Hello, dear readers of Sidewalk Ghosts, random curiosity seekers, and people who stumbled onto this project while looking for the newest celebrity train wreck (nothing here about the Khardashians, sorry)

You may notice a bit of a difference in this essay. There’s a reason for that; and the reason is simply this: I’m not Richard.  Instead, you’re going to be treated to (or suffer through) a “guest author.”

My name is Michaelbrent Collings, and when Richard asked if I would help him out and write about it from my point of view, I approached it with a bit of trepidation. I’m a writer, so it’s not the words that scare me. I’ve actually written best-sellers and had screenplays produced in Hollyweird. But most of what I dowrite is either horror (ghost stories and books about serial killers) or light fantasy (kids who discover they are magic users and become embroiled in a battle to save the world). And Sidewalk Ghosts– or as he would probably prefer to say it, the stories of the people whom he chronicles–is neither of those things.

But I agreed to give it a go. Challenges are fun.

And almost immediately upon meeting his friend-now-stranger for the night, I started to regret my decision.

Not because she was awful, or difficult, or whiny. Quite the opposite. It’s because she was simply delightful. When asked if she would like to be a part of the project, she lit up. “Sure!” was her immediate response. And when she walked away after the experience, she literally jumped in the air and (I think) even uttered a “Yippee!”

Her name was (and, I suppose, still is) Janel. Richard and I met her after a long day on the set of a photo shoot he was doing. He and I went to dinner with the client and the ad agency people, and Janel came along as the significant other of one of the folks who was at the dinner.

And it was such a lucky thing that she did.

“Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

Some people are defined by what they take in. They are collectors of information, of wisdom, or (in bad situations) of other peoples morale and energy. Then there are those who are defined by what they give out. Janel was one of those people. She smiled. A lot.  She wore her hair differently every single day. She did yoga. She was fascinated by humanity, but (I think) was still struggling to define her own. Not in a bad way, but in a way that highlighted the fact that she was still deciding what kind of person she would be.

And actually, maybe I ama good person to write this blog. Because I do write fairy tales. Tales of magic and fun. Tales where the good guys win, and the evil-doers are punished. And Janel, I think, was someone who was striving to discover the fairy tale within herself.

“Fit, healthy, and happy.” That’s where she saw herself in ten years. Not “in a fancy house,” not “surrounded by expensive things,” not “in this particular job at that particular company.” But “Fit, healthy, and happy.” She was energetic, spritely, and so it came as no surprise that her personal vision for the future was one that focused, not on the place, not on the thing, but on the energy, and on the feeling her existence would exude. “Fit, healthy, and happy.”

“If you had any words, counsel, or advice you would like to share with my readers, what would they be?”

Janel was also something of a contradiction. Again, not a bad thing. Quite the opposite. She had intricate levels that interconnected to create a person of unusual depth and passion. So while she was a person who looked like she could probably run a 10K every day of the week and step it up to a full marathon on the weekends, she could also be quiet, and attentive.  She liked to talk, but didn’t mind listening. She seemed as happy to laugh at another’s story as she was to laugh at her own tales of life and its idiosyncrasies. Again, a rare quality.

So though at times she seemed as though she was wandering through life on a journey to who-knows-where, she was also possessed of a certain inner assurance. “I’ve worked for a three-star general,” she declared. “He taught me how to be competent.”  I agreed with her that competence was a quality rarely found, and much to be admired.  She wore her competence on her sleeve.  If she said she could do it, I had no doubt that it (whatever “it” could be) would be done.

And along with that competence, as though to balance out the happy, energetic, almost childlike quality that captivated those around her, she also had the ability to say something directly, and to have it mean something.

“What counsel would you like to share with the world?” Richard asked her.  And in an eyeblink, she sobered, and without hesitation said, “Quit if you need to.”

Not idle words. How many of us go through the motions, living our “daily grind,” and slowly dying inside all the while because we are too afraid to reach out and find something new – and better?  How many of us find ourselves locked into something–a career, a pastime, a relationship – that isn’t right for us, but just don’t have the personal wherewithal to simply stop?

Not Janel. She told Richard (and me, the horror writer turned anthropologist for a night) of her experience in grad school. Pursuing a career she had dreamed of since she was eight. And then realizing that something about it was wrong. Something about it didn’t feel like it should. What it was that felt off? Simply this: she hated grad school.

So she quit.

The ramifications were enormous. Starting, and perhaps ending, with the fact that she was no longer sure what she was going to do with herself. Not that she didn’t work–she did, and probably did an excellent job at it.  But “it’s not my dream job.” And she isn’t quite sure what it wouldbe.

Which was, it seemed, all right with her. Because better to be a bit unsure of what the future holds that to suffer the certainty of misery. She didn’t like where she was, so she changed it. Obvious, really.

But how many of us could have done the same?

And even in that simple statement that her job wasn’t her “dream job,” laid another implicit facet of Janel’s character. She believed in dreams. She never said that aloud, but it seemed from the twinkle in her eye and the dimples that were so deep you could almost see through her head, that she did believe in the possibility of a better tomorrow­–the chance of a more perfect world.

In the hope, of hope itself.

Good night, Janel. It was a pleasure. And I hope your dreams come true.

Michaelbrent Collings is the bestselling author of RUN, Billy: Messenger of Powers, and numerous other novels.  He can be followed on his Facebook page is at http://www.facebook.com/pages/Michaelbrent-Collings/283851837365. He also has a website at michaelbrentcollings.com.

“you’ve got to have respect for other people.”

“Are you a veteran!” he asked (it is not a mistake I use ! instead of ?). The question came at me as sharp as a bullet. No, I did not serve, I was between the draft and did not volunteer, I replied. He looked away as if disgusted. Left me carrying a set of mixed feelings. My chest tightened as thoughts ranging from inadequacy to defensiveness tensed me up.

“Why!” he again blasted at me. Trying to gain his trust I opened up, I was young, If I knew then what I know now, a may have enlisted.

“Are you f*#*ing stupid!” he slammed back at me as he got my face. Realizing there was no way I could get in his head, and wanting to settle things down a bit, I looked him in the eyes. “I’m speechless, there is no way I can understand what you went through.” He stepped back, “your, f*#ing* right!”

I was thinking, “it’s over, we’re done, he is out of the game. I pushed him too far.”

But there was still a draw I could not escape. I needed to know more. So I decided to risk asking another question, “will you let me interview you, you have a lot to share?” He shook his head away, “I have nothing to say!”

Off to the side was Antoinette. Who witnessing the whole exchange had been observing silently; and somehow, I think even monitored the situation. In a soft and sincere voice, she contributed to the scene, “I think you have a lot of wisdom to share, you should do it.” But again, Kevin declined. “Wisdom, right! I’ve got nothing to share!”

Once more he took control of the moment and shifted to testing me with an endless barrage of questions: California history, military facts, asked if he could have my camera. I answered all to the best of my ability and held my ground.

We went at it for about thirty minute, and as we did the mood slowly changed to a more relaxed pace. Could it have been that The Colonel was beginning to let me in to his world?

It began with simple exposures. Stating with a cracked a smile“ I’m part Sioux Indian and part Irish, watch out!” By that point, we were one hour into our chat. Then the lightening struck. “Want to see my office?” he asked.

“Sure,”I replied.

I followed him through the Laundromat as he let me know that, up until a few days prior, he worked as security for the business. “I was told my services are no longer needed,” he accused.

We walked through the facility; there were about ten people at various stations, all in different stages of their cleaning rituals, and all seemed to know the Colonel. The guy was a serious extrovert, complimented everyone with innumerable words as he flirted with the women. None looked away. Everyone engaged as if they had personal history. Even two or three customers came up to trust him with service questions. It was obvious that he was no stranger and confirmed to me his past employment.

We continued our travel through the store and ended up in the parking lot at the rear of the building, a situation where I found myself standing alone with him at the back door. His demeanor had changed. With arms to the sky, he exclaimed, “here it is!”

“You’ve got great air circulation and lots of elbow room. Great office!” I expressed. He looked at me and laughed.

Squatting by the door, he grabbed a bagged bottle and took a drink. After sitting silently for a moment taking in the sky, he stood up, “look up there, you can see Jupiter.” With one eye on him, one eye at the sky and my feet readied to take me through the door, I looked up and acknowledged his sighting.

Back at me as if weighing me up, his eye-line shifted, “what do you want to know? and promise you will not make me look like a jerk!” I gave him my word, “there is no way you can look like a jerk, you have a lot of wisdom to share. The only jerks are the one’s who judge you.”

“I used to be a terrible person, but as I get older, I have grown.” He was very specific about the word grown. I once again tried to empathize, “I understand, life has a way of changing us.” I am rebuked, “no I have grown!” He smiled again.

It was not all intense topics with The Colonel. He told me of his four marriages, loss of a home in the 1995 Northridge earthquake, and of his trials growing up. Some items were very dark, others on the lighter side.

It was then that it struck me, even though he had a very difficult life, his was a proud Veteran, a loyal American and very serious about his country and fellow servicemen and women.

I wish I could write the solemn words he entrusted to me. But in honor to him I will tell you only this in regard to Lieutenant Colonel Kevin Boal: He had great depth and a history that deserved him his vices. True, at times he alarmed me, yet at others, with suppressed tears in his eyes, he also moved me.

Ninety minutes into our time together we returned to the front of the building for a photo session, if that is what we can call it. Really, he stood for a couple of minutes, lit a cigarette and signed off.

The last lesson in military respect came as we concluded our evening. A man walked up as he took pause from his laundry duties.“ Are you a veteran?” he inquired of The Colonel.

“Vietnam,” Kevin replied.

The man went on to state his service, and even though he did not see front line, he shared, “I was scared shitless.” The Lieutenant Colonel immediately reached out his hand, and over a firm handshake, “welcome home!” They both welled up, but as fast a their tears tried to break free, they quickly hid their emotions.

A reminder to us all, as have several of the past stories shared by our servicemen and women, there is one thing we need always to do, tell them, thank you, and welcome home!

Kevin’s wisdom, “you’ve got to have respect for other people.”

In expected rough and direct form, the Colonel left me with a challenge:

“Yuwipi  is my religion.” I looked it up. If you are interested in Sioux culture and faith, research it, very interesting.

Talk tomorrow my good friends,

Richard

Readers, if you are returning, so nice to be with you again. If you are new, looking forward to getting to know you.

To all: please comment, like, and forward. Every engagement goes a long way toward connecting us; as together, we grow a movement that betters the way we view and treat one another.

“Everything is so fast paced now, you must have patience with yourself and those around you.”

Picture yourself in the passenger seat with me as we cruised through suburbia and into a corner shopping center. Radio tuned in as we chilled to our favorite tunes. Yet somehow, the music was silent. How could that be, we heard the volume, but nothing was going into our minds?

It was as if we were on some kind of autopilot, being tugged by intuition towards two figures who were talking in front of a corner Laundromat; and the closer we got, the smaller our musical background became.

We pulled into a parking slip just feet in front of them. Shut down the motor. Music extinguished, the silence grew as two incredibly interesting looking people took hold of our focus. With no pause, our sub-conscience tugged us out of the car and drove us toward them. We shared an interview pitch and quickly we got rejected. Yet even with the rejection, the conversation continued. Smitten by the moment as well as the character of our new acquaintances, it was impossible to let go of our interest. At that point, who cared if we did, or did not, take photographs, these people were intriguing!

To begin, let me introduce you to Antoinette, a very humble lady with thirty years working in education, and the magnet that first caught my eye.

I sighted her as she leaned, child grandson at her side, against the front window of the Laundromat. At first it was uncertain to me how well she knew a rather edgy looking dude standing by her side. He introduced himself as “Lieutenant Colonel Kevin Boal.”

But as I settled into becoming part of their conversation, it rapidly became apparent that I had unintentionally wandered into a chance exchange between two individuals with dramatically different life experience. Captivated by the connection of humanity between them, I was taken in. There was no way I could walk away; they had captured me.

Antoinette was a woman of great compassion, who mostly listening while the three of us were together, later told me of her empathy toward the Lieutenant Colonel (I’ll tell you more about him in the next story).

Have you ever been with people who by only being in their presence make you feel good about yourself? If so, you already have an idea of what spending time with Antoinette was like.

We spoke of faith, patience and the importance of loving others. Something she had learned through her thirty years of working in elementary education. Antoinette exuded a motherly spirit and it was easy to feel her real concern for the people around her. I saw it in the way she treated our Veteran friend Kevin, even comforting him at moments that I was overwhelmed by his stories, sometimes to the point of feeling my blood pressure rise.

I could tell Antoinette was a special soul, a healer of sorts and a person of great faith. An admitted Christian, she explained the source of her character, inspiration and compassion for the world around her. “I’m a believer in Christ, I’m not perfect, but doing my best to be a good person.” She was the kind of person that set a tone worthy of mirroring. I took heed to her example.

I asked her to share her council. Simply, “Everything is so fast paced now, you must have patience with yourself and those around you.”

Truly words I needed to hear, for that night was one in which I was being tested on my ability to endure. Challenged to step to the plate in exercising my skills of empathy and ability to listen. Me, the student, then teacher, then subject, then target. Caught in a triangle of personalities and being directed by two diversely different individuals.

All in all, I spent over two hours communing with Antoinette and Kevin. We talked of many things, Antoinette and I often standing down with much of the conversation being monopolized by Kevin. But, there were no regrets from either Antoinette or myself. He was a fascinating mix of anger, questionable stories and wisdom that seemed to be authentic and hard earned.

The evening was getting late, the Laundromat emptying, it was time to depart, but after spending time with two people from completely opposite ends of the kindness spectrum, I had one profound takeaway: We all have stories, some dark, others not. But in the end–it’s all good!

Talk tomorrow my good friends,
Richard

Readers, if you are returning, so nice to be with you again. If you are new, looking forward to getting to know you.

To all: please comment, like, and forward. Every engagement goes a long way toward connecting us; as together, we grow a movement that betters the way we view and treat one another.

“I’m not really one to be photographed, plus look at me, I’m not looking too good. Best not to take pictures of me. But my mom is at Home Depot, she’ll do it when she gets back!”

I approached the house, Mike, son of the homeowner, was sitting on the porch; and as I passed by, he threw me a welcoming nod. Subscribing to a chin-up and eyes wide open to the world rule that I was starting to live by, I walked his way.

“Hello, my name is Richard Radstone. I’m working on a project that’s all about community and people. For 365 days, I’ll be photographing one stranger a day, blogging their stories and the experience. It’s been an amazing journey so far. Today I’m on day 45, only 320 more to go. I’d like to invite you to be part of the project. Would you be willing to be today’s interview?”

The door flew wide open as Mike started on a roll of his personal history. Without my questioning, and without pause, he fired at me a relentless exposition of family military history that dated back to the Revolutionary War. So-much-so that, at one point, he went into his house to retrieve a few vintage artifacts. I had barely gotten a word in edgewise, as he returned with a grouping of historical items: Stuff like an 1800’s clock, a helmet and entrenching tool used by his great-uncle during the invasion of Normandy, saved newspaper articles that linked his family to events that occurred at WWII Pearl Harbor.

For certain, Mike was a little offbeat, gave me more than I could chew on, even before I could inquire if he would be willing to be interviewed.Overwhelmed by his unyielding narrative I wonder if he would ever take break from his enthusiastic download of family heritage.

A moment came, when in transitioning to another topic, I grabbed front and center. Asked if I could take his picture. Surprisingly, he declined. “I’m not really one to be photographed, plus look at me, I’m not looking too good. Best not to take pictures of me. But my mom is at Home Depot, she’ll do it when she gets back!”

Sure, that’s going to work, I thought as I pictured the awkward moment when Mike’s mom would arrive home to a strange camera guy in her yard. Figured the story would turn to something like this. What! Are you crazy! Who is this guy you let in our yard! Especially after Mike had laid all of the family treasures out all over the front porch. But in journalistic form, and with a looming opportunity to meet his mom, for better or worse, I decided to take the risk.

Diverting away from having his picture taken, and no sooner than I could read one line of the vintage newspaper article he had placed in my hand, up drove mom.

As I anticipated, she cautiously directed her route toward us. I welcomed her (felt a little strange, after all, I was a complete stranger on her property), and presented my pitch. Without hesitation she was on board.

By the condition of the house, I assumed life was on a downward spiral for the family. Wondered, perhaps a deadbeat parent was in the picture, however, that was not the case. Instead, what I found was a stoic woman who had a purpose, in her words, “Help my children, no matter what the sacrifice.”

Please give a warm hello to Merrihelen.

Merrihelen’s stories and supporting evidence of each topic was endless. More that I could reasonably take note of (an experience that led me to begin audio recording my interviews). Tales that, prompted by Mike feeding her what seemed an endless list of starting points, were articulate and descriptive. It was with heartfelt laughter that she ran with them, and as she did, the family opened up in sharing both deep issues and lighter subjects.

A single mother, Merrihelen had spent her life working to support her daughter and two sons. A reality that, as both he and his family were very transparent and honest in revealing, was expanded with Mike being mentally disabled.

I’ll not sugar coat my observation. The house was very rundown, and it was obvious and that the family was struggling. But what was inspiring was the humor and tenacity Merrihelen demonstrated as she spoke of life and trial. It was easy to see the depth of her intellect as we talked of her family lineage, career path and stories about growing up in Los Angeles.

The most captivation thing: Every story she told was mirrored by her children. Like a passing of oral traditions, she dated her family tree all the way back to the Irish clans. Accounts that by folkloric tradition are to this day verbally forwarded from generation to generation. Seemed that some traditions did not die easily.

From her humble porch I learned of under published California historical facts and acts of military courage. Stories like Merrihelen’s great-uncle, a Corporal who charged Normandy in WWII. His accomplishment? Within the first moments of hitting the beach, all of his division’s superior officers were either killed or critically injured. For five hours, being the highest rank left able, he successfully led the advance of his division. Keeping morale and commanding all until he himself suffered intense burns to his arms and face from an exploding phosphorous grenade. Sound far-fetched? Yep, and I was highly skeptical. That was until her second son, Allan, reproved me. Brought forth his uncle’s bullet worn helmet and entrenching tool; each bearing the marks of a burning explosion. I could have argued the authenticity of the items, but something told me to just let it go as the family went on to share many other stories of war and history. Evidence assured as every one was less vague and supported by historical artifact or documentation.

From a rag-tag front yard introduction I had been entertained and enriched, and when time came to close the interview, I had not even scratched the surface of Merrihelen. For I had gotten to know a survivor who was moving ahead with grace and dignity; a woman who once honorably served California as a Highway Patrol trooper, a person who spent over twenty-five years working at customer service call centers (AT&T, Bank of America), a mother who had paid some serious dues in life, and a provider who, due to circumstance had found herself unemployed and fighting to keep her head above water.

But even in the face of adversity, Merrihelen patriotically stated, “America should remain the land of opportunity.”

All I could think was this, God be with the faithful, hard-working mothers.

Talk tomorrow my good friends,

Richard

Readers, if you are returning, so nice to be with you again. If you are new, looking forward to getting to know you.

To all: please comment, like, and forward. Every engagement goes a long way toward connecting us; as together, we grow a movement that betters the way we view and treat one another.

“whatever way life takes you, follow your inside, your persona, how you feel about your presence on Earth, and somehow let it be the guide in interfering with your choices.”

A was typical night in Radstoneland: I give you the beats.

• Taught Spinning
• Best Buy for more iPad stuff. I’m telling you, “the thing is a drug addiction.”
• Purchased new car tires. (Ended any dream for more iPad fix money. It was all gone).
• Visited camera store to look at other pricy things I could not afford.
• Went to park with daughter and friends (“Ah, released from life).”
• Bothered families at park for an interview (Daughter hooked on the project, she forced me to bug people).
• Accepted rejection from said park families. (Felt like the creepy stalker but had to respect my daughter’s starry eyes).
• Left park to heal shame for bugging families.
• Saw photo opportunity­–preacher dude on street corner, redirected path toward him.
• Got yelled at violently by preacher dude on street corner. (My bad; thought he’d want to tell the world to repent).
• Staggered back to car; happy I was intact! (Don’t worry; kids were safely in car and in my field of view).
• Set path for home: dinnertime and a serious re-think of how I would meet a stranger-now-friend.
• Wife threw me out, “go find someone to photograph, I’ve got the kids.”
• Broke in new car tires as I wandered aimlessly.
• Drove past coin operated car wash on Saticoy.
• Mind drifted, “oh my heavens, its 8pm and I’m clueless as to if I’m meeting anyone tonight.”
• Small voice in head told me to turn around and go to another coin operated wash near where preacher dude was. “OK?”
• 8:15sh, arrived at prompted car wash (Thought, “as leastI can wash my car).”
• Fought with change machine, stupid thing would not take my wrinkled bills. (Wondered, “doesn’t everyone shove wadded money in pockets? How do the clean their cars?).”
• Created friction burn on leg from straightening bill.
• Won fight, walked away from opponent, hand filled with quarters.
• Got hosed. (“$5.00 for eight minutes of paid water. You’re kidding me!).”
• Pulled out of slip, (I refused to pay $2.50 more to rinse a little soap off my car).
• Pit stopped at vacuum station to decompress from money sucking timed wash experience.
• Observed what looked like expert car washer in stall beside me. (Could not figure out why his car looked so much cleaner than mine).
• Questioned my car detailing ability?
• Submitted to my failure.
• Struck up chat with car washing expert (Thought, “perhaps I’d get pointers on where I went wrong. Should I have sprayed the degreaser first? Maybe I was too long with the soap brush? Help!).”
• He was a cool dude. Invited him to be interviewed, he accepted.
• Curtis was his name.

A recent transplant from Kentucky to Los Angeles, pharmacist Curtis began his West Coast pharmaceutical career four years prior to the night I met him. Yet as we talked, I quickly realized there was more to Curtis than simply preparing medication. He talked of the importance of patient experience, saying with smile on his face, “It’s really about making people comfortable, many of my customers don’t feel well when they come to my pharmacy. I do my best to let them know that I care.”

Above filling prescriptions, it was obvious the man had great compassion for others, something that inspired him in his greatest dream, “I want to be an entertainer.”

An emerging comic and singer, Curtis expressed his reasoning for pursuing path into such a difficult and competitive profession. He had the right perspective. “It’s about giving myself and sharing my talents.”

After thirty years as a director and photographer, it was a comment that I very much appreciated. There are so many talented people who seem to quickly burn out from self-absorption, and Curtis’ interest to give and share was about as healthy as it got.

We talked of creative mindset, linked it with the importance of being true to personal perspective and what it took to both develop and hold on to artistic point-of-view. Another topic that was very close to me.

Curtis gave us this wisdom, “whatever way life takes you, follow your inside, your persona, how you feel about your presence on Earth, and somehow let it be the guide in interfering with your choices.”

After a long day of rejections, and in a way that I was still learning, I was again guided. Directed, if you will, to a man who truly cared about people, and a person I hoped would find his voice in the world of entertainment. We need guys like him on stage.

In the end, it grew clear to me why I was at that particular car wash, at that particular time, and on that particular evening. I was being whispered to by something beyond myself, and as I listened, I was taught once again.

Talk tomorrow my good friends,
Richard
Readers, if you are returning, so nice to be with you again. If you are new, looking forward to getting to know you.
To all: please comment, like, and forward. Every engagement goes a long way toward connecting us; as together, we grow a movement that betters the way we view and treat one another.

“these kids inspire me, when the kids succeed, I succeed.”

For years my daughter had, on and off, been participating in gymnastics, and with my wandering the streets looking to interview strangers, it had become the norm for my wife to stand in as her companion. But on one particular evening I tagged along, and upon arriving as parental guardian, a consideration entered my mind:I had never introduced myself to Susan, the program’s director.

In the forty-two days that preceded that evening, I had been obsessive in my focus of meeting what I called, absolute strangers. Exhausting as it was, and sometimes as heartbreaking as it could be, my perspective of others was maturing in a very remarkable way. Even my ability to communicate and write was improving. A byproduct I must give credit to the patience and support of my family as they willingly lost part of me to the time requirements of Sidewalk Ghosts. None-the-less it was on that evening of October 22, 2011 I broke a little. Took my first real breather to place the project as second priority. It was fair time to forefront my family life. At least that was my attempted goal. However, I found it an impossible benchmark to feasibly obtain. The project was far too organic to allow me that luxury. It was that night I fully realized the full impact of a commitment far beyond myself, and to be able to hold my head anywhere near the meter of integrity, I had to remain honest to the scope of the project. But like a constant healer, in it was a gift that proved priceless. A tactile realization I witnessed in the outlook of my wife, daughter and friends. Even something that was affecting the person I was. An understated educator and motivator was being given to us. Like an agent of change, it invited us on a journey to new perspectives, that in a most measureable way, were releasing us from a trap of our own making: The subtle isolation that many of us unintentionally create as we forget to pause to look at our neighbors; and on that night, in a college gymnasium I, in a unrequested way, received a profound revelation. For it was not only those I had never seen who were the strangers, it was there were strangers in my daily life, even people that I had casually known of or briefly met before.

With this brain wave as a motivator, I first really noticed my daughter’s coach, Susan. A person who although I knew by name, role and reputation, I did not know at all–a stranger in my midst.

There were kids and parents all around, and with only two assistants, Susan was up to her elbows in coaching and parent management. Her method of peaceful suggestion and firm stay on task communication was quite noticeable. It was obvious Susan was on a defined mission, to help her students excel and overcome their fears; and other than her brief acknowledgement to parents as they uncomfortably wiggled in folded chairs, she was all absorbed in coaching her students. So I patiently waited for opportunity to arise, a moment when I could invite her to be part of Sidewalk Ghosts.

Water break came, and as if a little voice from elsewhere invited her, Susan walked my way. Without smile, but within her expression of gratitude to the parental audience who had entrusted their children to her, she apparently noticed me. So, I reached out with a short hello and explanation of my goal of publishing an essay a day for an entire year. Instantly she was intrigued by the commitment, and in her coaching way, told me to keep it going. In such, and with her students back on the mat, she accepted my invitation to be interviewed, but with one stipulation, “I am about to teach, can we talk after class.”

No worries, I’m glad to wait, I assured her.

I grabbed a mat of my own and began to journal. An hour and a half passed, and other than a little chat with another new friend of the evening, Arney, father to another future Olympian, I’d been typing away in relative silence.

8:28pm arrived, class ended and the gymnasium began to empty. With one part of her mind obviously directed to all that was happening in the shutting down of the gym, she was a touch aloof in her time spent with me. But in short testaments she spoke volumes. I carefully listened and took notes.

I arrived home at 10:41pm, and even though I had made a stellar attempt at writing a story at the gym, I realized I had much more to tell. Susan’s coaching had affected me, and in fairness to her, it was my responsibility to express exactly how. I set aside my dreams for a computer free evening, and feeling beyond thankful for support of my wife, who in the other room was getting our exercised and cookie pumped-up kid to sleep, I recorded my review of the evening.

Since 1979, Susan had been involved with training youth in gymnastics. Reserved, focused and committed to service are probably the best definitions to tell you of her character. But, what really impressed me was Susan spoke nothing of herself. Her responses wonderfully selfless, and even though she emphasized the importance of the program she directed, she never spoke of herself. Choosing instead to reference the power of community and the importance of inclusion.

“This is a non-profit, a nice place to work, so kids without lots of money can have the opportunity to take gymnastics. Our classes are for the community,” Susan explained. Her countenance void of boasting and without any positioning for personal gain she comfortable redirected away from herself. Yes, Susan was a rock star coach!

Truly putting her students first, and after intently observing her coaching style, I can honestly say, all Susan desired was to see her students succeed.

We finished our interview, gym empty, I asked, are you sure you don’t have any words of wisdom to impart to the world?

In perfect Susan style, again it was about the kids and her class, “Parents need to let me do what I do, especially with the very young children. Sometimes there is a little disorderly conduct. I just go with it and real them back in. You give a little, you receive a lot; so parents, please let me do what I do.”

Her final words, “these kids inspire me, when the kids succeed, I succeed.”

Amen to that!

Talk tomorrow my good friends,

Richard

Readers, if you are returning, so nice to be with you again. If you are new, looking forward to getting to know you.

To all: please comment,like, and forward. Every engagement goes a long way toward connecting us; as together, we grow a movement that betters the way we view and treat one another.

 

Even though it has been over seven years since I first met her, the positive outlook she glowed, to this day, stops me in my tracks. Yet, under the free spirit she so happily exuded, there was a person enduring the pain of a great loss.

It was pumpkin hunting night. A Halloween tradition followed by countless families, as once a year, make shift lots fill with those in quest of the perfect jack-o’-lantern. Curbside destinations that backed by a bazaar mix of creepy music and children’s laughter, set stage for a night of costume, ghoul and candy. It was on that very night and occasion my daughter and I ran into Kimberly, who apropos to the evening that was at hand, we approached at the patch where we too sought our perfect pumpkin.

It was moments before closing time, and being careful not to ignore the shoppers and other staffers who were working, we took a quick break in finding a hay bail to rest upon. With time limited for conversation our getting to know each other was quick and playful. The small talk one might expect in any first introduction.

Stuff like her artistic talent, poetry, music and creativity in general. In doing so, she bestowed upon me a few gems of wisdom: “To design is to simplify,” and “’Never take ‘no’ for an answer.’”

“For many years I wanted to be a rap star, but now, my life is all about school and art,” she told me. A statement that probably accounted for the super-hip attitude and style sense she so seamlessly carried.

Her passion and enthusiasm was evident as she shared her wisdom for what’s to come. A character revealing part of the person she was. Choosing to look beyond herself in directing her comments towards us, “you are the creator of your life, and life is what you make of it.”

A heartwarming sentiment that delivered with her joyful and imaginative spirit warmed my heart. But, behind her eyes I could sense a held back tear; and as I did, our conversation fell silent. It was as if an Angel had reached past the darkness of scarecrows and ghosts in the closet. A whispering voice that was not originating in my own sub-conscious, but rather flowed out of the eyes of Kimberly. It ran into my emotional self.

I swallowed deeply. Compassion an understatement to that of what I was feeling, and looking at her, it seemed as if she too was touched beyond explanation. Then the emotions erupted and she burst into heartfelt sobbing. All I could do was sit quietly.

Cheeks still wet, I asked, are you OK?

A gentle smile came over her face, “last year at this time my father died,” she revealed.

The tears started again, only this time it was my cheeks that were getting wet. There were no words to share, the fullness of our connection confirmed by the intimacy of the moment.

I’m a son who had lost his father, and looking into the eyes of a youthful young woman who had lost her dad, I identified with not only my pain, but visualized forward the impact my eventual death might bring upon my daughter. All I wanted to do was give Kimberly and my girl hugs, and that’s exactly what I did. Three strangers to each other, Kimberly, my daughter and myself, each pulled at the heartstrings in what I could only be described as a healing bond. No words were necessary. The Angels had imparted their will, and we were all the better for it.

Realizing that her positive outlook was more than youthful naivety, I changed the subject. For as Sidewalk Ghosts continually teaches, there is a unique human spirit within all of us, and in regard to Kimberly, it was mature, loving and caring. The tears in her eyes, although representative of pain from loosing her father, in her words, “my best friend;” were proof she was more focused on living forward the love and example he departed onto her.

 

Kimberly’s presence was sure, her sentiments focused and kind; and even though we had opened a very fragile topic, I was taken by her strength and ability to turn sadness into tribute.

Kimberly, I will be ever grateful for the trust you had in me that brisk October night. Humbled by your sharing of a most precious part of your life–and through it, my greatest prayer is that all who hear your example might also be inspired. For I know you inspired me.

Readers, if you are returning, so nice to be with you again. If you are new, looking forward to getting to know you.

To all: please comment,like, and forward. Every engagement goes a long way toward connecting us; as together, we grow a movement that betters the way we view and treat one another.

“Everybody feels the way you do; what you do with it is up to you. You can either handle it, or you can be a victim.”

“It’s impossible to go through life without problems.” A quote that revealed the character of a remarkable young man, Aaron, who at only twenty had experienced enough life to make such a claim. Credentials he had earned all so early in his years–some self-inflicted, others by situation.

First, if you are a regular reader, the following is a common question likely familiar to you by now; and if you are new to Sidewalk Ghosts, you’ll come to enjoy the varied and revealing responses it evokes from everyone interviewed in the project, that being, If you had the stage and the whole world was listening, what words of wisdom, council or advice would you share.

As we took photos Aaron responded, “Everybody feels the way you do; what you do with it is up to you. You can either handle it, or you can be a victim.”

A very deep consideration, one that perhaps is easier to say than to live by. I questioned him back; do you mean everybody CAN feel the way you do? He clarified, “No, there is no can in it.”

We chatted about this subtle interpretation for a while; and as we did, I realized what Aaron was talking about. He was referencing the core emotions we all feel. The stuff we call love, fear, envy, joy, shame, empowerment and on and on. As he spoke Aaron related them to life in general, linked all to the second part of his statement, “What you do with it is up to you. You can either handle it, or you can be a victim.”

He clarified again, “it’s about self-respect;” a well-earned statement in which I was beginning to accept his authority to own. For hanging in his heart was a diploma received from the University of Hard Knocks. In such there was a palpable feeling of integrity that radiated from Aaron.

His story started as one we have heard many times; troubled high school years, falling away from home, and a generalized list of rebellions. But what was unique about Aaron was his willingness to change at such a young and impressionable age. An adjustment of perspective that he was not only undertaking in his own life, but one where he was truly striving to onboard his friends to follow in his footsteps.

It was in an area that I had sarcastically labeled The Hang-Out Zone, a curbside gathering spot that had become a regular occurrence, where my mind was opened. A patch of sidewalk and parked cars that, just two houses down from mine, was home to fifteen or so teens and twenty-somethingers who loitered. Boys and girls, who often tossed cigarette butts into my yard, and at times spoke out in loud obscenities, had put a real damper on our neighborhood. Even to the point to my not wanting my daughter to come anywhere close to spending time in the front yard. Especially during the daytime hours when it was beyond me as to why the youngest of the clan was not in school. I even knew a few of them from the days they were children. Thought they were mostly good kids. But still, there they were, day after day, for hours on end. Doing what looked like nothing.

I saw Aaron, sitting by himself one night. The Hang-Out Zone empty of its usual disruptive buzz as I stood in my front yard. To be perfectly honest, before I started on Sidewalk Ghosts, I probably would have not thought to approach him. Choosing to force myself, because of my relationship with my neighbors, to stand frustrated behind a veal judgmental tolerance. However, the project was shifting my outlook on life and others. My heart was expanding as I began to put myself in the other shoe. So I pushed down my uninformed assessment as I shifted my train of thought to a more resolvable point-of-view. I realized that if I had a question or assumption, or did not know the individual who prompted that said question or assumption, it was my responsibility to not ignore facing them straight on.

So I approached Aaron, and I was fully glad I did.

What was he doing about life? A very reasonable inquiry for certain: A topic that as Aaron and I spoke, it became apparent that his philosophies were deep and reflective; but was he really acting on them?

Per service to his friends? I facilitated discussion with a question, why was he sitting alone at the Hang-Out Zone? A couple answers:

ONE
“I wanted to check in on Jacob” (the kid living at the Hang-Out Zone house). With obvious concern he exposed his motivation for being there, “I just got my G.E.D and came to tell Jacob, if I can do it, so can you.”

TWO (this one is a little heavy)
He had just come from counseling another one of the group members, a kid who lived close by. Not mentioning names, and again with a signature compassion that I was starting to feel flow from Aaron, he summarized, “I talked him out of a suicide attempt.” That in itself would have shut down the average twenty-year-old.

Two reasons that, embarrassed to admit, where the farthest from my reactionary appraisals of who Aaron was, even what he was doing. My initial thought being that he was wasting time just loitering on the street. I was not even close to the truth.

The reality: Aaron had made up for high school follies in flying colors and was attending Pierce College; taking all his G.E’s along with a few music electives. He cared about every course he was enrolled in and was pulling great grades. With a smile on his face he said,  “even Sociology.” On top of that, he had independently applied for grants and financial aid and was very serious about finishing his education with a degree in music.

Coming from a line of musicians, this was not a pipe dream.

“I eat, live, breath music,” Aaron expressed; and supported by and following in his father’s footsteps, it was a well thought-out career decision. Simply, he wanted to do it right.

I had to ask, why do you have the plugs?

Somewhat frustrated by them, “It was a thing I did a long time ago, but now they are holding me back. Too many people judge me because of them, and even my tattoos.” Elaborating, “they were the width of soda cans and very offensive to many employers. I’m working hard to find a good job and need to lose them.” At that point it had been six months since he started on receding them. A process that required going from smaller to smaller ring. Almost there at a touch larger than quarters, he was saving for the last step, a surgical procedure that costs $500.

We talked into the evening, and as the sun fell, I knew Aaron was a good kid. But there was still one very important piece of business we had not discussed–a challenge that I placed directly into his hands to manage.

Yes, Aaron promised to stop all from throwing the cigarette butts and swear a little less.

Readers, if you are returning, so nice to be with you again. If you are new, looking forward to getting to know you.

To all: please comment,like, and forward. Every engagement goes a long way toward connecting us; as together, we grow a movement that betters the way we view and treat one another.