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Hurricane Katrina will go down in history as the storm with the fourth lowest pressure. It is in the top 5 storms in recorded history for pressure. For a time, it was a category 5, slightly turning to the east so that the eye would not strike New Orleans directly. The burdens that those in New Orleans, Gulfport, Biloxi and other parts of Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama had to bear, you and I can only  imagine. It was a disaster of monumental proportions, one that those in the deep south are still trying to recover from. There always seems to be another storm threatening nearby. When you stop to consider your own burdens, in the face of what others find themselves dealing with, consider yourself very fortunate. How light our burdens seem..

In the second hour of the program tonight, we deal with the Frankenstein monster. I became reacquainted with Dr. Frankenstein’s pitiful creation while we stayed there back in the late 90’s. While there I took some time to browse through some antiquarian booksellers, and came back with some collector’s edition’s of poetry and prose.

There was one bookseller on the street where we stayed. That I’m sure now is almost completely destroyed by the flooding.. Books were piled high on the shelves from floor to ceiling.. To browse through the stacks was a feast for all the senses. To run your fingers along the cover of books that are long out of print. There is a certain smell associated with antiquarian bookstores.. I would imagine today that all that history and lore is lost. This bookseller was noted for his collection of first editions, books over a hundred years in age. He also carried old maps of the city itself. Some of these books were purchased at estate auctions from the private libraries of families who have spanned the generations in that old city.. Today, I can imagine the loss of some of these one-of-a-kind editions..

Just up the street, on the other side, was a little shop that sold antique mirrors-selling for thousands of dollars apiece.. The proprietor welcomed us like family. She wanted to know everything about us- where we came from, she wanted to see pictures of our kids, and took the time to fill in some of the details about the city’s past- even though she knew we weren’t there to buy.

In another shop that sold almost priceless, antique dolls, the owner made sure he recommended a restaurant with exactly what we were looking for, at a reasonable price. Just describing his fondness for the menu, he said he was tempted to close up shop and join us for lunch. I’ve often wondered what happened to these businesses in the face of all the looting after that storm of historic proportions.

It seems that in every hurricane season in recent memory there has been some monster somewhere lurking over the horizon. Some of them will stay out at sea and eventually creep into cooler waters and their intensity will lessen. Others will ply the same path that previous monsters have chosen. Our thoughts and prayers go out to those now and in the future who have the courage to face the monster head-on.

***

Don Jackson

“When I was 15, I had lucky underwear. When that failed, I had a lucky hairdo, then a lucky race number, even lucky race days. After 15 years, I’ve found the secret to success is simple. It’s hard work.” -Margaret Groos (Marathon Runner) from Runner’s World, and featured in the Points to Ponder column of the June  2001 issue of the Reader’s Digest.

Tonight’s blog is another simple one- what constitutes success in life…these writings will enhance others featured in the second hour of my program tonight..

Someone once said said: “Success is a failure turned inside out…” Another person said: ” The only place you find success-before work- is in the dictionary.” Another writer believed: “There are four rungs on the ladder of success: / Plan purposefully, / Prepare prayerfully, / Proceed positively, / Pursue persistently.”

“Success? It is all about being able to extend love to people. Not in a big, capital-letter sense, but in the everyday, little by little, gesture by gesture, word by word.”-The actor, Ralph Fiennes, quoted by Dotson Rader in Parade, and featured in the Points to Ponder column of the February 2002 Reader’s Digest.

Helen Keller believed: “Character cannot be developed in peace and quiet. Only through experiences of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, vision be cleared, ambition insured, and success achieved.”

“Success does not necessarily mean that we must earn a great deal of money and live in the biggest house in town. It means only that we are daily engaged in striving toward a goal that we have independently chosen and feel is worthy of us as persons. A goal, whatever it may be, is what gives meaning to our existence. It is the carrot on the stick that keeps us striving-that keeps us interested- That gives us a reason for getting out of bed in the morning.” -Earl Nightingale, and featured in the Points to Ponder column of the July 1983 issue of the Reader’s Digest.

“When we are young-and some of us never get over it- we are apt to think that applause, conspicuousness and fame constitute success. But they are only trappings, the trimmings. Success itself is the work, the achievement that evokes these manifestations. The man or woman who values the applause more than the effort necessary to elicit it is not apt to be deafened-at least not for any length of time. Concentrate on your work and the applause will take care of itself.” -B.C. Forbes in Forbes Magazine, and featured in the Points to Ponder column of the July 1984 issue of the Reader’s Digest.

If you want a guideline to success in every aspect of your life, the I think I just presented you a beginning blueprint..

***

Don Jackson

“Nobody is one block of harmony. We are all afraid of something, or feel limited in something. We all need somebody to talk to. But maybe instead of going to a psychiatrist, it would be good if we talked to each other–not just pitter-patter. But really talk. We shouldn’t be so afraid, because most people really like this contact; that you show you are vulnerable makes themfree to be vulnerable too. And then we don’t wear these masks. It’s so much easier to be together when we drop our masks.”–Liv Ullmann on relationships, and featured in the Points To Ponder column of the November 1983 issue of the Reader’s Digest magazine.

Why is real conversation between two loving people–friends, family–sometimes like pulling teeth? To some, I guess, silence is more comfortable. I would prefer hearing something from the heart, something that makes me consider my answer carefully, that gets me thinking.

I accompanied my sister and my niece to a dental surgeon’s office today. My niece needed to have her wisdom teeth removed. I have a great dentist. He tolerates a lot with me. I’ve never been comfortable in the dentist chair no matter what needed to be done. But he has helped me to overcome my anxiety.

My sister and I got talking about that today. We’re both from a generation that didn’t hide the unpleasant things like they do today. When we went to the dentist as kids, the pliers and the picks were laid out on a tray that was carefully situated directly in front of the patient. When we sat back in that chair–that in those days resembled a barber’s chair–we sometimes had time before the dentist walked in to contemplate the tools of the trade. Dentists today hide all the nasty stuff in drawers behind the patient. You never see what’s needed to do the job until the work actually begins. (I never do, because my eyes are closed!) My niece was actually quite comfortable with what was on the agenda. She was going to be asleep during the procedure. We were left awake in the waiting room, wondering why it was taking so long…

…And believe it or not, in the deep, dark past, the local barber was also the dentist, so it doesn’t surprise me that the chair I remember resembled the same one I sat in to get my hair cut. (Maybe that’s why I preferred long hair in my youth…)

My niece had an appointment with the dental surgeon who removed my wisdom teeth. I mentioned that fact to the nurse in the recovery room when my niece was just about ready to leave. She took one look at me and commented on the fact that the surgeon had been in practice for well over 25 years. I told her that he had done the procedure within the past ten years. Her comment to me was something like, “Had trouble parting with them, did you?” Truth be told, they had given me problems throughout my whole life, but I was too fearful to have them taken out. Had I known then what I know now, I would have had them removed twenty years earlier.

This is the time of year when students get their wisdom teeth removed. It’s done in the summer before school starts. (And I thought fighting the crowds getting back-to-school supplies was something to be avoided!)

The reason I bring this to your attention in this blog is the fact that sitting out there today waiting, I knew what my wife went through the day I was in there. I was blissfully asleep, unaware of what might have been going through her mind. She was alone in the waiting room that day. My sister had me for moral support. We took advantage of the time together to get caught up on all the news, share some wonderful memories from our life, remember our parents fondly, and that helped to make the waiting bearable.

“The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing, and face us with the reality of our powerlessness, that is the friend who cares.” -Henri Nouwen, on friendship, from Out of Solitude, published by Ave Maria Press

***

Don Jackson

“–Open the balcony-window. / The hour of illusions draws near. … / The afternoon has gone to sleep / –and the bells dream.”–Antonio Machado y Ruiz from the collection World Poetry published by the Quality Paperback Book Club.

 I’ve often said during my show that I have one of the best views in the city. I may not be that high up, but I’m surrounded on two sides by huge sound-proofed windows that afford me an idea of what is going on in the world while I do this radio show. My daughter called me just the other night during one of the most recent thunderstorms. I happened to be looking south toward the lake when the sky lit up with a huge lightning bolt. It probably hit the CN Tower because the flash was intense. She wondered why I went silent for a moment. And then I tried to explain what I had just seen, and found the words difficult to come by.

I recently featured a story about two men in a hospital room. One was by a window and other due to illness needed to lie flat on his back at all times. The one at the window felt sorry for his room-mate and took to describing everything he could see outside the window. He described people in the park, the majestic trees, the clouds in a blue sky and so many other wonderful things that the bedridden patient began to become envious. The man by the window suddenly passes away. The one next to him asks the nurse if he can be placed by the window. He painfully tries to elevate himself to be able to see all the wonderful sights the other man had explained. When he finally looked out through the window he saw that it faced a blank wall. The nurse also told him the man who described all the wonders was actually blind… He knew the man by the window was dying and did nothing to call the nurse. He wanted the view to himself…

There was a great Alfred Htchcock film from 1954 called Rear Window that starred Jimmy Stewart and Grace Kelly. He has broken his leg and is propped up in a chair looking out the windows in his apartment. He is a newspaper photographer and, to pass the time, he watches those who live nearby. He believes he sees a crime committed, and sets out to try to solve it on his own with the help of his girlfriend. It was based on a story by Cornell Woolrich. Of course, to make things more interesting, we really don’t know if what he has witnessed is really a murder, or whether his over-active imagination is playing games with him. Nevertheless, he runs the risk of being targeted by the person he is convinced has done the deed. I mention this because the windows on our world can present us with nature at its most beautiful and, occasionally, the reality of a world gone slightly mad.

There are times when we yearn to open the blinds and let the sun shine in. Other times, we’re thankful to be able to draw the curtains closed to shut the world out.

***

Don Jackson

Since our second hour is taken up with a ‘colorful’ fable, I thought you might appreciate reading this…It is author unknown. I have featured it in the past. If you ever do find out who wrote this, please let me know so that I can give credit where credit is due.

This is called The Colors of Friendship - author unknown

“Once upon a time, the colors of the world started to quarrel.. All claimed that they were the best.. the most important.. the most useful.. the most beautiful.. the favorite.

“GREEN said: ‘Clearly, I am the most important. I am the sign of life and of hope.. I was chosen for grass, trees and leaves.. without me, all animals would die.. Look over the countryside and you will see that I am in the majority.’

“BLUE interrupted: ‘You only think about the earth but consider the sky and the sea.. It is the water that is the basis of life and drawn up by the clouds from the deep sea.. The sky gives space and peace and serenity.. Without my peace, you would all be nothing.’

“YELLOW chuckled: ‘You are all so serious. I bring laughter, gaiety, and warmth into the would.. The sun is yellow, the moon is yellow, the stars are yellow.. Every time you look at a sunflower, the whole world starts to smile.. Without me, there would be no fun.’

“ORANGE started next to blow her trumpet: ‘I am the color of health and strength.. I may be scarce, but I am precious.. For I serve the needs of human life.. I carry the most important vitamins. Think of carrots, pumpkins, oranges, mangoes and papayas. I don’t hang around all the time, but when I fill the sky at sunrise or sunset, my beauty is so striking that no one gives another thought to any of you.’

RED could stand it no longer. He shouted out: ‘I am the rules of all of you.. I am blood - life’s blood! I am the color of danger and of bravery.. I am willing to fight for a cause. I bring fire into the blood. Without me, the earth would be as empty as the moon. I am the color of passion and of love, the red rose, the poinsettia and the poppy.’

“PURPLE rose up to his full height.. He was very tall and spoke with great pomp: ‘I am the color of royalty and power.. Kings, chiefs, and bishops have always chosen me.. For I am the sign of authority and wisdom. People do not question me! They listen and obey!’

“Finally, INDIGO spoke, much more quietly than all the others, but with just as much determination: ‘Think of me.. I am the color of silence.. You hardly notice me, but without me you all become superficial. I represent thought and reflection, twilight and deep water. You need me for balance and contrast, for prayer and inner peace.’

And so the colors went on boasting, each convinced of his or her own superiority..

Their quarreling became louder and louder. Suddenly there was a startling flash of bright lightning.. Thunder rolled and boomed.. Rain started to pour down relentlessly. The colors crouched down in fear, drawing close to one another for comfort.. In the midst of the clamor, rain began to speak: ‘You foolish colors, fighting amongst yourselves, each trying to dominate the rest.. Don’t you know that you were each made for a special purpose, unique and different. Join hands with one another and come to me..’

Doing as they were told, the colors united and joined hands. The rain continued; ‘From now on, when it rains, each of you will stretch across the sky in a great bow of color as a reminder that you can all live in peace.. The rainbow is a sign of hope for tomorrow.’ And so, whenever a good rain washes the world, and a rainbow appears in the sky, let us remember to appreciate one another..”

***

Don Jackson

“Readers usually grossly underestimate their own importance. If a reader cannot create a book along with the writer, the book will never come to life. Creative involvement: that’s the difference between reading a book and watching TV.

“In watching TV, we are passive sponges; we do nothing. In reading we must become creators, imagining the setting of the story, seeing the facial expressions, hearing the inflection of the voices. The author and the reader ‘know’ each other; they meet on the bridge of words.” –Madeleine L’Engle from Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art, published by Harold Shaw.

One of the oldest books I have in my library was published in the 1800s. Its binding is beginning to fall apart, some of its pages are tattered, it has a bit of a musty smell, and yet it is one of my favorite books. A friend once loaned me a few very old volumes from her collection of books. When presented with one of these books, they are handled with extreme care. Any antiquarian bookseller would agree. In fact, they might even wear gloves before opening the cover and turning a page.

When we were in Kingston for hockey in the late summer of last year, I returned some very old books to the library at the university there for this friend. One of the very first blogs I wrote told the story. I was relieved to pass it over the counter to the librarian. I did not want to be in possession of a piece of history that fragile. It was a one-of-a-kind book, probably the only copy in existence. There is another blog that deals with old books that I wrote that you might want to look up.

My collection has a few very old books and they have earned a special place reserved just for them. They are all irreplaceable because they are at the heart of what this radio show is all about. Some of the words I feature that have touched your heart have been found in some of these books.

I thought I might include some of my favorite writings about books in this blog tonight.

“Vigorous writing is concise. A sentence should contain no unnecessary words, a paragraph no unnecessary sentences for the same reason a drawing should have no unnecessary lines and a machine no unnecessary parts.

“This requires that the writer make all his sentences short, or that he avoid all detail and treat his subjects only in outline, but that every word tell.”–William Strunk Jr., and E. B. White from The Elements of Style, published by MacMillan.

“Books say, ‘She did this because.’ Life says, ‘She did this.’ Books are where things are explained to you; life is where things aren’t. I’m not surprised some people prefer books. Books make sense. The only problem is that the lives they make sense of are other people’s lives, never your own.”–Julian Barnes from Flaubert’s Parrot, published by Knopf.

“Literature duplicates the experience of living in a way that nothing else can, drawing you so fully into another life that you temporarily forget you even have one of your own. That is why you read it, and might even sit up in  bed till dawn, throwing your whole tomorrow out of whack, simply to find out what happens to some people who–you know perfectly well–are made up.”–Barbara Kingsolver from High Tide in Tucson, published by HarperCollins.

I don’t just buy old books. There’s no denying that I love to spend a day in antique shops that sell old books. I’m also a regular fixture in the chains that sell new books, always looking for something that will enhance your listening experience.

On the occasion of the birthday of one of the great science fiction novelists of all time, tonight I present a tribute to the writing style of Ray Bradbury. I’ve saved one of the best excerpts from his writing for last…

“Half the fun of travel is the aesthetic of lostness. Not being able to put Piccadilly together with Regent Street to distant Charing Cross, that is deliciousness. To go down the Spanish Steps in Rome and–vanish. To go out in Paris midnight crowds and wonder why you love it so, as texture after texture drifts by and you wish you could walk forever.” Ray Bradbury from California, and featured in the Points To Ponder column of the August 1984 issue of the Reader’s Digest.

I hope you’ll get “lost” with me tonight in some of his prose that almost reads like poetry…

Ray Bradburywas born August 22nd, 1920 in Waukegan, Illinois.

***

Don Jackson

“Watching alone by the ancient city wall, / Thinking of one who was too beautiful, / What did I see? What did I hear?

“Moonlight, quivering over empty courtyards, / A voice calling out of the midnight shadows. / One name, her name, echoes across the silence. / Light feet, her feet, in shoes of peacock feathers, / Dance through the empty halls. Will they never rest?

“Thinking of joys that ended and sorrows which never end / I find my white robe spangled with tears for her.” Thinking Of Lady Yang At Midnight by an Anonymous writer (c. 1100-1150) translated by Jean S. Grigsby and included in the collection, World Poetry: An Anthology of Verse from Antiquity to Our Time, edited by Katherine Washburn and John S. Major. the collection was published by the Quality Paperback Book Club, New York.

Shoes of peacock feathers? I don’t know if the idea would catch on today. My father would have preferred fine leather…

We have every style of shoe imaginable today for sale. Sport shoes for those who run, hike and walk. Dress shoes for every fancy occasion. Sandals so our toes can experience the warm summer breeze and the sensation of sand between them when we walk the beach. We have safety shoes for those who work on construction sites. No longer are they merely functional and clumsy; they’re also easy to wear and still offer the protection needed. It’s not such a stretch to consider a wardrobe of shoes like a closet filled with clothing for all moods and occasions. Imelda Marcos took her obsession with shoes to the extreme, but there are some people who yearn to collect beautiful footwear.

My father spent his life in the leather business. He could look at any pair of shoes and tell you all about the leather that went into their making.

I remember going into the office with him in my youth when he needed to finish a project he was working on. That office would seem almost archaic by today’s standards, more a museum piece than functional workspace. His office included manual typewriters, electric adding machines, blotters on well-polished wooden desks and rotary dial phones. There was no air conditioning, either. The windows in his office opened to let in a breeze during summer.

His brother worked as the night watchman for the plant. If my father needed quiet to get his work finished, I would go with my uncle on his rounds through the factory complex. He carried a special recorder that needed to have a key inserted at every one of the watch station he passed on his rounds. There were mice in the deep, dark corners of the factory. I could hear them scurrying away as he and I entered the cavernous rooms. The machinery was deafening during the day when the plant was filled with workers, but strangely quiet at night. When my father had put his books and ledgers away, he would drop by my uncle’s office to take me home. He often found me putting out some of my uncle’s lunch on the windowsill for the raccoons that always came by for a meal.

My business has changed so much throughout the years, from 45’s and commercials on carts, to digital audio tape and then cds, and finally to computer systems. A lot has changed in this world, but the process of making fine leather is still basically the same. Even years after my father retired, he still retained his passion for the business that he lived for so many years.

I mention all of this because my father was born during the month of August. He passed on fifteen years ago before both my children were born. When we take my children for back-to-school shopping and shoes are on the list, I can’t help but think of him and all that he taught me about fine shoe leather.

***

Don Jackson

Tonight on the program, the origin of something very mysterious that takes place every August called “Cat Nights.”

I must admit that I’m more a dog person than I am a cat person. I grew up with both as family pets. We had a cat by the name of ‘Toby‘ when I was small. He was jet-black except for a white ‘bow-tie’ beneath his chin. We never saw very much of ‘Toby‘ at this time of the year. He would ask to be let out at night and would sometimes disappear for days. My mother and father often feared the worst had happened when he would not be at the door the next morning. I can only imagine where his ’soirees” were spent. When he was home, he would wander off to hide under some piece of furniture. He was stereotypical of the definition of ‘aloof’. Indifferent to his human hosts, he decided when it was time for a back-rub and when it was feeding time.

We also had a standard black poodle called ‘Princess’. She was always around and eager for attention. Any game was just fine with her. I don’t think we ever played frisbee with her, but she had toys that she knew to drop at our feet if we were busy with something other than her. Her favorite spot was beneath the big kitchen table. I was known to crawl under the table and lie down beside her from time to time.

My wife had a cat when we married. Her name was ‘Kimo‘. I don’t think I ever told you the story of our move here to Toronto from Montreal. I started on the air at CHFI in January of 1990. The day before New Year’s eve, we left at 7 in the evening to beat the moving van that would be here early the next day. I was driving my little two-seater, a 1988 Toyoto supercharged MR2. (Look in a past blog called “981” for a picture of the first license plate this car had in Ontario.) We packed what we needed right away in my little trunk, and my wife sat beside me with the special cat-carrier on her lap. That drive, I will never forget. We ran through every imaginable form of bad weather on the drive between Montreal and here. Snow, rain, freezing rain. My car plowed through a few snowdrifts that the wind conveniently placed in my path. Since we were traveling late at night on long, dark stretches of highway, I wouldn’t see the drifts until we were almost upon them. Any other trip, I would have gladly pulled in at a roadside motel. We had to beat the moving van that needed the key to get in the front door of our house. Now, dogs love riding in cars. In summer, they love to hang their heads out through the open windows. One thing I learned very quickly: cats detest moving vehicles - especially in their inside one. That poor animal…She howled all the way. We had no other choice but to place her in the carrier fearing the terrible driving conditions. We all made it safely, though, at a little after 3 in the morning. A trip that normally takes about five hours in the car in good weather took us about eight that night. My nerves were frayed from the drive, and the cat. Over the course of the rest of her life, I never heard her ’sing’ like she did that night in the car. Sadly, she passed on some years back. We kept her collar, and every year at Christmas it has a special place on out tree.

For my all-time favorite feline, it’s a toss-up between Sylvester the cat and Garfield. Both were given human characteristics by their creators, and I often wonder if they were cat people. I still get a laugh when I watch one of those retro-cartoon channels and see Sylvester and his tormentor Tweety Bird. Garfield was Jon Arbuckle’s tormentor. I still get a chuckle from reading his antics in the Sunday paper.

We now have a little Schnoodle who is master of all she surveys. She’s been with us for eight years. A schnoodle is part-poodle, part-schnauzer. She looks like the latter, but has the soft fur of the poodle. Schnauzers are known for their wiry fur. Her game is not frisbee, but tug-of-war. All her toys are pull-toys, and she gives my arm quite the workout, I thought I would include a few of her photos tonight. She’s quite the ham in front of the camera…

At this time of the year, we think of the ‘dog days of summer’. Well, it’s now the time when cats are on the prowl more than usual, hence the term ‘cat nights’. But there is a very specific origin to all this that you’ll hear during my radio show tonight. In the meantime, consider this one last thought…

“Why do they call them dog days? These are obviously cat days. When the soft August breeze is just right, it seems to rub up against you with a purr. The late-gleaming sun, as the days get shorter, is golden as a cat’s eye. And then the elements can start spitting and yowling when you least expect it; The humidity returns and you feel as though a Manx were sleeping on your chest. Like the smile of the Cheshire, cat days come and go. Dog days just lie there waiting for you to take the initiative.” - The Christian Science Monitor, and featured in the August 1985 issue of the Reader’s Digest magazine

***

Don Jackson

It will be a short blog tonight. My sister is dropping by to wish my son and daughter happy belated birthdays. It’s been a busy summer and she was unable to be there on their special days. So I’m going to spend a few minutes visiting before I have to drive in for tonight’s radio program.

I mention in tonight’s radio show that both their birthdays were rather subdued affairs compared to the big production numbers we’ve hosted when they were smaller. If you’re a parent I’m sure you know exactly what I’m talking about. Invitations need to go out, a party place has to be reserved, transportation needs to be figured out and loot bags have to be purchased for all those in attendance. When I was small, the only one to receive a gift was the one celebrating the birthday. In this day and age, all the party-goers leave with a small token of appreciation for attending and celebrating the special day. It’s a great day for all who attend, and a tiring affair for the parents hosting the fun and games.

This past weekend, my son was pleased to spend his special day with a few of his hockey buddies. I’m relieved that things have calmed down somewhat. My daughter celebrates a major milestone birthday next year and we’re already talking plans for that special day. She certainly deserves a big bash since it’s been a quiet few years recently on her birthday.

Finances have to be a concern when planning these big parties. I’m sure they would like to invite every friend they’ve ever known, but it’s just not realistic. At the house parties my parents hosted, it was at least a possibility. My mother would bake a huge cake and there was enough homemade food to go around. Today hosting a huge party can be an expensive affair. Most parents keep the invitations to a manageable number, but my children have attended some in past years that were almost too large for the parents to handle.

There is always some friend who gets left out. In tonight’s radio show, there will be a knock at one door of these parties and a unexpected guest will be there with present in hand. It’s a true story and it raises some very important questions. Hindsight is 20/20. Knowing what you know now, as an adult looking back at your own parties in the past, I’m sure there were invitations you might now regret handing out, and others you wish you had included.

While you’re listening to this very poignant story that will conclude tonight’s program, I want you to remember your own celebrations. Looking back, is there one person you wish you could have invited or stayed in touch with? You’ll understand why I ask that question when you hear tonight’s radio show..

See you on the radio… 

***

Don Jackson

“Nothing worthwhile or long-lasting can be achieved without hard work. Former basketball great Bill Bradley once said his father would tell him, ‘Son, when you’re not out practicing, someone else is. And when you meet that person, he’s going to beat you.’” - Gary Franks from Searching for the Promised Land: An African American’s Optimistic Odyssey published by Harper Collins, and featured in the Points to Ponder column of the November 2002 Reader’s Digest

I never told my son that story. The truth is, I never had to. My son is a true athlete through and through. He’s always practicing, always trying to better himself at whatever sport he tries his hand at. He’s played hockey all his young life. Right from the first time he wanted to play road hockey he knew his place was in goal. He had a natural ability. When I bought him his first road hockey net and gear, it was like he was born to be the goalie. He had the moves down perfectly.

He was a late bloomer in learning to skate. A very good friend of mine was coach of a house league hockey team for my son’s age level. He knew my son’s passion for the game and asked me if he wanted to play ice hockey for real. I told him he’d never been on skates before. (I never learned to skate. We had a natural ice rink that formed every year on the property where I grew up. My father, an avid hockey player and ice skater, presented me with a pair of skates one Christmas. Every time I set out, my feet flew up in the air in front of me and I ended up flat on my back. After a few winters of bruises, I gave up on the idea of ever learning how to skate.)

My friend said that he could teach my son how to skate. I’ll never forget that night. He laced up a pair of skates loaned to him by the coach. It was an old pair that one of his son’s had grown out of. He stepped carefully out on the ice and took off like he’d been skating forever. The coach took off after him and told him he was doing well. Then he asked my son the most important question: “Do you know how to stop?” My son said, “No!” The boards at the far end of the rink were approaching rapidly. My friend explained the trick of stopping on skates. My son tried it - thankfully just in time. My son had a wonderful time skating for the rest of the time they were on the ice. Now, my son had roller blades and had no problems with balance. I’m sure that helped when he finally tried on a pair of ice skates.

My friend made him the team’s goalie right from the start of the season. He got a shut-out the first game he ever played. I helped out on the bench for that game, and it is a moment I will never forget.

He played house league hockey for a few years and then we made the transition to the Rep system. The first year he played ‘AE’. The second year, he jumped two levels to ‘AA’. Last year, during this past ‘AA’ season, he and the team’s other goalie helped the team to go on a 16-game winning streak. By the end of the regular season, they both had the best goals-against average in their league. This yeas, he’s back to playing ‘AE’, again through no fault of his own. Any hockey parent who has ever played in the Rep system will have an idea about what happened. He’s kept his skill-level up all summer playing ‘3-on-3′ hockey. Again, back to what I alluded to at the beginning of this blog, his work ethic is such that he wants to be the very best that he can be because he has big dreams for his future. His own ‘field of dreams’ is an ice-pad and a net at one end.

It all began with a road hockey net and pads bought on his 6th birthday that now seems so long ago in the past. I’ve since upgraded the net, but his 5th pair of road hockey pads are frayed and falling apart. It might be time for another set.

My son just celebrated a milestone birthday this weekend. These thoughts about his early hockey career ran through my mind as we celebrated his 13 years, with ice cream cake.

Happy birthday, son. We’re all so very proud of your accomplishments, on and off the ice.

***

your Dad….