July 20th)...My son and I went back to the school and the cage. The birds were gone. They must have figured it out on their own. I thought that they might have. There were maybe too many human things in the dugout for them to try that route. They have flown the coop.

D.

Walking

My wife and I go walking almost every day now. She drags me out walking because she is trying to get me healthy. I turn 50 in less than two weeks and she is throwing me a party. I think she wants me around to throw her a party in 4 and a half years. I will gladly do it. Faithful readers know that I like to party. Partying is an excuse for cake and that may be why my wife wants me to walk. Too much cake.

I have two brothers and four sisters. At any given time when we were growing up someone was having a party. Someone was having cake. We all had different tastes so we all experienced different cakes. And so, I have come to love cake.

I am diabetic. I can't eat cake anymore. Another reason my wife drags me out walking.

It is great to live in Southern California where the weather is always nice and it doesn't rain on our walks. But I remember when we were newlyweds and we did go out walking. It rained on us that particular time. And we had a great time. Even now, 20 years later, we still enjoy walking. I enjoy the time with her. She is a great person to talk with. And she has learned to keep up with me. It used to be that she was always lagging behind me when we walked. I had to get where I was going. Walking has to be aerobic. No, she said, it is just a leisurely stroll.

You see, we have our differences. I walk because I get to spend time with her. We talk, we shop, we dine, we walk. We have a rule that we will not eat out at a restaurant unless it is within walking distance of our house. We walk two miles each night so that gives us about 7 restaurants in our area. No, there are nine. But two of them are down the hill and just beyond the 1 mile mark (two miles round trip). We are trying to build up our stamina.

On the weekends we try to walk to the mall. That is just over two miles (four round trip) and adds eight more restaurants and the food court (yippee). So we have a great variety in our area. It is a nice rule. It sounds good and it is a great story for my doctor. But we don't really adhere to it. We broke it tonight. Oops! I wasn't supposed to say that. Things happen.

Today I went walking by myself. I was inspired to write this little story because this evening, for my reading I chose one of my favorite authors. This gentlemen seems to write about stuff that hits close to my own life. We are about the same age and each have a wife and two kids. I think we are of the same intelligence because of an article he wrote a few months back.

I love his writing. He is very intuned to human nature and very insightful. Several years ago he vacationed with his family at the same town I did with mine, although not at the time as us. I enjoy reading his articles. Check out John Derbyshire's "The Road To Wisdom" on his website
http://www.johnderbyshire.com/Opinions/Straggler/page.html .

John, one of my dreams was to hike the Pacific Crest Trail, which starts in my neighborhood and heads north all the way to the Canadian border. Just a bit more than 30 miles. Someday maybe. The other great walk I thought about was from Point Barrow, Alaska down the Rockie Mountains through Canada, through Montana, Wyoming, Colorado and down through Mexico, Central America, across the Panama Canal and down into South America all the way to Tierra del Fuego. That was the plan of an 18 year old.

I am now pushing 50 (pushing it really hard, but it is stronger than me and pushing real hard back). That Tierra Del Fuego dream may fall but not the Pacific Crest Trail dream. I still cherish that one. Maybe I can get my wife to go on that one with me.

I HAVE been rambling. Please someone stop me. I almost missed my main reason for writing. Tonight, as I walked out on my own, there was a commotion between two crows in a tree near my walk. I stopped and looked up. At the very top there was perched a crow making all kinds of cries. He would poke his head into the heavy leaves and Caw and Caw. I was curious. He seemed very vocal. When he pulled his head out he had in his beak another Crow's wing. He stretched that wing out its full length. I could see the other crow's beak. I could not make out what he was carrying, perhaps a snail or some other tasty morsel but the bird in the bush was not letting go. Finally the vocal one gave up.

It was almost pleasant to see that the commotion was a food fight. Nature at its purest. The fight for survival. It was a very nice walk. Thank you John for the inspiration.

David.

Conversation

Good evening. I just returned home after a great party for a dear friend's birthday. It is great to get together with family and friends. She is "family". A dear person whom I have known well for over 20 years and whom my wife has known for over 25 years. She is a dear friend also because she is a faithful reader of this blog.

I commented that not very many people comment on my blog. (I actually have a few faithful readers.) She stated that I should not be concerned about how many people read my blog. I should be writing for myself. Yes, true, but all writers write for an audience. One of the reasons I started this blog was to write, to force myself, to write regularly. I am writing more regularly now than before I started this so that works. In a way she is right. But what I really want is to develop some sort of discussion. I want to be a better writer. I want to be known for my writing. But I write pretty tame (lame?) blog posts. I know that. I wanted to offer some insights into daily life. Boring...every one's life is different. Everyone has opinions. How can I set myself up as someone different? How can I make people stop by?

I may have to go against my original thoughts or my original desire on this blog. Maybe I should put forth more opinions. Become more "controversial". Raise some eyebrows, stir things up. I wonder how many visitors and comments I could get at that point.

I am an anarchist. I am a realist. How can anyone tell any other person what to do with their lives? How to live? I believe we are all put here for a reason. A reason that might be between us and our maker. I am reading a book about the future of western society and in that book the West degrades into anarchy after the liberal, politically correct policies of the sixties begin to rule our lives. Watch out, they have been slowly implemented into today’s society by slowly brainwashing the electorate. We have to stick up for individual rights.

I became a republican because they believe in less government control over individuals' lives. I have yet to see a perfect governmental system. But I believe in the one we currently have, with all its faults, it works. I believe that the reason we are facing some of the problems that we have now is because we are moving away, slowly away from the ideals and principles that helped to develop this great country.

We are asking more and more that the government take care of us. This was the thinking going back to the sixties. The welfare state. The war on Poverty. "Ask not what your country can do for you, but ask rather what you can do for your country." We should donate time and services to our country? Jonah Goldberg in National Review Online stated "For those who don’t remember, the 13th Amendment says: 'Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime . . . shall exist within the United States'." I know in this upcoming election there is (are) a candidate (candidates) who would "set a goal for all American middle and high school students to perform 50 hours of service a year, and for all college students to perform 100 hours of service a year". (Emphasis mine). And now he wants to make the faith based initiative of GW Bush a government position too. Does he understand the constitution?

Hmmm. Isn't going to work and becoming a productive, tax paying citizen a noble goal? I began paying taxes when I started working at age 12. Maybe not income taxes but consumption taxes. I spent all of the money that I earned. I bought gas to run my lawnmowers. I paid taxes on the candy and goodies I bought with my money. As I got older, I paid gas for my cars so that I could get to a better paying job so that I could spend more money. I paid tuition in college. I paid taxes at the school cafeteria where I ate lunch. I paid taxes on the books I bought. I paid the government for the privilege of driving on their/our roads. I contribute.

What have I received for my taxes? I expect the government to "…establish Justice, insure domestic tranquillity, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity…" I expect justice. When someone breaks the law, I want him or her punished. If someone wants a job I want him or her to have every opportunity to find the job that they want or are suited to do. I want people to be able to go to school and receive a quality education. I want the government to be strong enough so that I don’t have to worry about being blown up while I am trying to provide a better life for my family and community.

Community? Yes, of course. When I was in college taking a course in economic geography I learned that for a company to be successful it must sell outside its own community. Otherwise it is just redistributing the wealth among its own. And when that happens there is a diminishing effect. True wealth and growth is obtained by continually bringing in new moneys. I made the choice in college that, if possible, I would work for a manufacturer. It took me six years to do that but I finally did break through. I have been doing that ever since. I am, I feel I am productive. I pay taxes.

I am sorry for rambling. This is how I feel. I want to write. I want the freedom to be able to pursue my livelihood by it. I want that opportunity. So please forgive me if, in the future, I may rattle a few nerves. I am just speaking my mind.

See Lady, you have a profound affect on me. Happy Birthday.

David.

Depression

There was a time in my life when I felt depressed. There were a variety of reasons for that. Life is tough and we can’t be happy all the time. It just doesn’t work that way. There are a lot of things that are beyond our control. And I got depressed. It was never a serious depression, but I needed someone to talk to. I had no one. I am married but at the time my wife was going through her own pain. I could not talk to her. I needed her and I missed her. Her father lay in a hospital suffering from several diseases from which he would never recover and I could not talk to her about my own selfish little sadness.

I admired the man. I respected him. I went to him and asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage. I thought it the honorable thing to do. I admired his faith and how strong it was. I admired all the things he had done in his life. And I miss him. That was why I was there for my wife. She needed a strong shoulder to cry on and I tried to give her that. I hope I gave her that.

He died in August, amost two years ago. And I thought about him the other evening (I actually think of him quite often). My wife had rented a movie with a story line about a father’s death and his leaving behind two adult children struggling to get by in a world with too few opportunities. In the story the daughter asks the son to pick up the ashes because she can’t handle it. It reminded me of an old Kris Kristofferson song lyric, "Who’ll be there to bring the body home" ("Star Spangled Bummer (Whores die Hard)"from the "Spooky Lady Sideshow" 1974 album). That line says a lot about a life. What do you leave behind you when you go? And who do you leave to pick up the pieces? Several days after his death my wife and I went to pick up her dad’s ashes from the funeral home. We were asked to transfer them, to drive them to the cemetery where they would be interred next to his parents. I remember that I felt an overwhelming gratitude at being allowed to offer him this final courtesy. I felt honored.

As for my depression, I got over it. There are more important things in life than to let a little sadness overwhelm you. Count your blessings. I am lucky to have many. I hope that you have many too.

Epiphany - The Secret to Life

I have found the secret of life.

It was an epiphany of sorts. Many years ago I had an idea for a short story, the premise of which moved me. I have never been a very disciplined writer and found it hard to complete the story. I kept coming to holes in the logic or questions that I could not answer for the characters. When I first discovered that I had this talent I relied heavily on inspiration to create my art. But as I got older and became more responsible for my own existence, I found that I had less time for meditation. The business of life kept intruding. Even though I had an idea for a story, I lacked the sufficient inspiration that I felt that I needed to write the story. So, the story languished in my notes.

During my agnostic years I read a lot of existentialist literature. You know, where death gives meaning to life. The premise of the story is where a young man finishes his college career and then wanders through life looking for the true satisfaction, spiritual and professional fulfillment. He stumbles across a cemetery and finds great satisfaction in taking care of the graves. This little celebration of lives touched me. A life should stand for something. A life should have meaning.

Over the years this story haunted me. I had no details for it. I had a lot of ideas for plots with still the same basic premise. One idea kept going through my story. I had this line, this phrase, that some might call blasphemy, but for the sake of my story I thought appropriate. "What if God forgot?" What if god forgot to take someone home. And then last year several very spiritual things happened. I will not go into the details of my spiritual life, other than to say that I believe in God. My children have converted me.

First, I was having a conversation with a friend, an administrator in a geriatric care facility and she told me of a 100 year old patient whom she felt God had forgotten. She had stolen my phrase.

Second, I was reading an article in the paper last year about this lady in Riverside County who claims the bodies of the dumpster babies of LA. They too have been forgotten in some way. She claims the bodies of these infants who have no one else in this life to love them. This lady has set up a part of a cemetery in Riverside County where these babies are buried and loved. She calls the place the Garden of Angels. I figured that this was a holy place.

And that brings me to my pilgrimage. I went to the garden of angels to speak with God and I believe that He spoke to me. I was looking for that very inspiration that I had when I was younger. The ability to write from my heart. Bare my soul. I was asking God for some sort of guidance. I stood over the graves of those poor, forgotten babies and selfishly looked for some inspiration to satisfy my own search. I was seeking some sort of redemption, some guidance. I was asking God to finish my story for me. I stood there for about twenty minutes. I read the plaques, I read the names on the crosses.

As I have gotten older, now I realize that I must put more into it. The burden is that I must work on writing now and not rely on the muses. What I write must come from my own talents, from my own efforts.

I think I received my answer. On the way home from the 'Garden of Angels', I was waiting for the answer. I received no sign. Nothing. I had no overwhelming feeling that the place was a holy place. I saw no visions, heard no voices. But on the way home it occurred to me that perhaps was my answer. No response, meant only that I was on my own. This meant that it is up to me to finish the story. There will be no inspiring places, no vision or voices telling me what to write. The only way my ideas will become stories is for me to write them.

The power is within me. And that leads me here. I have found the secret to life. That is find those things that make you happy, that give you satisfaction, that fulfill your life and pursue them. Hobbies, avocations, whatever lifts your spirit. It is in the pursuit of these things that happiness is found. You can do it.
D.

fortune cookies

When my wife and I were first engaged and in the exploratory stages or our relationship, there were always questions of whether we were doing the right thing. During one of our intimate dinner dates we went to a popular Chinese Restaurant in Lake Tahoe. After the beautiful and delicious dinner the waiter brought the fortune cookies. My wife's fortune cookie told her to "Stop looking, happiness is seated right next to you". We still have those two fortune cookies in our scrap book.

And twenty years later we are still enjoying fortune cookies. It seems like after every Chinese meal that we have had that fortune cookie always comes up. Recently, we went out to dinner and my wife and I took our children out for Chinese food. After our meal as we sat there in a cramped booth, we again discussed our fortune cookies. My son said his told him he would always live in comfort and material wealth. My daughter's said she would take a trip with a friend.

My daughter then asked me what my fortune said. I told her it said "Stop looking, happiness is seated right next to you." She asked my wife what her fortune said. I said that it said "Someday your prince will come". And then my wife, from the other side of the cramped booth said, "Yeah, and he wont have any place to sit."

I guess the honeymoon is over.

Disposable Children

He came to us the newly adopted laughing boy,
A joy to the kids and babies at our daycare.
The laughing boy went home to loving arms at end of day.
A mama’s joy.

As days went by the laughing slowed.
A little boy misses his baby brother, another foster child,
Another home.
Mama’s joy unites them at last.
The two adopted laughing boys.

The laughing boys played hard.
Their love was shared.
But boys come home at night, to a quiet house,
And loudly played and played…

And mama’s joy turned angry. Quiet time is what she craved.
Parent’s get tired from work.
Stresses build and
Become unbearable.
Call the agency, contracts broken
We can’t handle this, we can’t handle two, loud, noisy boys.

The agency arrives and tells the boys.
Little boys go where they are told
They never make friends, they are bought and sold
Passed around and loved from home to home,
To grow into the realm of the crowded and alone.

August 29, 2006


C. 2006 David Normand

Just thought I would share this. Any comments?

The Lives of Others - a review

I heard about this movie in a variety of places. My news magazine, my brother, all recommended it. On the strength of those I added that to our Netflix queue. I have never read a complete review but accepted it on the word of mouth of people I respect.

"The Lives Of Others" is a German film about life on the other side of the Berlin wall. It is in German with subtitles. It has always been my contention that you watch a movie like you read a book but this movie I HAD to read. It was a powerful portrayal of life behind the iron curtain. I was struck by its honesty from the very first moments. I found that I was glued to the screen. I had to read the dialogue. It was just a very powerful story about life in a communist society.

I was moved by the story of the playwright, his friends, and his actress girlfriend; the workings behind the reasons for the state police to bug his apartment; and the cold, lifeless, police officer in charge of the surveillance. I cannot say too much of the story beyond this because I do not want to give it away but this movie has some amazing scenes. Some brutally honest scenes that make you ask yourself how would you react if these were your neighbors, if this was your town, your friends. I think we need to ask ourselves this occasionally. What price do we pay for our freedom? What price would we pay to get it back.

I was moved to tears several times. It has some beautiful portrayals. I recommend that everyone to rent it.

Very powerful stuff. Rent it.

David.

oil

I started this blog about six months ago and I made a commitment to myself that I would try not to be too political. I can't keep that promise any longer. I have to say something about certain current issues in the US.

We all know oil prices have gone up and when oil goes up so does gasoline for our automobiles. So in the US we have been looking for cheaper, better alternatives. Bio fuels. From corn oil and other sources. We are using more of our crops for the lucrative bio fuel market. Then the US gets criticized for not exporting enough food to starving countries.

The real food crisis has been traced to the rising middle class around the world. With the growing economy millions more people have prospered to become more affluent in a global economy. This new middle class opulence has seen a consumption of more food in China and India. More demand there. Less exports for anywhere else.

It is interesting how the US is to blame for a lot of things. And we get criticized for acting in our own self interests.

Sometimes it just gets really annoying. I mean why can't world governments produce enough foods for there own people? I know self determining governments should function in their citizens best interests. Don't get me wrong. I know some of these answers. And I know it is just a lot easier to find an easy scapegoat.

Update: Apparently Opec thinks that oil should be priced about $60 to $120 a barrel. So who is raising the price. Some investors looking for a profit at the expense of the consumers. Amazing.


David.

Baseball

I have been meaning to write this for several years now. I have wanted to tell let people know how much enjoyment I have received from baseball over the last twenty-five years that I have been a baseball fan. I fell away from the game of my youth when I was a teenager – too many other things going on and I lived in a town with out a professional team. And now, I find myself falling away again. I became a fan in 1980 after a friend started explaining the nuances of the game to me. I was hooked.

I became “Mr. Baseball” to my family (two brothers, four sisters) and I made them all baseball fans too. But I better get to the point. I was such a baseball fan that after my wife became pregnant, I held the baseball encyclopedia up on the dinner table and let it fall open so that I could randomly pick a baseball name for our first child. I pointed to the page with my eyes closed. I was astonished when my finger pointed to a player named “Buster Maynard”. It was so cool that my first child would have such a great baseball name. Well, my wife, being the more practical person in this marriage, vetoed my choice of names, for which I’ll bet my daughter is eternally grateful. But that name, that player has stuck in my family's folklore for eighteen years.

In my younger, more frivolous years, I listened to interviews and radio shows. I read articles, I watched all the games I could. I heard all sorts of baseball stories, great little pieces of Americana. I loved the spirit of it all. Hearing about the humanity of the players and all the baseball greats.

It must have been the mid-1990’s that I heard my first “Buster Maynard” story. I was listening to the great sportswriter, Phil Collier, before a game and he told a story of Buster Maynard. It seems that as a young journeyman player on his way up in the minor leagues he was admired by this certain 11 year old kid. That kid was so impressed that he asked Mr. Maynard for his autograph. Mr. Collier relayed that the esteemed Mr. Maynard was tired after a game and told the kid to get lost.

Years later, the story goes, when Mr. Maynard was on his way down in his career, he was facing a pitcher in the minor leagues. The pitcher brushed Buster back with several pitches and it was very clear that the pitcher had it in for him. After the game Maynard went up to the pitcher and asked him why he was so tough on him. It was then that the pitcher said he was the kid that didn’t get that autograph seven or eight years earlier. Mr. Collier mentioned that the pitcher that night in the mid 1950's was none other than Tommy Lasorda, the famous Los Angeles Dodger's Manager.

I have cherished that story ever since. As a fan of southern California baseball, I used to root against the Dodger's all the time. But I was sad when Tommy Lasorda retired. He truly was, and still is, a great Ambassador for Baseball.

I have always been impressed by the scope of Lasorda's career. I was impressed with his skill as the Dodger’s manager. I was extremely impressed by his comments as Manager of the Olympic Baseball Team. What he said was that it transcended the city teams, the professional teams. Because the players and coaches represented the whole country and everyone at that time became baseball fans rooting for the one team.

Tommy Lasorda has given me great pleasure as a baseball fan. But have to state that for a long time I was a San Diego Padres fan. I have been since I moved here in 1980. Sorry. But you have given baseball fans everywhere something to be proud of – the fact that we are Baseball fans. I have no motive for writing this other than to say thanks for all the great memories that I received from baseball. I am at heart a true baseball fan.

But I stated earlier that I have fallen away from baseball. The drugs and steroids scandals have really turned me off. I remember a fallen player, a once great competitor, whose skills waned a bit. He was out of baseball and died of a drug over dose. (I actually remember quite a few players that this happened to). I also remember owners and managers giving quotes to newspapers stating that they knew this one particular player was using drugs but they were winning, so...

So, I have weened myself off of baseball. It makes it easier now that my team is in last place. But I still miss the great ones, and I miss their stories. If the game changes, I may be back. Until then, I wish them all well.

David