Modern Proverb

I used to keep an old Ziggy comic on the wall over my desk. It merely said, "Do a little more each day than people expect of you and soon they will expect a little more."

I saw that as a bit of positive advice; although not everyone I came across agreed with me. I figured it was a great reminder to strive to exceed others' expectations of me and they would soon come to appreciate my work ethic and, perhaps even my abilities, as being greater than they had originally thought.

A friend of mine - who tended to have a darker view of life than me - argued with me many times over the "true" meaning of that little comic. She insisted that it was meant to be a warning that people would take advantage of you and just keep asking more and more of you if you went over and above their original expectations.

I elected to keep the positive spin on it, though, and do my best to do a little more than people expected of me. While there have certainly been some people (perhaps ethically challenged) who have taken advantage of me through the years because of my attitude, I figure that it's really their problem - not mine. Overall, I believe my desire to do more than the minimum required by other people's expectations has made me into a better person.

I would rather have people expect much of me - even if it means I occasionally fall short of their expectations - than to expect little or nothing of me and watch me eventually sink to the level of just that.

Disconnect

It has been nearly twenty years since I had the pleasure of spending two weeks in Japan on a business trip. The trip was a whirlwind that came about at the last minute at quite possibly the worst time imaginable.

We had just broken ground on our new home when my boss mentioned the possibility of a trip to Japan for one of our best clients. I had developed the framework for troubleshooting and diagnostic software for the client's field service engineers that enabled them to use their laptop instead of carrying dozens of systems manuals for each product in their line. The client wanted me to fly to their Tokyo division to teach their software engineers how to implement the framework on their products.

Nothing was set, though, so there really wasn't anything to worry about. All of that changed in the blink of an eye when, on Friday morning, my boss called me into his office to tell me that I was booked on a flight to Tokyo at 11:00 AM Sunday.

Sunday, as in two days away Sunday??? Yep. I had almost exactly 48 hours to have everything ready for two weeks in Japan in the midst of building a home.

I left work and raced home to break the news to Diane and begin preparations for the trip. There was so much to do and very little time to get it done. I was supposed to be applying the insulation to the poured concrete walls over the weekend, but that got pushed off on a contractor, instead.

Saturday morning started off wonderfully with my glasses breaking. Add an emergency run to an optical shop to get new glasses to the already exploding list of things to do.

We somehow managed to get everything done in time for Diane and the boys to take me to the airport Sunday morning where I boarded a flight first for Chicago and then on to Tokyo.

Tokyo provided what had to be the biggest cultural disconnect I could fathom. I had to take a train from my hotel to the town where my client's office was located. I boarded the train with my computer. The trains in Tokyo all seem to be packed all the time. I put my computer on an overhead rack and was gradually pushed further back in the car at each stop. I feared that my computer would be gone when I went to retrieve it, but there was nothing to fear. I made my way through the throngs of people on the train as we approached my stop to find the computer sitting on the rack just as I had left it.

The first cultural disconnect.

Each train car had Silver Seats, so named not so much for their silver color, but for the silver hair of the senior citizens for whom the seats were reserved. The riders could be wedged into the train cars like sardines, but the Silver Seats would remain empty if no senior citizens were in the car. Younger people simply would not sit in the empty seats.

The second cultural disconnect.

The work culture was totally foreign to me. The desks were jammed into double rows throughout the entire work area. I found myself staring into the face of another person if I looked past my monitor. I could reach out and touch the workers on my right and left; so close were the desks positioned.

The third cultural disconnect.

A bell chimed at 10:00 each morning, followed by a voice on the intercom talking the employees through stretching regimens. All work stopped throughout the entire facility as everyone stood behind their desk chair and followed the leader's stretching instructions. I did not know any Japanese, of course, so I used that time each morning to head to the coffee pot to refill my cup.

The fourth cultural disconnect.

Perhaps the biggest cultural disconnect came, though, on the weekend when my Japanese host offered to take me around Tokyo. We saw the Imperial Palace, the busiest train station in the world, Akihabara -also known as Geek Heaven - the electronics marketplace of the world in Central Tokyo and Tokyo's version of Times Square.

As we walked along a narrow street in a market district, I couldn't help but notice the presence of vending machines selling beer. This prompted a discussion with my host about a legal drinking age in Tokyo. He assured me that they had laws against underage drinking just like we had in the United States. This prompted me, of course, to ask, "What's stopping a 17 year old from putting his money into the machine to buy a beer?" I will never forget the ensuing discussion. He as shocked that I would even suspect such a thing. The young people wouldn't buy beer from the street vending machines because it was against the law. I continued to press the question of what was stopping them from doing so. We went around and around on the topic for several minutes before finally getting to the point where he said there was nothing other than the weight of Japan's traditions to stop an underage person from buying beer if they chose to break the law.

The fifth, and biggest, cultural disconnect.

Although I'm sure there were many underage people who bought beer from the machines and I'm equally sure that their culture has changed much in the past twenty years; I am still amazed when I think back on that trip and the cultural shock that accompanied those two hectic, yet wonderful weeks.

I would love to be able to visit Tokyo again sometime with Diane: to be able to share with her the joys of wandering the narrow, shop-lined streets of the neighborhoods surrounding Tokyo; to be able to eat at the seemingly ubiquitous small, family owned noodle counters throughout the city; to be able to laugh together at the disconnect of being an American in Tokyo again.

Fresh Ice

Today marks what should be a national holiday; the first day of on-ice activities for the St. Louis Blues Training Camp! This ranks right up there in importance with the start of the Blues' regular season, the opening of gun deer hunting season and the celebration parade down Market Street when the Blues win the Stanley Cup this year!!!

Okay, that last one is not yet a done deal, but I'm confident it will also come to pass.

There's something beautiful about fresh ice. The Blue Note is still vibrant and rich, the intensity of the colors in the lines popping against the pure, white background of the ice surface. Yes, this is truly the start of something wonderful.

Every September since 1967 has ushered in an excitement and passion for the start of the NHL season. This September is no different.

I wish I could be there to witness the Blues setting foot onto the ice surface at the Scottrade Center at Noon today. The offseason has been too long.

 I wish I could see the sights and hear the sounds of hockey today.

Instead, I will be at work; dreaming of that day in the no longer so distant future when I will watch the players take the ice for the start of the regular season. The day when the annual quest for the Stanley Cup begins anew; and brings with it all of the renewed hope for hockey fans everywhere.

Let's Go Blues!!!

Been There

Today marks another anniversary of the worst terrorist attack on our country. The nation came together - for a while - to help, to hold and to heal. Somewhere along the line, though, we gradually slid back to our normal routines and seemingly forgot about those things that bound us together.

For a short time, all Americans - regardless of their political position, religion, socioeconomic class or race - were joined in solidarity around those who had fallen and those who worked to rescue, recover and restore. We were Americans; bound together by our love of country and our care for one another.

I went to Ground Zero while in New York City a couple of years after the attacks. It was a horribly somber experience; one that I will never forget nor likely repeat. We stood at the fence surrounding the massive hole in the ground where the towers had once stood.

The hole marking the spot where thousands of Americans lost their lives.

The hole marking the spot where many of New York's Finest and Bravest made the ultimate sacrifice while serving the community.

The hole marking the spot where everything changed in America - probably forever.

My eyes welled up with tears as I read the countless tributes left at the site for loved ones who would never see them. I remember pointing out a neighboring building to Joseph in one of the photos of the site so he could grasp just how large the towers were.

I remember standing at the fence; struck by the overwhelming weight of grief for those left behind.

Today brings all of that to mind again. While it is good that our lives have returned to some level of "normalcy," I pray that we never forget all of the things that gaping hole represented: husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, sons and daughters who didn't come home; heroes who refused to stop looking even when looking seemed futile; leaders who, without regard for political party, worked together to bring closure and justice; and perhaps most of all, the day that changed America forever.

The Deer Stand

Matthew will be able to hunt with me again this year after a long, four season absence. It seems like even longer than that when I think back to our last time together for the regular gun deer season.

Matthew likes to sit beside me in the woods. I have offered to split up from him to help us cover more territory and minimize our impact on a given hunting area, but he always prefers to stay together. We used to sit on the ground; leaning side by side against a giant oak. I bought a ladder stand after he left for college that allowed me to hunt from an elevated platform. The view is vastly different from fifteen feet up and the potential for shooting opportunities seems to go up along with the height.

My ladder stand is big enough for me, but not my gear; which I had to strap to the tree behind the stand. There is no way we could create enough space for Matthew and me together this year, so we decided to get a two-man stand to hunt this year. I bought a two-man ladder stand at a local store but quickly returned it after determining that the manufacturer's idea of two men and our idea of two men were vastly different. The materials seemed flimsy and the platform would have been extremely tight. We decided, instead, to build our own platform stand.

I found plans online and made a few, minor modifications to fulfill my personal requirement to over-engineer and overbuild every project I undertake. We bought all of the lumber, fasteners and assorted hardware for the project and spent less money than we would have spent on the fancy, smaller commercial stand and went to work.

Matthew has an uncanny ability to be gone when I undertake some of my projects, so I cut everything when he was off doing something. He was there to help assemble part of the support legs and lower platform, but Diane has provided most of the construction help. She works hard, but she simply is not as strong as Matthew. We're getting it done, though.

I expect to finish the construction within the next couple of days so we can assemble the pieces in our yard to test it out. We'll do whatever tweaking is necessary with the luxury of electricity close at hand before we break it down into its four main pieces to head to the farm to erect it on our hunting ground.

Erecting the stand in place is going to require several people. Finding willing workers has been the hardest part of this entire project. At some point in the next couple of weeks, though, we will trailer everything up, make our way to the farm and get everything set for the opening of deer season on November 23.

When The Rubber Hits The Road...

Our paths cross lots of friendly people. Many of them we would even call friends. Some of them will go so far as to tell you to call them if you need anything. Few, though, really live that out When The Rubber Hits The Road.

True friends shine when life is in its dark moments. The ones who really are there for you when you're not fun to be with. Sometimes they talk. Sometimes they just listen. It's not by their words that they show you they care; their caring shows through their life. Even though the course of our lives may cause us to drift apart; the moments of caring are never far from our memory.

There are two people in particular who I think of when I think about people who really cared when it mattered. Nearly three decades have passed, but their acts of kindness still remind me of how a true friend shows they care.

To set the scene briefly, I was doing freelance video production work. The work could be somewhat irregular, but I was always glad to have a day scheduled. One job that I will never forget was the Camtronics shoot. I had two days of work scheduled; which meant two days of pay. It promised to be a fun shoot; which meant lots of setups and some challenging shooting situations. 

Two days before the shoot, I came home from work to find much of my apartment cleaned out, my cat gone and only a note from Sally saying, "I'm sorry," left behind. She had left me and filed for divorce. I was crushed. I told no one other than Sally's parents who loaned me a car since we only had one which she had taken with her.

I showed up at Camtronics for the shoot even though I was in no condition to work. Ralph, the Director, and Colleen, the Producer, (who later fell in love and got married, but that's a different story entirely) noticed my demeanor. Ralph took me aside and asked what was going on. I poured out my heart to him. He told me I didn't have to work if I would rather not be there. I told him that I needed to work.

They let me stay. 

I was absolutely worthless on that shoot. I'm sure I cost the crew much time and many retakes because of my distracted state.

But they let me stay.

Ralph and Colleen told me I could talk if I wanted to talk or just be quiet if I wanted to be quiet. They didn't pry and they didn't coddle me. They were just there When The Rubber Hit The Road.

When I look back over the decades, I am reminded that the friends who really care for you aren't the ones who tell you to call if you need anything. True friends are the ones who let you stay When The Rubber Hist The Road...

You Divide, I Pick

Few things in this world can start an argument faster than two people wanting the last piece of something. The problem is exacerbated when those two people are siblings.

It really doesn't matter if it's the last piece of pie or the last serving of potatoes; an argument is almost certain to start. Mom and Dad, like many parents, had a simple solution to the problem. It was simply named, "You Divide, I Pick."

The name says it all. The trick was to be the one who called it out first. Everyone wanted to be the picker, not the divider. Being the divider simply brought too much pressure.

Debbie, Kim, Beth and I were forced to endure You Divide, I Pick many times through the years. The divider analyzed whatever was to be divided very carefully - looking at it from every possible angle - trying to find a way to ensure that it would be divided exactly in half.

I'm sure I would have employed calipers and a scale if they were available, so careful was I to prevent any of the girls from getting a bigger portion; even if  the difference was miniscule. Dividing was a major task; one that required great concentration and analysis. This invariably led to pressure to hurry up and divide.

Picking could be equally daunting, though, if the divider had done a good job. The picker was obligated, of course, to carefully determine which was the "bigger half" (a physical impossibility, I know) before making their selection. This invariably led to pressure to hurry up and pick.

In the long run, You Divide, I Pick was brilliant. We learned some important lessons from You Divide, I Pick. It helped us learn to deal fairly and properly with others. It also taught us to practice math and spatial relationship skills we never even realized we were using. Perhaps most of all, though, You Divide, I Pick taught us how to apply our knowledge and skills to real life applications.

I'm not sure about most people, but to me; that is the definition of wisdom.

Thanks, Mom and Dad.