When I was three years old I was terrified by a recurring nightmare.  Night after night “The Big Bad Wolf,” came through my bedroom walls to chase me.  When I tried to get away, he ran me down.

Each night I woke up screaming, just as my dad came from his bedroom to calm me.  Always, he offered the same advice, “Alan, you don’t have to be afraid of the Big Bad Wolf.  Stop running away.  The next time he chases you just turn around, look him in the eye, and say, ‘Mr. Wolf, you don’t scare me one bit.  Go away.’”

Like much advice in life, this was easier said than done.

My nightmares continued for months.  Finally, I did exactly as my dad suggested.  In my dream I stopped running.  I turned around and said to the Big Bad Wolf, “Mr. Wolf, you don’t scare me one bit.  Go away.”

The wolf stared at me, looked surprised, then turned tail and disappeared forever.

I had the opportunity to apply this lesson when, as an adult, I was accosted in a courthouse corridor by the well-known (and particularly nasty) celebrity attorney Marvin Mitchelson.  He had just lost a hearing against me inside the courtroom.

“We’ll get you for …”

You name it, he threatened it, loudly and publically.  Following my dad’s advice, I stepped toward him until our noses almost touched.  “Marvin,” I said, “you lost in court and you don’t scare me one bit.”  I stood there until he backed away.

Toward the end of his career, attorney Mitchelson was suspended from the practice of law by the California bar, and spent two years serving time in Lompoc prison.

But you can only face a monster when you know it exists. A few days ago, I realized for the very first time, there has been another monster chasing me during my entire adult life.  The Productivity monster.

I have always felt the need to justify my use of time, especially to myself.  I’ve tried to be productive each moment.  This has been a blessing, because I’ve accomplished a lot.  It has also been a curse, because I have seldom allowed myself to fully relax.

So I said to the Big Bad Productivity Wolf, “I don’t need to be productive all of the time.  Often I can do exactly what I like, even if it’s not productive.  Go away.”

Of course, habits in any form do not relinquish their power easily.  But I think I’ve got this one on the run.

Of course, I will continue to write this blog every week.  Even though it feels productive, communicating with you remains my great pleasure.

Alan

Daveen and I love to enjoy cruises together, but for the past year and a half the pandemic has turned us into homebodies. At the end of July we were finally able to embark on an Alaskan cruise. Our cruise ship, with 1,200 passengers, was only 60% occupied, because COVID-19 still rules the seas (even more than the land).

We walked off the ship in Ketchikan, Alaska, and headed for the Lumberjack show that we had attended on a previous visit.  Chopping logs, climbing tall poles, a log rolling contest with the loser falling into cold water – all were entertaining, as before.

But for the past 21 months not a single cruise ship has brought potential patrons to the local shops and restaurants. That is, until yesterday when six hundred tourists, the first to arrive in almost two years, visited the town (which itself has a population of only 8,284).

As we were walking through one large shop I overheard another passenger ask the young sales clerk, “How’s business?”

“Slow,” she said, then hastened to add, “But it’s picking up.  It’s better today than yesterday.”

Thankfully, Daveen and I are beyond our years of accumulating stuff.  Even so, we bought a few items for gifts, to help the local economy.

“Let’s have lunch,” I said to Daveen as we walked past a cafe.

“For the food, or to help them out?” Daveen asked, already knowing the answer.

I left a substantial tip.  Daveen noticed that the young man who waited on our table was carefully sheltering his left hand that had a tremor.

I felt increasingly sad as we walked around the largely empty town on a day that should have been their peak season, with more tourists than residents.  Even the local busses seemed to have few, if any, passengers.

If you have the time, and money for a few purchases, please visit Ketchikan. I would feel better.

At times our lives depend upon hope.  Sometimes that’s all we have – hope, and each other.

Alan

My father died shortly before his 105^th birthday. That’s a pretty good run to look forward to (unless you’re 104).  On July 14^th 2021, he would have been 107 years old.

I’ve heard it said that a man never really grows up until his father dies. While I can’t say if that is always true, I can say that since my father’s death, I appreciate him more every day.

My father was a professional musician who grew up in New York City. He moved to California to work in Hollywood.  While he never finished college, he was a natural teacher, and developed a number of parenting tools that were very effective.

My brother David was 3 years younger than me.  In the fourth grade David still had difficulty reading.  I had been taught to read phonetically – by sounding out words, letter by letter.  But when my brother was learning to read the teaching methods had changed.  He was taught sight-reading, not phonics, and was expected to recognize entire words.  That didn’t work for David.

My dad didn’t hire a tutor for my brother or study books on how to teach reading. Dad simply showed David how to sound out each word. After failing to learn to read at school, David succeeded at home.

Another parenting innovation I learned from my dad was the family conference.  If any member of our family had a problem with any other family member we could call a conference.  Whoever called the conference could talk about his problem without interruption.  After that we could all discuss it.  That experience taught me that I learn a lot more when I listen than when I talk (even though it can be more fun to talk).

We learn, and teach – both in words and by example – every single day.

Give someone a fish and you feed them for a day.  Teach people how to fish and you feed them for a lifetime.

Thanks for all the lessons Dad.

Alan