Change for a Time — the half century club!

If you are a Gen X’er, then you are a product of the “Smokin’ in the Boy’s Room” era rubbing shoulders with the Vaping in the Transgendered Restroom generation (Rick Taylor, comedian).” It’s funny and it’s incredibly true.

Our generation moved from Sesame Street to Hill Street Blues; from Bruce Jenner-decathalete on a Wheaties box to Kaitlyn Jenner in an evening gown; from the end of the Sexual Revolution to Sex in the City (I still wouldn’t know about Jimmy Choo and Manolo Blahnik save for Sara Jessica Parker and Oprah’s Favorite Things list). We went from Terry Bradshaw to Carrie Bradshaw; from drinking OJ for breakfast to knowing O.J. as a convicted murderer….make that a felon. For that matter we’ve gone from drinking straws to vilifying them.

We’ve grown up and away from Count Cocula each Fall to looking forward to everything Starbucks pumpkin latte. And although Boo Berry and Frankenberry also made their annual appearances I, for one, stand with the Count …that dude endures the generations!

And finally, we 50 somethings remember when Bam Bam was simply the Flintstone’s cartoon neighbor and not a reference to cocaine a la Talladega Nights…”help me Tom Cruise….help me Oprah Winfrey!”

In a little over two weeks, God willing, Thaedra and I will be flying home from Dublin with my two best buddies, Tim and Kevin and their wives. We will have celebrated my 50th birthday together both on the continent, around the U.K. and in Ireland along with some of my other favorite and cherished friends, Noel, Eileen, Nancy & Gayle (I’m still hoping) joining us along the way. It’s really an amazing thing to consider that until in 1927 when Charles Lindbergh completed the first successful transatlantic flight this type of travel was not feasible. Lindbergh flew only 41 years before we 50 year olds were born! Jumping on and off airliners is now typical travel protocol.

(My heart & soul…Alex, Pierce, and the unmistakable, lovely lady who loves me despite myself, Thaedra. You three are the biggest blessings of my life.)

(Tim and Kevin…these two guys are the older….much, much older brothers I never had. I cannot verbalize the blessing, dimension and richness of these two men and these friendships bring to life…simply priceless!)

It remains true and becomes increasing reality that humanity’s progress moves faster now than at any other time in history. The best description of this truth I read recently in the first few chapters of Dan Brown’s book, Origin. He includes two intriguing paragraphs.

“It took early humans over a million years to progress from discovering fire to inventing the wheel. Then it took only a few thousand to get to the printing press. Then it took only a couple hundred years to build a telescope. In the centuries that followed, in ever-shortening spans, we bounded from the steam engine, to gas-powered automobiles, to the Space Shuttle! And then, it took only two decades for us to start modifying our own DNA.”

“We measure scientific progress in months…advancing at a mind boggling pace. It will not be long before today’s supercomputer looks like an abacus; today’s most advanced surgical methods will seem barbaric; and today’s energy sources will seem as quaint to us as using a candle to light a room. The Greeks had to look back centuries to study ancient culture, but we need to look back only a single generation to find those who lived without the technologies we take for granted today. The time line for human development is compressing; the space separating ancient and modern is shrinking to nothing at all”

This book made me consider the some of the advances in the last fifty years. Think about what stands out to you as marked advances during our place in time.

The “What had happened was…”

In the very early 70’s I vividly recall my maternal great grandmother’s farmhouse on Hwy. 216 in Cherryville, NC. She had wood burning stoves not only to heat her house, but also as a source for cooking. At the same time microwave technology was being introduced to the consumer marketplace. The Sears Kenmore microwave daddy brought home was as big as a TV set. My wife says she remembers a door to door microwave salesman coming to her home….I have to laugh at the visual this conjures up…some poor guy toting a microwave through the neighborhood. As kids we could see technology and times changing before our eyes and didn’t even know.

(This is the house when I drove by it 2 weeks ago. It’s remodeled and looking good even though great granddaddy built it well over 100 years ago. My maternal grandparents married in the front parlor here on December 22, 1934.)

Speaking of time, how many of my Charlotte friends remember dialing: 375-6711? If you’re from around here, then you remember Joe King’s “Home Federal Saving & Loan time is: ____o’clock; the temperature is ___ degrees.” By chance did you dial this number on a rotary phone?

Remember when food was simply food? I was always jealous of the kids who’s moms brought cupcakes to school for their birthdays. What, pre tel, did you have to do to make this happen? Does this still happen? Between the gluten free and the vegan considerations I’m not sure it’s any longer permitted, let alone politically correct, to serve cupcakes to school kids. We even have gluten free communion (there’s a Jesus, disciples and an upper room joke in there somewhere, but I’ll leave it to your imagination).

We are from the generation when health insurance was sold for the family and not for the dog. For that matter, remember when the dog’s dental care was not on par with yours? Maybe they had all of that when I was a kid and my parents were just cheap.

On the back seats of bus 337 riding to Bruns Avenue Elementary School (4th grade for the sake of full disclosure) we listened to homemade compilation cassettes. Our music included Car Wash by Rose Royce, Le Freak by Chic, Big Shot by Billy Joel…and on and on. Daddy’s black plastic battery operated (6 D-cell batteries) cassette machine made those monotone recordings from radio jams sound awesome, just phenomenal! Hey, it’s what we had.

Techy people say an iPhone X will hold more than 30,000 songs. I’ll get back to you on that one. It is ironic to think about music media evolution. My wife’s late God parents left Thaedra and her brother, Greg, an operating Victrola in their home. We listened to it…skreetchy, scratchy swing band and gospel melodies. I bet you $10 I could plunder through my dad’s junk and find an old Buck Owens or Porter Wagner & Dolly Parton 8-Track tape. For anyone who doesn’t know what an 8-track is; Google it, they definitely played an important role in media evolution. For anyone who doesn’t know who Buck Owens and Porter Wagner are take my word for it, move on.

Remember when Peanuts were either a great cartoon or a healthy snack and not some lethal keep it off the plane killer? Those pathetic little pretzel packs American Airlines tries to pass off don’t measure up. If you’re lucky and get a good flight, then you might get a pack of those Biscoff cookie crackers. I’ll knock you down for those…consider yourself warned.

Like many kids I grew up on the tail end of my daddy’s belt. It’s Biblical…loosely based on Proverbs 13:24. Spare the rod and spoil the child. Dancing around that swinging belt I would have sworn it was child abuse. It was, in fact, the kind of parenting that yielded disciplined and accountable children. Somebody should have told my grandmother, however, making a kid pick his Hickory stick off the shrub before a good butt “whoppin’” was not Biblical. Incidentally, Apple Pages did not recognize whoopin’ as a word. Clearly, the programmers are not Southern.

I’m rather certain my boys have never cracked this thing called an encyclopedia. We’ve gone from World Book to Wikipedia, from Britannica to Bing. If we couldn’t find it in the latest printed edition of the encyclopedia, then we could go to the library and look up subject matter in this archaic card catalog. Thanks to Mr. Dewey and his decimal system it worked rather well.

My youngest son is preparing for his Eagle Scout board of review. It’s an awesome skill: scouting teaches youth to orient a map. I, however, rely on Google maps. If it’s a really adventurous day, then it’s Waze with the Elvis voice prompts…”thank you very much!”

Actually, a lot of what is now bygone reality helped the fifty something generation turn out well. I’m talking about things like beginning elementary school days with the Pledge of Allegiance; getting a filthy dirty when we played outside: mud, scabbed up knees, sweat, and gum ball fights. Robyn Withrow, I’ll never forgive you for making the whole street gang up on me. Lest we forget that our generation may be one of the last to learn grammar…we are from the day when teachers actually taught English. Want to stump a teenager? Ask him or her to conjugate: “to drink” or to differentiate and conjugate “to lay and to lie.” This list could go for days.

People complain about getting older. Some of the most awesome people I know are in their 50s. And like they, I plan to have the time of my life. Sometimes you hear 50 is new 30. I hope not! 30 year olds can keep diaper changes and career climbing; newly arrived 50 year olds keep the AARP cards. If Alex Tribec tries to sell me $15k of guaranteed life insurance for only $39.00 a month, then I swear I’m going to boycott Jeopardy!

The point: a lot changes our life’s time-space and comfort perception. Except for human nature and omnipotent God, things never stay the same. Life is short and getting shorter every day. My theory: take the trip, eat the cupcake (gluten allergies beware, I know), laugh loud, love passionately, forgive, and don’t expect other people to invest in you as you might in them (you get your feelings hurt…really badly!). People who say they have no regrets have neither learned anything nor ventured very far from a comfort zone. Old age will happen as soon as you invite it, either by inaction or attitude, to sit beside you. Work hard, play harder, pray harder . Evidently, living this way scares the crap out of people. I’d rather live full throttle and soak up the adventures ahead than to sit safely inside the confines of a stereotyped convention. We do, after all, only live once.

May our choices reflect our hopes and not our fears. Nelson Mandela

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road – An Alzheimer’s Story

A lot of people know Elton John’s 70’s hit “Goodbye Yellow. Brick Road.” And while I don’t necessarily associate this song with my mama, it definitely reminds me of her favorite movie: The Wizard of Oz.

Although this is one woman’s story, this blog is about facing life with a parent suffering Alzheimer’s disease. One of her caregivers very recently suggested that if we want to get any glimpse of our mother, then we’d better do it now. Pam, the sweet soul, who has brought so much comfort to our family, has worked with patients like mom for so long that she knows our time with mother—at least cognitively—is almost over.

She never really put her story into words. And while this may seem to have a melancholy undertone, it chronicles her story and the lesson she, unbeknownst to her, taught us. In your honor and for all the Alzheimer’s victims, mamma, hear your voice…

Mother would tell you to your face she felt like she never had a voice. My little sister, Robyn, and I could not begin to tell you how many times she referred to herself as a second class citizen. We always thought this was ridiculous, maybe she truly felt this way. Maybe it’s why the older she got, the angrier she became.

Born on New Year’s Day 1943 in the Rowan County, NC hospital, she was the 2nd and only surviving child born to my grandparents, Bryte Bess & Miles Alexander Carpenter. My grandparents were the first two in each of their respective families to leave country life and agricultural farm communities and earn advanced degrees. This singular fact, for better or for worse, set for mom’s life a different course. My grandmother was an R.N.; my granddaddy graduated State College (we now know it as NC State) in 1932. He made his career as an executive managing mills for Erwin Mills and Burlington Industries. This provided for mom, unbeknownst to her…and she never admitted it, a privileged childhood.

Sarah Bryte grew up in the tiny southern Davie County mill town of Cooleemee. Truly, it was and remains the proverbial “wide place in the road.” There were no stoplights. They had the first residential phone in town; their phone number was “9.”

Mama grew up Baptist and enjoyed abundant and full high school friendships that lasted most of her life. Presented with debutantes from the Lexington Charity League, she was stunning in her white Chantilly and crinoline gown. Upon graduation she headed to the hills to earn her degree at Appalachian State Teacher’s College. Mama’s college love was a Eddie. Things did not work out for them; I’m rather certain she never got over him. Eddie entered her life again in approximately 2010. I do not recall when she was ever as giddy and excited to rekindle a friendship. It turned out that newly widowed Eddie was looking for a housewife and caregiver for his old age. When this did not work out for them again…fifty years later is when the changes in mom began to surface.

(Mom & Eddie – May, 1964 in Boone)

(Appalachian State Teacher’s Collage Senior Class Photo)

Before graduation, she arrived in the “big city,” Charlotte, to pursue student teaching. This led to a job with Charlotte-Mecklenburg Schools. It was during this time she met my dad on a blind date. There must be something about blind dates in my family; I met my bride the same way.

On June 25, 1967 mom and dad married in a highly traditional wedding in Erwin, NC. She immediately joined him at our family property (where my office remains today) continuing to build the mobile home sales, park development and property management business my paternal granddaddy began helping dad to build.

Mom’s days were characterized by collecting rent, cleaning rental homes and squeezing every penny so that they could get to the top. They had a free place to live and paid themselves $ 50 a week….a week. The first week of October, 1968 my parents brought me home to our single wide mobile home on Route 1 John Price Road. Their hard work paid off quickly. Robyn was born in May, 1971 and came home to our first house in Huntingtown Farms. Many, many people prospered over the last 5 1/2 decades because of the foundations my parents laid.

(Bringing me home from the hospital. My office is still on this same site today; different building).

(Robyn coming home from Charlotte Memorial Hospital)

Dad worked A LOT. The recession of the early 70’s ushered in problems for mom and dad. They had very different philosophies concerning financial strategy, family life and other issues. Mother realized her life, like most of us eventually realize, would not be the charmed life she’d envisioned as a young girl. Things were about the change.

When they separated Mom went back to work teaching as a Title 1 Reading teacher, then math, and after several years went back into the classrooms of elementary schools J.H. Gunn, Tuckaseegee, McAlpine, and Huntingtown Farms. Although she was the consummate professional and an excellent teacher, she truly disliked the bureaucracy involved in the education system. Our local school system recognized her as a Charlotte-Mecklenburg Teacher of the Year.

(On the steps of the James K. Polk house)

Mom dated Buzz for twelve years. He worked hard to help maintain her home in superior condition. They had a lot of fun with a group called the Charlotte Sociables. Other than one nice cruise and and one trip each to New York and Las Vegas, Buzz took her on the only major trip she ever took. In 1984 they went to Singapore and Malaysia for two weeks. I still have the jade cuff links she brought me. Although he asked, mom refused to marry Buzz. Eventually, he moved on to pursue his life. After approximately 1990 she did not see anyone seriously again.

Mickey first, then Sophie brought “puppy love” to her life. Thank goodness for canine comradery. Honestly, mother did not either particularly do much to seek friendships or nurture existing ones. She preferred to keep to herself, somewhat, and depended tremendously on my sister and my family for social connections and activities.

Alex and Pierce, her only grandchildren, were the light of her early retired life. Mama wanted grandchildren and she loved these boys! Thaedra and I were extremely blessed to have “Mimi” as a default babysitter. She would be offended when we would ask someone else to keep the boys. It was when the boys were quite young mom built her “dream house” just a mile and a half from my house off of Providence Road. The boys loved to stay there. On the vacant lot next door they took leftover construction materials and built multiple forts. They called it “the village.” Picturing those moments marked in time as we watched through mom’s kitchen window warms my heart. Their unbounded adventure and energy was contagious; she knew great joy in those years. But, little boys grow up and going to grandma’s house doesn’t alway hold it’s appeal. Seeing them turn into young teenagers seeking their interests, while making her happy, saddened her personally because it made her feel alone.

(One of thousands of pics of Mimi & her boys from over the years; “The Village” was torn down by this point, but it was just through the window behind them.)

Mom enjoyed several trips with the boys, Thaedra, Robyn and me: New York for the Macy’s parade; Hilton Head; Atlanta, the NC Outerbanks, and a zippity do da week in Florida at Disney were among her favorites.

Sometime around 2010, Eddie- the college boyfriend, contacted mom shortly after his wife passed away. The hope of attention and potential promise for rekindled love ignited an excitement in mama I rarely, if ever, witnessed. However, as I mentioned, it did not work out. She simply did not want to talk about it; I know her heart had been broken. As an adult son this is a tough, tough thing to watch when there is nothing you can do. It made me sad.

One additional issue she faced was severe back and neck pain. Over several years seeking several specialists, pain clinics and an unsuccessful trial procedure from a visiting Mayo Clinic surgeon did not fully address the problem. I mention this as a lesson to anyone with aging parents. Mom…. OPIODS…. Lots of them…the crisis is real! We believe as many as five STRONG pills a day and she was still getting behind the wheel of her car to drive…we did not know for quite some time. Addiction occurs among the most unlikely people.

Shortly thereafter, 2013 or so, our family began to notice a marked and drastic difference in mom. Her neighbor’s even reached out to me repeatedly noting bizarre and unusual behavior. It was during a visit to a neurologist mom was diagnosed with a form of early onset dementia. It later became full blown Alzheimer’s….the most cruel and life robbing disease (I saw it with my dad’s mother as well).

The details of these last few years are not pretty.

Mama made a few pivotal choices. One was to almost always see her glass as half empty when it just as easily could have been seen as half full. The second was not to seek help when the discomfort from her ailments led her to pain suppressants. We asked the neurologist why a woman who has had no history of dementia, no history of Alzheimer’s whatsoever in her family become afflicted with this so severely at age 72? He answered that it could be circumstances, attitude, medical choices along the way. I have absolutely no doubt this is the case.

The truth is that we’ll never know the answer.

I do know the most valuable lesson she taught Robyn and me is to look at our glasses as half full…to always seek the positive. Because mom rarely felt positive thoughts and we almost always saw where this outlook led her, her example taught us as an alternative to pursue joy, to love friends, to live fully and as they say: to look for the sunny side of life.

Like Dorothy in the Wizard, mom’s life took her a long way from home, yet she was never geographically very far from her Cooleemee beginnings. She always yearned for the comfort of her small town past. She always knew there is no place like home.

Mama, thank you for taking care of us. Thank you for loving us the way you knew how. I don’t know where Alzheimer’s takes a person. To see her today is a difficult encounter. Like a typical Alzheimer’s patient she will sit and stare blankly. I wonder if the mind plays old memories over and over for these people? I hope so and I hope happy memories bring them peace and comfort even though they cannot express it in an outwardly lucid manner.

Mama, my prayer for you, as it has been for years, is that you have found home and peace like your favorite movie gal, somewhere over the rainbow.

Take Action

This coming October 13th is the Charlotte Walk to End Alzheimer’s. My dear friend, Eileen, works diligently to make this walk one of the nation’s top 30. If you or anyone you know suffers or has suffered from Alzheimer’s disease, please click on the link below to go to Eileen’s “Everyday is a New Day” team page to help us raise research funds and to raise awareness.

http://act.alz.org/site/TR/Walk2018/NC-WesternCarolina?px=2887070&pg=personal&fr_id=11364

Thank you for your consideration.