eclectika

Remember... Captain Kangaroo , Sesame Street , Mr. Rogers , and The Electric Company ? Or how about waking up as early as you could to view the adventures of Mighty Mouse ? What about warming up your eyes to early Sunday morning cartoons? 'Toons such as The Groovy Ghoulies , Drak Pack , or The Robonic Stooges ? A Sunday morning may have also included clips from the Skate Birds , The Magic Door , HR Puff 'n Stuff or maybe even Dirty Dragon's Gigglesnort Hotel --that odd little show which took place in a unbelievably tall hotel steered by an old captain living in the penthouse and powered by a dragon who kept the broiler working in the basement. Nothing ring a bell yet? How about the good 'ol afternoon agenda? We start the line up watching Tom & Jerry or Bugs Bunny . Then things got real with  G-FORCE ! And as I recall it, the totally uncool alternative was the Mickey Mouse Club or the Banana Splits (I personally always loathed the perpetually happy Bra...

“Life’s too short” is a phrase often used to begin arguments for seizing some opportunity or another. I know, I’ve used this well-worn phrase myself on numerous occasions. The most curious thing to me is how often opportunities flutter past me un -seized. It isn’t until the moment is well beyond my grasp that I notice how beautiful it would have been in my collection of life experiences. Each time this happens, I promise myself that I’ll catch the next one as I set my gaze firmly on all the things that could have been—this myopic perspective setting me up to miss another dozen or so opportunities most efficiently. Recently, I rustled the neat and stagnant rhythm of my life only to be surrounded by many new choices. At the end of each choice I could see exciting and frightening new directions for my life. Some of the opportunities, while beautiful and enticing were impractical for my current role as a husband and father. Others, however, danced ahead of me in tempting circles of r...

My son and I were playing yesterday and, as often as I can, I had music playing in the background. We have a wonderful device called a Sonos which allows me to select and play my MP3s anywhere in the house. I remember that, as a child, there always seemed to be music playing somewhere in our house. I also remember the house not feeling like home unless there was something playing: Calypso, Classical, Air Supply, Hall & Oats, Neil Diamond, Barbera Mandrell, Earl Klugh or Chet Atkins. Of course there were many other artists, many other musical genres and no matter how little we had, I distinctly remember feeling 'richer' for it somehow. Music is a gift I can't give to my children enough. Yesterday, we were listening to a playlist I created featuring Jazz piano performances from various artists. At one point in the playlist, an arrangement of the Beatle's song, "Blackbird" began to play. My son stopped in the middle of our little game, looked at me and s...

Not being what one would call an ideal student, my report cards were usually less than impressive. So under-whelming were these progress reports that the bonus toy surprise in each package was a day’s worth of queasy feelings. Report card days were when I had to own up to all the schoolwork I had not been doing that semester. Often I already knew how bad the report would be long before receiving it. Sometimes, I’d even disappoint myself with lower-than-expected performance. Even though my low grades were disappointing to my father, our true conflict centered on honesty—my complete and total lack of it. Every morning and evening up to and including report card day, my father would ask me if I was keeping up with my schoolwork. My responses were varied but always full of assurances that things were on the up and up. The unease I felt riding my bike home with a report card was not dissimilar to what you might feel handing your executioner his axe. Remember the first time someone told ...

When I was roughly six years old, my father took me to track and field day at the college where he was teaching. There were events taking place all over the field: the high jump, the long jump, throwing activities and some assortment of gymnastic events. Surrounding all of these was a giant ring of dirt where runners were warming up for different track competitions. My father needed to do something for the day’s events so he found me a seat where I was to stay until he returned. From where I sat in the stands, I could see the runners getting prepared—their legs stretching, muscles rippling and faces grim with the determination to win. It wasn’t long before my dad was back with couple glasses of water for us to drink. It wasn’t the cold soda I was hoping for but it quenched our thirst just the same. As the day wore on, I became convinced that I could hold my own against these college runners. They seemed to be taking quite a bit of time to cover what seemed a relatively short distan...

Labor Day has always been a time of rest and relaxation for me. It was also a big holiday for my mother who might spend up to a month prior to this weekend pulling together an amazing event—a massive family gathering. Our family would rent a beach house for the long weekend and gather as many relatives under one roof as possible. The kitchen was constantly in use—sometimes hectic but always enjoyable, we were never short of food or people to eat it. Out on the beach, my cousins and I would divide our time between swimming in the ocean, building sand castles or just taking long walks and catching up. At night, we’d go into the little town nearby and have ice cream and re-stock the groceries. Some evenings we'd play board games or just sit around retelling stories of our younger days. Once the ‘older folk’ went to bed, the young and young-at-heart would watch late-night movies or take a moonlit walk on the beach swapping the stories not fit to share with parents. As we got older an...

During my elementary and high school years, my father and I spent quite a bit of time discussing my future. I was of the opinion that school was simply a waste of my time and true potential. He thought I was going to be homeless. I say that my father and I discussed this during my elementary and high school years but the debate actually chased me into college. Eventually my dad gave up the fight and I dropped out of college. Armed with my low earning power, I ventured out into the world to prove my old man wrong. You know, it's really surprising how much employers care about a diploma. You could, in fact, show up for a job wielding the ever useful 'Bachelors of [the dead language] Latin Philosophy' and become the company's next big thing. I had to depend on my charm and good looks to achieve gainful employment. After the 3rd summer of living with my parents, losing my girlfriend and floating enough credit card debt to make M.C. Hammer look more like Charles Schwab, ...

When I was a much younger child than I am now, there was a song we used to sing called, "This little light of mine." I think the words were something along the lines of, "this little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine...all around the neighborhood, I'm gonna let it shine...hide it under a bushel? NO! I'm gonna let it shine...let it shine, let it shine, let it shine..." The lyrics were about sharing one's beliefs with the world so that others could benefit from the blessings given you. While something gets lost without the music, the lyric's message to me have recently been found. I believe that each of us has a part to play in the shaping of our world. Some influence the course of events in grand, sweeping strokes open to the scrutiny and criticism of all. Others simply keep the wheels turning my maintaining status quo—both are equally valid forms of social participation. In the last several years, however, I've noticed a trend both ...

I remember looking at old photographs of my father and laughing at how silly he looked. His response always began with, "well back then..." or "in those days..." And I'd laugh some more as he'd patiently explain that it was once considered 'cool' to look that way. I can clearly recall lecturing my dad on the perils of black socks and tennis shoes as I made swishing sounds pacing in my parachute pants—nothing says 'cool' like a million zippers to nowhere. My son may laugh at my 'Miami Vice' look or scratch his head when trying to figure out why his father wore 18 outfits at the same time to achieve the ultimate 'layered look,' but he will not laugh at my music! That's right. We're talking about Debarge ! Just look at them. These guys are cool. The curly mullet, the shoe-string ties and up-turned collars. Is the guy on the right wearing a karate outfit or a band uniform? I don't know and I don't care—Debarg...