Willard's Corner

Where's my Entitlement?

2011-07-27T17:29:00.022-05:00

Given the recent debate in Washington I find myself increasingly aware of the fact, that most of my hard earned tax dollars are going towards things I'll never benefit from. Ganted this statement is true for many of us that choose to "earn" a living in this great country. It is unfortunate how earning a living to supoport ourselves and our families, has grown into a responsibility, placed upon us by our government, to support the other half in our country that either can't or choose not to earn their own living. It's grown into our responsibility to support programs and pet projects which many of us could really care less about, and will never be affected by in any. So why is it we allow these responsibilities to be placed upon us? Is it really the duty of our government to make sure us "wage earners" pay for the needs/wants of others...no matter the need, no matter the want? Below are a few ideas I think might solve our countries growing debt problem.

- require government to stay out of the charitable business of our churches

- feds should lower our taxes by 10%, so we can give 10% more to our churches.

- Churches can use this extra 10% to buy housing, food supplies, self help programs, etc for those who need the help. No more Government housing projects, no more welfare. Churches take these things over completely.

- allow church members to decide on where and on who their dollars are spent. They already do this.

- weed out the "abusers" of the system. Churches are quick to distinguish the needy from the "lazy", and would be quick to kick people out of the system that didn't deserve the help. This makes it much easier to police the system through church member involvement.

- have the Feds focus our tax dollars solely on efforts every citizen will benefit from. Roads, infrastructure, border patrol, military, etc..

- our budget and tax dollar expenditures are voted on by citizens, same way we vote for our president. Every four years each party makes a list of the efforts they want to fund, and "we the people" vote on them. If some entitlements don't get voted in?...well I guess those things just weren't that important to our citizens.

- no more bullshit pet projects to pay for. The above item eliminates this. If the majority of the country wants it, fine....we're big enough to make mistakes, and we can fix them by voting it out 4 years later.

- reform our unemployment program. Expect something in return for our tax dollars going out to the people out of work. Make people on unemployment work for their checks. Let's face it, there's always something needed to be done. Assign them to a cleanup crew, fill in potholes, plant trees, help deliver food and supplies to the needy. Turn then into emergency response teams to help during disasters....anything really. Just make sure they clock in and earn those checks. No work, no pay....get paid only for the hours they work. This eliminates the abusers.

- flat rate tax system. Why should any one person, rich, poor, and any in-between pay any more or less than the next guy. Why punish someone for being successful, and why reward those who chose not to be.

- reform corporate loopholes and tax breaks Again let the people vote on this every 2 years. If companies are offered breaks it will be because our citizens feel they bring benefit to our country. If not....well those companies should try harder.

- stop paying into social security. Current recipients should receive their normal payment, but the government shouldn't be allowed to borrow from the wage earners today to cover a debt to which the government owes it's recipients. Let "them" pay the money back they owe.

- for those 50 and younger, make the Feds giive back the social security funds we've contributed to date. Payments could be made to us with cash right away (slight penalty for quick withdraw), additional tax breaks or end of year refunds until paid off, or maybe stocks/bonds,etc. Let the people decide how and when to retire.

- ban lobbyist on the hill. Pet projects privatized. Let these special interest groups find their own private funding sources for their causes somewhere

What Will You Be When You Grow Up?

2010-03-24T00:22:00.001-05:00

“I would like to be a chemical technician. To change the world, I would like to have an army of robots to do all of the kids work, and make candy that is good for you, but still tasted good” - David Adair

“I want to be an artist. To change the world, I want to find cures for all kinds of diseases. I want to make buildings more beautiful” - Brian Kirmse

“I would like to be a teacher. To change the world, I would take everything about Social Studies out” - Cheryl Richardson

“I would like to be a professional Drum Player. To change the world, I would create sunshine all year round. It will put people in a good mood.” - Jurnetta Roberts

“I want to be a Psychiatrist. To change the world I would help people get along with each other.” - Kim Rogers

It isn’t often that we (The 40+ crowd) have the opportunity to reach back in time and remember the dreams and aspirations we once had as young kids…a time we looked at everything around us through a much wider lens. The world was at our disposal. We had no boundaries, no glass ceilings…no responsibilities or obligations that limited our ability to dream about who we were going to become, or what we would do to change the world. Is it possible at 40+ to reclaim that same feeling of immeasurable potential? Is it possible for us to look through that wide angle lens, and once again see how we can change the world for the better without considering the obstacles that might get in the way?

With the years continuing to fly by, it’s my opinion that we tend to accumulate a heaviness brought on by life itself…a weight of sorts that slowly builds to a point where we no longer feel we can fly. As we grow older, our understanding of the world around us, and all its lessons taught, starts to chisel away our once wide angled lens, leaving us with a very narrow and sometimes blinded view of our own potential. As one always willing to give advise (good or bad), we must create our own “light at the end of the tunnel”, so to speak, before the real “light at the end of the tunnel” is presented to us. We should never stop dreaming of who we can be, or how we can change the world for the better.

“I want to be a Photographer for Wildlife. I would change the world by stopping pollution, lowering taxes, and trying to produce more oil” - Dave Willard, 1981(6th Grade)

40 and Counting - Two Speeds

2009-11-23T21:18:00.003-06:00

Two Speeds….
When talking about his career as a machinist, Dad always joked to us boys about telling his boss he had two speeds. Before I give away the punch line I feel some background information is needed to build some reasoning behind this blog entry. With my limited knowledge of the type of work Dad did, it’s still easy for me to understand that Dads duties required precision, perfection, and a ton of patience, a responsibility where “getting in a hurry” just didn’t fit in. If you’re unfamiliar with the kind of work old school machinists such as my dad performed, simply picture someone trying to make a ball, hand formed with metal, perfectly round and balanced to the nth degree… an art form in itself, built by a true artist who no doubt constantly stood back and looked at his work through a picture frame made from two hard, callused hands. Knuckles bloodied from the slip of a wrench, burn holes in his jump suit from spatters of the welding gun, smashed fingers, sore feet, and aching muscles from his lower back all the way up his spine from swinging a mallet to form an unforgiving piece of steel…all things my dad no doubt experienced on a day to day basis from early adulthood to the day he retired.

“Slow” and “Stop”, the two speeds I promised to tell you, and the punch line of that joke dad told...now (at age forty) have a whole new meaning as I find myself searching for words to live by, and words to leave behind. By now, most of us in the 40 Club are busy raising families, finding our “groove” in our careers, soccer practices, and piano recitals, church, etc… most likely multi-tasking all of the above in often overlapping fashion on our daily calendars. As for me, I’m sitting here writing this blog entry while staring at my two youngest kids now in hi school, an old family pet on her last legs of life, pictures of my oldest daughter married and starting her own journey, photos of our two grandchildren, next to one more of my aging mom and dad. . Then there’s that photo of myself, gray hairs on my chin and deep wrinkles on my forehead which I call “battle scars of life” caused by stress and those multiple mountain peaks we climb growing older.

You know? Dad’s two speeds aren’t sounding bad right about now. As much as we may feel like switching into a higher gear to reach our journeys end, we should all contemplate the fact that even though the quickest way between two points is a straight line, maybe…just maybe we should take the slower scenic routes from time to time and pull over for those photo opps along the way. Maybe we should all wear Dad’s worn out ole work boots, and practice patience in life, patience in our situations, ourselves and in others. We should break out the calipers and measure where we’re at, and more importantly where we’re going, never forgetting that where we’ll end up will be as close to perfection as we strive to make it.

40 and Counting - Focusing on the Future

2009-09-17T21:13:00.002-05:00

My last blog entry centered on how things in our past add value to our lives. This blog entry focuses on how we can move forward from 40…well, according to my “chronicles of a mad man” approach that is. Nonetheless, below are just a few things I feel are worthy of mentioning. These simple rules of thumb can be applied to our careers, relationships, hobbies, education, religion, etc.

Learn from our past
Most of us by now should know that we learn from our past to help shape our future. Take note…I did not say, “live in the past” as many are guilty of doing. I said “Learn”. This means we take a tally of everything good and bad to date, and make a conscious effort to gravitate towards those paths that have always proven (by past experience) to lead towards happiness. I have no doubt that hard times will continue to present themselves throughout our next 40 years. But...if we “learn” from our past , we have a better chance of coping with these things, or avoiding them completely, as we move toward the future.

Avoid Complacency Like the Plague
If one were to approach me on the street today and ask, “Are you satisfied with where you’re at in life?”, my answer would always be “NO”. Am I happy? Yes, but I’ll never be satisfied. How can we better our lives in the future, if we’re not willing to move from the spot we’re standing in today? We should never feel we’ve reached the pinnacle of our existence, thinking it can’t get any better than this. For the moment we do, we introduce complacency, which lacks motion and plants seeds of staleness that quickly grow to a life of “standing still”.

Encourage Change
The best way to avoid complacency is to introduce change in our lives. That doesn’t mean we should all rush out and buy new cars, get plastic surgery (hair plugs in my case), switch careers, or ditch our spouses. As most of us know, and have probably experienced firsthand, change for the sake of change can be meaningless, and sometimes downright dangerous. In my case, this mistake seems to come in the form of 4 wheels and a bigger monthly payment. However, when done right, change can help open our eyes, expand our minds, and introduce things that we never thought could bring gratification. We should all strive to continue learning and push ourselves to experience new things.

40 and Counting - A Fine appreciation for the Past.

2009-09-09T21:06:00.009-05:00

As I grow older, I’m finding myself with a greater appreciation for the things of the past, whether it be old cars, musical instruments, antiques and pictures, etc.…These things have hidden stories, some of which are true, some I like to imagine are waiting to be discovered within their tarnished exteriors. To me the value of owning such treasures is never in what I can fetch for them on eBay, but instead in their ability to tell stories I can place myself within. As I think about some of the things that have brought me enjoyment, I begin to wonder if any of you have your own treasure chests of memories like I do. In my efforts of sharing (as usual), I'll share with you a few things I like to keep in my junk drawer at home.

My old hat (one you've already read about) not only reminds me of my late uncle Walley, but also of many hours spent around Grandma’s dinner table. Funny how when I place it on my head I travel 30 years backward in time and smell the those buttermilk biscuits sitting on the table we all gathered at. Grandma’s in the living room, in her wicker rocking chair, talking to mom and dad about old times and catching up on the family news. Uncle Jess is perched in the TV room, one leg perched over the arm of his chair as he amuses us boys by popping out his false teeth over and over again…a trick that never got old. From what I remember, us boys were usually keeping him from another episode of Hee-Haw , with Roy Clark strumming his guitar in front of the boob-tube. Grandma's house was a place of gathering for me...a place where good ole fashion fun took place, and where I like to thinm that many of my traits and values were engrained. Eventhough I hated the long drives getting there, I'll always appreciate my parents for constantly exposing me to their roots.

My old truck used to belong to “Crazy Carl”…world famous for his Halloween festivities in Independence, and known for his crazy off the wall antics. Just starting the engine to this fine piece of machinery reminds of the many years I’ve taken my kids to his house for Halloween. He never opens the door for anybody, unless they scream “trick or treat!” at the top of their lungs. If they didn't you would here a "I can't hear you" from behind the door. If they did, they were greeted by a hand puppet…mouth full of carnival toys, never candy. Throughout their years growing up, a stop at Crazy Carl's was always a "must do", as equally important as a trip to their Grandparents house that night. Now my Oldest (Mae) has continued the tradtion by taking our grand daughter to Carl's on Halloween. Yup...It was well worth the $1000 I paid for this truck to take myself back in time and picture the excitement, joy, and sometimes all out fear in my kids eyes …worth every penny.

My old 1923 trumpet must have been owned, in my mind, by some famous Jazz trumpeter, able to click off notes as if they were rolling off his tongue in some dark, dingy hideout bar, cigar smoke winding into the air as it rests in its ash tray, next to a half full glass of martini. It’s nothing for me to picture this vintage instrument in the hands of a real professional waiting to chime in on an old Glen Miller tune. I can almost hear him counting, under is breath, the rests in the music…1,2,3,4…2,2,3,4…3,2,3,4. then the squeal of reentry as he starts his solo. One of my goals in life is to take my old horn to Jim Cullim, Jazz trumpeter on San Antonio's River, and have him play a few songs for the crowd on it. You know, bring this horn full circle back to the good ole days it came from.

I have an old rusty sledge hammer belonging to my dad. Unbeknownst to him I still have it on my back porch (Sorry Dad). It’s something I rarely use, but love to picture myself swinging. When I place it in my hands, I immediately go back to the days of dad whaling on old tree stumps and on those walls mom just couldn’t live with inside the house. With every swing you could almost hear dad let out a cuss word…if not hear it you could definitely see it in his facial expressions...especially when he was knocking down those walls. On the rare occasions I do use it, as soon as the pain of swinging it kicks in, I get a burst of energy when I remember Dad’s sturdy efforts he showed every time he picked it up. I remember as a little kid looking in wonder, as Dad swung that slede like an invincible super hero, picking up a thousand pounds and swinging it over his head. Now that I'm 40, I can only imagine how little of a hero Dad felt like when he was put to the task. Nonetheless, he is, and will always be Mr. Invincable in my eyes. Keep swinging Dad, and I'll keep watching like that little kid.

I have a simple rock…a funny shaped rock my oldest brother Ron gave me many years ago when I was going through some hard times. At the time, it was a little odd for me when he placed it in my hands. A Freakin Rock? What the hell? Following the gesture he added a few simple words, which at the time struck me to the bone. He said: “I don’t know why, but when I saw this rock I picked it up thinking you needed it.“ For many there’s little to no value in these words, but to someone like me, who was at that time going through some very troubled times, these words clearly spoke as if he was offering me a hand up from the bottom. Strangely enough the rock fit perfectly in my hand, almost as if it was carved to fit like a custom made pistol grip. Holding it gave me a sense of control, when everything seemed out of control around me. Little does he know, it gave me a strong sense of security, as it opened my eyes to the fact that he was really saying “I got your back”. Ron, if you're listening...I got your back too.

I realize today, as I stare at this old rock in my junk drawer, the sledge hammer on my back porch, and my old hat, which I keep on the dash of my old “crazy Carl” truck…the things we collect from our past have no real value in dollars, but instead are reminders of where we’ve been, good times, bad times, and all the things in-between. These things, although each seemingly very small when separated from the accumulative, are responsible for who we are today, and what we’ll continue to become as time moves forward.

What have I not learned?
I wish I could say I was a pack rat…someone who collected everything I ever came across in my lifetime. I wish I could say I have thousands of pictures of myself as a kid, and ten times that many of my parents and my children as they grow older. I wish I could have collected simple trinkets, nothing of any real importance, but simple “things” from those that are no longer around to build more memories with, for someday I will most certainly regret not having something to hold or look at to remind me of them.

What have I learned?
Cherish the past and all of the things you can gather from it. Grow your collection of memories, take lots of pictures of your family and kids, and simply collect “things” as time moves forward. Allow yourself to become immersed in the stories that come, or can be imagined in these things, , and share those stories when the right times present themselves.

40 and Counting

2009-08-20T01:03:00.002-05:00

Recently I had the good fortune of celebrating my 40th birthday, a milestone event in life no doubt. As I look back on this journey, and discover what I’ve learned or more importantly, what I haven’t learned along my way, I'll share my experiences in hope that others may share their findings with me. These next few blogs entries will cover various subject matters and personal philosophies, which I believe are worth sharing others making the same trek. I encourage all readers to add comments, stories, etc.

Our loss is also our gain
My first blog series is about a subject matter people my age are starting to experience more of. At age 40, many of us by now have experienced the loss of loved ones. Parents, siblings, childhood friends, co-workers, and for some of us, even our own children have come and gone from our lives leaving us with both voids from their absence, and a fullness from the impact they made on us while they were with us. My own understanding of this loss includes all of my grandparents, several aunts & uncles, cousins, good friends, old teachers, and co-workers. I’ve also experienced the hurt my wife has gone through, and my utter feeling of futility during the times when she lost her grandmother, and a grandfather she was very close to. It is no doubt that losing loved ones is something we’ll become more familiar with as we grow older. However, no matter the occurrence each of us will experience, the intensity of hurt and emptiness remains constant and ever so present each time we lose someone in our lives.

What I haven’t learned?
Well, even though I’ve experienced loss, I continue to struggle with the fact that we’re all mortal. Evidence of this can be found in my lack of urgency to keep in touch with all of the people that I’ve grown to know or love throughout these years. I’m not proud to say it, but this even includes members of my own family of which I’m convinced will be around forever. Words of wisdom, I hope we’ll all follow in the future…stay in touch, and enjoy time with those you’ve come to know, like and love. For reality is…someday you won’t be able to.

What have I learned?
I’ve learned that loss, although hard to cope with at the time, will eventually turn to gain. This “gain” resembles the impact these people have had in my life, and the legacy they’ve left behind for all of us to ponder. Throughout these 40 years, each of the people I’ve lost has helped build the castings by which I’ve been molded to resemble. Personality traits, senses of humor, facial expressions, sayings, interests, and yes…even that damned ole hat of mine, have somehow been imposed upon me by the impact these people have made throughout these years. I am who I am, because of all of these people. It is for this reason I want to leave an impression on people that maybe…just maybe will be a good example or trait worthy of handing down to the next recipients.

Hell hath no fury

2009-07-21T08:24:00.007-05:00

Hell hath no fury than a woman scorned - There are very few of us that have experienced the true meaning behind this saying, and even less that have lived to tell about it. Well this blog entry is my short story of survival…a true recollection of when I tried my mother’s nerves, and drew her to the brink of insane rage.

From third grade on, I was known for my speed, my humor, and my short height…most likely in that order. When it came to my speed, all one had to do is point at a 60 yard dash line and I was daring them to race. Put me on a track and I was almost guaranteed to make mince meat out of all those who challenged my mad running “skillz”. It was my uniqueness, my one way of proving myself worthy to those laughing at my short stature. My skillz of speed were so mad, I remember dad always telling me “Dynamite comes in small packages.” I believed every word and often reused these words when talking to other kids who doubted my talents. I remember it was always the last thing I had to say before they would take me up on a dare to race.

It was a warm summer day back in 1984. I was 14 years old, 5’3” tall, and weighed in at a skinny buck fifteen. It was one of those days you could just sit out on the front porch with your shirt off to catch some rays. I’m pretty fair skinned, so my time on the porch usually involved covering my entire head with a towel. Having a bad sun burn on my head was, and has always been unbearable.

So, there I was, sitting on the front porch, not a care in the world except for catching a nice tan (or burn in my case). All of a sudden I was rudely interrupted by this screeching noise. “Dave, get in here and clean up that room of yours…NOW!” I quickly responded, with attitude in my voice, “I will”, then recovered my head with the towel and proceeded to enjoy what I considered “my time”. Five minutes later there it was again “David Patrick, get in there and clean up your room”…this time it sounded like that siren on the hit series Ba-Ba Black Sheep. Some of you know what I’m talking about. The crank to her siren was definitely turning faster this time. The pitch was much higher and a tad bit louder. This time she added the “David Patrick”. She only broke that one out when she was serious. Nonetheless, I decided to crank my own siren up and said again. “I will mom…jeeez!.

By this time, I could hear the footsteps stomping towards me from the kitchen to the front porch. There was no escaping confrontation, and it was coming fast. The trip from the kitchen to the front porch was at most 20 steps. Mom seemed to be making good time from what I could tell. Sensing the seriousness of the situation I tried to get up before she reached the front door, but instead was caught off guard by her early arrival. There she stood, glaring down at me with those eyes of hers, a glare even Clint Eastwood would have back down from. It didn’t take long for me to get on my feet and start past her towards my room, saying “I am Mom!”. Unfortunately, after passing her I did the unspeakable. I mumbled out a cuss word under my breath, something that was apparently heard by mom’s keen ears. It was at this point in my life, I learned the true meaning of “Hell hath no fury.”

As soon as I figured out Mom heard me, I decided to put a little dynamite in my small package and make a run for it. I was able to make it out the back door without trouble, thinking that if I could make it that far, Freedom was merely a 60 yard dash away followed by a fence I had to jump. Nothing to it, I’ve been under this kind of pressure many times and always pulled through with a win. As I approached the fence I looked back, and to my surprise there she was, gaining ground fast, at most 2-3 steps off my backside. Finally, a worthy adversary I thought. Well no…Not actually. I was so terrified by the thought of her catching me, that I lost all focus on the task at hand…clearing that fence. Needless to say, I was a few steps to late with my jump, and an inch to low. Damn my short stature!

There she stood, looking down on me again with that glare. She didn’t have to say a word as I was laying there nursing a sprain wrist and messed up ankle. She simply shook her head in anger, and then turned toward the house. She might as well have said, “The fact that I was catching you is enough for me.” Mom…beating me at my own game. What a bruise to my adolescent EGO. How could I ever enjoy spanking others at the 60 yard dash, knowing my mom could easily summon, from the depths of her hell, the ferocity of a world class sprinter? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

When the Hat Makes the Man

2009-07-08T08:00:00.002-05:00

For those of you that know me, I often spend my off time wearing an old fishing hat…the same one you see in my blog’s profile pic and my Facebook. It’s a wrinkled old hat, (about 15 years old), has a red band at the base of the rim, thin blue pin stripes bordering the red, and age spots that rival a 90 year old man. I’ve managed throughout the years to get it greasy while working under the hood of old cars, mildewed from soaking it in muddy rivers to cool my forehead, and ragged by accidentally running over it when pulling out of my drive. To many this is just another hat that indisputably belongs in the local thrift store or even worse…the trash. You know the kind…one of those hats you wouldn’t think of buying for 10 cents, even on half price days. To me however it’s a diamond in the rough that represents more than just a hat.

I remember the day I spotted this beauty resting on a rack at the local Kmart. The style alone caught my eye, as it reminded me of one my late uncle “Walley” used to wear…a real character he was. Walley was a kind spirited truck driver who enjoyed life to its fullest. Full of piss and vinegar like his little sister (my mom), he backed the attitude up with a sense of humor that was both swift and clear-cut. His hat, which I was told he owned for many years, was pierced by an old fishing lure for those impromptu trips to the lake I guess, and sported a couple of pins from the various truck stops he would visit along his journey between pick-ups & drop-offs. As a kid, to simply look at him with that hat on brought a smile to my face and a belly giggling chuckle. To hear him talk and break out a joke was merely a bonus for me.

In his later years Walley fell sick and was placed in a nursing home near Center, MO. I remember visiting him there a few times when I was a teenager. I hated the long drive in the back seat of my parents car…seemed like we had made that trip a thousand times. Fortunately, you could guarantee after the 4 hour ride, you would be greeted by Walley, that ole hat, and the chuckles conjured up when talking to him. As his health faded, it wasn’t long before Walley was laid to rest in a small country cemetery there outside of Center. I remember the funeral plain as day. There he was, eyes closed, smile on his face, and that ole hat laying there beside him as if he were speaking directly to me, “Skipper…leave um with a laugh or two, and a smile on their face”. It wasn’t too long after that day when I bought my “Uncle Walley” hat, one which I hope I’ll wear to my grave.

So, when does a hat make the man? I feel it’s when the hat you put on for the day, reminds you of someone with simple unspoken wisdom to live by…a hat that helps you remember where you came from, and where you should be going. In my case, it’s a hat that reminds me to “Leave um laughing with a smile on their face”. So what hat will you wear today?