The journey to find life balance with a destination that is hard to find in today's changing, challenging world. What I write about today is the first leg of that journey. The goal is learning and holding dear the importance of love, a love that is unconditional, and the importance of relationships. I have found that among other things love is the foundation for making you the best you can be. I know that celebration, wonderment, curiosity, awe and loads of laughter are all essential elements of love and an absolute necessity for living a balanced life.
For the past 25 years or so I, along with many of you, have noticed that the quality of our individual and collective lives seems to be diminishing in real terms. It is too often measured by material things, things of the moment-things that really when you think about it, have no real meaning. Things whose importance are sold to us by Madison Avenue hype, media spin masters, and product marketing pitchmen and women who sing the praise of said things and tell us how our lives will be enhanced, glamorized or improved in time, value or whatever. The truth be told, it's all, as granny used to say, a bunch of "hooey." Unfortunately, too many of us, myself included, have chased the hype, coveted the trappings of the so-called good life and accumulated a treasure trove of things to live the "good life" only to have come up empty. The cost has been too high. As we have chased this "Great American Dream,"we have been caught up, ground up and spit out by the "great American work too hard and long, and consume too much for nothing machine." To put it simply, we have created for ourselves a live to work ethic as opposed to a lifestyle of work to live. We are making a few people rich by buying products and things we don't need or use. We do this by working longer and harder in a time that touts the work smarter, not harder philosophy. We do this to complete the vicious circle so we can buy and possess all those things we think we need and never use.
As I have grown into middle age it has become abundantly clear that the quality and meaning of my life is really defined in other ways. Instead of how much I own, how big my house is and how much "stuff" I have, about 15 years ago I began to measure the quality of my life a bit differently.
I have found that there is probably no greater pain in a person's life than not belonging to someone, to not truly know love, to be able to love and be loved in return. Through the many years of my career I have witnessed the pain and the results of this lack of belonging far too often. Whether it is a child who seeks a parent's love by becoming a parent too soon, or a betrayed partner or spouse, or a parent rejected by their child the pain is the same, unrelenting, almost violent. From the reciprocal ability to give and receive love and build relationships you and I learn how to cooperate, show understanding, patience, tolerance, respect, compassion and trust. These are invaluable tools and skills that are not demonstrated often enough in our world today. These skills or tools, historically, had been taught in the nuclear and extended family, and in the neighborhood. Unfortunately, today's family values are flavor of the day slogans for politicians, clergy and corporate leaders. The chase for the golden ring has thrown the family into dysfunction. A recent article stated that Generation Xer's represent the least valued, least supported generation since pre-industrial revolution times.
I want to share a couple lessons on the importance of love that I've learned on my journey. When I was first confronted with the concept of pain from not being loved or not belonging, I ignored it and shrugged it off as some do-gooder claptrap. In the winter of 1966, I was a scholarship basketball player at the University of Minnesota. My boyhood dreams while growing up in Illinois had come true. I was going to play Big Ten Basketball! We were to play Purdue University at "The Barn," Williams Arena. I was told to be ready, that I was going to get my chance to play as a sophomore that night. As you can imagine, my adrenalin was really flowing. Now my kids tell me, "Dad don't tell this story anymore, look at yourself." I must admit at 52 years of age and too many pounds more than 52, I no longer look like the 6'0" 228 pound athlete I was in the mid-sixties. As my daughter Anne says, "Dad you've 'settled' and in all the wrong places." Well, the adrenalin was flowing and I was in a dunking mood. My first game, 16,782 screaming fans, the Golden Gophers one of the top ranked teams in the Big Ten and the nation-your adrenalin would be flowing too. In pre-game warm-ups in those days we used to bet a dollar a piece on who would get the best crowd response on the dunk. Well, I was betting that all things considered I had a good shot at winning $15. The first three or four dunks "juiced" me up for the final dunk. I was flying high as I went up to do a spinning two-handed dunk behind my head. I did it and the crowd, it seemed like all 16,000 plus went "ewh," they went "ewh" a second time as I got my fingers stuck in the net and hung there for what seemed an eternity but was really only seconds. They went "ewh" a third time as I got loose from the net, lost my balance and blew out my knee when I hit the floor. I won the $15 as the crowd responded the fourth and last time when they took me from the floor. The horror of the moment, the embarrassment, the pain of the injury, the ache of not being able to play then or, for that matter, for the bulk of my Big Ten career. I was sure this was the greatest pain I would ever comprehend. That was until November of 1971.
I was teaching freshman social studies at McHenry High School. During my last class of the day, I was called to the main office where I was told my family doctor needed to see me right away. I was told that my class would be covered as well as my football coaching responsibilities. Coincidently, McHenry was where I went to high school, my family received care since 1948 at the medical center across the street from the. My mom worked in town, my dad a custodian at the high school, Janet a nurse at the medical center and my sister a telephone receptionist there too. As I spoke with the family doctor, I told him I had to go back to practice. He said it wasn't necessary-it was covered and he had something to tell me but didn't know how. I had known this man most of my life. What was so hard to tell me? He hemmed and hawed for what seemed an eternity until I finally lost my cool and demanded to know "what the hell was going on." He then told me, "Fred, your Dad just died." My dad was only 51. Sure he had been sick off and on and in and out of VA Hospitals since being injured in the D-Day invasion; but never for once did I think this would happen at this junction.
The last time I saw my dad we were involved in a heated, knock-down, drag-out yelling argument about a number of things, the Vietnam War, The Graduate, the meaning of patriotism, the usual. Father doesn't know what he's talking about versus a college graduate, know-it-all son, diatribe that went no where fast but to the point we both stopped talking and me leaving, telling him he didn't know what he was talking about. Later that week he was dead. Belonging, love, losing the most important person in my life. Not being able to say, "I am sorry, I love you." You know nothing is more important than saying, "I love you" and really meaning it. Now I knew the pain of love and lost relationship. He was gone, and all I could do was hope he knew how much I loved him, that he was my hero, my role model. But, you know what? At the time being right, knowing "stuff" was more important than love-more important than forgiveness, cooperation and understanding.
The next lesson was in August of 1988 in an unusual classroom, The Mississippi River. My wife Janet had just completed her master's degree at UWL. It was the completion of a 10-year course of study with numerous obstacles: raising three children, who you'll come to meet later; mastering the duties of a housewife and providing support and encouragement to me on my upward mobility as part of the machine I talked about earlier. It took her 10 hard years, but she accomplished it; and as a result of that accomplishment, we decided to celebrate with good friends at a party on a Mississippi River sand bar. A friend asked Janet if the big lump on her shoulder blade was causing her any pain. She said it did hurt, that it must be a reaction to some insect bite. The next morning the lump was best described as the size of a small "nerf" football. Needless to say the decision to go to the doctor was an easy one. The next morning I went to the office and Janet to the urgent care clinic. She said she would let me know what kind of bug bite it was when she was done. About an hour later she called and in tears told me the resident MD told her that she had bone cancer.
My granny used to say when I was a kid, "There is no such thing as a bad experience unless you are too stupid to learn something from it." What's to learn? My dreams of being a Big Ten basketball star had been dashed, dad died way to young and I was told by the doctors that prospects for life for Janet were slim to none.
But then there was Charlie, baby Fredrick Charles Kusch the III. The only one of 10 wonderful grandchildren that Dad got to know for only 4 months. Dad was an ironworker, what many would call a "man's man." But those who knew him knew better. He was an artist, studied at the Chicago Art Institute; he loved music especially classical, which he introduced to us through records purchased at the A&P Food Store from stamps collected from grocery purchases. One of my fondest memories was trips alone or with my brother Jim when he would sing something about the "happy little chappy" (how I'd love to know the words today). He had a good voice or at least that's how I remember it. He used to hold Charlie in one of his big "paws." No matter what though, it always seemed to end with him surprising you with a quick grab of the knee which tickled like the touch to your crazy bone. As you got older you went along with the whole routine but loved it all the same. I guess what I am saying is that I am my father's son; I belonged to him and he to me.
As my three children grew, they would ask me to tell them about grandpa. The stories have hopefully allowed my dad to belong to my kids, and they to him or least I hope this is the case. I remember once after we moved to La Crosse we stopped in my hometown, Wonder Lake, Illinois to visit my sister and her family. "What did you guys like best about the trip"? Surely, I thought that the answers would be something like, the ball game, the hotel with the rooftop pool, or the carriage ride on Michigan Ave. Instead to my surprise the answer was Aunt Eileen's house and listening to the stories about Grandpa and Grandma and you guys growing up! My kids were learning about their family, their roots, and in one sense about someone none of them had ever and would never meet. There was a powerful message of the importance that all of us place on belonging, relationships and being present. My sister Eileen has that power of being present with you. My good friend Tom Thibodeau does too. You sense that when you are with either of them they are totally with you and nothing else is in the way of that moment between you and them. At that moment they belong to you and you to them and no one or nothing else matters. From that day on the kids always asked about stories about Grandpa. I loved to tell them. Belonging and love, those things are more powerful and more lasting than we ever can imagine.
We all know about the negative side of belonging-withholding love, taking those who love us and we love most for granted and momentarily rejecting someone to get what we want. The real essence of belonging is unconditional love. It is love that time or the moment can not diminish. The kind of love that we too often, take for granted and don't appreciate until it is too late. In a world that doesn't cooperate very well, where people don't support one another the way they used to, or care the way they could, a touch of unconditional love could go a long, long way. It's work-hard work. Now let me finish Janet's cancer story.
She was taken to surgery two weeks before Thanksgiving in 1988. Before the surgeon took her in, he told me that it was not unusual with cancer like this that she could lose her arm. He also feared that the cancer had metastasized. So off she went to surgery. When it was over the doctor had been able to save her arm, but they couldn't be sure they were able to get all of the tumor and metastases was a very real possibility. Further he suggested that I talk with the chaplains and social worker because he felt that Janet did not have long to live. I prepared my kids and close family for the worst. But you know what? She went ahead and proved them all wrong and is living a full life. She has only about 30 percent use of her right arm but SHE'S ALIVE and full of life. She has new perspective, we have new perspective. Our oldest son Charlie once said that Mom getting cancer changed her. She is more fun. We all are changed. We try not to sweat the small stuff. No conditions on life, on love, on one another. We live life to the fullest. One day at a time. And do you know what? Living life unconditionally is more fun, more fulfilling, more complete. I love Janet more than ever, more completely, I have fallen in love again and it is totally unconditional.
These are personal stories that have taught me lessons that I have tried to apply in the rest of my life. At work I have tried to let those who work with me know how important that they are. Without others I am not as competent. My Operations Manager, Sheri, brings skills to the job that I can only dream of having. Her problem solving and computer skills amaze me. Most important she is not afraid to point out my foibles and redirect my misdirection. When is the last time you told those whose work lets you do yours know how important they are to you?
How about those who serve you? Your mechanic, the butcher, the mailman, when did you last let them know you appreciated their efforts on your behalf. Try telling them and others that you appreciate them. It doesn't take too much effort and one of the fringe benefits is how you feel when they smile upon hearing your words.
Here are a couple of easy steps to take to show your love, your appreciation. Make a list of people you should be paying more attention to, appreciating but you haven't taken the time. Now go out and buy a box of greeting cards, note cards or plain post cards equal to the number of people on your list. Buy stamps right away so you don't have an excuse to put this off. Now schedule 5 to 10 minutes once or twice a week to jot a note to these people who make your life easier or make the load lighter because of what they do for you and yours. In 10 minutes you can get 2 or 3 cards out. You don't have to write a book just a line or two to let them know they make a difference to you. The payoff? Remember do it unconditionally simply because you want to, because it will feel good, feel right and you know you should.
Get going! Make a difference. Find the balance that belonging, love and relationships will give you.
