This was book #2 on the reading list. It's author is Mike Leonard, a feature reporter for NBC's Today Show. He tells the tale of packing his parents (both in their 80's), his son, his daughter & his daughter in-law up in two Motor Homes, for one last cross-country journey. The trip will be his parent's last big hurrah in traveling and the trip culminates at the hospital where they will arrive in time for the birth of their first great-grandchild. The both is chalk full of hysterical stories. Some about 'the old days,' and some are simply incidents that happened during the trip itself. Anyone who has ever been on a trip of any kind with their extended family, will be delighted with this book. It is a joy to read and is packed with great little nuggets of wisdom and smart observations on being human. Here are just a few of my favorites:
I gradually realized that the nagging gut-level discomfort causing me to fear the end of the day was also prompting me to make the most of what was left of that day.
My weak intellect might have been a blessing in disguise. No situation was overanalyzed. No odds were calculated. It was all very basic.
Before long I had talked myself into believing that failing grades didn't mean that I was going to fail in life. In fact, it would be the opposite. So what if I was lousy at math, English, biology, and all the other subjects; I was good at...well, there wasn't anything that I was good at, not yet anyway. But I would find something. Or something would find me. I convinced myself of that.
I did something totally out of character. I set my alarm for 6:00 A.M. That was an hour earlier than necessary, and until that moment I never did anything that wasn't necessary. Schoolwork, chores, summer jobs - none of those tasks inspired me to give anything more than what was expected of the average kid. I took comfort in that role. Nobody expected excellence. There was nothing to live up to. When the alarm went off the next morning, my sleepy brain immediately started penning another permission slip for a boy to do what was normal, to roll over and drift back to sleep. It was a school day and it was still dark outside. And cold. But I shocked myself and slowly climbed out of bed. The outdoor rink in Glencoe was five or six blocks from our house. They didn't allow hockey during regular hours, so the only way to practice was to sneak on before the facility opened. It was an open-air, natural ice rink on an empty field in the middle of a residential area. Sitting down in a snowbank, I laced my skates, periodically exhaling great blasts of warm air into my cold, cupped hands. Then I stood up, stepped onto the ice, and glided off into the darkness. It wasn't a punishing workout. No wind sprints. No shooting the puck until my hands bled. I hardly shot at all....I just skated, moving the puck back and forth with my stick, while gliding around and around, backward and forward, turning, swooping, circling, and most importantly, pretending.A few weeks later, in the third hockey game of my life, I scored three goals. That's when it dawned on me that individual achievement wasn't all that difficult to attain. Just do a little bit more.
I also knew something else, something that was undetectable to the people around me. They still saw the struggling student living on the outskirts of high school scene, but I had already moved way past that. I was living in the future...doing something well...and doing it creatively. This was not just a wish. This was a certainty. Now all I had to do was find my talent, keep trying, and be patient.
"Life is easy." He sighed. "We make it hard."
"You make your own happiness," he said. "You don't buy it."
I loved the story about the woman who was deaf and also had a problem with passing gas and not being able to hear it.
"You shouldn't go back in life. It makes you depressed. You should go forward."
My parents have never had a problem exposing their flaws and laughing at their mistakes. They were human, and all humans have failings. Growing up in that kind of environment gave me strength. I didn't have to be perfect or pretend to be smarter or more accomplished than I was. By openly acknowledging many of my weaknesses and fears - math, roller coasters, bugs, muddy-bottomed lakes, etcetera - I had taken most of the ammunition away from people who might have wanted to make fun of me. I could try and fail, and try and fail again without worry of ridicule. Years later, after trying and failing more times than I would have liked, it finally paid off.
Brendan stopped strumming his guitar. "Napoleon meant nothing to me," he said. "What does he have to do with me? You can say that about anyone. If you try to say, "What am I worth to the entire world?' you're not going to be worth a whole lot. So why don't you make yourself worth something to the people around you and the people you care about?"
It's the factor of one. In the complex equation of life, a staggering number of human connections are made. All is takes is one...added or subtracted...and the final balance changes in ways impossible to calculate.
Don't compete. Create.
Hurt feelings often block the truth from seeping in.
Tim's note: I was kind of saddened by the conversation the parent had about dying and the possibilities of eternity....
My father leaned back in the chair, folding his hands across his lap. "I'm gonna take it as it comes," he said. "I have no control of it and no fear of it." "Of death?" I asked. "Why not?""Well, I believe there's a hereafter," he relied, "and a heaven. I think if you've earned it, you'll make it, and if you haven't you won't"
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