A Personal Plea for Intentional Kindness

Things you might be better off not hearing:

1. “You should be fine.”
2. “He’s going to really screw him up.”

I have a soft spot in my heart for educators and people in general really, who are involved in the betterment of mental health for young people (counselors, teachers, coaches, youth group leaders, parents...). We’ve come a long way. We have a long way to go. But we have come a long way.

I heard that first line above (you should be fine) upon returning to school after my father’s funeral. The principal stopped me in the hall...to check up on me, I suppose. I can’t conclude that he knew what he was doing, or what I was going through. He concluded by saying “you didn’t really know your dad, so you should be fine”...and with that... walked away. 

I was 11.

I didn’t have the wherewithal to be able to process what was going on in my life. And I certainly did not know how to process those words. The school, as good as it was in so many ways, didn’t have the resources for situations like I had gone through. Even so...that guy failed miserably. He did not belong in education, in my opinion,  and fortunately was replaced before the next school year. 

But there’s a darker side to my story. One that won’t be fully disclosed here, because it can be depressing if dwelt upon. But my primary emotion after my dad’s passing was not grief. It was relief. Yes, he had been mostly absent from my life, but not completely absent. After he passed away there were certain things I would never have to experience again. So, while losing a father is difficult, my situation had its own set of complexities. And I was ill equipped to handle them. 

So, while I won’t go into detail, I will acknowledge the 2nd statement (he’s going to really screw him up) was said by an onlooker after my father did something to me in public as opposed to other private occurrences. It was witnessed by onlookers this time (no..it wasn’t a spanking).  And that’s when I overheard an older gentleman utter those words. After the incident I was sitting... sulking...confused by what I had experienced, only slightly aware of others’ reaction to it. Again..I had no idea how to process the events or the words...and others who could have helped were not readily available to me at the time. That just wasn’t the focus in those days. 

Maybe I can take solace that today I’m somewhere between fine and really screwed up. (Disclaimer...if you know me, you know me saying something like this IS fine...AND perhaps at least partially screwed up. Alright, I have a weird sense of humor, which often helps. What I’m saying is...this is not a call for help. Not a “pity me” statement. I hope it doesn’t come across that way.  I’m not admitting some crisis in progress. This part is just an acknowledgement, a little bit tongue in cheek, that I made it out ok.) But life can be hard at times. And sometimes recovery is a longer journey than we wish...and longer than others might wish for us...and perhaps longer than other’s patience may allow us. 

But most of all, this is a call to be kind, and intentional in our kindness. Kindness goes further than we can imagine. Intentional kindness, even further. 

So yes...we hear talks... we see posts...encouraging us to be kind, because no one knows what others have gone through. This resonates with me because it is part of my story.  I don’t want it to be. I’ve daydreamed of having a different story. And I’m still not comfortable with some of my history. But I can tell you from experience what ill-advised words and actions can do to a young heart. There’s not a quick easy fix. And some of us get a late start before we face those beasts head on. We’re all a work in progress. 

So I respect and support the efforts of those involved in promoting positive mental health, on any level. I’m proud to know, and be friends with so many who are involved in the betterment of others’ mental health...of any age group. If that’s you... thank you. I sincerely mean it.

We’ve all seen the statements: “Kindness is free” or “It doesn’t cost a thing to be kind”. How true. I’m just hoping kindness becomes a little more readily available...in bodily form. We need more of that. 

Thank you for reading. 

The False Narrative Very Few of Us Actually Believe

I saw this clip a couple of years ago where fans had the opportunity to vent their frustrations towards a giant poster of a player they felt betrayed them by signing with another team. The people in the clip said some pretty harsh things about the player...to the poster. But what they didn’t know was he was behind the poster listening to everything ...then came out from behind to greet them.

And greet them he did. And boy were they surprised. And their tone changed immediately.  We could dwell on the hypocrisy ...but what’s the fun of that? Seriously. That doesn’t get us anywhere. What I see is that there’s this false sense of security (bravado) we as humans shield ourselves with when we think we’re protected by either anonymity or distance. Thing is...I don’t believe we truly believe much of what we say when we’re spewing or venting. And most of us, when confronted with the opportunity, find a way to be respectful...because that’s what good humans do. 

So, here’s what I think is more true than the false narrative:

1. We really don’t believe some of the disrespectful things we say about others. 
2. Spewing doesn’t really make us feel better or make the situation better. 
3. We’re nicer than we might let on. 
4. Others spewing disrespectful thoughts about us or our beliefs...might not actually fully believe it...and might actually be nicer to us in person, given the chance. 

Maybe...just maybe..there’s a false narrative that has picked up an energy all it’s own. But it’s more false than true. And... maybe I’m not as bad as someone makes me out to be. And deep down ...maybe they’re not as bad as they seem when they spew. Just maybe.

Jimmy Fallon Robinson Cano vid

For the Love of Fiber

Does anyone remember Ted Popson? If you do, you’re probably a fan of either the San Fransisco 49ers or the Kansas City Chiefs, or you’re a medical provider on some level, or you buy or sell real estate in California. Ted took the advice of his doctors and retired from football because of head injuries he sustained over his years as a tight end. He was known for taking some pretty ferocious hits after catching the ball. I remember one hit in particular where he appeared to have been knocked unconscious. It was pretty horrifying to watch. The cameras focused on his still body on the turf...still clutching the football...hand on one point of the ball, the other end of the ball tucked between his bicep, elbow, and torso. Pretty much textbook form, especially for someone knocked unconscious. Carl Peterson, then GM of the Chiefs, said of the play “That was about the most vicious hit I’ve ever seen in the NFL, but he held onto the ball.″

That’s the kind of player Ted Popson was, and he gave up the game he loved based on his doctors’ advice to do so. I saw an interview he gave years later with retired QB Steve Bono, and I enjoyed hearing about Ted’s life after football, selling real estate in CA.

As inspirational as Ted Popson’s story is, it is not my story. Not even close. I’m about the furthest thing from a pro football player, including kickers. I just wasn’t cut out to be a physical specimen on that level. And I’ve known this for some time. Sure, I had dreams and aspirations as a boy to be some kind of sports hero, but those dissipated early on and were replaced by other thoughts like “I should probably exercise more” or “how does anyone drink 8 glasses of water a day” or “how am I going to get more fiber in my diet”.

Ah...the aging process...sneaks up on you from behind and tackles you violently to the ground. Sure, there are some things that can be done to adjust and try to lessen the blow. So, at the age of 50, I decided it was time to act a little more maturely and make some healthier choices. The water consumption thing still has me perplexed, but I tried. I’ve started and stopped many exercise regimens. But I hadn’t given much thought to the fiber concept. I mean, you hear it all over the place...increase your fiber...fiber this fiber that. So I had to give it a try.

Well, you start looking at foods high in fiber, and honestly, some are plain distasteful. Certainly not fun foods. So, I looked for an easier way out...fiber supplements. And it’s not like I wasn’t being careful in my approach to being lazy when it came to getting my fiber. I was doing at least a little homework. I found natural fiber supplements in capsule form at a health food store. And because I knew what fiber can do to your system, I started off with half the recommended dosage ...because I’m cautious and careful.

Well, I’m also stupid, but we’re getting to that.

Initially the introduction to this new level of fiber was a jolt to my system. But I was fairly dedicated, and thought my body needed time to adjust. I thought when my body did adjust, then I’d work on getting up to the recommended daily amount, according to whoever was printing the labels, I guess. I never figured out who decided those specifics. Like I said...I was stupid. And yes, I’m getting to that...well, right now.

Please don’t make me explain the shock to the system that increased fiber induces. You all know, so I won’t have to spell it out. But man, I was always aware of where the nearest bathroom was, in case I was hit with an episode. My system was really putting up a fight. And I would basically coach myself through each time. Don’t be such a wimp. Take control of yourself. No pain no gain. You got this. Whatever.

Now, if you’re asking yourself how there can be pain associated with increasing fiber to your diet, Just please suspend those thoughts for a few moments longer. I actually got light headed at times, the episodes were so strong. But I kept on cuz...momma didn’t raise no quitter. Or something like that. But come on...it was fiber. Fiber is natural. Fiber is good for you. Fiber is your friend. “Just stick with it” is what I told myself.

Well, I thought I had a workable system in place. Kind of. I mean, if you consider suddenly cutting off conversations and being gone unexpectedly for periods of time was a system. Then yeah...my system was working. Kind of.

But then there was that one day...the day I skipped breakfast. Well, not entirely skipped. I had coffee. And of course I washed down my fiber supplement capsules with that coffee. I guess I had gotten cocky. But life has a way of throwing you down when you get too cocky.

Later that morning I went to the grocery store. I knew I had to plan on a quick trip, in case an episode came on suddenly. And let me just say this as delicately as I can...I prefer the comfort of my own home in those situations. Nuff said? So yes, I had gotten pretty good at managing these situations, and getting home on time. But today was different. Today was coffee induced fiber supplement blowout day.

You remember the faux commercials Saturday Night Live would do? I remember one on a high fiber cereal they called Colon Blow. Well, they could’ve used my picture on the box.

Yeah. This was my blowout day. At the grocery store. It started out well and good. But then the all out attack set in. Comedian Brian Regan explained his similar experience as “everything on my inside wanted to be on my outside”. Yes. That’s what happened to me. I immediately headed to the checkout line hoping I could quickly exit and make it home. I did not. I did make it through the checkout line, but as I pushed my cart through the automated doors the ground started spinning. After what seemed like one rotation the pavement appeared to be getting closer and closer and bam. Darkness.

There I was. In the grocery store parking lot. Down for the count. Taken down by...fiber...and my system’s inability to handle my fiber intake, I guess. Anyway...I was out. I was awakened by a very concerned young lady saying something. Kind of frantic, if you ask me. I didn’t understand what she was saying at first, but I do remember thinking...hey...aren’t you the gal that was bagging my groceries that one time?

Well, it only took a couple seconds for me to understand her frantic words “Sir, Sir!!! Don’t leave us Sir!! Oh SIR!! Thank god you didn’t leave us!!! I thought we lost you Sir!!”

Sheesh. Talk about drama.

I think I preferred not understanding what she was saying. But I was waking up to the fact that I had just passed out in the parking lot..and there was now a crowd of people gathered around. And that I was probably not going to make it home anytime soon.

Ok, what follows is a series of events that are probably just wrong, but it all turned out ok. Ok? This is not a script of what to do in this situation. But it is what happened. And really, it turned out fine.

With some help, I sat up, and was ushered back into the store. Well, not entirely in the store, but to the little park bench next to the shopping carts, just inside the first set of automated doors. I was informed that a response team was called and on its way. I was asked if there was anything I needed.

At this point you just make your needs known. I stated simply and emphatically...I really really need to find a restroom. Could someone please take me to the restroom?

I must have been very convincing. The assistant manager thought quickly on this one. And I wasn’t about to argue. Beggars can’t be choosy. I knew I couldn’t walk on my own without the risk of passing out again. So when he showed up with an office chair, I crawled on, and away we went.

The restroom was in the back of the store. So of course we had to first pass all the checkout lines.... the incredibly quiet checkout lines. I sensed no movement by anyone within my line of sight. But I wasn’t really looking. I determined to make no eye contact with anyone at this point.

We took a quick left towards the produce aisle. Good call, I thought. Wide space. Plenty of room for the assistant manager to push me down the produce aisle...in an office chair.

Nice picture, isn’t it? Here I was, trying to do one of the most basic things to improve my health, and instead I pass out and am being wheeled down the produce aisle in an office chair. Not how I envisioned things. Funny how life works. Funny how it doesn’t.

I was still adhering to my self imposed no eye contact rule. I remember the rush of the air, as we sped along. It actually felt good for a moment. I had broke into a sweat, and this brisk ride proved to be a little calm before the storm.

Well, we made it to the restroom. I’m really not one for bathroom humor, so I’ll try to spare you the details, or at least be as delicate as I can. But I’m not sure how to explain the purge that followed. For some reason several “E” words come to mind.

Emphatic
Exclamatory
Expulsion
Excruciating
Excommunication
Exorcism

I don’t know..words can’t really describe it ...everything nasty, but also necessary. It was like a 24 hour flu compressed into 24 minutes.

Well, the assistant manager checked on me a couple of times, and I assured him I was ok...”be out in a minute”...maybe more than a couple of times.

You know the assistant manager really stepped up and shined that day. He told me the medical response team was waiting for me and directed me to them when I was ready. Finally I was ready. The responders checked me out, but I let them know I wasn’t going anywhere with them. So, I was dismissed. Free to go. So I left.

I headed back towards the front of the store, walking on my own this time. Yes it was crowded. It was Saturday morning. But it was strangely quiet. I started wondering how I would get my cart, or even how I would explain that I was the guy that already paid..and ask...”where’s my cart”...as discretely as possible. Turned out, I didn’t need to ask anything. Just follow the stares. As I approached the checkout area everything got deathly quiet. No register beeps, no rustling of items being bagged. No kids crying or asking for candy. Just quiet. And stares. So much for slipping out unnoticed. All eyes on me. Then all eyes shifted to my cart. In unison. Then all eyes back on me again. It was an unplanned signal, but they all gave it. And it was clear to me exactly where my cart was. Didn’t have to ask. Just follow the stares.

I’m only guessing they were all thinking the same thing too. Something like “oh good, he’s ok...” quickly changing to “oh god...please don’t tell me he’s going to drive himself home.” But yes. Yes I was. That’s exactly what I set out to do.

But there was a slight problem. I couldn’t for the life of me remember where I parked. Yes, I had my usual parking space at that store. I was a regular. I had a system. But this was Saturday, and I had to take whatever space was available. And I couldn’t remember where that space was. A lot had happened since I first entered that day. It’s like I even had a nap. So, I didn’t think it was that unusual that I couldn’t find my car. But I’m sure it looked really bod to some onlookers.

Eventually I found my car, after testing many areas with my key fob extended in front of me, hoping to connect with that familiar “you found me” sound my car has often given me in the past. Wandering. Pointing aimlessly. Wandering some more. But eventually finding the lost treasure.

And I drove home, safely. And I unloaded my groceries, including the crushed cereal boxes and broken eggs. But I was home.

The following weeks included multiple trips to the doctor, tests and a colonoscopy. Yes, I was due one anyway. But everything turned out really good. The only bad thing about good results was, we didn’t decisively know what happened. The doc told me he thought that the activity in my digestive system was so intense that my blood pressure dropped dangerously low to the point of passing out.

Yes, I told him about the fiber supplement capsules, and how I was taking them to increase fiber in my diet...probably looking for affirmation points. I’ll never forget what he said. Simple yet profound. He said “stop doing that”.

In the history of medical advice, or really any area of advice, I can’t think of better advice to counter destructive behavior. Stop doing that. The thing that’s not working. Stop doing that. The thing that causes harm for you or your loved ones. Stop doing that. Simple. And what do you know...it worked. I stopped the fiber supplement capsules, and not only did I not pass out again, I stopped having any of those nasty digestive episodes. I know. I’m lucky. I have friends not so lucky. And I feel for you. I really do. And if any of you are squeamish about getting a colonoscopy...please don’t be. Just do it, more simple yet profound advice. I know...you’re concerned about the prep work the night before. Well, I did mine after my episode at the grocery store, and all I can say is, the colonoscopy prep work is kindergarten by comparison. Do yourself a favor and get it done. You’ll survive. I did. Please don’t put it off.

One more thing. Remember Ted Popson? Well, here’s the connection to that inspirational story. Ready??

I too did not fumble the football.

There’s no way I’d be telling this story if I fumbled the football in that parking lot. No way. My ego just wouldn’t allow it. But my ego is ever in search of finding something to be at least slightly proud of, or finding some kind of a silver lining. And that is it. I didn’t give up the football until I was safely in the end zone. Then it was another “E” word: exuberance. Index fingers pointed skyward, head tilted back, mouthing the words silently “thank you”...”thank you!!”

And thank you, Ted Popson. You are a true inspiration not only in how to compete, but also in knowing when to quit. And knowing how to adjust moving forward.

Why I'll Never Be a Boss

It's been a couple of years now, but I remember when the new Price Chopper opened closer to my home. It certainly made grocery shopping easier. One of my first visits was memorable, for me, but hopefully not for anyone else.

I remember pulling into a parking spot next to a little curb island in front of the store. On that little island perched a small cart. Price Chopper has two cart sizes not counting the electric kind for old folks, or the ride-a-long variety for the little kids, this being the smaller of the two. It always irritates me when carts aren't placed where they belong, and this one did not belong on that curb island.

I looked around for the nearest cart bay and noticed it was about as far away as the front of the store, just in an opposite direction. So, assuming someone's laziness got the better of them, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I popped out of my car with a pep in my step. Without much thinking, my plan was to simply grab the cart handle firmly, place my foot securely on the lower bar and in one continuous motion ride the cart off the curb onto the parking lot pavement and continue into the store...like a boss.

I got this, I told myself, perhaps with a bit of pride. I'm not one of those lazy people who leave their carts wherever is convenient for them. I'm a problem solver, not a complainer, I told myself.

You ever hear someone tell a story and they use the line "and then the gravity of the situation hit me"? Insert that line here. Now. In slow motion. The firmness in which I applied my grip and foot to the cart worked against me, as gravity won out. In aeronautical terms, I think I just didn't have enough thrust.

The front of the cart was the first to bite into the pavement. While I didn't have enough thrust to succeed in my plan to scoot the cart off the curb, I had plenty of thrust to fail. I remember my whole plan changing as I started to fly over the handlebar of the cart. In an instant I switched from trying to be a boss to trying to survive with at least an ounce of dignity.

I didn't make it entirely over the handlebar because one foot was securely anchored to the cart to provide thrust, inadequate as it was. That left the other leg free to swing and crash mid-shin into the cart's crossbar.

My momentum was still propelling me over the cart when my mid section hit the handlebar. Though many unintelligible thoughts were running through my mind, I think I only managed to say "oooph" out loud, and that, very softly.

My circus stunt concluded with my free hand, the one not clutching the cart, being my first official contact with the pavement. First contact with the pavement usually results in some sort of road rash, as we used to call it, and this was no exception.

Though all motion had paused momentarily, I still had to dismount. The cart was on its nose, I was draped over the cart, midsection balancing on the handlebar, one hand on the pavement, one foot on the crossbar, and one shin screaming so loudly I was sure it was drawing attention all by itself.

At this point I had to gather myself lest I complete the somersault, which would have left me entirely on the pavement, on all fours with the cart over the top of me, like a futuristicly wired turtle shell, complete with my bald head peering out from underneath.

Collecting oneself at this point is a matter of dignity. With several body parts screaming out, and being right in the middle of the drive through section between the store and the parking lot, I decided to play it off as best I could. To look around to see if anyone was watching would be admitting failure. To rub anything that hurt would be admitting defeat. I picked myself up, pushed the cart into the store as if my original plan had only partially gone awry.

No, I was not a boss that day, and every time I go shopping now, I search that little curb island for a stray cart or two. It doesn't matter if I blame the ills of society for the misplacement of that cart, it's there regardless, and I have to deal with it. My mind works in such a way that when I do see that displaced cart out of the corner of my eye, Clint Eastwood theme music starts playing in the background. I turn slowly towards it, taking a slow first step. It doesn't move. I take another step. It remains motionless. I finally reach for it and help it down and into the store, but more like a cub scout helping a little old lady across the street. You know, it's only a matter of time before I'll be using one of those motorized carts when I do my shopping. I'd better enjoy my independence while I can and not try to be the boss of everything.

The Dash (October 16, 2015)

It wasn't the first time I've heard the concept. But it prompted my thinking to a deeper level this time when the minister referenced the dash between my brother's date of birth and his date of death. A dash. That dash represents the short time we spend on earth. Yes, it's kind of sobering when you hear it for the first time. "Man, how am I going to spend my dash?" We would all do well to ask ourselves the same question.

But, this wasn't the first time I've heard or thought of the concept of the dash. Not my second or even third either. But it was the first time I thought of it in the context of my brother's life. His dash was even shorter than average. And as a result of this contemplation, I'm even more impressed with the quality of his dash.

We see so many symbols being promoted now. And I'm not going to argue for or against many of them, either way. But when the question arises as to who matters... let me suggest what I see in my brother's dash...the historical period of time from his birth to his death..."others".

I am currently overwhelmed by the sheer number of people I've talked to in the last couple of days. The thought that pops into my head is that they all mattered to Doug. Somehow, and I think it must be a gift, but somehow he communicated to them that they all mattered.

My mind can categorize groups of people that show up for a visitation or funeral. Friends of a family member, church connection, coworker, or neighbor, and there were very many people in each of those and other categories, and many of them even overlapped categories.

But then there was a guy that said he was just a customer where Doug worked, and that's how he knew him. And then another, ...and others... that Doug waited on and served. And it dawned on me that my brother had the gift of communicating to others that they mattered. The place was full of people that mattered to Doug, and they all knew it. It was not a competition to see who mattered most. It was more like a tribute to the one who let them all know indiscriminately, ...that they mattered.

Yes, in my mind, that's what Doug's dash means.

Others matter.

No Place Like Home

Home sweet home
Home cooking
Home grown
Home for the holidays
I'll be home for Christmas
Homeward bound

Home made

Homework

A taste of home
No place like home
Feel at home
Stay at home
Home away from home
Take me home country road
All the comforts of home
Home improvement
Home run
Home run derby
Home plate
Stealing home
Safely home
Home office
Home Alone
Home phone
Phone home
Home style fries
Home field advantage
Hometown
Hometown hero
Sweet home Alabama
I left my home in Georgia
My old Kentucky home
Take you home with me
Followed me home
Until the cows come home
Mobile home
Home sick
Wait till your father gets home
Home health
Don't try this at home
Home remedy
Home body
Home movies
Home theater system
Home security system
Homeland security
Homeowners insurance
Homecoming
Home Depot
Bring home the bacon
Honey I'm home
Head of the home
Home is where the heart is
Welcome home

The Stench

Thirty years ago I was just a couple of months into a teaching and coaching position in a public school. I was young and eager to please and contribute in my new work environment, so I tried to do pretty much everything that was asked of me. I remember the time of year because it was beautiful fall weather. The mornings would be crisp and cold, frosty and frozen due to the overnight plunging temperatures. The afternoons were sunny and clear, and if the wind ceased long enough you could feel the melting warmth of the sun on your cheekbones. This particular year that wonderful fall cycle seemed to repeat itself many days in a row…frozen mornings thawed by warm afternoons followed by clear cold nights.

It was on one of these fall days that I was asked by a fellow faculty member to transport their jr high son to a sporting event after school. Circumstances were such that I had to drive anyway, so I welcomed the opportunity to take the young man along.

Actually, I remember feeling a little nervous and self-conscious before the drive. I didn’t think of myself as one of the “cool” teachers. I taught math, which was not many students’ favorite subject. And my transportation in those days…well, I pretty much drove clunkers that were only one step from the junkyard. But my mind was eased that night, as the young man I was transporting was extremely good natured, polite, and well behaved. Admittedly, I was skeptical that a young man in that age group would be capable of such amiable behavior, so I was relieved to find an exception during this commute.

The drive itself was about 30 minutes on backroads to the rival small town location. Road conditions were less than perfect in those days, and my car shook with every bump. But the conversation was upbeat, and I honestly thought both of us were equally enjoying our time together.

Then “The Bump” occurred. It’s not that it was a huge bump in the road, but perhaps a little bigger than the others, Noticeable, at the very least, but nothing that put us in any danger. I’m pretty sure we both felt the jar. But it’s not the jar that made this lasting memory that I recount these 30 years later. It was the stench that occurred just moments later.

The stench…on that level was something quite awkward to experience while in such close quarters with someone else. Eye watering…unadulterated…mind numbing stench.

I don’t know why I didn’t just call him out on the offense and maybe make light of the situation. Laugh it off, and just go our way. If I remember correctly, my car windows didn’t work properly, clunker that it was. Also I may have been curious to see how long the young guy would hold out. Or maybe I just didn’t want to put him on the spot and embarrass him. I was concerned about making a good impression with his parents, after all. So…I didn’t raise a stink… about the stink.

Instead I tried to constrain the look on my face and glance over at my travelling companion..only to find the same well-mannered polite young man I had experienced just seconds before. I don’t know. Maybe I expected him to have turned into some sort of monster…one capable of such putrid emissions. But the look on his face did not match the horrific smell I was sure we were both experiencing. Yet he did not let on, and he did not seem to express the same level of disgust I was experiencing. His countenance was unfazed and as pure as before.

Well this just furthered my curiosity. How could someone deal such an aromatic blow and remain as calm and unaffected as he appeared? Was he in total denial? Was he a master of deceptive cover-ups? What kind of person pulls this off? My goodness…what would his future bring? Would he someday be a high ranking politician…with an astute ability to deal out political stench and carry on as if nothing at all was wrong? I found myself slightly fascinated if not a little bit impressed. I didn’t know if I should be disgusted or in awe of his ability to maintain an air of innocence. His performance was intriguing, to say the least. My imagination was actively pondering the vast array of possibilities of someone possessing these stealthy qualities. What else was he capable of… I wondered to myself.

Well, soon enough we made it to our destination, and I’m sure our minds were quickly occupied with the sporting event we went to see. The outside air was again cold and crisp and clean. My mind was clear of any thoughts of the stench episode when I travelled home alone….my young companion having been reunited with his parents. Honestly, I didn’t think much about the stench, if at all…until the next day on my drive home from work. I was alone in the car this time, and the stench manifested itself again, just as pungent as before. This was strange because I didn’t notice any smell on the drive home the previous night, or on the drive to work the next morning.

Though I may have again suspected my young companion from the previous night for a moment, or maybe a conspiracy of like-minded lads, I dismissed those suspicions fairly quickly. There was simply no way someone could cause that level of stench without being present or having access to the inside of my car. So I had to look inward. As painful as it was, I had to consider that I somehow was responsible for the stench. But how?

Well, a thorough searching of the car’s trunk revealed a two week old container of cottage cheese that had escaped a grocery bag those two weeks earlier. I had casually searched for it when it was originally missing, but prematurely concluded that I had left it at the store. In two weeks’ time I had completely forgotten about it. However, this new search was intensified because it wasn’t just a harmless missing container of cottage cheese that could be anywhere. It had become an active eye-watering stink-bomb, two weeks in the making, freezing and thawing numerous times with the rise and fall of the autumn temperatures, odorless and frozen by night, decomposing by the warmth of day, until the spoiled mess burst the container’s seal after a bump on a country road.

Fortunately for me the container was still upright when I found it wedged in a nook beside the spare tire. Only the seal had broken. No spoiled contents had actually spilled, thank goodness. But the stench was strong and had penetrated the inside of the car on those two occasions after freezing at night and thawing in the mid-day sun.

I certainly don’t want to turn this into something preachy, but all these years later I still remember that event, and the part my active imagination played. Here are some of the lessons learned:

• There are times in my adult life where I’ve jumped to wrong conclusions about others and even assigned blame where it doesn’t belong.

• Much I’ve thought about others…can equally and fairly be thought about me.

• Others may be far more gracious with me than I have been with them, even when I’m to blame.

• Taking ownership is actually more freeing than blaming others, because ownership allows me to work independently on the solution.

Yes, these may be humbling realizations, but I don’t see how the air can be clear without them.