Friendly Advice Yields Golden Memory

“When the student is ready,” a Buddhist proverb states, “the teacher will appear.”

            Or, as I happily experienced the other day, sometimes the wise friend appears.

            In this case, he showed up at happy hour. While the chips, salsa, guacamole and micro-brew were enjoyable, most appetizing of all – as usual with Scott – was the conversation. Scott belongs on a mountain peak, sitting cross-legged.

My wise friend and Renaissance man, Scott.

My friend is Renaissance man. He runs his own highly successful business yet favors flip-flops to wingtips. His interests include literature (he reads more than 100 books a year) and music (plays a killer harmonica) and travel (he is well on the way towards his goal of visiting every national park).

            But what I most admire about Scott is he is a role model of a family man. Happily married for three decades he has helped raise two amazing children. Importantly, Scott remains as close to his adult son and daughter now as when they were learning to ride two-wheelers.

            Our conversation turning to fatherhood, I asked Scott to share his magic formula. His parenting mission statement: “I made my kids my priority and always made time for them.”

            My remarkable friend then remarkably noted, matter-of-factly without a trace of conceit, that he only missed one of his daughter’s equestrian events when she was a national-class youth competitor and of more than 1,000 baseball games his son played in was absent from a mere two. That’s a hall-of-fame batting average.

            I felt a kinship for although my son did not run in 1,000 meets, from youth track and cross-country through four years of college competition I similarly missed only two races.

And my track record for my daughter’s sports and drama events was spotless – but only for another 24 hours, I confided to Scott.

I shared how my daughter played Dorothy in an elementary school play and despite attending the dress rehearsal I skipped covering two Lakers playoff games during the Magic Johnson Showtime Era to be at Opening and Closing Nights for “The Lizard of Ahhs.” In all, I saw all four performances and continued this streak through every production of two high school plays she wrote and a handful more in college and beyond.

Now my daughter was giving a reading of one of her published short stories at San Jose State’s Center for Steinbeck Studies and my proud run was about to end.

I had attended her first reading as a Steinbeck Fellow six months earlier but this time my wife would be on hand (and also visiting her mother for a milestone birthday) while I stayed home dog-sitting as our boxer does not fare well in the kennel.

I rationalized to Scott that I was just thankful to have not missed any big events when my daughter was young because it mattered more then.

“It matters even when they are grown,” Scott replied, wisely. After a brief pause he added in command: “You have to go.”

Robert Louis Stevenson was wrong when he wrote, “To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive.” Arriving the next evening was a far better thing than hopefully anticipating my daughter’s surprised delight during my 330-mile drive.

As expected, she teared up at seeing me – and I did likewise during her reading of an emotional story. Indeed, the 11 hours of travel sandwiched around a much-too-brief three-hour visit was well worth it. As Mark Twain observed, “To get the full value of joy you must have somebody to share it with.”

I had to share it with her in person.

I encourage you to similarly heed Scott’s sagacity with your own children, be they young or old. But, as my friend believes, does it truly matter as much when they are grown?

Here’s my answer: “Daddy, I’ll remember this for the rest of my life,” my daughter whispered in my ear during our goodbye hug.

But even that sweetness wasn’t the evening’s pinnacle for me. Trumping that is when my daughter saw me walk into the room she says she wasn’t really surprised.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Check out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

• Personalized signed copies are available at WoodyWoodburn.com
• Unsigned paperbacks or Kindle ebook can be purchased here at Amazon

Relax, Future Is In Great Hands

Earl Warren, Chief Justice of the United States from 1953 to 1969, famously ruled: “I always turn to the sports section first. The sports page records people’s accomplishments; the front page has nothing but man’s failures.”

            The sports world has since offered up a dissenting opinion. Today, Warren would spit out his morning coffee reading about performance-enhancing drug cheats, grade scandals and worse in the sports section.

Indeed, too often there are no pages to turn for people’s accomplishments.

Which is why I always look forward to late April when my favorite newspaper runs its annual “Star Scholar Awards” section, as it did once again earlier this week.

            The 31st edition honored 88 of Ventura County’s top seniors from the Class of 2014. To read their profiles is to feel a swell of pride and optimism for our collective future. Tomorrow is in good hands.

            The Star Scholars are the perfect tonic for widespread complaints like this: “I see no hope for the future of our people if they are dependent on frivolous youth of today, for certainly all youth are reckless beyond words. When I was young, we were taught to be discreet and respectful of elders, but the present youth are exceedingly (disrespectful) and impatient.”

            So grumbled Hesiod, a Greek poet in eighth century BC.

            Here’s a more recent criticism: “The world is passing through troublous times. The young people of today think of nothing but themselves. They talk as if they knew everything, and what passes for wisdom with us is foolishness with them. As for the girls, they are forward, immodest and unladylike in speech, behavior and dress.”

This denunciation was delivered in a sermon by Peter the Hermit, a priest and key figure during the First Crusade, in 1274.

            Things haven’t much changed in 2014. Today’s generation gets an earful about feeling entitled, playing video games, having inflated self-esteem, ad nauseam.

            To these naysayers I proudly point out The Star Scholars. Reading their 88 biographies almost makes you begin to think “ho-hum” about 4.3 and 4.5 and 4.8 grade point averages.

            Amazingly, the Star Scholars’ stratospheric GPAs are about the least amazing thing about them. Their consequence extends far beyond the classroom.

They don’t just play sports, they are team captains. They compete on basketball and tennis and volleyball courts – and in Mock Trial courts.

They are class presidents and philanthropists; violinists and black belts.

They act in plays; choreograph and perform dances; march in bands and play in orchestras.

They write for school newspapers and yearbooks; win ribbons at science fairs and medals in Academic Decathlon.

            They also collectively perform nearly as much volunteer work as the Red Cross and UNICEF combined. They lead blood drives and canned food drives – and drive the elderly to doctor appointments. They tutor youngsters and tidy up beaches. They assist at local hospitals and travel abroad on mercy missions.

For example, Aashal Patel – this year’s recipient of the special $5,000 Julius Gius Star Scholarship in recognition of The Star’s late esteemed editor – last summer made a three-week humanitarian trip to an orphanage in Africa. Mother Teresa would be pleased.

            You look at the resumes of these young role models and wonder when they find time to sleep. You figure they must have unraveled the space-time continuum and their days last 48 hours.

            Here is something else marvelous – each Star Scholar has numerous peers of great accomplishment at her/his school who are deserving of similar recognition. Indeed, I guarantee you The Star’s special 16-page section could have easily been 32 pages or even 64.

In the introduction to a collection of his “Editor’s Notebook” columns, Julius Gius wrote: “I have had a rich and rewarding life. Everything has come up roses for me. … I count my blessings every day and wish them for everyone.”

The future looks more rosy thanks to youth like these Star Scholars. It seems fitting there are 88 of them, one for each key on a piano, for they promise to create beautiful music in the decades to come.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Check out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

• Personalized signed copies are available at WoodyWoodburn.com
• Unsigned paperbacks or Kindle ebook can be purchased here at Amazon

Turning The Forum Over To My Readers

Rarely has one of my columns received greater response than last week’s about Chris Prewitt, a truly remarkable man/husband/father/son/friend/educator/role model who was tragically killed at age 38 during a marathon training run when he was hit by a driver who has pleaded guilty to felony gross vehicular manslaughter while under the influence of alcohol or drugs.

            Along with sharing some of these heartfelt notes, below too are some light-hearted suggestions from readers regarding my recent non-presidential Mount Rushmores column.

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From Larry Seguin: “Chris’ father, Choyce, is a friend of mine. We have lunch together with some other friends on most Mondays.

“At the beginning of March, Choyce brought Chris to lunch. It was the first time I had met him. An hour later, as we were leaving, I told Chris what an absolute pleasure it had been to meet him. I meant it from the bottom of my heart.

“I had no idea I would never have that pleasure again. I can tell you, from that one meeting, what an honor and privilege it was to have met such a wonderful young man. I can honestly say I will never forget him.”

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From Tom Spence, a Mount Rushmore of Funny Brothers: “Groucho, Harpo, Chico, Zeppo (sorry Gummo).” He added a Mount Rushmore of Non-Related Comedians: “Richard Pryor, Steve Martin, George Carlin, Chris Rock.”

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From Chris Lang: “I only knew Chris briefly in 1996 as a young man and coach of the Newbury Park High School girls’ water polo team my daughter’s freshman year.

“I am sure that in the next 18 years of his life he touched so many students and student-athletes, as well as parents, co-workers, friends and family. They all are better people for having known him.”

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Julie Merrick suggested a Mount Rushmore of Beatles Songs: “Let It Be, Yesterday, Strawberry Fields Forever, and I Want To Hold Your Hand. (My thoughts today.)”

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From Larry Baratte, who coached Prewitt in water polo (1993-94) and swimming (1994-95) at Ventura College: “Chris and I remained a part of each other’s lives twenty years after our first meeting.

“I knew him, loved him, and saw his great potential at an early age. He lived out every bit of that potential. Only the extent of his reach, in terms of the number of lives he personally affected, was cut short.

“Chris is gone and I, too, thought of all the future students who will miss the chance to have this man come into their lives and make a lasting impression. But I have seen evidence this week that his enduring message will continue in the words and actions of those very students that he touched. I find great comfort in this.

“My thoughts and prayers continue to center on his wife and daughter, along with his extended family. This void will never be filled for them. For the rest of us who knew him and loved him there is simply an overwhelming sense of loss combined with a feeling of great gratitude for having him in our lives.”

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Dallas Woodburn had a complaint with my Mount Rushmores: “You didn’t include Greatest Chick Flicks – When Harry Met Sally, Sleepless in Seattle, You’ve Got Mail and Serendipity!”

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Prewitt’s legacy reaches far and wide, as evidenced by Dave Stancliff who wrote from Oregon: “So sorry to hear about what happened to this great man/artist. I didn’t need to personally know him to respect him. I knew him as Mr. Moore back in my school days. I still honor his memory.

“Mr. Moore was my fifth-grade English teacher. He helped channel my energy into something positive – writing. With his encouragement, I found a way to express myself. Not a good talker. No musical ability. Can’t dance. But, thanks to Mr. Moore I write . . . and write.”

Indeed, Mr. Stancliff was my very first newspaper editor and remains one of the finest writers I know.

If we are lucky, we all have our own Mr. Moore in our lives. For countless people, their personal Mount Rushmore includes Mr. Chris Prewitt.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Check out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

• Personalized signed copies are available at WoodyWoodburn.com
• Unsigned paperbacks or Kindle ebook can be purchased here at Amazon

 A Tip: Serve Up A Little Generosity

Good morning and welcome to today’s column. When you are done reading, please drop a tip in the mail.

This is what the world is coming to, it seems. Asking for tips.

Tip jars. Tip glasses. Tip bowls, boxes and buckets. I have even seen a tip abalone shell. You see them everywhere. In cafes, coffee houses and bagel shops. In burrito huts, pizza parlors, burger joints. Doughnut shops, ice cream shops, sandwich shops.

I half expect my bank teller to put out a tip jar soon.

“Tips!”

“Tips, Please!”

“Leave your change, will ya!”

Actually, I haven’t seen the latter sign on a jar or conch shell – yet. But I did see a humorous threat in the pick-up window of a gourmet food truck: “Every Time You Don’t Tip A Child Gets A Mullet Haircut.”

Yes, as Bob Dylan sang, “The times they are a-changin’.”

Rather, these are “Got any loose change?” times.

At first blush these solicitations can leave a customer cold. I mean, why should you tip the barista who made your double-mocha-skinny-latte? Or the cashier who rings up the take-out order you are picking up? Isn’t that their job?

Well, yes. But is it not a waitresses/waiter’s job to take your order, serve your food and clear the table? Sure it is, yet we think nothing of leaving them a tip.

Actually, sometimes we think A LOT about it – as in trying to mentally calculate percentages to know how much to tip. But I digress.

The point is this: It is expected that we leave tips in sit-down restaurants because the waitstaff depends on “gratuities” to bring their pay at least up to minimum wage.

Personally, I wish all restaurant owners would just raise their menu prices 20 percent and pass 100 percent of this bump along to workers and save us the math-induced migraine.

The thing is, if anyone could use a booster shot for anemic wages more than waitresses and busboys it is hamburger helpers and teen-agers scooping ice cream.

And while 15 or 20 percent of a nice restaurant bill can be a tidy sum, a similar tip on a take-away bagel breakfast or pizza lunch deal is certainly not going to make you fall shy on your next car payment.

And yet how often do we ignore the tip jar/glass/bowl/box/bucket/abalone shell? Sometimes, if you are at all like me, your intentions are good but the paltry change you receive back from the cashier seems like an insult to drop in the tip jar.

This isn’t a valid excuse because folding money is what we really should drop in. A dollar or two still often falls short of a 15-percent tip.

You will be surprised how grateful the person behind the counter will be for a two-buck tip. Drop an Abraham Lincoln or Alexander Hamilton in the jar/glass/bowl/box/bucket/abalone shell and you will almost see cartwheels of gratitude.

Indeed, I now embrace tip jars because the workers truly make it feel like you have given a “gratuity” instead of giving something expected.

In fact, I am disappointed when there isn’t a tip jar. This was especially the case when my take-out tab was nine cents over an even-dollar amount and I had no dime or any change. Nine cents was too much to take from the spare-penny dish, so I was doomed to getting back a pocketful of loose change.

Then my luck changed. The young man behind the counter gave me one of my dollar bills back, smiled, reached into his pocket and dropped his own dime into the register.

            With no tip jar, beyond a warm thank you the only gratuity I could give was to sing his praises to the manager.

And if you really want a philanthropic feeling for very little cost, tip a kid running a lemonade stand. I recently stopped to buy a $1 glass from two cute young girls.

Their glee made it the best five bucks I can remember spending in a long time when I put the change of four singles in – what else? – their decorated tip jar.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Check out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

• Personalized signed copies are available at WoodyWoodburn.com
• Unsigned paperbacks or Kindle ebook can be purchased here at Amazon

 Mr. Nice Guy? He Just Clocked Out

If you were expecting 700 words of nice this morning, phone your grandma. I’m still in an I’m Tired From Springing Forward And Losing One Hour Of Sleep kind of mood.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Daylight Saving Time – I just get annoyed we keep turning the clocks back each fall.

I get annoyed when I buy a new “anything” and three weeks later a better version comes out – often costing less.

I get annoyed when the updated model of my favorite running shoes now only comes in a color scheme that would make a clown blush.

I get annoyed when autocorrect makes me look like a stop sign cool – er, stupid fool.

I get annoyed when I read the news crawl across the bottom of the TV screen and then lose track of what the news anchor is saying.

I get annoyed when the Santa Ana winds make a mess the day after I did yard work.

I get annoyed when I’m watching a sporting event on TV and the sideline reporter interviews a celebrity in the stands, and the producer insists on showing the celebrity full-screen while the game action is shrunk into a tiny insert frame where I can’t see a darn thing. Vice versa please!

I get annoyed by knuckleheads – yo-yo-heads my daughter calls them.

I get annoyed when yo-yo-head politicians open their mouths.

I get annoyed when Paul McCartney closes his mouth after the final encore.

I get annoyed when my yo-yo-head picks basically eliminate me from the NCAA Basketball Tournament bracket pool by the end of the first weekend.

I get annoyed that school children see a need to send military care packages filled with requested items like sun block, ChapStick, socks, underwear, flip-flops, Pringles, powdered Crystal Light, Oreos, trail mix, jerky, granola bars and gum. If our troops want these items, the military should be providing them! Let kids send letters, cards and handmade items.

I get annoyed when my dental insurance won’t pay if I schedule a cleaning even one day less than a full six months apart.

I get angry when instead of a “12 Angry Men”-like verdict of justice I feel a trial has been decided by 12 Dopey Men And Women.

            I get annoyed when I see litter anywhere – most especially cigarette butts on our beaches.

            Closing on an upbeat, a recent post titled “10 Customer Service Stories That Will Restore Your Faith In Humanity” on blog.bufferapp.com did not annoy me.

            My favorite of the 10 happened after a young boy named Luka Apps spent his Christmas gift money on a Lego Ninjago named Jay XZ, only to lose the toy ninja when he brought it along on errands against his dad’s advice.

            Devastated, Luka wrote to Lego and explained his mistake while promising to be much more careful in the future if they would replace it.

            A customer support rep named Richard responded like an action figure hero brought to life, telling the boy he had talked to Sensei Wu (a Ninjago character) and further writing: “He told me to tell you, ‘Luka, your father seems like a very wise man. You must always protect your Ninjago minifigures like the dragons protect the Weapons of Spinjitzu!’

“Sensei Wu also told me it was okay if I sent you a new Jay and told me it would be okay if I included something extra for you because anyone that saves their Christmas money to buy the Ultrasonic Raider must be a really big Ninjago fan.

“So, I hope you enjoy your Jay minifigure with all his weapons. You will actually have the only Jay minifigure that combines 3 different Jays into one! I am also going to send you a bad guy for him to fight!

“Just remember, what Sensei Wu said: keep your minifigures protected like the Weapons of Spinjitzu! And of course, always listen to your dad.”

I’m annoyed I didn’t think to write to Hasbro when I was Luka’s age after I broke a leg off my G.I. Joe scuba diver only days after buying it with my saved allowance money.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Check out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

• Personalized signed copies are available at WoodyWoodburn.com
• Unsigned paperbacks or Kindle ebook can be purchased here at Amazon

Rain, Snow and the Art of Appreciation

As you were drifting off to sleep during the recent storms, did you hear the nighttime raindrops dancing on your rooftop?

I mean really hear nature’s symphony? To these ears, a Mozart piano concerto was never lovelier.

            And after the clouds cleared did you see the Monet-like brushstrokes left behind on our mountains? To be honest, I missed them until a friend shared an encounter she had during her daily morning walk.

            Standing smack-dab in the middle of the street in her neighborhood was a man she had never before seen. Her first thought was, “What is he doing?” And a second: “I hope he doesn’t get run over.”

            As she passed, the man said, “I was just taking a moment before work to appreciate the snow on the mountains. We just moved here.”

            With that he climbed into his truck and drove off, his day off to a grander start than had he been in a hurried rush.

            As my friend noted afterwards: “We hear all the time about gratitude; appreciation for little things; things we take for granted. Find them – just don’t get hit by a car!”

Sometimes we all need reminders of our blind spots, our deaf spots, of things – both little and large – we take for granted. We need fresh counsel on an old maxim by Walter Hagen: “Don’t hurry. Don’t worry. You’re only here for a short visit. So don’t forget to stop and smell the roses.”

Also, stop and look at the snow on the mountains.

            “The journey is better than the inn,” is how Cervantes poetically put this Zen-like ideal in the 17 th century.

            Much more recently in “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry into Values,” first published in 1974, Robert M. Pirsig wrote about climbing a mountain and how too many people focus only on reaching its summit:

“When you’re no longer thinking ahead, each footstep isn’t just a means to an end but a unique event in itself. THIS leaf has jagged edges. THIS rock looks loose. These are things you should notice. To live only for some future goal is shallow. It’s the sides of the mountain which sustain life, not the top. Here’s where things grow.”

Here’s where things grow, indeed, and life’s sustaining pleasures happen.

Here’s where mountains are frosted with snow.

Here’s where children laugh on a merry-go-round and smile as melting ice cream drips down their chins and scream with delight when a rogue wave crashes into a sandcastle.

Here’s firefly-like sparks rising above a glowing campfire.

Here’s a child’s kite and a Monarch butterfly both dancing on a shared breeze.

Here’s where the shade beneath the canopy of a magnificent oak is perfect for reading or napping or daydreaming.

Here’s a seagull gracefully suspended without even flapping its wings.

Here’s a father running alongside as his young daughter learns to ride a two-wheeler, the girl unaware her dad is no longer holding the seat to provide balance.

Here’s a speedy mother pushing a jogging stroller, both faces joyous.

Here’s noticing the new beauty in a loved one’s face you have stared at a million times before.

Here’s a friend’s smile and a dog’s tail wag.

Here’s the Ventura Pier, in its own way as majestic as the Eiffel Tower.

Here’s the Channel Islands, as beautiful as Yosemite’s Half Dome.

Here’s a boy tracking mud inside and a Zen-like mother wise enough to know she will too soon miss his messes.

Here’s wildflowers blossoming in springtime and stars doing likewise at nighttime.

Here’s a balletic surfer using the face of a wave as her canvas.

Here’s a painting, as imaginative and wonderful as anything by Picasso, held by magnets on a refrigerator door.

Here’s Two Trees standing sentinel in evening silhouette.

Here’s “young love” walking hand-in-hand along the beach – and old lovers doing so, too.

Here’s the arrival gate at the airport.

Here’s an inspiring sunrise and a clear sunset, and also here’s thunderclouds and a rainbow afterwards.

Here’s where memories grow.

Here’s a reminder to take time to look at the snow-capped mountains – and at all of the “roses” along life’s journey.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com

Check out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

• Personalized signed copies are available at WoodyWoodburn.com
• Unsigned paperbacks or Kindle ebook can be purchased here at Amazon