"It is a tale told by an Idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

I just have to get this off my chest.  When it comes to name-calling, I can hold my own with the best of them.  I curse other drivers from the safety and comfort of my own car, expounding their respective virtues as morons or a**holes or other appropriate monikers depending on the level of severity of their driving crime.  I've been in arguments where people have called me names, some worse than others, some very comical.  Despite this, I do not believe that my work ethic, my intelligence or my honesty in my career has ever been challenged.  Until now.

On Monday, I returned a call from an attorney on a case I recently filed for a client.  While speaking to this attorney, another man's voice piped into the conversation.  When I asked why I heard 2 voices, one responded by admitting that he was also in the room and telling me his name.  Within just a few short moments, he called me unethical.  When I asked him to repeat the statement, his partner - the man I had started the conversation with - backtracked and tried to smooth things over by saying something along the lines of "well, we're not sure there is any basis for the complaint, and we're not sure how you get to those damages."  Something to that effect.  I was not really listening, because I was still stuck on being called "unethical."

A few moments later in the conversation, the Bonehead (see, I can call people names too,) got very hot under the collar and called me an idiot.  I backtracked, again, and asked him to confirm that he had in fact, called me both "unethical" and an "idiot."  Needless to say, the conversation went south from there and did not last much longer.

Merriam-Webster defines the word "idiot" as "a person affected with extreme mental retardation" or "a foolish or stupid person."  I do not believe that I fall into either of those categories, but I doubt this attorney would care to know the actual meaning of the words he throws around.  (Interesting side note, one of the synonyms listed for "idiot" is "airhead," which I have been called many times.  Given the context of this particular incident, however, I'm not as quick to brush it off, and never did really believe that I was an "airhead" either.)

Following the conversation with Bonehead and his partner, I passed the information on to my partners who have been involved in the case and know what is going on.  Both of them assured me that Bonehead is a hothead (and several other more colorful things) and counseled me to ignore him.  When Bonehead followed up the conversation with an email in which he quoted to me a section of the Canon of Legal Ethics, one of my partners assured me that it would do no good to respond directly to him.

Somewhere in my head, I know he's right.  But at the same time, my heart and the other part of my head that does not take insults well really wants to strike back at him.  I know deep down that it would do no good to engage this a**hole in a conversation and try to set him straight (about the case or about my intelligence and ethical standards) but it sure would feel good to be able to respond.  Of course, for someone to attack a person they have never met on such a personal level takes a special kind of individual, one that I'm pretty sure I don't want to have further dealings with.

The problem that I have with this whole situation is how it has made me feel over the past few days.  First, it has made me not want to check my email or answer my phone or even go to work.  Those of you who know me in the professional arena know that I am one of those strange people that love what I do.  I love being an attorney and I love coming to work.  This week, not so much.  In those moments of thinking about looking at my email or answering the phone, there is a moment of dread, a moment of worry that Bonehead is on the other end, ready to spew more vitriol in my direction.  Worse even than the drop in the pit of my stomach is the doubt.  Bonehead made me question my own belief in my client's case (which I am sure he wanted me to do from the outset) and made me question my own ethics in taking the case.  Perhaps that is was is most troubling to me - this idea that maybe my client's case is not all that it is cracked up to be.

In the end, this will blow over (at least, for me.)  The litigation will continue and I am sure I will have more dealings with that firm (although if it is anything like other firms, I will probably deal with an associate of the lower order and the "big guns" will only come in for things like hearings on motions, mediation and trial - if we get that far.)   If I feel so inclined (and right now, I do) I might even tell the litigation partner to keep Bonehead out of the mix.  For now, I comfort myself with the idea that Bonehead is not litigation counsel and that if I am lucky, I will deal with his peons for the foreseeable future.  In the meantime, I will be boning up on insults in my own right, so that next time I will have a fighting chance.   (One more sidebar - I found this guy's bio on the firm website, complete with photo and I swear, he could give Nick Nolte's mug shots a run for their money!)

And one final sidebar - if I have suffered this much indigestion and worry over a rude comment made by someone in a business setting, insults that I truly know are not correct, can you imagine how much hurt others must feel when they are picked on for how they look or talk or a physical impairment they might have?  Just something to think about, as you go out and face the day.  But if you do feel the need to insult someone's driving, make sure that your windows are rolled up and that your kids are not in the car (because you know they are going to repeat whatever you say!)

Birthday Wishes, No Cake and wait - you're Jewish?

So much birthday love on my Facebook page and alot of it before 8 a.m.!  Thank you!

When I was a kid, I would have to wait until I got home from school to see what cards were in the mail before I knew if anyone remembered my day.  These days, with the internet and Facebook and "my calendar" applications, people are easier to reach out and touch.  It may seem like a small and  bit impersonal thing, but when you wake up on your birthday and find 30 messages in your inbox, it feels good.  (I do still like to get "snail mail" cards also.  Doesn't everyone like to get "real" mail?)

Growing up, my birthday would sometimes fall on days marked "Rosh Hashana" or "Yom Kippur" on the calendar.  I had no idea what those days were, but always thought that it was "cool" or "neat" that my birthday fell on a holiday.  It was not until I began studying Judaism that I realized how "cool" or "neat" it really was.  My 30th was particularly interesting, as it fell on Yom Kippur which is a fast day.  That means that I did not get to eat anything, all day long, until after sundown.  This birthday will be an interesting one because it is Kol Nidre - pretty much the holiest date of the Jewish year.  I get to eat until sundown, so I'll be sure to cram as much cake and ice cream in before then as I can, and that should help me get through the following 25 or so hours of not eating anything at all.

As I get closer and closer to 40, and as my friends and family get to and pass 40 (don't worry, I won't name names), I find myself spending more time looking back and considering where my life is and where it is going.  No, I won't bore you with the details.  Suffice to say that I think it has been pretty good and I'm looking forward to where it is going.  Skydiving, anyone? 

I read a blog post a few months ago by someone who made a list of things she wanted to do before a big birthday.  I tried to make a list of 40 before 40, and found that many of the things I would have put on the list (such as visit London or go on a cruise) were already checked off.  So my list is around 20 things and some of them may not get crossed off before 40 - we'll see.  As of today, I have exactly 2 years, or 730 days.  I'll keep you posted on my progress.

In any event, my celebration this year will be put on hold for a few days of personal reflection and atonement (the purpose behind Yom Kippur) and my annual efforts to be sealed in the Book of Life.  A friend's post on her facebook page today rang particularly true.  She said "As I take a few minutes before Kol Nidre tonight and a day of repenting and looking within myself...I want to ask all of those that I may not be able to talk to/see before Yom Kippur is over for forgiveness...I sincerely apologize for anything I may have done to hurt you this year, intentionally or unintentionally. I also want to tell those who may have done the same to me...all if forgiven. G'mar Chatimah Tovah - may we all be written in the book of life!"  (Thanks Stephanie, I hope you don't mind I borrowed your words - very well said.)

To my fellow Members of the Tribe (of Israel), I wish you an easy fast.  Have a piece of cake before sundown for me in celebration.  For my friends who are not "MOT" - have a piece of cake for me (throw some ice cream on top if you dare!) and celebrate something - your family, your health, anything worth smiling about.  As for me, I am hanging on for the weekend, which will find me sitting under an umbrella on a beach, with a drink in my hand and an umbrella in my drink.

Now if only my Dodgers could pull out a few more wins and clinch a Wildcard spot.... is that too much to wish for on "my" day?

Because I'm a Woman, you Nit-Wit!

I was recently told by someone (a man) that sometimes when he communicated with me, he got the impression that he was bothering me or that I did not want to talk to him.  In discussing this with a friend (male), he said that he knew a few others (2 men) who could see where the first man was coming from.  Then he asked if we hadn't previously discussed the possibility that I might need to "soften up" in the business world.  (A conversation that I do not remember.)

Are you kidding me?

First, let's put aside the fact that the man I was communicating with sent me a one word email.  Yup, that's it.  One. Word.  Can you say "cryptic"?  I can.  Cryptic.  Let's also set aside the fact that his email came at 10 a.m. on a SATURDAY.   Yes, I am an attorney.  No, I do not practice criminal law, therefore I do not take calls from clients, associates, or anyone else business related on the weekends (unless they've eaten dinner in my house, in which case I consider them a friend and it's o.k.)  I am also not a nurse or an ER doctor or any other manner of career choice which would lead to a requirement of 24-7 availability.   I am also a wife and a mother of two young children who do not always understand the idea of "business" versus "personal" and will do their damnedest to get my attention when I'm on the phone, no matter who I'm talking to.  So I tend to try and limit my business calls to normal business hours.  This man has no such boundaries in his life and apparently expects all around him to conform to his style.

Second, let's clarify something.  We (the man and I) were communicating via email.  There was no "tone" or "inflection" or even a "voice."  It was words, typed on a small hand-held device, albeit briefly, sent over the waves of communication, to his small, hand-held device.  It always amazes me when people forget that they are reading plain words on a machine and try to imply some sort of tone in my writing.  I am not in front of them, speaking to them, so how can they possibly know what I am thinking or feeling at the time I am typing it and then read that into my message.  It is simply not possible.  What made this even more amusing is that when we (the man and I) discussed this situation the following Monday morning, he acknowledged that "we have to be careful with emails".  I would say "DUH!" but would that be condescending?

Finally, let's discuss this idea that I need to "soften up."  When did it become necessary for me to change who I am because I make men uncomfortable?  This is not a new thing, that some men are threatened by strong women.  It is also not a new thing that in some businesses, a woman who is tough, takes a stand and refuses to take crap from anyone is viewed as a "bitch" or another 4-letter word that starts with "c" and rhymes with "runt."  I hear it myself from some men, when talking about opposing counsel on cases who are women.  9 out of 10 times, they will say that she is a "bitch" or use the other word, then turn to me and say "no offense."  Oh, none taken, really.

The simple fact is that I am who I am. (Insert  Popeye voice here.)  I get along well with clients (both male and female) and some of my clients even go so far as to tell me that they LOVE me or prefer to work with me over the men in the office.  As far as I know, I have never had a client complain that I was unapproachable or acted like I did not want to work with them.  Until that time, I think I am o.k. sticking with what works for me (and my clients.)

Circling back to men in the office and the man who started this whole conversation - yes, there are times when you contact me that I might seem distracted or frazzled or frustrated or just plain pissed off.  First, do not take it personally.  Unless I am cursing your name to your face, odds are good that I am distracted by something else, or pissed off at someone else.  You (men) tend to operate in black and white.  Women (at least the ones I know well), as a general rule tend to operate in several shades of gray (or pink, purple or red, you pick.)  Nothing is ever as cut and dry as you would like. 

Perhaps when you asked me to look at that document, I just got off the phone from a fifteen minute conversation with a court clerk that accomplished nothing.  Perhaps just as you walked into my office, my computer crashed and I lost an hour's worth of work.  Maybe I was up all night with a sick toddler and am trying to function on a few hours of sleep.  To quote a familiar "chick flick" - "Maybe she's praying because the elastic's shot in her pantyhose."  You just never know what it is that set us off. 

And you cannot have it both ways.  As men, "women problems" freak you out, so you do not want to know what is bothering us.  You expect us to leave our personal lives (and female emotions) at home.  Womens' tears are your kryptonite and you do not want breakdowns or screaming or *gasp* PMS in the workplace.  You (men) expect us to be professional and not to come to work covered in spit up or smelling like yesterday's dirty diapers.  We come to work with debilitating headaches and cramps and yet we still function.  These are the things that you do not want to (or can't) see.  In order to do that, we must become tough as nails and leave the "soft" stuff at home.

It would seem then, that the choice is ultimately up to you.  If you prefer that I "soften up," I'm sure I can do that.  But with that softening comes a reduction in productivity for at least one week each month when I've got cramps and a headache that could drop a rhino in its tracks.  I will be reduced to tears at least once a week when I get a run in my stockings or break a nail, or any other trite thing happens, just because my hormones are out of whack.  I will smile sweetly when you walk into my office, but the walls will be covered with my babies' artwork (scribbles in bright colors) and my suit will probably be wrinkled and have some strange substance stuck on it from the little one's breakfast.  My hair may not be brushed either, or it will be strangely styled because I played "salon" with my 6 year old.  

Or, I can come to work looking "together" and keeping it all inside.  You won't know when I have a headache, other than when you look closely and see the pain behind my eyes.  You won't be troubled when I have PMS, although my responses to your questions might be a little shorter or snappier than usual.  I will continue to get my work done in a professional manner and won't bore you with the details of the latest flu bug to circle the elementary school.  You will have an employee/associate/partner who is businesslike in manner and who gets the work done (and done well) and who the clients like.

And I won't cry in front of you at the office.  Probably.

A Healthy Dose of Mommy Guilt... and my Penance

As parents, we hope that we will always have the appropriate answer at the right time.  We want to be there for our kids, always striving to maintain "hero" status, able to resolve all conflicts, fix all broken toys, answer all questions and dry all tears.   Sometimes, we fall short.

Sometimes, in the heat of the moment we forget ourselves, and only do the best we can, with what we have on hand, and hope to pick up the pieces when things calm down.  Last night was one of those times.  I didn't know it before (who ever does?) but it was the perfect storm of heat, ice cream, water, dehydration and a cough.  Only now, 16 hours later, do I think I have most of it figured out.  But I still feel guilty about how some of it when down.

My weekly basketball game in the Burbank league played out as usual at 4 p.m. in an incredibly hot gym.  Rob and the girls came because the team and families were planning to go out to dinner afterward.  They sat with me for about 15 minutes before game time and Rob had enough.  He decided to take them to find some ice cream, anything to cool off and escape the sauna in the gym.  I played, we won and my family returned towards the end to take me to dinner.  B ran up and down the court one or two times and Kensi wandered around a bit as well.

Dinner was at a burger joint, nothing too out of the ordinary.  Kensi did not seem too interested in the food or juice and mostly sat in her chair.  Brooklyn ate everything.  As we were finishing up, Rob said his stomach was bothering him.  A short while later, we made a brief stop just a few minutes from dinner because his stomach was still bothering him.  Back on the road and believing all was right with the world, we headed home, air conditioning blasting.

Trouble started about 2/3 of the way home, when B started to quietly cry in the back seat.  Asking what was wrong, we learned that she was hot.  We didn't understand because we were both a little chilly in the front seat.  We adjusted the air and she started to cool off.  She asked to take her shoes off and I said "no," since we weren't that far from home.

Just off the freeway and heading to our neighborhood, B make a strange noise.  Rob turned and looked (I was driving) to find that she had started to throw up.  She caught some of it in her hands.  I think at one point, she may have even asked "what do I do?"  (Just a warning, the faint of heart or queasy of stomach may want to skip down a few lines, or turn away for a few minutes.)  Driving and not being able to see what was going on behind me, my first thought was to keep driving and drive faster.  We weren't that far from home.  I heard another wave of cookies being tossed, but having witnessed B get sick a few times before, I thought it might just be more sound than substance.

Kensi had started to cry shortly after B got sick, whether from the smell or because B was crying, I don't know.  Skipping the red lights at the left turns, I kept going straight, thinking only to keep the car in motion.  I knew I had to make a left at some point, but kept hoping that the light would be green when I got there.  A few minutes of crying, a few green lights (but no left turns) later and Kensi started to cough, and then - projectile vomit. 

I now had two little ones in the back seat, crying and throwing up.  It was a scene straight out of Poltergeist, the only thing missing was the spinning heads. (Do I have the right movie image?)  Worried that Kensi would choke on something, because of the angle of her car seat or because she wouldn't understand or know to spit, I decided to pull into the parking lot of a park and get her calmed down.   As I then realized, you never realize what you might need in an emergency situation, until there is one.

When the girls were babies, I always had extra clothes, burp cloths and wipes handy.  As they got older, I stopped carrying so much around, and even now, as Kensi gets close to age 2, I have stripped down the diaper bag and pretty much just have diapers and wipes. (Hey, my camera has to go somewhere, right?)   Normally, this would not be a problem, but when you have a daughter that managed to drink several bottles of water in the course of the afternoon, and had lunch and dinner and ice cream, and more water.... and then threw it all up, you find yourself wishing for a clean shirt and a towel or two... or three.

After those few moments of panic, my brain finally kicked back in.  I remembered the wipes in the diaper bag and we started to use those to clean the girls hands and faces up.  Brooklyn still literally had hands and a lap full of "yuck" and so as Rob opened her door, he had her turn and try to dump everything out as she hopped out.  Remembering my towel and extra shirt in my gym bag, I directed Rob to those to help B clean up.  I also got her out of her dirty shirt and put her into my old jersey.  He moved her booster seat only to find a pool (yes, a pool) of liquid sitting on the seat.  (Thank goodness for leather seats!)  Kensi had not stopped crying since B first got sick and just continued to cry and hiccup while I tried to clean her up.

Once we got them as clean as we could, we drove the last 5 minutes home, finally having to make that left turn and Rob begging me to run the light (I didn't.)   We stripped them down in the service porch and filled the tubs.  While washing Kensi off, I started to rethink my actions and immediately felt guilty (see title above.)  It seems to me that the smart thing to do when B started to get sick would have been to pull over and open her door and let her get sick outside of the car.  Unfortunately, caught up in the moment, the "smart" thing did not occur to me and my little girl was sitting there holding her.. o.k., well, you get the picture.  I still feel guilty, even this morning for not thinking to pull over.   Strangely, just before she went to sleep, B apologized to me for getting sick in my car.  Just about broke my heart.

So, my penance... Kensi decided that last night would be a perfect time to not want to go to sleep.  We weren't sure if she got sick because she had some of the ice cream that Rob and B had (if that is what caused B to get sick) or because she smelled B's mess, or if she got sick for some other reason.  Regardless of her reasoning, she was inconsolable.  Rob and I tag-teamed for several hours, trying to get her to relax and go to sleep.  She seemed fine when we let her sit on the couch with us, or in the recliner, or wander around my office - but the minute we tried to put her down to sleep, she would cry.  At some point after 1 a.m., that switched to her sleeping, but waking up and crying when she saw that we were out of the room.  Around 1:30 a.m., I thought I had her down and started to creep out.  I made it 1/2 way down the hall before she started up again.  I then dozed off sitting next to her crib until she finally fell asleep around 2 this morning.

Up again at 8 and crying, we decided to take her to the doctor.  Turns out, she may have croup, which the doctor said would explain the weird hiccuping sound when she cries and the barking cough.  Doc also said that the crying leads to coughing and sometimes leads to throwing up, which may be what caused her to get sick last night.

As I said, it was a perfect storm of way too much coincidence and weird stuff that ended with the car seat and booster seat covers in the washer, girls in the tub, Rob and I in the shower and my car badly in need of a shampoo and wash.  (It doesn't help that it's about 90 outside again today and my car is currently sitting in the sun baking while I'm at the office.)

Just when we think we've got it all figured out, just when we think that as parents, we are doing a pretty good job and things are going pretty smoothly, those crazy kids throw us a curve ball or two, just to keep us on our toes.  From now on, barf bags in the back seat and a roll of paper towels hidden somewhere in the car.  I'll have to work on the guilt I feel for not pulling over, but a few hugs from my girls should be a step in the right direction.  Until the next small disaster hits...

A Few Thoughts on the Upcoming Election

The election is still 2 months away and already I'm sick of it.  Just as the new fall season of all of my favorite shows starts up, I will have to endure 60 second sound bites of why one guy sucks at his job and why the other one should take over instead of the usual fare of commercials about the aging process and men's erectile dysfunction.

By the way, can someone tell me if there is a way to hide from some of my friends on Facebook?  Really, I love them to death, but I don't think that I can stand another two months of posts about why one party is better than the other, why the current President has messed things up so terribly and why the opponent is the country's savior.  If there was a way that I could just hide their posts until after the election, I'd be happy.  Better yet, save them all somewhere in a cache of sorts and after the election, whichever side lost, I can then pull those friends' posts out and wave them in their faces.  O.k., so I wouldn't do that.  But I would like to hide the comments for a few months.  No, really.  Hide them.  I'd much rather hear that your cat did a flip off the couch or look at pictures of your kids at Disneyland.  Trust me on this.  Besides - no matter what you think or what you say, I will not change my own political position based solely on your 150 character post.

Separation of Church and State- this is a good one lately.  It seems that Romney's running mate has a particular position on abortion and conception.  I would guess that his position is based, at least in part, on his religion.  So, if we allow Congress to legislate abortion when the positions of those voting would be a result of their religious beliefs, wouldn't that be allowing Church to influence State, and isn't that a bad thing?  Yes, our money says "In God we Trust," but at the same time, I don't think I want a Bible-belt fundamentalist telling me what I can do with my body.  I had to laugh today - a friend was posting her political views following the DNC events last night, cataloging the list of Democratic wrongs.  Whether or not she is correct, I have no idea - I don't have the time (or inclination) to do that type of research.  What struck me as funny, was the comment of one of her other friends, that while the information she posted may have been correct regarding the state of the economy, this friend could never side with the Republicans unless and until they got out of her "Vaj-j-j."  I paraphrased a bit, forgive me. 

I am a Democrat.  I would have voted for Hillary had she not caved and acquiesced to Obama, and he was not my first choice, but there you have it.  Oddly enough, I remember thinking that Reagen was a great man and a good President.  Could be that I was too young to be cognizant of the economy and other things that affect a presidency, but I recall thinking that I liked him.  I also liked Clinton, despite his peccadilloes.  Where was I?  Oh yes - I am Democrat, mostly because there are a few things that the Republicans stand for that I cannot support, most importantly my right to choose whether or not to have a child.  I won't get into the vagaries of other topical Republican issues, suffice to say that when you lead in with the right to choose and my control over my own body, I don't have to go much further, regardless of the state of the economy.

I digress.  My reason for this post was to pose some questions to some of my friends who have such vehement views on politics these days and feel it necessary to vilify the current President in their posts (following the media, Romney and others of the right-wing bent.)   First, do you honestly think that the problems of this nation were created overnight (or in 4 years?)  If not, why do you think that they could be or should have been solved overnight (or in 4 years)?   Wasn't the previous President a Republican?  Have we already forgotten the slew of problems that he left in his wake?  Also, do any of you remember anything of your civics classes in junior high and of your government class in high school?  I continue to be baffled as to why the President is paraded out as the bad guy, when Congress is just as involved in the process.  I seem to recall something called.... what was it?  Oh yes!  "Checks and balances."  That meant that the President was never so powerful that he couldn't be held in check by another branch of the government.  If that's the case, and he's being "checked and balanced," then why is all blame being placed at his feet?  If you truly feel that strongly about policy, why don't you get on the phone with your Senators and Representatives and ask them what they have been doing for you in Washington.

That brings up another point.  Congress is not innocent in this whole mess.  If the executive branch is subject to the checks and balances of the Legislative branch, then who is checking them?  Of course, you have the Judicial branch deciding when laws are unconstitutional, but I'm talking about keeping tabs on who has their hands in Congress' pockets - better yet, who is lining Congress' pockets?  We all know it is happening, but we, as a people seem to be powerless to stop it.  Our lawmakers -Democrat or Republican, are controlled by whoever puts the most money into their war chest - Big Tobacco, Oil, Unions - anyone who has enough money to sway our representatives votes.  It is no wonder that our education system is in the toilet and swirling fast - our lawmakers could care less.  They have enough money to send their kids to private school so they can't see first hand what is happening to everyone else, and the teachers and parents don't have enough money to sway anyone back to their court.

I think we need to strip everything down and start over.  Turn back the clock and find a simpler way to do things.  Get the lobbyists out of the government.  Make our representatives go back to their home states and really talk to their people, find out what it is that their states need to function and survive.  Then take that information back to DC and work on it.  Once the dollar sign is taken out of the equation, some real work might get done.  Oh sure, they may claim that they need money for their next election campaign.  But I say that they need to do some work first.  Rather than electing someone based on how much money they can raise, why don't we look at their record.  And while we're at it, let's strip down and simplify the bills being presented.  No more hiding things in 600 pages.  Let's go back to using plain English and if it doesn't fit on 10 pieces of paper, it's out.  If it is that important, present it separately, or take something else out.

As I'm sure you can imagine, I have strong views on other aspects of the economy (pay your freakin' taxes!), the unemployment rate (go out and get a job - I worked at McDonalds, so can you!) and a few other things.  But I won't present them here, lest someone decides upon reading that they want to engage in verbal warfare with me, and I just don't want to or need to do that.  Instead, I'll sit quietly here in my corner and wait for November 6 to come and go, so that we can return to our regularly scheduled programming.

Hero Worship in the Modern Era

I wrote this story last Fall, following Rob's first experience at Dodger Camp.  I have refined it a bit over the past few months, but have wanted to "publish" it for awhile.  I am finally getting around to it, with some pictures as well.

Many of you might remember a time when you had a hero.  You wrote letters, you sent cards, you followed a person’s every move.  You might also remember when your illusions of greatness about this person were shattered, when you realized all too painfully that he or she was human, and possessed all of man’s inherent faults.  My day of reckoning came in the third grade.  I had written a letter to President Ronald Reagan and surprisingly got a response.  As I excitedly tore open the letter, I was taken in by the official seal, the bonded paper, the signature.  My excitement was then shattered when someone (a family member) mockingly told me that the letter was a “form letter,” one of probably hundreds or even thousands sent out to school children just like me, all over the country each day, likely prepared and even signed by a staff member.  My image of the President was instantly tainted, and I was suddenly very aware of the fallibility of mere mortals. 

My days of hero worship were pretty much over then, aside from a brief relapse this past year, when I so wrongly believed that a photographer, somewhat of a celebrity in the industry, would take the time to respond to my comments, as one “photog” to the next.  I was quickly returned to reality when I got a short and cryptic email from a staffer and remembered again that our heroes are at the core, human. 

I try not to get too upset as my daughter chooses a hero (most recently, Manny Ramirez) who might let her down, and watch with the rest of the world as many of the younger generations “heroes” and those held in high esteem (Tiger Woods, Roethlisburger) are shown to be quite human, with all the same faults and fallacies.  Certainly, one might think that the days of true hero worship are long past.  In today’s world of internet and the information highway, heroes are felled with a mighty click of the mouse, instantly sending pictures or stories of misdeeds out on the “wire” to the masses.   

Despite the recent onslaught of fallen heroes, there is still a place where true heroes can be found.  While I am sure they are human, with their own faults and lives to live, for one whole week they return to hero status and are exalted by the “common” man.  I am referring to that little patch of dirt in Vero Beach, Florida, lovingly known as “Dodgertown.”  The week is known as “Fantasy Camp.”

For the entire week, men return to the days of their childhood, running and jumping and playing.  Knees creak in protest, backs and arms ache like never before, but they play through the pain, usually with ear-splitting grins plastered across their faces.  To do otherwise would squander the opportunity.  Men who remember the days of O’Malley and the move to L.A. are transported back to the simpler times when the smell of popcorn and a hot dog at the park could wash all of your cares away.  Boys who pumped their fists with Gibby in ’88 run the bases imagining that they too can achieve greatness.  Perhaps even more poignant now, as today’s team struggles in the aftermath of the tumultuous McCourt era and hopes for a little bit of “Magic”, a trip to the past reminds us why we love our Boys in Blue, and why Dodgertown is, and likely always will be, an institution.

They come from all walks of life – policemen, doctors, lawyers, accountants, salesmen, business owners, teachers and so much more, a range of ages among them; the youngest perhaps 32 or 33, the oldest…. well, he just wasn’t going to admit that.  Rookies and veterans alike, they converge, to glory in the presence of their heroes, to walk and play where the great ones have walked and played.

Lockers for players and coaches alike, in the same locker rooms used during Spring Training.

Some might consider it crazy for these men (and a few women) to pay for the opportunity to spend time with these baseball greats (and spend a week playing baseball.)  But for those as steeped in the history of this team as they are, it is an honor, a privilege, a right and even for some, a duty.  As the years tumble forward, the true greats, the names which built a franchise like Pee Wee Reese, Don Drysdale and Duke Snider leave us and it becomes all the more important to squeeze in these moments with those who are left.  These fans, these hero worshipers revel in the greatness, proud and humbled to take the field with those men who dominated the field and their childhoods with baseball.

For the entire week, they eat, sleep and play with the Boys of Summer, some raised on the heroes of ’55 and others of ’63, ’81 and ‘88.  Split up into teams with at least two former Big League players as managers, sharing lockers and showers as if they themselves were in the “show,” they play several games a day, take batting practice, and even share meals.  Meals are filled with laughter and jokes, player-of-the-day awards handed out by managers and an all-around good time.  Memories are made in mere hours or days but will last the rest of their lifetimes.

Rob catching and hitting in the All-Star game on the last day of camp.

Top - Phil pitching in the All-Star game.  Bottom - Dad catching for Phil.

One day a whisper roared through camp.  “He’s here.  He’s here!”  Unable to believe their own luck, they sought out more information.  “Where?”  “Will he sign anything?”  Suddenly, a camper ran past some of the others, carrying a baseball, frantic to get through.  “He’s in the trainers’ room and he’s signing autographs!”  The great Sandy Koufax had appeared at camp.  For many raised on Dodger baseball, his is the name and face that defined the team for several generations.  Men became boys again and stood in awe of the greatness.  Koufax, who seemingly shuns the spotlight most days, was magnanimous, signing whatever bat or ball or piece of paper that was reverently handed to him and just as gently taken back, a memento to be treasured and a story to be told to a child or grandchild.  He swapped stories and chatted with the campers, and posed for many pictures.  As his time at camp drew to a close (he was not a coach or manager but had been invited to stop in by an old friend, Tommy Davis) campers were reluctant to turn away, hesitant to allow the moment to end, as they knew it must.

Phil with Sandy Koufax.

But the camaraderie doesn’t end on the field.  For many it extends back to their hometowns, where they might see one of these players at the market or the mall.  The heroes continue in their gallantry, posing for photos and signing autographs for the children they heard so much about at camp.  One named “Brooklyn” drew particular attention from these Boys in Blue.  They remember the campers and while the names might be momentarily elusive, with some help and in a minute or two, it comes back, and they remember a game or a play or a practical joke.

Throughout it all, these players remain humble, almost in awe of those who come to see them, just as the campers are a little bit in awe of being in the presence of these men who played and who filled their childhoods with heroes. 

Tommy Davis signing a ball for a fan during the All-Star game.

And as the week of camp comes to a close, the players are saddened, a little melancholy that playtime is over and they must return to the “real world,” and maybe more than a little hopeful that the stars will align again in a year, that they will be able to return and that the players that they love will return as well.  For in that place at that moment, the heroes have risen once more and all is right with the world.

But Where Did All the Money Go?

Going to PTA meetings these days can be incredibly depressing.  Most of last school year's meetings were filled with the "doom and gloom" of the impending cuts to 81 of our district's teachers, 6 from our school alone.  PTA Board members and parent volunteers worked their butts off to raise money to cover things that we all took for granted as kids - art, music and phys ed classes, field trips and assemblies.

Over the summer, several of our classrooms were overhauled to make room for more students, as the class size mandate has gone from 25 to 30.  While there were 4 full size 1st grade groups last year, there are now 3 full size second grade groups.  When I was in elementary school, there were usually 30 kids in a class, so I don't think the size itself is as big of an issue.  But we also had art class once a week, music twice a week and phys ed twice a week, in a separate classroom (or gym) led by a separate instructor. (Yes, this was public school.)  The teacher had that break each day to count on.

Initial news at the beginning of this school year is not much better.  As our school continues to struggle to get its fair share of funding and state dollars, more programs are in danger of being cut, due to lack of funds or a lack of volunteers.  Art and music programs, once funded directly through the state and the school districts are now being left up to parents and the PTAs to keep alive.

As school starts this week, just 8 short weeks since the last school year ended, I can't help but wonder what is going on around here.  While understanding that "times they are a'changin'," I can't help but compare my elementary educational experience with the one that my daughter is getting, and can only hope that she will fare o.k.  I already mentioned that we had gym, art and music on a weekly basis.  On top of that, there was no such thing as "minimum days."  We did not have "early dismissal," a week long fall break, or an almost 4 week long holiday break.  We had 1 day of school off during each 1/2 of the year for parent-teacher conferences and another day off for "staff planning day" or "teacher in-service" day, 2 weeks at Christmas and 1 week for Spring Break.  (If we were lucky, we got Snow Days in the winter.) 

Back in "those days," we shopped for our own school supplies too.  Each year when class lists went up, we scrambled for those supply lists and happily went trekking off to KMart or Hills (a mid-west retail Target-type store.)  We brought our own crayons, pencils, pens and glue to school, based on what the teacher said we would need.  In some classrooms, each student brought a box of tissues, which were used throughout the year.

Looking back over that last few paragraphs, it seems as though I'm talking of days "long ago," when in reality, it wasn't that long ago. (Was it?)  I can't be that old, right?  Apparently, I am.

In today's world of budget cuts and economic downturn, of raising taxes and decreasing benefits, it seems that the schools are feeling the pinch more than others.  I can't help but wonder what our elected officials are doing with that money - it has to be going somewhere, right?.  Goodness knows that they aren't spending it on the education system.   Add to that the cuts to the Court systems that have been ongoing over the past 3 years and I think we have a recipe for disaster. 

I don't pretend to have a solution.  I do have questions - lots of questions.  I researched the use of lottery funds a few weeks ago, since that was supposed to help education years ago.  If you are curious, Google it yourself, but the short and quick answer that I found was that the money put out by the lottery is a drop in the bucket compared to the money schools apparently need to run each year, and in some cases is barely noticed.  (By the way, the financials for the LA Unified School District are staggering.)

One question I posed to the school principal (and a few other parents) at the end of last year - why is the school or the teachers purchasing the basic supplies for students to use in class?  I was told by someone that it was a way to maintain uniformity among the supplies.  Another answer I got was that it lessened the likelihood of embarrassment for that student or students who could not afford supplies.  To that I say "Hogwash!"  There is not a valid reason out there that I can think of for our school or the teachers to be spending money on students' supplies that they can just as easily go out and purchase themselves.  At Wal-Mart last week, you could buy a box of 24 crayola crayons for $.50.  A pencil box was going for $.99.  There are low cost options.  And in the limited situations when a student can't afford everything they might need, then the school or teacher could have a small supply on hand to help out that student.  I just do not see the need for the school to go out and purchase 900 bottles of Elmer's glue, when there are other things better suited for those funds.  As a parent volunteer last year, I spent a good 1/2 hour one day (towards the end of the school year) searching for white paper to make copies.  Yes, white-paper-to-make-copies.  There was not any and according to one of the teachers, it was in high demand.  Newsprint for art projects was something else apparently hard to come by.

You have to wonder if the public education system is putting itself out of business.  The economy takes a down-turn and the government raises taxes.  People can't afford to continue living in their neighborhood because of the property values and taxes, so they move, taking their kids with them.  At the same time, the public school systems declare that they cannot afford to pay for art teachers or music programs or gym teachers.  Those same school systems operate an annual budget based largely on the state "ADA" rate (Average Daily Attendance - the school gets paid a per student, per day rate based on attendance.)   Parents, frustrated that their children are not getting the same well-rounded, quality education that they once got, which included art, music and gym, a library that was staffed and had newer books, seek other options - charter schools and private institutions.  Despite the expense, some parents believe that it is worth it to pay for an education that includes those things.  As the enrollment numbers in the public schools drop, so does the money from the state, causing further cuts.  It is a vicious cycle with no end in site - other than possibly the privatization of the entire public school system.

I shudder to think how things are going to look 5 or 10 years from now.  We moved to this area because the schools were supposed to be better than LAUSD and because there were many young families with lots of school-age children here.  We moved to a neighborhood where the school is literally down the block and we can walk our daughter to school.  We heard good things from friends in the area and we have liked things so far.  But I worry as things continue to decline and parents are asked to raise more and more money to cover these programs that are being cut, assemblies, field trips, busing... and the list goes on.

As I said before, I don't have a solution and the search for answers has been difficult. Perhaps the first step is to have people, even those without school-age children, realize what is being cut, to realize what the state is paying for and what parent organizations and volunteers are raising money for.  Then maybe we can start working towards other solutions.  But in the meantime, I also think we, as parents, can step up and pay for some crayons and pencils and glue.  It is a small step, but it could be an important one.