Family and Old Friends (When I'm 64!)

Taking a cruise or other vacation with family and friends is a great way to rekindle fond memories and build new ones, but we can't travel together all the time.  We have other responsibilities and conflicting schedules, not to mention limited budgets.

Julie and I are blessed to maintain close contact with our family between trips.

We get together with our son Jay, who works in Santa Monica, every week or two no matter how many projects he has in the air, and we always share a family ski trip in Big Sky at Christmas.  Sometimes he comes to Montana in summer too, including when we went to the solar eclipse together this year.  On Monday, Jay and his girlfriend Sasha met us for dinner up to celebrate my birthday.

Our oldest daughter Gina who now lives in Philadelphia makes a point of either phoning or Skyping at least once a week, even when traveling.

She Skyped from Portugal last weekend and then phoned us from Texas yesterday on her way to Brazil, as she continues a multi-city itinerary of health care conference speaking engagements.



Gina, Laszlo and Emma came to California for a spring stay, and on a separate week, our daughter Amy came from New York to Redondo Beach for a spring fling in the California sunshine.

Despite breaking her leg playing roller derby, baby girl Amy stayed with us in Redondo Beach last month when she came to California to be a bridesmaid for her high school friend Stephanie.

Amy has been busily overseeing the website re-launch for Popular Science Magazine, but she found time to phone me to wish me happy birthday.

Over the past couple of weeks, as the nostalgia surrounding another birthday flooded over me, I contacted some childhood friends and had the opportunity to speak, or at least exchange emails, with them.

I even had dinner with Ron Waters, who I hadn't seen in 42 years.  We'd worked together as janitors at the Kaiser Medical Center in Harbor City while attending college.  Our friendly rivalry back then had us racing to see who could get all the trash cans on his respective floor emptied fastest in order to get outside to tell stories for the last 30 minutes to hour of our work day.

We had a lot in common, including birthdates four days apart, but he grew up in Compton, just 30 minutes away from my Westminster home but in a considerably different world.

He told me about battles between Bloods and Crips, who would shoot each other if one accidentally stepped on the other's highly polished shoe and scuffed it.  Back then, those gangs were virtually unknown, at least in my sheltered suburban life.

Ron somehow managed to steer clear of trouble despite attending some of the same parties with gang members.

When I asked how he managed that, Ron said because he was known to be a young man who was going to school and working hard for a better life, not interested in trouble.  What I've always thought of as a sort of protective force field of living a well-intentioned life must have imbued, with the hard cases acknowledging that by saying, "He's cool."

But he also recalled a time when our boss brought him in to ask about a radio that a nurse reported as missing.  By that time, Ron was working full time as a computer programmer days, having completed his tech college classes that prepared him for his career in that field.  He used to tell me that he kept working at Kaiser at night simply for the exercise.

When Joe started an inquisition about the radio, Ron couldn't believe it.  He recalled saying (and I'm leaving out the expletives), "After all this time working here, and you knowing I work a different full time job days, you're really going to blame the black guy for stealing a radio?"

Ron being forced to push through that type of prejudgment was the big difference between the two of us, and unfortunately that kind of prejudice still exists.

Ron has overcome that with a winning personality, going on to live a very successful life, eventually branching into sales and customer service where his storytelling was put to better use, and raising a beautiful family.  Knowing how competitive he is, I have to admit that Ron is definitely beating me in the grandchildren count, and he even has one great grandson, but of course we feel blessed to have our little Emma.

Like me, however, he feels very much like he did when we were young men, though his hair is much shorter and grayer than his Afro back in the day.  I wish I had a photo of us from back then.

Almost exactly the same age, we both have always loved music and movies.

I told him about Derek and the Dominos, Todd Rundgren and Steve Winwood's Traffic.

Ron introduced me to War, Tower of Power, Stevie Wonder's "Music of My Mind" and The Stylistics.

We both liked Elton John's music.  His cute, sparkling sister Debbie (not unlike my own sister Darlene), who eventually started working at Kaiser too, called me "Honky Cat," because I regularly sang that song (probably too loudly to be appropriate even in a closed medical center) while walking through the halls "pulling trash."

"Benny and the Jets" was more to Ron's tastes.



Elton John had done the soundtrack for the movie "Friends," which Ron's girlfriend had dragged him to see.

One night sitting on steps outside Kaiser, Ron told me in his consummate storytelling way about that movie, which he surprisingly turned out to like, occasionally punctuating significant plot points by bringing his loosely clinched fist in front of his mouth and saying emphatically, "Wesley, it was bad!"  That was high praise indeed, reserved for the best of the best, like the highlights of a Parliament-Funkadlic concert.

I just realized I still have never seen that movie. I better check it out.

Over time, Ron also gave detailed descriptions of other movies, including "Shaft" and "Super Fly."

For a time, I sported long hair and a mustache, prompting Ronnie to tell me I looked like the Super Fly himself, Ron O'Neal.  Ronnie decided to put that to the test when his friend Twinkie needed help picking up her personal items from an apartment she had shared with an abusive guy.

"Don't smile, and don't speak," Ron had admonished me in advance, probably knowing my boyish grin and voice would betray the tough guy image we were trying to portray.

Taking care of business as efficiently as possible, with Ron saying as little as possible and me as mute backup, we escaped without a shootout --- not that we had guns, mind you --- though I had been instructed to put my hands in my jacket pockets when we entered, just to make them think I might be packing.

With the mission accomplished, Ron said not to stop for anyone no matter what until I reached the 405 freeway.

I don't know if we were ever in any real danger, but it sure felt dramatic, and we both still remember that as a heroic adventure.

When I told him my son Jay works Universal Music recommending songs for movie and TV soundtracks, Ron exclaimed, "Man, I kind of feel like I'm his father, too, the way we always talked about music and movies."

Like me, Ron has two daughters and a son.  His son is an accountant who lives in Newport Beach.  I had been going to college to be an accountant when we worked together, something my dad wisely said would be a solid career, so in a way, it was sort of like his son took after me, or at least what Ron assumed I would become.

In the mean time, I had branched off that accountant path and joined the Air Force.

While in the service, I'd sparingly phone Mom and don't think I ever called anyone else.  Long distance phone calls had to be limited because of the charge per minute, or at least that was my belief.

I would write long letters, and I distinctly remember coming across some I'd written to my sweet mother while rummaging through a desk drawer in her den while looking for something that must have seemed quite important at the time, whatever it was.

I found myself living with Mom again when my first marriage unexpectedly dissolved in divorce and she welcomed me back home.  I always basked in Mom's unconditional love, which gave me security no matter how uncertain the rest of the world was.  I know my sister --- who also phoned me and emailed birthday wishes, too --- always felt the same.

Interestingly, our childhood family home was also a sanctuary for Dad, who divorced Mom when I graduated high school.  He would stop in for a cup of coffee at his familiar seat at our kitchen table when his latest marriage inevitably blew up or other problems arose, with Mom graciously brewing a fresh pot for her ex.

That was home for us all.

Getting back to those old letters I came across in her drawer, I pulled them out and asked Mom with a laugh why she'd kept them.  She said she thought I might want them one day.  Maybe I'd even write my memoirs, she surmised.  

Because I felt pretty worthless at the time, I readily dismissed that as silly, saying no one would care about what I wrote when I was in the Air Force.  In retrospect, my ridicule unintentionally made her feel foolish, and I deeply regret that.

It's funny how those little episodes where we make loved ones feel small come back to haunt us years later, when whatever was so important at that time can no longer be remembered.

In my self-pity, I threw those letters away, and of course Mom had been right.  I wish I had them now, if only to give my kids.

Looking back now, I see that clearly to have been a brief sullen period, all the more foolish because I hadn't lost the love of my childhood family and friends or my sweet little Gina.  I soon thereafter read the Wayne Dyer book, "The Sky's the Limit," and from that point forward thoroughly appreciated every aspect of my life.

Over years of moves, I've discarded all correspondence I received, too, including a 5-page typed letter (before word processors) personally signed by President Jimmy Carter which I received in response to a letter I'd written to him while I was in the Air Force.  I don't remember the subject of those letters, but the White House sent a very detailed reply that addressed each of my points specifically.

I wish I had all of those personal letters, including that one which would be of truly historical value.

Nonetheless, I cherish my memories, some of which are vivid and others patchy in the details.

Now, what does this have to do with travel?

Well, just remember that a cruise is a great way to get together with loved ones, creating new shared memories that can be the subject of inside jokes and references no one else would truly understand, solidifying bonds.

Sharing the wonders of the world with loved ones is an incomparable experience.