Thanks for Asking

Recently, one of the grandkids asked me, "If you could live your life over would you do anything differently?" My answer was, absolutely. However, you could count on one hand and not use all fingers those 'do different things.'

I was  both blessed and 'lucky.' I grew up in the incredible era of the '40's & '50's and I was raised by that infamous 'village' (of people); wonderful parents and a supportive extended family and neighbors. I played my sports with a degree of success, received a free college education playing sport and I pursued a lifelong coaching career. I married my high school sweetheart with whom I enjoy a terrific history, three grown children /spouses, fifteen grandchildren and one great-grandson. If that ain't blessed and lucky then, "grits ain't groceries, eggs ain't poultry and Mona Lisa was a man," said Little Milton.

Thousands of folks were interested enough in what I had to say and purchased my books; many invited me to speak at conventions and audiences across the nation. I had a blast serving the Illinois High School Association television network as an analyst and especially embraced twenty-one years behind the radio microphone.

I would only wish to 'do over' those times when I caused others hurt. I hope for their forgiveness. I do know that a Savior died for those misgivings. I have resolve and contentment knowing that I did answer my 'calling' to serve the least of HIS people.

If there is a 'do over' opportunity, I'm good to go...if no such plan...I am good to GO!

I wish you few 'woulda, shoulda , coulda moments.'

Some Moments Stay Forever

I plan to write them another note this next month because I wish for them to know that I 'still' remember the impact made by their daughter upon my wife and me. Let me explain.

Several years ago, I spoke at Pittsburg, Kansas high school's athletic department. Before addressing the coaching staff and hundreds of athletes and parents, my wife and I walked through the hall ways of the school. We viewed a memorialized display case of a senior girl who was killed in an auto accident returning from her college boyfriend's basketball game. A photo of the willowy blond beauty defies description. Her academic and athletic accomplishments suggested endless potential. My wife and I was deeply touched by the young girl's story and the two million dollar gift from her parents to the school's athletic department to honor their daughter's brief journey...I wrote the parents the following note:

Dr. and Mrs. Mallatt:

I wish not for this letter to be presumptuous in any manner. May I introduce myself? My name is Mel Roustio and I recently presented a program to the Pittsburg high school athletic department and toured the school's facilities, which compares favorably to any in the country. I am fortunate to travel the nation and share with many high schools; the Pittsburg athletic venue is second to none and your financial gift to that school in the name of your daughter, Megan makes it possible. My wife, Gerry and I spent several minutes reading each and every accomplishment and tribute to your daughter. Megan's many achievements as a student-athlete underscores the obvious; she was a remarkable talent. On our four hundred miles return trip to Decatur, Illinois, we spent much time talking about your daughter and the incredible impact of her young and abbreviated life. I must tell you that we both experienced a spiritual feeling.

I do not pretend to know the magnitude of your loss nor could I adequately speak to it. I would feel certain that through the years thousands of Pittsburg high school athletes will be touched by Megan's spirit and the beckoning from her, 'reach for the stars as did I.'

My wife and I thank you for sharing your beautiful daughter with two strangers; we are better because of our 'Megan moment' and your wonderful gift...yes, indeed, I must jot The Mallatt's a note this Christmas.

Score One For the Doctor

A few weeks ago, I had my annual physical examination. I always schedule that physical the first appointment...thus I minimize time spent sitting in the doctor's office. I filled out that lengthy family-medical-history questionnaire; they now have seventeen copies telling whomever reads that thing that I had a tonsillectomy at age five. I did note a new section on the chart. It asked several questions, i.e., 'In the last year has anyone physically harmed me, threatened to harm me, insulted me or talked down to me.' In the space provided, I answered with a question: "Are you shitting me?" Then I realized that many people do abuse or insult love ones...I then answered the question; "I think not and don't anticipate it."

The nurse escorted me to the examination room took blood pressure, temp and asked a few questions. She then told me, "The Doctor will be in shortly."  He never comes in shortly, so I turned off the lights and stretched out on the examination table and closed my eyes. Perhaps seven minutes passed and the door opened and I heard the startled Doc say, "Whoa, it's dark in here." When he turned the lights on, I asked him, "If you had walked in and found me dead on this table would you charge my wife for this office call?" I asked the question as a joke; the good Doctor took it seriously and began explaining how it would be his legal right to charge. I countered saying, "Holy crap Doc, this is NOT a legal question but a moral-compassionate question." He then won the tit-for-tat exchange saying, "I would not charge your wife for an office call if I discovered you dead upon entering the examination room; I like your wife and wish to keep her as a patient."

Rainy-Day Memories Always Make Me Happy

A television commercial ran frequently a week or so back, which made a pitch to purchase a particular 'camera.' The motivating advertisement words suggested that my 'memories' would be made 'better' if I bought this camera. I never before gave much thought to the connection of a camera's quality to enhance memories.

Yesterday morning, I took a cup of coffee to the sun room porch so that I might watch and hear the falling rain. As I starred at the heavenly water drops knock the few remaining leaves to the ground; memories (without a camera) came flooding over my mind.  I recall how at age nine, I would sit on a screened back porch in the home on Hallows and 55th street, East St. Louis and watch that same falling rain. My mother, Lucille was busy preparing supper and I was positioned on the porch-floor with my 'homemade' baseball spinner-game and two teams of baseball trading cards. I was totally immersed in a contest between the Stan Musial led Cardinals and Duke Snider's Brooklyn Dodgers. Somehow the St. Louis Cardinals always won that game; I suppose my head-angle looking at the spinner point is biased.

Other camera-less memories came to mind. I remember at age six playing those pretend 'cowboy' games and never worrying about washing my hands before eating that noon-time bologna sandwich. I cannot recall having many sore-throats or colds back then compared to these days when I am constantly washing hands and using those sanitize lotions.

When my Dad came in from work at Monsanto Chemical Company, we could smell the distinct chemical odors from his work clothing he hung in the utility room. Those smells soon gave way to the wonderful roast, laced with carrots, potatoes and gravy, which Mom placed on the table. I would always save a little gravy so I could 'mop-it-up' with a piece of bread. Interesting how life is an endless series of attempts to make things come out even, like the gravy & bread.

Funny fact...I don't have one camera-photo of those yesterday- moments and yet those days are crystal clear in my memory. I wish you all wonderful rainy-day memories; perhaps you'd rather ask a family member to purchase a Christmas 'camera.'

'Can't Beat City Hall'

 Illinois residence and likely most of the nation is aware that Illinois' State Government is lacking! Seemingly, the one consistent Land of Lincoln government statistic appears to be our propensity to elect Governors who eventually go to prison.

Let me profile a recent paper trial folly, which underscores inefficiency and hypocrisy. Currently, the State Workers and Teachers' retirees are facing a 'must' change choice of Health Insurance coverage. We have three so-called choices. Of course, the options all carry more questions than answers and the comparison ritual is a good imitation of the famous Bud Abbott and Lou Costello comedy routine "Who's On First?"

I will not bore you readers with detailed particulars. However, I do wish to explain one scenario. Some six or so weeks ago, we  teacher retirees received a notification 'mandate' from Central Management Service (Illinois) detailing how we must complete a Dependent Eligibility Verification Audit. This means that I had to send three forms to an out-of-state clearing house agency confirming that my wife of fifty-three years should be covered by my insurance. I had to send a joint-banking account statement, a property tax document and a federal tax transcript. These credentials have to be in the hands of the clearing house before December 6, 2013 or I could forever lose coverage on my wife.

Shortly after this mandate, I received notification from CMS that a 'packet' would soon be mailed to me with all information about the three health insurance companies from which I must select ONE for coverage. I was told I would need to make my choice and post mark mail that choice by December 13, 2013 or I would be dropped from the teacher's insurance program and NEVER be allowed to participate again. The letter also indicated that a schedule of informational meetings would be enclosed in the 'sign-up packet.'

I got that packet two days ago. Three of the scheduled meetings were already held before the packet was mailed...I was just wondering if there is any penalty for Central Management Services; sure appears that they 'missed' a deadline.

Call It AS It Is

The following remarks were shared with my sports' playing grandkids' parents. I gave thought to the possibility that many readers of this blog are likely parents of children who engage sports. Therefore, you are welcome to read the following and subsequently process the content and your place 'within' as YOU view it. ..Que Serra Serra .

Please digest the following American societal youth-sport reality: Our society embraces sports with unbridled passion. Regional and local community fanatics (fans) experience a range of charged emotions predicated on the success or failure of their favorite professional, college, high school and kid's sport teams. These fans are your next door neighbor, mailman, salesperson and tax paying Christians kneeling next to you at Church. Each embrace living the 'good life' part of which is living vicariously through these teams and most certainly living vicariously through their own child's sport play. Some parents will easily find fault with referees, other children and coaches. Many times the parents express their dismay, frustration and anger. Many local school boards across America have members who could give two-hoots-in-Hell about education but have a pissed off vendetta about a perceived mistreatment of an offspring.

The fan is ecstatic in victory as they wave about their #1 sponge-finger and chant aloud. Conversely the fan is depressed in defeat and  inconsolable when their child is not the centerpiece of the team.

I encouraged my children and I would do the same with the reader to understand the misguided fan/parent but ever be wary of his presence.

Simply stated: Society is full of assholes, many of whom attend sporting events more regularly than Church. This does not mean that you will not find assholes in the pews; you do. The big difference is Church assholes are usually more subtle than the sport fan asshole. However, we hold hope in our faith-belief that religion will lead us to a place of repentance and forgiveness.

While God works on this greater problem, do not add to the problem by renting one moment of your mind/thoughts to the assholes.

Adjust & Adapt; Ain't the Same

I once had a little league baseball coach tell me that I needed to make an adjustment to hit the outside pitch to right field. I've made a lot of adjustments over a lifetime and now I find myself making some adaptation in these senior years. Adaptation is a more intriguing word than adjustment. Well. it is to me. We have all seen that three-legged dog make adaptations; also, we've noticed humans adapting with various physical challenges.

My wife told me recently that my posture is getting poorer. I suppose three back surgeries and hip issues cause a subliminal 'gate-adaptation'.' On occasion, my children have asked their mother 'why does Dad's right hand sometimes 'shake?' I asked the doctor on one of my checkups about the 'hand-tremor' and he said, "Don't worry, you are not having a stroke and you do not have any nerve disease; you simply have a senile tremor." Holy crap, I thought, explained that way (senile), I won't look for that malady to improve unless I start getting younger.

I must conscientiously attempt to adjust to my tremor-'shakes' and hope that some adaptation will kick in soon; I am tired of putting soup up-my-nose.

I hesitate to mention the following but the other day, I was standing at the men's urinal at Wal Mart; yep, you guessed it. I happened to look down only to notice that I was missing the 'target' and coming close to the fella's shoe next to me. Thank goodness, he was reading a newspaper on the wall.  My wife tells me that I could avoid this problem if I'd only make the 'adjustment' and sit down on the potty stool. I hesitate to make that adjustment; next thing you know, I'll be 'giving ' up car keys.

I'm going to stop here; it's beginning to rain and I like to walk in the rain. Actually, I like dancing in the rain.