A Short Story by David L. Dyer
November 6, 2011
My wife, Janet gave me a present for my birthday recently. Yes it is something to wear. A half smile accompanied the tears that rolled down my face as I stared at the numbers that were engraved on the beautiful bracelet she placed on my wrist. Those numbers read 58267. This number represents the total number of names inscribed on the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, DC. I understand that it took until the year of 2010 for the final names to be posted so we must accept that total as accurate. I often wonder why it took so long to do so little for those who gave so much. The year 2010 would have been some 35 years after the last American was killed in Vietnam. I do have an idea of something that could still be done and will get to that later.
As another Veteran's Day approaches, what are your plans for that day? Will you go to a party or hosp one? How about a parade? On Veteran's day you don't have to go very far to see one or to even join one. Maybe you'll just enjoy the day off work that so many of you will be getting. Whatever it may be how about adding something to it that really make you feel good. Before your day begins give yourself one minute of silence in honor of those 58,267 young men and women that gave their lives. You will be surprised at the extra energy you will have created for yourself. Now I'll tell you a little about myself and how it is I feel that I have a right to be asking these questions and to be writing about this very serious subject.
In August of 2007 I was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease at the age of 68. When my brother Wayne heard that news he was devastated. He also seemed to sense that there was something I've been holding back that was much deeper than Parkinson's. He then sent me a tape he had made with his publisher, Louise Hay. On this tape were nine simple words that were formed into a sentence. Without a doubt it was those words that would entirely change my life. That sentence reads as follows: "Do not die with your music still in you."
I had always avoided talking about Vietnam simply because there was nothing pleasant about it to talk about. That reasoning may have been my way of avoiding any conversations that had to do with my experiences since I just couldn't bring myself to talk about them without welling up. I would just revert to my comfort zone which was my daily six pack.
After hearing those words from Wayne and realizing that I now had this incurable disease and I was almost 69 years old I began thinking about my Mother who would soon be turning 92. She was living in an assisted living home in Florida and with me being in Michigan the chances of us ever seeing each other again were becoming very remote. I listened to that tape once again and when those nine words again came to fore I immediately began taking action.
That very evening I told Janet and my son David-Scott my Vietnam story and of the memories and nightmares that have haunted me for the past 37 years. I then wrote the story and as Wayne suggested I began talking about it whenever I could. I began feeling much better. I wrote this in part a year ago in a story "A Pittance of Time," and will tell it in part again here.
While in the Army as a career soldier I was stationed in Vietnam in 1970 and 1971. I was assigned to the 71st Evacuation Hospital in Pleiku, RVN. This was located along the Cambodian Border. As a medical record specialist I was in charge of the admission and disposition of patients and believe me I saw much more than my share of blood and guts. Most of the patients were brought in to us directly from the battlefields or jungles by either ambulance or chopper. At times they were received in body bags. Our job was to admit the patients and initiate their medical record by placing a wrist band on them. We would then interview them and obtain as much personal information as possible. There were times that I was the first person they remembered talking to after being wounded. On more than one occasion I was asked to "Please don't tell my wife." One of the most difficult tasks that had to be done was searching through the clothing of the DOA's (dead on arrival) to secure any valuables they may have had on their person. This included looking through their wallets and viewing photos of their family members.
As my year in Vietnam was coming to an end I was talked into extending for six months. This of course was my own decision. I was pretty well convinced that the war was winding down and that was obvious by the reduction in the number of casualties we received. We were in the process of turning the hospital over to the ARVN's and the thought of a 30 day non chargeable leave won my over. When I returned to Vietnam most of our personnel had been reassigned or sent home. We had been reduced to a 30 bed inpatient Medical Detachment.
It was just a couple of days later that we were hit with a mass casualty that I never thought we would live through. I wrote about that in my Vietnam story and will not repeat it here. What I had not written about was what happened the day prior to that mass casualty. Our Dust-off unit which was our helicopter support was called to retrieve what turned out to be the most sickening sight I have ever encountered. When the subject of horrors of war come up there couldn't possibly be anything more shocking than what we saw as we put on gas masks to relieve the stench while we began removing body parts of three Americans that had been executed, dismembered and stuffed into one body bag and left for the animals. We could not identify them. We recorded them as unknown. That night came the mass casualty. There was no time for mourning in Vietnam. My time to cry came many years after leaving Vietnam
It was three years ago that my son David-Scott and I visited the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, DC. That was absolutely the most moving experience of my life. I would suggest that anyone who was drafted during the Vietnam era to visit that memorial and while there recite this modified version of this adage in prayer: "There but for the grace of God, went I."
While I was there I stared at the wall. All I could see were names and numbers. I closed my eyes and then I began seeing faces. Yes they al had faces thirty seven years ago. I began seeing young men on gurneys lined up in the emergency room. I began seeing young men in body bags. I began seeing young men on Psychiatric wards. I saw one with a self inflicted gunshot wound completely through his head. I finally saw the 22 year old burn patient who died in my hands while crying out for his mother with his final breath. Yes, they all had faces all 58,267 of them. I know, I not only saw them, I touched them. I touched countless numbers of them.
It was then and there at "the wall" that I vowed to and did give up alcohol, which was a lifelong crutch for me. I did so not only for myself but in honor of those 58,267 names inscribed on that wall. The lack of alcohol in my system changed my sleeping habits. I could not sleep at night. I then began writing at the age of 69. I began writing short stories about friends and relatives. I was amazed at the quality of my writing and at times I would ask myself "who wrote this?" Wayne has always said that I have always had this ability within me, but it must have been covered by my lifelong alcohol consumption.
Yes the nightmares have somewhat ceased since I began writing and talking about my Vietnam experiences. I do continue to have moments at times. A good example of those "moments" would be as I quote once again from "A Pittance of Time." "My wife and I recently attended a Michigan State football game. Just prior to the kick-off the MSU Marching Band played one of the most beautiful versions of our National Anthem I have ever heard. Prior to the last stanza they paused for a few seconds. My eyes were fixed on those Stars and Stripes. It didn't take long for my thoughts to put me back in Vietnam. That "moment" found me cringing as approached this baby faced 22 year old whom I swear didn't appear to be a day past seventeen. Now what could possibly be pleasant about placing death tags on his right toe and left thumb?
As I've said all those names on that memorial did have faces some forty plus years ago. I said at the beginning of this story that something could be done to brighten those walls. Do you think that 58,267 photos could be added. It might take another 35 years or so but I'm sure those walls could be expanded.
If I haven't reached you yet, I will guarantee you that the rest of this story will at a minimum create a welling in your eyes. If it fails to do so then we just haven't connected.. Please read through it slowly and grasp each word.
THE REST OF THIS STORY
It is now late at night and Veteran's Day is coming to a close. I hope you enjoyed your party, parade or whatever it was you did today. Do you remember how it began? Do you remember giving that moment of silence this morning? I'm going to ask you to do that once again, but first I'd like to mention a couple of things. When that number of 58,267 is broken down some rather startling statistics are revealed. 39,996 of them were 22 years old or younger. 12 of them were only 17 years old. 5 of them were only 16 years old and one of them was only 15. 997 of them were killed on their first day in Vietnam. 1,448 of them were killed on their last day in Vietnam. There were 244 award presentations of the Medal of Honor. 153 of those names are on that wall.
Yes, it is late at night and Veteran's Day is coming to a close. It is now time to give that last moment of silence. This time please close your eyes and put all of your thoughts on those 58,267 young men and women that gave their lives so we could be here enjoying all of what we did today. When the 60 seconds are over you might just want to blurt out these words. "Thank you my friend, we miss you."
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
A Nostalgic Trip
Written April 1st, 2011
This is a little inspirational story that I’d love to share. My brother Wayne Dyer was recently home for a speaking engagement. When I say home I mean in the Detroit area. While here he happened to have a free day. He asked me to go along with him on a nostalgic trip. We went to both our former Cottage in Sombra, Ontario and to the boarding home where we lived in Mt Clemens, Michigan in the 1940’s. It was all very interesting but not enough to write about. Then came the highlight of our trip.
We went to the small town house duplex we lived in on Moross Road on the East side of Detroit. We knocked on the door and Wayne introduced us and said that we used to live in this house back in the 1950’s. Wayne asked if we could look through the house. It was now occupied by an African American family. They were very friendly and welcomed us into their home. This family consisted of a father, a mother and a sixteen year old daughter. The mother was not at home at the time as she was working at a job that paid barely minimum wage. We’ll call the father William and the daughter, Mary.
William was laid off and his workers compensation was about to end. Mary was a junior at Denby High School. This was the same school that we all went to in the 50’s. Mary also had a part time job at McDonalds.
What a memorable feeling we had as we walked through that house. Mary had that upstairs nine by nine room to herself. This was the same room that all three of us shared. It wasn’t even big enough for her. The attic where Mother would hide Christmas presents was still there as was the Terrace that was connected to the kitchen and dining room. The refrigerator was in the same spot. The kitchen table and the ping pong table were the same ones we left there in the 50’s. I told Mary the story of the caramel cakes.
We went through the basement where we used to listen to Tiger baseball games. I told William that I remembered listening at this very spot as Virgil Trucks pitched his second no-hitter of the year in 1952. I also commented on the basement steps where we would sit and shine our shoes.
Wayne explained to William how we never needed a key to enter the house. He told him how we would climb up to the top of the roof and down the other side to the roof of the terrace and enter through the bedroom window.
Wayne talked at length with Mary and of her future aspirations. She seemed to think her reality would find her working full time at McDonalds and maybe someday become a manager.
As we were about to leave Wayne said to William that he spotted what appeared to be a dollar bill folded on the ground of his driveway. William picked it up and unfolded a one hundred dollar bill. Wayne said if he found that in his driveway he would take his family to dinner. William’s tears were real. He thought he was dreaming.
When we got to the car to leave Wayne said he forgot something. We walked back to Mary and Wayne told her “Since you are living in my house and sleeping in my bedroom and going to my school, you just can’t stop now.” He then presented her with a scholorship to his alma mater, Wayne State University. After seeing her reaction, even my tears were real.
This is a little inspirational story that I’d love to share. My brother Wayne Dyer was recently home for a speaking engagement. When I say home I mean in the Detroit area. While here he happened to have a free day. He asked me to go along with him on a nostalgic trip. We went to both our former Cottage in Sombra, Ontario and to the boarding home where we lived in Mt Clemens, Michigan in the 1940’s. It was all very interesting but not enough to write about. Then came the highlight of our trip.
We went to the small town house duplex we lived in on Moross Road on the East side of Detroit. We knocked on the door and Wayne introduced us and said that we used to live in this house back in the 1950’s. Wayne asked if we could look through the house. It was now occupied by an African American family. They were very friendly and welcomed us into their home. This family consisted of a father, a mother and a sixteen year old daughter. The mother was not at home at the time as she was working at a job that paid barely minimum wage. We’ll call the father William and the daughter, Mary.
William was laid off and his workers compensation was about to end. Mary was a junior at Denby High School. This was the same school that we all went to in the 50’s. Mary also had a part time job at McDonalds.
What a memorable feeling we had as we walked through that house. Mary had that upstairs nine by nine room to herself. This was the same room that all three of us shared. It wasn’t even big enough for her. The attic where Mother would hide Christmas presents was still there as was the Terrace that was connected to the kitchen and dining room. The refrigerator was in the same spot. The kitchen table and the ping pong table were the same ones we left there in the 50’s. I told Mary the story of the caramel cakes.
We went through the basement where we used to listen to Tiger baseball games. I told William that I remembered listening at this very spot as Virgil Trucks pitched his second no-hitter of the year in 1952. I also commented on the basement steps where we would sit and shine our shoes.
Wayne explained to William how we never needed a key to enter the house. He told him how we would climb up to the top of the roof and down the other side to the roof of the terrace and enter through the bedroom window.
Wayne talked at length with Mary and of her future aspirations. She seemed to think her reality would find her working full time at McDonalds and maybe someday become a manager.
As we were about to leave Wayne said to William that he spotted what appeared to be a dollar bill folded on the ground of his driveway. William picked it up and unfolded a one hundred dollar bill. Wayne said if he found that in his driveway he would take his family to dinner. William’s tears were real. He thought he was dreaming.
When we got to the car to leave Wayne said he forgot something. We walked back to Mary and Wayne told her “Since you are living in my house and sleeping in my bedroom and going to my school, you just can’t stop now.” He then presented her with a scholorship to his alma mater, Wayne State University. After seeing her reaction, even my tears were real.
Parkinson's, My First Four Years
I have written extensively about all of the subjects in this first paragraph. It is necessary for me to repeat them in order for me to tell this story. I will not be expounding on any of them other than when necessary. My name is David Dyer, I am 72 years old, and yes Dr Wayne Dyer, author of "Your Erroneous Zones" and many other best sellers is my brother. I was in the Army for 21 years and retired in 1982. I met my wife Janet in 1985 and my son David-Scott was born in 1986. I have been an alcoholic most of my adult lifetime. I had never been much of a church goer and never considered myself to be a religious person. IO incurred this disease called Parkinson's at the age of 68 and began writing at the age of 69.
With all that being said let's get on with this story. In August of 2007, I was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease. I researched this disease and discovered that it was not only incurable but that my condition would only worsen as time goes by. My immediate thoughts were of complete denial. I continued drinking. The medication was not working and if anything it seemed to have a negative affect when combined with alcohol. It took most of one year, some personal counseling and nine magical words from my brother, Wayne, "Do not die with your music still in you," for me to tell my Vietnam story.
I finally revealed those harrowing experiences that I had concealed within e for the past 37 years. After doing so it frelt like a ton ofd bricks had been lifted from me. At this point I'd been a year into Parkinson's. My physical condition has shown no improvement but mentally I felt so much better after writing my Vietnam story.
Let's go back to those words incurable and worsen for a moment. "Janet, I am writing a story and don't want to take time out right now. Would you get the dictionary and tell me how Webster defines the word worse? "Certainly," she said, I'll get back to that soon. Soon after writing that story, David-Scott and I visited the Vietnam Memorial or "The Wall" in Washington, DC. While there, I vowed to give up alcohol completely. (It is not three years later and I am still "On the Wagon.).
"David, Janet began, "The meaning of the word worse is bad, harmful or unpleasant." "Thank you, Dear," I replied. Throughout our lives Wayne has often told me that I've always had this writing ability within me. Whatever was in me would always have a secondary effect to the alcohol which seemed to always have complete control of me.
After going on the wagon the lack of alcohol kept me awake at night. I soon realized that I did not need all that sleep and I began writing during those early morning hours. What could be bad, harmful or unpleasant about that?
Now let's go to October of 2008, where at Wayne's Seminar I would meet a girl named Connie. Connie has a personal story that probably would dwarf mine. Her story has yet to be written. I use the word yet in hopes that some day I will be able to do so. Connie is a Yoga instructor and today almost three years later I continue along with Janet with our weekly Yoga sessions. At the beginning she marveled at the way my Vietnam story was written and wanted to see more of my writing. She told me "David, you are a writer." She then added the words "writer's write." I began writing one story after another. She seems to be touched by just about everything I write and her inspiration deeply touches me. Bad? Harmful? Unpleasant?
To date I have written close to fifty of these short stories, mostly inspirational stories about family and friends. I also have written a book which is yet to be published titled "My Brother, Wayne and I."
In these past four years since incurring Parkinson's, I have made four trips to Florida to visit my Mother. The most recent being this past April. How could I be so lucky to be able to visit my Mother at the age of 72 and take her to dinner and watch a baseball game with her as we celebrate her 95th birthday.
I also want to mention here that I have come to realize and truly believe that there is a God within me. There is no way I woulde have stopped drinking on my own. I tried too many times to no avail. As Parkinson's was entering my body the alcohol was slowly exiting. I thank you my God for allowing me to survive another 40 years since Vietnam and to begin writing at the age of 69. This brings me to what I call my signature four line poem.
When I vowed to give up alcohol
Which was my life long crutch
I was given a brand new life
It became my time to touch
Bad? Harmful? Unpleasant? Now that it's been the better part of four years since Parkinson's I believe I have completely dispelled to word "worse." If you don't believe it's completely gone you certainly will when you read what I'm about to write as I close this story.
As I said in the first paragraph of this story, I retired from the Army in 1982 after 21 years. I'm not going to reveal any dollar amounts but my retirement pension was 52 per cent of my active duty pay. That of course was not enough to live on even though I was single at the time. For the next 29 years I continued to receive cost of living increases. Now along with social security that seemed to provide me with a livable retirement income.
Recently the Veterans Administration determined that Parkinson's Disease is connected to this substance called "Agent Orange" which was used to flush out the enemy in Vietnam. Since there was this connection the VA has awarded me what is called Combat Related Specialty Pay. That, coupled with my retirement pay has doubled my retirement compensation overnight. Bad? Harmful? Unpleasant?
So this has been my life since incurring Parkinson's. Since I've done away with thew word "worse," I look forward at the age of 72 to seeing what the next four years may bring. First I'll ask Janet to look up another word for me. That would be "incurable."
With all that being said let's get on with this story. In August of 2007, I was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease. I researched this disease and discovered that it was not only incurable but that my condition would only worsen as time goes by. My immediate thoughts were of complete denial. I continued drinking. The medication was not working and if anything it seemed to have a negative affect when combined with alcohol. It took most of one year, some personal counseling and nine magical words from my brother, Wayne, "Do not die with your music still in you," for me to tell my Vietnam story.
I finally revealed those harrowing experiences that I had concealed within e for the past 37 years. After doing so it frelt like a ton ofd bricks had been lifted from me. At this point I'd been a year into Parkinson's. My physical condition has shown no improvement but mentally I felt so much better after writing my Vietnam story.
Let's go back to those words incurable and worsen for a moment. "Janet, I am writing a story and don't want to take time out right now. Would you get the dictionary and tell me how Webster defines the word worse? "Certainly," she said, I'll get back to that soon. Soon after writing that story, David-Scott and I visited the Vietnam Memorial or "The Wall" in Washington, DC. While there, I vowed to give up alcohol completely. (It is not three years later and I am still "On the Wagon.).
"David, Janet began, "The meaning of the word worse is bad, harmful or unpleasant." "Thank you, Dear," I replied. Throughout our lives Wayne has often told me that I've always had this writing ability within me. Whatever was in me would always have a secondary effect to the alcohol which seemed to always have complete control of me.
After going on the wagon the lack of alcohol kept me awake at night. I soon realized that I did not need all that sleep and I began writing during those early morning hours. What could be bad, harmful or unpleasant about that?
Now let's go to October of 2008, where at Wayne's Seminar I would meet a girl named Connie. Connie has a personal story that probably would dwarf mine. Her story has yet to be written. I use the word yet in hopes that some day I will be able to do so. Connie is a Yoga instructor and today almost three years later I continue along with Janet with our weekly Yoga sessions. At the beginning she marveled at the way my Vietnam story was written and wanted to see more of my writing. She told me "David, you are a writer." She then added the words "writer's write." I began writing one story after another. She seems to be touched by just about everything I write and her inspiration deeply touches me. Bad? Harmful? Unpleasant?
To date I have written close to fifty of these short stories, mostly inspirational stories about family and friends. I also have written a book which is yet to be published titled "My Brother, Wayne and I."
In these past four years since incurring Parkinson's, I have made four trips to Florida to visit my Mother. The most recent being this past April. How could I be so lucky to be able to visit my Mother at the age of 72 and take her to dinner and watch a baseball game with her as we celebrate her 95th birthday.
I also want to mention here that I have come to realize and truly believe that there is a God within me. There is no way I woulde have stopped drinking on my own. I tried too many times to no avail. As Parkinson's was entering my body the alcohol was slowly exiting. I thank you my God for allowing me to survive another 40 years since Vietnam and to begin writing at the age of 69. This brings me to what I call my signature four line poem.
When I vowed to give up alcohol
Which was my life long crutch
I was given a brand new life
It became my time to touch
Bad? Harmful? Unpleasant? Now that it's been the better part of four years since Parkinson's I believe I have completely dispelled to word "worse." If you don't believe it's completely gone you certainly will when you read what I'm about to write as I close this story.
As I said in the first paragraph of this story, I retired from the Army in 1982 after 21 years. I'm not going to reveal any dollar amounts but my retirement pension was 52 per cent of my active duty pay. That of course was not enough to live on even though I was single at the time. For the next 29 years I continued to receive cost of living increases. Now along with social security that seemed to provide me with a livable retirement income.
Recently the Veterans Administration determined that Parkinson's Disease is connected to this substance called "Agent Orange" which was used to flush out the enemy in Vietnam. Since there was this connection the VA has awarded me what is called Combat Related Specialty Pay. That, coupled with my retirement pay has doubled my retirement compensation overnight. Bad? Harmful? Unpleasant?
So this has been my life since incurring Parkinson's. Since I've done away with thew word "worse," I look forward at the age of 72 to seeing what the next four years may bring. First I'll ask Janet to look up another word for me. That would be "incurable."
Monday, July 18, 2011
Summer Activity
Without a doubt my favorite summer activity is and always has been the game of baseball. My love for that game for most of my life would be as a fan since my playing days were over in my mid teenage years. I do have a couple of baseball stories to share. The first one being very early in my lifetime and the second was rather recent.
When my brother Wayne and I lived in Mt Clemens in the 1940's we discovered a love for that game. We taught each other how to play the game. I can remember cutting out box scores from newspapers and pasting tghem in scrapbooks. After moving to Moross at the end of the baseball season we'd put a baseball in the pocket of our gloves and tie it tight so it would be ready for the next spring.
In the year of 1952 that spring seemed to come early. Now when I use the term "Playing on Moross," that means playing on the island that separates the east and the west sides of Moross Road. Itr is large enough to play catch on. It is even large enough to play football on which we did several times. So this February spring day in 1952 we played catch on Moross. A couple of other kids soon joined us. I was thirteen and Wayne was twelve. One of those kids seemed to be huge for his age of twelve. He towered over all of us and really threw that baseball hard. This was the year that I noticed what you might call my growth spurt.
Wayne showed us an ad in the Superman comic book where it showed a 97 pound weakling getting sand kicked in his face at the beach, when he decided he had taken enugh he turned himself into Charles Atlas and got his revenge. We all started doing sit-ups and push-ups and running. Wayne and I were in better physical shape than we ever had been.
We went to the gymnasium with our new friend, where we learned to play basketball. This kid already knew the game and seemed to be better at it than anyone else and he was only twelve years old. Believe me, I am not making this up. He then told us of an American Legion Baseball League he would be playing in. He was going to be in the 13-14 year old league.
We rounded up enough kids and put a team into that league and it just so happened that we played our first game against this same kid, who was still only twelve years old. No one could hit him. He seemed to strike out just about everyone he faced.
When I look back on it even today, I think of how proud I was just to be able to stand up to the plate and take my three swings. Yes, it was an honor to have known, befriended and played baseball and basketball with Dave DeBusschere.
Dave became an All State baseball and basketball player at Austin High School. He was also an All-American at the University of Detroit and went on to a Hall of Fame career with the New York Knickerbockers. He eventually became the Commissioner of the American Basketball Association. He was truly one of the greatest athletes of our time. It was an honor to have known him.
Now let's go forward to the year of 2006. Actually it was more like 2001 when I began playing fantasy sports. In fantasy sports it takes about 75 per cent luck and 25 per cent skill and knowledge to really compete for the big prize. This I not only competed for in 2006 but I won first place over several thousand teams. This was the playoffs of 2w006 when the Tigers were in the World Series against St Louis. I was placed in their Hall of Fame for winning and also received the $5000.00 first place prize.
Now for a little footnote to this story. Can you imagine three young boys, ages 12-13 playing catch on Moross in the early '50s. All three of them would one day wind up n the Hall of Fame in three completely different categories. Dave DeBusschere for Basketball, Wayne Dyer for International Speaking and David Dyer? Well why not? For Fantasy Sports.
When my brother Wayne and I lived in Mt Clemens in the 1940's we discovered a love for that game. We taught each other how to play the game. I can remember cutting out box scores from newspapers and pasting tghem in scrapbooks. After moving to Moross at the end of the baseball season we'd put a baseball in the pocket of our gloves and tie it tight so it would be ready for the next spring.
In the year of 1952 that spring seemed to come early. Now when I use the term "Playing on Moross," that means playing on the island that separates the east and the west sides of Moross Road. Itr is large enough to play catch on. It is even large enough to play football on which we did several times. So this February spring day in 1952 we played catch on Moross. A couple of other kids soon joined us. I was thirteen and Wayne was twelve. One of those kids seemed to be huge for his age of twelve. He towered over all of us and really threw that baseball hard. This was the year that I noticed what you might call my growth spurt.
Wayne showed us an ad in the Superman comic book where it showed a 97 pound weakling getting sand kicked in his face at the beach, when he decided he had taken enugh he turned himself into Charles Atlas and got his revenge. We all started doing sit-ups and push-ups and running. Wayne and I were in better physical shape than we ever had been.
We went to the gymnasium with our new friend, where we learned to play basketball. This kid already knew the game and seemed to be better at it than anyone else and he was only twelve years old. Believe me, I am not making this up. He then told us of an American Legion Baseball League he would be playing in. He was going to be in the 13-14 year old league.
We rounded up enough kids and put a team into that league and it just so happened that we played our first game against this same kid, who was still only twelve years old. No one could hit him. He seemed to strike out just about everyone he faced.
When I look back on it even today, I think of how proud I was just to be able to stand up to the plate and take my three swings. Yes, it was an honor to have known, befriended and played baseball and basketball with Dave DeBusschere.
Dave became an All State baseball and basketball player at Austin High School. He was also an All-American at the University of Detroit and went on to a Hall of Fame career with the New York Knickerbockers. He eventually became the Commissioner of the American Basketball Association. He was truly one of the greatest athletes of our time. It was an honor to have known him.
Now let's go forward to the year of 2006. Actually it was more like 2001 when I began playing fantasy sports. In fantasy sports it takes about 75 per cent luck and 25 per cent skill and knowledge to really compete for the big prize. This I not only competed for in 2006 but I won first place over several thousand teams. This was the playoffs of 2w006 when the Tigers were in the World Series against St Louis. I was placed in their Hall of Fame for winning and also received the $5000.00 first place prize.
Now for a little footnote to this story. Can you imagine three young boys, ages 12-13 playing catch on Moross in the early '50s. All three of them would one day wind up n the Hall of Fame in three completely different categories. Dave DeBusschere for Basketball, Wayne Dyer for International Speaking and David Dyer? Well why not? For Fantasy Sports.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Quite the Conection
I'm going to begin this story by saying that within these past couple of weeks I have written two very short stories in somewhat of a tribute to two people that I really don't know well enough to be writing about. In that respect my words probably didn't mean that much to them.
\This morning a light seemed to turn on inside of me telling me if I put those two stories together I would have a real heart warming story. This is a story of a connection, not just a connection but quite a connection. When I add a few names to it you will not only see this connection, you will feel it. I will leave it's culmination in the hands of the Grosse Ile Presbyterian Church.
It begins on one Saturday morning about twenty years ago. Let's call it the year of 1990. We had only been on the Island about a year at the time. I went to the Post Office to retrieve my mail. The Post Office was closed on Saturdays but the doors were unlocked for Box customers. At that moment I was alone in the Post Office and noticed that someone had left a credit card on the table. I took the card home and saw that the name on the card was that of Pamela Frucci. I told Janet and she told me that she was a member of one of the boards on Grosse Ile.
I called her and told her of my discovery and that I could deliver it to her. She seemed rather apprehensive in talking to a stranger and she asked if I would leave it in her mail box. I said sure and did so the next Monday.
Now I would like to go the the year of 2001 which would be exactly ten years ago. My son; David-Scott, was a freshman in High School. Janet and I attended a basketball game in the High School gym. Prior to the game Jim Parker conducted the chorus in the singing of our National Anthem. The National Anthem is very special to me in light of all of the death and destruction I witnessed in Vietnam. Jim's rendition at that particular time seemed to put me on cloud nine. It was beautiful. I can remember after that game shaking Jim Parker's hand and saying these exact words "That was the most beautiful rendition of Our National Anthem I have ever heard.
Just about a year ago in the year 2010, I wrote a story titled "A Pittance of Time." This was a story of my Vietnam experiences. It was published in the Ile Camera." A few days later I received a letter which stated in part that my story was a breath of fresh air and it was worth the price of a years subscription to the Ile Camera. This letter was signed by Pamela Frucci. I called Pamela and for the first time since the credit card incident at the Post Office some twenty years earlier, I was able to talk to her again. I thanked her for her words and she invited me to attend their next Grosse Ile Creative Writers Club meeting which meets the first Monday of each month.
It was three or four weeks ago that Jim Parker was honored for his thirty five plus years of service at the Grosse Ile Presbyterian Church. After the 11:30 Service in the Fellowship Hall, Sue Hurst read a few letters honoring Jim Parker for those years of service. A few others had special tributes to Jim. I remembered that time in the High School Gym ten years earlier and wrote about it when I returned home that day. I then thought no I don't know him well enough and decided not to go forward with that story.
The next week at the Island Fest I walked with the Grosse Ile Presbyterian Church. Since I have Parkinson's, I sort of brought up the rear. Sue Hurst dropped back and walked with me. I told her my story and of my writing the letter to Jim Parker. She made me promise to complete it and told me she would save a page for it in the scrapbook. I did finish it and gave it to her the next Sunday.
Last Monday, following our creative writers club meeting Pamela Frucci drove me home from that meeting. When she pulled into my driveway I read her the letter I had written to Jim Parker. I closed that letter with these words. "Whenever I hear the playing of the Star Spangled Banner I think of Jim Parker, and when I hear the name Jim Parker, I think of the Star Spangled Banner. I then looked up at Pamela and she was in tears. She told me that the tar Spangled Banner was their wedding song. Now I'm not exactly sure how this story goes and I will probably not get it all correct but she told me words to this effect. While her and Jack were at a Teachers Convention in California, they stood next to each other during the singing of the Sar Spangled Banner. Pamela immediately fell in love with Jack's harmonizing and it didn't take long for them to fall in love with each other. I'm not really sure but I believe that is how and when they met.
As I said at the beginning the culmination of this story will be in the hands of the Church. When I say that I mean wouldn't it be fitting to ask Jim Parker to conduct the choir in the singing of the Star Spangled Banner in honor of pamela and Jack Frucci's 50th wedding anniversary which just happens to be this year?
;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;eautiful. I can remember after that game, shaking Jim Parker's hand and saying these exact words to him. "?
That was the most beautiful renditon of our National Anthem I have ever heard. if
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\This morning a light seemed to turn on inside of me telling me if I put those two stories together I would have a real heart warming story. This is a story of a connection, not just a connection but quite a connection. When I add a few names to it you will not only see this connection, you will feel it. I will leave it's culmination in the hands of the Grosse Ile Presbyterian Church.
It begins on one Saturday morning about twenty years ago. Let's call it the year of 1990. We had only been on the Island about a year at the time. I went to the Post Office to retrieve my mail. The Post Office was closed on Saturdays but the doors were unlocked for Box customers. At that moment I was alone in the Post Office and noticed that someone had left a credit card on the table. I took the card home and saw that the name on the card was that of Pamela Frucci. I told Janet and she told me that she was a member of one of the boards on Grosse Ile.
I called her and told her of my discovery and that I could deliver it to her. She seemed rather apprehensive in talking to a stranger and she asked if I would leave it in her mail box. I said sure and did so the next Monday.
Now I would like to go the the year of 2001 which would be exactly ten years ago. My son; David-Scott, was a freshman in High School. Janet and I attended a basketball game in the High School gym. Prior to the game Jim Parker conducted the chorus in the singing of our National Anthem. The National Anthem is very special to me in light of all of the death and destruction I witnessed in Vietnam. Jim's rendition at that particular time seemed to put me on cloud nine. It was beautiful. I can remember after that game shaking Jim Parker's hand and saying these exact words "That was the most beautiful rendition of Our National Anthem I have ever heard.
Just about a year ago in the year 2010, I wrote a story titled "A Pittance of Time." This was a story of my Vietnam experiences. It was published in the Ile Camera." A few days later I received a letter which stated in part that my story was a breath of fresh air and it was worth the price of a years subscription to the Ile Camera. This letter was signed by Pamela Frucci. I called Pamela and for the first time since the credit card incident at the Post Office some twenty years earlier, I was able to talk to her again. I thanked her for her words and she invited me to attend their next Grosse Ile Creative Writers Club meeting which meets the first Monday of each month.
It was three or four weeks ago that Jim Parker was honored for his thirty five plus years of service at the Grosse Ile Presbyterian Church. After the 11:30 Service in the Fellowship Hall, Sue Hurst read a few letters honoring Jim Parker for those years of service. A few others had special tributes to Jim. I remembered that time in the High School Gym ten years earlier and wrote about it when I returned home that day. I then thought no I don't know him well enough and decided not to go forward with that story.
The next week at the Island Fest I walked with the Grosse Ile Presbyterian Church. Since I have Parkinson's, I sort of brought up the rear. Sue Hurst dropped back and walked with me. I told her my story and of my writing the letter to Jim Parker. She made me promise to complete it and told me she would save a page for it in the scrapbook. I did finish it and gave it to her the next Sunday.
Last Monday, following our creative writers club meeting Pamela Frucci drove me home from that meeting. When she pulled into my driveway I read her the letter I had written to Jim Parker. I closed that letter with these words. "Whenever I hear the playing of the Star Spangled Banner I think of Jim Parker, and when I hear the name Jim Parker, I think of the Star Spangled Banner. I then looked up at Pamela and she was in tears. She told me that the tar Spangled Banner was their wedding song. Now I'm not exactly sure how this story goes and I will probably not get it all correct but she told me words to this effect. While her and Jack were at a Teachers Convention in California, they stood next to each other during the singing of the Sar Spangled Banner. Pamela immediately fell in love with Jack's harmonizing and it didn't take long for them to fall in love with each other. I'm not really sure but I believe that is how and when they met.
As I said at the beginning the culmination of this story will be in the hands of the Church. When I say that I mean wouldn't it be fitting to ask Jim Parker to conduct the choir in the singing of the Star Spangled Banner in honor of pamela and Jack Frucci's 50th wedding anniversary which just happens to be this year?
;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;eautiful. I can remember after that game, shaking Jim Parker's hand and saying these exact words to him. "?
That was the most beautiful renditon of our National Anthem I have ever heard. if
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Sunday, June 19, 2011
By the Grace of God
It is by the grace of God that I am able to sit here today and write this story. I was stricken with Parkinson's Disease at the age of 68. It took the better part of a year for me to realize that I wasn't only being given an incurable disease, I was also being given a gift from God. Yes, it took 69 years of my life to find out and believe that there is a God and that God is good. Thank you God for allowing me to write these stories.
This story is directed to all drivers of motor vehicles. This is especially directed to the alcoholic driver and the casual drinker, which is a person that may also be an alcoholic but would never admit to it. It is further directed to all of those who text while driving and to all of those who use a phone in any manner while driving. I might also include those who eat, drink, smoke or do anything else that might deter their attention from the job at hand and that would be driving.
I'm going to invent a word here for the purpose of this story. That would be Textaholic. It's mreaning will be anyone using a phone while driving. I would venture to say that the number of alcoholics/casual drinkers, and textaholics that drive on our roads today would total close to 50 per cent of our population. This means that 50 per cent must be more defensive minded and allow a little more distance between themselves and the alcoholics/casual drinkers and the textaholics.
Take a moment to brand yourself now, and do so once again at the end of this story. Are you an alcholic/casual drinker? Are you a Textaholic? Are you a defensive driver? I am referring to all persons that operate motor vehicles. Here are my thoughts. First the alcoholic/casual drinker. This is the category that I fit into perfectly. Even though I had several accidents in my lifetime, I was lucky enough to escape without any serious injury or God thank you, deaths. Do not for a moment think you could ever be so lucky. This is serious business.
I was always a beer drinker, ever since my late teen years. Teenagers do not drink alcohol for the taste, they drink it for the effect. If they continue to drink they may develop a taste for it and once that happens they enjoy the taste and continue drinking. They would then begin craving that taste ans soon become an alcoholic.
Throughout many years I found myself watching the clock for the end of the workday and then stopping at a bar and guzzeling down that first beer and slowly drinking the second. How many people do you think do exactly what I just said? They may or may not be as addicted as I was but how many made that stop before going home to have that drink? More often that drink that drink led to a second and sometimes more.
People in that category of alcoholic/casual drinker completely ignore or don't realize that after that second drink their body's blood alcohol content is over the limit of the law and should they be involved in an accident whether or not they were at fault they would be the guilty one once their blood alcohol count is tested.
It is plain to see that their are an awful lot of you in this category. Just try finding a parking spot in the parking lots of most of the bars around 6:00 PM. Those lots remain pretty full until around 8:;00 PM. I sometimes wonder how many drivers have been in that bar since 5:00 PM. This is when our defensive minded drivers really go to work. If you have that much of a craving for alcohol why not go home and have that first one. You could then have a second,third or more without putting innocent lives in danger.
Most accidents happen in a matter of split seconds. Your life could be forever severed that quickly by being involved in an accident with your blood alcohol level above the legal limit.
A good friend of mine, Mike, lost his precious daughter Amy to a drunk driver at the tender age of eight. Sorry Mike for the reminder, although I know you don't need a reminder since Amy remains in your foremost thoughts even today some twelve years later, but it puts a solid stamp on what I'm trying to say.
Now for the Textaholic. While there is no such word, I will call it a word for this story and define it as such: A person using a phone for any reason, a person eating, drinking, smoking or doing anything other than having his/her full time focus on their driving while operating that vehicle.
Try to remember that the purpose of driving a motor vehicle is to transport yourself and/or others from one place to another. You have their lives in your hands while doing so. If you see yourself as a textaholic as so many of you are, remember it takes only that sane split second as it does the alcoholic/casual drinker. Don't wait for it to happen to a close firend or family member as so often happens. Put your phone in your glove compartment and lock it if you have to before getting behind that wheel. It will be there when you reach your destination.
There is nothing you could give or receive from that phone while you are driving that is more valuable than your own life or the lives of innocent people. Why even take that chance? Now as I close I will ask once more: Are you an alcoholic/casual drinker? Are you a textaholic? Are you a defensive driver?
If I have steered even one person to the direction of the defense, then I feel it was worth the time and effort to write this story.
This story is directed to all drivers of motor vehicles. This is especially directed to the alcoholic driver and the casual drinker, which is a person that may also be an alcoholic but would never admit to it. It is further directed to all of those who text while driving and to all of those who use a phone in any manner while driving. I might also include those who eat, drink, smoke or do anything else that might deter their attention from the job at hand and that would be driving.
I'm going to invent a word here for the purpose of this story. That would be Textaholic. It's mreaning will be anyone using a phone while driving. I would venture to say that the number of alcoholics/casual drinkers, and textaholics that drive on our roads today would total close to 50 per cent of our population. This means that 50 per cent must be more defensive minded and allow a little more distance between themselves and the alcoholics/casual drinkers and the textaholics.
Take a moment to brand yourself now, and do so once again at the end of this story. Are you an alcholic/casual drinker? Are you a Textaholic? Are you a defensive driver? I am referring to all persons that operate motor vehicles. Here are my thoughts. First the alcoholic/casual drinker. This is the category that I fit into perfectly. Even though I had several accidents in my lifetime, I was lucky enough to escape without any serious injury or God thank you, deaths. Do not for a moment think you could ever be so lucky. This is serious business.
I was always a beer drinker, ever since my late teen years. Teenagers do not drink alcohol for the taste, they drink it for the effect. If they continue to drink they may develop a taste for it and once that happens they enjoy the taste and continue drinking. They would then begin craving that taste ans soon become an alcoholic.
Throughout many years I found myself watching the clock for the end of the workday and then stopping at a bar and guzzeling down that first beer and slowly drinking the second. How many people do you think do exactly what I just said? They may or may not be as addicted as I was but how many made that stop before going home to have that drink? More often that drink that drink led to a second and sometimes more.
People in that category of alcoholic/casual drinker completely ignore or don't realize that after that second drink their body's blood alcohol content is over the limit of the law and should they be involved in an accident whether or not they were at fault they would be the guilty one once their blood alcohol count is tested.
It is plain to see that their are an awful lot of you in this category. Just try finding a parking spot in the parking lots of most of the bars around 6:00 PM. Those lots remain pretty full until around 8:;00 PM. I sometimes wonder how many drivers have been in that bar since 5:00 PM. This is when our defensive minded drivers really go to work. If you have that much of a craving for alcohol why not go home and have that first one. You could then have a second,third or more without putting innocent lives in danger.
Most accidents happen in a matter of split seconds. Your life could be forever severed that quickly by being involved in an accident with your blood alcohol level above the legal limit.
A good friend of mine, Mike, lost his precious daughter Amy to a drunk driver at the tender age of eight. Sorry Mike for the reminder, although I know you don't need a reminder since Amy remains in your foremost thoughts even today some twelve years later, but it puts a solid stamp on what I'm trying to say.
Now for the Textaholic. While there is no such word, I will call it a word for this story and define it as such: A person using a phone for any reason, a person eating, drinking, smoking or doing anything other than having his/her full time focus on their driving while operating that vehicle.
Try to remember that the purpose of driving a motor vehicle is to transport yourself and/or others from one place to another. You have their lives in your hands while doing so. If you see yourself as a textaholic as so many of you are, remember it takes only that sane split second as it does the alcoholic/casual drinker. Don't wait for it to happen to a close firend or family member as so often happens. Put your phone in your glove compartment and lock it if you have to before getting behind that wheel. It will be there when you reach your destination.
There is nothing you could give or receive from that phone while you are driving that is more valuable than your own life or the lives of innocent people. Why even take that chance? Now as I close I will ask once more: Are you an alcoholic/casual drinker? Are you a textaholic? Are you a defensive driver?
If I have steered even one person to the direction of the defense, then I feel it was worth the time and effort to write this story.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Introduction
It is now 10:00PM on the 6th of June. I just returned from our Creative Writing Club session which we have the first Monday of each month. Our Co-Chairman and my good friend Pamela Frucci gave us our assignment for our next meeting. That would be to write a story about congratulating a Graduate. I do not see any connection between tghat subject and of my story "Living with Parkinson's.
About three years ago when I began writing on of my first stories was about how all persons and all things are connected in one way or another. I will guarantee I will make that connection. I finished writing, typing and copying "Living with Parkinson's" this past Saturday and will not be making any changes to it.
At our meeting Pamela also gave me an article from a magazine titled "The Fieldston 2010 Commencement Address" by Michael J. Fox. I was a High School drop-out. So was Michael J. Fox. I quit High School in the 12th grade. So did Michael J. Fox. I have Parkinson's Disease. So does Michael J. Fox. Do the similarities ever end? Not yet. I find myself his mirror-image as I quote Michael J. Fox "Parkinson's is a perfect metaphor for the lack of control. Every unwanted movement in my hand or are, every twitch that I cannot anticipate or arrest reminds me that even in the domain of my own being I am not calling the shots with no escape from the disease, it's symptoms and it's challenges. I was forced to resort to acceptance. My happiness grows in direct proportion to my acceptance and in inverse proportion to my expectation." Very powerful words. I would love t5o be able to read to Michael J. Fox the story you are about to read, which entails my first four years with Parkinson's.
Before I go there I must complete my assignment. How would I congratulate a graduate? How aqbout if I say congratulations and just hand out a twenty or fifty dollar bill? Then we could get on with my story. I really couldn't do that since I vowed to and I will make that connection that I spoke of earlier.
Sorry Pam, that last paragraph is not meant as disrespect in any way, it was just for a change of pace. I do intend to get serious once again. How would I congratulate a graduate? I would look deeply into that graduating class. I wouldn't have to look too deep as they are easy to spot. The physically handicapped graduate with an obvious disability. The grossly overweight female, the grossly overweight male. These are the one's who didn't enjoy school. They were not popular as most of the others were. They didn't experience boy friends or girl friends or many friends in general. There are usually one, two or more of them in most classes.
It isn't like it was back in my day. My reasons were not of physical disability but there were reasons enough. The day I turned 17 I just walked out. These kids are graduating. I would approach them, salute them, shake their hand and tell them you've made it this far kid and as Michael J. Fox said and I totally agree "Your happiness will grow in direct proportion of your acceptance." After wiping the tear from my eye I would further say if you approach a stumbling block, go around it, go over it, go through it but somehow get by it. If it is something as simple as a single word, then turn the page and read my story and see what I did.
About three years ago when I began writing on of my first stories was about how all persons and all things are connected in one way or another. I will guarantee I will make that connection. I finished writing, typing and copying "Living with Parkinson's" this past Saturday and will not be making any changes to it.
At our meeting Pamela also gave me an article from a magazine titled "The Fieldston 2010 Commencement Address" by Michael J. Fox. I was a High School drop-out. So was Michael J. Fox. I quit High School in the 12th grade. So did Michael J. Fox. I have Parkinson's Disease. So does Michael J. Fox. Do the similarities ever end? Not yet. I find myself his mirror-image as I quote Michael J. Fox "Parkinson's is a perfect metaphor for the lack of control. Every unwanted movement in my hand or are, every twitch that I cannot anticipate or arrest reminds me that even in the domain of my own being I am not calling the shots with no escape from the disease, it's symptoms and it's challenges. I was forced to resort to acceptance. My happiness grows in direct proportion to my acceptance and in inverse proportion to my expectation." Very powerful words. I would love t5o be able to read to Michael J. Fox the story you are about to read, which entails my first four years with Parkinson's.
Before I go there I must complete my assignment. How would I congratulate a graduate? How aqbout if I say congratulations and just hand out a twenty or fifty dollar bill? Then we could get on with my story. I really couldn't do that since I vowed to and I will make that connection that I spoke of earlier.
Sorry Pam, that last paragraph is not meant as disrespect in any way, it was just for a change of pace. I do intend to get serious once again. How would I congratulate a graduate? I would look deeply into that graduating class. I wouldn't have to look too deep as they are easy to spot. The physically handicapped graduate with an obvious disability. The grossly overweight female, the grossly overweight male. These are the one's who didn't enjoy school. They were not popular as most of the others were. They didn't experience boy friends or girl friends or many friends in general. There are usually one, two or more of them in most classes.
It isn't like it was back in my day. My reasons were not of physical disability but there were reasons enough. The day I turned 17 I just walked out. These kids are graduating. I would approach them, salute them, shake their hand and tell them you've made it this far kid and as Michael J. Fox said and I totally agree "Your happiness will grow in direct proportion of your acceptance." After wiping the tear from my eye I would further say if you approach a stumbling block, go around it, go over it, go through it but somehow get by it. If it is something as simple as a single word, then turn the page and read my story and see what I did.
Monday, June 6, 2011
LIVING WITH PARKINSON'S
I have written extensively about all of the subjects in this first paragraph. It is necessary for me to repeat them in order for me to tell this story. I will not be expounding on any of them other than when necessary. My name is David Dyer, I am 72 years old , and yes Dr. Wayne Dyer, author of "Your Erroneous Zones " and many other best selling books is my brother. I was in the Army for 21 years and retired in 1982. I met my wife, Janet in 1985 and my son, David-Scott was born in 1986. I have been an alcoholic most of my adult lifetime. I had never been much of a church goer and never considered myself to be a religious person. Soon after incurring a disease called Parkinson's at the age of 68, I began writing at age 69.
With all that being said let's ger on with this story. In August of 2007 I was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease. I researched this disease and discovered that it was not only incurable but that my condition would only worsen as time goes by. My immediate thoughts were of complete denial. I continued drinking. The medication was not working and if anything it seemed to have a negative effect when combined with alcohol. It took most of one year, some personal counseling and nine magical words from my brother, Wayne, "Do not die with your music still in you," for me to tell my Vietnam story.
I finally revealed those harrowing experiences that I had concealed within me for the past 37 years. After doing so I felt like a ton of bricks had been lifted from me. At this point I'd been a year into Parkinson's. My physical condition had shown no improvement but mentally I felt so much better after writing my Vietnam story.
Let's go back to those words incurable and worsen for a moment. "Janet, I am writing a story and I don't want to take time out right now. Would you get the dictionary and tell me how Webster defines the word worse?" "Certainly," she said. I'll get back to that soon. Soon after writing that story David-Scott and I visited the Vietnam Memorial or "The Wall," in Washington, DC. While there I vowed to give up alcohol completely and forever. (Three years later I am still on the wagon). "David, Janet began, "The meaning of the word worse is bad, harmful or unpleasant." "Thank you, Dear," I replied. Throughout our lives Wayne has often told me that I've always had this writing ability within me. Whatever was in me would always have a secondary effect to the alcohol which seemed to always have complete control of me.
After getting on that wagon, the lack of alcohol kept me awake at night. I soon realized that I did not need all that sleep and I began writing during those early morning hours. What could be bad, harmful or unpleasant about that?
Now let's go to Wayne's Seminar in October of 2008. This is where I met a girl named Connie. Connie has a personal story that probably would dwarf mine. Her story is yet to be written. I use the word yet in hopes that someday I will be able to do so. Connie is a Yoga instructor and today almost three years later, I continue along with Janet with our weekly Yoga sessions.
At the beginning she marveled at the way my Vietnam story was written and wanted to see more of my writing. She told me "David, you are a writer," and then added the words "writers write." I then began writing one story after another. She seems to be touched by just about everything I write and her inspiration deeply touches me. Bad? Harmful? Unpleasant?
To date I have written close to 50 short stories, mostly inspirational stories about family and friends. I also have written a book which is yet to be published titled "My Brother, Wayne and I."
In these four years since incurring Parkinson's, I have made four trips to Florida to visit my Mother. The most recent being just over a month ago. How could I be so lucky to be able to visit my Mother at the age of 72 and take her to dinner and watch a baseball game with her as we celebrate her 95th Birthday.I also want to mention here that I have come to realize and truly believe that there is a God within me. There is no way I would have stopped drinking on my own. I tried many times but to no avail. As Parkinson's was entering my body the alcohol was slowly exiting. I thank you my God for allowing me to survive another 40 years since Vietnam and to begin writing at age 69. This brings me to what I call my signature four line poem.
When I vowed to give up alcohol
Which was my life long crutch
I was given a brand new life
It became my time to touch
Bad? Harmful? Unpleasant? Now that it's been the better part of four years since Parkinson's, I believe I have completely dispelled the word "worse." If you don't believe it's completely gone you certainly will when you read what I'm about to write as I close this story.
As I said in the first paragraph, I retired from the Army in 1982 after 21 years. I'm not going to reveal any dollar amounts but my retirement pension was 52 percent of my active duty pay. That of course was not enough to live on even though I was single at the time.
For the next 29 years I continued to receive cost of living increases. Now along with social security that seemed to provide me with a livable retirement income. Recently the Veteran's Administration determined that Parkinson's Disease is connected to this substance called "Agent Orange" which was used in Vietnam to flush out the enemy.
since there was this connection the VA awarded me with what is called Combat Related Specialty Pay. That coupled with my retirement and social security has more than doubled my retirement income overnight. Bad? Harmful? Unpleasant?
So this has been my life these past four years since incurring Parkinson's. Since I've now done away with the word "worse," I look forward at the age of 72 to seeing what the next5 four years may bring. First I'll ask Janet to look up another word for me. That word would be "incurable."
With all that being said let's ger on with this story. In August of 2007 I was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease. I researched this disease and discovered that it was not only incurable but that my condition would only worsen as time goes by. My immediate thoughts were of complete denial. I continued drinking. The medication was not working and if anything it seemed to have a negative effect when combined with alcohol. It took most of one year, some personal counseling and nine magical words from my brother, Wayne, "Do not die with your music still in you," for me to tell my Vietnam story.
I finally revealed those harrowing experiences that I had concealed within me for the past 37 years. After doing so I felt like a ton of bricks had been lifted from me. At this point I'd been a year into Parkinson's. My physical condition had shown no improvement but mentally I felt so much better after writing my Vietnam story.
Let's go back to those words incurable and worsen for a moment. "Janet, I am writing a story and I don't want to take time out right now. Would you get the dictionary and tell me how Webster defines the word worse?" "Certainly," she said. I'll get back to that soon. Soon after writing that story David-Scott and I visited the Vietnam Memorial or "The Wall," in Washington, DC. While there I vowed to give up alcohol completely and forever. (Three years later I am still on the wagon). "David, Janet began, "The meaning of the word worse is bad, harmful or unpleasant." "Thank you, Dear," I replied. Throughout our lives Wayne has often told me that I've always had this writing ability within me. Whatever was in me would always have a secondary effect to the alcohol which seemed to always have complete control of me.
After getting on that wagon, the lack of alcohol kept me awake at night. I soon realized that I did not need all that sleep and I began writing during those early morning hours. What could be bad, harmful or unpleasant about that?
Now let's go to Wayne's Seminar in October of 2008. This is where I met a girl named Connie. Connie has a personal story that probably would dwarf mine. Her story is yet to be written. I use the word yet in hopes that someday I will be able to do so. Connie is a Yoga instructor and today almost three years later, I continue along with Janet with our weekly Yoga sessions.
At the beginning she marveled at the way my Vietnam story was written and wanted to see more of my writing. She told me "David, you are a writer," and then added the words "writers write." I then began writing one story after another. She seems to be touched by just about everything I write and her inspiration deeply touches me. Bad? Harmful? Unpleasant?
To date I have written close to 50 short stories, mostly inspirational stories about family and friends. I also have written a book which is yet to be published titled "My Brother, Wayne and I."
In these four years since incurring Parkinson's, I have made four trips to Florida to visit my Mother. The most recent being just over a month ago. How could I be so lucky to be able to visit my Mother at the age of 72 and take her to dinner and watch a baseball game with her as we celebrate her 95th Birthday.I also want to mention here that I have come to realize and truly believe that there is a God within me. There is no way I would have stopped drinking on my own. I tried many times but to no avail. As Parkinson's was entering my body the alcohol was slowly exiting. I thank you my God for allowing me to survive another 40 years since Vietnam and to begin writing at age 69. This brings me to what I call my signature four line poem.
When I vowed to give up alcohol
Which was my life long crutch
I was given a brand new life
It became my time to touch
Bad? Harmful? Unpleasant? Now that it's been the better part of four years since Parkinson's, I believe I have completely dispelled the word "worse." If you don't believe it's completely gone you certainly will when you read what I'm about to write as I close this story.
As I said in the first paragraph, I retired from the Army in 1982 after 21 years. I'm not going to reveal any dollar amounts but my retirement pension was 52 percent of my active duty pay. That of course was not enough to live on even though I was single at the time.
For the next 29 years I continued to receive cost of living increases. Now along with social security that seemed to provide me with a livable retirement income. Recently the Veteran's Administration determined that Parkinson's Disease is connected to this substance called "Agent Orange" which was used in Vietnam to flush out the enemy.
since there was this connection the VA awarded me with what is called Combat Related Specialty Pay. That coupled with my retirement and social security has more than doubled my retirement income overnight. Bad? Harmful? Unpleasant?
So this has been my life these past four years since incurring Parkinson's. Since I've now done away with the word "worse," I look forward at the age of 72 to seeing what the next5 four years may bring. First I'll ask Janet to look up another word for me. That word would be "incurable."
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
In Remembrance
I recently wrote a story titled "A Pittance of Time,". A story of my Vietnam experiences. That title was from a song composed and sung by a person named Terry Kelly. It was that song that inspired me to write that story.
There is not a day that has gone by in the past 40 years that I'm not reminded of the young man who died in my hands while crying out for his Mother with his final breath.
There are many people who have said and continue to say that we shouldn't have been involved in that war in the first place since it was a war that we couldn't win. I'd like to drop all of the would haves and should haves and remember the reality. We were there.
While even one is too many in any War there were thousands of young men killed in Vietnam. Many of them were drafted. Some of them were married, many of them had girlfriends but they all had Mothers.
My wife Janet, son David-Scott and I recently saw a movie titled "The Messenger". This movie depicted the way the next of kin were notified of their loved ones death. I'll speak for the Army but I'm sure it's the same with the other services.
They actually have what is called a casualty reporting unit. From that unit an officer and an enlisted man would go to the home of the next of kin to make notification. In doing so they would read or memorize from a prepared statement. This official statement reads in part. "The Secretary of the Army regrets to inform you that your son was killed in action in Vietnam, etc."
This is a policy that should be changed. There is no way the Mother of the 22 year old who died in my hands would have known that he was in no pain and that his final thoughts were of her. I am the only one who knew that and I don't even know his name.
In my personal life, I thank my God that I've survived another 40 years since that incident, and even though I have been stricken with Parkinson's Disease three years ago, that turned out to be a blessing in disguise. It forced me to give up alcohol and to begin writing.
I truly believe that I have been blessed. At the age of 72, I recently returned from Florida. While there, I visited my Mother and took her to dinner and watched a baseball game with her as we celebrated her 95th Birthday.
I dedicate this story to those mother's who lost a loved one and further to all Mother's in hopes that you may give a couple of minutes on your day in remembrance. Once again, It's just A Pittance of Time.
There is not a day that has gone by in the past 40 years that I'm not reminded of the young man who died in my hands while crying out for his Mother with his final breath.
There are many people who have said and continue to say that we shouldn't have been involved in that war in the first place since it was a war that we couldn't win. I'd like to drop all of the would haves and should haves and remember the reality. We were there.
While even one is too many in any War there were thousands of young men killed in Vietnam. Many of them were drafted. Some of them were married, many of them had girlfriends but they all had Mothers.
My wife Janet, son David-Scott and I recently saw a movie titled "The Messenger". This movie depicted the way the next of kin were notified of their loved ones death. I'll speak for the Army but I'm sure it's the same with the other services.
They actually have what is called a casualty reporting unit. From that unit an officer and an enlisted man would go to the home of the next of kin to make notification. In doing so they would read or memorize from a prepared statement. This official statement reads in part. "The Secretary of the Army regrets to inform you that your son was killed in action in Vietnam, etc."
This is a policy that should be changed. There is no way the Mother of the 22 year old who died in my hands would have known that he was in no pain and that his final thoughts were of her. I am the only one who knew that and I don't even know his name.
In my personal life, I thank my God that I've survived another 40 years since that incident, and even though I have been stricken with Parkinson's Disease three years ago, that turned out to be a blessing in disguise. It forced me to give up alcohol and to begin writing.
I truly believe that I have been blessed. At the age of 72, I recently returned from Florida. While there, I visited my Mother and took her to dinner and watched a baseball game with her as we celebrated her 95th Birthday.
I dedicate this story to those mother's who lost a loved one and further to all Mother's in hopes that you may give a couple of minutes on your day in remembrance. Once again, It's just A Pittance of Time.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Spring (Continued)
She built her nest on our window sill
Up high in one little section
Located on top of one of the meters
Of our electrical conection
Soon we spotted three little eggs
In the middle of her nest
We watched as she was sitting on them
She seemed to need lots of rest
Now yesterday was Mother's Day
And also the middle of Spring
As we gaze into that nest today
What a wonderful feeling it brings
Those three little eggs are now three little birds
And they wait with their mouths wide apart
I watch as the Robin feeds them one at a time
And I feel a slight tug at my heart
So don't ever say that Spring passed us by
You really don't have to look hard
Just wait for the date and look for the Robin
Then look in your own backyard
Up high in one little section
Located on top of one of the meters
Of our electrical conection
Soon we spotted three little eggs
In the middle of her nest
We watched as she was sitting on them
She seemed to need lots of rest
Now yesterday was Mother's Day
And also the middle of Spring
As we gaze into that nest today
What a wonderful feeling it brings
Those three little eggs are now three little birds
And they wait with their mouths wide apart
I watch as the Robin feeds them one at a time
And I feel a slight tug at my heart
So don't ever say that Spring passed us by
You really don't have to look hard
Just wait for the date and look for the Robin
Then look in your own backyard
Spring
Many have said Spring passed by us this year
Because of the Wintry weather
My wife and I will dispel those words
As we share what we've witnessed together
March 21st and the sight of a Robin
Always seems to make that connection
And despite the falling temperatures
This year would be no exception
On March 21st Janet spotted a Robin
That seemed to be building a nest
There was nothing not even the cold weather
To prevent her from seeking her quest
She flew past our window to the front of our house
Where she nestled in one of our trees
From there she carried the equipment she needed
To build her nest with such ease To be continued
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Taylor Yoga
I have been taking Yoga lessons from Connie Fedel at he Taylor Recreation Center for the past two years. This has helped me as much as or more than all the medication I'm taking for Parkinson's. I highly recommend Yoga to just about anyone and there just couldn't be a better instructor than Connie. She is moving to a new location with a grand opening scheduled for This coming Sunday, May 1st. The address is 8935 N. Telegraph Road in Taylor. The time will be 2:00 to 4:00 PM. Stop in to see the new Facility
Sunday, April 17, 2011
V.A. Benefits
Memo to all Vietnam Veterans - The Veteran's Administration has determined that anyone diagnosed with Parkinson's, Ishemic Heart Disease, or a few other conditions, and who was stationed in Vietnam during the war that there is a connection. It is well worth checking into. My compensation not only doubled but it is tax free.
Here is the V.A. webpage for determining if you are eligible for benefits related to service in Vietnam, with information on how to file for those benefits.
Here is the V.A. webpage for determining if you are eligible for benefits related to service in Vietnam, with information on how to file for those benefits.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
My Initial Diagnosis of Parkinson's
In August of 2007 I was walking my normal four miles on the treadmill at the YMCA. I would walk these four miles in less than fifty minutes. This was a fairly brisk pace for a 68 year old. As I was completing the third mile my right leg totally collapsed, my arms weakened, I had never felt so helpless. I thought I was having some kind of a stroke even though I didn't have any chest pains.
After resting for a few minutes while remaining on the treadmill, I took my first step. I stepped off the treadmill and slowly walked down to the lobby where I sat in a very comfortable chair for about 30 minutes. I then made my way to the parking lot, to my car, and very carefully, I drove home. I soon found myself walking normally as if nothing had happened. Two days later as I was walking to the entrance of the library it happened again. This time I lost control of both legs and fell to the ground. After a few minutes I felt all right and drove home. The next time it happened after I had driven 100 miles and got out of my car and I could hardly walk. I couldn't take more than a half step at a time and it was very painful. I knew there was something seriously wrong with me.
The next day I got an emergency consult with a Neurologist and was soon diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease. I didn't take this news very well since I have been an alcoholic most of my life. Eventually the medication forced me to give up alcohol. This was something I never would have done on my own. I was now 69 years old and pretty well set in my ways. When I stopped drinking head became much clearer and my sleeping habits changed drastically. I could not sleep night. I soon discovered that I had a secret hidden talent for writing. I began sitting at the dining room table with a pen in my hand during the early morning hours and words seemed to pour out of me. I have done an awful lot of writing these past three years. I have written over thirty short stories, most of them inspirational stories about family and friends. It seems that Parkinson's has brought quite a change in my life including the realization, the belief and the acceptance of my God. Yes, the incurrance of Parkinson's Disease has turned out to be a blessing to me.
After resting for a few minutes while remaining on the treadmill, I took my first step. I stepped off the treadmill and slowly walked down to the lobby where I sat in a very comfortable chair for about 30 minutes. I then made my way to the parking lot, to my car, and very carefully, I drove home. I soon found myself walking normally as if nothing had happened. Two days later as I was walking to the entrance of the library it happened again. This time I lost control of both legs and fell to the ground. After a few minutes I felt all right and drove home. The next time it happened after I had driven 100 miles and got out of my car and I could hardly walk. I couldn't take more than a half step at a time and it was very painful. I knew there was something seriously wrong with me.
The next day I got an emergency consult with a Neurologist and was soon diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease. I didn't take this news very well since I have been an alcoholic most of my life. Eventually the medication forced me to give up alcohol. This was something I never would have done on my own. I was now 69 years old and pretty well set in my ways. When I stopped drinking head became much clearer and my sleeping habits changed drastically. I could not sleep night. I soon discovered that I had a secret hidden talent for writing. I began sitting at the dining room table with a pen in my hand during the early morning hours and words seemed to pour out of me. I have done an awful lot of writing these past three years. I have written over thirty short stories, most of them inspirational stories about family and friends. It seems that Parkinson's has brought quite a change in my life including the realization, the belief and the acceptance of my God. Yes, the incurrance of Parkinson's Disease has turned out to be a blessing to me.
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