Identity and Diagnosis

Last Thursday I sat in the therapy chair as Mike, my therapist, and I discussed my life post starting a new job / new chapter of my life (full time with excellent benefits and an opportunity to make a difference for people). Essentially, many of the worries that were affecting my future were gone as I found my way to be the me I wanted to be (busier, more helpful, etc.). The session prior to that, the out of control Parkinson's life had caught up to me and body slammed me for the first time since its defined self came into my world, but good.

In hindsight, it was good to be able to have someone to talk to. Hug therapy and stoic philosophy only go so far. That said, a gift from the universe helps, too. Sometimes, we don't know how lost we are until we hit some ugly realization of the storm we're compensating for.

Anyway, at the early October session, we were talking about maintaining identity, which is something that every single person on this planet contemplates, whether actively or subconsciously. We want to know that we are something good and existing as us, not some bull in a china shop who is brushing up against things and knocking them all around.

As a Parkie, life is about balancing the new me with the old me. Like many of you, I had a life of who I was before Avalanche Day. Today, I am a part of that person. However, I also get to be parts of me that are Parkinson's.

From the minute Parkinson's symptoms came into play, minuscule fractions of that guy vanished as the bridges and highways of my brain were affected. The infrastructure of my brain slowed down, and I compensated in balance / posture / new ways of doing the same old things. Along the way, I adjusted my life accordingly.

Mike and I talked about one of those adjustments, which was giving up teaching. As a lover of knowledge (my geeky side) and a person who values education, I didn't want to lose that sense of who I was, after all I was fated to be a teacher all those years ago when I drove through Nevada for the first time.

At that point, we discussed how writing about Parkinson's is teaching, though it feels different. I see it as more sharing the experience so you can see the road you may find yourself on. I don't lecture a room, record attendance, grade papers, or demand cell phones are turned off when I'm writing! Then again, I'm not actively guiding people through feedback or directions of how to accomplish things when I'm writing either.

Mind you, I don't miss grading papers. I sometimes miss the lectures, but as a whole, other than the individualized guided help sessions and opportunities such as encouraging students to do things like go to academic conferences, I miss it a lot less than I thought I would.

Nevertheless, I still feel a teacher's voice inside of me, just in another way and for other things.

This leads me to where I am at this point in my life (as thinking like this does you in yours). Of the things that define you, how many of them are you doing?

I am a traveler, and while I'm still driving, I'm now the Jack Kerouac to my wife's Neal Cassidy (she drives while I'm riding shotgun, but we're still On the Road). Fortunately, I had my cross country jaunts, so I can always look back on those days as an "old man with his memories." I would encourage anyone to hit the open highway to see the world. Culture is best experienced in person with history and society flowing in our veins. You'll never regret anywhere you went (only places you should have gone).

I still go hiking, but the distances are far shorter, and there's a lot of time between the hikes. I definitely need to remedy this.

In our most recent trip, last weekend, my wife and I took in the Great Falls of the Potomac on the way home from Baltimore. We had been there before, but this time we saw it in autumn with rushing waters (instead of spring colors and low water). It's a short walk down the Potomac to do all the vistas (maybe a flat mile round trip). It's very accessible if you're tempted to go, should you be in the Baltimore / D.C. area.

By the way, people with permanent disabilities can get into national parks for free.

Yes, that is a rainbow on the waters!

I'm still a writer, though I haven't found the time to write fiction or non-fiction lately (until the snow day I was on earlier this week - work let out early, though it took 3 times as long to get home!).

I'm still able to love and appreciate the sci fi / archaeology / history / supernatural stuff, but that's not a defined version of me (just an interest umbrella).

I still follow baseball, though I'm not as devoted to it as I was when I was single.

I still find time to read, the news / non fiction / fiction. However, the anxiety I feel while reading them isn't proactive to making me happier. Then again, I don't think many people are content with right now.

I still love music, though I don't really find much connection to new releases or discovering them in the way that I used to. That said, it's not like I'm hurting for things to listen to (it's just I've heard many of them before).

I still eat too many cheese steaks for my own good.

I still enjoy the random sights and sites of American culture and all that it offers to do (music, theater, roadside attractions, historical places, unique fun experiences).

But what is this to my identity?

I can't say I'm identified by a sports team. Yes, I found myself rooting for Boston in the World Series, though I would have rooted for a good game if not for Manny Machado and his history with Boston and the rest of the league. Is it enough to just be a fan of 1 sport?

I have a sense of spirituality, but I'm not someone who recruits for my religion actively and openly, let alone wearing a badge to show my denomination. Nevertheless, I feel a definite need for God.

The same is true for my politics. Being in the middle, I find it hard to know where I am when neither side represents all that I am or am not. Nevertheless, I'm open to compromise and the best of both worlds.

It would be so much easier to be Mike Pence who is Christian / conservative / Republican (in that order). Instead, I often feel like Eugene O'Neill's hairy ape, struggling to fit in. Yeah, being a bull in a china shop is never easy, but it's the lot that Parkinson's leaves so many of us.

On much of that same note, I'm not self-identified by my colleges, nor do I feel an overwhelming connection to the military, though I am who I am, for better or worse because of my time spent in these institutions. I respect people who are. Maybe if I had been on a ship or in a combat unit, I would feel closer to that post discharge place, but that wasn't my military self. Likewise, if I had been into the tailgating / football Saturday world, I might feel differently about college as a name of where I went, but for me it was just an opportunity to learn. Nevertheless, I do feel a connection to professors who gave me that chance and their individual attention.

Obviously, like many of you, I have Parkinson's, but I'm not claiming that as my identity. Yes, there are the disclaimers and symptoms, but I don't want to be defined by this (as you don't either). I definitely don't like that it robs my old interests from me!

So what am I?

Sitting down with my Office of Vocational Rehab guy, Gary, who is also a good guy, we also looked at the results of my neurological baseline test.

On the positive side, I'm still thankful for the intelligence parts, but I think about the loss of speed in making decisions and the memory parts. I think about how Parkinson's has affected my personality, and how complicated it makes things sometimes.

Tom Friedman writes about the speed of Walmart's Internet site fighting to keep up with Amazon by accelerating search logarithms in fractions of a second to keep people hooked. While we can't see loss like that in our life (because we've compensated), it shows up like it does at the Daytona 500 when cars that are a mile or 2 slower an hour than the leader are lapped over and over. Here, it's all in comparison. My life didn't notice my inability to match symbols as quickly as I should until I was compared to other people. Then, I realized that I don't have the ability to save the world with instantaneous decision making anymore.

Besides, that's what we have Chuck Norris for.

So it goes.

Thinking back to the neurological baseline test I took 8 weeks ago and all that it was, a series of tests, some challenging / fun and some seemingly impossible / frustrating. I'm sure other experiences will vary on the Weschler Test, but I will say that my time with it left me feeling a few things.

Obviously, as an intelligent person with Parkinson's who is losing / will lose his mental functioning over time, it leaves me wanting to "leave less of a footprint" on the world around me. In life, I and many other people have opportunities to impact a lot of people who we know nothing about. The acronym below is a good model for me and others to fall back on. Even with Parkinson's face and voice mixed with being in a world that is pretty Dan-centric, that is a challenge since dopamine can leave my mood fluctuating. Whether it's not smiling enough or being "snappy" at people, it's not passing a Dale Carnegie class.

Hence, I'm working on it.

As teachers / professionals / leaders / the adults in the room, people have to do a lot more to tell other people why they need to do specific things. Because the syllabus / boss / doctor / parent said so isn't good enough. If I'm doing something that challenges me in a way that is beyond my abilities, I need to know why. Even the concept of folding t-shirts into 6-inch squares and tweezing the ends to get them even (spraying them with starch to stay there) had a purpose (attention to detail is everything with lives on the line - though my ability to fold said shirts wasn't something I could use to stop terrorists). I'd like to hope I've always done this as something more than "because I said so" (for instance,  we need to learn Civil War history in English 11th grade to understand the story Gods and Generals; some people don't even know the Abraham Lincoln part of that). 

As an educational professional, I can tell you that many college majors are losing math requirements that don't matter anymore for them. Algebra doesn't need to hold people back from a job unless the job requires algebra, trigonometry, or calculus. I used to believe this was watering things down. Now I see it as creating people who can get paid to make a difference for others while financially supporting their family units (self / others). 

Here, I also feel we should be more open to questions and issues that people might have while going through the process. Not everyone is attacking our credentials. And yes, I know I have to work on this.

As for my personal areas of frustration:

On said psych test, listening to Casio beeps from the 1970s might tell if I have hearing issues, but on an ancient audio cassette, they all sound pretty similar. That said, I know I have hearing issues. I just would have liked a clearer range of sounds as being different or the same to feel like I had a fighting chance at the questions.

Listening to 15 or so pairs of unconnected words read off like an auctioneer and being asked for B when the tester says A feels like something designed to trip people up. Doing something and coming off terribly in the response doesn't feel good, even if we end up in an average or above average percentile when compared against other testers.

Hearing 10 "incorrect" responses in a row on a series of pattern questions when we can't figure out the pattern is very demoralizing. Additionally, when we're told to guess anyway, having no idea what's correct, feels like setting us up to keep hearing the response of "incorrect." Had I guessed correctly, the answers would have been worthless. That's not fun when I already feel like I have a condition that's literally causing me to "lose my mind."

A test like the blindfolded project to put shapes into a standing board with 1 hand makes a lot more sense when the OVR guy says that this is the skill that electricians and HVAC people use when they're working in hidden, enclosed spaces as compared to just the feeling that I need to do something or I'm uncooperative and venting, or prone to my own way (though in actuality, I can be all 3 things for plenty of other reasons, too).

In the end, there are times when we need to suck it up and do. Going into something that is that kind of a necessity goes a lot better with an explanation / disclaimer in the beginning than a feeling of "you're here; now perform."

My time with the test was rough, but I finished. I didn't not want to finish. Some people get frustrated and walk away. The doctor even stated this when I asked him how do other people do.

That said, a test that is for our own good shouldn't make us feel that way.

Should you take the test, I can only say this is a test of you. However, you can't study for it. Nevertheless, you can know what it's trying to get out of you. You should ask questions. You shouldn't be left to feel inferior or a fraction of yourself (like I did) after taking the test.

Take this not as a validity of the test, but rather as words of advice to the next tester, should you need to get one to show disability.

And please remember, your test scores are not your identity unless you let them be your identity.

And this brings me back to my identity now.

I'm still almost all the things I was back in the beginning of this blog...

I am a husband to Heather

I am a son to John and Essie

I am a brother to Beth

I am a nephew to Toot, Dave, Pat, Steve, and Deb

I am Big D’s godfather

I am Uncle Dan to over 20 different kids and adults in Pennsylvania and Ohio

I am a cousin and all other kinds of family related tags

I am a friend to some really great people who have listened to my story about this and been there in good times and rough days

I’m a Berks County Boy living in Ephrata, smack dab in the middle of Amish Paradise

I am an educational adviser who works hard to push people to be great while teaching them how to write well, and for this, I’ve seen some really great people I feel awesome about working with
I am the proud product of a community college, which transformed my life
I am a writer of ghost stories, Parkinson's blogs, and outdoor tales
I may write ghost stories, but I believe in God and the power of true love
I went to a Catholic college whose teachers also influenced me

I am a hiker who is active in hiking groups to include the Standing Stone Trail, which in my humble opinion is the best trail in Pennsylvania

I am a photographer

I love music from all genres, especially Polyphonic Spree and Neutral Milk Hotel

I’m a baseball fan

I served in the Air Force

I like chocolate iced donuts, cheese steaks, and pizza more than I should

I’m heavily influenced by stories of people overcoming hardship.

I have a weird sense of humor

I’d like to think I’m a good person, but I’ve done some knuckleheaded things that I wish I could undo, too
The Stockdale Paradox is my defining code.

In the end, I am me. I am working to better myself and to enjoy life without getting so hung up on the feelings of futility and sadness. Whatever that may be, so be it. That's me!

Sometimes, all I need is a little push of inspiration from a great therapist. Yeah, that session was my last one until I feel I need him again. The same is true for my Office of Vocational Rehab case, though we are going to meet up again, eventually, to discuss potential work needs or progress.

It felt good to graduate, even if it's only a chapter of my life.

Additionally, sometimes all we need is a voice for the cause... but that's the next post to come (with American Ninja Warrior Jimmy Choi and my wife Heather; yes, he really is that awesome in person).

Sleep: The Good, The Scary, and The Future as Well as Some Thankful Expressions

Recently, my friend John who works at the Salt Lounge in Wyomissing, Pennsylvania, invited me to experience salt therapy at his place of work.

I must say, it put me to sleep. Literally. I was awake for 15 minutes, and I fell asleep.

That's not a bad or uncommon thing. In fact, the staff warns you that it could happen because the therapy WILL relax you and make you breathe easier. Put simply, it was the bomb diggity. Right now, the goal is to take my wife back for our anniversary in August and do massages and salt therapy.

To set the stage, when you walk into the room, you are mandated to take off your socks and shoes as you walk across a floor of pink Himalayan sea salt. Apparently, people don't want to walk barefoot through your gunk, so please oblige.

All around you is additional pink sea salt, which is pumping into the room. You are given a Walkman with various trance style music to listen to, and the lights are dimmed to reveal white specks like stars, which appear as glowing lights. These flicker on and off as the spacey music fills your brain.

So there I was, sitting on an Adirondack chair, letting my thoughts vanish, and drifting into no thoughts. WHAM! I was woken up a half hour later to hear that it was over.

What? It's over!

If I were to do it again, I would have The Orb's "Little Fluffy Clouds" on. I think that would express everything I wanted to feel in the moment.

Anyway, I've had good luck with salt therapy in the past, so convincing me to go was no big deal. My wife's sister had one of those salt lamps, and I slept really well with it when we were in Georgia. This was prior to my sleep aepnea diagnosis (though I knew I had it). Right now, I don't sleep well at all, so for someone with sleeping / breathing issues, the salt is a good thing.  Now, we've got 3 set up in the house. Two were gifts from her, and one we had, but it was in the attic.

As for my post-salt therapy sleep experience, keep in mind, I went home that evening and laid down on my couch, drifting off to sleep. I woke up 12 hours later to a phone call that I was late for hiking. I didn't wake up to go to the bathroom prior to that either, which is unheard of! Also keep in mind, 12 hours of sleep is 2 nights in my world of insane sleep (more about that later).

Obviously, you good people are spread out, but if you're near Reading, Pennsylvania, you should swing on by. There's lots of other things to see and do in Wyomissing. After all, it's where Taylor Swift lived before moving to Nashville, and yes, they claim her pretty hard around here! Other than that, you're about 30 minutes from Amish Country, too.

I recommend Shady Maple Smorgasbord! It's pricey, but it's better buffet food with more quality choices. You'll feel the bloat, but it's worth it! Taylor Swift might not be able to eat in there now without being mobbed, but you might see Raymond the Amish Comic!

+++

But anyway, when it comes to sleep, I have been having issues lately. In the last 3 weeks, I have had many aggressive dreams, which is weird because I'm actually feeling pretty mellow, and in the worst of the dreams, I was falling asleep to Parks and Rec.

1) Someone is saying horrible things about Parkinson's people, so I stand up for all of us. Mind you, I am at the house my family lived at from age 16 to 29. I feel that I have nothing to lose, so I talk said person down only to confront another person who feels like he needs to keep the aggression flowing.

2) A dream where 2 former bosses melt into one another, and I have to confront them over lies they are saying. One of them is from nearly a decade and a half ago. Somehow, this dream drifts into going back to Basic Training. A lot of my dreams do. I tend to find myself in a more comfortable and capable way while there than I did in real life (yes, I get the symbolism of that). I have been back to Basic Training with my wife Heather, myself, and my former unit, some 30 years later. They're not bad dreams, but I always dread doing things like 6 inch square folding and locker inspection preparedness. I'm more exact about things like writing, but things that can just be... they tend to be.

3) I have had 2 punching dreams that I remember. In the second dream, I'm not sure why I punched, but I know I swung at the headboard. In the first dream, my wife and I were in a store, where we encountered the owner having to fight back against a rambunctious crowd of post-teens. As he defended himself, one of the thug kids asked if we wanted to help get him. I refused, and soon we were fighting off the thugs. I know I swung at least twice. Despite having no control over my out of sleep actions (a part of REM SBD, which keeps the body from being shut off), I am hyper-aware of them. In the past, this has allowed me to fly or choose direction. I can also talk to myself in my dreams. Let's just say, it's a wild ride in there. As this dream continued, I found that we were having to fashion spears to go on the attack. When it was over, it turned out that it was some kind of a game (I assume somewhere between a club and the Hunger Games), and because of that, they were gearing up for a second round.

4) I had another dream where 2 people I know were present. The wife was being condescending and hateful toward the husband, and I remember shoving her for this. As that occurred, the husband announced that the wife was cheating on him, so it was a case of me defending his honor in somewhat the way I did the people with Parkinson's in #1. After that, I remember him resolving their situation to find his independence.

5) In another dream, I met John McCain during a session of Basic Training. I remember that he was feeling that some of my observations about him were wrong, which bothered me because he's my current favorite living leader.

6) Additionally, while falling asleep, I might wake up and feel my body snapping here and there.

+++

Recently, I had another sleep study to figure out why I'm ripping my sleep apnea mask off every night. I wear it, and it doesn't feel uncomfortable. I manage to fall asleep, but in times that range from less than an hour to less than 4 hours, off it comes. I have NO KNOWLEDGE that this has happened (except in 1 case). If I sleep on my back, I fare better, but that's not perfect since I'm a side sleeper. Hence, my pulmonary doctor sent me back for more tests because she's still trying to be sure about asthma and aspiration pneumonia. I've written about THIS in the past.

I've also written about sleep apnea before. Here is part 1 and part 2.

Personally, I'm more sold on REM Sleep Behavior Disorder and Parkinson's breathing issues.

This is my first pneumonia account. This is the second.

Anyway, all 3 times, I went here (though to 2 different centers, but the same attendant Michelle). I sent this to her boss.

I am writing this letter to commend your employee, Michelle.

Over the past few months, I have been to 2 different Lancaster County sleep centers over 3 visits. Each time, I had the pleasure of being treated by Michelle. Her manner has always been upbeat and she shines with dedication to her profession.

While much of her job that that patients see deals with getting them ready for the study by “wiring them up,” she does her best to cut down on the awkwardness and potential discomfort of the on and off sticky substances. Here, she even made the “goopy” part of the experience as pleasant as can be (the same was true for the reverse part of the procedure).

Additionally, she worked hard to explain everything that was about to be done and that was done. She did while all the while answering all of my questions. While this is “part of the job,” I have an excessive amount of questions due to the fact that I have Parkinson’s disease, which is a condition that I write about for myself and Health Union.

Here, I am able to take my former life as a teacher and combine it with my current life as an educator / advocate and combine them in a written form so that other people and I will be able to understand the process. Knowing that I have a solid professional voice guiding me to answers while helping to alleviate concerns makes me confident of who she is as a professional. Also, with her help, I am able to assist others in coming to accept help with sleep apnea. To me, this is what life is all about.

Please know how appreciated your staff member is (she’s not just helping me – her care is making a difference world-wide. Here, I can say this simply: I would recommend your practice to anyone for the value she brings to it.

I really like writing letters like this, but I also like being able to be a part of the research in a hermeneutic phenomenology kind of way. While that's a big way of saying a researcher aims to find cold hard "objective" data in how people "subjectively" describe their own participation in an action. For instance, I tell you in paragraph form how it feels to get a treatment. 

Here, my writer's side allows me to express what I'm going through in enough words to really make something of it.

On that note, I hate questions like "How much pain are you in?"

What's  a 0? A perfect Sandals vacation?

What's a 10? An 8-year stint at the Hanoi Hilton?

So where is my aspiration pneumonia in all of that? Is a 4 a fair estimate? If I said 8, is this just a weak pain tolerance?

How about I just describe it to you?

Working with Michele is easy because she's into the dream aspect of the job, and was able to talk about future research with that as well as what's going on. 

For instance, I could ask her things like, "Did you catch that dream in the second half?" She would tell me she did, and she could describe some of my actions like how I moved my feet (part of my REM SBD). Unfortunately, she can't TIVO the dream for me... yet.

While there, I didn't rip the mask off, and I slept easily (as I did the other times). I had really wanted to work with the doctors to watch me do this while they explain it to me, but yeah... maybe I'll just have to set it up in my bedroom. Then again, do I really want to? I might reveal ghosts (!?!?!?!?!).

Somewhere in all of this, I find myself working to help myself, but I also find myself frustrated with the endless search for problems to label. I feel like the astronauts in Tom Hanks' Apollo 13 when they just get frustrated with being trapped in space and doubtful of their return, so they rebel against being monitored by Houston by pulling off their sensors.

Nobody will know my kidney functions now!

Of course, just like with Jim Lovell's crew, there comes a time when we need to be left to do this, and there's a time to just shut up and listen because this effort for Sisyphus might be heroic.

I'm not sure of where I am with regard to the treatment. I believe it could help, but unless I stay at the sleep center (my wife would have a problem with that) or we fastened the mask to my head with metal clasps, I'm just not sure.

Additionally, I'm done adding medicines for a while. I sleep alone, so I'm not a danger to other people, and besides, not all meds are good for me. My doc referred to my body as "too sensitive." Here, I have little interest in yet another brain medicine when I have 3 already.

In the meantime, I'll strap on my mask tonight and hope for the best.

(Also, see THIS POST for more about my sleep issues regarding some of the reasons I sleep alone as well as other issues that Parkies face in the bedroom).

Basic Training Revisited

There is a point in every class that I teach where it comes necessary to show the video of myself on the rope swing in Basic Training. This is because I didn't believe that I would make it, so I don't. As I hit the water, the video editors censor out "F*****G Glass" for GLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASS. 

If you know what you're listening for, it's obvious.

The lesson does elicit laughter, but it also is a good point. If we didn't learn from our failings, we would never succeed. Most roads aren't straight. That said, if roads can be seen comically in hindsight and we learn from them, then we win.

Here are a few more stories from Basic.

I exited the bus, and I knew the abuse that was coming. I predicted it, and it came to me, but it took longer than I thought. I looked across the tarmac and saw a black guy in a King Tut jacket, wondering if he was going to take abuse for that, and I was shocked when it didn’t come. I was dressed as inconspicuously as possible, and here he was looking completely odd by my suburban white boy definition of odd.

How was I to know that the back to Africa movement was off limits for all training instructors not named R. Lee Ermey?

We went upstairs to the dorm after we had been marched around on the drill pad long enough. We were given keys for our lockers, and these keys were on chains. We were then told that we wear them tucked into our shirts, and I quickly placed mine beneath my shirt in an effort to keep the wolves that be away.

Almost expectedly, a short while later, I was yelled at for having my key exposed. I put it away for a second time; at least I thought that I did. Within a few minutes, I was being yelled at again. Somehow, I instinctively and stupidly responded that, “I ALREADY DID THAT.”

And it came out like that: loud and smart ass and just the opposite of everything that the, “yes sir – I’m doing that as we speak” would have been.

And so it was that these were words that would haunt me for the better part of the next two months:

“I’m going to make your next weeks a living hell.”

The response was calm and exact. It wasn’t a threat or a prediction. It was a promise, and to be honest, Sgt. Honig succeeded in that.

Sgt. Honig was a big man. He stood over 6 feet tall and was packed head to toe in solid muscle. I was 120 pounds of skinny, goofy gimp, who had only recently started getting in some semblance of out of shape as compared to the lazy scrawny whatever that I had been.

In short, I was dead meat.

The next morning I woke up to hear my name called in loud commanding tones by the other training instructor, Sergeant Rouse.

“Glass? Glass? Where’s Airman Glass?”

I sprang to attention as soon as my feet hit the floor in front of him.

“Sir, Airman Glass reports as ordered.”

Loud and sarcastic were gone.

I was given my first duty, which was to be the chow runner. It was my job to ask permission for the group to be seated, eat, and leave. In the course of going to do this, I would have to face 1-5 training instructors and all of the wrath and insults that they could dredge up in an attempt to make a fool out of me.

To be honest, it wasn’t very hard to trip that version of me up.

A person who was a chow runner would stand in front of these dudes, and he would have to remember the words line by line, word for word, and when he was given a card day one, it was impossible to get all of the words down pat.

My first time up there, I was so nervous and forgetful to my lines that I was told to tell my flight that they could not eat because I was so inept or stupid or worthless or something that implied that I was less than dog shit.

Needless to say, I wasn’t looking forward to what would happen when I told 47 other guys that my stupidity, mouth, and lack of ability to make my mouth function properly was going to cause them to go hungry. All the same, I told them, and after a pause that lasted longer than the Hundred Years War, I was told to retry. They got to eat, and I had about a minute or so to eat after those 116 years of standing there feeling like a complete dumbass.

Nevertheless, over time, I got used to eating quickly. I didn’t notice the taste of the food; I just inhaled it. We do what we have to do in those days of Basic Training, and after a while, your body doesn’t even notice; it just responds.

Eventually, I got good enough at my task, so they replaced me with someone else who was messing up too regularly to let it be ignored and he was made to suffer until he got it right.

All the same, it took a while to get good at facing confrontation and pressure. Now, I can honestly say that I’m not afraid to stand in front of a class and run the show from Day 1.

To think that I owe all of this to talking out of my ass the first night of Basic Training!

When I look back on Basic Training, there was only one thing that I did right: I never fell behind on a run. I actually got in better shape than I had been in my life, and to be honest, I might have only been sort of out of shape. In fact, I ran with a speed that I have never matched, and at this point in my life, I most likely never will either. On my final run, I ran 2½ miles in 20 minutes, and felt like I could keep going forever. Unfortunately, after that, we were allowed to eat junk food, and I redeveloped my really bad addiction for caffeine, sugar, and lack of exercise. It is true; an object at rest remains at rest. Such was the end of the physical specimen that I had become. The only difference was that now I was 130 pounds, and I was actually getting solid (as opposed to the scrawny guy that I was coming in). At college, they call it the Freshman Fifteen, but in the Air Force, it was a new and better you.

++++

The most amusing anecdote in Basic Training was the story of the first locker inspection that Sgt. Honig would perform. I was caught leaning against a locker early on. My elbow was against the locker when we were allowed to be at rest, rather than me having to stand at “attention”, which we had to be at when he came to inspect us. Until then, it was a state of “at rest.” Being that my last name begins with a G, the torment would last forever as we had to get through to Z, and I was forced to stay leaning against the locker, and every time that my name was called, I would have to yell, “GQ,” which was changed to “GQ Daddy” when he got tired of just “GQ,” and finally it became, “Yo, what’s up GQ Daddy.” It seemed like this went on for longer than it takes Kuiper Belt objects to go around the sun, and when Honig finally got to the other side of the dormitory, I wasn’t excused. Instead, I had to follow him into the other bay so that the other side could watch me suffer.

At one point, one guy started to snicker, and Honig got in his face.

“Do you think this is funny?!!!!”

“Yes Sir.”

“You’re right it is, but if you laugh one more time, you’ll be up there with him.”

There were no more laughs, and nobody else came to join me. Finally, I was released and left to humbly plod across to my bunk. At least I still had the ability to laugh at myself, which shows that I could own my mistakes.

For a short time, I even had the words GQ Daddy placed on a squadron t-shirt to remind myself of what not to do.