Monthly Archives: June 2020

Acts of Kindness Are Real Gift

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Acts of Kindness

Are a Real Gift

I had big plans for a recent milestone birthday.

But like everyone else with grand occasions to celebrate in 2020, Coronavirus had other ideas. Thoughts of a local microbrewery filled to overflowing turned as flat as warm, day-old beer.

Life, however, is full of bubbly surprises. I casually asked friends and family, since we could not get together, to do random acts of kindness as a gift to me. Here are a few of the ribbons and bows…

Vicki brought in her neighbor’s trashcans in 90-degree heat and added: “It felt so good I did a few more houses down, too!”

Her deed provided a bonus smile because it made me think of my late friend, Sparky Anderson, who used to walk through his neighborhood and move trash barrels from the curb up the driveways. “It don’t cost you nothing at all to be nice,” he told me in explanation.

Susan checked in on the health and needs of some elderly friends.

Trudy hand wrote a card to an old high school friend “letting her know that my memories and moments with her were some of my best.”

Ronna addressed postcards to get out the vote for mail-in voting.

Ed went shopping and delivered the groceries to his senior neighbor.

Rebecca similarly went “shopping for friends during this pandemic.”

Michele was another Samaritan shopper, making a Costco run for three seniors and also picked lemons for a friend who is on unemployment and quarantined with four kids.

Tim, knowing how much I love books and libraries and kids, bought a bunch of children’s books for a Little Free Library.

Bill phoned two friends who are fighting cancer.

Carrie said, “I am too shy to share what I did, but it made my day to hear that it really helped!” Her secret surprise made my day, too.

Margaret put out a basket of snacks on the front porch for her postal carrier and UPS drivers.

Barbara did a similar kindness for her garbage man and shared at length: “I was on my porch when my refuse company truck pulled up and mechanically dumped the contents of one of my receptacles into the truck. The driver stopped for a moment longer and I saw him pour water into a towel and wrap it around his neck. It was very hot and I felt for him.

“While he finished up in my cul-de-sac, I went inside and got an ice-cold can of ginger ale from my fridge. When he returned the other direction in front of my house, I walked over and gestured for him to roll down his window.

“I asked if he would like a cold drink and told him how much I appreciated how hard he was working, especially in the heat and during this pandemic. I was shocked to see tears well up in his eyes as he took the can and thanked me.”

She later added a postscript: “Ever since that day, he honks as he passes if I am outside and we share a wave and two big smiles!”

Two more big smiles. First from Kathleen, who put Mother Teresa’s famous words – “If you can’t feed a hundred people, then feed just one” – into action by delivering a homemade dinner of chicken cacciatore with pasta to her neighbor in my honor.

Lastly, a dear childhood friend of mine and her husband turned Mother Teresa’s inspiring sentence backwards by feeding not one, but 750 people, with a donation to Food Share of Ventura County.

It was indeed a masterpiece birthday.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …

The Little Fellow takes the lead

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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The Little Fellow

takes the lead

The other day, a friend texted me after returning from a run with his 9-year-old son. I could almost hear the dad’s shortness of breath and see his smile in the electronic message.

I know it made me smile for it reminded me of a poem that hangs near my writing desk. It is titled, “A Little Fellow Follows Me,” author unknown, and seems especially worth sharing before Father’s Day. It begins:

A careful man I want to be, / A little fellow follows me; / I dare not to go astray, / For fear he’ll go the self-same way.

My Little Fellow then…

Growing up, my little fellow’s bedroom walls were plastered with posters of Olympic runners. As a second-grader he wrote a poem that also hangs in my office, titled: “I Am A Boy Who Loves To Run.”

That little boy grew up to be a six-foot-three young man who still loves to run. A former collegiate racer and more recently Boston Marathon finisher, he is far too fast for me to keep pace. But in my mind’s eye, I still see our side-by-side runs from long ago.

I cannot once escape his eyes, / Whatever he sees me do, he tries; / Like me he says he’s going to be, / The little chap who follows me.

We talked a lot on those runs together. He would tell me about his friends, about school, about his beloved Lakers. Often he made me laugh: “Was Gramps really a kid once?”

And: “Is Mom growing shorter?”

Me: “What?”

“Dad, I think she’s shrinking!”

…My Little Fellow now.

Me (suppressing a laugh): “No, I think you’re just growing taller.”

You can see why I loved running with The Little Fellow Who Follows Me, even when I had to go slower than I would have preferred in order to keep him from actually following me. Admittedly, I knew that would not last long. Indeed, like his shrinking mother, his dad was growing slower.

More than that, The Little Fellow was growing into a faster fellow.

He thinks that I am good and fine, / Believes in every word of mine; / The base in me he must not see, / The little chap who follows me.

I fondly remember one magical day 19 years ago – I know the date for it is in my running diary – when my 11-year-old Little Chap Who Follows Me and I went on a three-mile run together. Reaching the turnaround point, I was struggling not to be The Old Man Who Follows Him.

Shortly thereafter, sensing I had fallen slightly behind, he turned around and came back for me. I urged him to go on ahead, but he ignored every word of mine and ran alongside me at my pace the rest of the way. I had known this watershed day would arrive, but had thought it was further down the road of life.

I thought wrong. The future had arrived. A couple days later, midway up “The Long Monster Hill That Makes Your Legs Burn” – as he nicknamed this stretch of heartbreaking asphalt – I breathlessly insisted that The Little Fellow Who Follows Me go on ahead to the top. He flew off like Hermes.

I must remember as I go, / Through summer’s sun and winter’s snow; / I am building for the years to be / That little chap who follows me.

With summer’s sun setting, I crested the hill well after The Little Chap Who Follows Me. Seeing me, he waved and grinned a big toothy smile. Truth be told, I was even happier than he.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …

Final Goodbye To Role-Model Friend

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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A Final Goodbye To

Role-Model Friend

What do you say to a friend when you know it is the final goodbye?

I contemplated this heartbreaking question last month when, after three major surgeries and seven years of courageously battling incurable brain cancer, Larry Baratte entered hospice care. He would pass away shortly thereafter, five days shy of 61.

Searching impossibly for words remotely worth sharing at such a time, I kept circling back to the same thought – tell Larry his friendship and role-model-ship in my life have been John Wooden-like. Larry would well know I have no higher praise to offer.

To begin, Coach Wooden believed nothing is more important than “love” and “family.” I cannot imagine a family filled with more love than Larry’s – his dear wife, Beth, and their three adult sons, Chase, Collin and Cole.

Considering this similarity, and weighing what else to say, a new realization became clear: Four coaches have truly impacted my life. Interestingly, not as my sports coaches; rather, they have been life coaches to me.

This personal Mount Rushmore: John Wooden, Laszlo Tabori, Dick Gould and Larry Baratte.

Wooden’s teams won 10 NCAA basketball titles in a 12-year span; Tabori, the third man to break 4 minutes in the mile, coached three state championship junior college track teams, guided two pupils to marathon world records, and trained the distance runners at USC; and Gould, a Ventura native, coached the Stanford men’s tennis team to an astonishing 17 NCAA championships.

Larry measured up fully, coaching the Ventura College men’s and women’s swimming and water polo teams to 27 Western State Conference titles and two state championships.

As I said, however, it is not as athletic coaches that this Fab Four has influenced my life. It is by their example, their friendship, their inspiration.

“Put your guts to it!” Tabori would implore his Trojan runners, including my son. After befriending me, Laszlo preached this mantra in regards to my writing.

Wooden, naturally, instilled in me his 7-Point Creed: “Be true to yourself; Help others; Make each day your masterpiece; Drink deeply from good books; Make friendship a fine art; Build shelter against a rainy day; Pray for guidance and counsel, and give thanks for your blessings every day.”

Gould offers similar nuggets of wisdom, such as “Stress improvement, not perfection”; “Don’t take yourself too seriously, laugh at yourself, and have fun”; and “Be positive, walk tall, smile often, don’t complain or procrastinate.”

Likewise, Larry had his “How To Live” rules:

“Each day is a blessing.

“Give gratitude daily – life truly is a gift.

“Soak-in the beauty around you.

“Have your smile be your ‘resting face.’

“Slow down and be thankful every day!

“Give back to others anytime you have an opportunity!

“Default to KINDNESS – drown out the noise.

“Love deeply with a warm heart.

“Remember: You can get through anything – ANYTHING – with a positive attitude!

“Embrace the beautiful love of great friendships – it’s priceless!”

Larry lived genuinely by his rules. One personal example occurred a handful of years past when he attended a grand function in Los Angeles. After being introduced to John Wooden’s daughter, Nan, Larry did not ask her questions of his own interest. Instead, he thoughtfully made our friendship a fine art by bringing me into the conversation.

Driving home, Larry made my day a masterpiece by phoning to share: “When I mentioned you, Nan lit up and said, ‘Daddy loved Woody.’ ”

It remains a thrill I will never forget.

Larry was a friend I loved and will never forget. I am thankful I was able to tell him so.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …

Black Lives Matter – In All Ways

by Woody

FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM: @woodywoodburn

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Black Lives Matter –

– In All Ways

Words fail me right now, and greatly so as a white male, but nonetheless I feel I must try…

Black lives matter.

Black lives gave their lives in The Revolutionary War and Civil War, World Wars I and II, Korean and Vietnam, the Gulf War and Afghanistan and Iraq.

And, 76 years ago today on June 6, Black lives stormed the beaches at Normandy.

Black lives save lives as surgeons, E.R. nurses and chemotherapists; as firefighters and paramedics; as lifeguards and suicide hotline volunteers; and, yes, as police officers.

Black lives are 2.5 times more likely than whites to be killed by police.

Black lives ran into the burning Twin Towers on Sept. 11.

Black lives write novels and computer code and love letters.

Black lives rock babies to sleep and are rock stars, rock climbers and rocket scientists.

Black lives are journalists and biologists, perfectionists and pedicurists, artists and astrophysicists.

Black lives grow gardens, grow farms, grow dreams.

Black lives play the piano, guitar and drums; play video games, beer pong and paintball.

Black lives paint masterpieces, paint houses, “paint the outside corner” for strike three.

Black lives know Martin Luther King’s words “the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice” but wonder why it has bent so very little in America over the past 400 years.

Black lives bleed and weep, laugh and love, pray and raise families.

Young Black lives are much more likely to go hungry than white children.

Black lives read The Bible, The Quran, The Torah and all other religious texts.

Black lives also read Shakespeare and Steinbeck, Du Bois and Baldwin, Harry Potter and comic books.

Black lives march in protest for Black lives and also for rainbow ribbon-wearing lives and pink ribbon-wearing lives and jigsaw puzzle piece-wearing lives.

Black lives need us all to march with them, kneel with them, stand with them – and video record them whenever they are confronted by police.

Black lives give Valentine bouquets, wear prom corsages and boutonnières, place flowers on headstones.

Black lives earn GEDs and Doctorates.

Black lives are playwrights and poets, singers and songwriters, actors and musicians.

Black lives are butchers, bakers and NBA slam-dunk makers.

Black lives are Little Leaguers and Major Leaguers, hotdog vendors and ticket takers.

Black lives fill stadiums and arenas as entertainers, cheer in the stands, and sweep them clean afterward.

Black lives are preachers and teachers, mentors and renters, truck drivers and cancer survivors.

Black lives are astronauts and pilots, Uber drivers and limo riders, cyclists and skateboarders.

Black lives are small business owners and big captains of industry, minimum wage earners and millionaires, lemonade stand kids and startup entrepreneurs.

Black lives are charged on average, even after controlling for debt and credit history, 0.31 percentage points more in mortgage interest than white borrowers.

Black lives sing at birthday parties, dance at weddings, grieve at funerals.

Black lives gaze at the stars and make wishes for future generations while remembering those of the past.

Black lives are golden anniversary lovers and newlyweds, new parents and grandparents.

Black lives count their baby’s fingers and toes at birth; count their blessings on Thanksgiving; count through memories at reunions.

Black lives are our family members and loved ones, classmates and colleagues, neighbors and friends.

Black lives jog in the streets; walk home after buying Skittles; have cars that break down on the road; ask people to put their dog on a leash in the park; and cry out for their mother when they can’t breathe.

Black lives matter dearly.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …

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