Keeping your eye on the ball

In baseball one of the most dreaded pitches is the 'changeup'. Unlike the fastball, it's not feared because of its speed but because of its deception. Stay with me, even if you're not a baseball fan. The dynamics of a fastball are very simple.  The ball is thrown as fast and hard as possible at the catcher's mitt. The idea, of course, is to make it too fast to hit. Simple

The change up, on the other hand differs in two areas; how the ball is delivered and how the batter perceives it. The ball is cradled further back in the hand, making its release slower while still maintaining the look of a fastball. According to various sources, the human eye cannot tell the ball is significantly slower until it’s too near the plate.

I know you’re starting to wonder where I’m going with this.

Now consider the game of life you’re playing every day you go out into the world. You get up in a great mood, full of energy, ready to knock one out of the park. You stand at the plate, ready to deal with the things life tosses you and nail everything it throws, inspiring everyone to do the same.  But there are other times you walk confidently to the plate, dead sure you’re going to make history and hit nothing but air. You swing but still strike out.  Everything gets by you and you walk away, head down, humiliated by your failure.

But this is where my analogy comes in.

What if you start looking at those pitches differently? Wayne Dyer said, “If you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.”  Not unlike the changeup, you have to see what’s coming at you for what it really is.  How many times do we think we’re going to fail before we even try? We tell ourselves we don’t have the talent, or intelligence or some other characteristic we deem necessary to succeed at a goal.

My brother, one of my favorite people because he's inspirational in that respect, can take a bad situation, put a completely different spin on it and have me laughing uncontrollably. Like Dyer, he’s always telling me “You just have to see things a little differently.”

Life is unpredictable. Things we don’t expect will come at us every day. They will challenge our resolve, our patience and our focus. But that doesn’t mean we have to strike out.  The most important thing is just to keep your eye on the ball.  Persistence, focus and unrelenting determination can help change the way we see what’s coming at us.

I’ve heard people say “watching baseball is like watching paint dry.” That also could be true for some of the mundane tasks we face every day.  But “when you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.”  It’s where you stand in the batter’s box that determine what you hit and what you miss.  Stand closer to the catcher, and you’ll see a fastball coming. Stand near the pitcher and you’ll hit those off-speed pitches.  

It’s all about perspective. Alter how you see what’s being thrown at you, keep your eye on the ball and you’ll hit a grand slam.  Like my brother says, “You never know what’s possible until you look at things a little differently.”

Play ball!

She drives me crazy

I hate to admit it, but there are things I've done I'm not proud of.

Some, I still continue to do, even though I know they're wrong.  I don't know why I don't stop but sometimes it seems the more I try, the worse I get.  Sometimes, they're just annoying habits, like tearing at my fingernails or smoking, which I finally quit doing in 2008.  But others involve people.

I'm usually a very easygoing, down-to-earth woman.  Ok, I'm a little compulsive about things, overly emotional and quick-tempered, but for the most part, not much bothers me.  I consider myself a good judge of character and have a track record of near perfect accuracy when it comes to analyzing someone's intentions/ulterior motives. I'm also pretty tolerant of idiosyncrasies, having quite the collection of my own.  But for some reason, some people just make me crazy and turn me into someone I don't like very much.

There's a woman I see every day who absolutely drives me up the wall.  I don't know why, but she brings out the worst in me.  Her voice, mannerisms, habits and even her physical appearance annoy me to no end.  She's never done anything to deserve this exceptionally horrid treatment but I can't seem to help myself.  She's usually a great worker and when she puts her mind to accomplishing something, nothing can stop her.  She's not completely unattractive.  I've heard others tell her she's pretty, yet I cannot bring myself to look her in the eyes and not feel anger just seething inside me.  I can't explain  it.

She had a medical condition that caused significant weight gain and I know she's sensitive about it, but I insist on bringing it to everyone's attention and making her feel ugly. I know she's fixed it and now looks pretty good, but I have little patience with her and when I look at her body, I'm still repulsed by so much of what I see.

She’s not a bad person, most of the time she's very  kind.  Often times I've seen her put her own needs last so others' could have what they wanted.  I know she's experienced some outrageously difficult times throughout her life.  But who hasn't?  She doesn't seem to have much self-esteem.  I've noticed she goes through stages when she seems more assertive and sure of herself but they are always short-lived.  Her inconsistency drives me insane. "

One day I found myself unable to control my anger.  I stared her down and began to yell.

Pick a mood, woman!!  Stop whining and feeling sorry for yourself.  Stop bitching and moaning that you can't do this or that.  Get off your ass and just do it!"

She tried to explain that she really wanted to do just that, but she felt like she was struggling every day against an inner voice that fought every effort and told her she would never be good enough.

For anyone else, I would've tried to understand, but I couldn't understand her.  I would've forgiven a complete stranger for making mistakes, but I couldn't forgive her.As much as I like to help people, I couldn't help her.

She's no different than anyone else and has the same emotions, experiences and the right to make mistakes as everyone. But for some reason I always held her to a higher standard and expected more from her than others. I could forgive anyone's imperfections but hers. I wasn't proud of my actions.
 I wanted to like this woman, so I developed a plan.  I made a point every day to look her in the eyes and tell her she was a beautiful person.  I vowed to try and help her put all her mistakes in the past and reminded myself that mistakes are lessons in disguise that we all make.  They shape who we are and who we are to become.  Oh, it felt like a big lie at first, I'll be honest.  But as each day passed it got easier.  I'm think I'm actually starting to like her a little more.  My anger has subsided for the most part and I've started keeping a list of things she's done that I'm proud of.  Sometimes I even read it to her. I also started taking some medication that seems to help.

I've learned these issues don't have to be permanent.  For some of us they are more work than for others but it is possible to work through them.  I don't hate her like I used to and I can honestly say that now, when I see her looking back at me in the mirror I see, not mistakes, but potential.

I've still got a long way to go, but I really think we're going to be okay.


**Depression and anxiety affect hundreds of thousands every year. There is no magic pill or word you can say to someone who suffers from it. If you've never dealt with it in your life, you will never understand it. Period.
If you know someone who fights the monster, bring your torch and pitchfork, sit by their side and do whatever you can to help fight it off. Just listen, if that's all they need or drag their ass to therapy or some sort of group where they won't feel alone. Prepare for a fight. We get comfortable in our sadness and we almost feel safe there even though we'll tell you we aren't. We shut ourselves in a dark space where we have to speak to no one. It's easier, yet it's torture.
I've dealt with this for nearly 30 years. Therapy, medication, more therapy...nothing makes it go away but some things do quiet it a little. Telling me to "choose to be happy and look on the bright side" will accomplish nothing except to tell me you have no clue what this feels like.
When Robin Williams committed suicide, I took it very, very hard, but not for reasons you might think.
When you're depressed you tell yourself that "when this happens, it'll be better" or "When I have that, or succeed at this," I'll feel better.
Robin Williams had it all. He had the love of millions, money, fame, a loving family and STILL he couldn't fight the demons. To this day, it is so disheartening to know that someone who made others' so happy couldn't perform that miracle on himself. He had what all of us think we need to be happy, yet it still wasn't enough.
  All I can recommend if you know someone who's depressed, is to be there. Always. Even if you're just breathing on the other end of a phone, or sitting in a corner fighting monsters under the bed.
We need you. We need you desperately. You may not be able to stop us from doing whatever we feel we need to do, but we will love you for caring enough to notice us.

The Greatest Man I Ever Knew

I recently took an online class and was offered the chance to attend a webinar on collegiate and creative writing.  It was led by a wonderful, positive, full hearted, amazing woman named Lucretia whom I immediately adored. She was discussing the power of words and effects books could have on us. She asked if any of us had one with special meaning. Immediately I volunteered 'Love' by the late Leo F Buscaglia and told her it changed my life. He was a teacher at USC in the late 60's who had a student commit suicide.  This had a profound effect on him. He felt the educational system was teaching students without considering the human side of them and this led to the formation of a class and several books on the subject of 'love'.  While some of the other teachers made fun of his ambitions, it went on to become one of the most sought after non-credit classes. Everyone wanted to 'learn' whatever they could about love.  The book "LOVE" was based on conversations that took place in those weekly classes.

        I say it changed my life because until I read it, I'd been afraid of my own shadow.  I grew up an awkward kid, never feeling like I belonged anywhere because I was adopted. My parents were amazing and I thank the Universe for them daily, but  still always felt out of place.  There was also the issue of my dad who never grew up hearing the words "I love you" from his mom, so he never really learned to say it to us.  I knew he did, but he couldn't say it.

  My friend, Mark Shireman gave me the book (another animated Italian friend, no less-a fact you'll appreciate if you read the book), and it gave me the courage to start telling my dad that I loved him.  I was in my early 20's at this point.  Initially, he just looked at me, then after awhile he would mumble it back.  It was as if it pained him to say it.   Once my mother called me, at my dad's request, so she said.  "You're father wants me to ask you to stop saying I love you.  It makes him uncomfortable and he feels you should KNOW he loves you by his actions."

   At that time, Reba McIntyre had a song out called "The greatest man I never knew". I don't know if you're familiar with it, but its about a wonderful father, who never told his daughter he loved her. The last section of the song says: 

The greatest words I never heard

I guess I'll never hear

The man I thought would never die

S'been dead almost a year

He was good at business

But there was business left to do

He never said he loved me

Guess he thought I knew

I couldn't get those word out of my head, so my response to his request was "Tell him I said, no. I will not stop saying it because when he's gone someday, I don't want it to be the one thing I didn't get to hear him say."  There was a long silence before she simply said, "Okay".   I kept my word.  I said it repeatedly, whenever we spoke and one day, he called me.  His big, booming voice was unmistakable, yet the message he left on my machine was "Vicky, this is your father. I just called to see how you are. Call me back when you get this. I love you."

I'm pretty sure I cried. He never stopped saying it after that.  Every message he left me, when every visit was over, he hugged me and told me he loved me.

  My dad died in 2005. Not a day goes by during the last 11 years, that I don't miss those messages.  I like to think wherever we go when we die, my dad met Leo Buscaglia and thanked him. Dad always willingly gave me his love, but Leo helped me hear it, too. 

Happy Father's Day, Dad. I miss you every day.

ONE SHOT

Where would I be if I were totally free
What would I do, who would I be
If no one I knew needed anything from me?
I could run from it all,
Hide from the pain, flee from the hurt that drives me insane.
I could silence the voices I hear in my head; the whispers that tell me I’m better off dead.
I would no longer have to battle the fear
that I’m a failure at life and
I shouldn’t be here.

I wouldn’t look back at the mistakes I have made,
eternal regret and shame that won’t fade.
I could stop being angry that I need to stay here
because my decision to end it, would scar those I hold dear.
No past would haunt me, no future to see,
One shot, it’s over and there’s no more me.

Some shake their head, say it’s a selfish way out,
but they don’t understand what the sadness is about.
It’s not about them, it’s not about life.
It’s not about ‘having’ or doing what’s right.
Success doesn’t change it, you can’t ‘shake it free’,
You look in the mirror and don’t like who you see.

Positive thoughts won’t change how you feel,
The pain is still there and the struggle is real.
Like clouds in the sky, fear follows you around
Just lurking and waiting to kick when you're down.

I’m blessed, yes, I know this. I have more than most.
But none of that matters when you’re fighting a ghost.
It’s a spirit, of sorts, that dwells in your brain and darkens your thoughts again and again.
Nothing to live for,
No way to be free,
Just one shot, it’s over and there’s no more me.

But today I rise up and fight one more time.
The sorrow I feel, it is real. It is mine.
Maybe today, I can get what I’m due
And find something good to carry me through.
One sliver of hope is all that I need
to help me hang on, to plant a small seed.
They say just an acorn can grow a great tree.
If not, then it’s over and there will be no more me.

So There's This Guy....

So there's this guy...
Every female in the world has or will meet him at some point in their life. I first met him in 7th grade. He was dreamy and cute and oh-so-charming and I flashed my smitten 14-year-old eyes at him like nobody's business. For weeks, I stalked him in the hallway, admiring his handsome face and perfect hair from a respectable distance. I even went so far as to inhale deeply if by some chance we passed in the hall, just to smell the aroma of his shampoo or deodorant or whatever the hell it was. I liked the way he smelled. Okay? It's not that weird.  I was sure I'd never have the opportunity to actually speak to him because, lord knows, I was never going to be brave enough to start a conversation.  This, of course, did not deter me from creating an entirely fictional relationship. I dressed in what I thought he'd like; I spoke of things he was interested in and even altered my personality to be more like the kind of girl I thought he might date. Considering my age, I was exceptionally elaborate about the changes I was willing to make to turn his head.
Sadly, I accepted that it was probably all just fantasy.
   But as fate had it, circumstances brought us together through a mutual acquaintance. We began our friendship as I believe all 14 year olds are required; with an exaggerated amount of teasing each other, followed by the world famous junior high version of going 'out'. This basically means you agree that the other person 'doesn't suck' and is okay to be seen hanging out with. This also gives your automatic consent to endure the verbal assault from your friends regarding their opinion of your choice of a mate.
This can be brutal but if you really like this guy, you deal and convince yourself that they're just jealous. 
   In the interest of time, let's skip ahead in the relationship a month or so. We talked on the phone every day, we sometimes hung out a little IN school and occasionally I rode my bike to the park where we met and talked, sometimes for hours. He was a nice guy...until...
   I wasn't aware of it at the time, but apparently boys carry around in their head, a calendar of how long it is acceptable to be gentlemanly before they are allowed access to your, we'll call it 'considerable assets'. He made it clear to me during one of our conversations that my time had expired and I was now expected to satisfy his curiosity about what my 'parts' felt like. I was flabbergasted because no one had sent me that memo. As I hang my head in shame of my 14 year old self, I will admit that, to a certain degree, I consented, all the while feeling like I'd just crossed a border into "Trampville" that I couldn't uncross. I felt cheap and deceived and can look back with absolute certainty knowing that this was where my self-esteem began its massive nosedive.  If that weren't enough, the next time I saw him in school and every time thereafter, he ceased to acknowledge that I existed.  Occasionally he'd call me after school, but I quickly learned it was only because he wanted an encore. I hated myself for doing just what I'd made plans to do; changing myself to attract a boy. It became a mistake I repeated throughout my life.  
  I met this same guy again and again. No matter how many times I moved or changed jobs he was always around.  Of course his name changed many, many times in each city which I found him, but he remained, nonetheless, the same selfish, arrogant ass. I'm sure, if you're a woman, you've also met him.  He's the most ubiquitous man I've ever known.  He makes you feel amazing right before he crushes your self-confidence and makes you question, not only your intelligence but also your attractiveness and femininity. With the awkwardness and eternal waiting period of an unreturned "I like you" text, you begin to question everything about yourself.   I know you can relate. You dated him too, probably more than once.  He gets around and he's not limited to just being a man you date. Sometimes he's a boss or a co-worker.  He can be a neighbor or a complete stranger in an elevator. Wherever it is that you find him, you recognize his perceived ability. With one condescending glance or his head to toe scan when you step in the room, followed by an arrogant smirk, he gives himself away.  He'll do his best to reduce your self-confidence in as few words as possible.  Oh, yes. You'll recognize him.
   I'm proud to say I'm now 53 years old and have finally learned to deflect this guy's attitude back to it's source.  It took a long time, and I still run into 'that guy', but I can boldly say I am not ashamed of any of the things that make me who I am anymore, no matter what he says or does.  I have daughters and granddaughters now; two of them are getting close to dating age (despite my husband's objections).
   I hope that I will be able to teach them to shield themselves against him. They are amazing, intelligent and beautiful girls and to their mother's horror I'm sure, I tell them the mistakes I made because I want them to make better choices.  I want them to know their worth does not depend on what a man or anyone else thinks of them. No one else has the right to determine your value and anyone who tries is revealing more about themselves than you.
   As for me, I refuse to ever again feel ashamed about the things I do or choices I make, even when they aren't ones other people support.  Who we love, how we dress, speak, behave, think and what we believe are our choices. No one has to agree with them, but they do need to accept us as we are, even when we have wrinkles, grey hair and cellulite. Because, Cosmopolitan magazine be damned, we earned them. 
   I am proud of myself and believe anyone I choose to allow in my life should be too. I promise that I will return the support.  If you have enough confidence to be who you truly are, then you've already conquered one of life's biggest obstacles. Be proud of who you are and don't let anyone take that away.
  If by chance you haven't quite got there yet, keep working at it...and once more, let me warn you: 
   So, there's this guy....

Cancer & Life Lessons

It was on this day, 18 years ago, a young man named Tom Cotter chose to save my daughter’s life by donating the bone marrow that sent her leukemia into remission.  For the year we waited to meet him, I thought I would easily be capable of expressing my gratitude for his sacrifice. But it wasn't until I actually saw him in person that I realized there are no words, no actions that will ever convey how thankful I was for his selflessness. Without him, she would not be here. Simple as that. It would've been a loss that affected an innumerable amount of lives because, to this day, she reaches something in the hearts of everyone she meets. How do you thank someone for such an incredible gift?  The only conclusion I've come to is that you remember it, every day. You say 'thank you' every day, even if you're saying it aloud to no one but yourself.

       A huge debt of gratitude is also owed to the most amazing women in the world, who somehow, surrounded by sick and dying children, helped me find the ability to laugh in the worst of circumstances. Of all things I believe, the truest is that no stronger human exists than a mother who has buried her child and somehow finds the strength to persevere. I'm amused at the public and media's notion of super hero's nearly all being male because I've seen the real ones in action. They sleep on a 3-foot long hospital bench for months, going without meals because they don't want to eat in front of their constantly vomiting child,( who wants nothing more than to stop long enough to have a cheeseburger).  They endure attitude from other family members who can't understand why they can't still function normally at home (yes, this really happens). They stand toe to toe with doctors, refusing certain treatments because their mother's instincts tell them it's the right thing to do. And they are nearly always right.

     Brittany's leukemia was in remission for nearly 15 months. On a day she was due for a recheck and blood work, everything that could've happened to prevent us from making it to her appointment, happened. But I had a nagging feeling that something wasn't right, even though she showed no symptoms of reoccurrence. The car died, we were very late, and they almost didn't allow us to be seen. However, I was belligerent, as I’d learned to be, and she was checked by the doctor who was in charge of Pediatric Hematology/Oncology. (Who, just for the record, I did NOT like at all)  In his usual dismissive, condescending manner, he assured me that she looked great and urged us to go home and they would call us with the results of her labs. I politely declined and said we'd wait and he rolled his eyes, brushed me off and walked away. An hour later he returned and his face told me what I already knew. The leukemia was back. I hope, among other things that it taught him to never ignore mother's instincts. We can't leap tall buildings, or beat a speeding train but when it comes to that life we created, we know. I don't know how, but we just know. Images of super hero's should not be men in tights and goofy costumes. For one moment, look up and glance at your mom. THAT'S what they really look like. No cape, no silly wardrobe, (well, maybe they still have a silly wardrobe) just that woman who loves you like no one else ever will, no matter what happens.  That's a real super hero.
   Helen, Donna, Cathy & Jodi the memory of your incredible strength and love, along with your children will NEVER leave me.  You are my courage whenever I feel weak. Thank you, thank you for your presence in my life. You have all been such a gift and I am blessed to know you.
  As anyone who is touched by a loved one with cancer will tell you, it is a disease that leaves no one unaffected, especially when the patient is a child. Siblings are often temporarily lost in the shuffle of hospital visits for chemo, radiation and 2 a.m. runs to the emergency room because a temperature above 100.5 signals the beginning of life-threatening infections.
   School activities, dances and football games are replaced by fixation on how many white cells, segs, bands, and other indicators of our child's immunodeficiency are present.  We almost become the scientists we never thought we'd be when we were barely passing Biology in high school. It's amazing what you are capable of learning when the life of someone you love depends on it. But it takes its toll on the other siblings. My oldest daughter, Nicole and step-son, Eric sacrificed so much during our hospital stays. Forced to grow up too soon and handle things I should've been there for, they managed to become wonderful parents to their own children.  Even though I wish their childhood could've been easier, I'm thankful they grew to be the strong and loving adults I prayed they would. I'm extremely proud of them both.
  To Eric's mom, Cathy: I know people are often flabbergasted by our unique relationship (but sometimes that's just fun! Isn't it?) I don't know if I ever thanked you for your care and compassion. It exceeded all my expectations. You are a phenomenal woman. Never forget that. I'll admire you always.
  I can say with absolute certainty that Brittany's leukemia affected thousands of people. Bone marrow drives were held on her behalf by complete strangers. Hundreds were added to the National Bone Marrow donor registry as a result.  Who knows how many lives were saved in the process.  As devastated as I was while it was happening, hindsight has helped me see the positive that spilled out into other areas. There is a unique and strange pattern to the chaos. I will never understand it but I see it.
  I believe Nicole and Eric are the incredible people they are, in part because of their experiences at the hospital. They continue to amaze me with their unique personalities and ability to show compassion for others.
  Brittany continues to touch countless lives, often quietly and one at a time.  Now a nanny to two adorable little boys, she makes sure they experience the joys of childhood that cancer stole from her.  She is a modern day ‘Mary Poppins’ and they adore her.
  All of this, every bit of it, was possible because of a horrible disease, a handsome young man with a giving heart and the most incredible people in the world.  I try to remember that.  When I watch the news and see how horrible we are to each other, I try to keep the miracle of these exceptional human beings in my heart. Some days it's more difficult than others.  But not today.  Today, I am grateful. Exceptionally grateful for all the good in my life.

Broken engines & bullshit

I laughed as I hung up the phone.  A male friend spent an hour describing an argument he had with the serpentine belt of his car.  Apparently, unarmed with the knowledge of what the belt’s actual function was, he lost the fight and spent several hours stranded on the side of a deserted road.   After my obvious shock of learning of a man who is mechanically impaired, (I was not aware such creatures existed), I wiped the tears of laughter from my face. My dad was responsible for my enlightenment about the importance of basic car repair.  I remember my own experience with automotive rebellion.

In my early twenties, 'Lucy' was my teacher. She was a deep-maroon 1986 Reliant K with a 2.5-liter engine. Shaped like a cereal box on wheels, my little 4-door sedan was anything but sexy.  Even the 5-speed manual transmission (normally a feature that makes you feel at least a LITTLE sporty) could not change the fact that you felt as appealing as if you were barhopping with a nun.  There was absolutely no sensuality to this car.  One particularly wintry day, this Reliant (as in: derivative of the word 'reliable'-adjective:  having or exhibiting reliability, dependable...really, look it up) appeared to have forgotten its purpose.  Rushing out to the parking lot, late for work as usual, I turned the key expecting to hear the familiar drone of her engine. Hamsters exercising in their wheel sounded more powerful than this car. Instead, a low chorus of hub, hub, hub, pffftt assaulted my ears shortly before she gasped her final breath.  Trudging back inside, I made the call to my employer who felt it necessary to scream about my lack of reliability. Ironic, isn't it?  I hub, hub, hub, pffftt-ed at him and proceeded to hang up and look for a mechanic.  

Now, any female will tell you there is NOTHING worse than trying to find a mechanic. This becomes especially unnerving when you are attempting to explain the problem to some guy in a blue shirt whose name patch looks like it says 'Mary' because there is so much grease covering it.
 

I replicated the noise I heard for 'Mary' as he looked at me dumbfounded. For a moment, I envisioned his eyes rolling back in his head just before he viciously attacked me with an exhaust pipe.  As the cigarette dangling on his lip released a long stream of ashes that fell squarely into his pocket, I could not help but feel completely clueless and totally exposed as a female. I tried to comfort myself by imagining how vulnerable he would feel if he were to walk into a gourmet kitchen (my ‘hood’) but the dunce cap I imagined on my head would not go away.
 

'Mary' looked at me in wide-eyed wonder before pulling his ash-covered pen from his breast pocket, taking my name and telling me to have a seat.
"It's gonna be at least an hour before we're done diagnosing it." Smoke escaped from his lips with every word, mingling with my expensive perfume and soaking me in that bar-chick smell.  I'd never felt more attractive in a cheap-bowling-alley way.
 

Amidst stares from the rest of the fraternity brothers gathered in the waiting area, I grabbed a seat in the furthest corner and hid my face behind the first magazine I found. 'Car and Driver', the summer issue from 1972.  I'd been looking forward to reading that one.  No chance of finding a copy of Cosmo or People magazine at that dive.
 

Minutes ticked away like hours.  ESPN blared the latest football scores and re-played game highlights.  The good old boys in the waiting room discussed athlete's salaries and became belligerent about who-deserves-what.  Their conversation got louder by the minute.
 

"It's a fuckin' game, damn it!"  A few heads turned in my direction. I assumed they were waiting for me to comment on their language but I'm not stupid.  Objecting would have the equivocal consequences of walking into an NFL locker rooms and screaming, "Football is for sissies!"
 I ducked quietly behind my magazine and read about the 'amazing new Ford Pinto' with eager anticipation.

"Buncha pampered asses… don't know how good they got it!" The conversation raged on.  All I could think was,  'I want my Dad'.
 

Seventy-two minutes later, 'Mary' called me to the counter.
"You got a bad carburetor. Need to replace it.  You’re probably looking at about three-hundred bucks when you add labor." He growled at me with an evil smirk.
 I twisted my face into a knot. Something didn't add up."My carburetor," I asked, "How can that be?"
He laughed a 'holier-than-thou' laugh.  "Yeah lady, you got a vacuum leak. Do you know what that is? It means you gotta replace your carburetor." He turned to the brothers who were hanging on every word and rolled his eyes. They smiled in conspiracy.
 "Yes, yes, I know what that means.  I just have one question."
 He looked at me with disgust.  I could almost see him gloating over his imagined superiority.
"What's that, doll?"
 I took a deep breath, summoning all my courage.
"My car is fuel injected, Mary, so how can it need a carburetor?"  His eyes took on a deer in the headlight look as I continued. "1986 saw the end of the 2.6 liter engine and the addition of fuel injection on the 2.2.  The five-speed manual became standard, and a 2.5-liter engine was standard. This 2.5 had single-point fuel injection.”
At that point, the cigarette fell from his mouth.
 

"A carburetor supplies a pre-emulsified froth of fuel and air into the engine at a preset ratio while fuel injection sprays droplets of fuel at the proper air-to-fuel ratio all the time. NEITHER of these have anything to do with a vacuum leak.  So tell me again. Why do I need to replace a part that my car does not have in the first place?"
 

'Mary's' brothers in arms deserted him suddenly, heading for the coffee machine with untold speed.
 

"Uh, um, I must've looked at the wrong work order, Miss."  He stuttered with newfound humility.  "I'll check that out and be right back."  He slithered timidly back to the shop area.
 

When I left the building, I had a new vacuum hose in place, 'MARV'S' sincerest apologies and a greater respect for my Dad.  He was a car salesman for over twenty years.  He encouraged me to learn what I could about my vehicle so I would not be taken advantage of by mechanics looking to make an easy buck.  Bless you, Dad.  If you are up there listening, thank you very much.  That knowledge came in handy ten years later when I rebuilt the cylinder head on my Ford Probe...by myself.  The guy at the auto parts store wasn't very helpful.  I think his name was Roberta, but I'm not sure.  His shirt was pretty greasy.

30 Things Driver's Ed Never Taught Me

I was lucky. I had a great driving instructor in high school. He was patient, funny and had nerves of steel. Anyone who knew him will tell you the same story. He was well known for his introduction at the beginning of every semester; "My name is Frank Liller. My friends call me Frank. YOU are not my friends."  He always did his best to look as stern as possible but once in the car with him, his sense of humor took over. Some of my best high school memories are from those Saturday mornings spent in the driver's ed car with him and a varied mixture of other wannabe drivers.  

Now, thirty seven years later, I find myself talking to my oldest granddaughter who will soon be learning to drive, and I can still hear Mr. Liller's voice in my head. I always try to give her the same advice he gave us and I hope she'll be a safe, considerate and responsible driver, but I've also learned after all these years on the road, that we weren't exactly given ALL the information.

So I've come up with some of my own rules and I felt compelled to share. Please feel free to add your own in the comment section. I'm sure there are a lot I've missed.  Happy driving everyone and always, ALWAYS be safe.

Vicky's Rules-Things my driver's ed course never taught me.

1. I have a confession: Sometimes I won't use my turn signal just because I'm lazy. I have noticed I am not alone in this behavior. Consider yourself warned. I have also noticed that I (and others) occasionally use the turn signal continuously. I have been known to forget to shut it off and be completely oblivious as to why people are waving, flashing their lights and honking at me in an attempt to point out my idiocy. I am now 52 years old and somewhat forgetful at times. I plan on sticking with this excuse for my lapses in judgement for the remainder of my life. Suck it up!  I'll do what I want.

2. If you follow me too closely I may tap the brakes every few seconds, just to piss you off. When I'm not in a hurry, no one else is allowed to be either

3. Contrary to rule #2, if I am following you and you continually hit your brakes for no apparent reason, I reserve the right to loudly declare you an idiot, pass you, and then proceed with acting out rule #2.

4. If you come speeding up next to me when there was a huge sign saying your lane is ending, I have the right to ignore you and then giggle uncontrollably when you are forced off the road. Similarly, if you approach a construction zone where everyone is CLEARLY waiting in line to merge and it is obvious you're going to attempt to cut into the front of the line, I am allowed to pull just far enough out of line to prevent you from passing us. I will not have to worry about regaining my place in line because the other drivers have seen what a jerk you are and will gladly allow me to re-occupy my spot.  The rule is 'wait your turn and suffer like the rest of us', you jackass.

5. If I see you stuck by the side of the road because you've run out of gas, I will not stop and pick you up. If you're not smart enough to remember to put gas in your car, you have no business driving one.

6. Headlights, bumpers and windshield wipers are VITAL  parts of your vehicle. So are doors. If you are missing more than two of these items, please see a mechanic or do not drive it. Also, please be advised that cardboard, plastic and duct tape are not suitable replacements for a window. ESPECIALLY a rear window.

7. Discovering your exit is coming up next on the right while you are in the far left lane, does not entitle you to cut off 3 or more lanes of traffic to get to it.   

8. Additionally, if you missed your exit because you were too busy talking on that cell phone that is illegal to use (without a hands-free device), the rest of us are required to not only keep you from exiting there but to prevent you from getting off the freeway anywhere for the next five miles.

9. The people from the Guinness Book of World Records are not following your vehicle. So it is not necessary to try and set any records for multi-tasking while driving. No one is impressed that you can eat your egg McMuffin, drink your coffee, check your email and call your office while driving perfectly. The reason we are not impressed is that you SUCK AT IT! You are weaving all over the road, you pompous ass! Put it all down and DRIVE!!

10. Every scratch and dent on my car was put there by Asian women drivers. This is not racist or profiling, this is FACT. No matter where I am, if I see an Asian woman driving anywhere in my vicinity, I WILL take evasive action. Please do not be offended.  Because of these incidents, my mechanic has been on several luxury vacations so I am now convinced he has these drivers searching me out because he wants to take his family to Jamaica. I may have to take a second job to keep him in the lifestyle to which he has become accustomed.

11. Roll your windows up if you're going to blast your music while driving in the city. I am not impressed that you're 55 years old and still remember the words to "I can't get no satisfaction."  I like the Rolling Stones too, but I would rather hear THEM singing it.  If you do not have a Grammy, please don't serenade us. It's a red light. We're trapped there with your horrible voice and no aspirin.

12.  I am not impressed when you 'peel out'...especially if you're doing it between stop lights that are two hundred feet apart so 30 seconds later you're next to me at a red light...again

13. If I'm trying to merge on to the highway and there is no one on the other side of you, please move over and let me in. I promise I'll stay behind you for that hundredth of a second you will save by cutting me off.

14. Pulling out into a busy road and not sure you have enough time to join traffic? Do us all a favor and count to 10. If it's clear, pull out. If not, you probably just saved yourself and someone else from a life flight ride to the hospital because of your impatience.  Way to go!

15. The surest way to make me slow down to a crawl is by tailgating and honking your horn at me.  My husband taught me this. Unless you or someone you love is bleeding profusely, dying or something is on fire, you're just going to have to wait. If you're so late for work or your kids soccer game/birthday party or a date, that you have to go 85mph, chances are whoever is waiting for you is already pissed, so why be in a hurry to get yelled at.

16. When waiting in line, I will usually let you go in front of me...unless you're that idiot who just forces his way in by nearly hitting my car. I drive an older model vehicle which has already been abused by the aforementioned Asian woman in rule #10. I also live in a 'no fault insurance' state. So I have no problem allowing my beat up car to mark it's territory on your shiny BMW or Jaguar. I also carry the minimum car insurance necessary, so my rates won't go up because you're a dick. Think about it. You have a lot more to lose than I do.

17.  Passing me on icy roads going 60 mph will lead to my hysterical laughter and a congratulatory "nice driving" wave when I pass your car in the ditch a few miles up the road.

18. If I allow you to merge in front of me and you don't give me the 'thank you' wave, expect me to cut you off the first chance I get, you ungrateful bastard. Didn't anyone teach you manners?

19. I'm happy you love your Rottweiler, poodle, insert-pet-name-here. I also don't care. Please don't feel the need to litter the back of your car with stickers proclaiming your love. It's distracting and truthfully a little disturbing. I love my dogs too but I don't plaster it all over my vehicle.

20. I'm glad your bumper sticker says you're proud of your honor student. Have you told your child that or is it just your intention to make the other parents who don't have honor students feel like failures? I have to wonder about your motives. .

21. Parents whose bumper stickers say 'My kid can beat up your honor student' should be commended.  Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery, you twisted individual. See a therapist immediately!!

22. If I see you've taken up two parking spaces by parking diagonally so no one will hit your precious car, I will assume you are blind, take the appropriate action and have your car towed.

23. As previously mentioned, my car is full of dents and scratches because well, I DRIVE it, I don't coddle it. I would rather coddle the PEOPLE in my life, not the material things. That being said, don't be surprised if, when you leave me 6 inches of space to open my door, I reciprocate by leaving YOU a little something on YOUR door.

24. Please do not be tempted to use twine and tape to re-attach any parts that have fallen or been knocked off your car. No good can come of this and it speaks volumes about you to other drivers. Also do not, under any circumstances think that coloring your missing brake lights with a red sharpie or your daughter's Crayola is an acceptable replacement for buying a new bulb.  Seriously.

25. Putting makeup on while driving. The only thing this will accomplish is to make you look good at the morgue. Stop it!

26. If you are not comfortable driving on the freeway, stay off of it! Merging with 70 mph traffic while going 35 mph should be considered reckless endangerment. I am convinced a large amount of accidents are caused by people not keeping up with the flow of traffic. I'm all in favor or a Zen-like lifestyle, but if you're going to meditate, please don't do it in traffic. I have no doubt Buddha would agree with this.

27. Some genius decided traffic signs would be helpful. It's also helpful if you READ them. They're even more helpful if you don't wait until the last second to do what they tell you.

28. Occasionally my car decides it's tired and wants to rest for awhile. You wouldn't be swearing because you're stuck behind me if you hadn't thought it would be fun to see how close you could get to my bumper. What? No, I would never fake a stalled car just to get back at someone for tailgating....(wink, wink.)

29. If you cannot parallel park a self-parking car, run, do not walk to the licensing agency nearest you and surrender your license. Really. Do it. Someone obviously made a serious error in judgment.

And last but not least...

30. If you're riding in a limo for some reason, it is mandatory that you lower a window and allow the cars surrounding you to see if you're someone famous or influential.  Some of us might think you're an Oscar winning director who looks at us plain folk in the car next to you and says "That face! It's perfect for my next film and I'm going to make her rich and famous!!"

Okay, well maybe that last one's just me.