Memories for my Father

Memories for my father

October 31, 2013

On a winter day in Indiana in 1981, my then-64-year-old dad took a face-first tumble from his garage roof while trying to remove accumulated snow. His crash landing fractured his nose and both cheekbones. When he awoke from surgery to repair the damage, we discovered he had permanently lost his short-term memory.

At the time, he and my mom owned and operated a small landscaping business. Mom did the paperwork, dad did the planning and communicating with customers, and they had a small group of workers to do most of the heavy lifting.

Mom quickly realized he could no longer deal with customers effectively because he would immediately forget every conversation. Rather than close the business, she became his memory. She listened in on all customer phone calls and accompanied him to customer meetings to take notes about their conversations. She then translated her meticulous notes into work instructions to remind him of what work he had agreed to do for each customer. She also accompanied him to each job site to make sure he was reminded of what he was supposed to accomplish each day.

Amazingly, he never forgot what he knew about landscaping and could apply his skills as well as before the accident. He simply could not recall any immediately recent event or exchange. They managed to run the business effectively for several more years.

My wife and I were living in Connecticut at the time, and on every home visit we always found Dad in great spirits. He had always been a voracious reader and could no longer enjoy that pleasure because the moment he put a book aside he could not recall what he had just read. But he never stopped trying, and books were scattered all around the house, opened to the last page he had turned. He once joked that one good side effect of no memory was that TV shows no longer had reruns.

I never once saw him demonstrate an ounce of anger or disappointment about the bad luck he had encountered in losing his memory.

My mom was simply amazing, too. She never complained and did whatever it took to help him keep their business and only means of support operating. They finally retired and closed the business when he turned 70. They had saved enough to look forward to a peaceful retirement.

About a year later, Dad was diagnosed with terminal leukemia. The oncologists told us they could slightly prolong his life with chemotherapy, but in recognition of dad’s missing short-term memory, they told us it would be a horrible experience for him because he would have to be hospitalized, and every time he woke up he would be terrified because he would not know where he was or why he was strapped to a bed. Mom could not stand putting him through this suffering and decided to let him go peacefully.

I was full of guilt at being so far away during what would clearly be his last year alive because I felt like I was failing my parents. My wife came up with what turned out to be a brilliant idea. She reminded me that about the only meaningful conversations we could have with Dad since his injury was to jog his memory by reminding him of some old family memories. He never forgot the distant past, and once reminded would spend long periods of time retelling stories. It took a bit of patience because he would finish a story and then begin again ... and again.

She suggested we send Dad memory cards. She explained that we could buy a large supply of greeting cards, and every day until he died, we could write down a memory about Dad’s life and mail him a card describing some past event in his life to jog his memory.

That’s exactly what we did. Each new card would start out with, “Dear Dad, do you remember the time when ...” — and the memory of an event would follow. It turned out to serve several purposes; it helped me recall many fond memories I had forgotten, it helped my mom recall and remind him of their shared memories, and it definitely provided immense pleasure to my dad during the last year of his life.

Mom told us Dad couldn’t wait for the mailman to show up each day so he could open his next memory card. She told us it made her cry to see the pleasure on his face as he read each new message and began to share the rest of the story, and the sad look when, for whatever reason, a card was delayed in the mail.

It cost little, but it provided a small way to be there more often for Dad in spirit if not in person. I will always be grateful to my wife for her loving thoughtfulness.

As Dad was dying in hospice, my brother and I were on either side of his bed when he woke up for the last time. He recognized us and smiled. For some reason, I asked him if he was afraid of dying. Ever the optimist, he said no because he couldn’t wait to see what was on the other side!

His answer and the peaceful smile on his face are memories I will never forget.

Mike Tower

Americans fail to appreciate our blessings

October 20, 2013

No rational person can deny that America was blessed with an amazing abundance of natural resources. I believe in God, and so I believe he/she provided the blessings. Even if you don’t believe in God, it doesn’t make America’s natural gifts less real.

Why then aren’t Americans among the happiest people in the world? Perhaps many of us need an attitude adjustment.

While TV channel surfing a couple of weeks ago, I came across a show on CNN featuring a chef, writer and travel journalist named Anthony Bourdain. The show is called “Parts Unknown.” Bourdain previously had a similar show on the Travel Channel.

In his show, Bourdain travels throughout the world meeting locals, exploring and explaining their culture, and sampling their food. Watching several of his shows reminded me of the truly deplorable living conditions of the majority of humans in other nations compared to America.

Bourdain, while sometimes a bit profane, has a unique way of describing each place he visits to allow the viewer to better understand life’s realities for these often impoverished people. What’s interesting is that he doesn’t often pick the places you would expect a famous chef and food critic to visit.

Thanks to the magic of digital video recording (DVR) technology, I have managed to watch shows that featured places such as Ecuador, Kurdistan, Mexico, India, Liberia, Myanmar, Colombia, Morocco, Libya, Peru, the Congo and Jerusalem. In each show, Bourdain tends to focus on the way the locals live and eat — not the wealthy but often the poorest locals.

His shows feature restaurants serving favorite local cuisines, street food vendors and family gatherings. No matter how occasionally bizarre, somehow the food always looks interesting, and I find myself wanting to try most of it.

The poor in most of these places (the majority) live in truly grinding poverty and know they have almost no chance of ever improving their situation. Most were born generationally poor, and most know they and their children will live and die the same way.

Of course, it is this realization that fueled much of the immigration to our nation in the first place. It is what has caused so many of our poorer Southern Hemisphere neighbors to take the long and risky journey to illegally enter the legendary land of milk and honey, America.

What has really amazed me is how often even the very poor people from these places derive much pleasure from just being with friends and family to share a home-cooked meal. No matter how poor people are, and no matter the low quality of food ingredients available, when food is skillfully and lovingly prepared and shared, the resulting pleasure is universally positive.

Observing this happening repeatedly in different countries made me realize just how self-focused and spoiled many Americans, including myself, often are.

Compared to the places shown in many of Bourdain’s shows, the poorest Americans are far better off than the poor in the majority of the world. Yet even the most well-off Americans don’t seem as happy as those truly poor humans.

Too many Americans scurry around living lives at a frenetic pace. Most of us rarely take the time to enjoy being with the people whose company we should most enjoy. Many of us eat too often at fast-food joints where we don’t even enjoy what we are eating.

The old days of families regularly sharing meals is mostly a faded memory. Many of our children think microwaved frozen food is home cooking.

Instead of enjoying face-to-face company with other humans, too many of us seem addicted to electronic devises. My wife and I eat lunch out nearly every day. It is amazing how often we look around a restaurant and see couples and even families sitting throughout a meal staring at their smartphones or tablets instead of communicating with each other.

In every Bourdain show featuring poor people in these other nations, it was rare to see a cellphone or tablet device. In fact, in one show Bourdain’s crew took a helicopter into a remote African bush village. The locals swarmed them with welcoming smiles on their faces, clearly excited to have them as guests. One native fellow in the crowd smiled broadly as he pretended to talk into an old green desktop telephone he was holding, even though you could see it was not plugged into anything.

My wife has resisted owning a smartphone, and I think she’s actually better off. She has encouraged me to at least turn mine off while we are eating. I usually comply because her kicks under the table hurt like the dickens when I can’t resist the urge to sneak a peek at the darn thing.

We Americans need to get down on our knees more often and thank God, or the Big Bang, for our blessings because, compared to most other nations, we are truly privileged to be living in one of the most blessed countries in the world — no matter how the too-greedy and our politicians keep trying to screw it up.

America's government shut down: Who's to blame?

America's government shutdown: No high ground should be claimed by either party 

I deeply disagree with the Republicans for allowing a subgroup within their party to hold our government operations hostage in their fight for political power. They know the Democrats cannot fold on Obamacare without a massive loss of face, yet they persist.

I'm no fan of Obamacare, either, mainly because its rules and regulations resulted from a grand bargain between the Democrats and lobbyists for the pharmaceutical and insurance industries. It's not difficult to imagine the many millions of dollars going into the Democratic campaign coffers in exchange for a seat at the health care law design table.

However, as reprehensible as the process was, it was done within the laws of our nation by those who were legally elected to represent us during the 2008 campaign.

The Republicans' strategy to defund Obamacare has resulted in the government shutdown, which is causing harm to millions of innocent Americans. They could have chosen to take a legal path to change the law — by winning the next couple of elections and returning to majority power in both houses and the presidency. Clearly they rightfully aren't optimistic about their chances.

The current GOP strategy nearly guarantees it will never happen. By following the lead of their tea party loyalist members, the Republicans have deeply offended the majority of moderate voters whether registered as Democrats, Republicans or independents. Along with the steadily declining voting power of white Americans and the complete failure of the GOP to attract minority voters, this leaves the Grand Old Party in immediate danger of becoming the former Grand Old Party.

Neither party can claim high ground in the current debate because both have failed to even slightly govern in the best interests of the vast majority of Americans during this fight for political power — which is what it's really about.

A majority of Americans are worried about jobs, saving money, affordable educations, access to health care, feeding their families, shelter and being able to retire. I did not mention them being worried about our current national debt, upcoming entitlement debts or even climate change. Most Americans don't have time to worry about these things because most are focused on the immediacy of their own here and now.

The Times-News recently published an article about the Defense Department recalling all 350,000 employees furloughed by the government shutdown. What motivated that? Did some lobbyists for the military-industrial complex agree to cover their costs in order to keep their businesses flourishing?

I also read that a special bipartisan bill was passed ensuring that all furloughed federal employees will receive full pay when the shutdown is over. Hmm — I wonder if it had anything to do with our elected officials making sure they and their staffs were taken care of.

Locally, many of our neighbors will feel the negative side effects of these destructive politics. It began with the Department of Interior shutting down all public services along the Blue Ridge Parkway. The majority of the Parkway's visitors come during the fall leaf season, which is just underway. If you were a prospective visitor and you learned all public services along the parkway will be closed, would you bother visiting?

A specific local situation inspired this column. The Pisgah Inn was forced to shut down under orders of the Department of Interior in Washington. This is a privately operated business in which the proprietor of the inn leases the facilities from the National Park Service and then attempts to make a profit by providing food, shelter and restrooms for the public. I don't know all of the details, but it likely costs the government more to keep it shut because I'm guessing the operator doesn't have to pay rent when forced to close, and additional costs are being incurred by the government in providing park rangers to guard the entrances.

Besides the Pisgah Inn proprietor, all tourism-based businesses in the communities along the hundreds of miles of the Parkway, including Hendersonville, will be harmed. Tourists and the dollars they bring in will be sorely missed by these small businesses that depend on the revenues generated during their version of America's Christmas holiday to keep them afloat during slower seasons.

I wonder if U.S. Rep. Mark Meadows is going to introduce a bill to reimburse all of the businesses in his district for their losses during the shutdown, especially since he was one of the primary leaders in linking defunding Obamacare to the budget impasse, which led directly to the shutdown.

Meadows campaigned on a promise to govern in the best interests of all of the more than 700,000 people in his district. However, his actions during events leading up to the government shutdown prove he values and deserves the head of the Asheville Tea Party recently saying he is “turning out to be our poster boy.” If I had to label his behavior in office so far, I would call it governing for the vocal minority.

I endorsed Mr. Meadows during his initial campaign. With all due respect, all I can say now is: Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

I reserve the right to change my mind, but only if I see strong and consistent evidence that the congressman's campaign promises will be matched by his actions.

Mike Tower

Unforgettable family memory

October 6, 2013

I hope this story will help take your mind off all the nonsense going on in Washington. It helped me to recall some warm memories that even our politicians' behavior can't soil.

When I was around 12 and my brother was 10, our dad decided to take us on a journey he promised we would never forget.

We lived in Indianapolis, and our dad had somehow ended up owning a two-person canvas and wood kayak. It had been hanging unused from the ceiling of our garage for several years. One summer day, for reasons known only to him, he pulled it down and decided to take his two boys on what he called the adventure of a lifetime.

The following Saturday, we loaded the kayak onto the roof of our car. Along with our mom and our older sister, we drove about 20 miles west to a bridge that crossed over a tributary of the White River called White Lick Creek.

Dad said the creek meandered southwest, and he knew the location of another bridge about 15 miles away by car where the creek again passed by. He provided driving directions to the girls and told them to meet us at the second bridge a couple of hours later.

Dad always seemed to know everything and could do just about anything. I learned that day, while he did know and could do a lot of things, he didn't know what he didn't know. He clearly didn't know just how much more distance a meandering creek would travel than roads. And he also apparently hadn't thought about the speed of a kayak on a slow-moving stream compared to a car.

We removed the kayak from the car and carried it through thick brush down to the edge of the creek. Getting the kayak and us into the water went smoothly. My brother and I were both pretty small in stature, so we were able to snuggly share the rear seat. We had no flotation devices or provisions — after all, the trip was only supposed to last a couple of hours, and what could go wrong?

I will never forget the look of glee on Dad's face as he shoved off from shore on our adventure.

We had two paddles. He handed one back to us and told us to take turns paddling, but only when and how he told us to do so. My brother and I had no paddling skills because we had never been in any sort of kayak or canoe.

In spite of that, we were happily off! Dad did most of the paddling, which to be honest didn't seem that difficult because we were going downstream in a slow-moving current, and all he really had to do was keep the small craft in the center of the stream.

It was smooth sailing, and Dad was clearly enjoying playing the dual roles of paddler and nature guide — until we came around a curve and faced a turbulent set of rapids.

My brother and I didn't even think about paddling. We were too busy holding on for dear life. Somehow Dad managed to keep the kayak under control, and we came out safely into a calm area. Dad turned around with another confident smile, as if to say, “Wasn't that great?”

We had traveled a couple of hours when we started asking him when we were going to get to the other bridge. Don't worry, he would confidently reply, it's just around the next bend or two.

Before long, we came to another set of rapids where we bottomed out on some sharp-edged rocks and ripped a huge hole in the kayak's bottom. We learned that a wooden and canvas kayak sinks very quickly when it springs a large leak.

There we sat, up to our necks in a couple of feet of rushing water. My brother and I were more amused than afraid. Instead of his usual smile, Dad shared a few curse words to show he was not happy!

We managed to crawl out of the boat and helped Dad drag the kayak to shore. He said he couldn't repair it there, so we were going to have to carry it out. He told us we couldn't be more than a mile or so from the destination bridge.

So we picked up the 100-pound or so kayak, my brother and I at the rear and Dad leading the way. We made it for about 30 minutes through fairly dense brush when my brother and I told Dad we couldn't continue. We then dragged the boat up an embankment for safekeeping until we could return to get it.

So off we went, three soaked travelers with no provisions, trudging along the creek bank looking for the bridge that Dad kept saying had to be around the next bend. Four hours, and many bends later, we made it! Our mom and sister were crying because they thought we had drowned. We never saw the kayak again.

Throughout his life, Dad often reminded us of our trip of a lifetime, and he was absolutely right. It was a great adventure I will never forget!

My brother now has severe dementia. When I began to read him this story on the phone, he took over and recalled every detail.

Mike Tower