Mark McIntosh's Blog, page 19

Pep Talk: "Way To Go, Amy and Joe!"

“Good morning, God, or good God, it’s morning,” were the words eloquently uttered to me a while back by a treasured friend, Joe Sabah. One of the founding fathers of the National Speakers Association, he’s still going strong as an octogenarian despite suffering a stroke about a decade ago.
He walks with the aid of a cane and types only with his right hand, but nothing slows down this dynamo. Maladies may strike his body but nothing except enthusiasm for life emanates from him. Thus, the mentor to many a speaker chooses, “Good morning, God.”
His words come back to me after sending a text to another friend whose wife has suffered a life-changing spinal cord injury: “Best of luck on the next phase of this unexpected journey. Prayers for you all!”
Less than a minute later, I got a response to my text, a simple, “Thank you.”
The correspondence was with former Denver Broncos’ punter Tom Rouen about his wife, Amy Van Dyken-Rouen. The six-time Olympic gold medalist swimmer recently had an ATV accident while coming home from dinner. She was thrown from the vehicle and suffered a complete severing of the spinal cord in the lower back area. She has complete use of her arms, and is rehabilitating at Denver’s Craig Hospital in hopes of defying the odds and regaining use of her legs.
Van Dyken-Rouen also has an incredible spirit. It played a huge role in her athletic success. Competitive. Feisty. Spit in the lanes of competitors back in her swimming days. Energy in a room changes when the former Colorado State swimmer star appears. If anybody can defy the odds, it’s Amy.
Life’s unexpected twists and turns. An accident. Stroke. Illness. Divorce. Layoff. Firing. Those “What the hell is going on around here?” moments we struggle to understand.
My mind wanders to a moment long ago, involving Rouen. It was before his professional career, when he was an All-American punter for the University of Colorado Buffaloes.
The scene was the Orange Bowl in Miami on January 1st, 1991. The Buffs were playing the Notre Dame Fighting Irish for the second straight year. With a victory, the Bill McCartney-coached team could once again win the national championship. Lou Holtz and the Irish had defeated CU the year before.
Back then I was a young television sportscaster for KCNC-TV in Denver. It was my job to cover CU athletics. I was, “The Buff Guy.” I’m standing just outside the south end zone at the once proud, but by then decrepit, stadium in south Miami as Rouen boomed a punt deep into Notre Dame territory.
At the time, the Buffs were clinging to a slim lead, and many questioned the wisdom of punting the ball to Notre Dame’s dangerous return man, Raghib “Rocket” Ismail. But that’s what happened. What happened next was quite memorable.
Ismail caught Rouen’s punt deep in Notre Dame territory, made a few moves, got a few blocks and ran the darn thing all the way back for a touchdown. Or so he thought.
What the All-American didn’t realize is that around midfield an official had thrown a flag. Clipping on Notre Dame. To this day, Notre Dame fans I run into insist it was a clean block, but replays show that while close, the officials’ call was correct.
Anyway, back to the story. Ismail and two of his teammates are lying in the back of the south end zone of the Orange Bowl. I’m standing less than a foot from them. They don’t know about the flag. I leaned over, tapped Ismail’s shoulder pads and offered, “Hey guys, there’s a flag down there.”
I will never forget the looks on their faces. Shock. Disbelief. One of those “What the hell is going on around here?” moments.
Luckily for them, it was just a football game. Amy Van Dyken-Rouen and her hubby, the punter who kicked the ball to Rocket, face a game of far greater magnitude. I hope they can keep a positive attitude. I pray they can be patient and persevere. That they can, most often, awaken with Sabah’s motto, “Good morning, God” and not succumb to the temptation of “Good God, it’s morning.”
The journey rarely goes as planned. We get kicked. We get clipped. We get thrown. We struggle to understand why. We’re human, after all.
Realistically, the only thing we can truly control on this roller coaster called life is our attitude. It will play a huge role in how we handle the dips. Van Dyken-Rouen’s already looking for positives. Yep. She posted on social media sites about the great seats and parking spaces afforded the handicapped at sporting events. You go, girl.
An accident may rob Van Dyken-Rouen of the use of her legs. But like Sabah, nothing appears to have a chance of stealing her spirit. We would be wise to emulate Amy. Joe, too. Way to go, Amy and Joe!

Pep Talk: "The River Estrange"

“It doesn’t matter whether you’re an ‘insider’ or an ‘outsider’ we all have our issues.”
Amen. Amen. Amen.
These truthful words were uttered by a homeless man, sitting on a bicycle and entertaining an intimate crowd gathered in a smelly alley in downtown Denver. “It’s  interesting that most people I run into on the streets take a wide path around me.”
In the fifteen minutes spent with the man, Ray, much was learned: former Baptist preacher from California; has fought addictions to many drugs in the past; says only an occasional drink reaches his lips these days; prowls the alleys of the Mile High City’s lower downtown taking pictures and scurries around on his bike collecting sandwiches to distribute to fellow “outsiders.” Finally, and this was the true bonding agent to his attentive audience: “I’m trying to be a bridge builder between the insiders and outsiders.”
A noble quest. A mission shared by a caring teenager who was interviewing Ray and  whose curious mind created a project, “Clicks For A Cause.” The mission? Through pictures and words, raise awareness, compassion and understanding to homelessness.
“Not everybody out here is ‘addicted’ to something. We will never eliminate homelessness. Some, like myself, choose to be on the streets.” he told us. An impressionable and maturing 17-year-old, her mother as chief photographer and a simple dude from Missouri who each Thursday leads chapel service at the Denver Rescue Mission (we were in the alley behind the facility) were soaking in every word.
After the engaging conversation was over and Ray pedaled away, I could not get out of my mind, his comment: “Whether we’re an insider or outsider we all have issues.”
Heck, whether we’re talking about our homes, workplaces, neighborhoods, schools or wherever else we gather in groups, so often some feel on the “inside” and some feel on the “outside.” We’ve all felt those moments where others take a wide path around us.
I can remember having that type of feeling many times in life. Bosses at work suddenly becoming scarce and unavailable prior to learning that a job has been eliminated because of budget cuts. After head and shoulder injuries really screwed up my baseball career, a summer-league manager avoiding my calls about the pending season. A spouse emotionally distant before announcing a desire to depart a marriage and move on to new frontiers.
It sucks being an outsider and often ain’t so great on the inside either.
How do we build bridges between the two? Would “estrange” be a good word? How do we build bridges over the river “Estrange?” Let’s define it as, “To turn away in affection or feeling;  make unfriendly or hostile.”
Well, I’ve been called a lot of things in life, smart rarely one of them, but it seems a good place to start building a bridge over the river Estrange is to engage one another and do more listening than speaking.
In speaking on this subject during live Pep Talk presentations or facilitations, what has always jumped out at me is the importance of listening with an attitude of seeking creation of new thought, not compromising on old ones. Fresh ideas.
That’s what is so admirable about the soon-to-be high school senior’s passion behind “Clicks For A Cause.” She’s trying to create new thought, especially for kids her age,  about an old issue that, back to our buddy Ray, “ain’t going away.”
We could use plenty of new thought about old issues that aren’t going away. Let’s start with our state and national politics. How do we build bridges over the river Estrange to lessen the unfriendliness and hostility? One idea has been brought forth about changing how we vote. I support it. It suggests eliminating primary elections and giving us, the voters, three choices, in order of preference, for state and national offices with the winner having to earn a majority of the votes. It’s not as complicated as it sounds. You can get more information at www.changepoliticsnow.org.
That’s just one example. Few would argue our political system needs to improve. There are many other challenges before us as well. At home, work, community - local, state, regional, national and international. Back to Ray, “Whether we’re on the ‘inside’ or ‘outside’ we all have our issues.”
This week, let’s take a cue from a homeless man on a bicycle, an ambitious high-school kid armed with camera and recorder or a private citizen disgruntled with the voting process. How about taking action against the ongoing threat of turning away in affection or feeling? How about being a voice of reason against hostility and unfriendliness?
Build bridges over the river Estrange. We’re not going to advance without them.

Pep Talk: "What A Gift"

Fathers Day 2014. A time to reflect upon the men who share responsibility for giving us life. I had a great old man, Marvin Walter McIntosh. He passed seven years ago from lung cancer. I miss him, and his positive spirit, every day. But this Pep Talk ain’t about golfing enthusiast “Hacker Mac.” It’s about two other dads who deserve a lot of credit for influencing my life today.
The stepfathers of my two children.
I’m a fortunate guy in many respects. Healthy at 56, with a darling fiancee that I can’t wait to marry later this year, and two kids who are healthy as well. A son and daughter, maturing nicely and chasing their dreams. Despite being a knucklehead, more friends than a simple dude from Missouri deserves. Plus, more blessings I can’t even recall right now. It’s the wee hours of a cool June morning. The Mile High City is expecting another round of violent weather once the sun rises and warms the atmosphere. I’m just gathering my wits.
But there is one more blessing not to be forgotten. Actually, two. The men who have stepped up big time to mentor, provide and protect my kids. Sounds weird to write that, but it’s true. Divorce ain’t an easy path, but it’s a common one. Half of us who walk down the aisle and recite, “till death do us part” don’t make it to the finish line. Sustaining a marriage. The numbers tell the story. It’s a noble goal fraught with peril.
The words of the psychologist my first former wife and I were seeing as we tried to pick up the pieces of a fractured relationship still resonate in my ears: “If you’re going to get divorced, make it a good divorce.” I guess now would be a good time to also salute the two mothers who moved on because they felt it necessary. They chose good guys.
One has become a cherished friend. “We put the fun in dysfunction” is a phrase the gregarious California native coined long ago when others would ask us, when we were all together in celebration of my wonderful son, “Are you two brothers?” 
When circumstances of life led to a young man heading west from Colorado to the Golden State to live with his mother and this super dude, we (stepfather and I) would talk on the phone constantly. We share values. We share a competitive spirit. In our younger years, he would be a bulldog under the basket throughout intense basketball one-on-one games in the driveway of his home nestled in the hills above Malibu.
Most important, we share a deep love and concern for a young boy who has grown into a young man living in New York City these days and working on the writing team for NBC’s Late Night With Seth Myers. There has been no bigger supporter of my son’s dreams than his stepfather. I would step in front of a truck for that man. We sing love songs to one another when talking on the phone. It’s what goofy middle-aged men do. Deal with it.
“I can’t believe this is happening again” often crashed into my brain in dealing with a second divorce. What’s the old saying, “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me?” The man who became the focus of attention for the mother of my daughter is someone I knew already. From sportscasting days on Denver television, I endured commercials for his successful business airing right before I began the morning sportscasts on KCNC-TV. That was a tad painful. It’s challenging to be upbeat when the heart is being battered.
But over time, wounds heal. We gain a different perspective from life’s disappointments. I talk about this often on the speaking circuit when addressing effectively dealing with adversity and change. “Quite often, once the dust settles and the pain subsides, we realize change brings things into our lives worth keeping no matter what.”
A second marriage meltdown opened the door for an amazing woman to walk into my world. It also opened the door for a good guy to have major influence on my daughter’s life. Over the years admiration for the martial arts’ enthusiast has grown significantly. We could use more dads like him. It’s natural and comfortable to sit together in the stands rooting for my daughter and his stepdaughter’s volleyball success. We’re in this together.
Predictable. Successful. Caring.
Three wonderful traits we all would probably love to have others disperse from their lips, without hesitation, when asked to name three things about us. That terrific trio describes the men my former brides went on to marry once our unions failed to proceed.
They chose well. For that, and the outstanding job each man has done in responsibly fathering my kids, I’m very grateful. Lucky. The words of the wise shrink, “Make it a good divorce....” resonate again. Life is a roller coaster: What a great tip for the divorce dip.
Thanks, dads. When my kids have been in your care I have always felt you had their best interests at heart. What a gift this Father’s Day.

Pep Talk: "Play Our Hearts Out"

“In my next life I want to come back as a Clydesdale,” joked the man standing next to me. Along with a lot of other folks, we were staring in admiration at the famous Budweiser horses. They were on regal display in downtown Nashville, Tennessee during the city’s “CMA Music Festival.”
The event’s been around for more than 40 years. Many downtown streets in Tennessee’s state capital are blocked off for the mega-show. Stages are everywhere for fans to hear tons of country music in our nation’s home to it. This from its website: “Created for the fans in 1972, CMA Music Festival brings it all together - artists, music, autographs, pictures, activities and more - all for you, the most devoted fans in the world.” They are devoted fans. I sat next to two giggly adult women on the shuttle in from the airport who were in town for the fun.
I had stumbled upon the extravaganza, which supports funding musical education in Nashville schools, quite by accident. I was in the land of the Grand Old Opry to give a Pep Talk to a staffing agency focused on “Striving For New Heights.” With some team leaders of the company, we were on our way to dinner when we came upon the temporary stables housing the majestic-looking animals.
For the record, in my next life I want to come back as a golden retriever owned by a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. We will get lots of exercise together because we share a passion for running on the beach. That’s a story for another day, but being reincarnated as a world-famous Clydesdale would be a second choice I could live with for sure.
So here I am, in this corral of country-music celebration, staring at groomers fawning over the equines when my mind wanders to some literature about the CMA Foundation’s Keep the Music Playing program and its benefits to kids. It’s pretty cool.
Again, paraphrasing from its website, the foundation recognizes music education to be vital for our youth.  The numbers cited certainly validate that statement. Metro students (Nashville has about 81,000 kids in its school district) participating in more than one year of music are 7% more likely to come to school each day; earn 15% higher grade point average; and are 52% more likely to graduate from high school on time than students who are not involved in music classes.  A fine-tuned music education program also provides students access to potential college scholarships so they can further music education and earn advanced degrees. Impressive, but not breaking news.
We’ve known for quite some time that music is a creative outlet allowing kids to express themselves, discover unknown talents and keep them engaged in school. A 2006 Gallup Poll says more than 94% of Americans believe that music is a key component to a child’s well-rounded education.
I would agree.
Our daily news is filled with stories of our nation’s education woes. No money, poor performance and a host of other problems. Sadly, too often we hear of school districts that no longer can afford - really? - to offer musical education to their students. Same thing for competitive sports and other extracurricular activities. But at what cost?
Music, sports and other stuff. Creative outlets for kids offering the potential to inspire them to take responsibility for their grades so they can continue to participate. I know it was a real driving force for me growing up. I knew that if attention was not paid to academics, the chance to wear a football, basketball or baseball uniform would be abolished. It kept my butt in line.
Country music fans from all over the world pour into Nashville for this annual event. I would suspect few know their desire to see rising talent, current superstars and living legends is providing great opportunity for others while providing them great joy.
Joy for one, and opportunity for another. That’s a dynamic duo worth replicating wherever we roam.
Where in our lives could we take something that brings us great joy and transform it into opportunity for another? Personally, while banging the question out on the computer for you to ponder, my mind immediately went to the candidates at the Denver Rescue Mission. I love serving those men each Thursday morning with encouraging words designed to help them achieve goals and overcome challenges associated with their quest to whip their addictions to alcohol and drugs.
What about you? Where could your joy, expressed as your time, talent or treasures, open a door of opportunity for another? Where could we mentor others and provide value to the communities we serve?
The 2014 CMA Festival. Many stars on many stages once again in Nashville. There are many stages this weekend in our communities, too, just waiting for us to step forward and make an appearance. 
Let’s take that step, play our hearts out, and make a difference right now. The next life, with those silly dreams of horses and dogs can wait. Those who need our help today cannot.

Pep Talk: "Muddied Waters"

“What happened to the Stairmaster?”
The tone of my voice said it all to the new trainers at Kinetics Fitness Studio. The beloved gym where I try to live the “Sweat a day keeps the doctor away” philosophy.
“It’s gone to make room for some new equipment,” was the somber response. It seemed the guys were concerned this simple dude from Missouri might start weeping. Luckily, there’s still one Stairmaster machine left. All is not lost, but access has been cut in half.
Unexpected and unwanted change. It ain’t easy.
As I climbed aboard for 30 minutes with my exercise mistress and the sweat began to pour from the pores, thoughts began to wander to a time a while back when precious princess - daughter - was quite a bit younger. We were flying into Kansas City, Missouri to visit family. Upon descent into the city’s airport, when arriving from the west, air travelers fly over the Missouri River.
It’s winding path easy to detail from above. “What river is that Daddy?” the now 17-year-old asked long ago. “That’s the Missouri River, honey. Some folks call it the ‘Big Muddy.’’’
That’s how life can seem sometimes, ain’t it? A bit muddy? Things don’t go exactly as planned? Where’s my Stairmaster? What happened to my marriage? Job? Health? Friend? The list of “What the heck is going on around here?” situations is endless, but usually unique for each of us within the categories of physical, emotional and/or financial challenges.
The waters get muddied. They certainly seem that way right now with this beautiful young woman – God, she looks just like her momma - and our relationship. I can’t seem to connect with her, at least the way I’d like to connect with her. Admittedly, I find myself envious of fellow fathers who speak glowingly of close relationships with their teenage daughters. I try to remember the wise words of the guys from my Friday morning Platoon group who challenge me to “Keep loving her and don’t screw it up. She’s a teenager. Get over yourself!” I’m trying.
I guess that’s what faith is all about, right? The wise words of friend and former University of Colorado basketball coach Ricardo Patton, when talking about the issues with his basketball team, pop into my mind: “This too shall pass.”
The waters get muddied. My mind wanders to the firestorm surrounding the Department of Veterans Affairs. How in the world has America gotten so far off track that we don’t effectively care for those who paid the ultimate price for our freedom? Really? It’s tragic, wrong and a subject for another day.
Back to the topic: Waters do get muddied, usually when we least expect it, can least afford it, or least deserve it. The million-dollar question becomes, “How will we react?”
The workout is nearing completion when the mind wanders to one of my heroes, professor, author and consultant William Bridges, who passed in 2013. His book The Way of Transitions is one of my all-time favorites.
In the book, the acclaimed expert on effectively dealing with change speaks in raw terms of his personal struggle. He had lost his wife of 35 years. It was devastating. But he was THE transition guru. Educated at many Ivy League schools, the man, the human, was beating himself up badly for not dealing more effectively with losing his soul mate to cancer.
The waters were muddied.
But aboard an airplane flying across America one bright sunny day, Bridges had an epiphany. With a window seat, a cloudless sky and a long flight from east to west, the one-time literature professor began to notice the great rivers that dominate America’s heartland: The Ohio, Mississippi and previously mentioned Missouri.
They meander. They take unexpected twists and turns. They replicate life. And then it hit Bridges like a ton of bricks. Metaphorically, those great rivers represent our personal journeys. Often, there’s seems to be no rhyme or reason to their paths. But in conjunction with those rivers’ twists and turns, along their banks, something pretty cool transpires.
Rich sediment is dropped, creating the fertile soil necessary to grow our nation’s food supply. Bridges wondered, could it be the same for our lives? Could the twists and turns offer opportunity for sediment to be dropped that could provide rich soil for future growth?
Who moved my cheese? What’s up with the Stairmaster? Why does my daughter recoil at my presence? Why does life - physically, emotionally, spiritually and financially - seem so damn tough sometimes?
 Workout complete, I headed into the beautiful Colorado morning sunshine with a great reminder (albeit silly considering it was triggered by the absence of an exercise machine) of one of the critical components to successful living: Despite how difficult it can be sometimes, we must face the day with hope that once the sediment drops and the waters clear, soil for future growth has been deposited into our hearts, minds and souls.
Easy to write about, far more difficult to execute. Good luck this week!

Pep Talk: "Burnout Versus Ablaze"

“It’s a different world today.”
Amen to that buddy. The short, but profound, statement came from the lips of buddy Joe Mierzwa. Devoted readers of these weekly Pep Talks should know he’s the editor. After I transfer some thoughts from cranium to computer, it’s sent along to the University of Kansas graduate for a review. He challenges me to become a better writer. Joe, thanks.
Anyway, back to the story. The frequent caller to the sports talk show I used to host on Mile High Sports Radio in Denver, was, in muttering, “It’s a different world” talking about girls volleyball.
We were having lunch at The Shack restaurant in Littleton. I love the place. Jack, Ron and crew used to sponsor the radio show. We did plenty of remotes from there. Great spot for food, fun and sports watching. I joked with Ron, “The one thing I miss about retiring from sports talk is not saying, ‘At the Shack, just ask Jack or Ron and your game is on!’” Without missing a beat, the head chef who makes some savory green chili tater tots joked, “If that was the only thing you enjoyed, IT WAS TIME to get out!”
So over lunch we were talking high school/club girls volleyball. My daughter’s, a setter, has been playing for years. It’s a fine-tuned machine. So many girls play high school and club. It’s a year-round sport. Which is good and bad. It does keep the developing girls busy with healthy and productive activity but man, it’s time-consuming and expensive.
One of the long-time waitresses at the cozy spot at Broadway and Mineral that is now celebrating 21 years of serving south Denver, also has a daughter heavily involved in volleyball. When visiting, we always talk about our daughter’s sport.
I’ve watched a lot of volleyball over the years. It’s a great sport. Teamwork so vital. What has surprised me is, it seems, there are many outstanding players who could easily go on to the collegiate level and compete, but they don’t want to.
They’re burned out.
Too much volleyball. There was a young lady who played setter for one of the state’s best teams. Outstanding player. Done. Same for another stellar player from another school. In defense of each, playing big-time collegiate volleyball has become, for the most part, reserved for very tall and athletic young women. One insider shrugged her shoulders one time and told me, “Mark, it’s all about the hitters these days.”
Bummer.
It might be all about the hitters but I think it’s also about the burnout. Times have changed to get back to Joe’s thoughts. In my day, athletes were encouraged to play multiple sports. For me, it was always football, basketball and baseball. There was little “specialization” like we see today.
I don’t think we’re doing the kids any service by encouraging such a narrow path at such a young age. Trust me, the college recruiters can recognize talent and understand if the athlete focused entirely on one sport later on, things will work out.
Why the rush at such at young age? Also, at such a cost? 
It is a different world. The question becomes, is it better? Kids focused on one sport and exposed to it in such a heavy dose are burned out early. That ain’t good. I admire what Fairview High School in Boulder, Colorado has going on right now. The coaches there work together and encourage their athletes to play multiple sports. Yay!
Overabundance. Excessive exposure. It can bear fruit. It can bear frustration. It can be sweet. It can be sour. It’s true whether we’re talking about girls’ volleyball, other sports, business, families and other venues not mentioned. 
Finding balance. Rhythm. Mojo. In the flow. Home. Work. Elsewhere.
Easy to discuss, far more difficult to execute successfully, right?
Burnout versus ablaze. Try like heck to avoid the former and embrace the latter a whole lot this week. Who knows, maybe it will unleash a different world for you, me and others.
Good luck!

Pep Talk: "Any or All"

I grabbed one can, then another, before pronouncing to the woman observing, “This is my dynamic duo.” She chuckled, “Everybody’s got their thing.”
This conversation was going down in aisle four, the vitamin section of the local Whole Foods. I was replenishing supplies of Flaxseed and Brown Rice Protein. The supplements are two of seven ingredients to my usual morning meal. Here they are: Ice, carrots, blackberries, flaxseed, almonds, brown rice protein and a banana. Gently blended, still chunky and devoured usually as breakfast, but sometimes as lunch or dinner. I try like heck to snarf it down daily. A routine, for sure.
Anyway, the female employee was amused. Apparently, I’m not the only knucklehead who wanders into her airspace blabbering about their magical concoctions. “Yours seems to make decent sense.” Thanks. I’ve been called a lot of things in life, but smart is rarely one of them. I’m gonna take “makes decent sense” as a compliment.
As I wandered into the parking lot looking for my car, the ol’ cranium floated to the following: Routines. We all have them, don’t we? I like to joke that if anybody wanted to wipe me out, it would not be a difficult task. I’m a creature of habit, especially in the morning hours. Routines.
I was two rows off in my vehicle search, but finally located it. While settling into the driver’s seat to exit the parking lot, routine was embedded in brain.
I thought of my mom. I wrote about her extensively in last week’s Pep Talk. We have a routine of speaking on Friday mornings while I’m driving to my weekly Platoon meeting. Talk about a bunch of knuckleheads, holy cow. A bunch of jacked up dudes. I cherish the time we spend together and the guys always asking, “What’s up with Patsy Sue?”
On the way home I call her back, inform her of the Bible verse(s) we studied. She then reads them back to me. Almost an octogenarian, but still a damn good reader of prose.
Then I thought of my dad, Marvin Walter McIntosh. This year has been interesting, with Mother’s Day on May 11th. That’s also my younger brothers’ birthday. But May 12th is the day my old man passed away back in 2007.
There are three days, back to back, in May that hold great significance in this simple dude from Missouri’s life: May 10th, birthday to both my darling fiancee and my second former wife; May 11th, the before-mentioned brother’s birthday, and then May 12th, the day dad drew his last breath.
Ratta tat tat.
Routines. Before his death, for many years, father and son usually talked every Sunday night. Known as “Hacker Mac” for his golf prowess, dad was such an upbeat guy. The successful businessman grew up desperately poor and dealt with family tragedy, including a father who abandoned six kids and a mother who died at an early age. Dad was the oldest boy and had to grow up fast. It was not easy for him or my aunts and uncles. Only one remains of that great group of folks: Aunts Jackie and Mary Ann, uncles John, Russell and father Marvin have passed. Uncle Al, the baby of the group, is still going strong.
Routine. I miss those phone calls with dad and cherish the one’s with mom.
The short drive home was almost complete. My thoughts about my old man were not.
At a time in life when there seem to be more questions than answers, as I backed the car into the garage, this question bored deep into my soul: “What did Marv Dog teach me the most?”
My mind started clicking through the photographs of life: Dad as a youth baseball, basketball and football coach; Dad as a tough disciplinarian; Dad as a supportive father as I dealt with life-changing stuff; Dad as a joy to be around, especially when playing golf.
I opened the back door and turned off the alarm system. It was at that moment the light bulb within my ‘noggin lit up: Show up on time, work hard, life ain’t fair sometimes but keep a good attitude about things. Dad taught me all that. He taught others that, too. Also, don’t be afraid to laugh and have some fun. My old man had a cackle. Miss that, too.
I never dreamed a trip to the grocery store would trigger such a wonderful trip down memory lane to what’s really important in life when it comes to routines, people and priorities.
Show up on time. Work hard. Don’t let life’s disappoints defeat us. Demonstrate a good attitude. Oh, and what the heck, give the seven-ingredient shake a chance as a daily meal. Give it a shot. Who knows, it might work. Any or all of them.
Have a good week!

Pep Talk: "Stay You"

Still sharp as a tack at almost 80 years of age. That’s my mom.
Feisty would be a good word to describe Patsy Sue Perry. According to Dictionary.com, the word means a few things: Spirited, ill-tempered and pugnacious. The mom of four, like most of us, can be all three, collectively, and individually at various times.
Independent would be another accurate word to describe a woman who has had her fair share of misfortune. I can’t imagine growing up not feeling valued. She did. Her parents divorced when she was quite young and neither seemed to have much time for the love, nurturing and attention children need and deserve. Unfortunate.
Motherhood came early for a young girl growing up in Saint Joseph, Missouri. She was still a teenager when my older brother came along. Shortly thereafter, my older sister arrived, and then yours truly. Bringing me into the world apparently was not an easy task. Doctors ordered her to remain in bed for the latter stages of my genesis.
Not an easy task with two other children under the age of four running around the house. One more child, my younger brother, came along five years after me to complete the foursome of kids who today proclaim, “Happy Mother’s Day” to Patsy Sue.
The ardent follower of politics and news lives in a retirement community these days. She’s not real happy about it. It’s fresh, less than a year. Feisty and independent folks want life on their terms. Understandable, for sure.
It’s one of the great challenges facing America today. How do we effectively care for an aging population?
I saw a fascinating story on CBS’ 60 Minutes recently. A ongoing study of folks in their nineties who live at a retirement community outside Irvine, California. A lot of well-respected beliefs being challenged with compelling data: All those vitamins consumed by Americans in the belief they help us? Probably not. High blood pressure? Actually, as we age, it might help, not hinder, our well-being. Gain a little weight as we progress? Not such a bad thing. Alcohol of any kind, in moderation, seems to be good for us too.
Some well-known facts held up under this ongoing research. Exercise, socialization and the avoidance of injury are critical for America’s senior citizen’s ability to matriculate through the golden years with a decent level of enjoyment, satisfaction and well being.
It was the socialization piece that played a huge role in four kids encouraging their mother to depart a small, isolate rented home and seek new adventure in a ten-story building full of other chronologically-advanced men and women. Some need lots of care. Some, like my mom, need lots of opportunities to socialize, exercise and bloom.
Change is hard for all of us. I can’t imagine what it must be like for someone on the cusp of earning the “octogenarian” status. “You want me to move, where?” But she’s making new friends at the place she calls, “The Cracker Factory.” Through the years, Patsy Sue has lost many things. Her sarcastic wit is not one of them.
Caring for aging parents. My, how time seems to fly. I can remember vividly all the years of mom driving me to youth baseball, football and basketball practices. Nobody had a cleaner or more crisply ironed uniform than a young southpaw who dreamed of playing professional sports of any kind. My mother fostered those dreams. I think she grieves most for the accidental poke in the eye that led to a crash to the floor and all kinds of head and upper-torso injuries that snuffed a promising athletic career in my senior year in high school.
Reflecting back many years later, as the father of two kids now 24 and 17, I can see how this might be a struggle for her. We always want our children to dream big, to go farther than the horizon of our respective lives.
Mother’s Day, 2014. A time of transition for Patsy Sue. As she awakens on this day in Kansas City, Kansas on the tenth floor of her high-rise community, I pray she looks to the horizon, beyond the golf course that occupies her southern and western views and sees a future of opportunity and adventure.
Her mind is still razor sharp. So too, at times, her fury about the injustices, real and perceived, that accumulate after almost eight decades on this roller coaster called life. Her body, a tad rickety. Her spirit? Like the weather, susceptible to change at any time.
She gave me life 56 years ago. We share many traits, including a love for healthy debate. I still chuckle in remembrance of the days she would call the Denver radio sports talk show I used to co-host with my buddy Eric Goodman. Mom would vigorously challenge the Chicago native’s point of view. He shouldn’t feel bad; mom challenges a lot of points of view.
One thing is indisputable. “Born the same day (June 28) as John Elway!” she loves to proclaim. It’s the truth. The Hall of Fame quarterback and Patsy Sue share the same birthday. “It’s what makes me the athlete that I was!” mom reminded me, when I referenced her connection to the Broncos’ icon, on a recent phone call. Mom was offering thanks for the flowers sent her way for the big day.
She had just returned from an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. Her voice exuded peace and contentment. “Meetings are my life line,” she offered. “They give me hope.”
Ma, happy Mother’s Day. Stay feisty. Stay active. Stay sober. Make the meetings. Stay you.
To all the moms out there, happy Mother’s Day to you too!

Pep Talk: "My Name Is Stekos!"

“We love this school and moved into the neighborhood just so our kids could attend it.”
These words flowing from a woman’s mouth and being received into my heart speak volumes about the power of a community coming together and taking a stand. In this case, to stand in the gap.
A long time ago, a Denver parochial school lost a third-grade teacher. His name was Mr. Frank. The fathers at the school were especially thrilled with the man’s excellent teaching skills. The young teacher, at the time, was the only male educator at the school’s elementary level.
I was one of those fathers. It was a relief that our sons had a dude around in case a young boy had a dude issue that needed to be addressed.
Sadly, after just two years at the school, Mr. Frank departed. It was not an easy decision for the man. I can still vividly recall, with tears streaming down his cheeks, a painful confession: “Mark, I love it here but I’m making $19,000 a year and have a chance to teach in the public-school system and make $30,000.”
Mr. Frank was gone, but the moment was not forgotten. It started a surge of parents willing to stand in the gap. The Good Shepherd Foundation was born. Since its inception, the mission has been “Caring For Our Kids’ Mentors.” The effort has been quite successful and has played a significant role in the school’s continued success today.
It all started with an issue. Attracting and retaining quality teachers. The foundation’s role in assisting the school and parish leadership in creating a warm, loving and nurturing environment for children, teachers and families to thrive speaks to the power of a group of people rallying behind a common goal.
Dressed as Miami Vice’s Don Johnson (There was an ’80s theme to the party where I was talking to this woman) it was my job as host to encourage the large throng to have fun and spend money. Occasionally, in the brief respites, I kept thinking of another moment in time.
It was several years ago and I was blessed to have been asked to present a Pep Talk to the Mountain Vista High School football team, its coaches and parents. Located in Highlands Ranch, Colorado, I’ll never forget walking into the school’s cafeteria and into a sea of black. Everyone, players, coaches and parents were wearing black shirts that across the front shouted, “Stekos.” Across the back, in bold white letters was: “Stand in the Gap.”
The head football coach explained the meaning. Long ago, when folks lived in walled communities to protect themselves from the enemy, there was a special group of forces - think Navy Seals - whose job was to protect the community when attackers tried to punch holes in the fortress to gain entrance. These were the Stekos warriors. When there was an issue, it was their job to stand in the gap.
Where is life calling us to “stand in the gap?” I think of the Denver Rescue Mission and our quest to encourage the men living there to embrace the value of physical exercise in their challenging task of bouncing back from addiction to alcohol and drugs. We’re trying to stand in the gap.
What about you? Where is opportunity knocking for your time, talents and treasures to be utilized in healthy and productive fashion to help a school, non-profit, neighborhood, business, or community cause?
We usually do not have to look very far to find a cause that could use some Stekos warriors. Are we willing to stand in the gap? It’s tough. We’re all busy with the demands life brings our way. Families, jobs and other responsibilities. Try anyway.
The spirit born from a group of people uniting for a common cause can be transformational. What’s the ol’ saying? “It’s amazing what can be accomplished when nobody cares who gets the credit.”
Let’s be that type of person this week. Maybe it’s volunteering at a retirement facility where so many residents rarely get visitors. Go say hi. Who knows where the need is located? What is needed is a warrior mentality and us.
Let’s stand in the gap. Let’s never grow weary of doing good for others. What the heck, when introducing yourself this week, have some fun with it and proudly proclaim, “My name is Stekos!”
Have a good one!

Pep Talk: "Desire To Serve"

“I am so happy for you!” said the beaming woman who teaches me Spanish every other Friday. I had just told our wonderful housekeeper that “Miss Kathy” and I were tying the knot this fall. “Listo para una cerveza!” was this simple gringo from Missouri’s response.
My first television sportscasting gig after graduating from the University of Missouri’s School Of Journalism was a great opportunity for me to learn Spanish, connect with the Hispanic culture and become very passionate about serving it. It was in Harlingen, Texas for KGBT-TV, the CBS affiliate there. Weekend sportscaster and weekday reporter. Harlingen sits in the Rio Grande Valley along America’s border with Mexico. Ninety-five percent of the population is Hispanic. When I arrived back in 1986, at least half didn’t speak English. Into that soup fell a knucklehead from Raytown, Missouri who didn’t speak a lick of Spanish. All that’s a story for another day.
Anyway, I love speaking Spanish. I don’t do it very well and cherish any chance to get better. The amazing Tina and I were trying to rap in Spanish. She was being very patient and was beaming about the upcoming nuptials. It’s a joyful moment.
And it makes me think of what a lucky guy I am. But that’s a story for another day, too. Ironically, Tina and I were having this discussion while I’m moving about the house packing for a trip to connect with darling fiancee, who is an incredible business success. When I’m invited to these types of events it always warms my heart to hear employees who work for the Chicago native. They gush about the experience. I love to offer, “Nobody likes working for Kathy Gans more than me.”
Good things come in threes. Third time’s a charm. The terrific trio. One may be overpowered, two can defend themselves but a chord of three strands is not easily broken. Call it what you like, but it seems that good things do come in threes. I am not recommending anybody follow this path (the fallout is significant), but what’s the old saying, “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try, again?” Well, only through grace, two divorces opened the door for a most amazing human being to walk into my life. I like to joke, but it’s the truth, “We make a good team.”
And now, to the real point of this Pep Talk. Guys need to grow up. Why do I have buddies who deem it necessary to have a bachelor’s party? Really? I’m an aging, chunky, chalky white dude who has already had TWO bachelor parties. Another is not necessary. But two dudes, former radio talk show buddy Jimmy Doogan and Kuntal Vora, a fellow CU Buff to the bone, refuse to listen.
Bachelor party III is alive and well. It will include a golf outing that I’d like to invite any and all of you to attend. The golf outing will be at the beautiful Raccoon Creek course. It’s a lush Colorado course that reminds me of home, lots of trees. For the past six years, Kuntal and his brother Rahool have directed a golf tournament to honor their father, a wonderful mentor to his sons who died of throat and neck cancer.
Lots of guys with CU connections come together, play some golf, bust each other’s chops and raise money for the university’s effort to prevent throat/neck cancer, or effectively treat it. It’s always been a blast and we’d love for you to join us this year. The tournament will be August 23. Stay tuned for details.
It’s a lot of hard work, organizing and conducting a golf tournament. The brothers were thinking about taking a year off. That’s not gonna happen now. The Naren Vora memorial tourney is still alive. It will tee off the bachelor party day in a wonderful way. Honoring a man beloved by sons and others. Reminds me of my father. We used to have a family golf tournament until he passed. I’m disappointed in myself that it hasn’t continued. I can imagine wherever Hacker Mac is playing golf in heaven today, he’s wondering, “What the hell is going on around here?”
To wrap it up. Lucky guy who has hit the jackpot when it comes to picking a winner begrudgingly relents to insistent buddies about Bachelor Party III. It ends up with a way to serve cancer research and honor a great guy.
The power of this reminder hits me like a ton of bricks. Serving something beyond ourselves, as long as its healthy and productive, is wonderful for us. I can’t wait to be of service to my marriage to the love of my life. I can’t wait to be of service for the golf tournament - join us! - to salute dads, connect with buddies and raise some money for cancer research. Thanks to all of you out there who serve beyond yourself. For those looking to serve, good luck on the search.
A strong desire to serve is good for our well-being and offers hope to others. Let’s live that truth. Daily!
Until next week, adios.