Not Photogenic

When I was back at home on vacation a few weeks ago, I was over at Mom and Dad’s house for supper. My mom made sauerkraut and dumplings for me and dad like she always does when I come home. After supper my sister Pauline said “Hang around after supper, we are going to show the old home pictures.” “Oh oh, here we go…”

Before we go on, let me digress. I grew up as the middle of three boys all one year apart in age. My dad thought himself an amateur photographer, and in 1959 bought him self a real nice German camera. My dad loved to take copious amounts of pictures of his three sons, and my twin sisters.

There was one slight problem, I hated that camera. Not only did I hate that camera but I absolutely dreaded that thing. There were few things I dreaded more than Holidays and special family events because that meant that my dad would be lurking about with that damned camera.

It really wasn’t the camera I had a problem with, but the flash attachment. This attachment was a big foil cone that you would plug a flash bulb into. This flash bulb was slightly larger than a walnut, and went off as if a super nova exploded in front of your eyes. For minutes after taking a picture I would stumble around blind seeing nothing but little purple after images of the flash.

Needless to say I quickly became conditioned to squint when placed in front of that camera. It was so bad that even when we were outside and didn’t use the flash attachment I could not keep from squinting. Hence there are NO good pictures of our family with me in them. None, zip, zilch. I have ruined every picture I am part of.

Not that I wanted to, or tried to ruin them, I just couldn’t help myself. Believe me, I got a lot of slaps upside the head from my dad to try and cure my problem, but even that didn’t work.

Ok, back to the present; we all decide to watch the DVD copy of all of the old family pictures. I know it is coming and I don’t have to wait long, “That damn kid is squinting in EVERY picture! What the hell was the matter with you Michael?” My dad bellows. I feel bad but what the hell it’s been almost fifty years! Surly he didn’t think they corrected my squinting when they put the pictures on DVD?

Fortunately as I got older, the flash bulbs got smaller in size. I did eventually learn how not to squint when having my picture taken.

Too bad dad doesn’t have any of these pictures.

Not Photogenic

When I was back at home on vacation a few weeks ago, I was over at Mom and Dad’s house for supper. My mom made sauerkraut and dumplings for me and dad like she always does when I come home. After supper my sister Pauline said “Hang around after supper, we are going to show the old home pictures.” 

“Oh oh, here we go…”

Before we go on, let me digress. I grew up as the middle of three boys all one year apart in age. My dad thought himself an amateur photographer, and in 1959 bought him self a real nice German camera. My dad loved to take copious amounts of pictures of his three sons, and my twin sisters.

There was one slight problem, I hated that camera. Not only did I hate that camera but I absolutely dreaded that thing. There were few things I dreaded more than Holidays and special family events because that meant that my dad would be lurking about with that damned camera.

It really wasn’t the camera I had a problem with, but the flash attachment. This attachment was a big foil cone that you would plug a flash bulb into. This flash bulb was slightly larger than a walnut, and went off as if a super nova exploded in front of your eyes. For minutes after taking a picture I would stumble around blind seeing nothing but little purple after images of the flash.

Needless to say I quickly became conditioned to squint when placed in front of that camera. It was so bad that even when we were outside and didn’t use the flash attachment I could not keep from squinting. Hence there are NO good pictures of our family with me in them. None, zip, zilch. I have ruined every picture I am part of.

Not that I wanted to, or tried to ruin them, I just couldn’t help myself. Believe me, I got a lot of slaps upside the head from my dad to try and cure my problem, but even that didn’t work.

Ok, back to the present; we all decide to watch the DVD copy of all of the old family pictures. I know it is coming and I don’t have to wait long, “That damn kid is squinting in EVERY picture! What the hell was the matter with you Michael?” My dad bellows. I feel bad but what the hell it’s been almost fifty years! Surly he didn’t think they corrected my squinting when they put the pictures on DVD?

Fortunately as I got older, the flash bulbs got smaller in size. I did eventually learn how not to squint when having my picture taken.

Too bad dad doesn’t have any of these pictures.

Not Fragile

When I was a little boy I wanted to grow up to be big, strong, and tough. Back in the sixties I had a lot of role models to fashion myself after. There was Jim Brown, Dick Butkus, Ray Nitschke, and Jim Otto. These guys were the epitome of strong tough guys. I wanted to grow up to be like one of them.

Quite a few of these tough guys would flex their biceps when they were on camera. This was true for all of the body builders, and professional wrestlers of the day. I equated “toughness” with the size of one’s biceps.

I remember flexing my young arms and looking at them only to notice that I didn't have any bulge at all. How was I going to get tough? My friend Rodney and I decided that we needed to start an exercise program. We started doing push-ups, sit-ups, and running. It wasn't too long that we both started to notice a bulge when we made a muscle. Oh Boy! I’m getting tough!

I went to show my dad that I was now “tough”. I went to my dad and I said “Dad, look at me, I'm getting tough!” then I made a muscle for him. My dad said “That’s nice son, but let me tell you a secret; toughness doesn't come from here,” He pointed at his sizable bicep, “but toughness comes from here.” Then he pointed at his head. “It is better to be tough, than strong.”

“But dad, what’s the difference, isn't strength, and toughness the same?” “No son they aren't.” He replied. “What’s the difference then dad?” Son, it’s good to have physical strength, but you need a strong mind, and a strong will in order to apply that strength.” “All of the strength in the world will not help you if you are not mentally tough enough to push yourself when you really need it.”

As I grew up I kept noticing that what he said was true. It wasn't physical strength that made me stand up to, and fight the school bully. When I was a wrestler it wasn't physical strength that made me keep going in the third period when I was dog tired, and it definitely wasn't the size of my biceps that kept me getting up each morning to go to work.

There are many names for toughness. Some people call it perseverance, some call it discipline or persistence. Some people call it devotion, and others call it guts.

I prefer to think of it as being “not fragile”.

Not Photogenic

When I was back at home on vacation a few weeks ago, I was over at Mom and Dad’s house for supper. My mom made sauerkraut and dumplings for me and dad like she always does when I come home. After supper my sister Pauline said “Hang around after supper, we are going to show the old home pictures.” “Oh oh, here we go…”

Before we go on, let me digress. I grew up as the middle of three boys all one year apart in age. My dad thought himself an amateur photographer, and in 1959 bought him self a real nice German camera. My dad loved to take copious amounts of pictures of his three sons, and my twin sisters.

There was one slight problem, I hated that camera. Not only did I hate that camera but I absolutely dreaded that thing. There were few things I dreaded more than Holidays and special family events because that meant that my dad would be lurking about with that damned camera.

It really wasn’t the camera I had a problem with, but the flash attachment. This attachment was a big foil cone that you would plug a flash bulb into. This flash bulb was slightly larger than a walnut, and went off as if a super nova exploded in front of your eyes. For minutes after taking a picture I would stumble around blind seeing nothing but little blue after images of the flash.

Needless to say I quickly became conditioned to squint when placed in front of that camera. It was so bad that even when we were outside and didn’t use the flash attachment I could not keep from squinting. Hence there are NO good pictures of our family with me in them. None, zip, zilch. I have ruined every picture I am part of.

Not that I wanted to, or tried to ruin them, I just couldn’t help myself. Believe me, I got a lot of slaps upside the head from my dad to try and cure my problem, but even that didn’t work.

Ok, back to the present; we all decide to watch the DVD copy of all of the old family pictures. I know it is coming and I don’t have to wait long, “That damn kid is squinting in EVERY picture! What the hell was the matter with you Michael?” My dad bellows. I feel bad but what the hell it’s been almost fifty years! Surly he didn’t think they corrected my squinting when they put the pictures on DVD?

Fortunately as I got older, the flash bulbs got smaller in size. I did eventually learn how not to squint when having my picture taken.

Too bad dad doesn’t have any of these pictures.

Dear Dad

Hi Dad, happy Father's Day. I did not get you a card this year. It's not that I'm cheap (well maybe a little cheap), but I could not find a card that comes close to saying everything I want to say to you. So I figured I would take the time to make my own card right here that would say everything I want to tell you.







Dad, you are my hero and you always have been. When I was young you were the most handsome, the tallest, and the smartest man I knew. In church you were the best singer. I was always proud to say you were my Dad. I spent my young life trying to emulate you, I tried to sing like you, tried to be tough like you, and I tried to show some common sense from time to time.






Dad, you are the standard by which I judge myself, and all other men.






In my lifetime I have been blessed by God with many fortunate things; however I consider having you and Mom as my parents to be the most fortunate event of my life.






I just want to take the time to say Thank You for everything; all the love you gave me, the wisdom you passed on to me, all the time you spent playing catch, or running around so I could play football, or wrestle; and driving to strange airports to pick me up. Thank you for keeping a roof over all of our heads, and food on our plates for so many years. I owe you and Mom a debt of gratitude that can never be repaid in one lifetime. All I can do is pass the love you gave me onto your grand children.






Even after all of these years, I am still trying to be like you. I love you Dad.

Are You Man Enough?

I grew up with two brothers. One was older than me, the other younger. We were all separated by one year intervals, so we grew up fairly close in age. This, of course, meant that we fought...a lot. Being the middle son, it seems that I was always in the middle of one of the fights. My older, and my younger, brothers seldom fought amongst each other.






My dad, knew that boys, would be boys, and he did not interfere with most of our squabbles (unless something got broke, then we all got spanked). But, woe to the child that started something then came running to him for help. His answer to that kid (usually me), was always firm; "If you're man enough to dish it out, you better be man enough to take it! There is nothing worse than someone who can dish it out, but can't take it!"






These words are the wisdom by which I live my life. They taught me quite a few things such as: taking responsibility for my actions, empathy for others, and that what ever I did to someone else, I had better be able to take when someone did it to me.






These three things are the cornerstone of our interpersonal relationships. Those who have learned, and follow them, are well adjusted, and normally get along with others. Those who haven't learned them are maladjusted, and unpopular. Nobody wants to associate with someone who can't "play well" with others.






We all know some of these "don't play well with others" type of people. These folks feel that they have carte blanch to do, or say, anything they want to others; but are quick to take offense when someone responds in kind to them. Perhaps they just don't realize that their behavior is churlish, and childish. Maybe they just aren't smart enough to grasp the lessons most others mastered in elementary school.






Maybe they just weren't lucky enough to have a dad like mine.

Not Photogenic

When I was back at home on vacation a few weeks ago, I was over at Mom and Dad’s house for supper. My mom made sauerkraut and dumplings for me and dad like she always does when I come home. After supper my sister Pauline said “Hang around after supper, we are going to show the old home pictures.” “Oh oh, here we go…”



Before we go on, let me digress. I grew up as the middle of three boys all one year apart in age. My dad thought himself an amateur photographer, and in 1959 bought him self a real nice German camera. My dad loved to take copious amounts of pictures of his three sons, and my twin sisters.



There was one slight problem, I hated that camera. Not only did I hate that camera but I absolutely dreaded that thing. There were few things I dreaded more than Holidays and special family events because that meant that my dad would be lurking about with that damned camera.



It really wasn’t the camera I had a problem with, but the flash attachment. This attachment was a big foil cone that you would plug a flash bulb into. This flash bulb was slightly larger than a walnut, and went off as if a super nova exploded in front of your eyes. For minutes after taking a picture I would stumble around blind seeing nothing but little purple after images of the flash.



Needless to say I quickly became conditioned to squint when placed in front of that camera. It was so bad that even when we were outside and didn’t use the flash attachment I could not keep from squinting. Hence there are NO good pictures of our family with me in them. None, zip, zilch. I have ruined every picture I am part of.



Not that I wanted to, or tried to ruin them, I just couldn’t help myself. Believe me, I got a lot of slaps upside the head from my dad to try and cure my problem, but even that didn’t work.



Ok, back to the present; we all decide to watch the DVD copy of all of the old family pictures. I know it is coming and I don’t have to wait long, “That damn kid is squinting in EVERY picture! What the hell was the matter with you Michael?” My dad bellows. I feel bad but what the hell it’s been almost fifty years! Surly he didn’t think they corrected my squinting when they put the pictures on DVD?



Fortunately as I got older, the flash bulbs got smaller in size. I did eventually learn how not to squint when having my picture taken.



Too bad dad doesn’t have any of these pictures.

Dear Dad

Hi Dad, happy Father's Day. I did not get you a card this year. It's not that I'm cheap (well maybe a little cheap), but I could not find a card that comes close to saying everything I want to say to you. So I figured I would take the time to make my own card right here that would say everything I want to tell you.


Dad, you are my hero and you always have been. When I was young you were the most handsome, the tallest, and the smartest man I knew. In church you were the best singer. I was always proud to say you were my Dad. I spent my young life trying to emulate you, I tried to sing like you, tried to be tough like you, and I tried to show some common sense from time to time.

Dad, you are the standard by which I judge myself, and all other men. 

In my lifetime I have been blessed by God with many fortunate things; however I consider having you and Mom as my parents to be the most fortunate event of my life.


I just want to take the time to say Thank You for everything; all the love you gave me, the wisdom you passed down to me, all the time you spent playing catch, or running around so I could play football, or wrestle; and driving to strange airports to pick me up. Thank you for keeping a roof over all of our heads, and food on our plates for so many years. I owe you and Mom a debt of gratitude that can never be repaid in one lifetime. All I can do is pass the love you gave me onto your grand children.

Even after all of these years, I am still trying to be like you. I love you Dad.

Not Photogenic

When I was back at home on vacation a few weeks ago, I was over at Mom and Dad’s house for supper. My mom made sauerkraut and dumplings for me and dad like she always does when I come home. After supper my sister Pauline said “Hang around after supper, we are going to show the old home pictures.” “Oh oh, here we go…”

Before we go on, let me digress. I grew up as the middle of three boys all one year apart in age. My dad thought himself an amateur photographer, and in 1959 bought him self a real nice German camera. My dad loved to take copious amounts of pictures of his three sons, and my twin sisters.

>

There was one slight problem, I hated that camera. Not only did I hate that camera but I absolutely dreaded that thing. There were few things I dreaded more than Holidays and special family events because that meant that my dad would be lurking about with that damned camera.

>

It really wasn’t the camera I had a problem with, but the flash attachment. This attachment was a big foil cone that you would plug a flash bulb into. This flash bulb was slightly larger than a walnut, and went off as if a super nova exploded in front of your eyes. For minutes after taking a picture I would stumble around blind seeing nothing but little purple after images of the flash.

>

Needless to say I quickly became conditioned to squint when placed in front of that camera. It was so bad that even when we were outside and didn’t use the flash attachment I could not keep from squinting. Hence there are NO good pictures of our family with me in them. None, zip, zilch. I have ruined every picture I am part of.

>

Not that I wanted to, or tried to ruin them, I just couldn’t help myself. Believe me, I got a lot of slaps upside the head from my dad to try and cure my problem, but even that didn’t work.

>

Ok, back to the present; we all decide to watch the DVD copy of all of the old family pictures. I know it is coming and I don’t have to wait long, “That damn kid is squinting in EVERY picture! What the hell was the matter with you Michael?” My dad bellows. I feel bad but what the hell it’s been almost fifty years! Surly he didn’t think they corrected my squinting when they put the pictures on DVD?

>

Fortunately as I got older, the flash bulbs got smaller in size. I did eventually learn how not to squint when having my picture taken.

>

Too bad dad doesn’t have any of these pictures.

Kreskin's ESP Kit, Part 1

This is the first part of a trilogy of true stories. Take them as you will.

Back in the mid-sixties, a guy named Kreskin was very popular. He would go on all the popular talk shows and do feats of ESP. My dad said he was a quack, but I was much more open-minded about it than he. I was, in fact, intrigued with Mr. Kreskin. My feelings were, if ESP is real, why not develop it? I had nothing to base these feelings on, other than a child's naivete.

Then, Christmas of 1965, my dad bought a "family" Christmas present. It was a Kreskin's ESP Kit. In this kit there were probably seven, or eight different ways to test your ESP. The pendulum was the most popular; everyone could make it swing by concentrating on it. That was cool, but then my dad pulled out a deck of cards from the box.

Since all the other kids were off playing with their other presents, and I was the only one near him (fooling around with the pendulum), he called me over. He read the instructions and said, "I'm supposed to look at a card, and send it to you mentally. You try to receive it." I said, "OK, let's try."

He took a card, looked at it, then said, "Here goes nothing." I could see he was really trying to send me the image, so I decided I was really going to try and get it. I closed my eyes real tight.

You know how when you close your eyes really tight, you see little squiggly things? Well, I saw thousands of squiggly things. All of a sudden, all the squiggly things formed a whirlpool, spinning around, until they formed a perfect heart! My jaw dropped to the floor. "It's a heart!", I blurted out. My dad (a little taken aback) said, "You're right; how did you know?" I said, "Dad, I saw it!"

I think my dad laughed it off, but that moment changed my life. From that moment on, I "knew" ESP was real. At the tender age of ten, I then bought any book on ESP and occult I could get my hands on. I had a small library of occult books by the time I turned 17.

At that time I was very interested in astral projection. However, in 1972, there were very few "how-to" books on astral projection. One day at Walden books, while looking through the occult section (now called New Age) I found a book entitled, "Eckankar, Key to Secret Worlds" by Paul Twitchell. In this book Mr. Twitchell talked of "soul travel". I, of course, equated soul travel with astral projection and bought the book immediately.

This, once again, changed my life forever.

Part 2
Part 3
.