My Wise Friend

While teaching high school, I had the privilege of riding to and from class with my department head, Gene Beeman. Gene had been the band director at my school but, after a heart attack, he agreed to become an English teacher in order to stay in education. Beeman, the man, was a superb teacher, always on task, always working for students. As a friend, I admired him for his rapport with his wife and family, his boys in particular. When I was frazzled, Gene was not. He was Mr. "Cool, Calm and Collected," but he accomplished that laid-back demeanor without demeaning others. He was just being Gene. The reason we rode to school together was that we lived in close proximity to each other, and the drive was all the way across town, south to north. It made sense for us to trade driving days.

One morning, I overslept. In fact, I didn't wake up until Gene blew the horn to let me know he was out front. I went into overdrive, rushing here and there, wondering what I could not do and still be presentable at school. Should I brush my teeth later? Would my hair comb without a shampoo? My wife had already gone out and told Gene what was going on and that I would be there as soon as possible. When I finally came out of the house, I was a mess. I was frustrated, upset with myself, and anything but "cool, calm, and collected." As we drove off, Gene was driving the car, but I was pushing on the accelerator although it wasn't on my side of the car. He seemed not to realize that we were late for school. We were only about half way to our destination when Gene pulled over to the side of the road next to a little coffee shop and stopped. "What are you doing? We're going to be late," I shouted, wanting to remind him of our need for haste. Gene looked at me and said, "Yes, we're late. I've called. They know we're going to be late, and you need a cup of coffee."

I've never forgotten the wisdom of that morning and the very wise man, my friend--Gene Beeman.

Practice Doesn't Make Perfect

How do athletes become top-notch? Is it just natural ability and coordination? Is it luck? Is it the ability to concentrate? Certainly it must be a bit of all three. I am not a qualified resource as to how athletes become adroit at their sport, but I do have some ideas about the sacrifice it can take to get to the top. Many kids in high school dream of making it into the NFL or the NBA. It is their dream and incentive to excel. When someone does achieve the pros, it is definitely reason to cheer and applaud. Some would say that all one needs to excel is drive. I would strongly disagree with that opinion as not all who have the drive to succeed actually make it to the pros. What prevents their making it? First of all, it depends on breaks and being at the right place at the right time. Secondly, it means staying healthy and free from injuries that can derail a career. Finally, there's one reason that needs mentioning because it is frequently misleading. The culprit is the idea that "practice makes perfect." That saying sounds good, but there is a flaw that can cause failure. Practice doesn't make perfect; only perfect practice makes perfect. If you practice without adjusting and raising the bar, you can be doomed to failure or mediocrity. I will confess that I taught myself to play the organ, and I taught myself using incorrect methods. I am grateful that I can play the organ and make it sound rather good. However, no amount of practice using the methods I use will ever allow me to become a concert organist.

Thank you for trying

My senior English teacher at Clinton High School was easily the most polished grammarian as well as the politest person I have ever known. Whenever she orally quizzed a student, her reply to an incorrect answer was inevitably, "No, but thank you for trying." Her policy of humility paid off too in the respect she earned from her students. Besides her primary task, she was also our senior class sponsor. Just prior to our departure for the traditional senior trip to Washington, she called to the auditorium first the girls, then the boys, to discuss a subject we males decided must be taboo amid mixed sexes. The talk turned out to be nothing but a warning to stay together in groups of three or four to avoid the perils of the big city. Returning to our classroom, one member of our class was heard to remark, “Well, if anyone should try to pick her up, she'd just say, "No, but thank you for trying." According to a tale told at a Clinton High reunion, Miss Shealy was caught failing to come to a complete stop at a stop sign. The policeman who stopped her had been one of her students and reprimanded her by saying, “Miss Shealy, that was a period, not a comma."

Suicide, Emerson's way

Although I can never imagine myself committing suicide, I had a rude awakening when studying Emerson in an American literature class as a high school student and reading about what he considered "suicide." I learned that Emerson was a transcendentalist and was in the same genre as Thoreau, Hawthorne, and Melville. He was widely admired and is still known for many of his axioms which have become imbued in the American ideology. He and Thoreau were close friends and once, when Thoreau was in jail for civil disobedience, Emerson visited him. Emerson broached the following question to his friend, "Why are you in jail?" Thoreau's reply, "Why aren't you?" The quote from Emerson that caused me to do some self-examination was "Imitation is suicide." During my youth, I had a bad inferiority complex, which I blame on no one other than myself. However, I envied many of my peers and especially those in the public eye who had managed to become either heroes or stars. I was from a little nowhere town in South Carolina and didn't particularly like my looks. How often I must have said, "I wish I were as smart as or looked like so-and-so." According to Emerson, I was "committing suicide." It was true. It was only when I could accept myself as the one and only "me" that I began to become a real person. Thank you, Mr. Emerson, for your helping me become myself, thus preventing my "suicide."

On a scale of 1 - 10

I feel pain just as anyone else does. However, I have been told by physicians that I need to let other physicians know that I have a "high pain tolerance." I have trouble remembering pain after it has happened. If asked the question, how bad was your pain, I have trouble answering that. I remember that the pain was severe before I had my knee replacement surgery, but I don't remember how bad compared with my other knee now. In the hospital, one is frequently asked, "How much pain are you feeling on a scale from 1 - 10?" I have no idea and am frustrated with the question. If you're confused thinking that anyone can judge the severity of pain, know that in 1980 I had a bad stomach ache which sent me to my doctor's office. He diagnosed the ailment as well as he could based on tests and my description of the pain and sent me home with some remedies. A day and a half later, my appendix burst, sending toxicity throughout my body. I had not relayed to the doctor the severity of the pain I had been feeling. There is a reason for pain. It is an indicator of a problem. Because I have trouble determining the level of my pain, I must be careful not to let myself get into trouble before getting medical assistance. While my difficulty is with physical pain, others have trouble knowing the level of their emotional pain. That can certainly be just as serious a problem.

Senior to Senior

When I started high school as a freshman in 1953, I entered knowing there was a big reward at the end of my senior year -- a trip with my classmates to Washington, D.C. It was a tradition. During my high school days, the class had many fund-raising activities to insure that all 64 of us could afford to make this wonderful trip to the nation's Capitol. It involved traveling by train, bus, and boat. Most of us had never been out of South Carolina, and many had never traveled without their family accompanying them. The trip included not only sightseeing in the Capitol but also, on the way up, visits to Richmond, Virginia, and the Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland. Of course, the time in Washington included tours of the Capitol, the White House, the Smithsonian, and other symbols of our nation's heritage. It was a marvelous experience and the culmination of my high school education.

I will soon be getting ready for another senior trip to Washington. This time the word "senior" takes on a different meaning. In September, I will spend a week in the Capitol, visiting friends who live and work there and have invited me up. I'm excited, almost as excited as I was anticipating that first senior trip.

Seniority

I feel my age, and look it too,
I love to spend time telling you
About the weather or the news
That doesn't always fit your views.

I don't go out much, so have time
to think about the days when I'm
most happy as I go my way --
Although some days may pass real slow.

When evening comes, I yearn for bed,
To have a pillow neath my head
And dreams to aid my need to have
adventures without rest.

Then soon the night is over and
it's time to face a new
day in the line of them that started
oh so many years ago.

My routine doesn't change a lot--
I read, I walk, I pay the bills,
And hope today some person will
See me, a smile upon my face,
And know I have kept the faith.

Wonder of Wonders, Miracle of Miracles

I'm not sure whether or not I believe in miracles. I used to joke about "minor miracles," a radio that starts working again suddenly or something like that. I believe that Jesus must have done miraculous things as people were amazed at him. I don't feel a need to try to explain miracles away, but I have asked myself, "Why would God go against the rules of Nature which He has created?" Regardless, there are things that appear to be miraculous. Everyone has read about someone who has incurable cancer that disappears miraculously. The school bus that dangled precipitously over the washed out bridge in Minnesota could be called a miraculous event. A child surviving a plane crash is frequently described as a miracle. One day here at my house, I saw something that amazed me. The phenomenon occurred in my living room where I have an overhead fan and a skylight. I walked into the living room and saw what appeared to be a miracle. It has never happened again, but it was indeed amazing, and I'm so glad my curiosity caused me to photograph it. (This photograph has not been altered in any way.)

Silver Sneakers

After going to physical therapy following my knee replacement surgery, I found myself dismissed by the therapist but not feeling completely back to normal so decided to comply with my pimary care physician's recommendatiion that I begin a regimen of exercise at a gym. I had lost my last excuse -- that it was too expensive -- when my insurance company notified me that their new policy was to pay for gym menbership at Lifestyle gyms. I went for my introductory three hours with a trainer after which I was advised to continue doing any exercises that I felt were helpful. I began to build up time on the treadmill but had a fear that I might trip as my father had developed something called drop foot which had caused him to stumble occasionally. I eventually learned that I could get the same knee workout on the bike with less stress on the knee so gravitated to that equipment. I still felt though that I needed some aerobic exercises so was interested when I heard about Silver Sneakers, an exercise program for people over 55. The first day I went to Silver Sneakers, I was completely lost, almost embarrassing myself with my inability to keep up with the class. After the class, I learned that there were Silver Sneakers I classes and Silver Sneakers II classes. I had been in a II class. When I changed over, it was like Goldilocks -- it was just right -- and I attended two Silver Sneakers I classes per week for about six months. The classes met at different times, one at 8:45 and the other at 9:45. One day, I somehow mixed up the times and showed up an hour early and ended up in a Silver Sneakers II class again. My first impulse was to leave, but fortunately I decided to stay and found that my stamina had grown to the II level. Since then I have been doing the more challenging class and feel so very healthy as an exercising senior citizen. draft 6:02

Down on my Knees

I've never been much of an athlete, a bit of tennis every once in a while and some bowling, but I never participated in team sports. I enjoy watching team sports such as football and baseball, but I can't blame sports for my weak knee. I don't know what caused that ailing knee, but several years ago, it became very painful. When I spoke to my primary care physician about it, he gave me two options: get a shot of cortisone or have surgery. When I told him I had heard that cortisone shots were given with a long needle and hurt, he said, "I use a short needle, and I don't hurt." "When would I get it?" I asked, hoping for some prep time. "Now," he said and gave me the shot. It did not hurt. However, after three shots over a period of a year and a half, the shots stopped helping, and I agreed to have knee replacement surgery. I had had several surgeries in my adult life and had always bounced back almost miraculously. Not so this time. I followed all the rules with exercise, physical therapy and medication, but the knee was stubborn and continued to bother me long after my recovery should have been complete. It has now been over two years. During that time, I have started going to the gym, taking two exercise classes per week with one day of nothing but knee and leg exercises, and I can finally report that my knee feels normal again. Although it certainly was no quick bounce back, it has been a total recovery thanks to my decision to become somewhat athletic.

Close Your Eyes

I have watched three movies lately on DVD that I had trouble watching. However, the effort to watch these films was worth every minute of the time. All three films are important because the messages each conveys need to be heard. In "The Hurt Locker," we encounter the reality our soldiers face every day regarding IED's (improvised explosive devices). I don't know about you, but I do not face any such daily danger, and this film helped me better appreciate those men and women in the armed forces who risk their lives to insure that I never have to worry about such a danger. "Precious" is not about explosive devices but is about poverty, ignorance, and immorality. It is also about prejudice and sexism. Most of us don't want to see the seedy side of life although it surrounds us and affects us. There is no escaping the challenge Precious has just surviving in her environment. Finally, the movie which was most difficult to watch was "The Stoning of Soraya M.," which is based on a true story. Man's inhumanity to women is the focus of this film. It is told against the backdrop of recent news about a proposed stoning in Iran. While I was not entertained by any of these three movies, I emerged from the viewing with a greater appreciation of human courage in the face of war and adversity and a gratitude for those who risk their lives that I may enjoy my freedom.

Time after Time

I have bragged about my not having an addictive personality. I have never done drugs, I quit smoking 40 plus years ago, and I don't overuse a cell phone. However, I learned a long time ago that I was obsessed with time. I couldn't stand to be late, was a clock watcher in church, and was frequently anxiously straining at the bit in college classes that were not interesting enough to hold my attention. Time would pass painfully when I could glance down at my watch to see how many minutes had elapsed since my last glance. The result: I took off my watch, put it in a drawer, and haven't worn a watch in years. Clocks are ubiquitous so I am seldom at a loss to know what time it is. However, the benefits come, for instance, when I have been in a doctor's office waiting. So long as I don't know how long I've waited, I'm relatively fine. If I had a watch, I would have allowed myself to become frenzied and out of sorts. When I'm in a gym class, two of which I attend every week, I position myself so that I can't see the clock. I would even prefer that a car not have an odometer as I find myself counting off the miles when I'm traveling. Oh no, I think, I've only gone three miles since last I checked. As a retiree, I seldom set my alarm clock. I suppose I prefer to be time-less and mile-less. In these cases, ignorance is indeed bliss, at least for me.

Funny Bones II

As I have shared with you before, I love laughter. I recently watched the movie "Julie and Julia" (yes, I'm sure I'm one of the last to see it), and I enjoyed it as Julia Childs, whom Meryl Streep played so convincingly, kept me in stitches. It was a "laugh with" rather than a "laugh at" movie.

Here's another of my favorite cartoons, this one about a famous character in history with certainly a different take on a quote from his "Poor Richard's Almanac." [click to enlarge]


The second cartoon will appeal to those of us who enjoy music and animals. [click to enlarge]


Laughter is awfully good medicine!

Sounding Off

I love music. I l love sound! Most people go to the movies to see the movie. Me, I go primarily to hear the movie. When stereo first came out, the only way to hear it on the radio was to have both an AM and an FM radio. One channel would be broadcast on AM; the other, on FM. Wow, stereophonic sound. I've never lost my interest and enthusiasm in discrete sounds coming out of two or more speakers. Next surround sound came on the scene with two different versions: 5.1 surround sound and dts, the epitome of surround sound. Now that I have a Blu-Ray player for viewing and and a surround sound system for hearing my DVD movies and shows, I am satisfied to stay home for my "Hollywood" entertainment. I have Bose speakers and a 42 inch Sony TV rear projection screen on which to view movies. The fact that I can own a movie still amazes me: "Gone With The Wind," "The Wizard of Oz," etc. I have just recently bought a Magnavox recorder that will dub VHS tapes to DVD. I am astounded at the quality and have begun to transfer some of my old videotapes, many of which are movies taped from TV, onto DVD's. I'm glad I'm alive and living in this electronic age with what I consider to be 3-D sound.

Dicknedy (repeat)

Years ago when I was working in the Pinellas county office of education, a teacher friend and I were asked to publish a county school newsletter. I had recently taken a course in word processing on the TRS-80, the Radio Shack computer. I had always been a good typist so was thoroughly enjoying my new abilities to do things on the computer. Our task was to publish positive news stories regarding teachers in Pinellas County. My friend had written an article about a teacher in a middle school whom I knew as Dick Labrant. In the article, she had called the teacher Ken Labrant. When I saw this name as I was proofreading, I told Pat that everyone knew him as Dick Labrant although his name was Kenneth Richard Labrant. At first she was reluctant to change but only because it would mean retyping. I quickly asserted my newly-learned wisdom which included something called "global replacement." All one had to do was to tell the computer to replace "Ken" with "Dick" and Ken Labrant would automatically become Dick Labrant, and we would then accord him the praise and admiration he so richly deserved. I typed in the command, pushed the ENTER key, and voila -- Dick Labrant appeared. We went ahead and printed the newsletter and sent it out to all the schools. Almost immediately we began to receive phone calls. My wizardry with the computer had soured. The first phone call came from the assistant principal at Kennedy Middle School where their school had been identified as Dicknedy Middle. The second call was from Dr. Judith Klikken who was on the School Board. Dr. Klikken was quite upset that she had been labeled Dr. Judith Klikdick. So much for global replacement.

What's in a Name?

Have you wondered where the name for this blog was "born?" Like most names of things, there is a reason for the name. One of the rules of semantics is that "Man is the namer of things." I have no idea where the first Bobo came from (I've never delved into the genealogy of my family), but I do know that my grandmother on my dad's side of the family was named Clara Bobo. For some reason, my grandmother decided to name her last-born child Thomas Bobo Cooper, the only child in the family to bear the maternal maiden name. When I was born (the first born), I was given the same name and became Thomas Bobo Cooper, Jr. As I was growing up, I lived in fear that someone would discover that worthy-of-ridicule middle name. However, I grew into the name and later in life gladly exposed it which resulted in my wife and I deciding to continue the name with our first-born, Thomas Bobo Cooper III. For the first time, we decided to use the middle name as the given name, and "Bo" was introduced to the world. He has relished the name and seemingly has had no fear of the other -Bo attached to the name. There is a wonderful movie entitled "Front of the Class" in which the main character is called "Dr. Bobo" by his family. The movie, which is based on the life of a real person, doesn't reveal the reason for the name, but perhaps I have found a long lost relative. In case you're interested, Bo now has a four year old son named -- Luke.