I mentioned the Benjamin Franklin Reader. One of the things he said that made me wince
had to do with not being silly, but having people take you seriously. He had a keen sense of humor, as we see in
Poor Richard’s Almanac and his other early writings. But he said that he realized at an early age
that he was undermining his own success and stature among men by being seen as
silly, witty or jovial, except in very limited instances. By the time I read that it was too late for
me. I’ve always liked to make people
laugh. Only in recent years have I
considered how I would feel if someone else had said what I said in the
circumstance in which I said it. Or I
would ask myself, what impression would that person have made on me if
he had said to the group what I said to the group? I wish I had thought that
through in the early stages of my career. Perhaps it would have made no
difference, though, because I enjoy the odd and unconventional - the humorous verging on the outrageous.
Here’s a good example: In the mid 1970s this crazy thing
called the pet rock was popular for awhile.
With approximately zero intrinsic value, some marketing genius came up
with the idea, and people were spending what would now be the equivalent of
maybe $20-25 each to put one on their desks at work or to give as a gag
gift. Well, some other genius came out
with the pet turd, and I thought it was hilarious. It came with its own “dog house” that looked
like an outhouse or port-o-potty, instructions on caring for your new pet, and
a list of some of the advantages of owning one: You didn’t have to potty train
it or take it for walks or stop at rest stops during a car trip, etc. I bought five of them, put them on my desk at
work, and offered them free to favorite co-workers. I was the only one who thought they were
funny, and if I hadn’t been so tone deaf to office politics at the time, I’m
sure I would have realized that I had done myself some serious damage in terms
of my future with the company. At the
time I just shrugged it off and felt sorry for people who don’t have a better
sense of humor than that.
Just the other day at the gym, a young man was holding a
small dumbbell in his throwing hand and making the motion of passing it like a
football (not letting go, of course). He
had ear buds in his ears, so I had to get his attention first and have him take
one of them out of his ear, and then I smiled and said, “Even if you learn to
throw that thing, who is going to catch it?”
He didn’t exactly double over with laughter, but I think he was amused
either by what I said, or just the fact that I would say it. Either way works
for me. But that is the kind of thing I
would do during my working career, too, trying to amuse someone by what I said,
or simply because of the fact that I had said it.
It seems like every ten years or so I would look back and
think, “Man, I was really a jerk ten years ago.
I am not so bad now.” At 50 I
would look back and think, “I was really a jerk at 40, but I have improved a lot.” Same thing at 60, looking back to 50. Now as I approach 70 I can’t remember what I
was like at 60, anyway, but I have settled for saying that I am not as big a
jerk as I used to be, and maybe I will keep improving. I have mentioned this to close relatives,
half-way hoping that someone would say, “Oh, you were never a jerk,
really.” Unfortunately no one has said
that. Ouch! I think I have become more comfortable in my
own skin, in any case, and I have always been a happy person, grateful for what
has come my way in life. I talk
elsewhere about living up to one’s potential and doing the best with what
you’ve got. I really feel I have done
that, even though my best hasn’t been particularly noteworthy. I did what I could. A running philosopher once said that he tries
to teach people that it is OK to accept your limitations and yet to struggle
against them. That is not
contradictory. That has more or less
been my approach to life.
I’m sure we all would like to be able to think that our
lives have “made a difference” somehow.
We are only on earth for so many decades, at best, and then we are
gone. I can share from personal
experience that most of us will be hard pressed to convince even ourselves, let
alone other people, that our lives really made any kind of a difference to the
world around us. Our children and
grandchildren are of course very meaningful to us personally, but really make
no important difference to the rest of the world. The names that populate the history books
represent a tiny fraction of one percent of those who lived. So, too, the names of celebrities,
politicians, athletes and the like: They
are a tiny fraction of one percent of our population. The rest of us will pass from life’s stage
essentially unnoticed. Aside from the
joys of marriage and family, my satisfaction comes from knowing that I did the
best I could, irrespective of how paltry the results may seem to others. If I have a message that would be it: Try to
live such that when you look back you can truthfully say, “I did the best I
could.”
I was born on February 29th 1944, according to
a piece of paper entitled Certificate of Live Birth, issued by a hospital in
Jamaica, Queens, New York, called Mary Immaculate. As someone who tends to be very literal, it
is interesting to me that it is called a certificate of live birth, rather than
just a birth certificate. It reminds me
that there is no guarantee when going through labor and delivery that the baby
will be born alive. The term probably
comes from an earlier time in medical history when the number of live births
was far from 100%. To appreciate how
things have changed, I note that in one of the books I read about the Irish
settling in New York in the late 1800’s/early 1900’s, there was a scene where
young women were admitted to the hospital some two weeks or more before their
expected delivery dates, and stayed in the hospital nursing and recovering
another three or four weeks after giving birth.
Now you are lucky to stay overnight.
Also, with my literal bent, I notice that if we take the word
“immaculate” out of its religious context we can chuckle about how the birthing
process is anything but immaculate! Or
at least I can chuckle about it; I never had to personally go through it,
except as a newborn.
Further evidence of the accuracy of my birth date comes
from a copy of the June 1944 edition of the Morey Machine Co of New York
in-house news publication. Below a
picture of me, the announcement of my birth reads, “Thomas Peter Zades was a
Leap-Year Baby, opening his eyes to the world on February 29th. Weighed 7 ½ lb. at birth but now, at the ripe
old age of 3 months, he weighs 14 lb.
Father is Tom Zades of the Turret Lathe Dept., and Proud Grandpa is Pete
Zades, Turret Lathe foreman. Pete says the baby takes after him, because he has
no teeth and neither has the baby.” The
copy was kept because it announced my birth, but it is also fascinating because
of all the pictures and articles relating to the war, and support of the war,
including a description of an impromptu meeting in celebration of “D” Day, June
6th, 1944. In fact, the
article states that one of the executives closed the meeting saying a prayer
and all joined in the singing of the Star Spangled Banner. It also said that all work was to be suspended
at 5pm that day (June 6th) so that all could go to Madison Square
Garden to join in Mayor LaGuardia’s official celebration.
I can’t help but note in passing here that we will not
see executives of modern U.S. corporations leading the workers in prayer. Someone might be offended! My only point here, though, is that we had
much more of a consensus as a nation than we do now. Now we need to be more sensitive and
considerate of others in our midst, because we really have no national
consensus to speak of. America used to
be called “the great melting pot,” because we are a nation of immigrants who
blended together over time and developed certain common core beliefs. Now we are seen more like a green salad where
the various ingredients maintain their individuality, but combine to make an
attractive and tasty meal. At least that
would be the positive, optimistic spin on it.
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