A Parable About Relationships

April 14, 1982 I was 25 and a seminary student in New Orleans. By that time, I had known the pain of a broken heart and the joy of feeling known and loved. This piece is a result of my pondering the subject of reward vs. risk as it applies to relationships.



Relationships: A Parable

Once there was a man who lived in a quaint house in the country. He never ventured out because of his terrible fear of being caught in the rain. Even when it was sunny and clear he opted to remain inside, “A shower can come suddenly and the results would be disastrous,” he reasoned to himself. He was not satisfied with his indoor life either. His small dirty windows could not begin to let in the warm, spring, sunlight. The cheerful songs of birds were hardly noticeable from behind his thick walls of protection. There were flowers to smell and cool, grassy, fields to run, jump, and play in, but these joys were confined to his imagination, “for to be caught in the rain would be devastating,” he thought. His life was mediocre, but safe.



He lived this way for a time, until he could no longer endure his dingy, boring, existence. One day he walked over to the door very slowly. He looked at it for a moment, and then he grabbed the door handle and thrust the door open. At first, the bright sunlight hurt his eyes, but they adjusted quickly and he stepped out into a wonderful world. He was being bombarded with new sensations from every direction. He drew in a fresh measure of clean air and his lungs called for more. He heard children playing and birds singing. He was so caught up with these new sensations that he did not realize he was a fair distance from the protection of his home, but he did not care for by now he was running and jumping in a beautiful grassy, field. When he was out of breath he laid down in the cool grass and looked up at the mammoth, cotton like, fluffy, clouds as they sailed across the deep, blue sky. One of the clouds looked like a sheep and another resembled a castle. The one that looked like the sheep began to take on the shape of a big white rabbit. When it had hopped across the spring sky, the man sat up and noticed a yellow butterfly zigzagging and fluttering about the tall, luscious, grass that waved back and forth as the gentle breeze dictated. Then he thought to himself, “How wonderful is the world.”



By now he felt so calm and relaxed that he fell asleep happier than he had ever been. In the west, storm clouds were forming and he did not notice the happy sky evolve into a dark, scary one. When he awoke, he sensed something different, but he was not sure what was wrong. As the sleep slowly cleared from his eyes, a knife blade of fear raced through his insides and he began to panic. The big, yellow butterfly was no longer fluttering around the grass which was now laid almost flat because of the breeze which was no longer gentle. There were no sounds of children playing or birds singing. With all the strength he could muster, he ran for his house of protection. He was still tired and groggy and this caused him to trip over a tree root sending his sprawling headlong on to the ground. He got up and continued running, but it was too late. By now the rain began to fall like water being poured from a bucket and the big drops stung his face. It was much worse than he had ever imagined it would be. When he finally made it inside his house he just stood there sobbing. He was cold, wet, and devastated. He was sorry he had ever gone outside.



The days and weeks went by and in time the pain passed too, but it was a long slow process. He would reflect and think of the joy he had once experienced – he longed for the happiness of the grassy field.



One day he walked over to the door very slowly. He looked at it for a moment then he grabbed the door handle. . .



How does the story end? The ending is written by you. Will you open the door or will you stay inside?



Until the next time

John Strain

It Just Pisses Me Off

The difference between genius and stupidity is that genius has its limits -Anonymous





I am as easy going as they come. I am a social worker and teach people how to deal with their anger. Anger comes more from how we think about things than the things themselves. I know all of this, but some things just piss me off.



I hate to go through a drive through, get home, then find out they shorted me an order of fries or worse a hamburger. I have short patience when I am looking for something. If I happen to stub my toe or bump my head in the process, I really get chapped. Chances are the neighbors will be stopping their lawnmowers to wonder what all the screaming is about. I don't like being late, waiting in line, sitting in doctor's offices, going to funerals, having root canals, or getting prostate exams. I could name things all night.



Some things are universal. We hate taxes, the government, and don't abide stupid people. A stupid person is someone you don't know that well or someone not in your immediate vicinity. They are the "they" and the "them" we always refer to. "They" say so and so. . .



Here are a few things that piss me off. See if you can relate.



EXHIBIT ONE: Toothpaste cap off, toothpaste all over the tube, tube squeezed from the middle.







It seems like I am always cleaning dried toothpaste off of the cap. I don't want to brush my teeth with stale, dried toothpaste. I also hate squeezing from the bottom only to have it fill in the middle where the last guy incorrectly squeezed. Divorces and child abuse have resulted from this sort of thing. The "pump" held promise at one time, but just never caught on. I must admit, the plastic tubes don't get kinked like the old metal one used to. Once a metal tube was kinked, that toothpaste was lost forever.



EXHIBIT TWO: Toilet paper roll not replaced and /or oriented incorrectly.







This scene has caused me to mutter, curse, and yell. I have gone on campaigns to change the behavior, threatened bodily harm, financial ruin, and finally resigned myself to the role of designated toilet paper changer. This is actually my son's bathroom and this is a common sight.









Even if a miracle happens and John changes the toilet paper roll, he often orients it incorrectly. This illustrates an incorrectly oriented roll of toilet paper. The paper is coming out underneath. One might as well put fake nails on a chalk board or drag a metal chair across a marble floor. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHHH. Oh, I hate that.









This is a correctly oriented toilet paper roll. Notice the paper comes over the top, something to which I am accustomed.









At times, family members have resorted to passive aggressive displays of over the top. I wonder where John got his smart assness from?



EXHIBIT THREE: The tupperware drawer.



I should invent something to organize a tupperware drawer. You know the problems don't you? The drawer never opens easily. I have to stick my hand in there to push down lids and containers to open the drawer. If I get in a hurry and just force it open, I usually manage to push some lids behind the drawer. Now the drawer does not close. DAMNIT. I have to remove the drawer and recover the offending lid or container. Even if I get the drawer open, I have a better chance of winning the lottery than finding a lid for the container I chose. How can there be so many lids and none of them work? I am starting to have sock drawer flashbacks. The final insult is closing the drawer. It usually closes as easily as it opened. Most of the time, it sticks out an inch or two.



EXHIBIT FOUR: The junk drawer.







Continuing the drawer theme, I must mention our junk drawer. First notice there are three flashlights, none of which work. This always comes in handy when we have a hurricane. At least there are plenty of candles in there. Now where are the matches? Also notice that there are two pair of scissors. No big deal, but two pair of scissors here means the pair that should be in my computer desk ISN'T THERE. I see Hobo's flea medicine is on top in plain sight. The trouble is, when I NEED to find it, it won't be there. I can only find things like that when I don't need them.



EXHIBIT FIVE: Deceptive packaging.



This last one may be petty, but I have my reasons. This may look like a harmless bowl of potpourri, but to a blind guy like myself, it is easily viewed as a bowl of chips. Have you ever bitten into tree bark expecting the taste of a potato chip? Well, it isn't very fun. The ADA needs to expand their rules to protect me from this in the future.



I have a lot of problems, huh? What about you, do you have any pet peeves?



Until the next time

John Strain

Blind Date

"Whenever I went on a date it was always a blind date."



A woman can crush a man with mere words. The tone of her voice can separate flesh from bone and rend one's heart. Certain looks can be lethal, but the greatest pain is caused by her indifference. I wonder if women know this?



As I grew, I settled into a way of life that seemed normal to me. Looking back now I am sure of it. I had my friends, my interests, and I had my problems and challenges. Girls presented a challenge of will and overcoming self-consciousness. It was not until my junior year in high school I was fitted for contact lenses. The contacts gave me a major confidence boost because I did not stand out like a sore thumb any more. My eyes still wiggled, but that could be almost unnoticed.



In the days of BC, before contacts, my thick glasses were like an impenetrable barrier between me and girls. I saw them just fine. I admired them anonymously. I remember Stephanie in 7th grade. She had long brown hair and I was in love. I sat right behind her and just stared at her beautiful hair. I even bought her a Valentine card, but signed it "Secret Admirer." She was out of my league, I thought. I was afraid of rejection and the unknown.



I was at the bottom of the food chain as far as most girls were concerned. Anyone who would "go with" me would be set up for ridicule. I went through junior high and most of high school with out much luck with the ladies.



I can remember the school dances in junior high. It would take the entire party to work up enough nerve to ask a girl to dance. I did dance with Stephanie once. After our dance I asked her if she wanted a coke. She said no thank you and that was it. Why didn't I ask her for her sign? I know, I could have said, "if I told you that you had a great body would you hold it against me?" I just didn't know those sure fire lines in those days.



I got a little older and more brave. When I was 15, I was working at the Red Lobster. I liked Mary Ann the cashier. I was a bus boy at first, then moved up to dishwasher, then to cook. I was moving up the food chain literally. Mary Ann laughed at my jokes and I thought she was pretty. I confided in one of my friends and of course he blabbed it all over the restaurant. Now that the cat was out of the bag, waitresses were encouraging me to ask her out. Being a blind guy, I did not drive so I would have to ask her to drive. Mary Ann was 16, an older woman.



One night at work, business was slow because it was snowing outside. Terri, one of the waitresses, kept badgering me to ask Mary Ann out. She said Mary Ann would go out with me if I asked her. I was as nervous as a guy with Parkinson's disease defusing a bomb. I rehearsed my lines and they kept coming out sounding stupid. My heart was pounding and I finally decided that even if she told me to drop dead it would ease the level of anxiety I was experiencing at the moment. With my courage at an all time high, I walked around to the front cashier stand. Mary Ann was doing her paperwork. There were chits and rolls of cash register receipts laying all over the place. I have no idea what I said, but I finally popped the question and she accepted my invitation.



We dated for about two months. She was the first girl I kissed. We steamed up the windows in her Ford Maverick several times. She is also the first girl to break my heart. From ecstasy to pining away in two short months was quite an education. I experienced pleasure and pain, expanding then being crushed.



Mary Ann did wonders for my confidence. I knew I had possibilities where women were concerned. I had a few more dates in high school, but Mary Ann was the highlight.



In college and later in seminary, I had no problem asking a girl out and asking her if she would mind driving. I was never turned down that I can remember. My nervousness and fears of junior high and high school were my own self-imposed limits. In the end, so what if someone declines an invitation - their loss.



I almost always used the "blind date" line when I went out. Laughter would set people at ease better than anything

---

I asked for Strength.......and God gave me Difficulties to make me strong.



I asked for Wisdom.........and God gave me Problems to solve.



I asked for Prosperity.....and God gave me Brain and Brawn to work.



I asked for Courage........and God gave me Danger to overcome.



I asked for Love....... ..and God gave me Troubled people to help.



I asked for Favors.........and God gave me Opportunities.



I received nothing I wanted.........I received everything I needed.

From The Struggle of a Butterfly, Author Unknown



Until the next time

John Strain

I'm Different

When you laugh, be sure to laugh at what people do and not at what people are.

-Author Unknown



Laugh at yourself first, before anyone else can.

-Elsa Maxwell, September 28, 1958





Events and circumstances in life shape us. Our values, interests, and personalities are born of fate -things we have no control over. Another factor in my case was having two parents who nurtured me with love and a good measure of common sense.



One such "life shaping event" was my attendance at the Kansas State School for the Blind from K-5. My mother, over at Essentially Esther, chronicled my first day of kindergarten at that school. Reading her post stirred my thoughts and memories. Now that I have had a few days to mull them over, I will post them here.

---

I am the youngest of three children. I was always last in the "rites of passage" line. When it came time for me to go to school, I was elated. I was finally getting to be a big boy. I was only 5 years old, so my worldly experience was limited. My mother kept me on a short leash. Going to the "blind school" as we called it was no big deal. To me school was school, but as I grew, I became well aware of the differences - others were all to eager to point them out.



The Kansas State School for the Blind housed students from all over the state of Kansas. I was lucky because I was a day student. There were only a few day students, so even at the blind school, I was not "normal." The students at the blind school were either partially sighted or totally blind. Some had other problems including deafness, mental retardation, and assorted physical handicaps. There is a saying, "The man with one eye is king in the land of the blind." That described me. I was one of the less handicapped. The beauty of this was I learned to be thankful and appreciative for having some sight and not having problems like the ones I witnessed on a daily basis. The teachers counted on me and other students with partial sight to be leaders and helpers with the blind children or kids in wheelchairs.



I led a dual life. I had my life at the blind school and my life 15 miles away in the suburbs with my family and neighborhood friends. At the blind school I was fortunate and a leader, at home I was the kid with the coke bottle glasses, the kid who couldn't see. I had my circle of friends who were used to me, but I was always coming into contact with people who stared at me, laughed at me, or teased me. Fortunately for me, my parents helped me with the teasing. They taught me that we are all different and all have problems. My problem was just more visible. Those who made fun of me were narrow minded. They taught me how to respond to the teasing and I developed a sense of humor that could disarm the teaser and usually turn the crowd against them. It hurt sometimes and I hated that I could not see as well as other kids, but I had to accept it.



I know going to the blind school was the right decision. I received the individual attention I needed to learn to read, write, and do arithmetic. Still, I was embarrassed to tell people I went to the blind school. I did not want to be different, I just wanted to be a normal kid.



The worst of it would be noticing a stranger staring at me or doing a double take. Sometimes I would hear them, "Gaahhh, look at him, look at those glasses." Then they would laugh. Sometimes they would do things playing to my lack of sight to belittle me or for their amusement. "How many fingers am I holding up?" Other times, they would get my glasses somehow, put them on, then act goofy drawing laughter from the bystanders. Not only were my glasses thick, but my eyes wiggled. This condition was a result of early nerve damage. The thick glasses accentuated the condition by magnifying my eyes and the eye movement. Kids can be mean. We all get teased, this is how I was teased.





My thick glasses



I stayed at the blind school through grade 5. Finally, I was granted permission to attend public school. I was well prepared by my parents for the hurdles I would have to overcome. I would not have the individual attention or people looking out for me like I did at the blind school. I would be responsible to figure things out myself. I would have to put up with even more teasing. Long story short, it all worked out.



I have had to learn how to adapt. Even when I sit in the front row, I cannot read the board. Therefore, I listen harder and write things down. I borrow notes from other students or the teachers. Some tests were written on the board so I had to leave my seat and get close enough to read it. Over time, I would talk to the teacher and let them know what I needed and they were usually quite accommodating. I really did not require that much special attention.



One time in the sixth grade we had a substitute teacher and he administered a test. He called me and another student to his desk after grading the papers. He suspected one of us had cheated. It was a pretty easy case to solve, because I cannot see well enough to cheat. I began to realize that partial sight has its advantages.



I resisted the large print books they tried to get me to use. I am sure someone went to a lot of trouble obtaining them and I repaid them by not using them. Well, I did use them at home though. My aspiration was not to be different, not to stick out, just to be a normal kid.



The bottom line is I like who I am now and being legally blind is part of the package. It does limit me in some ways and I wish I could see better, but people in hell want ice water. I was blessed with parents who taught me to "go for it" instead of becoming a victim.



I found an article about teasing and how parents can help their children deal with it. My folks must have read it or maybe they wrote it. So that's how my life was shaped by attending the Kansas School for the Blind.



Later in life I wrote a piece that covers this subject matter.

I Can See Wheelchairs

From birth his eyes were dim. His mother cried for she could not change it. He grew as others did, yet missing the detail of a far off airplane or mountain and missing the pop fly to center field. Because he was different the children laughed. The adults were glad their children's eyes were bright. He was hurt and jealous, but as he grew, the teachers showed him that life was more than light eyes. For some, whose eyes were light, had minds drenched in darkness.



As he grew, he kept missing pop flies in center field. Those who saw still laughed. Many others were thankful that they never missed a pop fly. They couldn't imagine a life so empty. When they asked him how he could stand such an existence, he replied, "I can see wheelchairs."

-April 30, 1984

Easing the Teasing: How Parents can Help Their Children



Until the next time

John Strain

Clydesdales

I recently came across a running term I had not seen before. A "clydesdale" is runner weighing 200 lbs. or more. A female runner 145 lbs. or more is referred to as an "Athena." The reason this distinction is made is because it requires more effort to propel a large body than it does a small body. There is a reason marathons are won by guys around 150 lbs. and there is a reason no runner of 190 lbs. has ever run a 2:15 marathon. The reason is body weight and the limits of human potential.



Look at this comparison:

To run one mile in ten minutes:



a 120-pound athlete burns ~78 Calories

a 160-pound athlete burns ~105 Calories

a 200-pound athlete burns ~131 Calories

a 240-pound athlete burns ~157 Calories



So, the 240-pound athlete that has "ONLY" just passed the halfway point when the 120-pound athlete crosses the finish line has actually worked harder in that athletic achievement!

This makes a lot of sense to me. When I ran the Napa Valley Marathon in March, it was my worst performance and it was the most I had ever weighed to compete in a marathon. I told my running coach my goal was 185. He told me 185 is his out of shape pudgy weight. We are the same height and build, so I guess I will have to rethink my goal. I may go down to 170 lbs. At any rate, I can certainly correlate improved performance with weight loss. This morning I weighed in at 188.6.



I have kept eating the cottage cheese and peaches for breakfast and lunch. I am eating good, nutritious foods, but have cut down on portions. The next thing is to throw in weight lifting and other forms of cross training.



I am going to crush this goal. Is that the theme from Rocky I hear in the background?



Until the next time

John Strain