LIFE IN THE REARVIEW MIRROR

For a paper due at the University of Iowa twenty plus years ago, our son Dave, was to interview an old timer about how life was for them "in the day." Dave chose his grandfather. I'm not sure what grade Dave got on the paper, but he did graduate. The information, to my knowledge, like many college projects, was never used again until I sat down with dad at the nursing home twenty years plus later. Dad was 103 and in the early stages of dementia, but when I would travel from New Mexico to see him in the Chicago area I would read what he told Dave and he would remember, even elaborate on the long ago events in his life. Long term memory is the last to go, but it does go.

So, in order to give my children something to read to me when they visit me in the home, I have embarked on a project of writing my autobiography (who else would?) complete with appropriate pictures. In order to put together my life, as unspectacular as it is/was, I had to go into the deep recesses of my mind and my closet. My closet yielded the most information: movies and photos.

Home movies were big in our home in the '40s. This was not true for my friends or relatives, so Dad was the family lensman. Those spine tingling films were primarily of me, my brother and our cousins running here and there (mostly there). These visuals were being saved for some upcoming generations to dispose of. The films have been converted into VHS and now DVDs. (I don't think I'll be around for what’s next.)

I am also scanning books of photos Jean and I had taken BD (before digital) and evaluating the 1000+ photos we wished to keep that were recovered from Dad's apartment after his death. Again, for the upcoming generations to dispose of after getting rid of the DVDs.

It's important to remember that everything we own (and us too for that matter) has an expiration date. We will pass down items that to us have significant memories, but there will come a time when some future generation considers space in their house more valuable than "junk" from great, great Grandma. Then comes the inevitable trip of those ungrateful SOBs to the dump or Goodwill to rid themselves of our treasures.

Back to the point--In order to flesh out my writing with things like the truth, I pulled out the DVD entitled PAYNE FAMILY 1940-1958, and spent the next couple of hours immersed in black and white versions of mini me.

Damn, I was cute.

In reviewing my past I came across something I hadn't expected to find. I knew I had good formative years, I imagine some of you did not, for that I'm sorry, but until I revisited young Tommy through old Tom's eyes did I realize the importance of what I had been given.

My research has resurrected a period in my life, with its inevitable lesson, I would like to pass along. During the stage of my life covered by the DVDs and pictures, Dad was a patrolman on the Chicago police force and Mother was a stay-at-home mom (pretty much the only kind of mom in those days). There wasn’t a lot of money. We never had a car until I was about 9 or 10 years old. It was a well used Studebaker. As I said, there wasn't a lot of money. But, the base of our Christmas tree on Christmas morning was always full of wonder. Because of the war there was a scarcity of materials used to make toys so many of Santa's droppings were handmade by one of my grandfathers. The Rockefeller kids never had it so good. While watching the DVD and scanning the photos, I was reminded, well I really shouldn't say reminded because at the time it was expected, they were my parents after all, of my parents goodness and effort to make Christmas as special as kids thought it was.

Our birthday parties were approached with the same caring and enthusiasm, always a party with many urchins slobbering free ice cream and cake all over their long ago forgotten faces, and having a Norman Rockwell good time. Most of all what I saw on those movies were very loving parents, aunts and uncles.

I wish I had realized sooner how good my brother Bill and I had it, when we had it. It is said, "We don't know who discovered water, but you can bet it wasn't a fish." Sometimes we are so close to something we don't realize what we have. I never really appreciated all the love they had for us, the love I saw in the movies sixty-five years later.

We may have thought we did at the time, but maybe we can only appreciate our parents fully from a distance.

Calling a time-out and reflecting on my life has been personally very gratifying. You may not wish to do the whole writing thing, but maybe when the battery of your phone goes dead you might wish to take a couple of minutes to reflect. We can't do anything about the past, but maybe the past can do something for our future.

Back to work. I have a lot of past to reconstruct.

TICK TOCK

FOR DAN
On the TV show ER, a couple in their 80s are stage center. The man is dying, the wife asks concerned Doctor Carter, "How much longer?" Doctor C says, "A few more minutes." Woman sobs in stunned and saddened disbelief, stares at Carter with a look in her eyes that rips your heart out and mumbles numbly, "Only a few more minutes?" 

Sixty years of loving togetherness for that man and his wife came down to only a "few more minutes." 

There comes a time for all of us when our relationship with those we love will be over in just "a few more minutes." The difference between most of us and the TV characters is they knew which minutes would be their "few more."

Given this finality fact of earthly relationships, should you then be kind, tender, warm, devoted and giving to your loved ones every single minute of every single day? Commendable, yes, but just as certainly unattainable, and in many ways, undesirable (How would you like to spend a serious amount of time with someone who treated you as if you were going to croak any minute?) 

Here rests our earthly dilemma. You shouldn't treat others as if they are going to die before lunch because 99.99 percent of the time you will be wrong. But if you're not treating them the best you know how when their few minutes are indeed up, you beat yourself upside the head with the guilt stick. "I was going to call Aunt Lenore last night but I watched ER instead. Now she's dead, I'm a terrible person." 

It would seem to be a part of our human makeup when someone close to us dies to feel we didn't "do enough," "weren't there for them," "didn't say what we wanted to say," yada yada. Get over it. The odds are against us always doing the right thing at the right time. 

A loving relationship is a balancing act of living daily with the humanness brought to that relationship. A loving relationship is the times you called Aunt Lenore twice in a day blended with the times you didn't call at all. Death as well as life is a game without rules. You can't judge the quality of a relationship on the last "few minutes." But you definitely could hold yourself accountable for all the years, months, weeks, hours and minutes before the last few. 

When you have treated your loved ones the best you know how for 99.99 percent of the time, the last few minutes are just the last few minutes. So,let's enjoy others as if they will live forever, and love them as if they only have a few more minutes.