CLASSIC REACTION TO FEAR OF NEW READERS

My classic reaction to any fear? RUN AWAY.

It’s how I react to new readers, new writers, new people.

Every new thing needs attention, needs a response, needs validation, needs time.

A serious blogger can’t run away from everything.

But, there are reasons . . .

It’s a character flaw, one I admit to, when new sports heroes come on the scene.

I’m afraid for them.

There’s the greatest baseball player since Babe Ruth.

There’s the greatest basketball player since Michael Jordan.

There’s the greatest wrestler since Dan Gable.

In each case of the new ‘greatest ever’ I’m haunted by Lou Gehrig.

‘Please don’t contract a dreadful fucking disease that’ll kill you in a short time.’

 

The next Babe Ruth, Shohei Ohtani:

He’s looking good so far.

If the elbow problem clears up the sky’s the limit.

In 2021 he became the first player in major league history to be named an All-Star as both a pitcher and a position player.

He made history again during the 2024 season when he became the first MLB player to hit 50 home runs and steal 50 bases in the regular season.

 

The next Michael Jordan, Kobe Bryant:

Here’s a guy who has come and gone and left an entire screen of stats after two decades in the NBA, and I still see him as a kid.

Time is funny like that.

I saw Michael Jordan the same way, a kid on a burner who would flame out sooner than later.

Except Jordan became a brand name and Kobe died in a helicopter crash on his way to a higher level of fame and adulation.

He didn’t get sick and fade away while the world wept at the unfairness.

He died beating traffic in Los Angeles.

The 41-year-old Lakers great and others on the helicopter were flying to the Mamba Sports Academy in Newbury Park for a girls basketball tournament.

Bryant often took helicopters to avoid Los Angeles’ notorious traffic.

 

The greatest wrestler since Dan Gable, Larry Owings:

In 1970, the legendary undefeated Iowa State wrestler Dan Gable lost his final collegiate match to a relatively unknown sophomore from the University of Washington, Larry Owings.

Gable went on to achieve Olympic gold and build a dynasty as head coach for the Iowa Hawkeyes.

Owings faded into obscurity.

 

To be the best, you need to beat the best. That’s what Owings did.

About him fading into obscurity?

Apparently another name for obscurity is Canby, Oregon.

That’s where the district wrestling tournament was held when Larry Owings, wearing his official University of Washington purple blazer, hung a district champion medal on my kid.

That’ll never be obscure.

From my shaded point of view Larry Owings had the classic reaction to fame: Those lights are way too bright.

 

Classic Reaction To New Readers?

Hello to all of my new readers from China, Romania, Ghana, Philippines, India, Chile, Brazil, Czechia, Canada, United Kingdom, Belgium, France, and Australia.

After one of the best talks about online engagement (hey Sam), I agree that anyone who takes time to write a comment, or send a response to an email newsletter, deserves a real return for their effort.

Why? Because if you’re reading BoomerPdx then you’re not in the mood for strident 2nd Amendment preaching, political analysis, or gambling advice. Thank you for that.

My readers don’t look for deals, meals, or steals, although I include them all.

What they are looking for are insights on how to communicate with people who look like a big stop sign.

Like your husband, your wife, your kids, your family, your neighbors, the kind of people you find in a normal life.

It starts with the people you care enough about to believe in, to try and understand.

You want them to know you, the real you.

You rest you can navigate on your own.

The relationship between you and any customer service from Quick Books to Congress needs a solid foundation.

They come with instructions that include contracts and constitutions.

Things get complicated with Uncle Neal pulls his constitution from his front pocket to explain his rights to the rest of the family.

 

Your Move, Pilgrim

I once made a promise in real life in real time: I would listen attentively.

Instead of getting into the back and forth of a real conversation, I agreed to, wait for it, listen attentively.

While it sounds worthy and decent, you may ask why I agreed to something that usually passes for normal?

Because I was with people I cared about and wanted them to ‘get to know me’ better.

The people who know me best like to say I don’t pay attention, but I think they’re just trying to get my attention.

 

Them: You never listen.

Me: I heard that.

Them: It’s true, you never listen.

Me: What?

 

Two days after my attentive listening session I checked into my hometown ICU.

I should have checked into the nearest hospital but I was out of town, it was during covid, and I would’ve been transferred out anyway.

Mainly it was because the nearest hospital at the time was in Coos Bay and I’m a North Bend guy with no intentions of having my expiration date on Pirate land.

Sounds weird? So does most anything about baby boomers dealing with mortality, with death, especially their own.

This is the inner voice of the Me Generation when we don’t feel as peppy, as vital, as intensely alive, as normal.

Our inner voice when we feel our age, act our age, when the old man or woman inside of us says, ‘slow down honey, take a seat, let it all go, it’s okay.’

 

 

PS: Check yourself before you wreck yourself.

It’s easy to ignore things, like a branch on your roof, or a pump in a pond that’s not pumping.

(Or your heart.)

Keep ignoring them, or risk falling off the roof.

Or risk getting blasted in the face by the pump that suddenly pumps so well it knocks you off your feet. (hey Barry)

Or your heart seizes up and you fall over where you stand.

PSS: The medical bills for making mistakes grow bigger the older you get.

I walked into the Emergency Room with tightening muscles in my upper back, got a quick going over, and they rang the bell for the A Team.

In quick fashion I was undressed, loaded up, and moved to a prep room with a big light over the table.

Prep for what?

All I saw was an ax, a saw, a jackhammer pounding on my chest; I saw the pale zipper on my Dad’s chest after quintuple by-pass; I saw my wife sitting in the corner looking at her phone.

The first two were a bad mental image, the last was actually my wife sitting in a corner with her phone.

What was she doing in there?

I imagined her thinking, ‘Why didn’t he check into the Bay Area Hospital two days ago?’

The last thing I remember saying, or yelling, to her, “I don’t have a death wish.”

I spent the night and got wheeled out the next morning. All clear.

Could have walked, but the policy was wheels.

Just another old bird dodging the the Grim Reaper’s scythe?

Or a classic reaction to overcoming fear?