Harold Gets A Ride

Ruth was in a Jiffy store this morning and overheard an old man, loud with frustration, ask the clerk about the bus line that he had just gotten off in front of the building. Apparently the old guy had fallen asleep and missed his stop. He was lost and confused and the clerk was unable to help. The old man stumbled back outside and when Ruth left too, she saw him asking for bus directions from a group of Hispanic men who obviously didn't speak English. The old man walked away, defeated, scared, clueless as to what he should do. Ruth got into her car and pulled up next to him. “Excuse me sir, but I overheard you in the Jiffy store. Where do you live, where do you need to go?' She asked. He told her the street name and she replied: “I know where that is, get in, I'll give you a ride...it's right on my way!” she lied. The old man was stunned.

It must be hard for an old person with little money to live independently in a tough place like LA. Ruth had to tell him twice. “Get in!”

For the entire ride he praised Ruth for her generosity “Good things are going to happen to you, young lady!” he told her. Still incredulous, he asked: “You're not scared?” Ruth told him no, she wasn't scared and didn't bother to rub in the fact that he was a broken down old man of 80 plus years whom she could tie up into a knot in a heartbeat if it became necessary. But she knew it wouldn't be necessary. Arriving at the old man's apartment, he got out of her car, still amazed that someone, anyone, would reach out to a stranger like that. Grateful, and perhaps just a little lighter in his step, he disappeared into the complex where he lived. Ruth headed back to where she needed to go. She felt a bit lighter too, for having spent a brief time with Harold. His name was Harold.

Tastes like Fox!

Here's an important tip for all boys, and for men who never stop thinking like boys, to keep in their bag of tricks. It's free, easy, and works every time. This is what happened the first time I did it...

Meandering slowly down a footpath in the Virginia woods on that breezy Spring day, sharp sunlight knifed unpredictably through the high leaf canopy overhead, allowing moments of intense light to tease our skin with it's warmth. I was a young guy in my early twenties, there with my girlfriend and my mother. All of us were visiting my Grandparents that day, enjoying grandpa's woods. I had invited Mom to walk with us to get some air, taking advantage of the opportunity for the ladies to get to know each other.

As we poked along on a small stone trail, the girls fell behind, lost in the sun mottled colors of a patch of wild flowers that expressed their joy in an explosion of reds and yellows. I took that opportunity to unwrap the Tootsie Roll that I had tucked into my jeans pocket earlier in the morning and pop it into my mouth. A few quick chews made it ready for me to spit out onto a large rock in the center of our path.

Turning quickly back to the where the ladies were lost in those spring flowers, we all continued to poke along, with no particular agenda other than to enjoy the moment. As we approached the rock where my Tootsie Roll sat prominently on display, I was ready for some fun.

Pointing out the spot, I said excitedly: “Oh look, animal droppings! They look fresh too!”

Kneeling down as the ladies hovered overhead, I pushed a finger into the goo. “They're still warm!” Mother said: “Oh Hugh...”

I continued: “I think they're from a fox, some small meat eater anyway. No bug exoskeletons like you see in toad or bat excrement. Definitely a small carnivore. Most likely a Fox.”

Mother and Stephanie stood above me, mute, seemingly impressed by my fecal analysis and repulsed by my finger full of wet animal shit hovering in the air between us.

Without pausing, I popped my finger into my mouth and licked it clean.

Grinning up at them, lips and teeth smeared with wet chunks of brown shit I said: “Yup, it's definitely a Fox. A red female with kits. You can tell from the acidity.”

Both were horrified, speechless, and I like to think, a little bit impressed. Certainly they had bonded in an unspoken agreement that I was deeply disturbed in ways that were new to both of them, Mother and girlfriend, instantly on the same page, knowing without words that this particular son and boyfriend badly needed help.

 Rushing ahead to rinse off in the stream that I knew to be just up the trail, I was grinning like a fool, hardly able to contain my pure joy, giddy in the moment.

Clff Notes

We all want the Cliff Notes in life, just the bottom line. Don't ask me to put in the time, all that work and study...for what? Just tell me! “So after all those years you've spent meditating in a cave, what's the one most important thing you learned?” “How to make a million dollars in less than 90 days.” The top five makeup essentials? What is the master gardener’s secret to growing huge tomatoes?

Hey, I'm not going to reinvent the wheel, so don't expect me to learn by trial and error. I'll just take your word for it.

My father was top of his class at Johns Hopkins and Harvard law. Phi Beta Kappa. Growing up with him was like having a walking dictionary in the house. He was the flesh and blood version of that immense Oxford English Dictionary that he kept on its own wooden stand in the living room next to his Tropical fish tank. Dad rarely interacted with us kids, there was no throwing of the ball out in the yard. His job was to pay the bills,\. Mom was in charge of the kids. So I was understandably stunned as a young teen when Dad looked up from his New York Times crossword puzzle as I was walking through the living room one day when he said to me: “Hugh, I need to speak with you.” It was as if I lived near Mount Rushmore and was used to those faces dominating the landscape and one day George Washington decided to speak...directly to me. Stopping in my tracks, I sat down in a chair across from Dad and braced myself for something epic, the pearls of wisdom that I was about to receive from this man who was all about the intellect. So many years of study served up from master to son. What is the meaning of life? What is the essence of vital understanding that he was now ready to pass to me? In his normal, rather somber way, Dad looked directly at me, all my senses on high alert, ready to catch every nuance, each inflection or hidden meaning.

My father said to me: “Don't pick your face.”

Like any normal 14 year old, I guess I had been doing some work in the mirror.

Ten years later, I learned a similar non-lesson from the Tae Kwon Do master at the Karate school where I ran the business end of things. As you may guess, he had been studying since he was a small child growing up in Korea. The roots of his knowledge stretched back through many generations. Mr Park was the absolute, unquestioned boss...the master. But like Dad, he rarely spoke to me much, or to anyone else for that matter. So on the second Christmas of my employment there I was quite surprised when Mr Park indicated that he had a present for me. My imagination ran wild as he handed me a long, flat box wrapped in gold paper. Was it his first brown belt, earned when he was just a kid? Maybe an ancient piece of parchment that touched on the genesis of Tae Kwon Do itself? Perhaps some kind of Korean certificate of achievement that was only awarded to special insiders?

With great care and respect, I unwrapped my present in front of Mr Park, prepared to see a first ever warm smile of pride for his number one student. Inside the package, nestled in white tissue paper, lay a large pair of stretchy black business socks.

So among other life lessons along the way, I learned from those moments of potential epiphany, that although we may expect the clouds to part and allow the sunshine to illuminate essential truths with crystal clarity, that the ultimate answers we all seek, may come to us in unexpected ways. Perhaps the lesson is still there, but it may well look like a large pair of black business socks.