Life: It Ain't Easy

"I'm calling your mother, young man! You are in BIG trouble." That was Delores. She ran the little store about five blocks from my house. I was eight years old and I had just been caught shoplifting. I was purchasing something small, but had a 'yen' for a popsicle, too. I thought it would help cover my tracks if I bought something at the same time that I was stealing something. It obviously did not work very well. When I got home, I was summarily punished. But the stealing didn't stop. When I was a few years older, I was visiting a neighborhood friend. We were playing with our baseball cards, trading and just doing what boys did in 1960. When Steve left his room, I pocketed a few of his silver dollars. I thought he had enough that he would not notice if two or three went missing. His mother called my mother (they were friends) and I was taken right back and directed to return the dollars and to apologize. And when I got home, I was summarily punished. Over and over this happened in my life. I stole from anyone I could. I stole from large grocery stores, friends, school and neighbors. I even stole from my own mother's purse (though she never had very much money). To top it all off, I once stole well over $400.00 from my church!! Most people who know me now are gasping with disbelief as they read this. I am certainly not proud of this little bit of personal history and really didn't want to share it. But it keeps coming back to me and I have been trying to discover the source of this complete lack of respect for the property of others. My parents never advocated dishonesty. I never saw them steal. In most ways they were forthright--at least when I was quite young. Just what was it that caused this nice young boy to turn to a life of theft? Was it because we were poor? And had nothing? Maybe. My parents worked; they had jobs that they went to EVERY day. They never stayed home sick and they never got vacation until I was in high school. My father, who was Hispanic, had no education past the eighth grade. When he quit school he went to work to support his mother. She was "old country" Mexican and had even less education than my dad. There was no father in his life, either. He never had the chance to play much; no Boy Scouts, no Little League, no band or choir in school, no art, no fun, really, of any kind. It always stood to reason that he would try to deny me those same activities. He always put me to work--that was all he knew. His job was his whole life and he expected work to be the same for me. But why did I steal? Attention? Maybe. My mother was my only REAL parent. She paid attention to me, taught me, read to me, shared with me, corrected me, etc. She was the one who taught me about baseball; the rules, famous players, how to keep a score-sheet,and so forth. She took me to see the Seattle Rainiers many times. She taught me about girls and honesty and hard work and the importance of school. She made sure that I had clothes (when there was any money) and she always was the one who attended my school conferences. But perhaps she gave up "a little" the day I came home from the sixth grade and told her that I was supposed to have her bring me to the police station.I had been caught stealing again. I can only imagine her feeling of betrayal and her great disappointment, to say nothing of her embarrassment. No charges were brought and everything was worked out with the person whom I had offended. But why? Why would I continue to steal? Although I really do not blame him, I truly think it has to do with having a father who was pretty much absent in my life. The culture of his youth and the culture of my youth were just too many worlds apart. He didn't understand how to relate. He didn't ever have the experience of being a son and seeing how a father does what a father is supposed to do. He never told me he was proud of me, although he often told others. He never initiated any kind of play or recreational time with me. He took me to one baseball game---1969, New York Yankees at Seattle Pilots. I was almost nineteen and we had a pretty good time. But he had no idea who Roger Maris, Mickey Mantle, Yogi Berra, Whitey Ford, Tony Kubek, or 'Moose' Skowron were. He had no idea of the rules of the game. He didn't know what it meant to be "up at bat" or what an "error" or a "hit" was. He just knew that I liked it and my mom made him take me as a high school graduation present. These all are old memories and they are still very painful. And I am still wondering why I became a thief at the age of eight and didn't stop until I was nearly twenty. But I do know this. My dad did what he could do. It wasn't good. It wasn't what I wanted nor what I needed. He was often a nasty tyrant. Both of my younger sisters and I were always scared of him. But you know----I learned a great deal from him. All positive. I learned about the kind of father I would be. I would play with my kids. I would hug them, tell them they were loved, lovingly discipline them, always stand my ground, and lead them. I would teach them to laugh, to understand that people are more important than things, that hard work is how we get what we want in life, but play and leisure are important, too. I had seen what a world without these things looked like. I wasn't going to continue the unhappiness. I feel pretty good about the outcome of my "once-upon-a-time" determination. Our kids are respectful, hard-working, well-educated, kind, caring and loving. They make many mistakes, but they admit them and learn from them. They give a great deal to life and they get a great deal from life. They both have made a huge difference in the lives of many others. And the best part of all---they love coming home. When we are all together, there is always laughing, teasing and joy all around. So I guess some might say that I hate my dad. But I don't, not really. Like I said, he did what he could do; he did what he knew. He was a good man, just not a good father. And I learned a lot from him. And you know what, I think I miss him.

Finding an Oasis

I am sitting in the Starbucks in the West Valley area of Yakima. It is just like all other Starbucks I have been in. However, it took me almost an hour to find it. Whereas in the greater Seattle area, one can find a Starbucks VERY easily, it is different here. I saw a few other, independent espresso stands, but no Starbucks. Perhaps coffee is not the first type of drink that Yakima-ites think of when the outdoor temperature is above 90 degrees!! Hence, not the same demand for countless numbers of Starbucks stores.

But now I'm here and I feel very comfortable. Whether one endorses Starbucks coffee or not, it is always nice to find a coffee "home away from home". I am tucked away in a corner, just my trusty laptop and me. And of course, my coffee. Now, I don't drink any of the many "foo-foo" drinks that Starbucks offers. No triple-shot, double-hot,non-fat,with no whip for me. If it takes longer than three seconds to order, I am not interested. "Tall drip, no room, please". One or two seconds and my order is taken. Another ten seconds and I have paid and my coffee is in my hand. But that's just me.

A coffee house is much different than a restaurant or a pub or any other gathering place. It is relaxed, fairly quiet and one can just sit and "be". In a restaurant, after food is consumed, one departs. Most people don't stay and visit very long after their meal is complete. In a pub, the longer the patrons stay, the rowdier and louder they get. The atmosphere there is not as comfortable for me as a coffee house. If you are with a friend, you can visit: no time limit. If you are alone: no time limit. If you are in a hurry, you can run in, order, pick up and leave. If you are hungry, you can order a small snack. It's my kind of place.

People have been relaxing with a "steamin' hot cup o' Joe" for centuries. And I know why!!

I Hate It When . . .

You know what I hate? I hate a lot of things. Hate is a very strong emotion and I try not to hate anything. But, to be honest, I do hate a lot of things. Here is a list of things that I hate. It is entirely possible that I hate more things than I have listed. Maybe I could list those items another time and perhaps by that time, I won't hate some of the items listed here. Yeah, right!!!

--I hate it when I am having a conversation with someone and I can see them suddenly lose interest in what I am saying. They keep nodding and saying, "Un-huh. Yes, I think so, too." But I KNOW they are no longer listening.

--I hate it when I have been assigned or have accepted a specific responsibility or job and someone else notices I have made a mistake and THEY correct it. Chances are good that they won't even say anything about my error. They will just fix it.

--I hate it when I allow other people to make me feel inferior.

--I hate "fair weather" sports fans. It takes a true fan to stay loyal to a team in a slump.

--I hate it when I have to say "No" to panhandlers. I really want to give them everything that they need.

--I hate it when I witness children being disrespectful to their parents.

--Even worse, I hate it when I witness parents being disrespectful to their children.

--I hate discourtesy and rudeness.

--I hate bad breath, especially my own!

--I hate it when I order a meal at the restaurant and the waitress brings me the wrong order and instead of telling her, I EAT IT ANYWAY!!

--I hate it that faraway, cigar smoke smells wonderful and up close it makes me retch!!

--I hate it when I strike up a conversation with an "old man" in line at the grocery store and find out that he and I were high school classmates!

I think I could go on and on about the things I hate. But I think I will stop here. After all, there are so many more things that I love. That would be a list of items that would be much more enjoyable to write.

It's A Wonderful Life

Just because I haven't written in the past few months, doesn't mean that I haven't been thinking about anything. It just means that I . . . well, maybe I haven't been thinking about too much. At least, not anything that I would want to write about. But this past weekend I had a new experience.

RaeLyn and I drove down to Longview to visit with our son and his family. He and his wife, Jill, have two daughters. Bailey is 5 and Madison is 3. Saturday was a very busy day for Bailey. She was playing her final tee-ball game of the season. She's not all that much "into" the game part of baseball. I think she likes the uniform and I know she likes her batting helmet--it came from her Daddy's high school team. But the game itself, you know, the hitting, fielding and throwing, for her they are not so important. She really likes the airplanes that fly over. Every once in awhile she even just sits down to take a rest! I think her favorite part is the team handshake at the end of the game. "Good game, good game, good game,(ad infinitum)." Then, it's off to the concession stand for the post-game treats. Then she needed to get home to play with Zoey, our daughter's Black Labrador puppy. Bailey adores Zoey and I think Zoey is kind of sweet on Bailey, too.

Later in the evening, Bailey was appearing in her first ballet recital. This was the sweetest and most touching event I have seen Bailey participate in yet. She was dressed in her beautiful pink and rainbow tutu, pink flowers in her hair, which was pulled back in ballerina fashion. When she and her dance-mates came on stage, I immediately teared up. Here was my oldest grandchild, so beautiful and innocent, giving her "all" to dance with her group. She was so intense and so delightful, at the same time. It was a moment I don't think I will ever forget!!

However, there was almost a disaster. What is it that all star ballerinas expect at the end of a long evening on the ballet stage?? Why flowers, of course! Her Daddy was not aware of this and he and I had to race out to Safeway (that paragon of high-class flowerdom)to get a beautiful bouquet of flowers. We arrived in time so that Dad and ballerina-daughter could get their photo taken. It was truly priceless!

It made me see how the generations just keep going. It wasn't all that long ago (at least it doesn't seem like all that long ago)that I was about 30 and going to our son's first baseball game. And believe it or not, just a few years later, we even went to watch Julie play soccer!! And now, it's our granddaughter who is learning and playing and dancing. "Time stops for no man." I don't know who said that, but it is sure true.

Ten minutes ago I was 32 years old, a young choral teacher with two little kids and a beautiful wife. Now I am 60 years old, retired, balding, losing my hearing, a bit overweight (!!) and watching my grandchildren play. But you know what?? I still have that same beautiful wife. I am really blessed!!!

The Blessing of Friendship

Friends are people who usually have mutual interests or mutual problems or similar needs and issues. We often spend a great deal of time with folks that we call 'friend', attending to many of those mutual interests or problems or needs or issues.

I knew a fellow in junior high school. We were not really friends, that is, we did not share many mutual friends, we did not live close by one another, we were not on the same academic or social level. The only thing that we shared in common was baseball. We played on the same school team from 8th grade through high school. He was not a great athlete but was good enough to play a lot and often was a starter. I, on the other hand, was always a back-up and never a starter.

His name was Mike and he was always very friendly to me. He was always inclusive when I was around him and his more popular friends. He never left me out.

Upon graduation from high school, Mike attended the University of Washington. He began a military career that has been his life since he left high school. He has commanded large numbers of soldiers in and out of combat. He has been named to organize extremely important secret military operations in two major military campaigns. He has worked on the battlefield, on military bases and he has even worked at the White House with Presidents.

I was given a College Deferment and was made exempt from military service. I attended college and took up a career in music education and performance. It very rarely ever occurred to me that there were people that were keeping our country safe and free. My life was never in danger (that I know of!!)and I have never really and honestly rescued someone in real distress.

Mike, on the other hand, rose to the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel. He worked in Special-Ops. He led huge groups of men in battle. He is now the National Executive Director of Young Marines. He works as a CEO-type of military man, traveling all over the country presenting awards and giving speeches to young kids who are involved in chapters of ROTC-type groups.

At my 40th high school reunion, two years ago, I had the chance to visit with Mike. I was reminded how popular he had been in school: starting center on the football team, a guard on the basketball team and an outfielder on the baseball team; he sang in the choir and he earned an ROTC scholarship to UW. He was a fine student. But again, he included me as if we had been very close friends. When we parted the night of the reunion, Mike told me to 'keep in touch' and that if I needed anything, to call him. Of course, what was he going to do?? He lives in Falls Church, Virginia!!

But I took him at his word. I emailed him last December to ask if he would be willing to fly out to the West Coast to represent the United States Marine Corps in a concert I was producing. I explained that there would be no money to pay for his flight; no money to pay for lodging or any other expenses. And his part in the concert was going to be completed in about forty minutes. I knew he would not do it, but it gave me a chance to 'keep in touch' and it gave us something to talk about.

He told me, "I would be proud to come out and represent the Marine Corps and even prouder to participate in an endeavor such as this for you." He told me not to worry about the expenses, that he would find a way to write it off and that the trip would give him a chance to see his Mom and other relatives.

The concert was wonderful and his part was extraordinary! The question that I have is this: Are Mike and I friends? How could we be? We hadn't spoken nor seen each other in well over forty years. We had nothing in common other than our shared baseball experiences when we were just boys.

Our families were totally different. My family was very dis-functional and a bit whacky. I think his family was pretty well-disciplined. His brother is a Brigadier General in the USMC and Mike is a retired Lieutenant-Colonel. In fact, if I remember correctly, Mike's wife, Kim is in the Marines. He has been around and worked with some of the most influential people in the world. Yet he wrote the following to me after the concert:

"Dear Pat: Listen, the pleasure was truly all mine and I thank you for the opportunity to be a part of something so very special . . . Moreover, it's refreshing to see classmates not only do well in their respective vocations, but to see them having fun doing it. You are a real professional in the same sense that I remember both Frank DeMeiro and Mr. Al (our hs choral directors). You should be very proud, I know I am!!

I guess we are friends. I guess that I should simply accept his congratulations and do as he suggests--be proud! However, the pride that I really feel is in the fact that Mike Kessler, Lieutenant-Colonel and war hero is a friend of mine. I truly hope that I can be as good a friend to him as he has been to me!

Memories

The announcer said, "Ladies and gentlemen,please welcome our 2010 Don Freeman Award Winner." A rather tall and muscular young man strode to the podium. His face was a bit flushed with nervousness. As he approached the front of the meeting room at Safeco Field, the home of the Seattle Mariners, he shook hands with a few of the other coaches. "Thank you very much," the young man said. He looked very nervous now. "I am very honored to receive this award, especially as I look out and see so many coaches whose names I have heard and whose programs I respect. I would like to thank my parents who are both in attendance today. Again, thank you very much."

Again, as he walked back to his seat, he was greeted by many coaches who stuck out their hands to congratulate him.

I was suddenly sent back in time nearly 33 years. I was in the delivery room of the Dayton General Hospital in Dayton, Washington. There was my wife, RaeLyn, in the middle of giving birth. As I looked up at the clock on the wall in the delivery room, I saw the time: 4:15 AM, exactly. Just then he made his debut: Jason Patrick Castro.

Again, I was transported to a back yard in Port Townsend where I was playing baseball with a blonde little fellow with a fat, red, plastic baseball bat. He was wearing a Seattle Seahawks jersey with Steve Largent's number 80 on the front. He laughed loudly as he hit the ball 40 feet over my head into the neighbor's yard.

Now it was a cold night in October, the grass was frosty and I could see my breath as I sat in the stands watching the Snohomish Panther football team. Just then the quarterback threw a 15 yard pass to a wide open tight end. The tight end continued running for a 45 yard gain. Two plays later, the same tight end scored a touchdown.

The sun was out and it blinded me as I sat in the dugout. I was keeping score for the Panther baseball team. This would be Jason's last playoff game at Everett Memorial Stadium and I wanted a picture of his next 'at bat.' I left the dugout just as he strode to the plate. I found a good spot from which to aim my camera. Just as I focused on him, he swung and met the ball sharply. I clicked the shutter and then looked up to see the ball heading for deep left field. Could it? Oh, Lord, please!! GONE! Jason just hit a long home run! I love it. I went back to the dugout as he rounded the bases and when he came into the dugout, we hugged.

Now here he was accepting his second major award of the year. He had already accepted the AP Washington State 2A Coach of the Year Award, for finishing the season 2nd in the state. Now the State Coaches Association was honoring him. A dad's mind just goes wild during times like this. I remembered the little boy who was always laughing. He loved soccer. He loved basketball. He loved football. But most of all, he loved baseball. Now here he was, a 32 year old man, 6'3", 235 pounds, who was teaching other high school boys, not only the game of baseball, but the "game of life." He was teaching them how to be a "real winner," not just how to win games.

How does a father share this kind of pride without sounding like a braggart? How does one tell others that he is so thankful to God for having been allowed to be the father to such a person? I was once asked if I thought Jason appreciated all his mother and I had done for him. My response was, "Honestly?? We are the ones who are thankful for all he has done for us!!"

My grandma taught my uncles about baseball and they grew to love it. My mother taught me to love the game. And I taught Jason and he loves it. Isn't it wonderful how certain things never die?

" . . .buy me some peanuts and Crackerjack. I don't care if I ever get back . . ."

Farewell, Old Friend

Music has been the main interest in my life since I was in the 4th grade. That was when I began to study the clarinet. It wasn't until high school that I began studying singing "seriously". When I got to college, I dropped out of band and made voice my only instrument. I loved it! I was chosen to sing in musicals, to sing solos in choral works and to sing in numerous choral groups. When I left Everett Community College and went to the University of Puget Sound I was accepted into the Adelphian Concert Choir. There I began an entirely new and exciting experience in the study of voice and music. Singing literally took me all over the world, singing the great music of history.

In 1975, I graduated from UPS and took a teaching position in Eastern Washington. For the next 30 years I taught all sorts of music classes (vocal, instrumental, band, choir, high school, elementary, etc.). All during my teaching career, I always made time for singing. I sang in church, I sang at school, I gave recitals and concerts every chance I had and loved every minute. And in 1980, I completed a Master of Music degree--- in Vocal Performance. Over the years I was often hired to sing with symphony orchestras and large choral groups. I appeared in small operas and many musicals. It was all so very fulfilling and satisfying!

This coming January, I will be involved in a production of Amahl and the Night Visitors. This is an hour-long opera telling the story of a crippled boy and his mother who are destitute and how they are visited by the three magi on their way to see the Christ child and the miracle that takes place. I sing the role of King Kaspar and it is always a lot of fun. I portray the King a little differently than most other tenors and I really feel good when it is done.

This will be my final singing engagement, though. Over the last 10 - 12 years my voice has gotten more and more "out-of-control". I have lost a great deal of vocal control and agility and am now at a point that I know I must retire. Many, many folks have encouraged me to continue to pursue therapy, treatment, voice lessons, and the like. I have done this and have found no improvement. I have finally decided that I would be happier not singing than to continue knowing that I am not even close to doing a good job.

I have fought a deep sense of loss for the past 5 years because I have missed singing more and more. I miss the "feeling" of the voice in my head. I miss the pursuit of beauty and artistry. I miss the camaraderie that comes with the extensive rehearsal and toil of learning a difficult choral work with other like-minded musicians. I miss the euphoria that comes after a performance that went well. I miss the perspective of the performer--I love being on stage!!!

There really was never much of a chance that I was going to become a "great" singer, like a Pavarotti or a Björling or a Gedda. But I loved every opportunity that I got to perform. I loved every compliment that I received and I was grateful to God for allowing me to bring joy to those who received it in my performances.

Now I am going to be saying "Adieu" to singing. Again, I thank God for all the chances that were mine to perform. This journey was never only about me. There were so many people that were directly responsible for any success that I enjoyed: Ed Aliverti, Frank Demiero, Ted Wahlstrom, Bruce Rodgers and Margaret Myles. I met so many wonderful friends; some of these friendships having lasted a lifetime: Scott Baker, Michael Delos, Tom Lafferty, Cameron Griffith and my very special musical soul-mate, Linda Purcell Nye.

After January, I will sing no more. But I will still be enjoying music. I am planning to continue doing some conducting. There is still work to be done, presenting the Patrick Castro "Excellence in Vocal Music Award" concert each year. There are many concerts and shows to attend and quite a few former students who are performing in those concerts and shows.

Life is a constant evolution and my routine is continually growing and changing. But giving up singing will be the toughest task yet. The urge is still in me but the ability has "left the building".

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
courage to change the things I can,
and wisdom to know the difference. Amen