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This is a fun video about a new Mayan discovery in Belize. I’ll be heading to Belize in April and staying near this site; it would be fun to visit! Want to go with me?
By the way, the video is courtesy of PlusTV News, which is operated by Louis Wade. Louis oversees the PathLight disclipship programs in Belize.
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There may be no job more difficult than raising a child. I was certainly unprepared that day when D’Aun looked at me and said, “Guess what!?!” Finding out that we were about to be parents was wonderful. Of course, the overwhelming joy was mixed with a touch of fear!
My adorable daughter - this photo makes me laugh every time I see it
As with most young parents, the news made me pause and reflect on the amazing responsibility of having a child. But to be honest, I didn’t do much to prepare myself for that responsibility. Rachel was a great kid growing up and it felt like all those parenting books were for people who simply didn’t get it. The parenting books certainly didn’t seem like something I would need to read.
About the time Rachel turned twelve, D’Aun started talking to me about what it meant to be an adolescent girl in this world. At first I didn’t get it — okay, let’s be honest, I still don’t understand adolescent girls. But D’Aun was persistent and felt that I should read a specific book to understand as much as I could.
Reviving Ophelia by Mary Pipher woke me to a world that I knew nothing about. This groundbreaking book explores the struggles that girls face as they become women. Before Half the Sky explored the importance of women from a global perspective, Reviving Ophelia explored issues on a more personal level specific to the United States.
I was flabbergasted by what I learned about eating disorders, depression, low self-esteem, even suicide. It was a stark picture of our society failing to serve girls at a critical point in their lives.
Now, I’m cynical enough to realize that a lot of statistics need to be taken with a grain of salt. If it helps their cause, social advocates of all types manipulate such data to manipulate our hearts. But the lack of that bias is what made Pipher’s work so important: the data is well researched, well reasoned, and is presented without all the apocalyptic angst. This is a well-written pragmatic book that can even get through the thick male skull of a knucklehead like me.
The book changed the way I raised Rachel. It became abundantly clear that the one thing girls needed was confidence, and they got that through love and clear boundaries. The success stories in the book showed loving fathers who balanced discipline with patience, and consistently reinforced positive self-esteem. Saying “I love you” is not enough. You have to say “You are the best, and I love you” as you give them clear behavioral guidelines.
Rachel’s future would have been good even if I had never read the book. But it certainly helped me be a better father, and I think that helped her be a better person. Of course, her success is mostly the result of her own hard work and my influence is just part of the puzzle in raising a child. Certainly her mother’s influence was as strong or stronger than my own. As was the positive input from Rachel’s younger brother Jedd, her extended family, and her many good friends. Not to mention her deep faith.
But as I look back at the last 15 years or so, and I realize that my little girl enjoyed high school, did well in college, completed her master’s degree, helped start a program to combat human trafficking, married an exceptional man, did research in India, lived a year in Thailand, opened an art studio … I can’t help but be proud.
I had a little something to do with that. Reviving Ophelia gave me insights I needed to be a good father. And that’s why it’s #23 on the list of books that most influenced my life.
This post is a complete fiction. I made it all up. Don’t believe a word of it. Because, obviously, it can’t possibly be true. My family is more respectable than this.
It was in the early 70′s and my parents had just purchased the Sunol Ranch. My Dad agreed to let my Uncle George board a few race horses on the property. I have no idea how Uncle George ended up owning race horses, but then he was always up to something out of the ordinary.
My cigar chomping Uncle George
The thoroughbreds were beautiful to have around and I grew curious about the horse racing scene. Uncle George said he’d take me to the track and teach me a few things. My Dad, who loved horses, came along as well.
Uncle George proceeded to give me an education about handicapping horses. He was telling me about what to look for in a horse, about the jockeys, about how to bet various systems, and about studying the results to learn how to handicap future races. It was all very pragmatic and reasonable, as if you could handicap a race simply by doing your homework.
About the fifth race Uncle George said, “Okay, this is the race I’ve been waiting for.” He then whispered to me what was going to happen in the race. He explained how one horse was going to jump out to an early lead, the favorite horse was going to be caught in the pack and unable to make a move, and a third horse was likely to get an opening on the backstretch. He said that horse would then make a move and win. The horse was a long-shot (20-1, I think) and it seemed unlikely, but I just nodded my head.
Riding at the Ranch, circa 1970.
As we cheered the winner I asked the obvious question, “How did you know?” He just smiled and shrugged. I had been around my Uncle George enough to know that this was his way of saying, “I’ll tell you later.” Which also meant he didn’t want to admit to anything in front of my Dad.
Later, in a private moment, I asked again. He smiled in a mischievous way and explained that the race was rigged. The jockeys had worked out a deal together and predetermined who would win. Somehow Uncle George had found out (he never did answer my questions about that).
We sat in silence as I contemplated this. I wasn’t sure that I believed him. I’m still not sure. It would be just like Uncle George to make himself look more connected than he really was. But still … he had predicted how the race would unfold and who the winner would be. And it was a 20-1 long-shot horse. My feelings about that were conflicted, to say the least.
Years later I reflected on the lesson from this experience. My Uncle George had explained all of the logical ways to handicap a race: look at the horse, check their records, compare the jockeys, consider the condition of the track, etc. But in the end all of that information wasn’t going to matter. Either there was a conspiracy among jockeys, in which case all the diligent study of the facts wasn’t going to matter, or there was a fluke winner that defied all of the odds.
The junkyard lesson that I learned that day? Well, two lessons really. First, the obvious, is that betting is foolish. Bet on yourself, but not on things you cannot control.
The second lesson is more subtle: look for the untold story. If you follow the rules, and assume that everybody else does, you are going to miss a lot of the details that really matter. No matter how well connected you are, there are conversations going on that you don’t know about. There are emails shared, looks exchanged, ideas considered … there are a lot of things happening outside of your control that will shape events. Never assume that things are going to go as they should.
It has come in handy to remind myself of that.
We’re moving into a new home soon and we are creating an office layout that allows for most of our books. I say “we” loosely, since D’Aun is doing most of the work. And since she is, don’t you think she should create bookshelves that do this?
By the way, if you are an email subscriber to my blog and can’t watch this video in the email, click here to see it.
There are a lot of reasons to enjoy the discovery of a new winery. Sometimes the wine itself makes you feel like you’ve found a hidden gem. Or perhaps you discover the beauty of the winery. At other times you are struck by the people involved and you feel like you’ve made new friends.
Our first bottle of Fisher wine
But few discover a winery that reminds them of their childhood. And even fewer find a winery that reminds them of growing up in a wrecking yard!
Last September I discovered a new winery that was all of the above. It began when D’Aun and I sat down for dinner at SolBar in Calistoga. The sommelier asked what we would like to order. I told him we would be visiting Caymus Vineyards the next day; did he have anything that was similar?
A few moments later he brought us a bottle of 2007 Fisher Vineyards “Coach Insignia” Cabernet Sauvignon. I looked at the label and it somehow seemed familiar. I asked, “Was this the family that built Fisher body parts for General Motors?”
Indeed it was. Fisher Body built the body parts for millions of General Motors cars. Until the 70′s the emblem was widely known because it adorned door sills and seat belts on most of those cars. Even today you can go to ebay.com and find an active market for Fisher memoralbilia.
An aluminum door sill from a Fisher Body.
Seeing that logo on a wine bottle brought back memories of the wrecking yard and the countless cars that I helped take apart. The Fisher door sill emblem was especially important because it was made of aluminum and therefore a valuable recycling prize. I spent more than one hot summer day dismantling Fisher body parts.
But back to the restaurant. As I sipped the wine I had to smile. It was delicious. I was probably the millionth person to joke, “Definitely full bodied.” The sommelier smiled graciously; D’Aun rolled her eyes. But it was true. These are well structured wines, obviously made with great care and pride. I loved the wine.
After dinner I found the Fisher Vineyards website and sent an email to their general account. It was a simple email expressing how much I enjoyed their wines, what fun it was to see the famous Fisher emblem on a wine bottle, and how I remember tearing their cars apart in the wrecking yard.
The next morning I received a reply from Fred Fisher himself. He wrote,
Dear Roy,
You have made my day and I just want to thank you for it. I also want to invite you to come up our mountain some time —- we’ll be delighted to show you some good things including some Fisher Body advertisements from the 1926 – 1930 Saturday Evening Post series.
Best wishes,
Fred
What fun! So I made arrangements to visit and headed over to the Fisher winery in Sonoma.
What a gorgeous property. As you enter you pass through a private gate and along a long driveway through lovingly cared for vines. Approaching the top of a small hill you see a beautiful building surrounded by vineyards. I pulled into the empty parking lot and was met by Fred Fisher’s son, Robert. His warm welcome was both gracious and generous. Eventually Scotti, the marketing director, took me inside the winery and poured several wines to taste (all of them were delicious). Fred Fisher came by and spent a few minutes with us; he later signed a magnum of their finest wine for me.
What stuns me about all of this is the hospitality. I was just a guy who sent an email. They were all busy people preparing for harvest. They took the time out of their schedules to spend a few moments with somebody they had never met. It was very generous of them to invest time into my visit.
After sampling the wines, seeing the facility, walking through their wine cave, and enjoying some of the old Fisher Body marketing memorabilia, it was time for me to head home. I was very impressed with this family and their wines. As I said at the start, sometimes you discover a great wine, sometimes you discover a beautiful winery, sometimes you meet wonderful people, but rarely do you find all three in a winery that reminds you of your childhood.
At the Fisher Vineyard, I found the whole package.
Over a decade ago I got off a plane in Maui and stepped into a different world. Not the world of palm trees, vast beaches, gentle waves and tropical beauty, but a political, historical and cultural world of frustration and remorse. I was walking into the world of the Hawaiian Sovereignty Movement.
Dennis “Bumpy” Kanahele met me at the airport. He was, and still is, a big man who stood with pride; the way only people to whom respect is paramount can stand. He looked me in the eye, extended his giant hand to shake mine, and offered me a ride to a conference room a few miles from the airport. There we met with other men and women involved in the Hawaiian Sovereignty Movement. Once we were all gathered around a table, Bumpy called for prayer. Before I fully comprehended the situation I was holding hands with the people beside me and listening to Bumpy share a prayer of love, hope and faithfulness, concluding with, “In the name of Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior, Amen.” Definitely not what I was expecting from a group of people dedicated to secession from the United States!
My friend Ian, who had set up this meeting, smiled knowingly. He knew I was about to receive an education about Hawaiian history, culture and society that few haoles ever hear. Though much of the meeting was about strategy and brainstorming, I picked up on the passion the group had. And there was something more … a rootedness, a sense of history, and a sense of place that permeated their conversation.
Bumpy became a friend that I treasured (ask me sometime about playing golf with Bumpy, John Ortberg, and Rick Blackmon….geesh). I seldom see Bumpy these days because my work in Hawaii is in the past. But he’s on my short list of people I would want to visit if I return to the islands.
Years later we have a President who was born in Hawaii and a renewed interest on the historical context of the 50th State. There has lately been a host of books about the way the islands became part of the United States. It is not a happy story, amounting to the overthrow of a Queen by the offspring of missionaries who wanted to protect their sugar interests. Combine that with a newly imperialistic United States, flush from its first imperial adventures in the Spanish-American War, and you have a recipe for cultural abuse.
Capturing this story is not easy. The people involved had a wide variety of motivations, personalities, fears and hopes. No matter how much we might want simplistic answers or story lines, few involved were truly villains and few were truly heroic. Julia Flynn Siler captures this in her brilliant book Lost Kingdom: Hawaii’s Last Queen, the Sugar Kings and America’s First Imperial Adventure.
This is a wonderful book. Julia is a great writer (her book The House of Mondavi was my favorite of 2009) and she does great research. You can sense it on every page, as she explains not only the history correctly but also the nuances of Hawaiian culture. The book walks us through the history of Hawaii, with special emphasis on the years after Captain Cook’s arrival in 1778. It speeds through the 100-years after that and then settles into a nice pace, up to the abdication of Queen Liliuokalani in 1895 and the years following.
What makes this book particularly good is how the people come alive through Julia’s writing. You sense the personality of the individuals: their expressions, their emotions and their thinking. A lot of history books are biased and thus paint people into corners, creating a story that seems more like a Hollywood movie with characters representing either good or bad. Julia doesn’t let that happen and instead lets the people be fully human, filled with all of their strengths and weaknesses. The book shines as a result.
Definitely a thumbs up on this book. If you read one book about Hawaiian history … shoot, if you read just one book about history … I highly recommend this one.
Last month I wrote about the sponsorship matching gift opportunity to get a student through a year of school with PathLight. The response was amazing! Below is a video update that went out to the PathLight contact list (which, by the way, you should join if you aren’t already on it).
This short video has great news about the challenge, and thanks to all of you who helped!
Oh, and if you subscribe to this blog and are reading this via email, you probably can’t watch the video. You can click here to see it. Thanks!
My parents, both born in the early 1920′s, struggled through the Great Depression. Their families were poor even before the stock market collapse of 1929. My mother was born in an Oklahoma coal mining community. My father and his siblings were moved by my Grandfather from Oklahoma to California during the Dust Bowl. Both of my parents were regarded as “Okies” when that term was an insulting taunt of the poor.
Thus I was raised in a family that had experienced poverty and understood the prejudice that came with that label. Though I was fortunate enough to always have enough and never went a day without, I was raised to understand my roots and appreciate what I had. And the John Steinbeck novel The Grapes of Wrath was the metaphorical textbook my parents used to teach me. Though they actually disliked the story, they were quick to point out the sense of desperation and injustice was how they experienced their own youth.
The Goble family in the 1930's
I’m not sure when I first read the book, but it was certainly before I was ten years old. It was one or two decades later when a newfangled VCR allowed me to see the brilliant John Ford movie starring Henry Fonda. I remember being stunned how the details in the movie reminded me of my own family: the accents, the clothing, the cars, the dust, the fear, the hard work, and the sense of injustice mingling with a Calvinistic sense of predestination. It was as if the stories my parents told me were suddenly on the big screen.
After watching the movie I read the book a second time, and the images Steinbeck weaved were more alive for me because of such images as Henry Fonda on an old Model-T. I could see my namesake Grandfather, a widower trying to raise a bunch of boys and a couple of girls, as he drove cross-country with them in the car. I sensed the dependency the family had on each other. The genius of the book came alive again.
Perhaps even more than World War II, the Great Depression formed the psyche of my parents, which naturally had a strong influence on my own understanding of the world. How I perceive myself (wildly fortunate), how I perceive the future (preparing for the worst), how I invest my energies (saving/investing as I combat poverty and injustice) are all intertwined with that economic collapse of 80+ years ago.
More than any other book I have read, The Grapes of Wrath brings that to light and gives it a voice. And that’s why it is #24 on the list of books that have most influenced my life.
