Where Are The Waves of My Youth?

Where are the waves of my youth?
The giant walls of green ocean brine?
The ones that called me to step in then tossed me out. 
 A ball in a game of catch between Old Man Sea and the warm sands of the shore.
 Where are the waves of my youth?

           

As I child I would stand at the water’s edge, timing my entry for just the right moment, that one moment to dive into and under the cascading effervescent foam of the rolling wave, stretching into to a weightless world of adventure as it receded back into itself.

The waves of my youth, inviting me to come and play, to come and live carefree under the caressing rays of the summer sun and hungry wails of the herring gull.

Towering undulating walls of salty brine hammering down upon the earth in a cascade of foam. “Enter if you dare!” they’d roar if they could speak. But they did not speak, except through the thunderous agitating crash upon the soaked earth beneath it, then the recoiling hissing in it’s final reach to shore.
 

In I would go, headlong into liquid just before the break. Occasionally I would be too late and get tumbled and tossed about like a shard of sea glass. Ingesting, along the way, what seemed like gallons the salty brine that is the Pacific Ocean. Then I would pop up to the foaming surface like a cherry on top of an ice cold Shirley temple. The air filled with ocean spray and my laughter. My arms and legs would be flailing about as I tried to maintain my head above the smooth undulation of the swelling tide. With each peddle push downward; my feet would stretch and search for terra firma so that I could start a slow motion gait to the next liquid wall of adventure.

Where are the waves of my youth?

I went to the ocean today and stood waste high holding the gentle, frightened hand of my youngest daughter and looked out into The Pacific. Under the golden hue of the late afternoon sky I stood and thought, “I remember the waves being much larger when I was a child…where are the waves of my youth?” With each tickling set I wondered, "...where have the waves gone?"

Deep in contemplation, as my feet sunk into the soaked sand, with each receding tide, I turned and looked down at my daughter. She was in a state less than contemplative as she stretched her neck and head upward to avoid any contact with the water.

It was at that moment that it occurred to me, the waves of my youth are still here! They had not receded in the horizon after all! No! It is I who has grown.

At a mere 36 inches tall, these small waves that I scoff at now are like a swell at Mavericks to my daughter. She stands there with me, not in deep retrospect, but in a giant yearning to return to the safety of sand castles on the damp cool shore, far enough away from the undulating taunt of the old sea.

Where are the waves of my youth?

My youth may have evanesced, but the waves – the waves are still here! Alas, it is I who have grown! And the lesson, so it seems, that what appears today like an unconquerable, relentless tide, will one day, in retrospect, be only waist high. And it is by faith that I step into liquid and join the adventure. It is by faith that I am carried through the churn and come out on the other side - my face emerging smiling and embraced by warmth of the sun.

-- Isaiah 41:13  For I the LORD your God will hold your right hand, saying unto you, Fear not; I will help you.

-- Matthew 6:27 Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?

As I stood on the oceans edge holding my daughters hand, He stands with me holding my little hand and carries me through the waves. Life, like the ocean’s tide, is relentless; but with each tumble and stumble I grow stronger and am ready for the next wave. And until that next wave, I rest weightlessly in the undulating gentle tide.

Where are the waves of my youth? 
Have they faded and become lore?
Oh no! For they are still there.
Only it is I,
It is I who have grown!

Citizen Torresluna

On June 18 I became a Citizen of the United States of America. I and 2,812 other legal residents joined together and in unison recited the Oath of Citizenship. It was an amazing experience that I will remember for the rest of my life. Not as significant as seeing my bride in her wedding gown for the first time or the moment I met each of my children as they entered the world, but it ranks right there in significance and meaning.

I have lived in this country since the age of 3. Long story short, there was a series of paperwork errors and when I turned 18 I had to get Permanent Legal Residence, also known as a green card. 21 years later I finally became a citizen. From start to finish it was a 6 month process, and not very difficult.

On the day of the ceremony my heart filled with emotion. The patriotic tunes of John Phillip Sousa filled the hall and peppered the voices of officers giving direction, men women and children bustling about. A large, no, GINORMOUS Flag hung prominently and proudly at the front of the hall. Those colors never seemed so bright! I looked around and saw a myriad of cultures represented. As I walked the convention halls all I could hear was Neil Diamond's America. Truly from all over the world in that hall we were coming to America, seeking the American dream, each in our own way with our picture of what that looks like.

So many friends were surprised that I was not a citizen for I had lived as though I was the quintessential American icon. I worked as a Cowboy, love country music, drive a big American Made - non TARP - Ford Pick up truck, and love Jesus, baseball and apple pie!  I have created a beautiful life and all on the good graces of the American public. 

Opportunity, freedom to fail and succeed and fail and succeed again. These are the characteristics of the uniquely American society. The great experiment of the World. And now I can call it mine. You see though I am very proud of the Mexican heritage from which I come, it is not my culture, not my country. I grew up here and have therefore adopted the culture of America. If I were to go to live in Mexico now I would not fit in, I have a different world view then my Mexican brothers but that does not make me less Mexican. It's a beautiful country albeit benighted.

The American Trinity, E Pluribis Unum, In God We Trust, and Liberty. This would be the framework of my life. I am so thankful that my parents immigrated to this country and fought to give me an opportunity to create a life in the freest nation on this planet.

In taking the oath I heard a cacophony of accents in unison reciting the Oath of Citizenship, Pledge of Allegiance, and National Anthem. It was the most beautiful sound. Like the first time I heard my children cry as they entered this world. All of us being born in that moment into a new life. I life with deep responsibility to protect the founding principles of this country and to pass on the value of American Citizenship to the next generation.

It was interesting though, some of the comments made to me by friends and acquaintences. Some serious, others meant in jest but foolish. One such foolish comment, "now you will be paying taxes and your fair share!" Well, as a legal resident who has been working since I was ten, I have been paying taxes not just through payroll but in all I buy and consume. Another asked if I felt "whiter". As though American citizenship is uniquely "white" or has anything to do with skin tone. 

Did I feel different afterward? Was there some magical transformation that occurred in the moment the court was adjourned? No. Not really, I was hoping so and in that sense it was rather anticlimactic. The moment was to come several weeks later as I sat in Dodger Stadium and sang the National Anthem. That is my anthem now....MY anthem. MY Country. MINE. A wanderer no longer wandering. A nation-less man now with a nation and identity. In that moment the tune was sweeter, the colors brighter, even the grass of the outfield was greener. I am guessing the first time I step in to a voting booth will be quite moving as well.

I am proud that my family was there to witness this. I don't know that my kids can yet appreciate the significance of that day. They have always been US Citizens! But as they grow older I am certain they will understand the meaning of the privilege to be a part of this country.

As for the crisis on the border. I believe it is largely political theater and manufactured. I do believe the Law must be enforced and folks have to enter the country in the proper fashion. That being said, if I was starving and my kids too, all the while the pot of gold was just a few hundred miles away, I would jump any fence, swim any river, cross any desert for a better life. As a Christian, I try to stay apolitical and be sure to extend grace and mercy. That is our first responsibility. While the government officials sort out the mess, these children that have been sent by their parents need to be cared for, regardless of the motive for their presence here. If they get sent back then I pray they be cared for and find a way to come back the way they are supposed to.

I worked for my citizenship. I have worked since I was old enough to hold a shovel and scoop horse dung. My parents have worked and paid their taxes, the taxes that paid for the schools I attended and security of living in a free nation. I therefore appreciate what I have. I don't know if I would hold the same level of appreciation if it was given to me.

As in anything if you work for it, you appreciate it more. You care for it more. And I will care for this country and do not take my responsibility as a citizen lightly. Do I feel whiter? No...I feel RED-WHITE and BLUER!!

A WORD ON THE SUIT

Because part of the purpose of this blog is to offer commentary on proper men's attire I must make a few comments on the ensemble for the day. 

I could not have gone through this day in anything other than a blue suit. The tie is Donald Trump Collection deep red, paisley embossed silk tie. My Cufflinks are a meaningful gift from my Dad. Ronald Reagan Presidential Cufflinks, with his signature engraved on the back. He, along with John Wayne, Frank Sinatra and the American Cowboy have been life long heroic icons for me.

So I chose items for the day that carried some symbolism and meaning....yes even Donald Trump, because there is really no denying his status as an American Icon. Truthfully though it was the only red tie I had that worked.

It Doesn't Have To Cost You

Putting yourself together for a semi formal or formal event such as a summertime cocktail party does not have to break the bank. Style and class are not only for the deep pocketed. I am not a man of independent means. I am a huge fan of the clearance rack at JC Penney and Macy's. Recently I purchased three suits from Hollywood suits and am quite pleased with the quality. It was one of those 3 Suit deals for $499 and it came with three belts, shirts, ties, and socks. Is it Armani? No. $250 Dress shirts with soft egyptian cotton? No. Salvatore Ferragamo tie? No. But who cares? If the fit is tailored for your body and the style is classy, no one is going to come and inspect the labels on your clothing.

On a recent business trip I arrived at my hotel and began to prepare my suit for the next day's meetings. It was then that I realized I had not packed my cufflinks. I drove the local mall and wandered in to Neiman Marcus. I had never been in one and did not know that this was a very expensive place to shop. After gasping at the $200 simplistic Cuff links I decided it would be much easier to get a new shirt with button cuffs. I then realized it was not much better. $650 shirts!!! So chalantly wandered my way out to the mall and into a Dillards. This was my kind of place. For $100 I walked out with Johnston & Murphy dress shoes, a shirt, and a set of decent cufflinks. No one at the meeting knew none the better.

For a summer cocktail party I recently attended I wore a light colored three piece suit, basic white dress shirt, and the shoes I purchased on my trip to the aforementioned Dillard's. The Bow Tie is a gift and it provided the right amount of color to an otherwise monochromatic ensemble. (I NEVER wear a clip on Bow Tie)

A suit is not a suit if it does not have a pocket square. As a rule I don't match the pocket square with the tie, even though this particular tie came with a matching square. I often choose a square that would compliment the tie; but, I do like choosing a completely contrasting silk from time to time. As long as it is not too ostentatious, you should be fine. There are many styles for placing the pocket square in your coat. For this occasion I felt a simple puff would suffice.

Often, wearing a belt creates a cinched contour that is unflattering and causes the suit to not drape properly, so I opted for braces, also known as suspenders. A nice touch that no one saw but nonetheless provided function and comfort. 

Since this was to be an outdoor party I "capped" it all off with the season appropriate Panama style hat. The traditional Panama has a wide brim, this particular hat has shorter brim. Which is a much more demure accessory. Wearing a hat dispels the assumption of being fat = lazy. Topping it all off with a hat demonstrates you took the time to think through your appearance and you are confident walking in a society in which The Hat is no longer ubiquitous.

All said, once put together, I felt confident and put together. A cocktail in hand and an after dinner cigar on the patio all made for an excellent evening. I enjoyed the many compliments, it's amazing how many people are impressed by a bow tie especially a self tie bow tie. But I did not dress for anyone else but myself. And that is what matters.

 SO I DON'T LOOK LIKE BRAD PITT....

I am not a thin man. Never was, not sure if I ever will be. There seems to be a general consensus though that if you are not like a model, you must dress like a slob. Untucked shirts, large t shirts, shorts down to the mid shin, generally unkempt. Why? Who says proper attire is only for the thin? Why have overweight men taken on an appearance that says, "I give up"?

I love to pay attention to the details of dressing like a classic gentleman. The proper shoe shine, the pocket square, the tie bar, the proper knot of a tie. All of the accoutrement that completes a suit, it's what captures the eye and communicates to others that you are serious and put together.

How serious would the Axis powers have taken Winston Churchill had he showed up looking more like Bruce Vilanch?

In teaching my son how to dress and groom himself I always start off by saying "A proper Gentlemen...knows how comb his hair, tuck his shirt in, always is sure to have fresh breath..." It seems to me that many men of the portly variety have given up on their appearance and it needn't be so. There are plenty of fine clothes made for plus size man. But really one must start on the inside. How seriously do you take yourself? Do you want others to take you seriously at first glance?

You don't have to be a wealthy business man to worry about your appearance. You just have to take a bit o' pride in yourself, enough so that you extend that to your appearance. A proper shave, a haircut, an ironed shirt and creased pant. It all goes a long way.

So I will dedicate this blog from time to time writing about and demonstrating aspects of style for the more corpulent gentlemen. Not just in what to wear but other aspects, such as etiquette, learning new skills, taking time to do the things that add value to living. I welcome comments and suggestions.

Tragic Wake Up Call

A terrible thing happened on the way back to camp....I saw a man die.

The morning of Sunday October 21 is, for most, the start of any other day. But for a few what started as any other day quickly ended in tragedy. 

 

While most were still sleeping or beginning to stir awake, a few hundred professional, amateur, and novice triathletes made their way to Newport Beach for the 2012 sprint triathlon. Weeks of training and preparation, eagle eyed surveillance on carb and protein intake, recovery runs, recovery rides, recovery swims all about to culminate on this day. For some this is quite literally a walk in the park. For others, perhaps their first attempt at the holy trinity of athleticism. A sprint tri is 1/2 mile swim followed by a 5k run and 12 mile bike ride.

I remember the feeling before starting such an event. I have done 5k runs, a half marathon, and several lengths of bike rides, the longest stretching to 105 miles. The adrenaline that pumps before the start is awesome. The sound of hundreds of people jogging, running, cycling is ever exhilarating. The feeling in the air is electric and nothing compares to it. I am certain this was the feeling on the shore of Newport Dunes Lagoon as hundreds gathered for a 1/2 mile swim around the floating TYR buoys.

Across the bay was a slumbering group of fathers and sons, my son and I among them, slowly wakening to the final morning of their memorable campout. Some, like me, got an early jump on breaking down camp and trekking supplies and gear back to our trucks and family vans.

It was on the walk back to camp from the truck that I happened to see one of the lifeguards in the water helping a swimmer. I watched him lift the swimmer up on to his paddleboard then the listless body fell right off and back in to the water. Another dad and I ran to the shore line to offer assistance. I called 911 as the other dad jumped into help the lifeguard. Another lifeguard quickly paddled from across the lagoon, the four of us drug the man's heavy body to shore. Foam and water pouring out of his mouth and nose. First aid supplies quickly arrived with another life guard and they proceeded to suction out the man's air way while simultaneously administering CPR chest compressions.

No pulse. A systole.

Paramedics arrived and continued to work on resuscitation. They intubated him, stuck an IV in his leg, wrapped a compression device around his chest. Among the medical and emergency terms called out the words A SYSTOLE kept ringing. I did not know what that meant but I knew it was not good.  I would later come to find out A Systole means "Flatline." 

Here lied a large man, built much like myself, wet suit cut off, half naked on rain soaked sand...dead. 

As I stood aside, watching the first responders fight the reaper, I prayed. I prayed for their efforts, for his family, for the feelings of doubt falling upon the lifeguards. I thought. I thought about the efforts that had brought this man to this event. I identified with this man. Overweight, undoubtedly trained for months and weeks for this day. This one day that he would cross the finish line collect his medal and take a picture to commemorate his commitment to health and activity.

Of course I know nothing about this man. I have no idea what brought him here. It's all projection. But I do know we both like to eat. And there in lies the tragedy.

No coroner comment on the official cause of death. Drowning to be sure but what caused it? Heart attack? Cramp? Who knows. It's all in my projection now.

We all lifted the man up to the sidewalk and on to the gurney. As they rolled him away, A SYSTOLE.

I knew as I walked away that he was gone. It was and is a haunting thought. A haunting vision. His poor family, his poor kids, his heartbroken friends. Dreams and plans washed away in 50 yards across a lagoon.

Perhaps if his health was better he could have made it. But then I have seen men like that finish marathons. We are called Clydesdales.

Selfishly, I think I was supposed to witness this. This could be me. This could be someone I love. This could be me if I don't change. I have the strength and ability to accomplish great things with my body. I can ride for miles, run miles...albeit slowly. I can eat less, lift more. But I have not. This is a tragic wake up call.

A terrible thing happened on the way back to camp...I saw a man die.

Roger Stewart, 51 from Brea California, may you Rest In Peace.

Impressive Trash

So I was sitting in my truck the other day frustrated at how messy it was. Granted much of the disaster was due to weekend beach trips with the family. Kids = Messy Vehicle Interiors (or entire households for that matter)

I sat in the cab and took a look around before starting the process of cleaning it out. Taking away toys, flip flop (yes just one, lord only knows where the other is), Crocs, sweaters, and socks, I was quite impressed with what remained. Yes, I was impressed with the trash that was in my truck.

How can one be impressed with trash? Well any number of ways really, but no need to dive into the nuances and forays of the scavenger lifestyle or with how Doc Brown can use trash to fuel a time machine. I digress.

What impressed me was the containers that I was throwing out and how they compare to what I used to collect along the miles of driving I do. I used to collect wrappers and sacks from McDonald's, BK, Carl's Jr., or any other fast fat food joint that tickled my fancy. I used to collect empty soda cups and cans (no beer, I t'aint that stoopid) MikyWay and Almond Joy Wrappers. The side pockets of my doors would often house the once savory filled pouches of Doritos, Cheetos, and even the nectar/snack of the gods: Salt And Vinegar Kettle Chips. Oh and I can't forget the occasional indulgence of Twinkies...yes Twinkies. Come, on, you know you like 'em. Admit it, that even though they have a shelf life that only cockroaches can admire, they are quite tasty. Try them chocolate dipped at Rocky Mt. Chocolate Factory. WOW! Again I digress, THIS is how I get with food.

So instead of digging out that grease soaked/stained emptied bag of french fries from under the seat I find myself digging the wrapper of a protein bar. I had an empty container of Almonds and another of Grapes. I found a few empty water bottles too and the "once in a while" can of Carb Free Monster Energy Drink (please no lecture on the health dangers of energy drinks). I even had an empty can of Pepsi One! Imagine, diet soda ingested by yours truly. My my...indeed.

Now I don't want to give the impression that my truck's cab serves as an alternate filming location for Oscar The Grouch vignettes on Sesame Street. It truly is rarely a mess. But on this one occasion after a crazy week, this is what I found.

Impressive trash. This is what goes on in my mind. Others think of cures for disease, I contemplate the intricacies of my gastro-consumption.

This Is A Wonderfully Inspiring Scene