Merry Christmas

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and I wanted to say Merry Christmas.

Not Happy Holidays. Certainly not Merry Xmas.  But Merry Christmas.

You don’t really hear that much anymore, in this politically correct world we live in.  Everyone says “Have a Happy Holiday.”

Like someone would really be offended if you said “Merry Christmas” and they don’t celebrate Christmas.  I wouldn’t be offended if someone said “Happy Hanukkah” to me.  I might give a puzzled look if someone said to me “Happy Kwanza,” but it certainly would not offend me.  “Happy Bodhi Day” would be appropriate if I was practicing Buddhism, which I could be mistaken for if my name was spelled Budd.  “Happy Festivus” is common among fans of the old television show Seinfeld.

In the Great White North (Canada) the McKenzie Brothers, Bob and Doug, might wish you a “Happy Boxing Day.”

I prefer “Merry Christmas.” Always have.

The Christmas season has many traditions. One is all of the television specials and movies.

I haven’t seen the Charlie Brown Christmas show in a few years, but that was always the go-to special when the kids were growing up.  My kids didn’t know who Burl Ives was but they did know his character, Sam the Snowman, the narrator in the Rudolph movie.

I have three movies I have to watch every Christmas. White Christmas with Bing Crosby, Scrooged with Bill Murray and Love Actually with a large ensemble, including Hugh Grant, Colin Firth, Liam Neeson and Keira Knightley.

To many people, Christmas is all about the presents. Buying them, receiving them, wrapping them. Finding just the right one for someone special. Finding anything affordable for someone you work with.

When I was little my sister would always find an excuse to go downstairs before the sun came up Christmas morning to see what Santa had left under the tree. And of course, being a good little brother, I had to go with her.

I remember my father telling the story of one Christmas when he had to assemble a gift that took forever, and they had just gotten to bed about five minutes before we came running down the steps.

When our kids were little Terry and I would take them to a tree farm to cut down the Christmas tree every year. The kids would pick out the tree and take turns with the hatchet and saw until it was time for me to step in and finish the job.

The kids were always surprised how small the tree looked in the open field and how big it became once we brought it inside the house.

The big red stockings with the kids’ names on them hung from the mantel above the fire place and were usually filled with pens and pencils for school, tic tacs, gum, life savers, little packets of tissues. You know, things they sell at the checkout line at the grocery store. Even the dog and cat had stockings, filled with bones, squeaky toys and cat nip.

Christmas Eve would be one of the few times we actually had a fire going in that fire place. 

Where I lived growing up we could get both the New York City and Philadelphia television stations on our antenna (for you youngins an antenna is what you needed before there was cable TV), and WPIX, channel 11 in New York, would air the Yule Log Show, which was just a fire burning in a fireplace while playing Christmas music. Our house did not have a fireplace but my father would put on that show every Christmas Eve. He used the same old jokes every year, too, going up to the TV and rubbing his hands together like he was warming them from the fire, or yell at me “Don’t sit too close to the set, you’ll get burned.”

My kids would usually receive one big gift each and a few smaller ones. I remember one year they all received Starter jackets. Cabbage Patch dolls were hard to find when they first came out in the mid-80s but we managed to get one. Over the years sleds, Big Wheels and motorized (battery) cars evolved into bicycles. And there were always dolls, ice skates, roller blades, basketballs, soccer balls and baseball bats and gloves. And we would always get some type of board game or trivia game so we could all enjoy each other’s company playing the game.

Eventually the kids were old enough to hang out at the mall with their friends, so their big gift became a gift certificate, so they could do their own shopping.

The best part of Christmas, for me anyway, was the fact that we were all together. When I was a kid we would have something at our house then travel to my grandparent’s house. (We didn’t have to go over a mountain but we did go through the woods to get to grandmother’s house.)

That is a tradition I continued with my family. We would have something at our house then travel a short distance to my parent’s house, where my sister and her daughter would be, for more presents and Christmas dinner.

Now that the kids are grown and have their own lives, I am looking forward to Christmas for that reason. The opportunity for all of us to be together.

The day after Christmas I will take Terry up to New England so she can visit her mother and a few of her siblings. Last year, once we knew something was wrong with Terry but before we found out it was Alzheimer’s, I made a last minute decision to take Terry to New England for a surprise visit. It was a great decision.

These occasions are something I no longer take for granted. I am afraid there will not be as many of them in our future as we would like.

I no longer worry about buying the right present for everybody. I worry about seeing the people I want to see, spending time with people I want to spend time with.

That is what Christmas is all about to me these days.

That, and of course, what Linus first said to Charlie Brown almost 50 years ago, and every year since. I believe it is called the ‘annunciation to the shepherds.’ It is from the Gospel of Luke in the King James Version of the Bible.

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.
And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.
And the angel said unto them, Fear not; for, behold, I bring you tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.
And this shall be a sign unto you: Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.
And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,
Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace and goodwill towards men.

That is what Christmas, not the Holiday, is all about, Charlie Brown.

Until next time, have a happy holiday and, more importantly, a Merry Christmas,

Bud

Still Terry

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and my wife is Still Terry.

Six months ago a dear (nicer way of saying old) friend of mine from college days sent me a best-selling book by Lisa Genova called Still Alice. It is a story about Dr. Alice Howland, a Harvard professor who, like my Terry, is diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease. The story is told from Alice’s point of view. What she goes through.

At that time I was just learning about this horrible disease and was looking forward to reading as much as I could about it. To date I have read almost a dozen publications on the subject, mostly text books, research papers and coconut oil recipes.

I was a little disappointed at first to discover that Still Alice is a fictional story, but then I found out that the author is not only a writer but a neuroscientist, so she knows of what she speaks (or writes).

I began reading the book back in the summer and it was pretty good. Alice and Terry were the same age and had many other things in common, as far as the early stages of the disease are concerned, so it was very interesting to me. But I had to stop reading it halfway through the book.  I couldn’t bring myself to read about the latter stages of this disease.  I wrote about this experience in one of my earlier blogs back in July, Head in the Sand.

Now I see that they have made a movie out of the book, with the same title, and it is due to be released next month. And I’m excited about it. I can’t wait for it to come out.

Don’t get me wrong, there is no way I am going to go see this movie. I can’t even watch the movie The Notebook. I saw some of The Notebook several years ago when either Terry or one of my daughters was watching it on TV.  I remember thinking it was a ‘chick flick’ and really didn’t pay too much attention to it. All I remembered about it was that it was a real tear-jerker.

Since Terry was diagnosed with EOAD, however, watching The Notebook or now Still Alice would for me be like peeling a few bags of onions. Only worse. More painful.

But I am very happy that the movie Still Alice is coming out and that the actress who plays Alice, Julianne Moore, is already being talked about as an Academy Award nominee.  To prepare for her role Moore met with the head of the national Alzheimer’s Association, underwent a battery of tests and hung out with many patients suffering from EOAD.

Movies get so much more attention than books do, even though in my opinion movies based on books hardly ever measure up.  But, in today’s world when most people don’t have the time it takes to read a book, they can still find two hours to watch a movie.

No, I’m not going to see Still Alice, but I am excited about it coming out because so many other people will hopefully see it. I am happy about the fact that a movie about EOAD may be seen by millions.  This will certainly help raise public awareness.

Most people associate Alzheimer’s with senior citizens. And with good reason. Of the 5 million people in the United States who currently have Alzheimer’s, all but 200,000 of them are 65 years old or older.

My Terry is only 55 years old.

I promised myself back in the summer that as Terry’s illness progressed, I would go back and finish reading Still Alice, to maybe help me realize exactly what she is going through, what she is feeling.  She is so quiet these days. But it is not like she is in a fog or in a daze. She knows what’s going on.

For now, anyway. For now, she is Still Terry.  Sure, she cannot do many things she used to be able to do, but her personality is still there. Her love of sports and exercise is still there. Her love of being with me and with our kids is still there. Her love of visiting her family is still there. Her sense of humor is still there. And she still has her extraordinary faith.   One thing that Julianne Moore found out while researching her role was that “People think personalities get obliterated with Alzheimer’s, and I found out people’s personalities come through loud and clear,” she recently said in an interview about preparing for and making the movie.

My wife is Still Terry, thanks in part to the medicine she has been taking since May.  The doctors warned us that these meds will not improve Terry’s condition, won’t even stop it from getting worse. But they will slow it down. Unfortunately, after a while these meds stop working. The doctors said the meds should give Terry another year or two, before things get bad.

I won’t read the end of Still Alice to see how bad, but I have a rough idea. I have done some research. I have read quite a few non-fiction books on Alzheimer’s. People associate Alzheimer’s with memory loss, but that isn’t the half of it.  That’s just the beginning. Alzheimer’s is the sixth leading cause of death in the United States. More people die of Alzheimer’s each year than breast cancer and prostate cancer combined.   About 500,000 last year. People don’t die from losing their memory.

But I won’t get into the gruesome details right now. Just as I won’t read the second half of the book, or go see the movie. Maybe my head is still in the sand. But back in the spring Terry and I decided to begin to live for the moment, live for today. I no longer look too far down the road. It is ugly down there.

These days I am just grateful that my wife is Still Terry. And I am grateful that they made a movie about what she is going through, what we are going through. Hopefully it will generate more public awareness, more contributions to end Alzheimer’s and possibly more years of my wife being Still Terry.

Until next time,

Still Bud

Days of Infamy

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and for members of the ‘Greatest Generation’ yesterday, December 7, was a date that will live in infamy.

For people of my generation, however, today, December 8, was also an infamous date in history.

The ‘Greatest Generation’ is a term coined by journalist Tom Brokaw and refers to the generation that grew up during the depression and went on to fight in World War II.  Yesterday marked the anniversary of the United States entering that war, after the Imperial Japanese Navy, without warning or declaration of war, attacked the U.S. Naval base in Hawaii. Pearl Harbor.

Today, everyone who is 75 years old or older remembers where they were that day, and how the public opinion of staying out of the war changed overnight.

December 7, 1941 was the original 9/11.

Thirty-nine years and one day later I was living in Rhode Island, watching Monday Night Football. The New England Patriots, my then-girlfriend Terry’s favorite football team, were playing the Miami Dolphins, my favorite team (the ‘Fish’ as we called them practiced on my college campus so we saw and interacted with them on a daily basis).

With less than a minute left in the game, Howard Cosell interrupted the broadcast to announce that John Lennon had been shot and killed outside of his New York City hotel, the Dakota, where he lived.

December 8, 1980. John Lennon was just 40 years old.

Lennon was a hero of mine and I had just bought his latest album, Double Fantasy. 

The murder was senseless and shocking. How could someone kill such a peaceful and talented artist? 

I was just a child when JFK, RFK and MLK were assassinated, and didn’t really understand or feel the pain that the adults did. This was the first assassination of someone who I had strong feelings for. It hurt.

I remember driving to work the next morning with my headlights on, as the local radio station had suggested, to show support and pay homage to Lennon. Even though it was a bright, crisp New England morning, there were more cars with their headlights on than not (and this was before cars had headlights that automatically turned on).

Lennon’s death triggered an outpouring of grief around the world. The following Sunday I was one of millions of people around the world who paused for ten minutes of silence to remember Lennon. Over 225,000 people gathered in New York’s Central Park alone. Every radio station in New York and many others across the county went off the air for ten minutes that day, in Lennon’s honor.

Although these two days of infamy, December 7 and December 8, were both marked by unspeakable violence, the victims could not have been more different.

At Pearl Harbor the majority of the 2,400 Americans killed that day were military.

John Lennon was about as anti-military as a person could be. He often wore a green army jacket as part of his biting sarcasm.  His songs said what he was about: Give Peace a Chance, War is Over (Happy Christmas), I Don’t Want to be a Soldier, Imagine, Mind Games (Make Love, Not War), Power to the People, and when he was with the Beatles All You Need is Love, Come Together and Revolution.

These were all songs about changing the world in a peaceful manner.

My wife Terry and I had our own Day of Infamy back in the spring of this year. A day that changed our world.

April 11, 2014. It was the fifth anniversary of my father’s death. I remember saying a few prayers to him that morning, to see if he could pull a few strings for us, put in a good word for us.

It was a Friday, the week before Good Friday. I guess you could say it was Bad Friday for me and Terry.

That was the day, after two weeks of testing, that the doctors at the clinic confirmed that Terry did in fact have Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease.

Like those stationed at Pearl Harbor and like John Lennon, this was an attack we were not prepared for. It came out of nowhere. And it was fatal.  Or at least will be in the not too distant future.

The events that took place on December 7, 1941 and December 8, 1980 affected millions of people.

The news that Terry and I received on April 11 of this year affected only a few dozen people.

But Alzheimer’s affects millions. There are more than 5 million people living in the United States right now with Alzheimer’s. Only 200,000 of them, however, are under the age of 65.

My wife Terry is only 55.

I always knew she was one in a million.  But I also always knew that we so looked forward to growing old together.

When I get older losing my hair

Many years from now.

Will you still be sending me a valentine?

Birthday greetings bottle of wine.

If I’d been out ‘till quarter to three

Would you lock the door?

Will you still need me, will you still feed me,

When I’m 64?

Paul McCartney sang those words, but it was Lennon who wrote them.

I only pray that Terry and I will still be together when Terry turns 64.

Until next time, hope none of your days are infamous.

Bud

Separation Anxiety

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and I have discovered that I have more in common with my son’s dog than I already knew. I already knew we were both lovable, we both liked being scratched by my wife Terry and we both have large, fat tails.

(Let me clarify that last remark. I’m talking about his fat tail and my fat butt, not a vestigial tail that I may or may not have been born with.)

When my son was very young I was his best friend. I guess he didn’t have quite the imagination needed to have an imaginary friend.  As he grew up he compiled many, many real friends. To this day when he goes out with Nick, an old high school friend, Nick cannot get over the fact that no matter where they go, from Hoboken to Atlantic City to Philadelphia, there is always someone there who knows my son.

When my son got older and became a man, and no longer needed my fatherly advice (so he thinks), he became my best friend.

But now he has a four-legged best friend.  And his new best friend and I have something else in common.

We both have separation anxiety.

Whereas my son’s dog, Harry, reacts to being alone by destroying things (window blinds seem to be his favorite target), I react in other ways.

When my son was very young I returned home from a two-week road trip in December, arriving home on Christmas Eve. I couldn’t wait to get home and see my young family after working on the road for so long, especially right before Christmas.

When I arrived back in town, I went from the airport directly to my parents’ house, where my kids were staying while Terry was working at the YMCA, teaching gymnastics to toddlers (GymJam). The kids (only two of them at that time) were upstairs playing with their older cousin. When I called for them to come down so they could greet their prodigal father, they said they were still playing and not ready to leave. I went upstairs and informed them, in so many words, that it was time to go.  I was anxious to get home and see my wife and prepare the house for Santa’s arrival. When my son vetoed my instructions, I picked him up and carried him down the steps so we could leave.

My son has always been an independent thinker and, as he said, was not ready to leave.  He decided that his only way of breaking free of my grasp while going down the steps was to bite me on the shoulder.

Needless to say, that was the first and only time that ever happened. When we reached the bottom of the steps I carefully placed him on the floor and proceeded to beat the shit out of him. I’m not sure what hurt more, his butt or my hand. Or my heart.

(a lot of child rearing ‘experts’ believe that spanking is not the proper way to handle misbehaving children. All I know is that was the only time I ever had to do that. I was never bit again and my son never gave me another reason to spank him again. After that incident, when I gave instructions, they were carried out. lesson learned.)

After that unceremonious reception we went home. It was the first time I was home in two weeks. I was very happy to be home. I went into my bedroom and cried like a baby.

To this day I’m not sure if I cried because I just had to beat my son, or the fact that it was not exactly the homecoming I had hoped for.  Either way, I think that was the beginning of my separation anxiety.

I was reminded of this anxiety this past two weeks when I was away from home on a nine-day road trip.  I have had many of these road trips over the years, but this was the first since I became a caregiver. Since my Terry was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease.

I was hoping that while I was away, talking to Terry on the phone once or twice a day would ease my anxiety.  

It did not.

Knowing that my three children were spending time with Terry over the Thanksgiving holiday did wonders for my insecurities. But talking to Terry on the phone did not help that much.

As I mentioned in previous blogs, since Terry has been afflicted by this disease, she has become even quieter than she was when I first meet her, a shy, introverted cutie with an infectious smile.

These days, if I don’t start the conversation with her, it doesn’t happen. So talking on the phone has quite a bit of dead air. I tell her about my day and ask her about her day. But I can’t ask too many questions. With Terry’s memory, or lack thereof, it is tough.

I spoke to Terry Thanksgiving morning and she told me about the different foods the kids were preparing for the feast.  My son was making the turkey; my daughters were making the stuffing, gravy, potatoes, cranberry sauce, sweet potato casserole, green beans, rolls and sangria.

Thanksgiving night I called Terry and asked her how her day was and I asked her what she ate. She guessed “chicken?”

Wiping a tear from my eye and taking a big swallow, I reminded her that it was probably turkey, not chicken. She laughed it off, as she always does. Thank God she still has her sense of humor.

A few weeks ago we were listening to music, as we always do, and one of my favorite 70’s bands, the Pretenders, was playing one of their first big hits, “Brass in Pocket.” One of the recurring lines in the song “I’m special, so special” was playing and Terry said “I’m special, like Special Ed.”

How can you not love that?

Its funny how when the kids were growing up and I was on the road, I depended on Terry to take care of the kids while I was gone. Now, I depend on my kids to take care of Terry while I am gone.

Full cycle. Who knew?

So now I am heading home from my road trip.  I can’t wait to see my wife. To talk to her in person.  She may not be able to remember what she had for dinner but she still remembers me. She still remembers how we feel about each other.   Those are things I don’t take for granted anymore.  I know there will be a day in the not too distant future that this will not be the case.  This disease will separate us from what we have, what we are.

That is the separation anxiety I am suffering from.

Until next time, stay connected to your loved ones.

Bud

Not Home for the Holidays

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and the thing I always enjoyed most about the holidays was being with my family. I miss that.

Oh, there’s no place like home for the holidays

‘Cause no matter how far away you roam

When you pine for the sunshine of a friendly gaze

For the holidays you can’t beat home, sweet home.

When I was little my parents often took my sister and me to my grandparents’ house for Thanksgiving.  We would watch Underdog float down Broadway in the Macy’s parade in the morning and watch the Detroit Lion and Dallas Cowboy football games in the afternoon.

That house always smelled like coffee and fresh rolls in the morning, except on Thanksgiving, when it smelled like turkey.

That is what Thanksgiving was all about to me, the four F’s: feasting, floats, football and family.

That tradition continued when my wife Terry and I had our kids, taking them to my parent’s house for the holidays, where my sister would be with her daughter.

Unfortunately, I have been out of town with work for Thanksgiving four of the last six years, and will be away again this year. This year, I am afraid, will be the toughest.

A lot of people have no sympathy for me when it comes to being away for Thanksgiving. While I am pining for the sunshine of a friendly gaze, I have been, in fact, the envy of my friends who were pining for the sunshine associated with warmer weather, where I was roaming far away.

Last year I was in San Francisco for Thanksgiving and the year before that Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. (When I was in Puerto Vallarta I looked for people who used to frequent that city all the time 30 years ago: Captain Stubing, Gopher the purser and Isaac the bartender, but I didn’t see them. They must have been on the boat with Julie the Cruise Director). In 2009 I was in Cancun, Mexico and in 2007 Orlando, Florida.

Nice places. Warm weather. If you have to work, there are few better places to work for most people. For me, I would prefer working at home.

Ever since my wife Terry was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease, I have been her constant companion. She is rarely not at my side. I make sure she gets her meds every morning, I make her meals. I take her to the store. I take her to her Bible study. I have even taken her to work with me. I hate leaving her alone. There are so many things she cannot do anymore. She is no longer independent.

When I do leave her home alone during the day I always make a “to do” list for her. Take a shower, do the dishes, read and write in your Memory Book, make yourself a lunch, work on your jigsaw puzzle, keep your phone on you, etc. Some things just don’t occur to her to do.

I am going to have to prepare a long “to do” list for next week. This will be the first time we have been apart since last winter.

I am dreading next week. I leave early Sunday morning for Kansas and Tuesday morning travel from Kansas to Orlando and do not return home until the following Monday. Nine days and eight nights away from home. Away from Terry. That scares me.

I was home for the 2010 and 2011 Thanksgivings and they were great. My son and I deep fried a turkey without blowing up the house and it tasted pretty good, especially the second time, when we figured out how to do it.  My daughters helped Terry with all of the other fixins and we had a great meal and a great day together.

Luckily, I have great kids who will help out as much as they can. Fortunately they will be home for the holidays, and I am sure they will have a great Thanksgiving Day. I doubt I will, although I will rest at ease knowing they are all together. At least for that day.

I have always dreaded September. Not only was it the end of summer but the beginning of my busy time of year at work. This year I can’t wait until December. Not because Christmas is getting closer, but because December 1 I will be coming home from my road trip.

Speaking of Christmas coming sooner, I’ve seen way too many Christmas ads on television already. It used to be that Thanksgiving was the gateway to Christmas. Once turkey day arrived, we were in the Christmas season. Black Friday would be the starting gun.

Now I think Halloween has become the springboard to Christmas. Ever since November rolled around I’ve seen Christmas lights going up on houses, Christmas shopping circulars in my mailbox and newspaper, and Christmas commercials on TV.

Normally I would plead “Can’t we just enjoy Thanksgiving first, before we start concentrating on Christmas?”

But I won’t be enjoying Thanksgiving this year. I won’t be giving thanks for the blessing of the harvest and of the preceding year. Not this year.

I do give thanks for the many positive things I have in my life. I am thankful that when my daughter hit a deer recently the only things that got dented were the car and the deer’s butt. I am thankful that I have a job that pays the bills (most of them, anyway). I am thankful that I have a roof over my head, and beer in my refrigerator. I am thankful that I have three great kids. I am thankful that I have great friends. And I am extremely thankful that I have the best wife anyone could ever hope for.  I am thankful that I am able to be her caregiver, that I am able to be there for her. Be there for her most of the time, anyway.

But that is the problem with being a caregiver. It is a job you never ask for but once you become one you hate it when you can’t give the care you need to give. It is not a job you want to outsource.

But sometimes I have no choice.

So while others are giving thanks and enjoying the holiday with friends and family, I will be keeping my fingers crossed that all goes well at home this coming week.

As you know, crossing your fingers is a hand gesture commonly used to wish for good luck, but it has also been used to implore God for protection. Historically it was used in order to allow early Christian believers to recognize one another during times of persecution. They would cross their fingers in order to invoke the power associated with the Christian cross for protection.

Now I would never compare my lot in life to those early Christians. We all have our own crosses to bear in this life, some heavier than others. I will, however, be asking for protection for Terry while I am gone.

And when I arrive home from my road trip, and Terry is safe and sound, I will then give thanks.

Until next time, have a Happy Thanksgiving. Hopefully with family, hopefully at home for the holiday, and hopefully Underdog won’t get loose, floating over Manhattan.

Bud

Salute

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and today is Veteran’s Day.

My father was a veteran of the Army and was always proud to state that while he served, there was never one invasion on Fort Dix, NJ, where he was stationed.

He was also happy that he was stationed in Central Florida for a while, where he met my mother.

My father also loved to tell a story about Veteran’s Day, November 11, and General Foch (no relation).

Marshall Ferdinand Foch was a French general who was appointed the Commander-in-Chief of the Allied Armies in 1918.

A devout Catholic, Foch attended Mass every day at 11am, no matter where he was. Even in the middle of a battle field, he would grab a Catholic Chaplin and they would put together a make-shift Mass at 11am, so that Foch could pray for peace.

Foch is the person who accepted the German request for an armistice in 1918, bringing World War I to a halt. My father felt it was no coincidence that Foch went to Mass every day at 11am to pray for peace and the war ended on the 11^th day of the 11^th month at the 11^th hour.

That is why Veteran’s Day is celebrated today, on November 11.

I never served in the military. Growing up a ‘hippie-wanna-be’ I was against the war. War is expensive, Peace is priceless.  I was always a big believer in the motto: Suppose they gave a war and nobody came?

I had two uncles who served in Viet Nam and I saw what it did to them. My one uncle was a big semi-pro football player from the south and one of the toughest guys I ever met when I was a kid.  I really looked up to him, literally (6’4”, 265 pounds). He saw serious heat during the war, serving on the front lines. He was never wounded, physically, but many of his buddies were, and he came back a different person. For years he awoke in the middle of most nights screaming, covered in sweat. (sounds like a lot of my dates in college).

In my line of work I am around a lot of college athletes. I deal with 20 different varsity teams, but having been a college baseball player I have usually been a bit closer to the baseball players. In my 33 years on the job we’ve had over 30 players selected in the professional baseball draft, with four of them reaching the Major Leagues.  When the players would ask me about my baseball career I always gave them the same line. “Yea, I was almost drafted, but the Viet Nam war ended.”

That is probably the one good thing that the disgraced president Richard Nixon did; get us out of Viet Nam. Funny how JFK is always remembered so positively, him and Jackie and their ‘Camelot’ administration. Yet it was JFK who got us into Viet Nam in the first place.

And poor LBJ. He was surrounded with advisors who kept telling him we can win this thing as long as we kept escalating, sending in more troops. Once he figured out they were wrong he wanted no more of being President of a divided country.

I was always a big fan of John Lennon. Imagine there’s no country, it isn’t hard to do. Nothing to kill or die for, and no religion too.

The Jehovah’s Witnesses believe that. That is why they don’t stand for the national anthem or serve in the military. They try to live their lives the way the Bible says to. To serve no man, no country, just God Jehovah.

It seems a bit impractical in today’s world, but if everyone in the world believed that, we might just have a perfect world. But we don’t. If we did there would be no wars. When was the last time there was not one single war going on somewhere in the world? Never, as long as history has been recorded. Even with all of those beauty pageant contestants wishing for World Peace.

Even though I have always been against war, I have always respected the American men and women who take part in them. Being a soldier deserves respect, and gratitude. It takes a certain type of person, with certain qualities.

My family recently became soldiers, so-to-speak, fighting the war on Alzheimer’s Disease, ever since my wife Terry was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease.

Many of my friends and family members raised a great deal of money in Terry’s name when we attended a Walk to End Alzheimer’s in New England, and my son and daughter recently took part in a similar Walk in Philadelphia.

Like war, Alzheimer’s has many casualties. Alzheimer’s is the sixth leading cause of death.

And like Viet Nam, the fight against Alzheimer’s is a war I am afraid we cannot win. Not at this point, anyway.  But our advisors keep telling us that we can win this, eventually, if the support and assistance is escalated.

I am grateful that these advisors are not the same ones that LBJ had. I salute them for their work trying to find a cure.

As you know, a salute is a gesture used to display respect. In medieval times, Knights would raise their visors to each other to show their faces and to show friendly intentions.  In more modern times, it was military custom for subordinates to remove their headgear in the presence of superiors, even as recently as the American Revolution.  As military headgear grew more cumbersome in the 18^th and 19^th centuries, the act of removing your hat was gradually converted into the simpler gesture of grasping or touching the visor and issuing a courteous salutation.

A salute.

In baseball, we used to tip our caps to the crowd when we received applause. Unfortunately I rarely had the opportunity to tip my cap.  After I hit my first collegiate home run I returned to the dugout to find my cap at the bottom of the Gatorade jug.  When I returned to the field and tipped it I got a face full of green Gatorade. After the game a girl I was seeing greeted me with something much better than a salute, but could not figure out why my face was so sticky.

Today, I tip my cap to all members of the armed forces who have sacrificed so many things for the benefit of our country. Most of them have suffered far worse than a sticky face.

And I salute the many doctors and scientists who are working on a cure for Alzheimer’s.

There may never be World Peace, but hopefully someday there will be a cure for Alzheimer’s.

Until next time, tip your cap to a Vet, and fight for a cure to Alzheimer’s.

Bud