Do You Like Yourself?

Me with my parents - 1976 - body language says it all

This post is inspired by a recent post of a fellow blogger, the Travel Penguin.

The question "do you like yourself" is a question most of us have faced at one time in our life. Now I'm not a psychologist or a learned scholar but I do know who I am.  

Early in my life I was brought up with little sense of self worth.  I didn't know the difference because that was the only reality I only knew.

Later on in life I realized that my father didn't want children. We were a bother to him. He left the rearing of me and my two younger brothers to my Mother. Thankfully my Mother cared for us but she was not a demonstrative Mother who hugged us or told us she loved us. But she did. I attribute that to her awful childhood where she lost her Mother before she was two years old.  But she did take care of us.

I've written about this subject before so pardon me regular followers of my blog if I repeat myself.  

About ten years ago I came across some of my grade school report cards. My grades were mostly B's with a scattering of A's and an occasional C. On the back, where my characteristics were listed as either Acceptable or Unacceptable, I noted with some surprise the one area which was always Unacceptable - Self Confidence. Gee, no wonder. After being constantly mocked by my father as having a big nose, being stupid, and an embarrassment to him, no wonder I lacked self-confidence. But understand I didn't know the difference at that time, I thought all that was true. It was the only reality I knew. Thank goodness he didn't physically or sexually abuse me but mentally? Big time. Being constantly put down from my earliest memory how could I not have a low self-esteem? But at least I had a father. Bill lost his father to a drunk driving accident when he was ten years old. Pat's father died (alcoholic) when Pat was ten years old. I had a father, even if he was indifferent at best to me and psychologically abusive to me at worst. 

Not until I left home when I joined the Army at eighteen years old did I begin to realize that I wasn't a total loser. This realization didn't happen overnight but eventually I came to realize I had some worth, something to offer to our communal society. Of course there were times during my journey into adulthood and self awareness that some people tried to belittle me and put me down. The reasons varied from jealousy to just plain ignorance, cruelty and bullying. Who of us hasn't been subjected to the same?

A few years ago I was watching one of those old VHS videos of me having dinner with a friend of mine.  I was secretly videotaping him as a joke to be shown to him later.  We were both very relaxed and just being ourselves.  Watching that video I discovered a few things that surprised me. One sort of shocked me.  That was the realization that I had many of my father's physical mannerisms. Oh God!  That was a surprise. I was turning into my father. The other thing that I noticed while looking at myself interacting with my friend Ed, was that I seemed like a nice guy. Someone I would want to know and feel comfortable with if I was someone else. That was also a surprise.  Then I thought back of all those years which I hated the body I was in.  I hated the sound of my voice. I hated my big nose and small chin. I hated being tall.  I hated that I wasn't an athlete. There was so much I hated about myself.  I felt sad thinking about this because I couldn't think of anything I liked about my self. That is what happens when a constant mental abuse is heaped on a child.  What a shame, all those years wasted. I've often wondered what my life would have been liked if I grew up with a sense of self-worth. And I can't blame my Mother because she didn't have a sense of self-worth either so that's why she couldn't pass it on to her sons. But she did protect us and made sure we were cared for.

These days, now that I am older and wiser, I like who I am.  In fact, I wouldn't trade myself for anyone else on this planet. I like myself just the way I am. Imperfections and all.

Oh sure, I still encounter people who don't like me. I know it is a cliche to say this but that is their problem because I'm a pretty nice guy. I don't waste my precious time concerning myself about why those people don't like me. 

One of the many benefits of old age, things I used to think were important I find aren't important. What is important is that I like myself and that I have true friends and they like me. 

That's my sermon for the day folks!

Self Esteem, Self Respect

"Stand up straight!"

This evening I read a blog post by a friend of mine.  He hadn't posted in a week he said because an incident happened that he "allowed his feelings to be hurt."  Who hasn't been in this place?  I certainly have as I am sure most of the folks reading these words I'm typing now have had their feelings hurt by intentional or unintentional verbal assaults.

When we're young most of us lack the ability to fend off the slings and arrows of disrespect, insults, and humiliations.  As we grow older we gain armor to shield of those who seek to bring us down because they either fear us or are just not nice people.  Of course one never grows enough armor to completely insulate oneself against others who seek to cause us pain because of their own shortcomings.

A few days ago I wrote a posting about how self conscious I was about my big nose. I grew up in a household where my father never ceased to find delight in mocking my prominent nose by calling me "beak."  It wasn't until I left home that I found out my nose was no bigger than most and as a matter of fact, was even considered attractive by some (imagine that).  

Another physical aspect of my body that was often thrown at me was my poor posture.  "Hump back,

hunch back, round shoulders."  You name it, I was called it by some who felt a need to deride me.  I was so ashamed of my posture.  I envied my classmates who had a straight back.  I tried to hard to "stand up straight"

as some of my teachers would bark at me.  I would throw those shoulders back but still I didn't have that perfect posture.  And after I went into the Army I really got slammed for my "slouch."  It wasn't until I was in my thirties I discovered that I had a condition that is very common.  It is called curvature of the spine.  In other words, no matter how I tried to "stand up straight", I would never have that ramrod straight back.  And thus, I relaxed.  

Those two aspects of my life, once I came to terms with them did so much to increase my self esteem and self respect.  Of course I still had the "biggie" which was being gay.  I was the "fairy",

which is what gays were called in the Fifties (oh, I do love me some glitter).  I dealt with that issue after much self introspection and angst when I came out fully in 1963, which I've written about in previous blog postings.

These days I'm on the receiving end of the "you're old"

slings and arrows.  That doesn't bother me.  At least I've told myself it doesn't bother me.  What does bother me though is when I come upon a group of people, whether it be at the work place of somewhere else where they know me, and they're talking about me and giggling.  I have no idea what they're talking about (well, maybe I do but I'm not going into details here) but here we go again. Signs of disrespect and derision from folks who I assumed respected and liked me but now find me as a source of mockery.  How do I handle such a situation these days?  I ignore them but I do have to tell you that when I think I'm being disrespected from friend or foe, I find that my level of respect also drops for them in direct proportion.  

Hey folks!  This is me, and I'm doing the best with what I have.  If you like me, fine.  If not, then I can't do anything about it but I'm not going to go into a fetal position because you don't like me.  Maybe you don't like the way I look or what I say. Maybe you're jealous so you feel you have to tear me down to build yourself up.  What ever.  The fact remains that I am here and right now?  I'm having the best time of my life.  Wish you were here!

Doing alright - slouch and all

The Noses Have It

"Schnozola" aka Jimmy Durante

There was a time in my life when I was mortified that I had such a large......nose.  

Growing up my father rarely missed an opportunity to remind me that I had a big nose.  I don't ever remember him calling me by my given name ("Ronnie" at that time, I changed my first name to "Ron" when I went into the Army).  He called me "Beak."  Yes, he was that kind of father. What we call a "Boy Named Sue" father.

Me and my nose graduation picture 1959

Raised in a small town and being reminded of my deformity almost daily, I had very low self esteem, although that term wasn't known to be at that time (the Fifties).  I just thought I was a mess.

I hated it when a photo was taken of my profile, showing my "beak" in all its glory.  I felt like that old cold commercial where the whole head is a nose.  

" Schnoz", which is defined as slang, a nose, especially a large one" was another affectionate term Pop used to lay on me.  However, he did leave out some other favorites like hooter, snout, nozzle and honker.

So I was pretty well screwed up about my physical appearance when I boarded that Trailways bus at the Philadelphia terminal on a cold January day in 1960 for Ft. Dix, New Jersey.

I remember so well holding my head down after I was seated because I didn't want anybody to notice my big schnoz.  Much to my surprise, nobody did!

Me, Basic Training - still got the nose but no one noticed - 1960

Seriously, I was prepared for humiliation and whatever because of my nose with a face attached and NOTHING HAPPENED.  

Guess what?  By the time I hit the Reception Company (or rather the Reception Company hit me) at Ft. Dix, I forgot all about my proboscis.

In fact, after a couple of years I actually came to believe that I wasn't that bad looking.  Not the most handsome guy in the world, but passable.  

Me - still with a prominent nose but I think it goes with my face now - maybe my face grew into my nose - 1974

And another "in fact", I now am rather proud of my prominent nose.  Just goes to show you how things can turn around. 

Me now - I'm glad I have a "schnoz" - I would rather have one of these than one of those pixie noses - gives me character (I think) Besides, if it works for Owen Wilson it can work for me.

My Double?

My double?

Have you ever been told you have a double?  I have.

In fact, I've been told quite often that someone has a brother-in-law, uncle, cousin, friend and/or co-work who looks EXACTLY LIKE ME.  Of course the first thing I think is "Lucky guy!"

The real me.

Yep, I unashamedly admit that I envy any guy who looks just like me.  Wouldn't you?  If someone told you that they know someone who looks exactly like you, wouldn't you take it as a compliment?  Well, I guess maybe if you had a low self-esteem you wouldn't be too thrilled with that little bit of news.

Me and my best "assistant football coach" stance

So it was with some amusement when I came across this photo on the Internet a few days ago.  I first thought it was a photo of moi.  After all, there are THOUSANDS of photos of moi floating around on the Internet.  But I couldn't remember this one.  It looked like I was an assistant coach on a football field.  Folks, the only time I've been on a football field was as the member of my high school marching band.  Obviously, this wasn't a photo of me.  However, the resemblance is remarkable.  His eyes are a little bigger but other than that, the face, especially the mouth is the same.  In fact, I think this guy is rather attractive.  Another funny thing, anytime I meet or saw someone like me and tried to make a connection, they were never interested in me.

Do You Feel Worthless?

Not my cat.  My friend's cat.  Bill won't let me have a cat.  But every chance I get I'll cuddle up to a cat.  I like cats.

Haven't we all at times felt worthless?  Not good enough?  Of course you know the answer is that we all have worth.  Don't ever let anybody bring you down.  WE ALL HAVE WORTH.

As we travel through life there are those who will attempt to belittle you because of their own insecurities.  Don't let them do it. 

We all want to be liked.  Sometimes we think if we act as we think others want us to act, then they will like us.  Doesn't work.  If you stop being yourself and try to be somebody else who they think you should be, they will lose respect for you and you will lose respect for yourself.  It just doesn't work.

Occasionally, on the weekends I watch the MSNBC show "Lockup."  This show is about men and women in prison. While most of these people who are in prison are lowlifes and look it, I am surprised by the number of people who are attractive and articulate.  It makes me wonder "Where did they go wrong?"  


Did they have an abusive childhood?  Bill had a very abusive childhood.  His father died when Bill was only one year old.  His 21 year old father and a group of buddies were drunk and crashed into a bridge abutment, thus ending their lives and changing the whole course of Bill's life.  While Bill has his issues (which we won't go into here), one thing Bill is not is an evil person.  In fact he is generous to a fault.  He doesn't lie, cheat or steal or worse.

My formative childhood years were more neglectful childhood than physically abusive. My father didn't want children and he let me know it.  My father always put me down.  When I left home to join the Army (I knew enough at that time to at least get away from that environment), I thought I was ugly, stupid and a loser.  Much to my surprise I discovered (after some initial confusion) that I was none of those.  Even though I was belittled and neglected I never had the urge to rob, cheat or steal.  In fact I'm generous to a fault, which has caused me many a problem over the years because of unscrupulous people who attempt to take advantage of me.

One thing Bill and I have in common, we both want to be liked.  I guess you could say most people have that need.  But where it causes Bill and I problems is, as I mentioned before, there are those who see that trait as a weakness and attempt to take advantage for their own selfish needs.  I was very fortunate that I meet Bill when I was just starting out in life.  Of course he was fortunate that he met me too.  Ours wasn't a lustful, sex crazed attraction but more like two men who were looking for a port in the storm of a sea of folk seeking to use and abuse.  We were lucky.  Sometimes I don't realize how lucky we were until I see some truly horrible, abusive relationships.

In the forty-eight years that Bill and I have been together, their have been those few times I have sampled the "other side of the fence."  What an eyeopener those experiences were.  Every time, without fail the object of my desire (and Bill's because he strayed once or twice too, it wasn't just me), betrayed me.  Every time folks.

I feel for these bloggers that I read who bemoan the fact that they are alone.  They're looking for love and it just isn't there.  When I read their sad tales of woe I think "That could be me."  Thank God that isn't me."
Then I wonder, is it luck or something to do with me?  I've come to the conclusion that it is me.

You see one thing I learned from a childhood of neglect and putdowns was to never accept the putdowns.  Never accept someone trying to belittle me whether it was because I am gay and they're straight and they feel that I am a lesser human being.  Or if it is a fellow gay person who for whatever reason (and I'm still trying to figure this out), feels a need to belittle and put me down.  I can't help but think that those gay people must have a low self-esteem and are losers themselves and that's why they feel the need to strike out and be mean to a fellow gay who they obviously are jealous of.  Yes, I said it, jealous.

I heard through the grapevine recently that "Ron doesn't want to have friends."  WRONG!  I have friends, a lot of friends.  Granted most of them are straight.  But there is one thing I will never accept again in my lifetime or what remains of it, and that is to be treated as less than by straights or gays.  I've put up with too much, especially since I moved to Delaware and the supposedly "gay friendly" resort area of Rehoboth/Lewes/Milton.  I find it anything but.  I find it very cliquish and exclusionary.  Is it me?  Probably because I will no longer accept being discounted  I will no longer look the other way or ignore when someone, gay or straight, belittles me with an offhanded, vicious comment.  I'm done with it folks and I feel like a tremendous burden has been lifted from my shoulders.

One of the few times in my life I was appreciated for something I did.  Here I am with Phil Cordrey, the President of Hampton Inns at the Epcot Center in Disneyworld April 2000.  I was accepting an award for Best Guest Service Representative.  Hotel work has always made me feel valued.  

Today is a perfect day.  The sun is out, the sky is clear, the temperature is a moderate 74 degrees.  There is a light breeze rustling our river birch trees in the oval planter in our back yard.  The birds of our backyard habitat are busy raising their families.  Traffic is streaming down Route 1 towards Rehoboth and shore destinations beyond for yet another glorious summer weekend "at the shore."  Bill and I are going to Pennsylvania this weekend to checkout the new owners of our former property.  We're curious to see what they did with it.  We're not telling them we're coming.

While we're enjoying yet another wonderful weekend here in our Delaware oasis, I will think occasionally of those men and women in prison who do not have the freedom that Bill and I have and wonder why?  What caused them to take that path to pain and destruction whereas Bill and I took our rejections and made ourselves stronger.

I think I've figured out a lot in my lifetime but this is one thing that still has me puzzled.  You grow up being made to feel worthless and even during your lifetime people attack you to make you feel worthless but some people become stronger while others succumb to self destructive evil ways.  This is something that I just don't understand.  Food for thought folks, food for thought.

Number Two Saga

WARNING!  NOT A SEXY BLOG POSTING!  


Well folks, I passed the test!  My friend JeBblend.  Sounds sexy doesn't it?  Well, it is not.  Let me tell you what Herbal Fiber Blend is.  It is a ground up concoction of weeds (basically) that we mix with water and take twenty minutes before eating in the morning and the evening so as to create a torpedo stool to relive our constipation.  Hey, I told you it wasn't sexy...unless you're into that kind of thing (which I am definitely NOT).


For years Jeff and I suffered chronic constipation.  Then, about fifteen years ago Jeff found this concoction sold by the AIM Companies that 'guaranteed' relief from chronic constipation.  First thing I thought was "Sure, sure."  Both Jeff and I had brought the over the counter constipation relief medications (?) over the years like Metamucil.  The only thing that ever worked for us was Ex-Lax.  I didn't want to spend a life addicted to Ex-Lax like my father.  When he went to the bathroom he exploded.  Ah yes, what a mess that was.  Of course he never cleaned it up.  So, we would seek relief from our 'bound' condition with Ex-Lax and the such, all the while looking for a life changer for our bowel movements.  Starting to wonder if you should continue to read this post?  Remember, I warned you...NOT A SEXY POST.


The only catch to the Herbal Fiber Blend constipation relief medicine was the expense.  It costs $40 a container.  You put those containers on the store shelves at that cost and no matter how well it works NOBODY is going to buy it.  That's why we have to order it by mail.

Your every day grocery shopper just doesn't put out that kind of bucks for any product, let alone a popper helper. 

So, I ordered some and voilà! IT WORKED!  Still, there was the expense.  At the time I first ordered it,the cost was $36 a container.  Now it is $40.  If I ordered in bulk (no pun intended) I got a discount.  So I order in bulk.  And ever since that happy day several years ago I have been faithfully taking my ground up weeds and bark and I've been a 'regular guy.'   In fact, discovering AIM Herbal Fiberblend has probably saved my life.  Now I'm not biting off heads and during one of my extended periods of not visiting the bathroom.  

And believe me, there were days that Bill headed for the hills and he found that I hadn't gone to the bathroom that morning because he knew he was in for a rough day.  Now that I'm a 'regular guy', I'm happy..Bill is happy...my co-workers are happy (they got it too from me) and just about anyone who comes in contact with me sees a pleasant and relaxed Ron.  

So Jeff calls me this afternoon.  Remember, Jeff is losing his mental capabilities.  He called to tell me he ordered too much of the Poop Medicine (which is what we REALLY call it...actually we call it something else which is a four letter word beginning with "S" and ending with "T" but this is a family blog so I'll let the reader figure it out for him/herself).  Jeff tells me he ordered too much and would I like to have the rest of it?  WHAT?  Do I use more than he uses?  This doesn't make sense.  You take it twice a day, once in the mooring (two heaping tablespoons) and once in the evening, twenty minutes before the meal.  The stuff is GROUND UP WEEDS!  IT'S FIBER!  IT DOESN'T GO BAD!  

I patiently tell Jeff (a non de plume by the way, name changed out of respect for the privacy of my long time friend) that "No, I don't want it.  You keep it.  It doesn't go bad."  He said "I think I messed up and ordered too much."  I tell him...again..."No, it doesn't go bad.  Keep it.  In fact, when you order it in bulk (no pun intended...again), you get it cheaper."  Then he says "Oh yeah, that's probably why I ordered so much."  

So there we go folks, another episode in the continuing saga of me and my longtime friend Jeff, is is slowly sinking into dementia.  

Ironically, the first time I met Jeff was when we were both attending Army Security Agency School in Ft. Devens, Massachusetts in April of 1960.  We both kept running into each other at the Service Club bathroom. No, no, no.  Don't get the wrong idea.  Even though were both gay (and we didn't know that at that time), we were using the Service club bathrooms because they had individual stalls.  Our bathroom facilities (called latrines - remember that term your former Army guys?) back at our barracks consisted of a row IN THE OPEN of twelve toilets.  I don't know about you but when I'm doing a Number Two I want to do it in private, especially if I'm constipated.  "Going" is a big event and I want to savor that in privacy and not during a conversation with one of my fellow Army buddies who has the Sunday funnies spread out before him while he's taking his daily bowel movement (keeping with the family friendly blog here.)  

So Jeff and I kept running into each other entering the Service Club Mens' Room.  After we got to know each other better we had a good laugh at our modesty.  Over the years we always used to joke about how we 'met' the first time.  

When Jeff began to lose his mental facilities a few years ago he often forget to take his 'medicine.' As a result he got 'plugged up' again, which didn't help his mental or physical condition because when you're constipated you become very lethargic.  When I was around him I would ask him if he was taking his 'medicine.'  His answer always was 'I can't remember.'   Poor Jeff, I couldn't help him because I don't live with him. His partner 'Mutt', the one I don't like, is a former nurse.  One would think he would see to it that his long time partner got his 'medicine' on a timely basis.  That isn't happening though.  As I've said in previous blog postings, 'Mutt' is so into himself  he is capable of helping anyone else.  That's why I don't like him and why I don't visit them anymore, which is the real shame. 

But I will be forever grateful to my longtime friend 'Jeff' for introducing me to AIM Herbal Fiberblend.  Thank you 'Jeff.'  And I remember the old times when we were both 'regular' friends.

Pop

The Beginning - 1942 - the First Born with Pop and Mom

As regular readers of this blog may or may not know, I never had a good relationship with my father.  That may sound harsh but it is the truth.  

My Pop at 18 years old - a Hank Williams wannabe

My father died August 22, 2000.  He was 80 years old.  He died of lung cancer.  His doctor warned him many times to stop smoking but he was a stubborn man.  He died in a hospital bed, hooked up to an oxygen machine, gasping for breath.  

The body language says it all in this picture of me and my two brothers with Pop

My youngest brother John is on the far left and obviously the light of my father's eye.

My poor second brother is literally 'in the middle' and overlooked.  I'm on the far right with my hand on my father's shoulder but he is obvious to my reaching out to him.  Pictures say so much.

Even though we all knew he was dying, when I got the phone call from my sister-in-law Barbara telling me he died overnight,  it was still a shock to my system because he had been so much a part of my life.  But I can honestly say I felt no sadness.  I didn't feel happiness either.  Maybe a sense of relief because no matter what I did I could never please this man.  All my life I sought approval, he never showed it to me.

Father and son 1-976 - again check out the body language
by this time his dog 'Pepper' was the light of his life

I was his first born son.  I have two brothers.  My second brother didn't fare too well either, even though he was my father's namesake.  However, my third brother, and youngest, was my father's favorite.  Growing up I resented that my youngest brother was his favorite.  I hated my brother.  Ironically now my brother and I are best friends.  It's funny how things turn out in life.

Me, Mom and Pop 1982 - again check out the body language

I'm leaning in towards him but my Mom touches my leg lest I get too close to him 

Occasionally I think about my father.  I think about how much my life perhaps would have been different if he had shown me some love.   But then maybe nothing would be different.  I do a lot of thinking about my past at this time of my life, I often wonder how my life would have turned out if I had a 'normal' childhood.  But then who does have a 'normal' childhood?

My Pop at 18 years old - yes, I do look like him

My father used to enjoy humiliating me.  I grew up thinking I had the biggest nose in the world.  He would call me "beak" as in a bird's beak.  Of course this did nothing for my self-esteem which was very fragile because not only did I know I was 'different' from the time I was four years old (a 'sissy') but I had the usual teenager anxieties about not being accepted by my friends. I remember how terribly embarrassed because my father was a hillbilly.  For real, he really was a 'hillbilly.'  His parents brought him and eight of his brothers form the hills of western North Carolina (some God forsaken place called "Pigeon Roost") to the Unionville area of south eastern Pennsylvania in the late 1920's.  Two more brothers were born in Pennsylvania thus making eleven hillbilly sons of the brood of Fieldon and Hester Tipton, my paternal grandparents.  Of course now I am proud of my "hillbilly" heritage, recognizing it as true Americana but when I was growing up?  I was mortified.  

The "new car" - a GMC pickup truck

Of the many time he used to belittle and humiliate me one episode is especially etched into my mind.  I was 12 years old and my Mom told me the news that "Pop" was getting a new car!  I was so excited.  Finally, our family would be like my friend's families and have a cool family car.  So what did he get?  A GMC pickup truck!  I was again mortified.  A pickup truck!  I asked "Where would me and my brothers sit when we went on one of our Sunday Rides?"  "Pop", with an self-satisfied smile on his face said "In the back where you belong!"

Me not wanting my brother to take my picture of me in the back of the pickup truck.  Pop made sure to drive through Downingtown so my friends could see me in the back of the truck.  He got a big kick out of this.

The day of the Sunday Ride came up.  Pop was going to take a trip down to Maryland and the Conowingo Dam.  The whole family was going.  I refused to go because I was too embarrassed to be seen riding in the back of a pickup truck!  I didn't have choice.  He told me I would have to go and sit in the back of the pickup truck.  So here are the pictures of me, 12 years old, full of insecurities, still in my "sissy" stage, trying to make like of my humiliation.  

Me trying to make light of my humiliation.  Sorry about the sissyness.  I hadn't outgrown it at this point in my life.

This was just one of many incidences of my father's cruel humor. I wasn't the only recipient of his cruelty, but I got most of it.  I think he was trying to 'break me.'  He didn't succeed.  


I guess some would rebel under such treatment or become defeated.  My reaction was to 'get through it'.  I didn't see where I had any other choice.  I did know that as soon as I could I wanted to get away from home.  That is one of the reasons I joined the Army right of high school.

Me and my friend Jim Harris on the rifle range at Ft. Meade, Maryland 1962

After my father died, my Mother cleaned out all his personal items including pictures in his wallet.  Much to my surprise she found this picture in his wallet.  I had forgotten about this picture.  I didn't have a print of it.  He had the only print.  I don't know how he got it but there it was.  He carried it in his wallet all those years. 


 My Mother then told me that he didn't expect me to even make it through basic training.  He had that little confidence in me that he thought I would fail.  I was shocked when I heard this revelation.  Not make it through basic training?  I never had a doubt.  Did I have problems in basic?  Yes, I had some big problems but never for a moment did I even entertain the idea of dropping out, never.  I remember one especially rough patch.  I was so determined to not fail that I thought to myself "I'm going to do this even if I die in the attempt (which I almost did)" but never, NEVER did I consider failure.


So who knows, perhaps beneath all that cruelty he really did have some love for his oldest son.  I wish I knew that when he was alive.  Maybe things would have been different.  


I know one thing, he used to love my homemade German Chocolate Cake which I made from scratch.  When I bought that cake over to him I saw one of his rare smiles towards me.  I haven't made that cake since he died.  I was thinking about making it again.  

My Pop at his most handsome - a real "Ladies'  Man"

Tall (6'5") blonde, blue eyes, muscular, 'big', and could charm the pants off any woman

My Pop in his 70's - still not a gray hair in his head

Still smoking which would eventually kill him

Stubborn Man

The last time I saw my father was on a Saturday night, two days before he died.  He was in his hospital bed with oxygen tubes going up his nose.  He wanted to get up to use the bathroom (pee in the bottle).  He was to proud to use the catheter.   He wanted me to help him get up.  I did.  He turned around and did his business.  As he was finishing I put my hand on his neck and said softly into his ear "I love you Pop."  He said nothing but paused for a second of two.  I think he understood.  I never told him I loved him before.  Even though we didn't have a traditional father-son relationship he was still my father.  I wanted him to know I appreciated him bringing me into the world and raising me.  Whatever our differences I wanted him to know I forgave him and that I was his son and I loved him.

That was the last time I saw him.  

Pop and me when he liked me - 1942

Hair

The right sider of my noggin - so wrong - too much hair - uneven

Last week I got a haircut.  


Last week I got a bad haircut.


I didn't realize it until I got home and washed my hair.


The right side of my head has about three inches more hair than the left side.  What could my barber be thinking?  What was I thinking?  Do I have to check my haircut every time I leave?  Apparently I do.


I've been using the same barber for about four years.  He is an old Italian barber.  Most of my life I've been using Italian barbers.  They are a dying breed.  I don't go to stylists.  I don't need to pay a woman $45 to wash my hair and give it a half assed trim and then need a haircut again the next week.  I did that once.  All I got was the boobs hanging in my face when she washed my hair.


No, I'll take the manly haircuts that the old Italian barbers serve up.  As I said, they are literally a dying breed.  I'm hoping my 80 year old barber Dino outlives me because if he doesn't, I'm screwed.  


I've had women cut my hair.  I never got a good butch haircut from a woman.  I'm not being sexiest here, I just never, never have gotten a good haircut from a woman.  


I don't know what was on Dino's mind last week but this lopsided haircut just won't do.  I was going to wait out my haircut and live it until I go back to him for my regular six week haircut.  I can't do it though.  I'm waking up in the morning with a hair drift on the right side of my head.  I look like a dark haired Conan O'Brien.

The left side of Noggin Ron - the way it should be - I'm lopsided

Nope, tomorrow I get this fixed.