Eyes Open

Ghosts of my Past

2011-07-17T20:30:00.000-07:00

I've come to the conclusion that I'm afraid of ghosts. Not the Halloween kind or the ones that supposedly show up on the Ghost Hunter shows. It's the flesh and blood ones that still walk around today, forever etched into my memory.

I'm not afraid of much in this world except for them. There are just a handful of people whose opinion of me I cherish and value. And my fear begins as I try to renew old friendships, hoping that what I've become meets with their expectations.

My daughter had problems with some bullies at school. I told her that their opinions don't count for anything. They will come and go and probably not amount to much. I should take my own advice.

But these ghosts from my past rise up in my life today, and I fear they measure me against the success that they have attained. These ghosts have greatly excelled by their accomplishments, their careers, or their families. I am proud of my success in this life. I have beautiful children who aren't afraid to dream, friends whose lives I'd be willing to die for, and great compassion for many which God has given me. But I fear I don't measure up to the standards the world has set. And especially those people who wandered into my life and made an indelible mark on it.

I may have been in love with them or just desired their friendship. Or I may have just loved them so much that I prayed for their great success. But now that they have reached that in life, maybe I've been left behind, a shell of the man I could have been.

My love for their friendship still burns brightly today. It is with hope and faith, that I meet their expectations. For I shall always care for them to the point of laying down my life for them, because their lives are of so much value.

But I've found that the only way to face my ghosts is head on. You can never go back to the way things once were. But by confronting my fears, I overcome them. With confidence in myself, I defeat these ghosts in my memory and resurrect these friendships once again.

Home is where the warm milk is

2011-05-22T12:05:00.000-07:00

The family has acquired a new pet...sort of. I went out to our deck this morning and what do I see but another stray cat getting ready to make himself at home on my property. This occurs quite frequently since my neighbors don't have the good sense to keep their house cats inside OR the neighborhood is being overrun by the zombie cat invasion.

It was kinda cute, with a light tan fur and a black and grey striped tail. You could tell it hadn't eaten in awhile because it was very skinny. By it's small size, I'm guessing it wasn't full grown. After about six attempts by this cat to mount my deck and call it home, and six attempts to "gently" push it off my deck, it finally found a way to the other side and happily laid down under my grill.

I told the cat in no uncertain terms that it was not becoming a part of the family and it should vacate the premises. However, for any of you that are "cat lovers", you know Nature's Rule #46...you can't tell a cat ANYTHING. Cats don't care what you have to say, nor would they listen to you even if they could understand your command.

See, that's why dogs are superior animals to cats. Don't judge me harshly before you know the whole story, you friends of felines. I HAD TWO cats that made their home with me not so long ago. One was completely nuts so I had it committed and they other tried to bite my daughter. Bye Bye Kitty! I was actually kind of fond of that one. We named it Tasha and I was quite sad for about five minutes when animal control came to take it away. However, in hindsight, Tasha ended up costing me several hundred dollars in damage to my carpet and furniture, so I wasn't THAT sad.

Back to the story of the squatter cat. While I was having a conversation with this animal, my children happened to peer out the door. Of course their first reaction was "CAN WE KEEP IT?" Uh........no. Second question to leave their lips was "WHAT SHALL WE NAME IT?" Uh.....Nothing, it's not staying. They begin to rattle off a whole list of names, while I closed the door and went back to my room. Sitting on the bed, I then had a brilliant idea! You want to name the cat? Okay! I have the perfect name!

What is it?, they all hollered in unison, figuring it was okee dokee that it was about to acquire the last name of Carleton. Into their sweet little faces, I looked at them and said, "STIR FRY!" And if you don't like that one, how about "KUNG PAO"?

The shrieks were deafening. I reminded them again how much I disliked cats and told them to stay away from it, cause stray cats have diseases. They grow giant fleas which can jump 75 feet, onto them, and into my house. We agreed that I would call Animal Control, who would of course, nurse it to perfect health and give it to some loving family that would care for it for the rest of it's nine lives.

I guess I'm an old softie. I haven't called Animal Control. It is still sitting on my deck, mewing at me, looking at me with those Puss-in-Boots eyes. And I'm beginning to wonder....How hot does my wok have to be?

Disclaimer: No animals were hurt in the writing of this blog. Just because I don't like them, doesn't mean I would ever harm them. So forget about animal cruelty claims, you cat lovers.

A Cloud of Witnesses

2009-10-21T20:36:00.000-07:00

I just received a note from a dear old friend of mine after he read the last installment of my blog. It was a short concise note about how much he enjoyed it, but it spoke volumes to my soul. Because this is a man whose spiritual witness has been like an anchor to me.

He has never been one given to rash thoughts or comments. Everything I have ever heard come out of his mouth has been even-tempered, thought provoking, and surrounded by a peace that only comes from the heart of someone who has spent his life filled with much study and prayer.

Picture the wise counsel of an orthodox rabbi who I'm sure has faced his own struggles with life and family. While maddening at times, he answers each of life's questions after counting ten and a few "oy veys".

And how do I know the value of his advice to me over the years? I have only to look at his life and his family, the success of his profession and the proliferation of his children. It isn't the meteoric rise of a fast burning star, which climbs quickly and burns out in the same amount of time. It is a strong monument to faith...built one stone at a time all resting on a solid cornerstone.

My desire through these writings is to hopefully pass on to my children some of the lessons which I have learned while here on Earth. Some rules in life must have absolutely no bend in them. And some are guidelines that with knowledge, mercy, compassion, and wisdom must turn and stretch according to the circumstances to which they are applied, like a tree in the wind.

I'm still trying to find out which are which at times.

These I know are true....honor, character, mercy, love, preparedness, and most of all, faith. To abandon these lessons is to face certain destruction.

Others, I can only rely on the quiet whispers I hear in my spirit from an Omnipotent God, who knows the future and the past.

God is not the author of confusion. I hope you'll remember that. And He loves you very much. You know how I learned that?

By surrounding myself with very old and dear friends, who are a great cloud of witnesses....

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us. Hebrews 12:1 (NLT)

Blood Brothers

2009-10-18T19:47:00.000-07:00

It was a real shock just over 2 and a half years ago to find out that I was adopted at birth.

To find out that the family you were raised with doesn't share the same blood as you do was very disconcerting to me. Much is made about lineage, who we were descended from. Many cultures around the world are able to recite their ancestors in order for hundreds if not thousands of years. Did you know that not only was Jesus descended from King David, but that his lineage can be directly traced back to Adam? And if that wasn't enough, His mother Mary, was ALSO of the house of David? That was important because the Messiah was prophesied to be born in Bethlehem of the House of David.

Till the day I die, my family will always be the people I was raised among. And for all times, my sons will be Carleton's. And their sons, and their sons....I inherited their ways, their customs, their traditions, their values, and most blessedly, their love. They wanted me and for that I am forever grateful.

A medical emergency was brought to my attention by my newly found half sister. Our brother was taken to the hospital with a severe heart condition. At that moment, fear was the first emotion to rise up within me. My brother! I have a brother and he is ill and I must get to him hundreds of miles away. What a strange sensation to have! I have been an only child all of my life and all of a sudden this man who shares the same paternal blood as I do might be taken from me before I have a chance to get to know him as a brother. What does it mean to have a brother? I couldn't answer that question.

My best friend has been my brother for many years. We have shared laughter and tears, love and loss, good times and bad. And I will love him for the rest of my days. But now there is this person who is my brother by our common ancestors. Which is funny, because I used to make believe that I would discover somewhere in the future that I had a secret sibling. I guess it would be a lot like Luke Skywalker finding out that Princess Leia is really his sister and that Darth Vader is their father.

The Bible says, that "life is in the blood". And it was due to Jesus' blood sacrifice that paid our penalty for the sins we've committed against God. The blood is the currency that buys us into the covenant. It is this blood covenant that gives us the right to approach the throne of God. And it is this blood which we remember and honor every time we celebrate the Eucharist, The Lord's Supper, "the blood of the new and everlasting covenant. That was shed for you and for all so that sins may be forgiven."

My new brother has instantly become a part of my life. There isn't any "half" in this equation. My new siblings are part of me and my blood. And it mystically draws me to them. The blood has life and it calls to me to unite with them, to face even sickness and death. The blood speaks to me to defend my brother with my prayers that cross all time and space. My prayers are my greatest weapon. It is with words that the world was spoken into existence. And my prayers use these words to recite the words of the blood covenant.

I'm not one who embraced the "flower power" generation. But I have to chuckle when I think of the Grateful Dead's lyrics..."what a long strange trip it has been." I've gone from a family of one to the Brady Bunch. And getting to know my siblings has at times been overwhelming and confusing, just because I'm not used to having anyone else to think about. But the thought of losing one of them now gives me a newly found sense of urgency about getting to know them.

I wasn't able to have the privilege to meet my biological father. I visited his grave several weeks ago and met his brother, my uncle. I spent many years searching for my Carleton ancestors, and learning about who they were and what they did. And I am so proud to be included in the long list of Carleton children.

But as I stood at that grave, the blood sang to me a chorus, listing me in that long line of men, bound together by living cells and DNA. And I think of that man hundreds of miles away, whom I believe will make a full recovery from his hospital bed.

Brothers by blood.

For Those About to Rock, We Salute You

2009-08-06T16:27:00.000-07:00

While at work today, I tuned in to internet radio. Specifically, hard rock heavy metal internet radio. Songs that evoked a whole flood of sweet memories involving summertime swimming pool romances, all night skates when our wheels didn’t roll much, and watching sunsets from the trunks and hoods of cars, smokin’ cigs and drinking pop from ice cold glass bottles.

There was a movie that came out in the late 70s or early 80s called Over The Edge. It was about a group of rebellious suburbanite teenagers that spent a lot of time hanging out at the much despised rec center, vandalizing property, smoking dope, and generally doing all the things I described in the above paragraph.

I hate to admit it, but Lord Have Mercy, that was a fun time to be a teenager. I know that every generation seems to think their’s was the greatest. But for me, there is such a pull to return to those days. You’ve probably guessed correctly I’m living my midlife crisis.

Want to hear how I came of age? I was a geeky, sheltered fat kid and I didn’t really fit in with any peer group until I hit middle school. I was about 13 or so and found some people that didn’t care if I was a geeky sheltered fat kid. Sure, by most adults standards, they were very dangerous….chain wallets, denim jackets, some with pot leaf and Led Zeppelin patches on them, and of course, the dreaded LONG HAIR! Oh, and every one of these people had a pack of Marlboros stuck in their jacket or jeans back pocket. But God I loved them.

They accepted me into their fold and we became like family. Some went off to juvenile hall and some died. But we were brothers, sisters, lovers, and friends till the end. We threw our fist in the air, snuck out between classes to smoke a cig, and then gathered on the weekends to celebrate our youth with Boones Farm and rock ‘n roll.

Our anthems blasted out of car stereos and boom boxes while I got kisses from girls with root beer flavored lip-gloss. I had my first girlfriend at 13, a beautiful half-Cherokee girl who I’ve been mystically linked to my entire life. Girls don’t look the same today. Back then it was feathered hair, a pair of Levis and the latest concert shirt, sometimes covered with their boyfriends torn up flannel. Always a mixture of Loves Baby Soft and smoke next to their skin. It would drive you wild.

The car or motorcycle definitely made the man. As long as it was loud. And of course, whoever had beer made it even better. Most of the guys I ran around with all had older brothers to teach them the ropes. Not me, I had to learn how to be cool. But I had good teachers. You don’t run your mouth too much, you stand up for your buddies no matter what, and you didn’t go after the woman your buddy was seeing at any given time. Those were the rules. Everything else was negotiable.

The parties were legendary. A tapped keg in somebody’s basement or out in a field far away from civilization. Always with fire, a big bonfire.

Now look at us...houses with a mortgage, kids to put through college, 25 year class reunions, and job where I can listen to hard rock heavy metal internet radio and be a teenager again.

The Final Frontier

2009-08-04T21:21:00.000-07:00

Recently, we celebrated the 40th anniversary of the first manned landing on the moon. It was with great vision that we embarked on this mission to send humans into space. We’ve learned so much from the technology that was developed to get us there. Countless scientific experiments have been conducted. We’ve peered through the looking glass at worlds that are right now beyond our reach.

The United States government, in the midst of a severe economic crisis, is faced with a decision on what goals our space exploration program should try for. Should we bankroll NASA to make preparations to go back to the moon, so we can set up a permanent base? The first stepping stones, along with the International Space Station, to get us ready for a manned trip to Mars? Or should we forget about a moon base and concentrate on deep space exploration with our first stop being the Red Planet?

Scientists say it would take six months for a crew to reach Mars. That’s not impossible, but putting more than one personality together in a small, confined space for six months would create problems. So, we need to work on our fuel to get us there faster. Everyone agrees that whatever we decide to use, materials to manufacture it would have to be found at our destination or along the way. Can you imagine what would happen if a crew would run out of fuel due to an accident or malfunction and then not be able to return to Earth?

From my earliest imaginations, I dreamt of space. I was a child of the original Star Trek and later Star Wars generations. I imagined that I would someday be in space, visiting far away planets and meeting new species. Sadly, we have not progressed that far in our technology that allows us to travel faster than the speed of light. It’s a pretty good bet we won’t find any life or humanoids within our solar system. So we need a new vision….the same as the first space explorers had when we landed on the moon.

I would hate to think that my children would pass from this life and not see humans landing on Mars. And it would be worse if my grandchildren could not dream about making contact outside our solar system.

We need a vision. We need another dream. Something bigger than ourselves. We don’t dare to set goals anymore that push us to do the impossible. Instead, in the interest of being politically correct and not hurting anybody’s feelings, we have dumbed down our society and made excuses for a culture that is so self-absorbed, it can’t think beyond it’s own agenda.

Space, the final frontier. Maybe it will take a global initiative, maybe it’ll just be us cowboy Americans. After all, forty years ago, we were the first……

The Best Part of Waking Up....

2009-08-03T16:13:00.000-07:00

I don’t really know when I became such a big fan of coffee. But it’s been a part of my daily routine since at least my teenage years.

In lieu of drinking alcohol and having unprotected sex, I opted to spend my rebellious years hanging out at the local Perkins restaurant, having cup after cup of their bottomless pot of coffee and partaking in the verbal exchanges between customers and waitresses.

It wasn’t that the coffee was exceptional. It was just McGarveys, I was told. But if brewed and mixed correctly, it was a rich bouquet that filled the nostrils and awakened the senses. It was really the conversation that I yearned for. Our little exchanges also opened the door for what I hoped could be secret late night liaisons. Something that would begin, "so…what are you doing when you get off?" "I don’t know, I’m wide awake." "Do you want to come over and watch a movie" I think you know where this is going…..

There’s been so many ladies' names that have poured coffee for me…and I’ve loved every one of them. I thought I was going to marry a waitress. It was either going to be a waitress or a stripper. I guess I felt sorry for the girls working in both professions since I knew that they worked really hard and had to take a lot of crap from stupid people.

I really hit my stride after I got married. I found brands like Eight O’Clock and Starbucks. My mother use to talk about Eight O’Clock. She used to buy it and it had been around forever. And you just couldn’t go wrong with Starbucks….it was very hard to get a bad cup of Starbucks.
I avoid bad coffee like the plague. While friends of mine would stop anywhere for a cup, not me. The places I stopped had to set a certain standard in the coffee they used, how they brewed it, what kind of water they used, when they threw out the old stuff and brewed a new pot. If I walked into a place and the coffee tasted like someone had thrown their old dirty sweaty socks in to the urn, I’d switch to pop. Yuck. While some gas station coffee was good, others were like drinking the gasoline they pumped.

I’m just a coffee snob. I don’t know what made me into a snob. I just know that coffee serves not only as a beverage and a stimulant, but it draws people together, a warm, inviting brew that people can talk over and get to know each other. It provides the open invitation of, "Stop by anytime, the coffee is always on!"

That’s the way it was at our house when I was growing up. Mom and Dad’s coffee pot was always on. And I mean always. No matter what time of the day or night you’d drop by our house, there’d be coffee. It might be very old and very burnt, but it was still coffee. But at least you knew….you were welcome.

If You're Happy & You Know It...Clap Your Hands!

2009-07-31T16:09:00.000-07:00

Is it important to be happy at your job? I suppose that having a job is probably what is most important to you in this day and age. But let’s not consider that right now. Let’s consider if you should be happy doing whatever you’re doing.
Having a job is the primary way you make money to pay your bills, buy things like food, and save for a rainy day. The more money you can make, the more options you will have with what you can do with it. But should the job that you have be something that is fulfilling or is it just something to do? I know many teenagers and college students will probably say the latter, since they are working whatever job they can find that fits around their school schedule. And unless their a genius, it’s probably not a high paying job either.
But after you’ve completed your schooling, do you go for what’s available according to geography, family ties, and the economy, or do you do what you love because it fills the need to express yourself through your work.
I’ve been told by "responsible" people that I should just accept a job because it’s with a large company with excellent benefits and room for advancement even though it’s in an industry that I have absolutely no interest in. It’s a REAL job.
On the other hand, I could move away from family and friends. Take my wife and children on an adventure into parts unknown. Living by my wits, possibly even being stranded if I lose the job I have. Egads! But isn’t that what makes life exciting? The true unknown…..There’s places I want to live and things I want to do that frankly, aren’t open to me where I’m at now.
But the responsible thing to do is to provide for my family by doing something I absolutely hate because I have good benefits and a long term future with the company…….
Read that sentence again……..
How depressing does that sound?

The Carleton Men

2009-07-30T17:58:00.000-07:00

"We are the Carleton Men!" One of my sons proudly proclaimed that to me one day. I told him, "Yes We Are!" And he went merrily on his way.

I got to thinking about what that means. Family heritage has always been a big part of my life. I was honored to carry the Carleton name, because I knew that I came from a long line of Carleton's that may have not changed history, but I'm sure we're proud of their heritage as well. Even after finding out about my adoption at birth, it didn't change the fact that they had chosen me to be their child. I was a Carleton, forever and always.

I can remember my Uncle Bettis, always telling me stories about growing up. He gave me quite a bit of insight into the legacy of the Carleton's. When I got old enough, I started researching our surname and was able to trace back our roots with some help of other Carleton geneologists all the way back to 1700 Virginia.

Obviously, my glimpse of the Carleton men was provided to me by my father, William. He was a hard worker all of his life, doing so many different things around the house, that I always wondered how he learned all of it. I guess by watching his father. My dad was a U.S. Navy Veteran. That's how we really first connected, by searching for his old Navy buddies, even attending a few reunions where I got to meet some of them. He told me endless stories about being on the ship, the crew he served with, and all the good times he had. Often, we'd end up at the local Veterans of Foreign Wars post on a Saturday afternoon for a cold drink or a beer and plenty of free popcorn where something would remind him of another adventure he had. And he always laughed about it.

We became very close friends in the five years between mom's death and his own. Mom had raised me mostly because Dad was always working, first in the Navy, then construction, then at John Deere. But after Mom's death, my dad and I got to know each other for the very first time. We went to Chicago Cubs baseball games, went on trips to see family, watched pro wrestling on television, and I started a baseball card collection for him since he became a big fan of the Atlanta Braves games on TV. I asked his blessing to marry my wife, making sure he would not feel that I had abandoned him, and he was there at the hospital just before a big wrestling pay-per-view to hold his first grandchild. My daugher was the light of his life. He absolutely beemed when I asked him to hold her or feed her or to watch her if my wife and I were going out to the store. We went to the hardware store, watched the Braves on the tube, and as little as she was, she'd try to help Dad fix things. I'm just as sure he'd be as proud of his Carleton boys, had he lived to see them born.

So when my son excitedly proclaimed that he was a Carleton Man, I chuckled to myself. And said, "Yes We Are....." And I look forward to the day when my children will give me sons and daughters of their own. And I'll think of Dad, and of all the Carleton's that had come before.

The Greatest Entertainer of All Time

2009-07-07T17:54:00.000-07:00

Berry Gordy, the legendary head of Motown Records, who discovered the Jackson 5, said today of the late Michael Jackson, that he was the greatest entertainer of all time. The spectacle that was his memorial service in Los Angeles surely ranked up there as one of the greatest entertainment events ever produced, especially in such a short period of time.

I wasn't a great fan of Michael Jackson. I wasn't even a casual fan of Michael Jackson. His songs were okay, but to be honest, I enjoyed the sounds that he and his brothers made as the Jackson 5. Now THOSE were some songs with SOUL. And no matter what you thought about his weirdness or the charges he molested children, Michael Jackson it appears, was something no one can deny. He was a father who was loved by his children.

Children are so fickle. If you buy them their favorite toy or take them to the water park, you ultimately are the best father in the entire world. But when you discipline them, even in love, you become the most horrible monster ever allowed to spawn. Michael Jackson had the one thing that no critics or no reporters could take away...the love of his three children. I remember watching the passing of Elvis Presley in Memphis. I tried to convey to my children how much BIGGER this was. Undeniably, this even beats out the funeral of Princess Diana of Wales. But in the passing of all these great people, I saw something that I hadn't witnessed since the death of President John F. Kennedy.

We all remember the images of Kennedy's son, John Junior, his hand raised in saluting his father. He probably didn't realize that his father was one of the most popular presidents ever elected. All he knew was that his father, who had picked him up and put him on his knee...the man who loved him unconditionally, the man he called daddy, would no longer be around. And it was today, while watching video online of the memorial service, I saw the face of Jackson's 11 year old daughter, Paris, come to the microphone in the Staples Center, surrounded by Jackson's family, and tell the world what exactly they should know about her father.

According to Paris, her daddy was the best father. Finally, with tears flowing freely she said, "I just wanted to say I love him so much." She collapsed into the arms of the Jackson family, sister and legendary star herself, Janet Jackson, holding her niece, and comforting her. Nobody could watch that clip and not realize that it didn't matter that her father was reportedly in debt to the tune of $500 million. It didn't matter to Paris or her brothers, Prince Michael & Blanket that her father may have done things in the past that would put his career and life in judgement. All they knew was that their daddy was gone. And how many of us have felt the same way when our fathers left this world?

My father was the best friend I could ever have. After the death of my mother, I was left with this man, who although I had lived with him for 30 some years, I knew very little about. During the five years we had together after Mom's passing, we got to know each other. We went to Cubs games together, we bought tools at the hardware store, we ate and drank together, and cried together at the birth of my own daughter. And when he died suddenly on Christmas Eve, I remember wondering what I was going to do...my daddy was dead.

I don't really care if you liked Michael Jackson or not and God alone will judge him for his actions on earth. If he really was the drug addicted pedophile that some thought he was, so be it. He cannot harm anyone any longer. But to his daughter, he was just Daddy. And I feel her loss.

Journey

2009-07-05T06:27:00.000-07:00

"Memories time cannot erase.....I still see your face...."

I was working at the radio station yesterday and one of my favorite new songs was playing. It's the newly revamped Journey song "Where Did I Lose Your Love". It's really a song about divorce, about breaking up, but visions of a girl I once knew long ago came flooding into my mind. We didn't really "break up"...logistically, we couldn't continue our hot teenage romance because she moved away. Her father was a minister and had been transferred to another church in the state. But for the too few months we spent together, my adolescent heart felt like it would explode every time I saw her.

I won't go into details of the relationship, but after the miles tore us apart, I saw her only one more time. My buddies and I made our senior trip to Houston, Texas, to celebrate our passing from teens to men. On the way back, I made the four other guys detour through the little town that she was living in, because I hoped we could reconnect and her memories would be as strong as my own of our youthful passion. After much griping about us running out of gas in the middle of a corn field (we were on fumes with no money at all between us), we stopped at a truck stop where I made the call to her home.

She came quickly, we talked, and once more, we kissed, bringing all those memories back of the time we had shared. But this time, it was different. It lingered, both of us knowing somehow that this would be the last time. The last time we would ever touch, would ever talk, would ever see each other again.

Sadly, a few years ago, I tried to find this girl through various sources, only to learn that she had died under circumstances I still have not been able to confirm. She did not live to a ripe old age. This revelation that she was gone from this life continues to evoke strong emotion in me. We weren't in a deeply committed relationship...in fact, as relationships go, we hardly knew each other. But it was, as the song goes, a flood of memories that time cannot erase. I still see her face.

"Where did I lose your love? You'll always be the question in my heart. How could I make you stay? I still regret the night you walked away. What we shared was not enough.... Where did I lose your love?"

I began thinking about those people who have touched my life in a way that will forever be etched upon my heart, my emotions, and my memories. In light of the recent passing of Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett, I watched as so many people were moved by the lives of these celebrities that they didn't know personally. For Jackson, open raw emotion had them crying in the street, clamoring to win the lottery to attend the funeral for the "King of Pop". They had never met this man in their lives, but his music touched them in a way that they remembered exactly what they were doing when his songs came on the radio.

I've been incredibly blessed to have so many people in my life that have left their mark. And the funny part is, these are people that aren't famous, haven't become rich, discovered a cure for cancer, or anything else noteworthy. These are just people that because of an act of kindness or just their presence have made my life a patchwork of memories and emotions that has formed me into who I am today. I react a certain way now because of my experience with them.

It's comforting to think in cases where someones life has come to an end prematurely, that it was not in vain. Until we get to Heaven, we may never realize how our own lives were touched by these people in the short time they were here on this earth. Maybe it's because of their memory that we strived to be a better person. We tried a little harder to make them proud of what we've become. Maybe we decided that a little embarrassment now was worth an eternity of understanding, if we just would have said something.

I've said all this to come to this point. Don't take these people for granted. Tell them now what they mean to you and why. Sure, it might be embarrassing. But so what? Let your friends know how much they mean to you. If you find your soul mate, even if being together is impossible, say the words. And if an act of kindness touches your heart, thank them for it. That goes for parents and grandparents, too. Before it's too late, tell them how much of an impact they've made upon your life.

As we take this journey....don't look back on your life and say "Where Did I Lose Your Love"?

And when my eyes opened, I saw....

2009-07-04T21:16:00.000-07:00

The pressure that a person is under to come up with a name for something. If you've had the privilege to be a parent and procreate, you've undoubtedly had to come up with a name for your child, the fruit of your loins, your legacy....the spawn that will carry on your name hopefully forever.

So I had to come up with a name for this space. I chose "Eyes Open" because frankly, I think that I see a lot of things that nobody else sees. I read dozens of news sites daily...straight news, slanted news, religious news, political news, news about my favorite hobbies, activities, and interests. And usually, something jumps out at me that I think hasn't occurred to anybody else.

A little background....I've been in the radio business for nearly 25 years now. And most of the time I talk about subjects that would be of little or no consequence to the world. Mostly because if I gave my true opinion about certain subjects, I would be looking for work in some other field than radio. You see, I don't have the luxury that celebrities, political wonks, and no-nothing actors, singers, and athletes have. That is the ability to shoot my mouth off about anything I feel like without suffering some kind of financial penalty. I feed my family with my job. But if I don't have a job because I don't temper my words, it's the food bank for me.

So I've decided that it's time that I have a forum to spout off about whatever I feel like, whenever I feel like, how I feel like, with little or no repercussions. I don't think I'll ever run for elected office, so it's not like they'll be going through my posts with a fine tooth comb before I'm confirmed for a Supreme Court position. Who would really want the job? Or the headache? Can anyone say Sarah Palin?

Please feel free to invite people to check out the outrageous things that I'm about to say. Maybe you'll agree, maybe you won't. That's okay. I still like you. Or at least, I'll still tolerate you socially in a dinner party setting. I'm finally seeing things with my "Eyes Open".