May I Order Breakfast?

"Did you you see what she posted?"

I heard the murmur as I walked through the office.  Then I heard the sighs, the laughs, and I imagined the eye-rolling.

2009 had ushered-in a new age in communication, and everyone who was anyone was embracing the idea of sharing your life online.  Up until now, you could closely control with whom you shared information.  After all, it was you making the phone call, writing the letter, or sending the occasional text.  That last mode was often more effort than it was worth, as very few of us had phones with full keyboards.

How many times do I hit the number 3 to make an "f?"

Phones, letters, and texts weren't sure-fire means of keeping information private.  There was still the gossip line, so sometimes, information given to a supposed private source made it's way into the rest of the office.  At least the information seemed to travel slower.

Not anymore. 

Communication as we knew it seemed to become impersonal overnight, as Facebook and Twitter became the new rage.  Now, at the press of a button, you could share anything with EVERYONE in an instant.  And we all worked with someone who grabbed this opportunity to overshare by the horns.  Endless pictures of breakfast, dinner, and dogs.  Lots of pictures of dogs.  The strange thing about this new medium, and perhaps, the most refreshing thing...we were learning more about each other than it seemed we had in the past.  Granted, some of the information was likely stuff we didn't need to know, but for the first time, it was all out there.  No longer did you have to get to know someone before learning about their family, their vacations, or the concerts they attended.  Now, all that and more was being shared in the moment it was happening.

I was among those who made light of the "look at me,"  "look where I am," and the "look what I can do" bunch.  Which made it very sobering when one day, I looked at my own social media stream, and realized I was in as deep as everyone else.  For some reason, it became perfectly acceptable to overshare.  Matter of fact, if you didn't participate, You found yourself left behind.  Those who weren't on Facebook actually lost touch with friends who had embraced the medium as a main avenue of communication.  "Oh, I thought you knew?  I posted it a few weeks ago," became more and more common.  Times were changing, and if you wanted to be a part of the conversation, you were required to jump into the stream.

Today, social media remains the way most people communicate most often.  In my opinion, it has fueled somewhat of a frenzy.  Never in the history of my profession has information been gleaned so quickly.  Not too long ago, a top story remained part of the news cycle for days, as reporters fleshed-out more and more angles.  Today, within hours, you know everything.  By the next day, the story is no longer being talked about.  Again, my opinion here, but there's SO MUCH going on in social media, opinions are often shared as facts, and the majority of what's consumed via social media isn't filtered through much of a personal litmus, fact checker, or in the crudest sense, a B-S barometer.


And now, more than ever, Social Media has become political.

Politicians, patriots, and street preachers use their timelines to further their causes.  And the average Joe, who used to be satisfied with posts of cute puppies and newborn grandchildren, takes daily jabs at those who don't share their political ideals.  We share "articles" without checking facts.   I put that last word in quotes, because the majority of "news" on Facebook comes from clearly right or left leaning blogs that take a snowflake of fact, and add enough opinions that it becomes a blinding blizzard.  We used to just laugh out loud when we saw this "news" on the covers of the supermarket tabloids.  We used to dismiss something that seemed so far-fetched.

To those who post in Social Media only after checking facts, my sincere apologies.

And I need to be clear:  By writing this post, it is not my intent to criticize your beliefs, your politics, or whatever else you hold dear.

I just want to order breakfast.

At a time politics have clearly divided us...down to our social media posts, I long for the pictures of bacon, cute puppies, and newborn grandchildren.  I never thought I'd miss those posts boasting of "look where I got to go on vacation," or "look what concert I'm attending."  But I DO miss them.

And again, it's not that I don't believe you have a right to share your opinions.  You obviously do.  It's the way some share that isn't really sharing at all.  It's "I'm right, you're wrong."  It's "My way or bust" and it's "If you disagree, I will block you."  In preschool, sharing was about taking turns and being considerate of everyone else in the room. 

I just made myself chuckle.  Often times, we accuse those we disagree with of being a baby.  It seems to me that the babies and toddlers in preschool know more about sharing and community than some of us grown-ups.

It's always occurred to me that if you have an ideal worth sticking up for, you would consider finding effective ways for me to try and understand your perspective.  If you are championing a cause, isn't it in your best interest to recruit more champions?  Are you going to effectively recruit someone by stating you have all the facts and they do not?  You might bully them into submission, but I'm not sure that makes you a champion.

What does going online and calling people "idiots," "stupid," or worse, "unpatriotic," accomplish?  I gotta be honest, it likely lowers others' opinions of who you are.  Maybe that doesn't matter to you, and some may take exception with me, saying "Well Brian, I was told to be true to myself no matter what others say."  I was taught the same thing, but isn't part of the lesson of being true to one's self being true to others?  Being a good listener, considering all options and opinions, perhaps respectfully disagreeing and moving on?  Calling those who disagree with you "idiots" online demands someone's loyalty, it doesn't earn it.  Of all the things that appear to be entitlements these days, at last check, respect is not one of them.

So, if everyone is going on Facebook and posting that I'm stupid, idiotic, and unpatriotic for not seeing things their way, I guess I don't want to play anymore.  If you're not really interested in sharing, I can find other things to do with my time.

I'm not on Social Media as much these days because I'm just not sure politics belong there.  Don't get me wrong, I'd love it if someone posted "So, I'm really torn on the issue of _________.  Can you, as my friends, share your thoughts to help me come to my own conclusion?" Comments that are heartfelt reasons to support either side of the political spectrum would follow. 

Yet, that's not how it seems to be working. 

I know the world can't be all sunshine, happy thoughts, and yes, cute puppies, but it doesn't have to be the other extreme...where we take-up political causes and put down anyone who doesn't agree. Its something that sometimes goes beyond online life, as these days, it seems more common people are calling others "idiots" to their faces, which is just as bad as hiding behind your computer screen.  I hate to say it, because it will put me at odds with others, but I guess I should expect all this.  After all, if the leaders of the country are modeling behavior online that calls those who disagree "idiots" and even "SOBs" I guess I can't hold the public to a high degree of manners and decorum.  

My social stream has been a little dry lately, and now, I hope you understand why.  I suppose I could do my part, and post more pictures of my dogs.  But then I see someones emotional rant, and it puts me in a funk.  I'm just losing interest in the selfish monologues that strive to tear us down instead of building us up, and will be stepping away from the apps and the keyboard more often.

Unless you post about bacon.

Community, Truth & Awareness

"My dad is better than your dad."

I remember wincing at the sentence that just came out of her mouth.  Did she really understand the magnitude of that pithy phrase?

Chapman Elementary circa Brian's third grade days.  Love the fashion!

The third grade was so weird.  At Chapman Elementary, a cluster of us were part of a bold new experience in education.  To this day, I'm not sure what the point was, but up to that point in my life, this type of classroom was the only thing I associated with going to school.  I had spent my first, second, and third grade years in the same "big room."  At each corner was an independent classroom, each fairly open to the other.  In the middle of the "big room" was a common space, where twice a day, the four independent clusters of kids would come together for music or a movie.  For first grade, I was with Miss Ricks.  Second grade was first with Mrs. Warden, then for again some reason I don't understand, was transferred to Mrs. Vertelle's corner of the "big room."

I'm pretty sure this is the "big room" today.  Montessori, eh?  There were lots of similarities between the "big room" and the Montessori way.  Interesting.

Mrs. McIntyre would be my teacher for third grade.  All I really remember was how mean she could be, yet how much I loved and respected her.  When my best friend's sister told me her dad was better than mine, I didn't cry.  But even Mrs. McIntyre could tell something was wrong.  In a private moment she asked me what was wrong, and I told her what the girl had said.

"Well, what does she know?"

I think that was meant to make me feel better, but I was still down.  For the only time I can ever remember, Mrs. McIntyre then opened her arms, and invited me in for a hug.  She said nothing else, and neither did I.  My mind continued to race, after all, how could that girl know that her dad was better than my dad when she didn't even know my dad.

I didn't even know my dad.

My mom had raised my brother and me by herself for most of my life at that point, and would continue to be the sole parental influence until my teenage years.  I'd like to think mom did a great job, but I'll leave that for you to decide.

I think my time in the 'big room" may have been insulating me from the real world.  We'd go on the playground, and that's when we'd mix with the other kids at Chapman.  That's when I found out there was another first, second, and third grade classroom on the other side of the school, and their teachers all gave homework!  Can you believe it?

I had to ask a friend what 'homework' was. 

Then again, maybe the "big room" was designed for something else.  Because we were in such close proximity, I knew EVERYONE from all four classes in the big room.  When I became a third-grader, I became a "leader" of sorts, and all the little kids looked-up to me and select others.  We did everything together, and many times on the playground, watched out for each other.   You may wonder how my best friend's sister was able to infiltrate our ranks?  He was in the big room with me, and she attended class on the other side of the school.  The only time we'd cross paths with her was at recess.

At 8 years old, I don't remember pondering or pouting too long after the "dad" comment.  But when a similar incident happened in high school, I instantly remembered the bewildered confusion of the comment back in the third grade.  Years later, I still didn't have a dad at home, yet someone else was convinced his dad was far supreme.

But that's when I also realized there are those who use words as weapons.

The motive is clear: They wanted to put me down.  The reason behind the put-down always seemed to boil down to insecurities within themselves.

They were showing-off for others, or maybe overwhelmed by the truths of their own situations, or just plain and simple, needed to be better than me.  They would tell untruths over and over, even though I wondered how could anyone believe this?  They were always the loudest, most obnoxious voice in the crowd, to the point they were tough to ignore.  And they never backed-down, placing all their personal chips on the bet I would break first.  They had to be noticed, and they had to be liked.

I share this story with you as a means to try and make sense of things that do not make sense.  When someone uses words that cut you down, demean you, or make you feel less of a person...it's likely not about you at all.  Whether someone attacks your beliefs, politics, or personal convictions, my bet is that it's because they're not on solid footing with their own beliefs, politics, and convictions.  Their playbook is predictable:  The best way to make yourself feel better is to tear down those around you.

I've written about words used as weapons in the past, but never have I lived in a time when so many words ---- so many untruths ---- are being hurled by all sides, without a second thought to the damage being inflicted.  If you're using words to attack someone else, I ask why?  If it's because they're using offensive words or spewing untruths, it's my opinion their day will come.  I would never sit here in my ivory tower and suggest I am not taking part, and I will admit every time I do, I ask myself "why?" I remind myself that being right is not on the priority list; being fair is.  Fairness isn't just considering both sides, it's actually comprehending and acknowledging that we're not all the same.

Okay smarty, stop humming "Kum By Yah" (although if you knew the translation of the song is "Come by here, my Lord, come by here" you might agree we could definitely use some divine kindness and intervention, again just my opinion).  

As for me, I'm going back to the "big room," with my eyes wide open, and my heart just as open. It's the place where I'm surrounded by all kinds of different people with different beliefs, yet we all agree that community, truth, and awareness trumps division, lies, and ignorance.

Brian's Blog - "Second Chances"

The room wasn't more than 8 feet long and about 12 feet wide.  Along one of its cinder-block walls stood a cabinet a records that stretched from the floor to the ceiling.  Another wall featured slots for those smaller, 45rpm records, all listed alphabetically.  One wall was glass that looked into the room featuring our 5,000 watt A.M. transmitter.  Make that, a.m. STEREO transmitter.  And the fourth wall featured a window that looked out onto the gravel parking lot, and down Roguelea Lane.

It was in this room, I performed my very first radio broadcast.  Then, for the next several years, began honing my skills as a professional radio announcer.  With the single window mentioned previously, it was dark even in the middle of the afternoon.  I remember sitting in the chair behind the control board.  It was like piloting my own plane, as I'd ready for take-off by placing the recording player in "cue" and placing the needle on a piece of vinyl.  Then, volume pot up, ignition, and the announcement from the tower.  Moving the microphone position to "on," I'd make my flight plan clear.

"Thank you for listening to KA-JO, here's Johnny Mathis and 'Chances Are.'"

As the plane rumbled down the runway and the first notes began, I would take a deep breath.  Once Johnny's voice began, I knew my take-off had been cleared.  The last thing I needed to do once airborne was to take-up the landing gear.  With my left hand, I reached up, and toggled the microphone back to the "off" position.  Every step was very important for a successful flight, and every step was part of a bigger process of a safe flying record.

I wish I could remember how old I was on the day I fondly refer to as "turbulence" day.   It was definitely my early 20's, which is probably all that's really important.  After all, I was the kid who grew up really fast.  My on-air radio career began at age 18, and almost overnight, I had to grow-up.  The radio station catered to adults much older than I was, and to fit-in with the older announcers, I would need to mature much faster than others my age. 

Carl was the boss' son, and part of a trio of Wilson mentors who helped make me the professional, and the man, I am today.  On this particular afternoon, I was NOT feeling the age I should have been acting, and Carl was in a fun mood as well.  He came inside the studio door as I was playing a record and we began talking.  Eventually the words turned to fits of laughter.  Again, I wish I could remember the reason for the light-hearted mood, but I guess it's really not important.   He, too, was a kid forced to grow-up really early, so it was always nice to have a few bonding moments over some laughs most would consider juvenile.

The song had ended, and I was able to put my "radio face" on, make my announcement, then go to a commercial.  However, this was just an act.  Up until seconds ago, Carl and I had been carrying on and laughing.  Now that the commercial was, I felt I could return to that jovial moment, and resume the silliness.  I leaned back in my chair, stretching my arms out and upward.  I opened my mouth, as if I were about to burst out in operatic song. 

Only this was no song.

Carl's eyes widened as from my inner-most being erupted a belch of approximately a magnitude 4.0 on the mouth-gas scale.  The release was extraordinary, and likely could have been award-winning had they handed out the burp equivalent of an Oscar.  In dramatic form, I held my pose...arms outstretched and hands up, almost as if I were waiting for applause to begin.

As the commercial continued to play inside my headphones, the rest of the studio fell into stupefied silence.   Sensing I was about to follow my gassy performance with uproarious laughter, Carl held up his hand to stop me.  Eyes wider than ever, his face that once twisted with laughter had become stern and rigid.  As his left hand remained up as if to say "stop," his right finger gestured towards the control board.  It all happened in seconds, but it seemed like I was playing a 45 at 16 speed.  I watched as he mouthed a message to me without ever uttering a sound.  Even the unskilled lip reader could decipher the words he mouthed in silence.

Your mic is on.

My head slowly looked down at the control board.  Someone had forgotten to bring up his landing gear.  Almost instinctively, I looked down to my left.  The two main phone lines to the station were ringing.  I looked back up at Carl, and then, like a gunslinger reaching for his pistol, my hand raced up onto the board, switched the microphone off, then returned to my side.

"Do you think anyone heard it?" I asked.

"I'd bet EVERYONE heard it." he responded.

To this day, I don't know for sure if anyone heard my belch over the airwaves or not, as the sweet ladies answering the phone said they neither heard it nor took a call about it.  It likely was one of those moments you're listening to something, hear a sound out of place, and wonder "Was that?  No, it couldn't have been."

It was.

It's a long and fun story to share, and it popped back into my head this morning as I was reading through social media about a company that made a move not appearing to be very sensitive in nature.  Yet, for whatever reason, made a statement the next day admitting the move was a mistake, and pledging to be more sensitive to the cause.

It made me think of that day, and Carl.  I committed a cardinal sin over the airwaves.  But the next day, we laughed about it, and to this day, I continue to double-check and make sure my microphone is off before I say or do anything that shouldn't be for public consumption.  Lesson learned, and he forgave me, something he, his brother, and his father would do a lot of over the next several years.  He didn't give up on me, he didn't cast me out, and he didn't delete me.

No matter where you sit on the political or religious spectrum, isn't there something to be said for someone who makes a mistake, admits it was a mistake, and takes steps to correct said mistake?  How can we expect others to change if we're not willing to accept when they do change?  Sure, a business could be motivated by lost customers to abruptly change course and do what's right, but isn't doing what's right most important?  Does it really matter how they get there?

At a time when we all wish things were different, I fear we've lost the ability to acknowledge when a mind, heart, or decision is changed.  It makes me sad that those who want change feel it's still not enough when they get that change.  What do you really want?  Just as pride gets in the way of an apology, that same pride can also blind those demanding an "I'm sorry" from seeing that exact sentiment that may be worded differently. 
 
If we lose our ability to forgive, we might as well just forget about it.

Brian's Blog - "Good Grief"

"You're kidding me."

We had just finished unwrapping presents, and were about to sit-down to Christmas dinner.  There was a huge feast set on the counter, with all the scents and smells you'd expect, including a roast beef that literally kicked my salivary glands into overproduction.

But my appetite was gone.

Another person in the room was checking his Facebook stream, and read the news out loud:  George Michael is dead.





Immediately the flashbacks of a teenage Brian came flooding back.  I had just got home from the drug store where I had purchased what would become my prize possession for the next couple of years.  I had first seen the group "Wham" on MTV, and that first single was unlike anything I had ever heard.  Cassette in hand (I feel old having to explain this, so I won't.  Kids, Google "cassette"), I rode my bike back home as fast as I could.
 
The very first song that came out of my bedroom speakers was THE song.  I wasn't much of a dancer, but I still felt the rhythm.  Looking back, I think the innocence of the whole thing is the most touching.  I played the entire album...er cassette... "Make It Big" from start to finish, over and over, about 4 times that afternoon.

Yet it wouldn't be until years later that I would truly come to appreciate the talents that belonged the George Michael.  Sure, he had his struggles, and his dark moments, but so did Sinatra, my all time favorite.  George Michael's voice and writing talents were giant leaps above his contemporaries.  His voice.  Wow, so clear and yet so breathtaking.  I never EVER could sing that high, but don't for a minute think I didn't constantly try.

He would eventually record Roberta Flack's "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face," and to this day, it's my favorite recording of his.  Sure, he had many other songs with very powerful messages, but there is something about how he treats every line that brings tears to my eyes right now just thinking of it.  It cuts me to the core, with a beauty I'm not sure I've ever experienced in a song since.
When I heard George had died, I heard his voice in my head singing this song.

When something or someone is suddenly gone, what's the first thing you think about?  You feel loss, but what is it that comes to mind about that person?  Whatever it is, I believe that first thought is likely a memory of a time and place when that person's words, their smile, their laugh, or their song touched you in a way no other person could.  Not to say you haven't felt touched like that since, but it was the way that person was in THAT moment that changed something inside you.
I think this is why I titled this post "Good Grief."

I learned a long time ago that everyone grieves differently, and that it's really not your place to judge how or why someone else grieves.  Grief can leave you feeling lonely, heartbroken, and sometimes inconsolable.  Yet through grief, we're also forced to remember those moments...the small, seemingly trivial moments...and that one moment I wrote about in the last paragraph.  And I think that's a good thing.  We always have our memories, and while sometimes they don't seem enough, they help us remember the impact that person had on our life.

To me, that's what life is about: Becoming vulnerable enough to love and to lose.  In those moments, I grow the most.  Not that either are extremely comfortable, but in every relationship I have, there was THAT moment.  And it couldn't have happened had I not been extremely open, precariously vulnerable, and recklessly willing.  The payoff?  I know I'm a better man for it.  Just like the Grinch, I think my heart grows a little bit larger each time it happens.

Perhaps the best tribute to those you've loved and lost is remembering "the moment" you shared with them.  Maybe it's that one thing that defined what that person meant to you.  Maybe it was a silly moment,  or perhaps an intense moment.  Whatever it was, in that moment, you bonded in a way that's hard to explain.  And I believe that's why when that person is gone, your mind and your heart find it's way back to "the moment."

My Grandma Daisy: Sitting in church with her on her lap, as she tracked a pencil around the fingers in my outstretched hand.  I looked up at her, and I can still see her smile.

 

My Grandma Wink: Sitting in the audience of "The Price Is Right."  She couldn't stand the show, but knew I wanted to go since I was 4.  She took me there, and really made a dream come true.

 

Big Jim Wilson: The first time he said "Good job, Beejer."  I was 23 years old, and had just finished my first day on air replacing the morning man of over 30 years.

 

Jane Shannon: The very first time we co-anchored a newscast together.  She burped, and I farted.  You would really have to know both of us to understand how momentous of a moment that was.  Usually when I get the giggles, my co-anchor can bail me out.  This was the only time I ever had to go to commercial because both of us couldn't stop laughing.

 

Walter Cronkite: In the 5 minutes I had with him at "Happy Hour" he asked me about the kind of stories I preferred to write.  I tried to be cool, and he stopped me.  "What do you really like to write, Brian?" As he took a sip of his drink, I responded "I really like to write about people, and the good things they do."  Uncle Walter put down his drink and said "Kid, you're leagues ahead than the others here."

 

Frank Sinatra: I never met the man, but the first time I heard his recording of "The Summer Wind," I felt his unique phrasing, storytelling, and sense of rhythm hit me between the eyes.  It felt like my eyes were opening for the first time.

 

Carrie Fisher: After the most delightful 5 minute interview I had in a long time, her bear hug around my neck indicated she felt the same.  Gosh, I wish I could find that picture.

I'm reading posts by a lot of people who are pretty upset with 2016.  We have lost a lot this past year.  But I guarantee your day, and your new year will be better, if you take the time to remember how and when that person made such an impression on you.

I've laughed and cried, and you might do the same, but I bet you'll eventually find something to smile about.