A native of Colorado, John M. Bartosh graduated from
Golden High School in Golden, Colorado in 1965. Then he attended Mesa Junior
College in Grand Junction and received an Associates Degree before he
transferred to Colorado State University in Fort Collins. John later completed
his schooling at Metro State College in Denver, where he received a B.A. degree
in Psychology in 1971. With respect to more than his formal education, John
said, “More important, as so many others who have made their fair share of
mistakes in life, I also graduated with honors from the ‘school of hard
knocks.’”
John’s business background includes twenty-eight years
of retail furniture sales and management. Along the way, he worked as a store
manager and management-training manager for Furniture Row Companies, one of
America’s largest privately owned furniture companies. John has authored
and successfully marketed two self-published books on the subject of business
leadership: The Heart of Management and Practicing Dynamic Leadership in the
Workplace.
At the ripe age of fifty-eight, John has learned that the
most effective way to teach various aspects of self-improvement is to employ
subtle, self-instructing, motivational techniques. And the author added, “
The elements of tact and humor in conjunction with the practice of basic or
reverse psychology are also important. I tried to combine all of these factors
in writing this book.”
As to what motivated John to write and complete The
Wacky Adventures of Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife, the author said, “ I
began writing the book some seven years ago, just a couple of months prior to
the massacre at Columbine High School in Littleton, Colorado on April 20, 1999.
Largely because I grew up just a few miles from Littleton, the appalling event
really hit home with me. From that day forward, I became insistent to do
everything within my God-given talent and ability to do my part to insure that
any such future senseless catastrophe, anywhere else and at any time, could be
avoided. The deplorable, ill-fated incident at Columbine High School was in the
forefront of my mind as I deliberately wrote each subsequent word of this
socially necessary book.”
John also said, “ I wasn’t born with a natural
gift to write, particularly fiction. When I first started to put my pen to paper
in writing this book, eye strugguld wit bowth tha basik elemunts an tha fein
pointz a wel grammir. Or perhaps that should be—I struggled with both the
basic elements and the fine points of good grammar. Anyway, I was saved, for
the most part, when I purchased a handy little book titled The Complete
Idiot’s Guide to Grammar and Style, written by Laurie E. Rozakis, Ph.D.
“For some unknown, idiotic reason, and as
compared with The Chicago Manual of Style or Kate Terabian’s A
Manual for Writers of Term Papers, Theses, and Dissertations, I easily
understood Rozakis’ rights and wrongs of sentence structure, word usage,
spelling, punctuation, etc. For that valuable reference book, whether it was
written for literary scholars or for ‘idiots,’ I am eternally
grateful. Now, I hope that you will enjoy reading and learning from The Wacky
Adventures of Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife as much as I enjoyed and learned
from writing and editing it.”
Dedication
To Danielle Wieber, a co-worker and 16-year-old student
at Evergreen High School in Evergreen, Colorado. Danielle, who read an earlier draft
of this book, inspired me
to rewrite portions of the book, edit it, and do everything within my ability
to get this enlightening, publicly beneficial book published.
Also, to the memory of the following thirteen innocent victims
(twelve students and one teacher/coach) who lost their lives
as a result of the Columbine High School tragedy
in Littleton, Colorado on April 20, 1999:
Cassie Rene Bernall, 18 years old
Corey Tyler DePooter, 17 years old
Matthew Joseph Kechter, 16 years old
Daniel Lee Rohrbough, 15 years old
Isaiah Eamon Shoels, 18 years old
Lauren Dawn Townsend, 18 years old
Steven Robert Curnow, 14 years old
Kelly Ann Fleming, 16 years old
Daniel Conner Mauser, 15 years old
Rachel Joy Scott, 17 years old
John Robert Tomlin, 16 years old
Kyle Albert Velasquez, 16 years old
William “Dave” Sanders, 47 years old
Finally, to anyone
whose life is enriched by his or her reading this exceptional book.
Special Note to Readers
Tragic events such as those that took place in New York City, in Washington
D.C., and in Pennsylvania on Tuesday, September 11, 2001 could happen anywhere,
at any time! Ditto for tragic events such as the one that occurred at Columbine
High School in Littleton, Colorado on April 20, 1999, whereby two high-school
boys shot and killed twelve innocent students and one teacher/coach. Other
tragic events, such as sexual assaults and/or murders of adults or sexual
assaults and/or murders of children at the hands of pedophiles or other
criminals, can also happen at any time and place.
To a greater extent, people commit horrific crimes either because they don’t
like themselves or because they don’t feel good about themselves to varying
degrees. When people sink to deeper depths of personal despair or when they
experience total losses of personal hope, increased hatred of themselves and of
others can build up to unbearable levels of frustration, severe depression, or
personal anger. Oftentimes, highly negative thoughts and pent-up emotions
trigger actions of aggression, hostility, rage, or other socially unacceptable
patterns of behavior. In extreme cases, people can “snap,” mentally, and commit
almost unthinkable, shocking acts of violence. Of course, people who are driven
by radical religious beliefs or individuals who are mentally ill may also commit
horrendous crimes.
As long as human beings may harbor hatred in their hearts, civilized people will
be at risk. Violence in our schools and elsewhere has no single solution. Is it
realistic to think that we can totally eliminate all (or even most) of the
weapons at hand in America and around the world? The only long-term deterrent
against such hostile acts of hatred and aggression is to strive to build
character in people and re-instill (or instill) a strong moral and ethical fiber
in our culture and in other cultures, primarily through education and more
appealing self-help books. We should put our best efforts toward trying to take
all weapons out of people’s hearts! And we should do our very best to take
smoking, excessive drinking (also underage drinking, whether it is excessive or
not), and illegal drugs out of people’s hearts, as well.
With fifty character-building blocks in one book, The Wacky Adventures of Sir
Wantsalittle Morefromlife still won’t be a cure-all for all of the ills that are
affecting society today. And it won’t stop all of the incidents of terrorists’
actions or all of the incidents of kids killing kids or the multitude of
circumstances of other abhorrent criminal behavior. But the thoroughly
entertaining, insightful book does represent one effective preventive measure
against crime and violence. How? Among many other positive effects, the
thought-provoking narrative will enable readers to build more self-confidence
and more self-esteem. Consequently, readers will feel better about themselves!
And if this literature helps to improve the character and lifestyle of just one
individual, the entire literary project will have served its primary purpose.
Imagine for a moment the following scenario: Authors, comedy writers,
educators, and leading politicians (representing all political parties) would be locked up in a room and asked to write
one book—a humorous, more appealing, self-help book that would address the
issues of character, morality, and ethics. We would also ask that such a book
would be strictly nonpolitical and nondenominational. The proposed book would
neither promote any political viewpoint nor would it endorse any one religious
faction over another. Possibly, the world’s leaders would combine their best
efforts to write a book very much like the one that you are about to read.
In this exceptional book, for the purposes of adding humor and maximum impact, I
created a fictional “God” character; the Lord appears in the human form and
persona of Jessica Simpson, much like Hollywood writers did with the late George
Burns in Oh, God! And scriptwriters repeated the idea with Morgan Freeman, who
played the part of God in Bruce Almighty. Like me, Hollywood producers needed
fictional characters of “higher authority” to more meaningfully deliver valuable
food-for-thought messages.
The Wacky Adventures of Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife should be required reading
for all high-school students in either their junior or senior years. But because
the fictional story employs a “God” figure to offer practical, sound,
character-building advice to the story’s protagonist (Sir Wantsalittle
Morefromlife), this socially valuable literature may not qualify, legally, as
material that can be read in our nation’s public classrooms. If the underlying
spiritual theme, although strictly nondenominational, prevents the book from
being introduced and utilized in public high schools, so be it. But here is the
question: If teachers are prohibited from using the word “God,” even from a
nondenominational context, or if educators cannot introduce literature that
contains quotes from various religious founders, how can character
education—moral principles and moral values—be effectively taught in our
nation’s public schools? Spokespeople from the media and educators and
politicians and parents should further address this issue and seek more
satisfactory answers to this most important question.
In the meantime, the majority of parents who take the time to read The Wacky
Adventures of Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife, from cover to cover, would highly
support and readily endorse the subject matter, overall. And all of those
insightful parents would likely turn cartwheels to motivate and to encourage
their teenage children (those who are at least sixteen years of age) to read
this literature at home and personally benefit from what the outstanding book
has to offer.
They say that almost everybody has a good personal story to tell. If this were a
contest for the world’s all-time-best “knight-time” tale or for the world’s
all-time-best humor/self-help/inspirational-fiction work, The Wacky Adventures
of Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife would be my entry. Although the book may not
win any awards for scholarly writing, it should win a Pulitzer Prize in fiction
for literary value with respect to its socially significant content!
Acknowledgments
Especially, I want to thank Chad Michael Murray
(co-star of One Tree Hill), who
inspired the character of Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife; Jessica Simpson, who
inspired the character of God; Mel Gibson, who inspired the character of Willie
C. Light; Britney Spears, who inspired the character of Marilotta Light; and
Helen Hunt, who inspired the character of the Lady of the Lake.
In addition, I want to thank all of the public figures (actors, singers, sports
stars, talk-show hosts, entertainers, and media personalities) who represent the
book’s star-studded supporting cast. By their positive contributions to society,
in general, the following people inspired me to creatively set forth the
background to this fictitious, but enlightening and well-intended story:
(Listed in order of their appearance:) Craig T. Nelson, Christopher Lloyd,
Cheech Marin, Thomas “Tommy” Chong, the late Christopher Reeve, Clint Eastwood,
the late Clint Sampson, Whoopi Goldberg, Jay Leno, David Letterman, Bill
O’Reilly, Star Jones Reynolds, Meredith Vieira, Joy Behar, Elizabeth Hasselbeck,
Barbara Walters, Dr. Phil McGraw, Eddie “the eagle” Edwards, Raquel Welch, the
late Princess Diana, Roy Scheider, the late George Herman “Babe” Ruth, Muhammad
Ali, Angelo Dundee, George Foreman, Michael Jordan, Dick Fosbury, Jessica Lange,
John Fogerty (Creedence Clearwater Revival),
(continued) former President William Jefferson Clinton, former First Lady
Hillary Clinton, the late Dale Earnhardt, Carl Yastrzemski, Jeff Gordon, Rusty
Wallace, Richard Petty, Neil Armstrong, Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin Jr., Michael
Collins, Roseanne Barr (Thomas), James Garner, the late Jack Kelly, the late
Steve McQueen, the late Robert Shaw, Kenny Rogers, Paul Newman, Ron Howard,
Louie & Frankie (the Budweiser® lizards), Tom Cruise, the late Ted Knight, Mary
Tyler Moore, Walter Cronkite, the late Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Homer Simpson
(cartoon character), Teri Hatcher, Dean Cain, Katey Sagal, Ed O’Neill, Arnold
Schwarzenegger, Heather Locklear, Leonard Nimoy,
(continued) the late Burt Lancaster, the late Hank Williams Sr., Paul “Crocodile
Dundee” Hogan, Wayne Gretzky, the late Elvis Presley, Nick Castle (played Michael Myers in the original
Halloween film), Joe Cocker, Pam Cocker, Andy Griffith, the late Don Knotts, Jim
Nabors, Stacey Travis, the late Robert Urich, Danny DeVito, Rhea Pearlman, Ellen
Degeneres, Mac Davis, Dolly Parton, Diane Sawyer, Oprah Winfrey, Hugh Downs, Sam
Donaldson, Marc Crawford, Craig Billington, Patrick Roy, Ray Sheppard, Peter
Forsberg, Joe Sakic, Uwe Krupp, John Van Briesbrouck, Hulk “Hollywood” Hogan,
Jason Alexander, Jerry Seinfeld, Michael Richards, Julia Louise-Dreyfus, the
late Jack Lord, James MacCarthur,
(continued) the late Judy Garland & the late Jack Haley & the late Bert Lahr &
the late Ray Bolger & the late Frank Morgan (starring cast of the original
Wizard of Oz film in 1939), Bugs Bunny & Elmer Fudd & Porky Pig & Daffy Duck &
Sylvester & Tweety Pie (Looney Tunes cartoon characters), Pamela Anderson, John
Elway, Mike Shanahan (head coach of the Denver Broncos), Shannon Sharpe, Terrell
Davis, Rod Smith, Gary Zimmerman, Brett Favre, Steve Atwater, Pat Bowlen
(majority owner of the Denver Broncos), the late John Lennon, Paul McCartney,
the late George Harrison, Ringo Starr,
(continued) the late Johnny Cash, the late June Carter-Cash, the late Harry
Caray (broadcaster for the Chicago Cubs), Steve Stone, Sammy Sosa, Mark Grace,
Cassandra “Elvira” Peterson, Regis Philbin, Donald Trump, Kelly Ripa, Kathie Lee
Gifford, William Shatner, the late John Belushi, Dan Akroyd, the late Tammy
Wynette, Willie Nelson, Merle Haggard, Larry King, Glenn Close, Jack Nicholson,
Gene Hackman, Suzan Lucci, the late Lee Van Cleef, Eli Wallach, Debra Winger,
and Michael Jackson
Some 200 people were on hand for my scheduled book-reading and book-signing
engagement at Barnes & Noble Booksellers in Caresville, California. Almost every
seat in the bookstore’s spacious public-events room was occupied.
Richard Johnson, the bookstore manager, who had been sitting beside me before
the proceedings began, stood up and announced, “Good morning, everyone! Today,
it is my pleasure to introduce all of you to a very special guest. As many of
you already know, this young man is from Camelot. He has recently been visiting
a number of bookstores all across our country and throughout the world. His
autobiography, Discovering the Knight in Me, has been at the top of the New York
Times best-seller list for the past fourteen weeks. We are both privileged and
honored that he has accepted our invitation to come here and speak to us in
person. Ladies and gentlemen, let’s show our utmost appreciation and extend our
warmest welcome to Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife!”
As I walked up to the podium, I received a thunderous, standing ovation. I tried
to relax and better prepare myself to address the highly receptive audience.
Except for my helmet, which I had placed under the chair when I first sat down,
I was dressed in my full suit of armor.
After the applause died down, I said, “Thank you! And I’d like to thank the
store manager, Mr. Johnson, for inviting me here today. Indeed, I am from the
Land of Camelot. I’m one of the surviving, original members of King Arthur’s
exalted ‘Knights of the Round Table.’
“Many of you may be asking, ‘How could Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife or any
other medieval knight still be living?’ Obviously, I’m not 1,400 years old. But
the answer is simple: I accidentally discovered a time machine, which has made
it possible for me to travel, among other times and places, to twenty-first
century America.
“Lately, I’ve had to remind myself, at times, that I really am from Camelot.
However, it’s been easy for me to adapt to your time and culture. I’m already
spoiled by numerous modern-day conveniences.
“Take the Post Office, for example. Just last night, I started to write a letter
to a friend of mine in Camelot. After scribbling a few lines, I paused and asked
myself, ‘How am I going to get a letter delivered to someone who lives
approximately fourteen centuries from here?’ And when I stopped to think about
it, I knew that there would be a problem with postage. After all, how much would
it cost for a stamp to send a letter as far as 1,400 years into time? Needless
to say, I gave up on the idea of writing a letter to my friend.
“In case you haven’t heard about me up to now, I’m not too surprised. Sir Thomas
Malory didn’t bother to write about me in his Le Morte d’Arthur, the most
popular account of the Arthurian legend.
“I can’t blame Malory for not making mention of me in his historical epoch.
During Arthur’s reign as King of England, I wanted to stake my claim to fame.
But I never really did anything that gave me any public notoriety. More
prominent and romantic figures such as King Arthur, Queen Guinevere, and Sir
Lancelot captured the lion’s share of Malory’s attention. Those three characters
hogged most of the glory from the Golden-Age-of-Chivalry era in England.
“Shortly after the quirky and peculiar ‘life and times’ of King Arthur, I found
my way under the spotlight. But when the bright beam finally shined on me, the
illumination put me in the limelight among onlookers who lived in the
future—people from the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. I didn’t think that
any of my friends or knightly colleagues in England would really understand the
time-travel-remote device that I found or the freakish chain of events that
swept me off my feet and altered the course in my life. So I haven’t told anyone
who lives back in the Land of Camelot about my mostly amusing, whimsical
episodes, except for Spirit, my loyal and faithful horse.
“Now that my autobiography has been published and has been so readily received,
I am anxious to talk about my generally wacky but life-changing adventures with
people everywhere. Perhaps numerous others will be entertained and individually
benefit, in one way or another, from my recent travels and personal experiences.
In any case, I’d like to share my extraordinary and hopefully inspirational
story with you . . .”
“Stars by Day, Stars so Bright—
Show Me a Way to ‘See the Light’!”
The Land of Camelot; near the end of the sixth century . . .
I thought that I was a noble young knight, deserving of becoming the King. As I
was just twenty-four at the time, I had the “young” part right.
Some thirteen months had elapsed following the death of the legendary King
Arthur. All of England was in a state of turmoil. Sir Constantine of Cornwall,
King Arthur’s successor, attempted to restore peace and order throughout the
besieged country. He authoritatively ruled from his “Royal Seat” in Camelot.
King Constantine failed in his efforts to establish a tranquil social climate—an
atmosphere of harmony and good will among Camelot’s general citizenry.
Aristocracy, feudalism, and civil disobedience remained as the cornerstones of a
steadily crumbling, struggling, and wanting society.
Within days of his second year on the throne, King Constantine died,
unceremoniously, from a sword wound inflicted by an unknown assassin. His death
created a vacancy in Camelot’s royal model of America’s White House. The people
of England began searching for a new king!
One pleasant, sunny afternoon in late May, I nonchalantly wandered along the
shore of a small lake in the countryside. After a long, cold winter, the
surrounding aspen and oak trees were just beginning to put forth buds and sprout
mid-spring leaves.
My concentration shifted back and forth between the scenic surroundings of
nature and trying to get in touch with my true feelings and emotions. I wasn’t
paying much attention to where I was walking. Suddenly, I stumbled on a
funny-looking object, which was camouflaged in some tall crabgrass.
Encased by my burdensome suit of armor, I lost my balance, tumbled forward, and
banged my head into a sawed-off oak-tree stump. For an instant, I couldn’t see
anything but stars. I said to myself, “Stars by day, stars so bright—show me a
way to ‘see the light’!” Luckily, my helmet absorbed the brunt of the crash. I
suffered more from a bruised ego than from the few scratches and scrapes that I
received from my mishap with the tree stump.
As I struggled to get up off the ground, I noticed a weather-damaged, partially
faded scroll that I had knocked off the top of the stump. The message on the
scroll read “HELP WANTED: Anyone who can extract EXCALIBUR from the hand of the
Lady of the Lake will become KING!”
The fall and the blow to my noggin must’ve also jarred my memory. I remembered
that King Arthur, at the time of his death, insisted that Excalibur be returned
to the lake, where the legendary sword originally had come. Mortally wounded,
Arthur asked Sir Bedivere, one of his few remaining loyal knights, to hurl the
mythical sword back into the waiting hand of the Lady of the Lake. Bedivere was
briefly tempted to keep the treasured weapon for himself. But the faithful
knight reluctantly fulfilled the King’s final request.
The mysterious lake was just a few yards in front of me. I looked out over the
calm, crystal-clear, sky-blue water. The Lady of the Lake had perceived my
presence. She held Excalibur high in her right hand; the polished, distinguished
instrument became visible just above the lake’s quiet surface.
The Lady of the Lake appeared to be challenging me. I got the impression that
she wanted me to try my hand on the magnificent sword to determine whether or
not I was worthy of claiming Excalibur. So I decided that this was as good a
time as any to put my character to the test.
I looked around to see if there was a rowboat or a raft nearby—something that I
could use to paddle myself out on the water. After a few minutes, I discovered a
small black canoe that had been beached and abandoned. The joints in my heavy,
steel-plated wardrobe screeched as I lightly stepped into the sturdy canoe. I
folded my lanky, stiff legs and arms and scrunched myself down into the canoe’s
narrow, confining configuration. Just in case I might have encountered any
adversary out on the lake—a monstrous fish-like beast or any other cold-blooded
animal that might surface from out of the depths—I decided to take my
sharp-spiked war club and my reliable ax with me. Awkwardly but satisfactorily
settled in, I steadily paddled the overloaded canoe out near the middle of the
lake.
A dark ominous cloud moved over the area and blocked the direct sunlight; the
cloud cast a forbidding shadow across the motionless face of the lake. I laid
down my broad-bladed wooden oar and leaned over the side of the canoe. Anyone
who could’ve been watching me from shore might’ve thought that I was “tossing my
cookies” or “taking a leak.” As a matter of fact, I reached out for Excalibur;
the mysterious Lady of the Lake temptingly offered the majestic sword to me.
I tightly wrapped and compressed both of my steel gloves around the base of the
long, tapered blade. Then, with all of the energy that I could muster, I tried
to pull Excalibur loose from her teasing, but unyielding hand.
“Lord, please grant me the power to draw the mighty sword!” I exclaimed, as I
sapped all of my strength in a second all-out effort to free Excalibur. But the
superhuman, godlike figure simply wouldn’t permit me to withdraw the
magnificent, silver-plated, tempered-steel sword.
My fruitless attempts to unsheathe Excalibur from the unmerciful hand of the
Lady of the Lake really upset me. The veins on my forehead had suddenly swollen;
my irritated, flaming-red, blood vessels now bulged as if they were about to
explode. I hollered, “Why do you insist on resisting me? Pay heed to my
following advice, you ungenerous protector! Relinquish your stubborn grip on the
magical instrument before I reach out and whack you alongside the head with my
big fat war club!” My harsh, demanding voice and my threatening dialogue fell on
deaf ears. The Lady of the Lake only glared at me in response to my hot-tempered
outburst; the tight-fisted, righteous, holy woman uttered not so much as a word.
I gave up in my struggle to take sole possession of Excalibur. As I paddled back
to shore, I deliberated over the entire fuss and circumstance. In retrospect, I
shouldn’t have been so surprised that I wasn’t able to claim the grand prize.
King Arthur had often pulled me aside and spoke with me, privately. Arthur would
always compliment me, initially, in some sincere way, then scold me for my not
fully living up to his higher expectations of me. On one memorable occasion,
during an exhibition jousting match, I had unnecessarily inflicted serious
injury upon Sir Bedivere, one of the King’s closest friends.
Shortly after the unprofessional and unethical incident, Arthur sat down with
me. As I can best recall, he said, “Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife, you’re one of
my favorite knights, as you should already know. You’re young and you’re smart,
and you have a tall reputation, overall, amongst the people of Camelot. You also
tower above your knightly colleagues in numerous and significant ways; you
normally exemplify all that is honest and trustworthy in an individual.
Wantsalittle, there is nothing that would make me happier than if
you were to succeed me as King! First, though, you’ve got to come to grips with
your excessive drinking and with your not-so-sportsmanlike, aggressive,
sometimes-hostile nature.”
And King Arthur added, “I’ve also noticed that your generally sexist attitude
around the ladies is somewhat less than becoming, especially for a man of your
better abilities and knightly position. As you now come across to most women, I
don’t think that there’s one good and decent woman in all of the Land who would
have your hand in marriage, even if you were the King of England! When you learn
to overcome, through personal experience and maturity, your shortcomings in
character, you will enjoy success beyond your fondest dreams!”
When I got out of the canoe, I murmured to myself, “I’m a wannabe-noble, but
troubled knight. My bad habits of drinking too damn much and being
quick-tempered and overly aggressive, at times, are holding me back and
preventing me from achieving my personal dreams.” Then I exclaimed, “JUST ONCE
IN MY LIFE, I’D LOVE TO FEEL AND ACT LIKE A KING! I’m going on a quest to become
more enlightened, morally and ethically. I want to build a more kinglike,
virtuous character!”
A few moments later, I got curious about the “funny-looking object” that I had
previously stumbled over—the little contraption that caused me to fall and whack
my head against the oak-tree stump. I strolled over near the stump, and I picked
up the strange little gadget.
My favorite spot in the world was at the crest of the hill, about a hundred
yards above the lake. Whenever I wanted to get away from it all, I would sit on
a log under the big red oak tree at the top of that hill. The view was
breathtaking, and it was a tranquil setting—a great place to just relax or to do
some soul-searching.
I slowly hiked up the hill and sat down in the shade under that oak tree. Then I
began to inspect the almost-flat, rectangular-shaped device that I had found.
Spirit, my talking palomino stallion, grazed on some tall grass just a few feet
off to my left. I said, “Spirit, I’d sure like to know about this gray-colored
gadget.”
Spirit raised his head and said, “I would be more curious, too, if it were
something that I could eat! Anyway, what is that thing? What’s its purpose?”
“I don’t know, Spirit. But I’m going to try to find out the answers to your good
questions.”
The instrument was approximately 12”x 6” in size and nearly an inch thick. The
front side had five horizontal rows of buttons and bars, including a larger red
button, marked “Emergency,” located in the upper-right corner. The first
horizontal row had a sequence of ten numbers, reading from “1” through “0.” The
next three rows were marked with letters and symbols and words, starting with
“Q” on the second row and ending with a “shift” bar on the fourth row. Below
that, I saw a long, narrow bar. To the left of the thin bar, I saw two big
buttons; a blue one was marked “Enter,” and a green one was marked “Go.” To the
right of the bar, I saw a big white button, marked “Return.”
I pushed down on the large blue button. A short note appeared in two lines
across a little rectangular screen, near the upper portion of the device. The
message read “Activating Time-Travel Remote / Enter Destination, Date, and Exact
Time of Day.”
I looked at Spirit and shouted, “I think that I found a damn time machine!” I
was so excited that I dropped the small box on the ground; it landed upside
down. When I reached down to pick it up, I noticed a little white label taped to
the backside. The label read:
If found, please return to:
Willie C. Light
50 Showmea Way—2
Feelgreat, California (USA)
(To return the time-travel remote, press the white button on the reverse side.)
“Spirit, I don’t know where ‘California’ is, but I’ve got a feeling that when I
push this big white button, I’m going to find out.”
A list of instructions in fine print was printed on the bottom of the label.
“Spirit, it says here that anything that’s attached to me or anything that I’m
holding in my hands will travel with me. I’m going to take you home and pack a
bag before I go.”
My unusual, very gifted, articulate horse said, “Okay, master, but what’s the
big deal about finding a time machine? And what is a ‘time machine,’ anyway?”
“I don’t have any idea, Spirit. I’ve never seen a device anything like this
before. I’m just going to follow the instructions and go from there.”
I hurried home and packed. Then I grabbed my lance, war club, and ax. I thought
about taking my sword, but I changed my mind. Excalibur was the only sword that
I really wanted. I was determined to make due with these other weapons until I
found the inner strength to wield the mighty sword.
I turned Spirit loose out in the pasture, next to my cottage. I said, “Spirit,
take care of yourself and stay out of trouble while I’m away.” Spirit nodded and
looked at me as if I had just gone nuts. I nodded back.
50 Showmea Way—2; Feelgreat, California; May 20, 2007; 12:15 P.M.
After I hit the white button, another message on the time-travel remote read
“Feelgreat, California; May 20, 2007; 12:15 P.M.” Reading that message was the
last thing I remembered until I found myself standing on Willie’s front porch.
I lifted the visor on my helmet and pounded on the door. In a matter of moments,
the door swung open. “Are you Willie C. Light?” I asked.
“Yes, what can I do for you?”
Like me, Willie was about six-feet tall and weighed about 190 pounds. Unlike me,
Willie looked to be in his late forties. Still, he appeared to be in very good
physical condition for a man who was about twice my age. I said, “I believe that
this gadget belongs to you.” After I handed him the strange-looking box, I laid
my bag down and took off my helmet.
Willie stared at me for a couple of seconds and said, “Oh! You had me fooled
there for a moment. Just seeing your face through the opening in your
helmet—well, your facial features and voice are similar to that of a good friend
of mine, Chad Michael Murray.”
“Who is ‘Chad Michael Murray’?” I asked.
“Chad is one of Hollywood’s most talented and brightest young stars. He is one
of the regular actors on a TV series called One Tree Hill. Never mind, you
wouldn’t know anything about that. But with your full suit of armor and all, I
thought that Chad was trying to play a little prank on me—my mistake! Well, I’ll
be darned! You must’ve traveled here from Camelot. Please come in! Come right
in! Welcome to my humble abode. What’s your name?”
Willie’s “humble abode” turned out to be a swank Hollywood estate. In fact, I
learned later that “50 Showmea Way—2; Feelgreat, California” was just Willie’s
clever, fictional address for his mansion in Beverly Hills!
I replied, “My name is Wantsalittle—Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife. Where in the
world am I?”
Willie laughed and responded, “Pardon me! Sometimes I forget just how difficult
it is, at first, for rookie time-travelers. You’re in Hollywood, USA—USA is an
abbreviation for ‘United States of America.’ Most people simply refer to our
nation as ‘America.’ Wantsalittle, you are a long way from home. England is
several thousand miles from here, clear across America and then across the
Atlantic Ocean.”
“Willie, I’m not too surprised. I always thought that there was more land
somewhere on the other side of that big blue pond. Say, your cottage or ‘humble
abode,’ as you call it, reminds me of Castle Joyous Guard, near Camelot. What
does a guy do to live in a plush place like this?”
“I’m an actor’s stunt-double and a novelist.”
“Oh! . . . What’s an ‘actor’ or a ‘stunt-double’ or a ‘novelist’?”
Again, Willie laughed. “I’ll explain that later. I realize that you must be a
little dumbfounded right now. Relax! You’ll catch on to your new surroundings
and to the concept of time-travel much faster than you can now imagine.”
Willie glanced at my lance, war club, and ax. He said, “I see that you brought
some weapons. Shouldn’t you also be carrying a sword?”
“This lance, this big war club with sharp steel spikes, and this long-handled ax
are the only weapons that I need. I take them with me wherever I go.”
“Wantsalittle, make yourself at home.”
I walked over and hung my helmet on a tall, slender, wooden, treelike piece of
furniture that stood by the front door. The skinny, upright stand held a couple
of other types of hats, which hung from what appeared to be short and stubby
limbs—spikes that protruded from the main post. I asked, “Willie, what on earth
is this thing?”
Willie chuckled, then he replied, “That’s a hall-tree. When someone comes in, he
or she can hang his or her hat and/or coat on the hall-tree.”
Somewhat intrigued by the hat and/or coat rack, I shook my head, from side to
side, a couple of times. Then I promptly went over and sat down on the far-left
side of the long, deep-seated, tan-leather couch. The weight of my body armor
caused me to sink halfway out of sight in the soft and billowy seat cushion.
Willie sat on a huge matching chair, just across from me. “This outfit of mine
is so heavy!” I exclaimed. “I’m surprised that I didn’t drop all the way to the
floor when I first sat down!”
Willie smiled. Then he got up and asked, “Can I get you something to drink? I’ll
bet you’d like to have an ice-cold brewski right about now. I’ve got Budweiser®,
Coors®, or a stronger new micro-beer, just out on the market, called
Zapmeister.”
“Thanks! I’ve never heard of any of those ‘brewskies’ or beers, but that
Zapmeister brand sounds pretty good to me!”
When Willie went to fetch the beer, I took off my gloves and laid them on the
center cushion of the sofa. Then I got up and looked around the room. A fairly
large, odd-looking, box-shaped unit with a dark-glass front was sitting in a
huge bookcase, just past the end of the sofa. Below the glass, I saw a “Power”
button. I tapped on the little round knob with the tip of my right index finger.
Suddenly, I saw some guy nicknamed “Coach” tell a couple of other guys, “Luther,
you and Dawber are making me nuts!” (Craig T. Nelson played the part of Coach
Hayden Fox on the popular sitcom Coach.)
Then I saw a smaller black unit with “DVD Player” written on the front of it.
The DVD player sat on a shelf, just above the big strange box with the moving
picture. I pressed the “Play” button. Suddenly, I saw the words “Braveheart” and
“Starring Mel Gibson” on the big moving-picture screen. In a matter of seconds,
a man appeared on the screen. He looked very much like Willie. Oddly, the guy
was wearing knight’s clothing, but he was not dressed in a full suit of armor.
Immediately, I pictured the expression that Spirit had on his face, right before
I left Camelot. I said to myself, “Spirit was right. I am going nuts!”
Willie, attired in blue jeans and a white sweatshirt that had “DODGERS” written
in big royal-blue letters across the front of it, came back from the kitchen. He
handed me a bottle of Zapmeister. With a puzzled expression on my face, I
pointed at the big moving-picture box and asked, “Willie, isn’t that YOU?”
“No, that’s not me. But I look a lot like Mel Gibson, one of Hollywood’s leading
actors. I play Mel Gibson’s stunt-double in most of his movies. So, in a way, I
am an actor as well as a stunt-double. Say, Wantsalittle, you’re catching on
pretty fast to modern-day technology. Somehow, you were able to turn on both the
TV and the DVD player.”
“Yeah, I was just a little curious about those weird boxes. Willie, tell me more
about this movie called Braveheart. Why is Mel Gibson wearing a knight’s outfit?
I’m very confused about this ‘actor’ and ‘stunt-double’ stuff. And you said that
you were also a novelist. What does that mean?”
Willie just snickered and said, “I write romance novels. There will be plenty of
time to talk about all of that, later. Wantsalittle, follow me! . . . I’d like
for you to see something out in the garage.”
When we entered the garage, I saw an out-of-this-world, glossy-red object.
Willie said, “This is what we call a ‘car’ or a ‘vehicle.’ This particular car
happens to be a 2007 Chevrolet Corvette. Under that lustrous,
crimson-red-metallic, heat-proof paint, there’s a layer of titanium, which makes
it possible for the car to withstand extreme temperatures—temperatures that
occur when the vehicle ‘energizes’ and travels through time.”
“Are you telling me that there’s another time machine in that car?”
“Yes, the main unit is installed in the ‘Vette.’ What you found in Camelot was
just a remote control—a portable limited-ability device that makes it possible
to travel into time without always taking the car. The real brains of the time
machine are mounted in the vehicle. The remote simply feeds off the main
computer module by way of radio waves. Either system works on the idea of
displacing and re-energizing molecular structure.”
“All this talk about a ‘computer module’ and ‘radio waves’—it doesn’t make any
sense to me. I’ve never heard of such terms. Does every vehicle have one of
these contraptions?”
“No, no! You see, I invented this particular time machine from parts that were
left over from a now obsolete model, which was called a ‘Delorean.’ A man by the
name of Emmett ‘Doc’ Brown (Christopher Lloyd)—well, never mind all of that.
It’s a long story. Let me just say that cars don’t come with time-travel modules
as optional features. Right now, this is the only time machine currently in
existence, at least that I’m aware of.”
The new Corvette was one sleek machine—a real space-age exterior design. I
walked up to the tinted driver-side window and looked inside. Willie stepped
forward and opened the door. “The car is equipped with all of the ‘bells and
whistles,’” Willie said. “The stereo plays both cassettes and compact discs.
Crank up the volume and you’d think that you were sitting in the front row at a
concert. The car has ‘power’ everything, including automatic-climate control,
power windows and door locks, electric outside heated mirrors, and a
remote-keyless-entry system.”
“Willie, will you show me how some of those gadgets work?”
“Sure, we’ll go over all of that, later. . . . The Vette also has
power-8-way-adjustable, black-leather seats and easy-to-read analog gauges. In
addition, the car has tilt steering and a 4-speed, electronically controlled,
automatic transmission. All of these standard and optional features provide a
cozy, practical place to enjoy the sport of driving. To top it all off, the
Corvette is powered by a state-of-the-art, high-revving, small-block, V-8
engine, which allows the vehicle to accelerate from zero to sixty miles per hour
in just under five seconds. And the car can cruise along at a top speed of
nearly 200 miles per hour. Truly, this is the finest all-around-performance car
in the world.”
“When do I get to go for a ride?”
“After while, I’ll take you for a spin and give you your first driving lesson.
Wantsalittle, wouldn’t you like to get behind the wheel?”
“Absolutely! I’d love to learn how to drive.”
Willie and I went back into the house. “Let’s have some lunch.” Willie fixed us
a couple of roast-beef sandwiches. We both grabbed another beer. Then Willie
opened a sliding-glass back door, and we walked out onto a broad redwood deck,
overlooking his spacious back yard.
We sat down on opposite sides of a big, round, wrought-iron, patio table. I
poked my fingers through the mesh-like top of the snow-white table. Willie
looked up into the hazy sky. He said, “This afternoon, it’s a little humid.
We’re not far from the Pacific Ocean. The warm coastal breeze that you feel is
bringing in a little dampness off the water. You can smell the salt in the air.
You’d probably be more comfortable without that heavy suit of armor. Did you
bring a change of clothes?”
“Yes, but I’m acclimated to the humidity. I’m sure that you know that England is
completely encircled by water. The moist, sultry air doesn’t bother me in the
slightest. I feel terrific! Willie, how did it happen that you left your
time-travel remote in Camelot?”
“The ‘Dark Ages’ and ‘Golden Age of Chivalry’ eras in England fascinate me. I’ve
visited there several times. Of course, I went there incognito; nobody ever
noticed me. I know quite a bit about King Arthur and his ‘Knights of the Round
Table.’ And I think that I saw you briefly when you were a squire. Wasn’t Sir
Gawain your master?”
“Yes, I can’t believe that you’d know about that!”
Willie took a sip of his bottle of Coors®. Then he said, “On my last trip to
Camelot, I wanted to see if the people of England had found a new king—you know,
someone to replace King Constantine. I must’ve accidentally knocked the remote
off the car seat when I got in the Vette to return home. I wondered what
happened to it. . . . Wantsalittle, tell me something about yourself. Why do
they call you ‘Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife’?”
I laughed and said, “My birth name was Wantsalittle Morenooky.” Willie roared in
laughter for a few seconds. Then I continued, “When I was about ten years old,
one of my friends noticed that I always seemed to ‘want a little more from
life’—more than most of the other kids and more than most adults, for that
matter. Anyway, this friend said, ‘Your name should be Wantsalittle
Morefromlife!’ Since that day, my last name has been Morefromlife. And I’m very
happy that I did change my name at an early age. Can you imagine how
embarrassing it would’ve been for me to go through my teenage years and all of
my adult life with a name like Wantsalittle Morenooky? Believe it or not, my
dad’s name was Wantsalot Morenooky. And from what I’ve heard through the years,
I think that he tried as hard as he could to live up to his name!”
Again, Willie broke out in loud laughter. Then he said, “Tell me more about your
family.”
“I never really knew my mother. She died from complications that she incurred
while giving birth to me. And my father was killed in battle a few months after
I was born. I didn’t have any brothers or sisters or any other immediate family.
When I was a baby, I was placed in the open arms of Margo Caredalot. Lady Margo
had been my mother’s closest friend. Margo couldn’t bear children of her own, so
she eagerly took me in and raised me like I was her natural son.”
“How did you meet Sir Gawain?”
“My foster mother also happened to be the widowed sister-in-law of Sir Gawain.
Gawain was King Arthur’s nephew. He was generally regarded as a model of
knightly perfection. In fact, Arthur considered Gawain to be the standard for
all knights to follow.”
“Is your foster mother still alive?”
“No, just prior to my twelfth birthday, Lady Margo died from an unknown illness.
At that time, Gawain placed me under his wing and guardianship.”
“How did you attain knighthood?”
“I served as a page—a boy in service to his master—under Gawain until I turned
fourteen. Then I became a squire. I took training in arms. I learned how to
handle a lance, a sword, and other weapons.”
“What else did you do as a squire?”
“Part of my duty as a squire was to stay close to my mentor. I picked Gawain up
when he was knocked down on the field of battle. And I tried to learn something
from his every move.”
“Did you have any formal education or training other than learning how to handle
weapons?”
“Certainly, as every squire was taught, I learned good manners, good conduct,
and rules of etiquette. Also, I was advised to be courteous, modest, and
helpful. I had some problems with the ‘modesty’ part. At times, many people
around Camelot considered me to be cocky, brash, and boastful.”
“Yeah, but almost every teenager goes through a stage like that.”
“I suppose. Like all kids, or adults for that matter, who lack experience and
maturity, I went through the typical know-it-all phase. And I’ve carried this
sense of righteousness into my early adulthood. Likewise, I just haven’t come to
terms with my overly competitive, oftentimes very aggressive tendencies.”
Willie suddenly sprang up and out of his chair. He said, “Hold on for a minute,
Wantsalittle. Are you ready for another Zapmeister?”
“Sure! And what’s that you’re smoking?”
“It’s called a ‘cigarette.’ They come in various brands. This particular
cigarette happens to be a ‘Tomarlbury.’ I used to smoke ‘Demerits’ or ‘Uncools.’
But I quit smoking, for the most part, a couple of years ago. Now and then, I’ll
puff on a cigarette, but only when I’m drinking a beer or when I’m extremely
anxious.”
“I’ve never seen a cigarette.”
“It’s just as well that you haven’t. Smoking is a filthy habit, and it can kill
you if you do it over a long period of time!”
I replied, “Thanks for the warning. But can I try just one?”
“Yeah, but are you sure that you really want one? These things can be addictive
and habit forming!”
“I don’t think that I’ll make it a habit. But for now, I’m curious. I’d like to
try one of those Tomarlburys.”
“All right, Wantsalittle. Just remember that I warned you about these nasty
little things!”
I took my first drag (as Willie called it) on a cigarette. I coughed a couple of
times until I got the hang of it. Really, I didn’t see any point in smoking
anything. It seemed as though doing something that just put up a big cloud of
smoke in my face was an unnatural thing to do. Besides, I didn’t think that I
wanted to smoke if smoking could be hazardous to my health! I already had a bad
habit of drinking too much and too often. I knew that I didn’t need to pick up
another poor character trait.
Willie asked, “At what point did you become a knight?”
“When I turned eighteen, I took the solemn vows for knighthood. After that, my
principal responsibilities were to watch over the weak, to right wrong doings,
and to fight for the honor of both women and throne. Wherever I went, I was
pledged to take with me the three watchwords of being a knight: religion, honor,
and courtesy.”
“Well, it sounds as though you’ve become quite a noble young knight. By the way,
how old are you, Wantsalittle?”
“I’ll be twenty-five in September. I’m not certain about my being so ‘noble,’ as
you just insinuated! Right after my twenty-third birthday, near the end of King
Constantine’s reign, my personality hardened. I became disenchanted with
authoritarian, aristocratic leadership. And I despised the feudal system that
abused and deprived the common people. I wanted to do more than live my life as
just another knight.”
“Wantsalittle, a few minutes ago, you asked me to tell you a little more about
Mel Gibson and about his part in Braveheart. Now, I’m ready to tell you a little
about that film because the movie plot addresses the same social
issues—authoritarian and aristocratic leadership—of which you just referred.
Braveheart is a movie about Sir William Wallace, a thirteenth-century Scottish
freedom fighter. Sir William united the land and brought about revolt in
Scotland against authoritarian, aristocratic, British leadership. Mel Gibson
played the character of Sir William Wallace. I played Mel Gibson’s part, in my
role as his stunt-double, in several of the film’s more dangerous battlefield
scenes.”
“Do you mean that stunt-doubles are people who fill in for actors who could
otherwise get hurt while playing various action parts in their movies?”
“That’s precisely what stunt-doubles do.”
“Willie, I can’t get that fancy car of yours out of my mind. Will you take me
for a ride in the Vette?”
“No, not right now, Wantsalittle. We’ve just had a couple of beers. Back in
medieval times, in the Middle Ages, I’m sure that it would’ve been okay for a
guy to gulp down a couple of beers, or whatever alcoholic beverages were
available at that time, then have that individual climb on his or her horse and
ride off into the sunset or wherever. Here in the year 2007, however, the
roadways are too crowded with cars, and the highways are too dangerous, already.
I never drink any type of alcohol and drive while I’m still under that
influence, and neither should you!”
“Thanks, Willie, I’ll always pay heed to that good advice.”
“Wantsalittle, what do you plan to do with your life?”
“I don’t know, for sure. I frequently think about Arthur. He was a good king and
a great man. At the time, almost anyone in the kingdom would’ve gladly traded
places with Arthur, including me.”
Willie and I each lit up another Tomarlbury, and we both stretched out in our
chairs. I knew that I shouldn’t have smoked another cigarette. But I said to
myself, “I guess that puffing on just a few of these things won’t kill me.”
Willie said, “As I mentioned earlier, I’ve seen Arthur and heard him speak,
albeit from a distance. It looked to me as if he had his fair share of
troubles.”
“Yeah, Willie, you’re right. Don’t get me wrong. Arthur wasn’t perfect. He had
plenty of personal problems. Arthur’s wife, Queen Guinevere, wasn’t faithful to
him, as you may already know. Later, she ran off to Castle Joyous Guard with Sir
Lancelot, her lover. And as you may know, Lancelot was Arthur’s best friend.”
Willie asked, “Didn’t King Arthur also have some difficulties with his sister? .
. . What was her name?”
“Ah! Arthur’s sister, Morgan Le Fay, was an evil bitch! She used black magic to
trick Arthur into an incestuous affair. That forbidden union produced Mordred,
the King’s illegitimate and only child. Later, Arthur tragically succumbed in
battle at the hands of his own son. It turned out that he and Mordred killed
each other.”
“What was the most important thing that you learned from Arthur’s life and
death?”
“In short, I wanted to be more like Arthur, but not at the expense of having to
constantly watch my backside—not to mention all of the jealousy, deceit, and
deception that seemed to abound around the royal throne—”
Willie broke in, “Today, we would call such affairs that took place in Camelot,
or nowadays in England, ‘a royal soap-opera’!”
“Well, whatever you would call it these days, I don’t want anything to do with
it! Arthur’s death saddened me and gradually put me in a depressed mental state.
I developed a ‘what’s the use’ attitude. As time passed, I began second-guessing
myself at almost every turn. I’m still doing that, and I’ve lost a great deal of
self-confidence in the process. To be perfectly honest, I don’t feel very good
about myself, right now.”
“Aren’t you being a little too self-critical? It sounds to me as though you’ve
got a lot more going for you than you give yourself credit for. Wouldn’t you
agree?”
“Perhaps, Willie, but I’m pretty confused about a lot of things in my life. I
don’t know whether to renounce my knightly status and leave Camelot in search of
greener pastures or stand my ground and come face to face with my personal
problems. That’s what I was trying to decide when I found your time-travel
remote.”
“I’m very happy that you did find the remote. After all, it’s not often that
someone in this day and age gets a chance to talk to a genuine knight. Nobody
would believe this!”
“That’s enough about me,” I said. “What about you, Willie? Do you have a wife
and family?”
Willie scooted his ashtray across the table and rubbed out the last hot ashes on
his cigarette. Then he sat upright in his chair, leaned a bit forward, and
looked at me, straight in my eyes. Suddenly, Willie spoke with a heavy heart. He
said, “I was married for almost twenty-five years to a wonderful woman. Her name
was Nancy. We had a falling out over my smoking and drinking problems. She
divorced me a couple of years ago. Later, she married another man. I loved her
very much and I still miss her, horribly!”
Willie hesitated, swallowed a big gulp of beer, and fought back the tears. I
said, “I’m sorry to hear about your sad divorce. Do you have any children?”
“Yes, thank God!” Willie exclaimed, after taking a deep breath and calming down
a little. “I have a beautiful, loving daughter. She’s almost your age. She’ll be
twenty-four in August. Her name is Marilotta. She’s never been married, and she
doesn’t have any children. Marilotta is a spittin’ image of Britney Spears, one
of America’s most famous young pop-rock singers. I can’t wait for her to meet
you!”
“‘Marilotta Light’ is an interesting name! Where is she?”
“Right now, she’s at work. Marilotta’s a teacher’s aid. She helps teach
Psychology at a high school in Burbank, a town that’s not too far from here.
Marilotta lives with me and helps me take care of this huge place. And I sure
appreciate having her stay with me. With Marilotta being so close to me, it
saves me having to hire a maid, although money is not an object. I would just
like to stay close to her until she finds the right guy and settles down,
someday.”
“Marilotta is lucky to have a father who loves her as much as you. And she’s
fortunate to have a dad that’s concerned about her personal welfare!”
“Wantsalittle, thanks for those compliments! Tell me, are you married?”
“No—not yet! My love life, or lack thereof, is a long story. Let me just say
that I got close to asking someone to marry me once, but the relationship didn’t
work out. I’ve been told, repeatedly, that I’m a little chauvinistic and quite
sexist-minded, at times. I’m sure that I’ll look for another girl one day. I’ve
got to get my own life squared away, first.”
“Well, I wouldn’t worry about it, if I were you. You’re a handsome guy. You’re
also very intelligent, and you have a great sense of humor. With those big blue
eyes and that short, dark-blond, full head of hair, there’ll be plenty of gals
on the prowl for you. Just make sure that you nab a good one!”
“Willie, how will I get back to Camelot?”
“That’s no problem! I’ll send you or take you back whenever you want to go.
Before you return, though, wouldn’t you like to do some sightseeing and
exploring around? I thought that knights loved adventure, journeys, quests, and
such. What about you?”
“Yeah! As a matter of fact, I had planned to go on a quest, right before I
stumbled on the time-travel remote. I want to become more worldly and enrich my
character. And I want to feel and act like a king!”
“Wantsalittle, that’s an admirable personal goal! After I teach you how to
drive, you can borrow the Corvette and go wherever you want. I know that I can
trust you. In the first place, you’re a knight who has taken the vows. Besides,
you already proved yourself when you returned my remote.”
“Okay, but I don’t really know where to start or where to go after that, for
that matter.”
“Again, no problem! You can spend several days here with Marilotta and me. We
can give you a ‘crash course’ in history, particularly American history. You can
get familiar with a lot of important people and events before you begin—or
should I say ‘before you continue’—your journey into time.”
“Willie, that sounds like a good idea!”
Then I reached out to pick up my beer. By accident, I knocked it over and
spilled nearly a full bottle of the liquid gold all over the table. Most of it
poured down through the openings in the table-top’s iron mesh and onto the
redwood deck. I said, “I’m sorry, Willie. That Zapmeister is a pretty strong
brew. I think that I’m getting a little tipsy.”
As Willie got up to go into the kitchen to fetch a towel, he said, “Tomorrow,
I’ll take you on a tour of Hollywood and let you drive the car. After that,
we’ll rent some movies. We’ll get you up to date with what has gone on in the
world over the past 1,400 years or so. And we’ll do it in short order!”
After Willie returned with some paper towels, he leaned down to mop up the beer.
I couldn’t really help him because I didn’t think that I would be able to get
back up. Except for my helmet, I was still restricted by my heavy, awkward suit
of armor. I said, “Willie, I enjoyed our little chat. Right now, though, I’m
getting kind of sleepy.”
“Yeah, I think that we could both use a nap!”
Willie went upstairs to his bedroom. I stretched out on his sofa. A couple of
hours later, Willie came back downstairs and woke me up.
“Wantsalittle, I’d like for you to meet my daughter. She just got home from
work.” As I slowly got up off the sofa, Marilotta Light walked into the room. My
eyes were still a little blurry from my long nap. I rubbed on each eyelid, a
couple of times, with the back of my right hand. As both of my eyes became
focused, I clearly saw Marilotta for the first time. I wasn’t disappointed! With
her long, straight, dark-blonde hair and her captivating, sparkling, brown eyes,
she was a most alluring young lady.
Willie said, “Marilotta, this is Wantsalittle.”
“Wantsalittle what?” Marilotta asked, in a raised, high-pitched tone of voice.
As Marilotta posed her question, she quickly took one giant step back from me,
apparently in fear of my intentions. She reflected an alarming, full-facial
profile.
Wille just laughed and exclaimed, “No, Marilotta! You don’t understand. His name
is Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife! He just arrived here a few hours ago.
Wantsalittle is a real-life and live knight from Camelot. Marilotta, do you
remember back, a few weeks ago, when I asked you if you’d seen my missing
time-travel-remote unit?”
“Yes, dad. Now I remember that you had lost the time-travel remote. Are you
trying to tell me that Wantsa—e-r-r, I should say Sir Wantsa—damn, I just can’t
bring myself to say that name! . . . Pardon me, Mr. Morefromlife. I’ll be all
right here in a moment.”
Marilotta turned her head away from me. I heard her giggle for a few seconds.
Then Marilotta coughed a little, clearing her throat, as she turned her head
back toward me. She looked me straight in my eyes and said, apologetically,
“Excuse me! Please pardon me for my being so inconsiderate and rude. I’m
delighted to make your acquaintance.”
As Marilotta reached out to shake my hand, I enthusiastically said, “Let me
assure you, my fair lady, that the pleasure is all mine!” I firmly gripped her
outstretched right hand. Then I slowly raised her right hand toward my head, now
with a much lighter grasp around her slender fingers. Finally, I planted one
little tender kiss, almost dead center, on the back of her soft, delicate hand.
I said, almost whispering but most enthusiastically, “I’m more than pleasured to
meet you, too.”
Every time that I had been introduced to someone, especially to a young,
attractive, single woman, I was a bit unnerved. My unusual, sexually suggestive
first name always made me self-conscious. I couldn’t help but to wonder how
Marilotta would’ve reacted if my last name were Morenooky, as it was when I was
a child. Anyway, I couldn’t blame Marilotta for her initial, simply human
reaction.
After I kissed Marilotta’s hand, she smiled and winked at me. I had received her
full approval of my warm, affectionate gesture. Then she said, “Wantsalittle,
you must’ve found dad’s time-travel remote somewhere around Camelot. Sometimes,
dad takes me with him when he travels into time, but I haven’t been to Camelot
as yet. I didn’t expect to meet a genuine knight, particularly a young, handsome
knight, such as yourself.”
“Thank you for those kind remarks, Marilotta.”
Willie said, “Let’s all sit down, make ourselves comfortable, and get better
acquainted.” We did just that. For the rest of the afternoon and well into the
evening, all three of us sat around and chatted. We all talked about some of our
past experiences. All in all, our collective conversation was both entertaining
and enlightening.
The next morning, Willie took me for my first ride in his awesome Corvette. We
drove all around the Hollywood area and out to the Pacific Ocean, hours of
sightseeing and just plain fun. All the fancy, modern-day buildings nearly took
my breath away. And I couldn’t believe how many people were congregated in this
small section of America, many of them wearing very revealing attire. At one
point, in fact, I surprisingly witnessed a group of six young ladies, wandering
along the beach, all with their shapely breasts fully exposed. At that moment,
Willie exclaimed, “Sir Wantsalittle, welcome to California!” Of course, I also
couldn’t believe the traffic—jam-packed streets and highways, regardless of
where we ventured.
Later in the day, Willie gave me my first driving lesson. He pulled the Vette
off of one of the main streets in Hollywood and drove into a spacious, empty,
parking area, next to a high-school-football stadium. At first, Willie let me
drive around the parking lot. I drove in a circular pattern, again and again and
again, just to get a good feel for the car. I tested my skills in operating the
steering wheel, the accelerator, and the brakes. After about an hour, I thought
that everything was going pretty smoothly. Naturally, there were a few pretty
hair-raising moments—not my hair, which was restricted from upward movement by
my knight’s helmet. But most of Willie’s naturally curly, dark-brown hair had,
on more than one occasion, totally uncurled and shot straight up toward the roof
of the car. Because I wore my big steel boots, I had a little trouble, at times,
in lifting my heavy right foot off the gas pedal as we entered some sharper
turns. Once, Willie made some comment about my having a “lead foot,” whatever
that meant.
After I had some practice, Willie let me drive on some of the side streets. Again, I thought that
I was doing a good job, overall. But an hour or so later, I noticed that the
ashtray, previously empty, now overflowed with Tomarlbury butts. None of the
smashed, crumpled, cigarette butts were mine!
Willie had told me that he smoked only when he was drinking beer or a little
anxious. I discovered that Willie was either a chain smoker or that he was a
little more nervous from riding with me than he had verbally let on. My first
driving lesson concluded shortly thereafter, when Willie said, “That’s about all
of your learning-to-drive that I can take in one day. Please pull over, stop the
car, and get out. I’ll take us home from here. I don’t know about you,
Wantsalittle, but I could use a cold brewski or two as soon as we get back to my
place.”
“Willie, that sounds good to me!”
Willie C. Light was true to his word. Over the next few days, he and Marilotta
gave me a lesson in American history, filled me in on some world history,
educated me on major current events, etc. The whole learning process was a lot
of fun. I enjoyed sitting around and watching dozens of movies with his VCR and
with his DVD player. Especially, I enjoyed a film titled The Dukes of Hazzard,
starring the lovely Jessica Simpson. I said to myself, “What a babe!”
I was eager to set out on my quest for personal enlightenment. On the eighth day
of my visit at Willie’s Beverly Hills estate, I sat in the living room and
thought about the full week that I had just spent in his home. While I sat on
the sofa and mused about some of my recent experiences, Marilotta Light came in
to see me.
Marilotta said, “Wantsalittle, dad told me that you were leaving in a few
minutes to go on your journey into time. I have to go to a parent-teacher
conference at the school. In case you leave before I return, I just want to wish
you the best in your upcoming travels. My dad and I have been absolutely
thrilled to have you as a most welcome guest for the past several days. You are
an intriguing young gentleman.”
“Thanks, Marilotta! Staying here and getting to know both you and your father
has truly been a preview of heaven.”
“Wantsalittle, I’ll be looking forward to seeing you, again, when you return
from your journey. I hope that we’ll have the opportunity to spend some quality
time together—a lot of time together . . . I hope, I hope, I hope . . . before
you go back to Camelot, if that’s what you decide to do.”
Marilotta looked at her watch. She said, “Yikes—it’s nearly half past four
o’clock. I’ve got to run!”
Before she left, Marilotta came over to me and gave me a huge hug and kissed me,
lightly and moistly, on my cheek. I returned her favor. Then I presented
Marilotta with a couple of special supplemental kisses—more sentimental, more
deliberate, more passionate kisses, creatively configured and delivered so that
she would fully remember me! Immediately thereafter, we also exchanged verbal
good-byes. Then she went on her way.
I had spent a considerable amount of time with Marilotta Light, on and off, over
the past week. We got to know each other pretty well. I hated to leave. I mean
that I really hated to leave! She was very friendly, and our personalities
meshed, almost from the very beginning. Willie was right when he compared the
physical similarities between Marilotta and Britney Spears. After I saw Britney
perform and sing a couple of her hit songs on TV, I seriously thought that I was
watching and listening to Marilotta, instead of Britney. At any rate, I
definitely looked forward to seeing Marilotta, again, right after my upcoming
journey.
I sat back down on the tan-leather sofa. Then Willie walked into the room. He
sat down in his favorite matching-leather chair, directly across from me. Willie
asked, “Okay, Wantsalittle, do you have any last-minute questions for me before
you set out on your quest?”
“Yes, Willie, there is one thing that I’m a little curious about. The other day,
while I was watching some of your favorite DVDs, I ran across an interesting
film. The movie was a rock-and-roll comedy called Up in Smoke, starring Cheech
and Chong. Those two very funny dudes unknowingly smuggled a van—a van made
entirely of marijuana—from Mexico to L.A. And I’ve also noticed numerous other
references to marijuana in other movies that I’ve watched in the past several
days and on TV, etc. Yet, you and Marilotta have never mentioned the term
‘marijuana,’ and neither of you has said anything to me about ‘smoking pot.’
Why?”
“Wantsalittle, the movie you’ve referred to, Up in Smoke, came out in 1978.
Actually, that particular film was the first of several comedy movies for the
hilarious duo of Cheech Marin and Thomas ‘Tommy’ Chong. All of their films made
light of the idea of using marijuana or ‘smoking dope,’ as it is more commonly
called. Anyway, Marilotta and I purposely refrained from talking with you about
‘marijuana’ or any other illegal drugs. After you so eagerly decided to ‘try’ a
few of my Tomarlbury cigarettes, we didn’t want you to ‘try’ other potentially
harmful substances.”
“Were you both afraid that I would get hooked on smoking dope?”
“Not really. Wantsalittle, most experts agree that marijuana, occasionally used
for the purpose of ‘getting high,’ is probably no more harmful to you than the
alcohol that you would consume by drinking a couple of beers. Here’s the
problem: Marijuana usage could lead to your wanting to partake in other, much
more dangerous illegal drugs—cocaine or crack cocaine or amphetamines, for
example. Habitual use or an overdose of any illegal substance could severely
damage your body and/or mental faculties; it could even kill you, right then and
there.”
“If such illegal drugs, either stimulates or depressants, are so potentially
harmful, why do so many people, especially younger people, use them?”
“Wantsalittle, people may use illegal drugs at various times and for various
personal or social reasons. None of those reasons, including the idea that some
illegal substance may provide an individual with a momentary pleasurable ‘high’
or a temporary ‘euphoric state of mind,’ justify the short-term or long-term
consequences of his or her usage of any such illegal drug or illegal substance.
On the bottom line, Wantsalittle, do NOT experiment with or use any illegal
drugs or illegal substances. And be extremely diligent and cautious with your
consumption of alcohol, whether it is beer, wine, champagne, hard liquor, or
whatever. And whatever you do, do NOT drive a vehicle or operate any machinery
while you are under the influence of ANY drug, illegal or otherwise, or while
you are under the influence of ANY alcoholic beverage!”
“Thanks, Willie, for the great advice. I think that it would be best for me NOT
to associate with or at least NOT to be negatively influenced by anyone who
indulges or by anyone who partakes in any illegal drugs or any illegal
substances.”
“Good for you, Wantsalittle!”
Willie took a deep breath of air and said, “One of the neat things about a time
machine is that you can travel as far as you want to go and be gone for as long
as you want. And you can return at the same time you left, so that you don’t
miss anything at home while you’ve been gone, if you know what I mean?”
“Willie, you just covered a lot of ground there. I really don’t know what you
mean!”
“Wantsalittle, it doesn’t really matter. Have you got the duffel bag that I gave
you packed? Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah, I’m a little nervous, but anxious to get started.”
“All right, let’s go out to the car. With the driving lessons you’ve had over
the past week, you shouldn’t have any trouble with the vehicle.”
We entered the garage, and Willie opened the garage door. After I put my duffel
bag behind the front seat, I climbed into the Vette and sat down in the driver’s
seat. Willie got in on the passenger’s side.
“Let me explain what I said, earlier, about being able to ‘return at the same
time you left’: Today is May 27, 2007, 4:30 P.M. You can take as much time as
you want while you’re on your journey. I’ll program the computer module in the
Corvette for today’s date and time. And I’ll enter my home address as your final
destination.”
Willie reprogrammed the main computer module, which was mounted to the dash in
the Vette. Then he hit a few buttons on the remote-control unit, reprogramming
that device, as well. He said, “All right, that’s taken care of. When you want
to return the car to me, simply hit the big white ‘Return’ button here on the
main computer module. You’ll arrive back here on today’s date and time. It’ll be
as though you never left. And then you can stay here with Marilotta and me for
as long as you want, or I’ll take you back to Camelot—whatever you choose to
do.”
“Willie, what about the other three large buttons?”
“Okay, when you press the blue ‘Enter’ button, the module will ask you to type
in the ‘date’ and ‘time’ and ‘destination.’ After you have entered the necessary
information, just push the green ‘Go’ button. Instantly, you will be transported
through time to the designated destination or location. If you have any trouble
with the car or with the time-travel units, simply push the red ‘Emergency’
button. By way of radio and satellite communications, I will immediately be
alerted via my cell phone as to your precise location and time. I have an extra
time-travel remote safely stored away in the house. If you have an emergency, I
will transport myself to your current location. And if I need to find you, I can
press the Emergency button on my remote and be transported to wherever you
happen to be.”
“Okay, Willie, I think that I’ve got all that information stored in my head. I’m
ready to go!”
“Wantsalittle, you haven’t eaten anything all day. Would you like to have some
dinner before you leave?”
“No, thanks! I’m just too nervous to eat right now. I’ll stop and get something
while I’m on the road.”
Then Willie reached into his back pocket. He pulled out his wallet. He had
already been very generous since I arrived. I hated to take any money from him,
even though we both knew that I needed it.
“Here’s five-hundred dollars,” Willie said. “You can call it your reward for
finding and returning my remote. If you run low on cash while you’re away, come
back to my place. I’ll give you some more money so that you can finish your
trip.”
“Willie, thanks for everything! I really appreciate all of your hospitality and
help. If I need more money, I’ll find some part-time work while I’m gone. And
please thank and say ‘good-bye’ for me, again, to Marilotta when she gets home.”
“You kind of like her, don’t you, Wantsalittle?”
“Yes! I really do!”
“I can see that she likes you, too! Who knows? Maybe the two of you will get
closer together one of these days! . . . Wantsalittle, do you have any
last-minute questions about anything?”
“No, I understand how everything works. I think that I’m thoroughly prepared to
embark on my quest.”
“Okay, just remember to hit the big white button whenever you want to return to
my place, here in Beverly Hills.” Willie got out of the Vette and leaned through
the open passenger-side window. Finally, he said, “Sir Wantsalittle
Morefromlife, have a safe and personally enlightening journey.”
We shook hands. I started the engine. Then I waved good-bye as Willie went back
into the house. I was ready to travel into the future or wherever I wanted to
go.
I didn’t want to get carried away on the first day of my journey. Besides, I was
already tired from a week of preparation for my trip. I just wanted to try out
the time machine and get some rest. I planned to spend my first “knight” out in
Denver, Colorado. So I set the date/time/destination controls on the time-travel
module, which was located on the dash in the Corvette, for a couple of months
into the future and for Denver. Little did I know then that it would turn out to
be a “knight” to remember!
After I pressed the green Go button, I disappeared. Then about as fast as I
could blink, the car, with me in it, reappeared. The glossy, metallic-red, 2007
Vette “energized” on a busy street near downtown Denver.
Everywhere I looked, there were people and cars—stop-and-go, bumper-to-bumper
driving. Willie had mentioned that I might get caught up, at times, in rush-hour
traffic when I visited bigger cities. He wasn’t kidding. After driving in
Hollywood, though, the crowded streets in Denver seemed mild by comparison.
Besides, my nerves had calmed down when I realized that the time machine was
functioning correctly.
I had decided to stop at the first motel I saw. But first I wanted to get
something to eat—just a hamburger or two and a drink that I could take with me
to my room.
As I drove down the road, I saw a Burger Castle directly ahead. “My kind of
place,” I said to myself. I didn’t feel like getting out of the car and having a
bunch of people ask me why I was wearing a full suit of armor. So when I pulled
into the fast-food joint, I drove around to the drive-up window.
“I’ll have that #1 Knight Meal Deal and a large Pepsi®,” I said, after I stopped
at the menu-speaker stand.
“Do you want our special ‘Guinevere’s Tartar Sauce’ with those fries, Sir?””
“Yeah, I guess. I didn’t know that Guinevere made a tartar sauce.”
“What did you say, Sir?”
“Never mind! Yes, I’ll try the tartar sauce.”
“Please pull up to the first window.”
I did, but I forgot to take off my helmet. When the cute little brunette handed
me my order, she laughed and asked, “Why are you dressed up as if you were Sir
Lancelot or somebody? Are you on your way to a Halloween party in the final week
of July?”
“Sweetheart, it’s a long story. You might get the chance to hear or to read
about it someday,” I replied, getting in the last laugh.
After I picked up my fast-food order, I drove about two blocks down the street
and pulled into the Lost Knight Motel. I checked into my room, laid my helmet
down on one of the bedside night tables, and sat down to eat my dinner.
Then I unloaded my duffel bag. I knew that something was missing. . . .
Suddenly, it dawned on me. I raised my hands high above my head and said, “Damn!
I forgot to pack my toothbrush!” The bad taste in my mouth from that damn
Guinevere’s Tartar Sauce should’ve been my first clue that my journey was
destined to get off to a sour start.
Sure enough, things got worse. My stomach started aching. I wanted to get some
badly needed rest and overcome my stomach ache, so I leaped, spread eagle and
face up, right in the middle of my king-size bed.
Several hours elapsed. I had experienced more and more stomach pain as the time
slowly ticked off the clock. Then I developed a slight headache. I got up and I
went into the bathroom. I needed something to take for my aches and pains. When
I reached above the sink and opened the medicine cabinet, I said to myself, “Ah,
here’s a bottle of cod liver oil.” I took a couple of swigs. “I need a fast
acting laxative,” I said to myself. “I hope that this will do the trick.”
I dampened a towel and wrapped it around my forehead. Then I went back to bed. I
tossed and turned for over an hour. I just couldn’t go to sleep.
All at once I opened my eyes, and I looked out of the window. Superman (the late
Christopher Reeve, out of respect for his leading roles in the Superman movies)
was outside on the sidewalk. He had been “examining” my tummy through the window
with his dual X-ray vision.
Seeing Superman, in person, for the first time was strange. With his broad
shoulders, well-defined pectoral and abdominal muscles, together with his
bulging biceps and calf muscles—all stretching that predominately blue spandex
suit—and that long, streamlined, red, satin cape, the Man of Steel appeared to
be all that he was advertised to be—“more powerful than a locomotive, faster
than a speeding bullet, and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.”
Curiously, there was a big mirror on the ceiling directly over my bed. As both
of Superman’s red eye-beams focused on my stomach, I looked into the mirror and
saw a reflection of what was ailing me.
Superman’s X-ray vision showed that my tummy and intestines were filled with:
fear, doubt, worry, unhappiness, depression, frustration, resentment, anger,
hatred, etc. Superman could see that I was hurting, but that damn “S” man didn’t
come to my rescue! Instead, he flew away as if he were a coward and as if he
were fleeing from a fight.
“I really feel bloated,” I moaned, holding my stomach firmly with both hands.
“God, I wish that someone would help me!”
Instantly, I saw the image of a very sexy lady. She stood just a few feet off to
the
right side of my bed. The dazzling longhair blonde reminded me of Jessica
Simpson, one of my favorite movie stars. In fact, after I studied her shapely
figure for a few seconds, I was pretty certain that she was Jessica Simpson!
With a look of bewilderment etched on my face, I asked, “Are my eyes deceiving
me, or are you Jessica Simpson?”
“Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife, your eyes are and they are not deceiving you.”
Now, I really was confused. Jessica or whoever continued, “You see,
Wantsalittle, it appears to you that I am Jessica Simpson. But I would rather
that you call Me by My real name—God!”
I got more and more confused by the second. I asked, “You mean ‘God’ with
respect to the idea that You are acting out the part of God?”
“No, I mean ‘God’ as a matter of FACT! The truth is, Wantsalittle, I’ve been
watching just about every move that you’ve made since that day in Camelot—the
day you proclaimed that you were going on a quest. I recall that you said
something about your wanting to ‘become more worldly’ and to ‘feel and act like
a king.’ Do you know what I’m referring to?”
“There must be something wrong here!” I exclaimed. “For God’s sake, the Lord
isn’t a woman, is He . . . e-r-r, is She?”
God giggled and replied, “Wantsalittle, your words reflect your chauvinistic
attitude. What makes you think that ‘God’ couldn’t be a woman?”
My mouth and eyes were wide open, and I was simply speechless for a few moments.
Then I gathered what few senses I had left and tried to answer God’s question.
“I never considered the idea that our ‘Supreme Being’ or ‘the Creator’ or ‘the
Lord’ or ‘God Almighty’ could be a female! God, You’re certainly an eyeful of
heaven! I just adore that half-unbuttoned, rather-revealing, pink blouse. You
certainly are well-endow—”
God interrupted me before I could complete my well-intended compliment. “Now I’m
beginning to understand why your birth name was ‘Wantsalittle Morenooky.’ Please
keep in mind just who it is that you are speaking with, okay?”
I was a little embarrassed about trying to flirt with the Lord. I thought about
adding some nice comments with respect to the rest of Her ravishing physique and
sexy attire—things such as: Her distinguished, entrancing, light-blonde hair; Her
short, cut-just-above-the-knee, powder-blue skirt, with a lengthy left-side
slit; and Her long, slender, stunning legs. But I decided not to push my luck.
Instead, I asked, “Why do You look so much like Jessica Simpson?”
“Wantsalittle, did you know that I, being God, can read your mind? In your
thoughts and while your eyes were ‘covering all of the bases,’ how come you
failed to recognize My shiny, pink, three-inch-heel, genuine-leather pumps?”
“Oh, Lord, I’m so sorry! But You must admit that You are a real ‘knockout’!”
“Wantsalittle, thanks, I think, for that nice compliment. I wanted to appear
before you in a human form. I knew that Jessica Simpson was one of your favorite
entertainers. So I thought that I would sort of clone Jessica and give you
somebody to talk with who could be most appealing to you. Tell Me, Wantsalittle,
does this body and My meticulous choice of costume fill the bill?”
“It sure does! I don’t know whether to address You as ‘God’ or as ‘Goddess’!”
Earnestly amused, the Lord roared in laughter at my last remarks. Then She said,
“By the way, Wantsalittle, you really don’t know, for certain, whether or not
that God is a male or a female. And I’m not going to tell you. You’ll just have
to keep wondering, like everyone else. Let Me just ask you this: Really, does it
matter?”
“No, I guess not. It is more fun, though, that You are presenting Yourself to me
in the persona, including diction and voice, of Jessica Simpson. Thank You,
Lord, for Your great sense of humor and for Your utmost consideration!”
“You’re very welcome, Wantsalittle. Now, let’s discuss some more serious
matters. You are traveling around in Willie C. Light’s time machine, in hot
pursuit of your praiseworthy, coveted goals; at least, you are in search of
those adventures that may provide you with the knowledge and the experience
necessary for you to fulfill your commendable dreams. As you embark on your
quest, you could become a legend in your own ‘time,’ as well as other ‘times.’
On the bottom line, I have a vested interest in your ultimate success.”
I wasn’t sure what the Lord meant by “vested interest.” I asked,
“God, why is my
success so important to You?”
“To begin with, I’d like to see anyone achieve to the best of his or her
abilities and live a happier, more prosperous life on earth. People look up to,
admire, and are motivated by good example-setters. I’ve noticed that your
intentions have always been in good order.”
“Well, I’m glad that I’ve done something right!”
“The idea that you’re upset about such things as ‘authoritarian
leadership’ and
a form of government that ‘deprives the common people’ shows Me that, by and
large, you’re conscientious and that you care about the welfare of your fellow
man. I’d like for you to become a great example-setter. But you’ve got some
rough edges. In particular, I’m concerned about the facts that you drink way too
much, that you can’t control your bad temper, and that you frequently display
aggressive, socially unacceptable patterns of behavior.”
“Yes, I’ll admit to those faults and a few others.”
“Wantsalittle, I haven’t mentioned, up to now, some of your other noteworthy
personal problems—your generally sexist-minded approach to women, for instance.”
A bit embarrassed and a little angered, I shouted, “Good God, Lord! Is there
anything that You don’t already know about me?”
The Lord’s mood and disposition suddenly took a downward turn. Her big,
bewitching, brown eyes now reflected traces of red. God squinted, slightly, and
glared at me through demoniac, piercing eyes. Then She shouted, “I guess that
you failed to hear Me when I said it was time to talk about ‘some more serious
matters’! Wantsalittle, it may appear to you that I am just another pretty
face—someone who you can easily joke around with, perhaps make fun of, or tease
by way of your snide, sometimes sexually inferring quips and comments. By God,
Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife, I am your Lord! God Almighty! Your Creator! Young
man, it wouldn’t hurt for you to show Me a little more respect!”
As God yelled and screamed at me in an explosive, thunderous outburst, I noticed
that She had a bit of a bad temper, Herself! I did my best to disguise the
excruciating pain in my stomach. I would have been embarrassed for God to know
all of what was ailing me. But I should have known that I couldn’t keep any
secrets from the Lord.
God leaned back on the heels of Her bright-pink pumps and
took a couple of deep
breaths. I really wanted to poke fun at Her jaw-dropping frontal pose, but I
wasn’t sure that She had finished bawling me out. Besides, I was still too
scared to make any sarcastic, sexually pointed, or should I say “two-pointed,”
remarks about Her broad, eye-popping, protruding posture as She profoundly
inhaled those two gigantic gulps of air.
When the Lord calmed down, She said, “Wantsalittle, it looks as though you’re
really hurting inside, and I don’t think that you’ve got a case of the stomach
flu. As I see it, some of your negative thoughts and emotions are plugging you
up, restricting your capacity to have faith in Me, and damaging your
self-confidence and your self-esteem.”
“What do You recommend?” I asked, knowing that God was my best hope of pulling
my first night on the road out of the crapper!
Then the Lord said, “I mentally picked up on that ‘crapper’ thought of yours!”
“I didn’t mean to make light of—”
God broke in and said, “That’s all right, Wantsalittle. Your God does have a
keen sense of humor, at least most of the time. Believe it or not, I like to
laugh and joke around as much as anybody. Your wry sense of humor and sometimes
wit-spoken words reflect your charming, down-to-earth, good-hearted nature. I
don’t want you to lose those fine personal qualities. Please don’t take offense
or to heart My earlier, momentary lapse of patience with you. As we proceed,
over time, with our conversations, I’m confident that you will better understand
the importance of communicating with more tact, when it’s called for, and you’ll
learn to listen more attentively. And as you further mature, morally and
ethically, from your upcoming virtue-seeking adventures and experiences, you
will become more respectful of others and more sensitive to others’ individual
needs.”
The Lord paused for a few seconds, then continued, “Wantsalittle, the real drama
in your life—what should make your life more entertaining, more challenging, and
more rewarding—your personal performance will be played out according to how
you act and react to various adverse, often-very-difficult circumstances and
conditions. By the time the curtain falls on your forthcoming journey, ending
the accelerated stage of what should be your steadfast, nonstop drive for
self-development and personal growth, you will possess an uncommon strength of
morality and an exceptional standard of ethics—character traits more befitting
of a king.”
My already aching stomach condition had gradually worsened as the Lord kept
spewing Her lengthy, perhaps-scholarly discourse or oration . . . or whatever
She might choose to call it. All I could think of, throughout God’s sermon, was
my “steadfast, nonstop drive” to rush into the bathroom. I said, “Lord, Your
concern for my better interests, character-wise, has touched my heart. And Your
forecast for my eventual, heavenly wellbeing has been respectfully noted. But
what do You think that I should do, RIGHT NOW, TONIGHT, to rid myself of some of
my more negative thoughts and dreadful, all-too-often-hateful, innermost
emotions?”
“Wantsalittle, we’re not going to be able to solve all of your problems in one
sitting. It’s going to take some time and patience on both our parts. Really,
the first thing I think that you should do is to go into the other room and try
to ‘royally flush’ some of your ‘angels in black.’”
“What do You mean by ‘angels in black’?” I asked, reluctantly.
I was afraid that
God’s answer would likely be detailed and delay my inevitable trip to the
toilet.
“The expression ‘angels in black’ is symbolic of your negative thoughts, bad
habits, harmful emotions, etc.—any and all personal thoughts and personal
behaviors that YOU perceive to be ‘skeletons hanging in your closet’—everything
that reflects your darker side. You should clear your system of harmful
emotional waste. Then try to fill your heart with more positive thoughts and
emotions—things like: joy, self-love, love of others, love of your God, faith in
your God’s goodness, belief in yourself, your worthwhile individual goals, and
your precious personal dreams.”
“That’s going to take some doing on my part!”
“That might be an understatement!” God exclaimed. “For quite some time now,
you’ve likely been trying, consciously or subconsciously, to suppress the
feelings of your darker side. If your personal truths cause you to fear your
angels in black, you must come to understand that such fear is not founded in
universal reality. Your fear signifies personal false beliefs, not universal
truths. As you continue on your journey, I’ll try My best to help you to gain
control over your negative thoughts and harmful emotions. My guidance will
enable you to conquer your angels in black, one by one.”
“I really appreciate Your willingness to help me, Lord. What else can I do, NOW,
to work on my false beliefs?”
“The Bible states, ‘As a man thinks in his heart, so is he.’ (Proverbs 23:7)
Your heart is at the center of all your attitudes, goals, feelings, and actions.
As you think with the attitude of self-confidence, for instance, you will be
self-confident. Try to ‘see the light’ of your positive thoughts and emotions.
As you do, you’ll be able to release your enemies within! That’s about all that
I can suggest at this time.”
“Thanks, my Lord! When will I see You again?”
“That’s up to you. You are welcome to call on Me at any time! Wantsalittle,
let’s keep our future meetings on the informal side and just between us. Nobody
else will be able to see or hear Me when we get together. I’ll contact you ‘in
person’ upon your requests, but only for as long as you continue on your journey
to personal enlightenment.”
Suddenly, God reflected a solemn expression on Her face.
The Lord said, “Wantsalittle, because I am appearing before you and speaking
with you in human form, I am apt to adopt human emotions and become influenced,
although temporarily, by human behaviors and characteristics. In other words, you,
as an imperfect mortal being, may cause Me to say things and perhaps do some things,
at times, that I, as your God, wouldn’t say or do. And on account of My
human stance and expression as Jessica Simpson, I will accept many of your sarcastic,
sexist-slanted thoughts and remarks so long as your intentions are honorable and you
are willing to learn and show personal growth from My intermittent advice and suggestions.”
I said, “Thank you, Lord, for allowing me some ‘human latitude’ in my
face-to-face correspondence with You. After all, it was Your idea to assume the human form of a most
attractive young lady. I will promise to try to keep my chauvenistic thoughts and remarks to a minimum
and ‘above board’ during our future conversations. Hopefully, though, we can maintain a
light-hearted yet meaningful and educational verbal exchange throughout the course of my quest
toward enlightenment. Who knows, among many other of my shortcomings, You might even be able
to help me cure my generally sexist attitude by journey’s end.”
“Wantsalittle, I’ll give you everything that I’ve got—e-r-r
let Me rephrase that before you get the wrong idea: I’ll do the very best that I can to help you in
every aspect of your character. As for your sexist-minded ways, we’ve definitely got our work cut out for
us, haven’t we?”
“I’m afraid so, but I am willing to learn!”
“That’s what I wanted to hear. As your God, I am willing to
swallow some pride and absorb the brunt of your sexist-directed humor if by so doing I am able to influence
you in a positive way and help you to become the very best that you can be.”
The Lord started to walk toward the door. Then She stopped and turned around. She
said, “By the way, Superman was coming to your rescue. I used mental telepathy,
of sorts, to give him the idea that you already had a ‘protecting angel.’ Then
Superman flew off to take care of other important matters.”
“God, thank You for telling me that! That renews my confidence in the
‘S’ man.”
The Lord just snickered, and then She suddenly disappeared.
Still sprawled out on the bed in my motel room, my stomach pains had become all
but unbearable. I knew that, somehow, I had to eliminate the oppressive pain.
Tightly gripping my gut, I crawled off the bed and labored to get into the
bathroom.
When I finally got there, I braced myself against the wall with one hand and
held onto the bathroom doorknob, then the towel rack, and then the shower rod
with the other hand, waddling my way along to the toilet. Then I made good use
of the white porcelain fixture, going “#2.”
When I got up and flushed the toilet, I saw the words: fear, doubt, worry,
unhappiness, depression, guilt, resentment, anger, hatred, frustration, envy,
tension, impatience, etc.—all of these self-limiting emotional terms swirled in
the water just before they were sucked down the drain. Temporarily, at least, I
had cleared my body of negative thoughts and harmful emotions.
On my way back to bed, I smiled and said, “Whew! What a relief it is to flush
away some of the crap that has been constipating my thinking!”
(The moral of this episode: Replace negative emotions with more positive ones!)
Character-enhancing Lesson: Overcoming Your Resistance to Positive Change
D.I.A. (Denver International Airport); July 28, 2007; 10:00 A.M.
The next morning I felt refreshed and ready to go. What a difference a good
night’s sleep made. I went outside and looked around. “Wow! It’s a terrific
day,” I said to myself. “Today, there are a couple of things that I’d like to
do. I want to take my first ride on an airplane, and I want to see Las Vegas.”
I packed my things, and I left the motel. I drove a few miles east of Denver to
D.I.A. I had planned to leave the Corvette at the airport and take the
time-travel remote with me to Las Vegas. That way I could program the remote to
transfer the car to Las Vegas, and I wouldn’t have to take a plane back to
Denver to retrieve the vehicle.
After I got to the airport, I bought a one-way ticket to Vegas. I only had to
pay seventy-nine dollars. They gave me a good discount because some lady had
just canceled her reservation; they wanted to fill her seat.
I thought that my day was going to get off to a flying start. But I encountered
a problem at Concourse “K” when I attempted to get through the metal detector to
board the plane. A sign posted above the security archway read “PLACE ALL BAGS
AND METAL OBJECTS HERE.”
I did my best to be inconspicuous. After I put my duffel bag, war club, and ax
on the passenger-check-through belt, I tried to slip, undetected, through the
security area. Suddenly, bright-red flashing lights came on. A deafening alarm
sounded. The loud noise startled me, and the alarm drew the attention of dozens
of airline passengers, who were in the immediate vicinity.
I should’ve realized that my full suit of armor would trigger the alarm. I was
thoroughly embarrassed by the incident. Fortunately, I had the visor down on my
helmet; nobody saw the blood rushing to my sweat-dampened, ruby-red face.
To make matters worse, two security guards rushed over and hurriedly carried me
away. I trembled from head to toe. My quivering left hand held an airline ticket
that had “VIVA LAS VEGAS” and “FUN JET” boldly typed across the front of it.
“Some fun this idea turned out to be,” I said.
Then the guards hustled me to the front door. “We suggest that you choose
another mode of transportation,” one of the guards said, showing a sneer on his
face.
After the security men released me and returned my bag and my weapons to me,
outside the main terminal, I raised my war club and said, “You guys wouldn’t be
so brave if it wasn’t for the fact that there are two of you and that you both
are toting those big black revolvers!”
“I’m only going to tell you this once, pal,” the other guard said, after pulling
out his pistol and pointing it at me. “Put down that big club of yours! How
would you like to spend the night in jail, Sir . . . whoever you are?” I lowered
my weapon and took off on a mad dash for the Vette.
I reached into the car and took out a piece of cardboard and a magic marker.
Then I wrote “EXCALIBUR HOTEL & CASINO OR BUST!” in large black letters, and I
hung the sign on the passenger-side door of the car. I was determined to get to
Vegas one way or the other.
Frustrated and a bit angered after the incident with the metal detector, I said
to myself, “I refuse to change clothes just to travel on an airplane! What’s the
world coming to that one must undress to fly first class? . . . Lord, how can I
overcome my resistance to change?”
When I started to get into the car, I heard somebody coming up from behind me. I
grabbed my ax and swiftly spun around; I was ready to strike out against any
potential adversary. I probably shouldn’t have been so hasty.
“Oh—God! It’s just You!”
“Wantsalittle, you could act as though you’re a little happier to see Me.”
“I’m sorry, Lord. My mind is focused on something else right now.”
The Lord asked, “Do you remember what I told you about your being aggressive?”
I was red-faced, again. “Yes, I apologize for threatening the security guards a
few moments ago. I get a little hot tempered and hostile at times, as You
already know.”
“You called My name and had a question with regards to how you might ‘overcome
your resistance to change.’ Let’s see if I can help you with that, okay?”
“Yes! Obviously, I’m pretty set in my ways. I got hung up with the metal
detector, here at D.I.A., as I tried to board a plane to Las Vegas. I’m not
accustomed to all of modern technology and to various contemporary cultural
standards and ways. In many respects, my life was much simpler and easier in
Camelot. How can I learn to be more flexible and willing to accept positive
change?”
God said, “Let’s sit down in the car and discuss this topic for a few minutes.”
With my cumbersome suit of armor, it took me a minute to wedge my way into the
Vette. The Lord sat down in the passenger-side seat. Again, She was very
alluring. On this occasion, God fashioned a white, satin, short-sleeve blouse, a
dark-red, pleated skirt, and low-heel, white sandals. But this time, Her shirt
was buttoned clear to the top!
As soon as we both got comfortable, the Lord said, “Walter Bagelot once wrote,
‘One of the greatest pains to human nature is the pain of a new idea.’ Really,
Wantsalittle, change is good when people have positive images and ideas that
lead to progress. Some change, an improved airport security system, for example,
is necessary if it serves to benefit or to better protect the rights and
privileges of the public at large.”
The late-morning sun shined brightly through the cloudless sky. Outside the car,
the temperature was about ninety degrees. We put the windows down as soon as we
got into the Vette, but it was still getting too warm in the car. The Lord
exclaimed, “God, it’s getting hot in here!” She quickly unfastened the top three
buttons on her sweat-dampened blouse and squirmed around, from side to side, on
the car seat for a few seconds. These maneuvers allowed me a glimpse of Her
high-riding cleavage, which was enticingly presented to me from over the top of
Her light-red, low-cut, French-lace, push-up bra.
I had a feeling that God was going to be long-winded with Her suggestions. She
probably would have to take several deep breaths of air throughout Her upcoming
food-for-thought message. Although I really hated to, under the fantastic
peeking conditions, I started the engine, put the windows up, and turned on the
air-conditioner. Then I flipped the switch on the blower to full blast.
“I want you to read part of a good story,” God said, “of two men who overcame a
greater resistance to positive change.”
The Lord handed me a sheet of paper. A section of a movie script was typed on
the page. “What I’m about to share with you is an excerpt from a scene in a
popular American film, The Outlaw Josey Wales. Clint Eastwood played Josey
Wales, and the late Clint Sampson had the part of Ten Bears, a wise but angry
Comanche Indian Chief.”
“Great! But how did You know what question I wanted to ask? Do You make it a
habit to carry portions of movie scripts around with You?”
“Wantsalittle, give Me a little credit, will you? As your God, I have a
clairvoyant mind. I can see into the future. I knew, beforehand, what you were
going to ask Me.”
By now, the temperature in the car had dropped to a cozy seventy degrees. While
re-buttoning her blouse, God said, “Wantsalittle, I hope that you’ve enjoyed
‘the view’ for the past minute or so. You seem to have a constant fixation with
My chest!”
“Yeah, but it seems to me that You have a tendency to expose a plentiful portion
of Your fine, full, mammary glands. I don’t know whether or not that You’re
being generous or simply teasing me or what?”
The Lord chuckled and said, “Well, I admit that I am teasing you a little. I
just thought that My sexy, more-revealing attire might help to keep our meetings
and conversations on the lighter side and make our important, meaningful
conferences a little more fun for you. Honestly, My breasts are not that big. My
push-up bra gives you a false impression of My actual bust size. Tell me
something, Wantsalittle. Could you ever become interested in a woman who wasn’t
well endowed?”
“Sure! Marilotta Light isn’t that ‘big,’ as You must already know.
But I haven’t
been able to get her off my mind. In fact, I’d seriously consider falling in
love and marrying Marilotta, or somebody very much like her. For many guys,
bigger boobs just give a female a little extra physical appeal. But that part or
any other specific part of a woman’s anatomy, is not all that important to me. A
lady is beautiful by what is in her heart, and that is what counts in any
meaningful relationship!”
“I’d like to believe all of what you just said, Wantsalittle. Really, though, I
don’t know if there is any hope for you with respect to young, attractive, buxom
women. Perhaps, time will tell!” We both chuckled. Then God said, “Now, Sir
Wantsalittle Morefromlife, please take the time to read the brief excerpt from
the movie script.”
The script read:
Josey Wales: You’ll be Ten Bears?
Ten Bears: I am Ten Bears.
Josey Wales: I’m Josey Wales. . . . I came here to die with ya or to live with
ya. Dying ain’t so hard for men like you and me. It’s living that’s hard.
Governments don’t live together; people live together. With governments, you
don’t always get a fair word or a fair fight. Well, I’ve come here to give ya
either one or get either one from ya. . . . The sign of the Comanche—that will
be on our lodge; that’s my word of life.
Ten Bears: And your word of death?
Josey Wales: It’s here in my pistols, there in your rifles. I’m just giving you
life, and you’re giving me life. . . . And I’m saying that men can live together
without butchering one another.
Ten Bears: There’s iron in your words of death for all Comanche to see, and so
there’s iron in your words of life. No signed paper can hold the iron. It must
come from men. The words of Ten Bears carries the same iron of life and death.
It is good that warriors such as we meet in the struggle of life or death. . . .
It shall be LIFE!
When I handed the script back to God, She said, “This is a classic example of
two great men, each representing different cultures, who found a way to accept
new circumstances and benefit from their changing environments.”
The Lord stopped to take a deep breath. I turned the air conditioner down a
couple of notches, hoping that She might get a little overheated, again, during
Her rather exhausting dissertation. Then God continued, “Ben Franklin hit it
right on the mark when he stated, ‘We must all hang together or assuredly we
will all hang separately.’”
“Yeah, but how does the Josey Wales’ and Ten Bears’ story pertain to me?”
The Lord paused to take an even deeper breath. Unfortunately, She left Her
blouse fully buttoned. Then God concluded, “It’s high time that civilized
societies, governments, and all of mankind overcome their resistance to positive
change. People must begin to respect, tolerate, and love one another,
individually and collectively, and lay down their arms and prejudices!
Wantsalittle, are you on the same page with Me here?”
I tried to quickly respond to the Lord’s question. But my mouth was wide open at
the time; I was right in the middle of the last one of four, back-to-back, big
YAWNS! As soon as I was able to get my mouth closed, I replied, “Yes! And I’ll
try to do my part!”
“Wantsalittle, I’m glad to hear that. . . . Say, you look like you’re about to
fall asleep. I hope that you’re not getting bored with My important message! Are
you?”
“Oh, no!” I exclaimed, my eyes now wide open and my jaws now clamped shut,
following my yawns.
“Wantsalittle, when we first met, you confessed that you had overly aggressive
tendencies. Something tells Me that you’re in for a tough battle with that
particular personal demon.”
“Yes, but with Your help, I think that I can overcome my bad temper and
aggressive ways. God, is there anything else that You’d like to add on the topic
of ‘accepting positive change’?”
“Here is one last thing: I want you to remember that as you think with the
attitude of accepting positive change, you will become a part of progress,
accordingly. Try to think about how you’ll overcome your resistance to positive
change.”
Again, the Lord left just as suddenly as She had appeared. In a way, I was kind
of glad to see Her leave, for now. I said to myself, “What a sermon! When the
Lord gets going, you can’t shut Her up! I think that She must’ve got up on the
wrong side of the bed this morning. Why is She taking Her problems with some of
the rest of the world out on me? Besides, the Lord could’ve summed up much of
what She had to say in one figurative sentence: As most people on earth
constantly try to screw one another, some mutants will be born! Anyway, I sure
hope that God is in a better mood the next time that I call on Her!”
The time had come for me to go on with my plans for the day. I typed in the
words “Las Vegas” on the time-travel module and pushed the green ‘Go’ button. I
didn’t expect what happened next.
On my way to “Glitter Gulch,” that outlaw, Josey Wales, held me up! Here’s how I
ended up playing “Cowboys and Indians”:
The Vette and I energized out in the middle of nowhere. I was surrounded by lots
of cactus, a few rocks, and some shrubs. And I saw some wildlife. A prairie
rattler slithered across the trail in front of the car. I noticed a couple of
lizards. They were slithering around in the desert sand. Then I looked up and
gazed at a vulture, which was hovering just above me. The rapacious bird
fluttered his wings when he looked down on me; the vulture probably hoped that I
would end up being his next prey. Also, I saw several scorpions. The ugly little
critters were crawling all over the ground, snacking on ants.
I said to myself, “What happened here? I know that Las Vegas is out in the
desert, but something isn’t right!”
I looked down at the computer module. The dial read “Las Vegas, New Mexico; July
28, 1867; 3:30 P.M.” Then I began to understand. I forgot to program the time-travel
computer for “Nevada,” and I forgot to put in the “date and time” of day. Some
wires in the time-travel unit must’ve crossed. I was transported to the future
site of Las Vegas, NEW MEXICO. I said, “No problem! I’ll just re-enter the date,
place, and time.”
Before I entered the correct data on the computer module, I got out of the car
to stretch my legs for a minute and to have a cigarette. I had asked Willie if I
could have the rest of his carton of Tomarlbury cigarettes to take with me on my
journey. I sort of got into the bad habit of smoking Tomarlburys when I was
staying in Hollywood.
As I took a drag on my just-lit cigarette, I noticed that I wasn’t the only one
in the vicinity who was blowing smoke. I looked off into the distance and saw
smoke signals coming up from behind a hill, about a mile away. Those little
clouds of white and gray smoke made me curious. But there was just a wagon trail
headed in that direction. I knew that the Vette didn’t have enough clearance to
get over the rocks and ruts in the road. I didn’t know how to set the computer
to travel that mile, so I came up with a better idea.
Willie had told me, that with the main computer module in the car, it was
possible to transport somebody or something, through time, either TO some
destination, as would normally be the case, or FROM some place in time, in the
event that I would want to fetch Spirit, my talking horse, for instance. I could only do
this if I knew somebody’s exact location at a particular time. Then I could
energize those molecules to wherever I happened to be.
I knew that Spirit always rested in the same spot in his stall every night. And
because of the time difference between New Mexico and England, I also knew that
it would be late at night in Camelot. I said, “What have I got to lose?” I keyed
in what I hoped were all the appropriate buttons on the module and pressed Go.
As fast as my stallion could have wagged his tail or as if Merlin were
performing his sorcery magic—presto—Spirit suddenly appeared. The horse
energized right between the car and me.
“Hi there, Spirit!” I said. I walked over and stroked the palomino’s long,
light-brown and golden-colored snout. “Welcome to the ‘Badlands’ of New Mexico.
Would you like to take me for a little ride?”
“Master, it’s good to see you again! I’ve been wondering about you. Hop aboard.
I’ll take you wherever it is that you want to go.”
I mounted up and headed on down the trail. I got about a hundred yards from the
car and just around the first bend in the road. All at once, some cowpoke
galloped out from behind a clump of tall sage brush. He hollered, “Halt there,
partner! Where da ya think yer goin’? . . . And why are ya dressed from head ta
foot with all that strange-lookin’ tin?”
My “strange-lookin’ tin” outfit shouldn’t have looked any stranger to him than
his dusty old cowboy duds appeared to me! Anyhow, I readied my lance and
replied, “My name is Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife. Please state your intentions
before I move to impale you!”
“Hold on there, Sir . . . whoever ya said! I mean ya no harm! Do ya realize that
yer right-smack-dab in the middle of Comanche Indian country?”
I said, “Say—I know a little bit about you. Aren’t you some kind of a famous
outlaw? Don’t they call you ‘the outlaw Josey Wales’?”
“Yeah, some people refer ta me as ‘the outlaw Josey Wales,’ but I AIN’T NO
OUTLAW! I’ve never stole nothin’ in my life, and I’ve never kilt nobody that
didn’t need killin’. Some Union soldiers, who are searchin’ for me, tagged me
with the term ‘outlaw.’ In truth, it’s they who are the real outlaws!”
Then I turned and said, “Those smoke signals up ahead—let me guess—I’ll bet that
the smoke is coming from Ten Bears’ Indian village.”
“How did ya know that?” Josey asked?
“Just call it a lucky guess. Have you already spoken with Ten Bears?”
Josey tucked his pistol back in his holster and got down off his gray stallion.
Then he replied, “Nope, I’m on my way ta do that now. You see, Ten Bears is
angry. The white man has lied to him, ambushed his warriors, taken away his
prime huntin’ grounds, and pushed him as far as he’s willin’ to go. Now he wants
to fight back for what’s already rightfully his!”
“Aren’t you afraid to go up against him alone?” I asked.
“Yer damn right I am! What’s more, I ain’t got no personal grudge with him. But
he’s holdin’ a couple of honest, decent men hostage. I gotta try ta point that
out and reason with him.”
“Yeah, I think that I know what you’re going to say to him. Why don’t you let me
go in your place?”
“Well . . . okay, but yer probably headed to yer own funeral! If you fail, ya
could make it harder fer me ta deal with him later.”
“I won’t fail! It was good talking with you, Josey.”
“Same here, Wantsalittle. Best of luck to ya with Ten Bears!” Josey said, as he
began to ride off in the other direction.
An hour or so later, I galloped right into Ten Bears’ camp. He rode out to meet
me, along with about a dozen of his braves. We faced each other on horseback.
Ten Bears had streaks of red and black war paint smeared all over his forehead
and cheeks. He fashioned a three-feather war bonnet; one long, predominately
brown eagle feather stuck up between two other grayish ones. I could tell that
Ten Bears was in a foul mood and that our meeting was going to be cast in a
serious light. Fortunately, I remembered the words from the movie script. I just
“filled in” for Josey Wales.
Near the end of our conversation, a couple of Ten Bears’ scouts rode up. They
had seen the Vette and read the cardboard sign, which was still taped to the
door.
“This paleface roams across our land in style,” one Comanche scout said to all
of the other braves. Then he looked at me and asked, “Where is this place you
call Excalibur Hotel & Casino?” I just snickered and switched my attention back
to Ten Bears.
After Ten Bears said, “It shall be LIFE!”—we tossed our weapons, his lance and
rifle and bow together with my lance and war club and ax, on the ground, except
for our hunting knives. Ten Bears patted his pure-white stallion on the rump and
rode up beside me, closing the few feet of distance that there had been between
us. He sat on his horse, just off to my right. As we sat in our saddles, we
faced each other, serious but cordial expressions on our faces. Then I leaned a
bit to my left, away from Ten Bears, and spat on a scorpion, which had been
sunning itself on a flat rock, off to the left side of Spirit.
We used the sharp-bladed knives to slice the palms of our hands. Ten Bears made
a slight cut on his right hand; I removed my right steel glove and cut into the
palm of my right hand. Scarlet-red blood trickled from Ten Bears’ hand, and
blood oozed from the palm of my right hand. Finally, we reached out to each
other and tightly clasped the palms of our freshly sliced hands, becoming “blood
brothers” in the process.
Ten Bears concluded, “From now on, we will live together as good neighbors in
peace!”
Once more, I leaned over and spat on the scorpion. Then, in agreement with the
wise Comanche Chief, I said, “I reckon so!”
(The moral of this episode: Overcome your resistance to positive change!)
“You’ve Got to be the Wackiest Knight from Camelot!”
Character-enhancing Lesson: Replacing “Aggressiveness” with “Assertiveness”
Las Vegas, Nevada; July 28, 2007; 8:40 P.M.
After my pow-wow with Ten Bears, I rode my horse back to the Vette. Then I
“transported” Spirit back to Camelot and adjusted the time-travel module to Las
Vegas, NEVADA. I finally arrived at the Excalibur Hotel & Casino, located on the
famous “Strip” in fabulous Las Vegas.
I checked into a room. Dirty from all of the trail dust that I had picked up out
in the desert, I really needed to take a long shower.
After I got cleaned up, I stopped at one of the Excalibur Hotel & Casino’s
dinner buffets to choke down some food. Then I headed straight for the casino.
Willie had taught me some of the basics of blackjack. I looked for a “21” table
with an available seat. The casino was crowded, but it only took a few seconds
to find an open spot at a “five-dollar” (minimum bet) table. The table’s maximum
betting limit was a thousand dollars per hand. I quickly sat down in the
far-left seat, called “third base.”
After I took off my helmet and placed it on the floor, right behind my chair, I
looked around the table. The blackjack dealer had an identification badge pinned
on her light-blue shirt. The tag read “Hello! My name is Whoopi.” As I handed
her a fifty-dollar bill to purchase some chips, I asked, “Are you Whoopi
Goldberg, the famous comedian?”
“Yes, twice a week, though, I moonlight as a blackjack dealer.” She handed me
ten red ($5.00) chips and said, “The minimum bet at this table is five dollars.”
Jay Leno, host of the Tonight Show, happened to be sitting next to me. In fact,
after closer observation, I noticed four other high-profile TV personalities at
the table. David Letterman, host of The David Letterman Show, sat just to the
right of Jay. Bill O’Reilly, host of Fox News Channel’s The O’Reilly Factor, sat
next to David Letterman. Joy Behar, co-host of ABC’s The View, sat
next to Bill O’Reilly. And Dr. Phil McGraw, host of The Dr. Phil Show, sat
directly across the table from me at “first base.” I was very excited to be in
the midst of such prominent company.
Everybody at the table placed their bets. I glanced over and noticed that Jay
had several stacks of black chips and a few piles of green casino tokens (chips)
lying in front of him. He had two black ($100) chips and two green ($25) tokes
(as “tokens” are more commonly called) placed in the betting circle; the green
chips were stacked on top of the black tokes. Jay’s total bet was $250. I
scooted one red chip out as my five-dollar bet.
Whoopi dealt the cards out of a little clear-plastic contraption called a
“card-shoe,” which was sitting off to her far left. I was dealt an eight of
spades and an eight of diamonds; both cards were face up on the table. Jay’s
hand revealed a two of clubs and a five of clubs. Whoopi’s “up-card” was a four
of hearts.
Jay appeared relaxed, and he was minding his own business. He puffed on some
kind of a big, brownish cigarette. In a friendly gesture, I slid an ashtray
toward Jay.
I said, “Sir Jay, you’re certainly welcome to share this ashtray. Where did you
get that giant-size cigarette? And why is the wrapper brown, instead of white?”
Jay cackled a little. Then he asked, “Who are you? And where are you from?
Haven’t you ever seen a cigar?”
“No! I just smoke Tomarlburys. What brand of cigar is that?”
“This cigar or stogie is called an ‘El Non-producto.’ I switch back and forth
between El Non-productos and ‘Black Owls,’ depending on my preference at the
time. As you’re decked out in that fancy suit of armor, it looks as if you’re
right at home here at the Excalibur Hotel. What’s your name young man?”
“Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife . . . but you can call me Wantsalittle. Indeed,
the decor and atmosphere in this casino does remind me of being at home in
Camelot, but that’s another story. This is my first time in Las Vegas. I’m here
on a vacation of sorts and to do some soul-searching.”
Joy Behar abruptly turned her head toward me and said, “Mister, did I
just here you say that you are here on a vacation from Camelot?”
I replied, “Yes! Well, I don’t know if ‘vacation’ is the right word to describe
why I’m here. This is what happened: I recently found a time-travel remote
device in Camelot. I simply returned it, personally, to its original owner,
Willie C. Light, who lives in Holly—”
Joy broke in, “Say, Mr. Wantalittlemore or whoever you said you
are, you remind me of someone that I’ve seen on television. Aren’t you what’s
his face from One Tree Hill . . . Chad Michael Murray?”
“No, but I’ve been told that there is a striking resemblance.”
With a dumbfounded expression on her face, Joy replied, “If
you’re not Chad Michael Murray, you could be his identical twin. I wish you
would take off the rest of that full suit of armor and let me get a better look
at you. At least you had the courtesy to remove your helmet when you sat down.
Your manly facial features and your short, unkempt, dark-blond hair do remind me
of Chad Michael Murray. Anyway, if you are serious about being from Camelot, and
that you’re here by way of some time machine, what a story I’ve got to tell my
friends and co-hosts on The View. Elizabeth (Hasselbeck) and Barbara (Walters) and
the rest of our crew are not going to believe it! Will
you come to our TV studio at ABC in New York and be a very special guest on our
morning show?”
“Maybe sometime, later. First, I’m going to continue my journey into time, a quest
of sorts, to become more enlightened and noble. I want to feel and act like a
king.”
Dr. Phil suddenly stood up, raised his hands high over his head, and shouted,
“Hey buddy, I have as good a sense of humor as the next person. But I think that
you need some serious therapy. You’re a pretty good actor, young man. You’ve
almost got everyone here at the table believing that you really are from
Camelot. I think that you had better make an appointment to come and be a guest
on my Dr. Phil Show. I would like to diagnose you and treat you for what’s
obviously ailing you!”
“Whatever you say, Doc. But—”
Bill O’Reilly interrupted me and said, “Hey, pal, you’ve got to make an
appearance on my show, The O’Reilly Factor, first. The folks have got to know
about you, especially if you are not a far-left-wing liberal, which I’m very
much afraid that you are! Anyway, when you sit down across from me on the show,
you’ve got to understand that there will be no bloviating (slang for “running
off at the mouth”)—that’s my job. And you have to remember that ‘the spin stops
here,’ okay?”
“Sir Bill, what’s a ‘far-left-wing liberal’? And what in the hell does
‘bloviating’ mean? Finally, what ‘spin’ are you talking about?”
“Wantsalittle, never mind! I’ll explain all that to you on the show. I think
that we’ll put you on during our daily segment called ‘the most ridiculous item
of the day.’”
“Okay, but I don’t readily admit that there’s anything ‘ridiculous’ about me! In
a few weeks, after I finish my travels through time, I’ll call your show and
accept your gracious invitation.”
Then David Letterman quipped, “I’ve had some most interesting guests over the
years on my Late Show with David Letterman. But something tells me that you are
going to move to the head of the ‘interesting’ class! I can’t wait to come up
with the list of the top ten reasons why Sir Wantsalittle wants more from life!”
Everybody at the blackjack table roared in laughter, then Jay Leno said. “I’m
really not a gambler. The others at this table aren’t gamblers, either.
I come out to Vegas, occasionally, to relax and to get
away from my hectic working environment. Right now, many of my celebrity friends
and colleagues and I are here in Vegas for the annual ‘talk-show hosts’
convention. Tell me, Wantsalittle, are you married or do you have any children?”
“No, I had a girl friend some time back, but our relationship really didn’t last
that long. Her name was Lady Expectsalot. And she more than lived up to her
name!”
Jay chuckled and said, “Well, with those bright-blue eyes and that short,
scruffy, dark-blond hair and that burly, manly appearance, you shouldn’t have
any trouble attracting the ladies.”
Whoopi interrupted and asked Jay, “With your two cards, you have a total of
‘seven.’ Do you want another card to go with your two and five of clubs?”
“Hit me—HIT ME HARD!” Jay eagerly exclaimed.
Then I reached over and . . . whack . . . whack . . . whack! I knocked Jay out
with my big fat war club. Jay saw stars, but not of the Hollywood variety! His
head hit the table, his chips scattered, and his long, thick El Non-producto
folded like an accordion.
The entire butt end of the smashed, twisted stogie was crammed so deep into
Jay’s mouth and throat that it could have tickled his tonsils. The lit portion
of the crumpled cigar stuck out from under Jay’s bruised chin; smoldering ashes
sizzled in the drool, where he had slobbered on the forest-green, felt-top
table.
Apologetically, I said, “I’m sorry, Jay. Old habits are hard to break!”
I couldn’t believe that I did that, especially after God had given me a lecture
about my aggressive tendencies. My hostile action was a far cry from virtuous,
kinglike behavior on my part. Jay should’ve just picked up his “clubs” and
crowned me!
With an obvious look of displeasure on her face, Whoopi interjected, “Hey, Sir
Lancelot, or whoever you think that you are. He just wanted another card! If you
can’t control yourself and behave in a respectable manner, I’ll have to notify
the security people. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
“Yes—I’m really very sorry! It won’t happen again!” Whoopi cleaned up the mess
on the blackjack table and collected herself.
Jay scooted his chair to his right a few inches to get farther away from me. He
was rubbing the big knot, which had protruded from his forehead, when a cocktail
waitress stopped to offer him assistance. She gave him a courtesy drink on the
house. Then she put a big Band-Aid® on his lumpy head wound.
Meanwhile, all of the other players all had fresh drinks and neatly stacked
piles of chips in front of them. A couple of ashtrays were filled to the brim
with cigar ashes and butts. Whoopi was now ready to deal to me. I still had that
pair of eights in front of me, lying face up on the felt.
Whoopi tried to coach me. She said, “You should always split a pair of eights.”
I appreciated the helpful dealer’s good advice. I quipped, “Okay, I’ll try to
SPLIT ’EM!” . . . W-H-A-C-K! I had stood up in front of my spot at the table
and smashed my sharp ax directly through the pair of eights, splitting both
cards in the process. The head of the ax stuck in the top of the table. Cards,
chips, ashes, and butts went airborne. Every plastic cup and glass on the
printed-felt gaming surface got knocked over, spilling coke, beer, and a couple
of mixed drinks. All in all, it was a real ugly scene!
After she pulled a couple of chips and a cigar butt out of her dark, braided
hair, Whoopi threw her hands up, in disgust. Then she waved a little white bar
towel over her head. Whoopi exclaimed, “I give up!” Everyone at the blackjack
table had big frowns on their faces.
Totally perplexed by the incident, Whoopi softly added, in a monotone voice,
“And I thought that I’d seen it all.”
“Excuse me,” I said, “I’ve got to go to the restroom. Whoopi, will you please
watch my chips and save my seat?”
“Do you mean to say that you’re coming back?”
“Yeah, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I strolled into the men’s room. I didn’t have to pee; I simply wanted to talk
with God. I leaned back against the bathroom sink and asked, “Lord, how can I
learn to control my sometimes combative behavior and still move confidently in
the direction of my dreams?”
God energized right in front me. She said, “Wantsalittle, I mentally picked up
on your smacking Jay Leno and on your splitting that pair of eights with your
AX! For the third time, what do you intend to do about your overly aggressive
ways? You probably just ‘axed’ any chance that Jay Leno or the other TV hosts
would still invite you to appear as a guest on their talk shows! Wantsalittle, I
don’t know what I’m going to do with you!”
The Lord was really upset with me. I thought that She would be. I wasn’t too
thrilled with myself, either. “God, this is going to be harder than I thought.
Can You give me some good advice?”
“In your case, maybe! Wantsalittle, it’s a good thing for you that I have a good
sense of humor! . . . Sometimes people get confused between ‘aggressiveness’ and
‘assertiveness’—two distinctly different emotional conditions and behaviors. To
aggress signifies an unprovoked attack or a first act of hostility.
Wantsalittle, of all people, you should understand that! Aggressiveness is a
negative emotional response. To assert means to declare or to act in a
self-confident manner. Assertiveness is a positive emotional response.”
“Do you mean that, even though I’m aggressive, I might not be assertive enough?”
“That’s right! Many aggressive or hostile people aren’t assertive enough. Those
who possess a passive, apathetic nature should place an ax dead center on their
being overly timid and shy. Wantsalittle, in some ways you fall into this
category. Try to assert yourself IN A NON-HOSTILE FASHION! Do something
constructive. Write down your personal goals. Initiate action to achieve them.
Don’t put off until tomorrow what you can get up and do today. Get creative.
Make something happen. . . . In other words, poop or pull up your pants!”
The Lord paused for a moment to laugh at Her last remark. Then She added,
“Wantsalittle, do something with your good ideas. Victor Hugo once proclaimed,
‘Nothing in the world is so powerful as an idea whose time has come.’ Set your
thoughts into motion. Turn them into inspiring products or services. Try to
accomplish something that will allow you to leave your artistic mark on the
world.”
“God, I’m going to do the best that I can to start practicing what You preach.”
“I hope that you do! Before I go, I’d like you to keep one more thing in mind:
As you think and act with the attitude of assertiveness, you will become more
assertive. Don’t let life pass you by—by being caught up in the traffic of
‘Someday, I’ll.’ Instead, shove your aspirations into the ‘Today, I’ll’ gear. If
you do, you’ll catch up with your dreams!”
The Lord left, and I strolled back to the blackjack table. Along the way, I
picked up a foot-long piece of rope that someone, evidently, had dropped on the
carpet. I handed Jay the rope. I asked him, “Would you please tie my hands
behind my back?”
“You’ve got to be the wackiest knight from Camelot!” Jay shouted. But he gladly
complied with my instructions. “I’m going to have to have you on my Tonight Show
one of these days. People all across America would ‘split a gut’ and get a real
‘bang’ out of you!”
The table had been cleaned, and everything was back to normal. Jay placed his
next bet. Then he helped me make a wager. Jay pushed a stack of ten red chips in
my betting circle.
Whoopi glared at me. She was still a little angry after everything that I had
done. Then she turned to the pit boss and said, “Checks play!” (An expression
that a dealer often uses to inform his or her supervisor that a player has
placed a larger bet.)
Whoopi dealt the next round of cards. She gave herself a nine of spades as her
up-card. I was dealt an ace of spades and a jack of hearts. (Right after the
initial deal, any two-card combination of a face card and an ace is called a
“natural,” a “snapper,” or a “blackjack,” which pays three chips for every two
chips wagered.) I had just won seventy-five dollars for my fifty-dollar bet!
Now I beamed with joy. As my hands were still tied behind me, I was unable to
otherwise react. I said, “Thanks, Sir Jay and Lady Whoopi! I think that I’m
beginning to ‘see the light.’ Whatever it takes, I’m going to stop being so
aggressive and redirect my wasted energy into more constructive thoughts and
actions!”
(The moral of this episode: Replace your aggressive behavior with more
assertive, socially acceptable actions!)
Excalibur Hotel & Casino; Las Vegas, Nevada; July 29, 2007 . . .
I decided to extend my stay at the Excalibur Hotel & Casino for one more day.
The next morning, I got cleaned up and went to the casino’s coffee shop for
breakfast. After that, I headed back to the gambling area. I wanted to play some
of the other casino games.
“Look at all of these slot machines,” I said to myself. “There must be thousands
of them—one long row after another. Practically any direction that I turn, there
are more alluring ‘slots’ staring me in the face. I wonder just how often people
hit the jackpot on one of these things?”
I still had about a hundred dollars in gambling money left over from my previous
day’s blackjack session. That wouldn’t have gone very far if I started out
playing “five-dollar” or even “dollar” slot machines.
Before I left Hollywood, Willie C. Light had advised me to take fifty or sixty
dollars and try my luck on “quarter” slots. Furthermore, Willie said, “Count
your money after you’ve played the quarter slots. If you have won enough
quarters to be able to play the dollar slots on ‘house’ money, over and above
your original gambling stake, it might be worth moving up to ‘half-dollar’ or
‘dollar’ machines.” Willie also pointed out that I could have just as much fun
playing for smaller amounts and that “winning is winning.” Finally, Willie told
me, “It feels good to hit any kind of a jackpot, regardless of whether you’re
playing for ‘nickels’ or for ‘dollars.’”
Across the way, I saw a bank (several slots of the same monetary denomination
hooked to a common or “progressive” giant jackpot) of quarter machines against
the wall. A sign that hung from the ceiling, just above the ten or twelve
machines, read “QUARTER MANIA.” There was a black, rectangular, ticker-tape
device under the sign. Flashing red lights on the ticker-tape read “PROGRESSIVE
JACKPOT NOW AT $4,691.87!”
When I walked over to the bank of machines, other players occupied all of them.
“Say! These must be pretty ‘loose’ machines, considering that there are so many
people crowded all around them!” I said to myself. “I’ll just wait for someone
to leave.”
Within a couple of minutes, some guy got up and wandered off; he hadn’t had any
luck. Then an attractive “change” girl walked up to me. She was scantily
outfitted in a leaf-green, deep-V-necked, pull-over dress. And she had a
saucer-size, shield-shaped, brass buckle on her wide black belt—a real medieval
costume.
The change girl said, a sharp and demanding tone in her voice, “Hey, Lancelot .
. . or whoever you’re made up to be, where’s your helmet?”
I replied, “My helmet is up in my room. Would you like for me to go up and get
it?”
“No, that won’t be necessary. What’s your name, Mr.?”
“Sir Wantsalittle . . . and yours?”
The young woman started to laugh, then she had a change of heart. With a serious
voice, she asked, “Are you trying to be cute, Sir whoever-you-really-are?”
Before I could explain, she continued, “I don’t know if you should be in the
casino with that shiny suit of armor and all. Oh well, this is the
Excalibur Hotel. I guess you sort of fit in. Would you like some change?”
“Yes! I’d like a roll of quarters, please.”
For the change girl, it was a good thing that God had just spoken with me on the
subject of “aggressiveness.” After she made those rude remarks, I just wanted to
reach out and yank down on her long, straight, blonde hair! Instead, I kept my
cool and simply handed her a twenty-dollar bill. She gave me a full roll of
quarters, a five-dollar bill, and five one-dollar bills.
“How come you didn’t just give me a roll of quarters and a ten-dollar bill?” I
asked.
The attractive little lady stared at me and replied, “I thought you might want
to give me a ‘little something’ for my taking the time to give you change—you
know, a dollar or two for my tip!”
“Oh!—Well, if you hadn’t insulted me, perhaps I—”
“Never mind,” she said, now interrupting me in addition to her earlier tactless
comments. “I had a hunch you might be a tight-wad!”
“Listen here—” I stopped myself in the middle of my next comment. It was too
late for me to reply. She had scampered off and quickly disappeared into the
narrow, crowded aisle.
Unaffected by my brief exchange of words with the casino worker, I bent over to
pull out the short-legged, dark-walnut-stained, wooden stool in front of the
still-vacated quarter slot. A heavy-set woman, who looked to be in her late
sixties, had been sitting on the next stool down, just to the right of where I
was about to sit. She turned her head in my direction and looked up at me with a
smug sneer. Then the elderly woman scooted her stool to her left, a little, just
far enough to prevent me from sitting down. Right after that, she slipped three
quarters into the “Wild Cherries” machine that I was just about to play.
“Excuse me! Is this seat taken?” I asked, as I pointed at the vacated small
stool, which was now available to the next person who wanted to sit down.
“No! As you can easily see, Sir, the seat is not currently occupied. I moved
over, between the two machines, because I want to play two adjacent slots at the
same time,” she said.
I reminded her, “There’s a little note taped right here over the monitor that
reads ‘Please play only one machine at a time when crowded conditions exist!
Thank you for your courtesy!’”
The woman yelled, “All right! But I’m sure going to be mad if you sit down here
and hit the jackpot right away!” She pulled the handle, which spun the reels for
her last turn on my machine. She didn’t win anything. Reluctantly, the greedy
woman scooted her stool over, back in front of her machine.
I sat down and smacked my paper-wrapped roll of coins against the front lip of
the stainless-steel slot tray; the forty silver-plated quarters clashed and
clanged, sending out a loud metallic sound, as the coins dropped, sequentially,
and splattered all along the bottom of the metal tray.
A computerized message on the monitor read “Please Deposit from One to Three
Coins.” I didn’t realize that I couldn’t win the “progressive jackpot,” now at
$4,905.75, unless I put in all three quarters before I pulled the handle. So I
conservatively dropped a single quarter in the slot and pulled down on the
upright handle. When the wheels stopped turning, the monitor showed “triple
bar—triple bar—triple bar.”
I read the payout schedule below the monitor. With one coin played, three
“triple bars” paid eighty coins—twenty dollars for a twenty-five-cent deposit.
“This could become addictive,” I whispered under my breath.
Then the old lady to my right scowled at me, again, and said, “Why did you play
‘short’? You just cost yourself forty bucks! Always ‘load’ the machine! . . .
And when you get tired of pulling that awkward handle, you can simply press that
little white button there that says ‘Spin.’”
“Madam, I’m trying to have a good time here and mind my own business. I highly
suggest that you just relax, sit back, and do the same!” She twisted her long
neck back in a straight-ahead position and faced the screen on her own slot
machine.
I knew that she was probably right, but I wanted to show her who was “boss.”
Hastily, I deposited another single coin. Then I looked over at the gray-haired
lady and ever so slowly pulled the handle. The reels whirred. . . . I continued
to stare at the old woman. Suddenly, the wheels stopped. The white light on the
top of my machine brightly flashed, and there was a deafening ringing sound.
When I looked at the monitor, I saw three red “Wild Cherries” lined up on the
center pay-line.
“Wow! I really did it! I finally hit the jackpot!” I screamed out, jumping for
joy.
“Sir . . . whoever you might be, look again!” the annoying lady proclaimed. “You
idiot! Because you only played one coin, you didn’t hit the progressive jackpot.
That’s what you get for trying to spite me! Let’s see here. . . . Yeah, you won
2,000 coins or just $500, instead of the almost $5,000 you would’ve won had you
played all three quarters! Damn, I had a hunch that machine would pay off big. I
would’ve still been playing it, and I would’ve had it loaded up with all three
coins played, if it weren’t for your butting in a few moments ago. Why don’t you
go back to Camelot or wherever you’re from and give Merlin some grief? You’ve
been a real curse to me, young man!”
What could I have said? “Damn the luck!” I exclaimed. She was absolutely right.
Nonetheless, I was still pretty happy with the fact that I’d just won $500. My
slot tub was filled with quarters. The slot attendant came over and gave me $250
cash to go along with 1,000 coins that dropped into the slot tub. I filled up
four large “coin cups,” which were stacked up on the ledge between the machines.
Then I headed to the “Cashier’s Window” to convert the quarters into dollar
tokens.
The time had come for me to graduate to the dollar slots. I looked around for a
few minutes. Then I found a “Blazing-7s” machine that caught my eye. It wasn’t a
progressive machine, but lining up three blazing-red 7s on the center pay-line
would’ve paid me $1,000, not bad for a three-dollar investment.
I had learned my lesson about “playing short.” From that point on, I decided to
load the machine before each pull of the handle, depending on whether or not a
slot required three coins or five silver tokes to win the full jackpot.
About twenty minutes after I began playing the Blazing-7s machine and a few
other dollar slots around the gambling hall, I learned another valuable lesson.
I said to myself, “I guess that it isn’t likely that I’m going to walk away a
winner from every machine that I play. And it’s amazing how fast my money can go
when I play three or more tokens at a time.”
I played several different dollar machines in less than half an hour. I didn’t
have any measurable luck. Sure, I got teased a little, winning “even money” a
few times and a handful of dollars on two or three other plays. But my previous
winnings rapidly evaporated.
Down to my last six bucks, I slipped three silver tokens into a
“Magnificent-7s,” three-coin, dollar machine. Catching three blue 7s across the
center pay-line would’ve awarded me $2,500. I pulled the handle on the “one-arm
bandit.” The slot reels spun; the computerized machine bellowed a promising
melody. In a few seconds, the slot reels came to an abrupt stop. Three different
symbols appeared on the pay-line: blue 7—bar—triple bar. A message on the
machine’s monitor read “Better Luck Next Time—Please Deposit From One To Three
Coins.” It just as well have read “Stick ’em up!”
Frustrated and obviously upset with the unyielding, stingy, slot machine, I
shouted, “Drats! This long losing streak is really depressing me. Lord, do You
have an elixir that might improve my luck?”
My guardian angel, of sorts, appeared. The Lord sat down on a little slot stool,
which was vacant and located just off to my left. Jessica . . . e-r-r, I mean
God was dressed in the same kind of outfit as the bitchy little change girl. God
looked very provocative in Her dainty little Excalibur uniform. She said,
“Wantsalittle, it looks as though you could use some better luck. Now, I can’t
help you to win the jackpot on slot machines. These devices and other forms of
gambling are simply games of chance. And you should realize that the ‘house’ has
a considerable advantage. In this case, the casino owner is in business to make
a handsome profit. I’m only here to give you some psychological tips that might
improve your attitude; therefore, perhaps your luck will improve, in general.”
“How is it, Lord, that one person can be luckier than another?”
“Largely, it’s a matter of identifying with and allowing yourself to benefit
from the universal laws of infinite love, infinite supply, and infinite
abundance. In other words, you are what you think!”
“Some of Your words are going over my head. Do You mean that if I think about
‘prosperity,’ for instance, that I’ll be more prosperous?”
“That’s the general idea, Wantsalittle. And here’s something that goes along
with that notion: Jesus, Buddha, Mohammed, and other religious prophets taught
that people should count their blessings. You should stop to think about just
how lucky you already are or just how much good fortune you already have. How’s
your physical and mental health, overall? . . . Do you have a supportive, loving
family? . . . Are you fortunate enough to have caring, endearing friends? If you
concentrate on what you HAVE, rather than on what you don’t have, you’re more
likely to get more of what you want!”
“Lord, I don’t have any family, and I have very few close friends.”
“Wantsalittle, I think that you know what I mean. One day, you will likely
settle down and start a family of your own. And as you change your ways, you
will attract new friends, wherever you happen to be. . . . Now let’s get back on
the subject of ‘luck.’ Oliver Goldsmith wrote, ‘The fortunate circumstances of
our lives are generally found, at last, to be of our own producing.’ If you like
to gamble, you might improve the odds of ‘Lady Luck’ being on your side if you
REALLY BELIEVE that you’re a lucky person and if you just know that prosperity
and good fortune are coming your way.”
“Other than gambling, could my prosperity consciousness bring me good luck in
other regards?”
“Good luck takes the shape of many faces. Sometimes, you may be focused on
having good luck in one specific area—winning the lotto or hitting the jackpot
on a slot machine, for example. Whether or not you actually win at these games,
your mental energy, directed toward being lucky, may result in your having even
better luck bestowed upon you from more significant, surprising sources.”
Right before God disappeared, She said, “Wantsalittle, as you think with the
attitude of being lucky or fortunate, you may experience good luck or good
fortune. Dare to prosper. Think about what your good luck images will be today!”
God’s message uplifted my general attitude. She made me feel grateful for the
things that I already had going for me in my life. Then, thinking that I was
already a ‘winner,’ I deposited my last three dollars in that same
Magnificent-7s slot machine and pulled the handle. When the reels came to rest,
there were three blue 7s lined up across the center pay-line. Lights flashed,
and a loud buzzer went off. I sprang off the stool, raised my hands high, and
leaped for joy. This one-arm bandit didn’t get off with my cash. I had just won
$2,500!
Dozens of bystanders looked on as the slot tub overflowed with silver dollars.
With a wide grin across my face, I blurted out, “It really helps to expect the
unexpected!”
(The moral of this episode: You may already be luckier than you think! If you
want to improve your luck, try to imagine yourself as already being successful
in as many ways as you possibly can!)
After I had hit the jackpot at the Excalibur Hotel & Casino, I headed for
Nagano, Japan, site of the 1998 Winter Olympic Games. I had watched some reruns
of those particular Olympic Games while I was staying at Willie’s. Japan was one
of the countries that I had planned to visit on my journey.
When I arrived in Nagano, I registered in a hotel and went directly to my room.
I was mentally exhausted from my various gambling ordeals and from all of the
action, in general, in the hectic, fast-paced environment of Las Vegas, Nevada.
Nonetheless, I had a lot of fun in Glitter Gulch, and I learned a lot from my
enlightening adventures on the famous Las Vegas Strip. My first night in Nagano
wasn’t so eventful. Room Service delivered my dinner. After I ate, I took a
fifteen-minute hot shower and got a good night’s sleep.
The next day, I sat at a cluttered desk in my spacious hotel room, trying to
decide what I wanted to do next. A calendar hung on the wall behind the desk.
The calendar showed a big black circle scribbled around the date of February
6th. I wore a watch on each arm, and I had a stopwatch in my left hand. My tired
eyes were fixed on an alarm clock, which was located on the far right corner of
the desk.
Several books were scattered across the desk. The titles included: Book of
Knowledge, More Research, Webster’s New Dictionary, and Roget’s Pocket
Thesaurus. In addition, two piles of loose papers were piled up on a balance
scale; each stack weighted down opposite ends of the scale. The top page of one
pile read “Pros” and the top page of the other stack read “Cons.”
“I’ve got a hard decision to make,” I said to myself, “and I’m afraid of making
the wrong decision. Lord, when is the best time to make a decision?”
Immediately, God appeared. She grabbed a light-stained oak captains chair, which
had been sitting on the other side of the room. She put the chair right next to
me and sat down. The Lord asked, “How are you doing today, Wantsalittle?”
“Just fine—thank you! But I could use your help. God, when is the best time to
make an important decision?”
“Napoleon wisely said, ‘Take time to deliberate, but when the time for action
has arrived, stop thinking and go in.’ Sometimes, you can outweigh the facts and
waste valuable time in making decisions. Occasionally, you’ll end up making the
wrong decision, regardless of how much time you take. If you’ve done your best,
but still make a wrong decision, even a major one, forgive yourself. Try to
learn from past mistakes, and get on with your life.”
“What other factors go into making a bigger decision?”
“Time is an important part of the decision-making process. When a more
significant decision is called for, it should be well thought out and based on
as much information as possible. Take enough time to gather all the pertinent
facts, and consider the circumstances. Question your knowledge and opinions.
Solicit input from others. You should delay making an important decision only up
to that point in time when further delay would jeopardize the quality of that
decision. If you adhere to this formula, you will not be described as a reactive
decision-maker, but as an assertive individual who uses good personal judgment.”
“All right, Lord. I’m going to use all of these factors in making my decisions
from now on. Is there anything else that You’d like to add?”
“Yes! Don’t be afraid of making important decisions. If you are self-confident
and visualize yourself as a good decision-maker, you will make better decisions,
overall.”
When God vanished, I tried to decide whether or not to participate in the 1998
Winter Olympic Games. After I carefully weighed the pros and cons, I elected to
enter the ski-jumping competition, representing the “Land of Camelot.” I put on
a green-with-gold-trim ski-jumper’s jersey, which had my favorite number, #13,
printed in gold on the back of the predominately green outfit.
I slowly, but confidently climbed more than seventy steep steps to the top of
the ski jump. Thousands of spectators noticed that I had a little smile on my
face; those optimistic sports’ fans heartily cheered for me. Some onlookers,
however, doubted my wisdom; those more realistic-minded souls knew that my
inexperience in ski jumping and my full suit of armor would weigh heavily
against my chances for success. One observer said, “This guy is crazy. He
reminds me of Great Britain’s legendary, but nutty Olympic ski jumper Eddie ‘the
Eagle’ Edwards.”
Just before I started to ski down the long ramp that led to free flight, I
confidently stated, “I’ve made a decision. I’m going to try to set both the
Olympic and World record for the longest ski jump!”
Then I accelerated straight down the lengthy, abruptly sloped ramp. Up to the
point of no return—the time that it had taken me to reach the end of the
takeoff ramp—I think that I accumulated a lofty number of “style” points for my
expert, world-class form. Immediately after I flew off the perch of the ski
jump, though, I went topsy-turvy!
Just a few feet straight out from the end of the ramp, I started to fall like a
rock. I was in an upside-down position throughout most of my downward flight.
Most among the alarmed crowd looked up and caught a glimpse of the narrow white
and blue stripes, painted diagonally, clearly visible, across the top of my
skis.
Airborne for what seemed like an eternity, I stared skyward; my wide-open blue
eyes appeared as big as teacup saucers to many of the startled spectators,
gathered in mass, below. I heard the wind whistling through the tiny ear
holes in my metal helmet. The bitter taste of temporary defeat languished in the
saliva on my tepid, trembling tongue. After several seconds, I finally blinked,
and I saw one of my skis directly above me. The ski had come loose. It
harmlessly spun through the chilly Nagano air, like a pinwheel, and softly
touched down on the hard-packed snow, about a hundred feet straight beneath me.
When I tumbled to within a few yards from the ground, I was able to upright
myself and somewhat prepare for my inevitable crash landing. As I rapidly
speculated about my uncertain future, I took a deep breath and conceded the
valiant effort. I said to myself, “Obviously, I made the wrong decision. I only
hope that I live long enough to forgive myself!”
(The moral of this episode: Take the time to consider all of the pertinent facts
with regard to your making an important decision. Then be prepared to live with
the results of that decision. Above all, learn from your mistakes. And try to
forgive yourself and go on with your life after you have made any more important
bad decisions.)
Standing in Line for One Million Years B.C.
Was Well Worth the Wait!
Character-enhancing Lesson: Patience and Persistence
Hollywood, California; April 7, 1966 . . .
Fortunately, I wasn’t seriously injured in my less-than-stylish landing on the
ski slope at Nagano. I sustained only a few bumps and bruises. I needed to heal,
and I wanted to give my body some rest. So I journeyed to Hollywood to take in a
movie. The year was 1966.
I energized in a parking lot, across the street from a theater in downtown
Hollywood. I locked up the Corvette and zigged and zagged my way through the
two-way traffic on the busy Holywood boulevard. Then I wedged myself into the
middle of a block-long line, outside the front entrance of the movie theater.
Hundreds of people had gathered to watch the premiere of One Million Years B.C.,
starring vivacious Raquel Welch.
The weather was miserable. It was raining hard enough to rust my already
tarnished suit of armor. But I was able to protect myself from the torrential
downpour. I found shelter under my broad black umbrella, which I had grabbed
from behind the front seat in the car.
“B-r-r-r, it’s too wet and cold to stand in line all day,” I uttered to myself.
“Besides, patience is not one of my virtues.”
I wielded my big war club, loaded with sharp spikes, as leverage to get in line,
one position ahead of some little old lady, who was leaning against her cane,
near the front door of the theater.
“I’m in a hurry,” I yelled, “and I’m crowding in! Is that all right with you?”
The terrified, frightened, old granny was too petrified to speak.
I pondered for a moment about my apparent character flaw—my lack of patience.
After I thought better of the situation, I stepped out of the line and wandered
across the sidewalk, stopping at the curb. I asked, “Lord, how can I learn to be
more patient?”
God promptly answered the call. “Wantsalittle, I remember the scanty cave-woman
garb worn by Raquel Welch in her memorable screen debut of One Million Years
B.C. She boldly fashioned a skimpy, tan, short dress, torn half loose at both
the top and the bottom—an outfit that was also alluringly advertised on various
theaters’ marquees. From My observation of Raquel’s sexy cave-woman attire, it
appears as though I may have some serious competition for your immediate
attention and affection,” the Lord said, light-heartedly, giggling as She spat
out the last clause of Her long-winded introductory remarks.
I laughed and said, “You may be right, Lord. And don’t forget about Marilotta
Light! I think that I could be very happy in the company of any one or more of
the three of you lovely ladies. Of course, in Your case, I’m referring to the
real Jessica Simpson!” We both chuckled. Then I repeated my earlier question,
“Lord, how can I learn to be more patient?”
“Do as author Sinda Jordan suggested in her great book, Inspired By Angels: Give
yourself the gift of patience. There is no need to rush the changes in your
life. All is in perfect order. You have all the time you need to initiate the
changes you desire. Pushing the stream creates stress, while allowing a gentle
flow creates effortless movement. And as it says in the Bible, ‘In your
patience, possess ye your souls’ (Luke 21:19).”
“Lord, you’re standing in the rain. Wouldn’t You prefer to step under my
umbrella?”
“Yes, I’ll have to admit it—that’s a good idea! Wantsalittle, truly noble kings,
queens, and great presidents are among those who understand the importance of
both patience and persistence. Calvin Coolidge, former President of the United
States, once spoke about persistence: Nothing in the world can take the place of
persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with
talent. . . . Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts.
Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan ‘press on’ has
solved and always will solve the problems of the human race.”
“Thanks, God! I know that I must practice being more patient, as well as being
more persistent.”
“That’s right! Whenever you get in a rush, ask yourself, ‘What’s the hurry? Am I
moving steadily toward my goals and dreams?’. . . I’ve got to leave you now, but
remember this: As you think about these virtues, you will become more patient
and more persistent. . . . By the way, Wantsalittle, unless I would have made a
topless appearance this evening, clad only in a G-string, I knew that I couldn’t
outdo or—perhaps more appropriately stated—outstrip the meager costume worn by
Raquel Welch. That’s why I am standing here, without make-up, in loose, black,
soiled, full-length sweatpants and dirty, smelly, old sneakers, along with a
heavy, long-sleeved, drab-gray sweatshirt!”
“God, I wondered why You looked as though You had just got out of bed and
slipped on Your working-out-in-the-gym garments.” We both laughed, and then the
Lord disappeared into the sultry, rainy, Hollywood night.
Immediately, I wanted to practice “being patient.” I moved to the very end of
the long line at the theater. A glamorous young lady walked up behind me. She
wore a pure-white polar-bear fur. Under her fluffy, unbuttoned overcoat, she
revealed a gorgeous, dark-purple, evening dress. The stunning gown had a
plunging neckline. Accented by a white-gold necklace and a diamond-studded
pendant, the elegant dress and jewelry made the already beautiful woman look
sensational!
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Raquel Welch—and yours?”
“Sir Wantsalittle—”
Before I could spurt out my surname, Raquel exclaimed, acting insulted, “Mr.,
whatever your name really is, I’ve got half a notion to reach out and slap you!”
Then she calmed down a bit. “Okay, Mr., I’ll take the bait. Sir Wantsalittle
what?”
Almost afraid to answer, I sternly replied, “Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife!”
“Well, okay! That’s an interesting name. I’m sorry that I got so upset there for
a moment. If I offended you, please accept my sincere apology.”
“No, I wasn’t personally offended by your justified response. Long ago, I
learned to expect people’s natural reactions to my unusual name. I was a bit
embarrassed, I suppose. But it happens almost every time that I introduce myself
to a female, especially a woman who is as attractive as you! . . . My Lady
Raquel, I’m in no hurry. You can step in line, right here, in front of me.”
“Thanks, Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife, for allowing me to get in line! And
thank you for your nice comment about my being ‘attractive.’ As it has turned
out, I’m glad that I had the opportunity to meet you. You are a real gentleman!
I’d like to know more about you—your presenting yourself to be a genuine knight
and all. Perhaps, we will see each other again one day.”
As Raquel completed her comments, we had reached the ticket booth. After we
entered the theater, Raquel turned toward me, winked once, and gestured as
though she were tossing me a little kiss. My heart sank as Raquel strolled past
the curtains, headed for her seat. I wanted to sit by her, so I tried to follow
her down the aisle. However, my cumbersome, weighty suit of armor made it too
difficult for me to keep up. Suddenly, the lights dimmed throughout the theater;
the movie was about to begin. I had lost track of the sexy starlet for now, at
least. Nonetheless, I thoroughly enjoyed, throughout the next couple of hours,
Raquel’s never-really-vocal, but always-captivating character, Loana, in the
film.
(The moral of this episode: “Patience” and “persistence” are admirable personal
virtues. Try to practice these psychological principles each and every day!)
Character-enhancing Lesson: Accepting Personal Challenge
Giza, Egypt; September 3, 1997 . . .
I hated to leave Hollywood. Talk about “learning patience”! I would have stood
in line with the sensual and charming Lady Raquel, by my side, for one million
years!
I next visited Giza, Egypt, at the site of the historical Khufu (Cheops)
pyramid. In an effort to get my mind off of Lady Raquel, I applied for temporary
employment. I accepted a job that required me to wash the great Khufu pyramid,
which was originally constructed during Egypt’s 4th Dynasty.
Standing 481-feet tall and covering some thirteen acres at its base, the stone
monument was built for King Khufu as his tomb. The Khufu pyramid was the first
of three giant pyramids built as tombs for the great Pharaohs on the plateau at
Giza.
Dressed in bib overalls and a light-blue, short-sleeved work-shirt, over my
silver suit of armor, I stood in a little compartment at the end of one long arm
of a huge crane. The crane hoisted me to the top of the 48-stories-high
structure. A hundred-gallon barrel of cleaning solution, containing ammonia
mixed with water, sat just off to my right in the small compartment. Equipped
with only a brick-size household sponge, I had an enormous frown on my face. I
cried out, “I want my mummy!”
When I gathered my wits, I said, “Indeed, a challenging assignment. It’s a good
thing that I get paid by the hour! Lord, what more important personal challenges
are in store for me?”
God appeared. Again, She dressed casually. Like me, the Lord had on a pair of
bib overalls. But this time, instead of a heavy, uninspiring sweatshirt, She
wore a tight-fitting, light-flesh-colored T-shirt. To get Herself in a better
position to speak with me, God had to first wedge Herself between me and the big
barrel of pyramid cleaner. As She twisted and turned to maneuver into a more
suitable stance, She accidentally bumped into the barrel of cleaning solution.
About a gallon of the clear, water-based liquid splashed all over the front of
her transparent cotton T-shirt.
Speaking of a “challenge”! God obviously wasn’t wearing a bra, and it was hard
for me to remain focused on Her, above the shoulders. And it was just as hard
for me to keep a straight face, considering my direct and full view of the
leaving-almost-nothing-to-the-imagination, “nice set” of circumstances. My mind
had fallen into a near-spellbinding trance. The Lord could have hypnotized me in
a “Camelot second” with one more side-to-side motion or up-and-down movement of
Her eye-popping, fascinating, twin peaks!
Enthusiastically, the Lord said, “Hi there, Wantsalittle! It’s great to see you
again!”
“God, it’s greater to see You, too!” I said, showing an ear-to-ear grin as I
spoke.
The grandeur images that I had mentally photographed and cherished, and that I
was still seizing and savoring, at every opportunity and for each priceless
second, caused my legs to buckle. I stumbled, for an instant, and nearly lost my
balance, which likely would have sent me over the edge of the scaffold.
The Lord said, “Your question for Me should not have been one of ‘what
challenges’ are in store for you. Your question should have been: ‘God, what can
I do to meet such personal challenges?’ Life would be boring and without much
purpose and meaning if it weren’t for personal challenges.”
As I attempted to sneak in another innocent, inadvertent peek or two at the
front of Her wet T-shirt, I said, emphatically, “God, right now, my life is
anything but boring!”
I was surprised that I had been able to escape the Lord’s wrath, so far, with
respect to my rather obvious, gawking, roaming eyes and my evil little thoughts.
But as it had previously come to bear, God had detected and made note of
everything that I had been visually investigating and all that I was, even then,
carefully studying. Once again, She had accurately read my thoughts, down to the
last pleasurable detail.
The Lord exclaimed, “Watch yourself, Wantsalittle! I know exactly what you are
referring to with that ‘my life is anything but boring’ remark, and it’s in bad
taste! I’m not the slightest bit amused by your sexist thoughts or by your
rambunctious, wandering eyes. If you don&3146;t clean up your act, I may make my
future appearances before you as Medusa, rather than as Jessica Simpson. Do you
know about ‘Medusa,’ Wantsalittle?”
“Yeah, I remember the story of the Gorgon Medusa. As I recall, Medusa was a
hideous, snaky monster—Mistress of the Beasts.”
“Yes, Wantsalittle, you’re right. Medusa was a Serpent Goddess, an ancient
symbol of female power and wisdom. Her tongue protruded like a snake’s, and her
forbidden face was surrounded by a halo of spiraling, serpentine hair—a horrid,
ugly sight to behold. One glance at Medusa’s wide, unblinking eyes would
instantly turn any man into stone.”
“God, You must have been in some kind of a foul mood when You created Medusa!”
“Yes! Am I getting my point across, Wantsalittle?”
“Yeah, Your message is coming across loud and clear!” I fully deserved to catch
hell from God for my shameful thoughts and somewhat indecent behavior.
Nevertheless, the brief frontal shots of the Lord’s wet T-shirt were worth each
and every word of Her harsh criticism and not-so-subtle threats!
The Lord and I glanced down at the bright-red Vette; the car appeared to be
about an inch long. Then God turned toward me. She said, “You know,
Wantsalittle, there’s a lot of interesting world history that took place some
5,000 years ago in this exact location. Did you know, for instance, that there
are approximately 6 million limestone blocks, weighing over 15 million tons,
that went into the construction of these three, huge, ancient, Egyptian pyramids
and some surrounding underground tombs?”
“That’s incredible!”
“Yes—and it took thousands of stone masons and tens of thousands of quarry
workers nearly seventy years to complete this architectural miracle. The ancient
Egyptians not only accepted this challenging task, but they magnificently
accomplished their lofty goals, as you can see for yourself.”
I just stood there, silently, in awe for a few moments—in awe of the majestic
Egyptian pyramids and in awe of God’s naturally developed, stately, also-pointed
mounds. Then I said, “It really is an amazing testimonial as to what can be
achieved when people collectively work toward a common cause!”
God said, “Theodore ‘Teddy’ Roosevelt once stated, ‘Far better is it to dare
mighty things, win glorious triumphs, though checkered by defeat, than to rank
with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much because they live in
the gray twilight that knows no victory or defeat.’”
Bothered a bit by the ammonia fumes, the Lord sneezed a couple of times. “God
bless You!” I said, after each sneeze. I knew better than to try to sneak
another peek at the front of Her still-dampened, still-revealing T-shirt.
Besides, I envisioned the look of Medusa. I would have hated for that beastly
woman, even from a back view of her, to become a reality during my conversations
with God, especially on a regular basis throughout my journey!
The Lord thanked me for saying “God bless You!” Then She continued to speak
about personal challenge. She said, “Among many other outstanding statements,
John F. Kennedy will always be remembered for throwing down this public
challenge: Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for
your country. The world will always be ready for those who accept greater
challenges and who seek worthier individual achievements.”
“God, what can I do to challenge myself in ways that will be more beneficial to
others?”
“The late Princess Diana accepted a challenge, among many others, to rid the
world of land mines. Diana reflected, ‘How can countries which manufacture and
trade in these weapons square their consciences with such human devastation?’
Princess Diana also nobly stated, ‘I want to walk into a room, be it a hospice
for the dying or a hospital for sick children, and feel that I am needed. I want
to do, not just to be.’ Wantsalittle, why don’t you try to follow in the path of
Princess Diana and countless other people who thrive on life-building personal
challenges?”
“Okay, I’ll give this some serious thought and see what I can do.”
Right before the Lord disappeared, She said, “As you think about and accept
various personal challenges, you will achieve more worthwhile individual goals
and dreams. Constantly challenge yourself to be the best that you can be!”
Angola, Africa; September 4, 1997 . . .
I wanted to continue the late Princess Diana’s life-saving crusade to rid the
world of land mines. The next day, I cautiously parked the Corvette beside a
well-known mine field in Angola, Africa.
I took a few minutes to survey the area. Then I strapped on a white hardhat over
my steel helmet. And I slipped a pair of goggles on over my visor, which was
already pulled down to better protect my eyes. I started to venture across the
dangerous mine field. The sun reflected off of a bright metal object, protruding
from a clump of dirt, several yards in front of me.
I firmly gripped my eight-foot-long lance and stretched the tapered instrument
out in front of me, defensively. I carefully probed and poked at every dirt clod
with the sharp point of the long weapon, along the way, so I wouldn’t
accidentally step on a land mine. I slowly advanced toward the shiny steel
gadget. Finally, I walked up close to the object. But just before I reached out
with the lance to examine that ominous, threatening device, I stopped and
exclaimed, “Mankind still has many bigger challenges ahead. Let’s start HERE!”
(The moral of this episode: Endeavor to dare mighty things by accepting your
fair share of “personal challenges.” The self-satisfaction that you will
experience and feel, after you accomplish more worthwhile goals or tasks, will
make such challenges well worth your efforts!)
“Don’t Blink or You Might Get
My Sweat in Your Eye!”
Character-enhancing Lesson: Working Hard to Get What You Want
Amity Island, somewhere off the coast of Maine; July 10, 1975 . . .
I felt a deep sense of self-fulfillment from my effort to help the people in
Angola. From there, I decided to go back in time to Amity Island in 1975.
Shortly after my arrival, I picked up a local newspaper and browsed through the
classifieds. I focused on one particular ad that read “Help Wanted: Commercial
Fisherman.” Under that, the ad read “HARD WORK / RISKY BUSINESS / BIG BUCKS!”
I said to myself, “This is going to be a piece of cake!”
The next morning, I rented a “Party Barge” pontoon boat. Like everyone else in
the area, I wanted to go trolling for “Jaws.”
I propelled my way nearly a mile out into the rough waves of the Atlantic Ocean.
Then, through a pair of binoculars, I looked back toward shore. I could see the
Corvette; it was parked next to a sign, which was stuck in the sand on the
beach. The public notice posted on Amity Island read “Shark Danger / Beaches
Closed.” Just up the shoreline from the warning sign, I saw the broken down
remains of what had been a long wooden boat dock.
There was a black metal chair folded up and leaning against a shark cage on the
deck of the pontoon boat. I set up the shark cage, unfolded the chair, and
placed it in the center of the cage.
I was equipped with a heavy, steel-link chain, which I used for fishing line.
After I baited my hook and tossed the chain out of the back of the boat, I
anchored the butt end of my suit of armor down on the small chair.
The door of the steel shark cage was swung wide open. Just inside and off to one
side of the cage, there was a stainless-steel pony keg marked “Zapmeister Brew /
Gives you a real BUZZ!” Four more pony kegs were roped together; those barrels
stood up near the bow of the boat. The extra kegs, in addition to preventing me
from dying of thirst, could have served, after they were emptied, to keep Jaws,
once hooked, near the surface of the ocean.
I had placed a portable TV on top of the pony keg that sat in the shark cage.
The TV was wired to the boat’s on-board generator. I cozily leaned back on the
chair, a pewter beer stein in one hand, a chain-link fishing line in the other.
I smoked a Tomarlbury and watched a baseball game on TV. I was cool, calm, and
ready to do battle with whatever grabbed the bait.
A couple of hours passed by without my getting so much as a nibble. After I had
chugged down too many beers, I almost fell asleep. Then I gathered my senses and
belched out, “No (belch) sweat! Easy (belch) job and big bucks (belch) to boot!
Still, I (belch) wonder why Chief Brody and those (belch) two guys on the dock
(belch) told me to bring all this heavy duty (belch) equipment?” (Roy Scheider
played Police Chief Martin Brody in the 1975 blockbuster film Jaws.)
My chain-link fishing line dropped almost straight down for several yards behind
the boat. It was hooked to a big black ball, serving as a sinker. A thinner
chain-link line, which I used for a leader, trailed a few feet behind the ball
and the heavier steel line. For bait, I attached a big, juicy, raw roast to a
hook-shaped boat anchor.
Jaws swam by but he wasn’t fooled. The fussy, man-eating shark turned his nose
away from the blood-dripping roast. However, a less finicky, sharp-toothed,
moray eel clamped down on the steel leader, sending an electric current all the
way through the chain-link line and through every metal object onboard the
all-metal boat.
Sparks flew. Immediately, I was thrown up against the back wall of the steel
shark cage. Both my arms and legs were splayed against the bars; my feet were
lifted several inches off the ground. The power surge blew out the TV screen,
knocked the chair over, and caused me to spill most of my beer. My Tomarlbury
cigarette ended up somewhere on the high sea.
As I sweated drops the size of water balloons, and with an expression of
complete shock, I shouted, “God, why do I have to work so hard to get what I
want?”
The Lord made another appearance. And She was prepared for the occasion. She had
slipped a heavy pair of knee-high, rubber waders over Her white sneakers and
blue jeans. God said, “Wantsalittle, sometimes it pays to insulate yourself from
external stimuli!”
“Yeah! I just received the shock of my life!”
“This ‘fishing job’ isn’t exactly the ‘piece of cake’ that you had envisioned it
to be,” the Lord said. “Perhaps I can offer you some valuable food for thought.
A.H. Smith, former president of the New York Central Railroad, once said of his
industry, ‘A railroad is 95% men and 5% iron.’ Wantsalittle, regardless of what
it is that you want most in life, chances are that you’ll have to work very hard
to get it.”
“I’m beginning to see what You mean!”
“To be truly happy or successful in life, you must love or really enjoy, at
least, what it is that you do for a living or for some form of artistic
expression. Take pride in your work. Focus on performance and accomplishment.
Accept responsibility and hold yourself accountable for your words and actions.”
God paused for a moment and glared at me. “And drinking and smoking while you’re
on the job is a definite ‘NO—NO’!”
“You’re right, Lord. I’m sorry. What else can You tell me about working hard to
get what I want?”
“If others are involved, you should establish an optimum work pace, whereby
people won’t be over-stressed. But they will be realistically challenged and
committed to the task at hand. When others are ready for it, delegate
responsibility. Grant them authority to carry out their work assignments. . . .
As you think with the attitude of maintaining a strong work ethic, you will more
likely accomplish that which you want most. Wantsalittle, try to determine what
it is that you would love to do and would be willing to work extra hard to get.
. . . That’s all that I have to say for now. I’ll catch up with you later!”
I finally caught Jaws about an hour after the Lord had left. I towed the huge
shark back to Amity Island. When I arrived on the boat dock, Jaws was still
alive and very active! With the help of about a dozen other fishermen, I let the
trophy-size fish loose in a swimming pool at a local island resort.
Later that day I climbed aboard the Great
White shark. Next, I threw a lasso around Jaws’ broad neck and tightly pulled
on the rope. As if I were a rodeo star trying to hold the reins on a bucking
bronco, I tried to ride the fully alert and highly energetic shark. We circled
the pool in a clockwise direction. Jaws’ head and tail continuously arched out
of the water. I worked extra hard to maintain my balance, scooting from side to
side, then back and forth, while I straddled the back of the swift-swimming,
rambunctious beast.
Enraged with his captivity, the furious fish leaped and darted throughout
countless laps around the oval pond. The 26-foot-long, two-ton giant romped and
endlessly tried to buck me off his back.
I was confident but a little apprehensive about the giant fish. Sporadically,
Jaws’ monstrous mouth swung wide open, exposing his razor-sharp, arrowhead-size
teeth. Once, the big shark tried his best to bite me, but then he blinked. All
he got was my sweat in his eye! Jaws’ evil eyes rolled, upward, and coldly
stared at me. The shark’s flat-black eyes, like a pair of hockey pucks turned on
end, gazed straight into my own widening eyes.
My steel glove was tightly tucked under
the lasso on the back of Jaws’ neck. The Great White shark continued to try to
buck me off, but I think the gradually tiring fish knew that it was only a
matter of time before I tamed him. As I slid my left-hand steel glove farther
ahead on the lasso and squeezed the taught rope, even tighter than before, I
said, “Working hard to accomplish a task can also be adventuresome and
stimulating to your heart and soul!”
(The moral of this episode: As A.H.Smith wisely said, “Regardless of what it is
that you want most in life, chances are that you’ll have to work very hard to
get it!”)
I parked the Vette outside of old Yankee Stadium in the Bronx. The New York
Yankees faced the Camelot Knights in the seventh and final game of the 1927
World Series.
I pitched for the Knights. We led the Yankees 1-0 in the bottom of the ninth
inning, but New York had the bases loaded with two outs. George Herman “Babe”
Ruth, already a living legend, was at the plate. The plate umpire’s count was at
three balls and two strikes.
Dressed in my full suit of armor, under my green and gold Knights’ jersey, #13,
I took off both of my steel gloves and rubbed the baseball between all ten
fingers of my sweat-soaked bare hands. Then I put the gloves back on and placed
my right steel boot directly over the center of the pitcher’s rubber. I thought
that I was ready to throw my next pitch to “the Bambino.” But at the last
second, my arm muscles tensed up, and I decided to step back off the rubber. I
tried to relax in front of some 70,000 Yankees’ fans. Everyone in the stadium
was on his and her feet; they loudly screamed and cheered for “the Babe” to hit
yet another game-winning home run.
Ruth had “SULTAN OF SWAT” boldly sewn on the back of his Yankees’ home-field
uniform, and his famous “#3” was clearly visible between his broad, muscular
shoulders. The Babe had to wait for me as I tried my best to collect myself. But
I just stood there, to one side of the pitcher’s mound; I was nervously shaking
in my dusty steel boots. To get looser, himself, Ruth smoothly stroked through
several practice swings. He effortlessly waved his long 38-ounce bat, back and
forth, repeatedly. Suddenly, the Babe paused and pointed to the center-field
bleachers, as if that’s where he intended to park my next pitch.
Ruth anxiously awaited the pitch. He carefully positioned himself in the
batter’s box, raking his baseball cleats into the clammy soil that surrounded
home plate. When the Babe was comfortable with his stance, the left-handed
slugger raised the heel of his left foot, just far enough to enable him to
swivel the front part of his shoe, first to the left and then to the right,
digging in as far as he could.
Meanwhile, I had returned to the pitching rubber. Once again, though, I lost my
nerve and stepped back off the hill. I turned around and took a couple of steps
toward second base. With my back to the plate, I reached into the rear pocket of
my uniform and grabbed a bottle of tranquilizers. I choked down half a bottle of
the little nerve pills.
The tranquilizers didn’t work. After a minute or so, my arm muscles remained
tightly strung, like finely tuned guitar strings. Caught up in the tension of
the moment, I was mentally stressed to the limit. I said to myself, “If I can
throw one more strike, we’ll WIN the World Series. Oh, Lord, how else can I get
loose and get control over my anxiety?”
Suddenly, God stood right beside me on the pitcher’s mound. She had read my mind
and was also dressed in a Knights’ baseball uniform. But Her jersey had a big
blue “#1” sewn on the back of it. The home-plate umpire hollered out, “Hey
there, Wantsalittle! Your team has one too many players on the field. Somebody
has to head for the bench!”
I wheeled around and hollered back, “Okay, just give me a minute here!” Then I
looked at God and said, “The umpire and some 70,000 other people can see You
standing here beside me. Did You forget to make Yourself invisible to everyone except me?”
“Damn! You’re absolutely right, Wantsalittle. When I finish speaking with you,
it wouldn’t be too believable for all of these people and ballplayers if I
simply vanished, right before their eyes. . . . Okay, I’ve got a plan. Nobody is
warming up in the bullpen, as yet. As soon as I complete My task here,
I’ll stroll out to the bullpen, which is mostly obstructed from view by the
left-field bleachers, and disappear, without being noticed, from there.”
“Yeah, that sounds like a pretty good idea. Lord, it’s a good thing that You’ve
got all of that long, slightly curled, blonde hair of Yours neatly tucked under
Your baseball cap! But how are You going to hide Your beautiful brea—”
God interrupted me. She said, “Don’t you dare say the ‘B’ word!” Then the Lord
untucked the shirt portion of Her Knights’ uniform. The jersey-top draped
straight down, hanging loosely, from the upper section of God’s front torso,
leaving Her previously apparent, well-rounded figure considerably less
noticeable. The Lord said, “There, Wantsalittle, that should take care of that
‘protruding’ problem!”
I said, “God, You seem to have an answer for everything!”
God smiled and said, “Poet Edwin Markham wrote, ‘At the heart of the cyclone
tearing the sky is a place of central calm.’ Wantsalittle, when tension has its
grip on you, try to visualize yourself in a quiet, tranquil setting—some
vacation spot where you generally go to relax.”
“Lord, You might be a little on the nervous side, Yourself, if You were about to
pitch to the great Bambino!”
“Perhaps! But some tension can be advantageous. If you’re an athlete, for
instance, you may need that shot of adrenaline to better prepare yourself for a
moment of outstanding personal achievement. Your mind can only focus on one
thought at a time. When your attention is vividly focused on performance,
imaging the task at hand, there’s no time for thoughts of fear and doubt. Sharp
concentration will enable you to sustain levels of peak performance, without
experiencing undo stress, during those special—but what might otherwise be
considered—anxious moments.”
“Right now, I’m going to follow Your suggestion of trying to imagine myself in a
calm, peaceful setting.”
“Good idea! I’ll leave you alone now, so that you can concentrate or meditate
for a few moments before you pitch to Babe Ruth. Just remember this: As you put
things in proper perspective, it will be easier for you to relax and achieve
peak performance. And get into the habit of forming images that will help you to
relieve your momentary or longer-term tension.” The Lord then trotted off toward
left field, on Her way to the bullpen.
With the game and the World Series on the line, I took a few extra seconds
before I pitched to Ruth. I visualized myself sitting comfortably in the
saddle-shaped crevasse of a fallen log, gently holding a limp fishing line
between the thumb and forefinger of my relaxed right hand. The still, aqua-blue
surface of the motionless pond in front of me reflected a peaceful, serene
setting somewhere off in the beautiful backwoods of nature. Then I gently tossed
the bottle of tranquilizers to one side and replaced the potentially harmful
pills with my now-relaxed body and my composed, focused train of thought.
As the Bambino had patiently waited, over five minutes, for me to deliver the
baseball, he was more than ready for my next pitch. Ruth had smashed a Major
League record of sixty homers for the “Bronx Bombers” in the 154-game regular
season, four more round-trippers than any team hit collectively in 1927.
Finally, I wound up and threw the ball to the Sultan of Swat. Pitching the baseball
while wearing a full suit of armor wasn’t easy! Seemingly, the ball took several seconds
to arrive at home plate; the baseball arched highly
through the air before it eventually dropped down near the outside corner of the
plate.
Perhaps Babe Ruth was expecting my fastball. Or perhaps the ball came in “just a
bit outside,” out of Ruth’s reach. Or maybe the Sultan of Swat simply got over
anxious. After all, the slow-traveling blooper pitch might have looked like a
big white beach ball to the Babe. In any case, the Bambino took a mighty swing,
but badly missed. Emphatically, the umpire called, “Strike Three . . . you’re
OUT!”
I jumped for joy. Our Camelot Knights had just defeated the highly favored
Yankees in “The House That Ruth Built.” The catcher dropped the ball that I had
used to strike Ruth out. It was left half covered with dirt, lying close to home
plate, in the Babe’s vacated left-foot print.
As proud as a peacock, I started celebrating. I yelled, “I thank God for helping
me to relax. Imaging a calm, peaceful setting allowed me to perform to the best
of my ability. This is truly a wonderful, kinglike feeling!”
(The moral of this episode: Whether you sharply focus on the task at hand or try
to imagine yourself in a peaceful, serene setting, “imaging” can be a valuable
psychological tool for reducing the degree of stress in anxiety-related
circumstances!)
Next, I journeyed to Paris, France. I sat on the patio outside my hotel room and
admired a scenic view of the 1,056-foot-tall Eiffel Tower. I had just been
lounging around all day, watching TV and enjoying my brief stay in the
spectacular European capital city.
I poured the remainder of a bottle of red wine into a clear glass. The glass was
exactly half full of wine. I held the empty bottle of wine in one hand and the
television’s black remote control in the other hand. Then I looked at the glass
of wine.
Pessimistically, I moaned and groaned and said, “Lord, this glass is half EMPTY!
Should I call room service to order another bottle of wine or switch the channel
of my thinking?”
God joined me on the patio. “Bonjour, Wantsalittle! Parlais vouis Francais?”
“Lord, what did You just say?”
God smiled and chuckled for a moment. “I said, ‘Hello, Wantsalittle! Do you
speak French?’”
With an expression of bewilderment, I replied, “Are You kidding? I can barely
speak English!”
The Lord smiled again and said, “Wantsalittle, what’s on your mind, today?”
Now that God was speaking in a language that I could understand, I asked, “Lord,
could You help me with my thinking and my attitude about life, in general?”
The Lord began our conversation with a notable quote. She said, “Renowned author
and speaker Norman Vincent Peale stated, ‘The hard facts and circumstances of
life are not so important as how we perceive these conditions. . . . A glass of
water is either half full or half empty, depending on how we choose to look at
it.’ Positive thinking reflects your optimistic frame of mind. It means making
the most out of everyday circumstances and looking at the bright side of things.
Developing a more positive mental posture will uplift your spirit and improve
your outlook on life.”
“Sometimes it’s difficult to have a positive attitude,” I said.
“Wantsalittle, you’re right. But you should constantly strive to replace your
negative thoughts and emotions—fear, doubt, anger, etc.—with more positive
ones—love, faith, confidence, etc. You should be prepared to capitalize on every
opportunity. That is what positive thinking is all about. When you think with a
positive attitude, you will act self-confidently. And as one possible result,
you can open the door to new opportunities.”
“Lord, I pledge to do my best to shape a more positive frame of mind.”
The Lord nodded Her approval with my affirmative response. Just before God went
on Her merry way, She exclaimed, “Bonne chance! Bon voyage! . . . Wantsalittle,
that means ‘Good luck! Have a nice day!’”
“Merci beaucoup! Au revoir!” I hollered, in French, right before the Lord
disappeared. I knew a little more French than I had previously let on. Earlier,
I had just wanted God to know, for sure, that She was a little smarter than me!
While I sat out on the patio, the unusually warm, early December, afternoon sun
shined brightly down on me. I hoisted the umbrella on the patio table. The huge
umbrella displayed alternating white and blue sections, perhaps symbolic of God,
who was sort of my “White Knight,” and my personal dreams, which could be
symbolized as “blue sky.”
Optimistically, I looked into my wine glass and said to myself, “I see that the
glass is half FULL! That’s plenty to quench my momentary thirst.”
(The moral of this episode: To capitalize on every opportunity in life, you must
think positively. Try to replace negative thoughts with more positive ones!)
Just outside of the Taj Mahal in Agra, India; December 4, 1996 . . .
Despite my recent success with respect to an attitude adjustment, I realized
that there was a long way to go before I achieved my dream of feeling and acting
like a king. I desperately wanted to enhance my self-image and develop a noble
character. And I was eager and showed a genuine willingness to learn.
Furthermore, I looked for self-improvement at every opportunity. Nonetheless, I
still didn’t like much of what I saw when I looked into my mental mirror. To
become like all, but far too few, truly self-confident people, I needed to learn
to love myself.
The next day I journeyed to Agra, India. I energized just outside of the
entrance of the Taj Mahal, one of the world’s most beautiful buildings. The Taj
Mahal was considered to be the greatest masterpiece of Indian Mogul
architecture.
I got out of the Corvette and went inside the Taj Mahal. Then I looked around
the interior of the monumental edifice, which was designed to be a
representation of the throne of God in paradise. I saw an elaborate double-dome
structure and a white marble facade. And I was impressed by the mausoleum’s
interior lighting—illumination through carved-marble screens, set near the tops
of the walls.
As I stopped to look at the Taj Mahal’s unusual glowing illumination, I turned
around, for a moment, and noticed a group of five tourists, who were standing
together, several yards behind me. They were eyeballing me from afar, and it
seemed that they were more interested in me than with their tour of the Taj
Mahal. I said to myself, “If those people are so preoccupied with me, maybe I
can give them a better reason to study me.”
I put my armored arms back over my shoulders and tightly clasped my metal gloves
together, behind my neck. Then I lowered my head, just a little. Now it appeared
to the on-looking tourists that I was embracing another knight. “When you lack
self-esteem,” I said to myself, echoing a cold distaste for my self-love, “it’s
a lot more fun to hug someone else. Lord, how is it that one could learn to love
himself or herself? What can I do to get my head turned in the right direction?”
When God appeared, She asked, “Wantsalittle, why do have your arms and hands
wrapped behind your neck? And why is your head bowed as if you were staring at
something on the tile floor?”
“I’m just playing a little joke on some tourists—those people who are standing
over there, in the distance, directly behind me.”
The Lord wasn’t amused. She said, “Whatever! . . . I’m here to discuss the
matter of how you can come to love yourself. Wantsalittle, Nicholas de Chamfort
wrote, ‘If you must love your neighbor as yourself, it is at least fair to love
yourself as your neighbor.’ Love is at the center of the universe. It is the
magic behind all of the good that you do. Love mirrors everything positive
within you and reflects all divine images of your true self.”
“I realize, Lord, that I must come to love myself before I’ll be able to love
others.”
“Yes, Wantsalittle, you’re right on target. In his fabulous book, Dancing with
the Divine, Robert Spinden said, ‘When love rules our hearts, it frees us to
react to any situation with joy and peace and understanding, instead of
bitterness, strife, self pity, or anger.’”
“God, I feel better about myself, already. What can You add to this loving
message?”
“Through love, you can create anything that your heart desires. You can attract
unlimited abundance. Try to love yourself, unconditionally. Keep in mind that
the more love that you allow for yourself, the more love you’ll be able to give
to others. As you think with the attitude of self-love, you will build your
self-concept and have the ability to share your love with others, accordingly.”
“Thanks, Lord! I will try to focus on ways that I am worthy of my own love.”
When I spoke with God, the five tourists had walked over in my
direction; they were now just a few feet away from me. The curious tourists
could see that, in fact, my arms were simply draped over my shoulders and that
my fingers were interlocked. They could readily see that I had just been kidding
with them and that I had loved myself, all along!
With a little smirk on my face, I giggled and said to myself, “Thank you, Lord, for Your
loving message. Loving myself isn’t nearly as hard as I thought it would be!”
(The moral of this episode: To build and to maintain self-confidence and
self-esteem, you must first learn to love yourself. And you must love yourself
before you can truly love others!)
Two Bulls and the Louisville Lip
Made Me Yell “No Mas! No Mas!”
Character-enhancing Lesson: Taking Control of Your Life
Madrid, Spain; May 2, 1974 . . .
I traveled to Madrid, Spain, to test my skill at bull fighting. Decked out in a
matador’s outfit over my suit of armor, I stepped into the bull-fighting ring
and prepared myself for battle.
I waved at the crowd with my little red bullfighter’s cape. Thousands of Spanish
citizens cheered for me. I was confident that I would be victorious in the
minutes ahead. But I was so preoccupied with my being in the limelight that I
nearly forgot about the bull, which had just been turned loose in the ring.
Luckily, I wheeled around just in the nick of time.
The enormous beast had steadily made his way across the ring, to within about
fifty feet of me. When I turned in the angry bull’s direction, he stopped,
momentarily. Then the wild animal snorted, loudly, a couple of times and
advanced, rapidly, straight toward me. I could see the rage in his big,
blood-colored, concentrated eyes. If I had waited a few more seconds, before I
turned to face the hard-charging bull, he could’ve rammed his sharp, pointed
horns right up the crease, between the buttocks, in the back of my shiny steel
pants!
I had planned to tease the bull by holding the cape directly in front of me,
more like a professional bullfighter. But I had to throw that strategy aside. In
a flash, the swift-stepping bull was nearly upon me.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough time to move in any direction or to take any
kind of evasive action. All that I could do was to quickly say to myself, “Maybe
I should’ve taken some bull-fighting lessons before hand!”
The mad bull fully intended to severely harm me. Just before contact, he lowered
his head. Then I felt the brunt of the impact from the heavy brown animal as he
tried to poke holes in my thick metal jacket with his sharp-pointed ivory horns.
The rampant bull tossed me high into the air; my arms and legs were splayed to
their full extent as I flew, helplessly, through the air. To the horde of
speechless, startled spectators, I must’ve looked like an upside-down sky diver.
Then I suddenly rolled, face down. All of those in attendance saw the two deep
dents in my armored chest, where the angry bull almost fatally punctured me.
At the peak of my flight, my vision became blurred. I tried to focus on my
little red bull-fighter’s cape, which lay on the ground, far below. In pain and agony, I cried out, “No mas! No mas!” (Spanish for “No more! No more!”) Then I said to myself, “I think that I’m losing control of my life!”
Madison Square Garden; New York City; May 3, 1974 . . .
Fed up with bull fighting, the next day I reset the time and place controls in
the Corvette. I zoomed to Madison Square Garden in New York City, still in the
month of May, 1974. Bravely, I challenged former Heavyweight Champion of the
World Muhammad Ali, formerly known as “Cassius Clay” or the “Louisville Lip,” to
an exhibition-boxing match.
Ali, who was scheduled to fight the current Heavyweight Champion George Foreman
on October 30, 1974, readily accepted my challenge. Ali said, “I could use a
tune-up bout before my upcoming fight with Foreman.”
The ex-champ rented Madison Square Garden for our exhibition fight. Angelo
Dundee, Ali’s manager and trainer, and a referee were among a small gathering of
curious fight fans in attendance for the bout.
Ali wore his usual white satin trunks. I slipped on a pair of black satin trunks
over my full suit of armor. We briefly stared at each other in the center of the
ring. Ali told me, “Your name should be Sir Wantsalittle Moremercy. I’m going to
use you as a human punching bag. Whatever possessed you to think that you could
get into the ring with me—the best, baddest boxer in the history of the world!”
I was speechless. I just stood there and shook, from head to toe. We tapped
gloves and went back to our respective stools, at opposite ends of the canvass.
The bell sounded for “round one” of a scheduled ten-round match. In less than a
minute, the fight was over. Ali finished me with a sweeping right hook. His
power-packed punch nailed me square on my left jaw; the jarring jolt knocked me
flat on my back, out near the center of the ring. Had I not been wearing my
helmet with the chin guard in place, the devastating blow probably would’ve
killed me!
The referee signaled for Muhammad Ali to go to a neutral corner. Then the ref
leaned over, beside me, and lifted his right hand. The ref was prepared to yell
out the traditional mandatory eight-count. I was still lying on the canvass,
staring upward, seeing nothing but big bright stars. Ali, without so much as a
sweat-bead on his pretty face, bolted out from his ringside corner and skipped
halfway across the ring. He stood over me as if he were an eagle gawking down
on a freshly victimized varmint. The proud fighter raised both of his hands high
over his head as the referee went through the customary “count.” The ref
shouted, “ . . . s-e-v-e-n . . . e-i-g-h-t . . . you’re O-U-T!”
I was down, but not altogether “out”! I had my senses knocked loose, but I was
coherent enough to yell at Ali. At the top of my lungs, I hollered, “No mas! No
mas!”
After I had succumbed to an early knockout and handed the world’s best-ever
heavyweight fighter an easy victory, Ali danced jubilantly around the ring. He
flashed and waved his former championship belt, repeatedly, in full view of the
sparse crowd.
“I’m the greatest! I’m the greatest!” Ali boastfully proclaimed. Then he
poetically chanted, “I float like a butterfly and sting like a bee, but that
bold knight showed some real class by challenging me!”
I was hurting from the top of my head to my waist from a barrage of
punches—heavy left and right hooks and jabs—all thrown by “the Champ” in a
matter of seconds. As I struggled to get up off the canvass, I said, “My
self-confidence has just been dealt another severe blow!”
United Center; Chicago, Illinois; October 10, 1997 . . .
A couple of days passed by before I fully recovered from my embarrassing defeat
at the hands of Muhammad Ali. Then I traveled to Chicago’s United Center in
October of 1997. I challenged Michael Jordan, superstar basketball player for
the Chicago Bulls, to a friendly little “one-on-one” basketball match.
Jordan, commonly regarded as the most exciting and prolific player in NBA
history, proudly wore his white-with-red-trim Chicago Bulls’ home jersey, #23. I
slipped on my green and gold Camelot Knights’ jersey, #13, over my full suit of
silver armor.
When we started our head-to-head competition, Michael initiated the action. At
first, he determinedly dribbled the ball toward me. Then Michael suddenly eased
up. I noticed a teasing, playful grin on his face. Jordan wanted to have some
fun, at my expense, before he would make a serious attempt to score.
The basketball wizard taunted me. He said, “Okay, Wantsalittle, I’m going to
badger you a little and irritate you before I take the ball to the hoop.”
In response, hoping that I could fluster the normally nerve-steady superstar, I
quipped, “Okay, Mr. Basketball, give me your best shot!”
Michael didn’t like my cocky remark. All of a sudden, he stopped. But he continued
to dribble the ball. He glared at me and showed me a much more determined look
on his handsome face. Like anybody else who Michael ever played against, he
carefully sized me up before he made his first move. As Jordan mentally prepared
his attack, he dribbled the ball, first slowly, then more rapidly, intensely,
while his feet remained firmly anchored to that one spot on the floor, as if he
were entrenched in starting blocks, waiting for the gun to sound to start a
hundred-meter dash.
Meanwhile, I interpreted Michael’s patience and prudence as signs that the
Bulls’ aging star player might be getting a little old and long at the tooth. My
hopes of successfully defending the play against Jordan rose with each bounce of
the basketball.
Michael, having thought about it far too long already, grew tired of our little
cat and mouse game. He moved in for the kill. As he dribbled the ball off to his
right side, he bumped up against me with his left shoulder. Michael was trying
to bait me. He wanted me to believe that he would try to get by me, around my
left side. I tried my best to keep myself between Jordan and the basket. I
didn’t fall for his trap. I held my ground, and he had to try to reverse his
course. I didn’t fall for that tactic, either. Temporarily, I succeeded at
holding the clever basketball guru at bay.
Then the tall, muscular athlete picked up the pace. He more deliberately
dribbled the basketball, using his right hand and dribbling with short,
pronounced strokes. In a couple of linked, one-right-after-the-other maneuvers
that only Jordan could have gracefully performed, he first faked to his right.
Then, with a mind-boggling display of Michael’s lightning quick reflexes and his
unique God-given physical coordination, he swung around, in a ninety-degree arc,
and moved to his left. I didn’t have any time to react. As fast as I could blink
my eyes, he leaped through the air, like a rocket lifting from the launching
pad.
As Jordan began his free flight to the basket, I saw “YOUR AIRNESS” printed on
the back of his Bulls’ jersey. And as Michael hung high in the air, over four
feet off the floor, and with his tongue sticking out, Jordan acrobatically
lifted the ball over the front of the rim with his right hand, in a
windmill-like motion. Then he swiftly stuffed the basketball through the hoop
for two points.
After being badly beaten and faked out of my jock strap, I looked directly into
Michael Jordan’s big brown eyes and shouted, “No mas! No mas!” Then, out of
total respect and appreciation for the incredible athletic feat that I had just
witnessed, I turned away from Jordan and asked, “God, how can I be more like
Mike? And how can I get better control of my life?”
Jordan left the court, his usual bottle of Gatorade® in hand, to take a short
break. Then God appeared near the free-throw line. She had suited up in a
Chicago Bulls’ uniform; Her preferred and rightful number, #1, was printed on
both the front and back of the Bulls’ basketball jersey. The Lord grabbed the
basketball out of my hand, dribbled it a couple of times, and said, “Michael
Jordan’s a pretty tough act to follow, Wantsalittle. But I think that I can show
you how to take control of your life.”
“Yeah, You must’ve been in an exceptionally good mood when You created Michael
Jordan!”
God chuckled and said, “In his excellent pamphlet, As A Man Thinketh, James
Allen wrote a passage that clearly summarizes this subject: Every man is where
he is by the law of his being; the thoughts which he has built into his
character have brought him there, and in the arrangement of his life there is no
element of chance, but all result of a law which cannot err. . . . When he
realizes he is a creative power, and that he may command the hidden soil and
seeds of his being out of which his circumstances grow, he then becomes the
rightful master of himself.”
“Lord, do You mean that I am the master of my own destiny?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. If you’re not in control of your life, it’s time to
get in touch with your innermost self. Free yourself from all distractions. Try
to acquire faith in yourself and build self-confidence.”
I said, “There have been many occasions when I wondered whether or not that life
was worth living. I expect so much of myself—well, it’s easy for me to get
depressed from my personal failures or lack of personal achievements.”
“Wantsalittle, if you’re generally or severely depressed, due to whatever
reasons or circumstances—if it’s difficult for you to determine any purpose or
meaning in your life—or what’s worse, if you’ve had or end up having suicidal
tendencies—you can travel one of two basic roads—roads that are headed in
opposite directions. One road, not having any faith in yourself, will take you
on down and eventually out! The other road, doing whatever it takes to build or
rebuild your self-worth and your self-esteem, will allow you to recapture
control of your life and lead you to wherever you want to go! Wantsalittle,
where the head goes, the feet will follow. The choice you make will dictate the
life you lead. Which of these two roads do you want to travel?”
“Naturally, I’d like to build my self-confidence and get self-control. What can
You say that might help me to overcome my inner fears and self-doubts?”
“Confront your biggest fears. Wantsalittle, do you have a fear of failure or a
fear of rejection? You are made in your God’s image. Do you think that I want
you to crawl, cowardly, on your hands and knees? Or do you think that I want you
to stand tall and walk confidently through life, unafraid? Concentrate on your
personal strengths and abilities. Above all, develop faith in your God, because
through that faith, you will come to have more faith in yourself! Each time you
break through the fear barrier, your newly found self-confidence will replace
fearful emotions such as self-doubt, anxiety, and worry.”
“Lord, I’m going to overcome my fear of failure. From now on, I’m going to
concentrate on my strengths and abilities. And I’m going to show more faith in
You—my God! By so doing, I know that You will help me to have more faith and
confidence in myself.”
“Good! Wantsalittle, please maintain that type of a positive attitude and frame
of mind. Milton wrote, ‘The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a
Heav’n of Hell or a Hell of Heav’n.’ Additionally, Ralph Waldo Emerson said,
‘The soul contains the event that shall befall it.’ Stop imaging yourself as a
failure or as being out of control. Instead, focus on your personal strengths
and abilities. Look at the possibilities in your life, and explore all of your
avenues of opportunity. Concentrate and form images of success—things that you
want to accomplish. When you achieve a few of your goals or dreams and
experience some degree of success, it will merely be a reflection of what your
mind already holds to be true. And, Wantsalittle, keep in mind the wise words of
Henry Ford who said, ‘Whether or not you think that you will succeed, you are
right.’”
The Lord paused for a moment, then She continued, “Getting control of your life
will also require you to find a meaningful degree of true happiness. Abraham
Lincoln once said, ‘Most people are about as happy as they make up their minds
to be.’ And Emerson wrote, ‘To be happy, make yourself necessary to somebody.’
Wantsalittle, true happiness and success is largely a measure of how you make
other people happy and successful. As you think with the attitude of happiness
and success, you will more likely achieve true happiness and success. Try to
think of what you can say or do to inspire others, encouraging their happiness
and success in the process.”
“All right, Lord. I’ll do everything that I can to inspire others and to help
them become more successful in their lives. But how long do You think that it’ll
take me to see some difference and make some major strides in my life?”
“You’re seeing more and more light with each passing day. And you’re well on
your way to becoming a noble, virtuous individual. However, you’re not likely to
achieve your goals or reach your precious dreams, overnight. Have patience. Keep
a positive outlook on life. Stay focused on your better talents and abilities.
Try to image or visualize that you have already achieved your goals and dreams.
As you think with more faith in yourself and belief in yourself, you will gain
more self-confidence and experience more personal success. Think of some
worthwhile tasks—activities that will inspire you to ‘take the bull by the
horns’ and get better control of your life!”
“Lord, thank You very much for all of Your valuable suggestions on this most
important topic!”
“You are most welcome, Wantsalittle. I’ll talk to you later.”
Michael Jordan returned to the court, following his brief break, and I took my
turn with the basketball. Jordan, a “bull” who believed that there was
absolutely nothing that I could do to get around him, felt generous. He said,
“Wantsalittle, obviously you’re a considerably slower, less-agile competitor.
I’ll grant you one wish—anything that you want that will help you to score
against me.”
“Okay, Michael, I’ll take you up on your thoughtful proposition.” I trotted off
the court and went into the equipment room. I picked up a little device and
returned to the basketball court. Then I strolled out near the free-throw line
and placed the little apparatus on the hardwood floor. I backed up several yards
and stopped in my tracks. Jordan was waiting for me. He assumed a defensive
position, directly between the little doohickey that I had sat on the floor and
the basket. He leaned forward, hands on his knees, trying to anticipate my next
move. I hollered out, “Michael, try to stop me now!” Then I trotted halfway
across the basketball court and planted both of my steel boots dead center on a
springboard! I soared high in the air, over Jordan, and stuffed the basketball,
utilizing one backward, over-my-head motion, in a spectacular fashion.
My landing, though, was somewhat less than spectacular. Then, because I had worn
my full suit of armor under my jersey, there was a matter of the damage that I
inflicted to the hardwood floor. I crashed down as if I were a rookie high-diver
doing a belly flop off the highest platform at an Olympic-class swimming pool!
Nonetheless, I had a big grin on my face. I confidently exclaimed, “I’M BACK!
And I’ve regained control of my life!” Michael Jordan simply shook his head and
wandered off, dejectedly, toward the locker room.
(The moral of this episode: Forming images of success can reinforce your
self-worth and build your self-confidence, which will allow you to take better
control of your life!)
My self-confidence was at an all-time high, and I felt pretty darn good about
myself, overall. I next visited Mexico City for the 1968 Summer Olympic Games. I
entered the high-jump competition. Again I represented the Land of Camelot. And
again I wore #13 on my uniform—a green and white track jersey, which I had on
over my suit of armor.
I prepared for my first qualifying jump in the Olympic competition. The
high-jump bar was set at 2’ 3” in height. I said to myself, arrogantly, “This is
going to be easy.”
Then I loped up to the bar, hooked it with my left steel boot, and nose dived
right into the saw dust. Dick Fosbury, who would later win the gold medal for
the United States in the high jump during that 1968 Mexico City Summer Olympics,
offered me a hand. He helped me to get up and out of the pit.
Fosbury was the first Olympic-class high jumper to roll over backward every time
he left his feet and sailed over the high-jump bar. Fosbury said, jokingly,
“You’ve just given a whole new meaning to what my fans refer to as the ‘Fosbury
Flop’! Maybe high jumping isn’t your strongest suit!”
“There’s very little hope for me,” I said to myself, disconsolately, as I walked
away from the high-jump pit. “My negative emotions are still holding me down
from reaching my dreams. Lord, how can I rise above these obstacles?”
God, also dressed in a green and white track jersey, #1, hopped across the
eight-foot-long high-jump pit as if She were Carl Lewis, practicing the broad
jump. I wondered how far the Lord could have leaped had She wanted to enter the
Olympic competition in the broad-jump event. Then God partially answered that
question when She suddenly fell, awkwardly, face down, after stumbling over the
high-jump bar, which was still lying on the ground after my unsuccessful
qualifying jump.
God got up and wiped some sawdust and dirt off the front of Her track jersey.
Then the Lord said, “Wantsalittle, we’ve covered a lot of this ground before.
Have you been paying attention?”
“Lord, I’ve been trying to do just what You’ve suggested. But it’s easier said
than done!”
“All right, Wantsalittle, let’s work on this some more. Most of the time,
obstacles represent forms of your limited thinking. It may be trite, but true,
that you can overcome virtually any obstacle and accomplish whatever it is that
you want to do. First, though, you must unlock the doors of limitation in your
mind. Wave good-bye to your restricted thinking. Train yourself to focus on the
possibilities and on your opportunities in life.”
God handed me a 3”x5” note card with the following three lines boldly printed on
it:
I believe in myself.
I believe that I will always take the right turn in the road.
I believe that I will make a way when there is no way.
Then God said, “Apply these three personal affirmations whenever you’re faced
with any major obstacle. You’ll be amazed at the results! As you think by
setting goals to overcome major obstacles, you will surmount those obstacles and
achieve your dreams. Sorry, Wantsalittle, I’m having a busy day. I’ve got to
run. See you later.”
New York City; July 15, 1976 . . .
After I talked with the Lord, I thought that I could surmount any obstacle. But
I wanted to test myself, just to be sure. I returned to New York City. The year
was 1976. When I arrived, I parked the Vette in front of the Empire State
Building. Then I attempted to climb, without ropes or any other safety
equipment, the street-side wall of the 102-story structure.
The climb was long and steep. Nearly an hour elapsed before I got close to the
top of the imposing, concrete-and-steel building. With one step to go, I glanced
down at what appeared to be a stationary, tiny, bright-red spot, next to the
curb, more than 1,200 feet below. I just wanted to be sure that nobody was
trying to steal the Corvette, right out from under my nose.
Then I stretched out with my right steel glove and grabbed the guardrail at the
top of the building. Gradually, I pulled myself up and over the edge and crawled
onto the flat roof of what, at the time of its construction, was the tallest
building in the world.
As I got back on my feet, I smiled, from ear to ear. I thought that I had been
the first person to accomplish this incredible feat. And perhaps I was the first
human to successfully climb up the side of the monumental building. But I got
quite a surprise when I raised my head. I saw KING KONG sitting, comfortably, on
the roof. The giant ape just sat there, relaxed, in a gigantic lounge chair.
Kong looked quite content. After all, for him, it was just another day at his
“office.”
Kong held Jessica Lange (the starring actress in both King Kong and Sweet
Dreams) in the palm of his huge left hand. He was tickling her on the ribs with
the furry index finger on his right hand. Jessica, decked out in a white tank
top and a navy-blue mini-skirt, was quite content, herself. The gorgeous,
shapely, blonde starlet looked as though she really admired and adored the big
gorilla.
Amused by my laborious effort to scale the monumental structure, Kong scoffed at
the achievement and calmly inquired, “Wantsalittle, God dropped by an hour or so
ago. She told me that you were on your way. What took you so long to get here?”
As I was thoroughly self-satisfied by my lofty achievement, I was puzzled and a
bit miffed at Kong’s mocking remarks. But I was exhausted and completely out of
breath. I couldn’t talk back to the big, ugly ape.
Kong found even more humor in my out-of-shape physical condition. He laughed at
me and exclaimed, “Wantsalittle, instead of climbing tall buildings, maybe you
should spend more of your free time at the gym!”
I didn’t offer the sarcastic ape any reply. I simply stared at the beautiful
Jessica Lange and said to myself, “I’m having Sweet Dreams about YOU!”
(The moral of this episode: When you unlock the doors of “limitation” in your
mind, you can overcome any obstacle!)
Why, Instead of Howling,
I Cried on the Night of a “Bad Moon Rising”
Character-enhancing Lesson: Solving Problems
Still in New York City; July 16, 1976 . . .
Just before I went to bed that night in a motel in New York City, I heard a most
symbolic song playing on the radio. The name of the song was “Bad Moon Rising”
by Creedence Clearwater Revival. At the time, I was sitting on the king-size bed
and thinking about all of my personal problems. The somber tune seemed to fit
the moment.
The next day, I traveled to six different locations and at various times. I
analyzed my problems and thought about the problems of others—all of these
thoughts were going through my mind, while I also concentrated on the words to
that song. Here is what the lyrics to that memorable tune meant to me:
Jerusalem, Israel; during the crucifixion of Jesus Christ . . .
I journeyed to a spot just outside of Jerusalem. At that time, the region was
known as Judea. I sat in the Corvette on the crest of a hill. There was a full
moon on the east horizon. I witnessed the crucifixion of Jesus. I had a
well-defined frown on my face.
I see the bad moon risin’,
I see troubles on the way;
San Francisco, California; October 17, 1989 . . .
At the site of the San Francisco earthquake in 1989, I drove the Vette up to a
particular spot on a major overpass and stopped. The highway had collapsed in
front of me. I had a distinct frown on my face.
I see earthquakes and lightnin’,
I see bad times today;
Honduras, Central America; October 29, 1998 . . .
I traveled to Honduras in Central America, during Hurricane Mitch. Mitch was a
category “5” storm, as severe a hurricane as there had ever been, up to that
time. Steady winds in excess of 150 miles per hour rocked the Corvette, as if
the car were a bobbing rubber raft on a high, choppy sea.
I got out of the vehicle. I thought that the weight of my heavy suit of armor
would keep me firmly anchored to the ground. It didn’t! My feet, which
were encased in my massive steel boots, blew out from under me. I quickly
reached out and grabbed the driver-side door handle on the Vette. I was barely
able to hold on to the handle with one hand. And I narrowly escaped injury or death from
huge tree limbs, boards, and broken slabs of glass—debris that was flying,
dangerously, through the air, directly in front of me.
Soon, though, I was able to get back on my feet. I surveyed some of the damage
and destruction from the devastating storm system. Nearby, windows on houses and
on businesses had been boarded up, prior to the hurricane. In the distance, I
saw a broken down patio and the remaining rubble of what, just moments before,
was a beautiful oceanfront beach house.
All of the trees in the area were bent low to the ground; some trees had snapped
like brittle wooden match sticks. Numerous vehicles had been upended. Many more
cars and trucks had been smashed by fallen trees or by other wind-blown objects.
The torrential rains from the slow-moving hurricane had caused several
mudslides, which buried thousands of houses and trapped thousands of helpless
citizens under tons of mud and debris. More than 20,000 people had lost their
lives; many thousands more were missing and feared dead. I had a grave frown on
my face.
I hear hurricanes a blowin’,
I know the end is comin’ soon;
Southern California; January 4, 1995 . . .
I arrived in the Huntington Beach area of Southern California, during a severe
coastal flood. On January 4, 1995, Huntington Beach received 4.5 inches of
water, causing flooding in various areas of the city. Streets were flooded, cars
were stalled, and the high water levels stranded people throughout the area.
Eight neighborhoods were evacuated; many people could not safely leave their
homes due to waist-high water.
I stood beside the car, on higher ground, just above the floodwater line.
Helplessly, I watched as raging rivers and floodwaters created havoc with both
property and lives—all as a result of the swift currents and high water levels.
I had a serious frown on my face.
I fear rivers overflowin’,
I hear the voice of rage and ruin;
Obviously, I was despondent by all of the death and destruction that I had
recently witnessed. I emphatically stated, “Regardless of the ages, I see that
we must all confront real-life problems!”
New York City, New York; September 11, 2001 . . .
I futilely tried to aid in the rescue attempts at the tragic, terrorists-caused,
World Trade Centers catastrophe. Helpless, I stood at “ground zero” and
witnessed the horrific carnage, which resulted in the death of nearly 2,800
innocent men and women and children, many more people hurt, some seriously
injured. I had an unforgettable frown on my face.
Hope you got your things together,
hope you are quite prepared to die;
I was deeply depressed. I asked myself, “What’s the use? Must I
live in fear and anxiety in the midst of so many potential life-threatening
problems?”
The Land of Camelot; near the end of the sixth century . . .
Saddened and disconsolate, I needed a break. I returned, briefly, to Camelot,
where I hoped to find safer, more comfortable surroundings. But when I arrived,
I heard disturbing noises coming from the other side of a huge rock, which
obstructed my view.
I snuck up behind the big boulder and peered around the edge. I witnessed two
supposedly noble knights; they were engaged in a bloody sword fight.
Then, a few yards off to my right, I noticed Merlin. The sorcerer fashioned a
black magician’s hat and a black satin cape. Merlin was stirring something that
was brewing in a big black kettle. The magician, so involved with his cooking,
didn’t notice an approaching dragon. The hot-tempered beast spit flaming-red
balls of fire as he rapidly closed in on the unsuspecting sorcerer. I had an
alarming frown on my face.
Looks like we’re in for nasty weather,
one eye is taken for an eye . . .
Well don’t go ’round tonight,
well it’s bound to take your life,
there’s a bad moon on the rise.
Unable to escape from seemingly insurmountable personal problems and worries and
from the problems of others in my midst, I asked, “Lord, where will I find the
solutions to all of my personal problems?”
God appeared. She wore a predominately black sorcerer’s costume. The Lord said,
“Wantsalittle, there are two types of problems: First, there are problems that
you can solve on your own. Second, there are problems that you can solve,
spiritually. Some problems may be difficult for you to understand and hard for
you to cope with.”
“I’m fully understanding You, so far, Lord.”
God continued, “You are not apt to find a ready solution to every problem in
life. If a problem seems insurmountable, why not put it in the hands of whoever
or whatever you choose to be your God? You should try to have faith in your God
and believe that your God will help you to deal with or solve any personal
problem. If someone is an Agnostic or an Atheist, that individual should believe
that he or she can solve any problem on his or her own.”
“Lord, sometimes I’m afraid to deal with my problems.”
“Follow the advice of Ralph Waldo Emerson who wrote, ‘Do the thing you fear, and
the death of fear is certain.’ Come face to face with any problem. You may not
find the solution you want, but your fear of the problem will disappear. And
that’s of more value to you than what you wanted in the first place.”
“Uh-huh! From now on, I will directly confront my innermost fears and problems.
Is there anything else that You would recommend?”
“Wantsalittle, as you think by setting problem-solving goals and turn to your
God for help with problems that you cannot solve on your own, you will be
equipped to solve or to deal with all personal problems. What problem will you
stand nose to nose with today?”
“Right now, I’m concerned about a big bad dragon!”
Before God disappeared, She said, “I’m sure that you’ll be able to solve this
problem without My help.”
The angry, threatening dragon created a monstrous problem for Merlin and me. The
overgrown lizard stood as tall as a two-story building; just the size of the
creature caused me a great deal of concern for my own safety. Other than looking
out for my own wellbeing, I also wanted to help Merlin. The famous sorcerer was
about to become an afternoon snack for the hungry dragon.
I lured the dragon to my favorite spot on earth—up on the hill, near the big red
oak tree that overlooked the Lady of the Lake. I felt more comfortable and
confident by gaining what I considered to be a home-field advantage. I believed
that this particular location would give me an edge and significantly improve my
odds for success as I prepared to go into battle against the dragon, a most
formidable opponent.
With my steel-spiked war club in my left hand and my sharp-bladed ax in my right
hand, I was poised and ready to confront the savage beast. A white owl, perched
on a lofty branch in the big red oak tree, curiously looked on. The owl winked
at me; the wise old bird offered me his support for my pending good cause.
I gazed out over the crystal-clear water of the small lake below. Once again,
the Lady of the Lake surfaced and tempted me to draw Excalibur from her inviting
hand.
With her long, straight, dark-blonde hair, the Lady of the Lake reminded me of
actress Helen Hunt, who I saw in several movies while I was staying at Willie’s.
I really enjoyed her films, especially As Good As It Gets and Pay It Forward.
Anyway, I knew that if I had the mighty sword, the dragon would pose no serious
threat to me. But I remembered that I must have faith in myself and in my God. I
waived off the Lady of the Lake’s enticing proposition. Then the mysterious
woman, guardian of the lake and keeper of the treasured sword, slowly submerged
into the depths.
I became fearless in the face of my adversary. “I won’t be intimidated!” I
confidently proclaimed. “I refuse to walk in my shadow of fear. Sir Dragon, I’ve
got a real problem with you and your bad breath! I don’t need Excalibur to deal
with you. I think that I’ll just take my war club and bop you across the bridge
of your nose. Then I’ll take my ax and whack off your tainted tongue!”
The uncertain dragon thought better of the situation. He simply turned his tail
and slithered away. I was pleasantly surprised at the dragon’s sudden reluctance
and change of heart.
I yelled out at the cowering, retreating beast, “This time I’ll allow you a rain
check. On the next occasion that our paths should cross, we will have to duel to
the death!”
(The moral of this episode: When a problem seems insurmountable, put it in your
God’s hands. Have faith in your God, and believe that your God will help you to
deal with or solve any personal problem!)
Character-enhancing Lesson: Your Right to be Wrong
Washington D.C.; January 15, 2001 . . .
I decided to journey to Washington, D.C. in the year 2001. I energized on the
side of a country road about twenty miles south of America’s capital city. It
was just past midnight. Physically and mentally exhausted, I didn’t even want to
get out of the Corvette. I just leaned back in the driver’s seat and fell
asleep. When I woke up the next morning, the car wouldn’t start.
“I made a mistake by leaving the headlights on last night,” I said to myself.
“Now, the battery is dead.” I tried to use the vehicle’s built-in time-travel
module. But the car battery had drained the power from the time-machine
components, as well. To make matters worse, I had forgotten to plug the
time-travel-remote unit, which needed to be re-charged, into the car’s cigarette
lighter. The remote device wouldn’t function, either. I could’ve pushed the red
Emergency button on the time-travel remote, which would have alerted Willie C.
Light, back in Beverly Hills. Willie had told me to hit the big red button if I
had any problems with the Vette or with the time-travel equipment. He said that
he would, by using his spare remote, immediately come to my rescue. But I didn’t
want to bother Willie for something as trivial as a dead car battery. “I’ll just
thumb a ride to the nearest garage,” I said to myself.
Across the road, I saw a sign that read “All Services Just Ahead.” While I
waited to hitch a ride, I ambled along the right side of the road, headed south,
away from Washington D.C. Then I noticed another sign, which was posted a
hundred feet or so farther down the road. This two-part sign read “Little Rock,
ARK—1,500 Miles (straight ahead); Righteous City / Perfectionville—20 Miles (to
the north).” Behind me, toward Washington D.C., yet another sign read “Dangerous
Curves Ahead.”
A long black stretch-limo, headed south, pulled up along side of me. Suddenly,
someone in the back seat rolled down the rear passenger-side window. Then an
attractive middle-age woman stuck her head out the window and said, “If you’re
not part of the right-wing conspiracy, we’ll give you a lift.”
I quickly accepted her kind offer despite the fact that I didn’t know what the
stately lady was talking about. When I climbed into the front passenger-side
seat, I momentarily glanced toward the back seat. Then it dawned on me. The
woman who offered me a ride was Hillary Rodham Clinton. She was sitting next to
her husband, the former President William Jefferson Clinton. After I turned my
head around and peered down the road, I leaned back and pondered the situation
for a couple of minutes.
I recalled from some of my history lessons, watching highlights of past news
clips, etc., while I was staying with Willie C. Light in Hollywood, that Mr.
Clinton had experienced some personal problems near the end of his days in the
White House. I remembered that he got a little sideways with a good portion of
the American public and many of his colleagues, both Democrats and Republicans,
in Washington. The former President had been accused of having a sexual
relationship with a former White House intern. Anyway, he might have been
impeached from office had these circumstances and accusations occurred earlier
in his second term of Presidency. That would have been a real shame because of
all of the good that Mr. Clinton had otherwise done for Americans and humanity
in general during his tenure as President. And I knew that regardless of some
personal setbacks that Mr. Clinton had furthered the ideals of freedom and
democracy and peace and that he had left a most positive legacy, overall, for
the better benefit of people and cultures throughout the world.
After we had traveled a couple of miles or so down the road, we approached a
convenience store. I asked the chauffeur, “Would you mind stopping, for a few
minutes, so that I can get a soda pop?” I wasn’t all that thirsty, but I wanted
to talk with God.
The chauffeur turned his head toward Mrs. Clinton as if he were seeking
permission to stop at the convenience store. The former First Lady said, “Sure!
That’s a good idea. Sir whoever-you-are, I’ll go with you into the store. Bill
and I are also thirsty. I’ll grab some soft drinks and snacks for all of us.”
The chauffeur pulled the limo into the parking lot and stopped. Hillary and I
went into the store, and I headed straight to the restroom. In reference to the
former President’s personal problems, I asked, “Lord, don’t we all have the
right to be wrong?”
God promptly appeared and replied, “Wantsalittle, I’m getting tired of meeting
with you, although it may be only occasionally, in men’s restrooms. In the human
form and persona of Jessica Simpson, I’m
allergic to bathroom odors. Bad smells make Me nauseous and sometimes make Me
sneeze. Can’t you call on Me from a more pleasant and more heavenly scented
location?”
Before I could respond, God said, “Never mind! I know that you are doing your
very best, at least most of the time, to please Me. . . . I can see that you’re
in a bit of a predicament, right now. After all, you’re dealing with a couple of
pretty important people here. Let’s talk about ‘your right to be wrong.’
Regardless of who you are, you’re going to make some mistakes in life. Even
great kings and presidents are apt to stumble, personally, at times. If you
don’t believe Me, you could ask Mr. Clinton!”
God followed me out of the restroom. As we strolled over to where I could get a
soda, Hillary walked by. She must have been wearing some strong perfume. The
Lord turned Her head toward Hillary and sneezed. Of course, God was invisible;
Hillary couldn’t see Her or hear Her. But the former First Lady got hit on the
right arm with some of God’s nasal spray. Hillary glanced down at her left
forearm. Puzzled by where the damp, tacky substance had come, she looked around
in all directions. Then Hillary gazed upward and said, “Damn, the ceiling in
here must be leaking!” God and I simply laughed as Hillary quickly wiped the
Lord’s nasal drops off her arm. Then Hillary proceeded with her shopping.
By then, God had turned back toward me. Suddenly, the Lord sneezed again. That
time, She accidentally sprayed me, right on my forehead. With an embarrassed
expression on Her face, the Lord exclaimed, “Excuse me, Wantsalittle!”
I said, “God bless you! Perhaps, You’re allergic to more than just less-fragrant
bathroom odors!”
We both giggled for a few seconds. Then God continued, “As John Diefenbaker once
wrote, ‘Freedom is the right to be wrong, not the right to do wrong.’ Mr.
Clinton and countless others in the world need to learn that important
distinction!”
God stopped to sneeze yet again. But this time She politely covered Her nose and
mouth. She went on, “The educational system in most countries is predicated on
the idea that ‘to err is wrong.’ Therefore, you learn to keep your mistakes at a
minimum, which makes perfect sense from a practical point of view. However, if
you’re not comfortable with making errors, and you constantly avoid situations
where you might fail, you won’t be taking too many chances in life, either.”
“I was always taught to play it safe and not take too many chances,” I said.
The Lord replied, “The vast majority of achievers in the world are the ones who
deviated from the more conservative, ‘playing-it-safe’ philosophy. Most
successful people are risk-takers. They take chances, and they are not afraid to
be wrong. Renowned author Elbert Hubbard said, ‘The greatest mistake a person
can make is to be afraid of making one.’ Writer William Gladstone agreed, ‘No
man ever became great or good except through many and great mistakes.’”
“I guess that I should quit being so afraid of making mistakes and go out on the
limb more often, shouldn’t I?”
“Yes! And in terms of practicing sound human relations, you should immediately
and openly admit your mistakes or wrong doings. Be totally up-front and honest.
Claim the right to be wrong, and grant this right to others! Remember that
nobody is perfect. Everyone errs and makes mistakes. As you think with the
objective of quickly and frankly admitting your mistakes, you will increase your
chances of earning others’ trust and respect.”
Before God left, She concluded, “Wantsalittle, quickly admit your next mistake
and stand confidently behind your right to be wrong!”
Mrs. Clinton purchased a six-pack of Snickers® candy bars and four cans of
Pepsi®. We left the store and got back into the limo.
The chauffeur dropped me off, about a block farther down the road, at Walt’s
Auto Service. Before I went into the garage, I tapped on the driver-side rear
window of the limo. Mr. Clinton immediately rolled down the window. I briefly
addressed the former President. I said, “Not long ago, I saw a good movie. The
name of the film was All the President’s Men. Had the popular movie, which
debuted in 1976, been a flick about you, they probably would’ve called it ‘All
the President’s Men . . . and Women’! Sir Bill, you pulled a real ‘boner.’
You’re not alone! Virtually every one of us, at one time or another, has made a
big mistake. As I’m pretty sure that you would do for me, I grant you the right
to be wrong. But do yourself a big favor: The next time that you screw up,
openly and promptly admit your wrong doing.”
I hesitated for a second, and then I concluded my comments to Mr. Clinton. I
said, “I’ve learned that people, by and large, are more forgiving, and they
generally have more trust and respect for someone who, after making a mistake or
after using poor personal judgment, is honest and straightforward about his or
her error or shortcoming. Immediately ‘coming clean’ usually neutralizes
people’s defenses, softens their reactions, and allows others the opportunity to
both identify with and appreciate a person’s admittedly human nature. Anyhow,
Mr. Clinton, thank you for all of your positive contributions and
accomplishments!”
Mr. Clinton asked, “Just who in the world are you, young man? And why are you
dressed up in that knight’s costume?”
“My name is Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife,” I replied. “But you can just call me
‘Wantsalittle.’ I’m from Camelot, here on an extended vacation, of sorts. It’s a
long story.”
Mrs. Clinton overheard me. She instantly turned toward me. Her eyes appeared as
big as golf balls. Hillary yelled, “WHO did you say you were? . . . WHERE did
you say you’re from?”
Mr. Clinton wasn’t that surprised. He interjected, “I had a feeling, all along,
that you were more than just some penniless wanderer, hitching a ride. . . .
Well, Sir Wantsalittle, you are quite a perceptive fellow. I simply want to
thank you, sincerely, for your good advice! Maybe our paths will cross again,
someday. I’d like to know a lot more about you!”
Meanwhile, the former First Lady had gotten out of the limo. She walked around
the front of the car, toward the driver-side rear door, and stopped, right
beside me. Out of pure curiosity, Hillary briefly looked me over, from head to
toe, and said, “Indeed! I’d like to know more about you, too! If you’re from
Camelot, how come we haven’t heard of you before now? Weren’t you one of King
Arthur’s ‘Knights of the Round Table’?”
“Yes, I was! You could say that I’m a ‘late bloomer.’”
Mrs. Clinton exclaimed, sarcastically, “Yeah, about 1,400 years late, I’d say!”
The former President said, “Let me guess—you journeyed here, to twenty-first
century America, in some kind of a time machine, didn’t you?”
“Right on, Mr. Clinton! I’ve been traveling around, throughout the United States
and elsewhere, in various time periods, for the past few weeks. I’m on a quest
to become more worldly, and I want to feel and act like a king. I don’t have
time, right now, to go into all of the details. But I’d be glad to tell you all
about it, later, if you’re still interested.”
“I definitely would be interested!” the former President exclaimed. “I’m more
than just a little curious to find out a lot more about you! . . . Wantsalittle,
you seem to know a lot about me. Don’t be offended, but how would you, a genuine
knight from the Land of Camelot—someone who claims to be vacationing here in
modern-day America and elsewhere—how could you be so knowledgeable of recent
American history and my social life, etc.?”
“Have you ever heard of a man by the name of ‘Willie C. Light’?”
Hillary asked, “Isn’t Willie C. Light an author? He writes romance novels,
doesn’t he?”
“Yes! And Willie is also a Hollywood stunt-double. He lives in Beverly Hills.
Anyway, he’s the man who taught me a lot about contemporary history when I first
arrived here from Camelot.”
Mr. Clinton said, “There’s one more thing, Wantsalittle: Where did you learn to
converse so articulately? I mean, anybody short of God, Himself, couldn’t have
taught you how to communicate so fluently in such a brief period of time.
There’s someone else, besides Willie C. Light, your tutor, who you’re not
telling us about. Come on now, Wantsalittle. Fess up! What is your little
secret? What is it about you that both of us, and the whole rest of the world,
for that matter, would love to find out?”
“That all depends on what your definition of the term ‘is’ is,” I responded,
cleverly. “And where have I heard those questions, or questions very similar to
them, before?” Hillary and I laughed at my light-hearted
comments. The former President, on the other hand, reflected a momentary
expression of shock. He failed to see the humor of my stinging remarks, although
they were amusingly intended. Before Mr. Clinton could reply, I continued, “I
can tell you this much: I have been divinely blessed. My contemporary mentor,
other than Willie C. Light, is someone who most would consider to be ‘highly’
qualified. Perhaps, after my time-traveling journey has ended, I’ll divulge some
of what is now more confidential information. And maybe I’ll share my wacky
adventures with others who may be inspired, to some meaningful degree, by my
unusual story. . . . I better get going now. I’ve got to get a mechanic to help
me with my car. Meeting both of you has been a real pleasure!”
“Wantsalittle, same here!” Hillary exclaimed. As Mrs. Clinton turned and walked
around the front of the limo, she bumped her left hand against the right-front
fender. Her wedding ring jarred loose from her index finger; the ring fell right
into the middle of a dirty, sweat-stained, old, baseball cap, which was lying on
the ground, upside down, near the front of the car.
I asked Hillary, “Do you think that you would ever run for the office of
President one day? You know, toss your ring in the hat, so to speak?” Mrs.
Clinton laughed, hysterically.
“Well, who knows what my future has in store?” the former First Lady replied,
after she retrieved her wedding band and proceeded to get back in the car.
Mr. Clinton then said, “Wantsalittle, try to keep us posted, will you?”
“Okay! And it might be educational, if not also entertaining, that you keep us
posted on some of your more interesting activities and personal affairs, too!” Mr. Clinton simply
shook his head, from side to side.
As I slowly walked away from the vehicle, and before they drove off, I heard
both the former President and the former First Lady speak with each other. Mrs.
Clinton said, “You know, Bill, that nice young man’s first name would more
appropriately suit you!”
Mr. Clinton chuckled, then he spoke with his loyal,
faithful, and good-hearted wife. Apologetically, he said, “Honey, I’m made out
of flesh and blood, like any other man. Obviously, I’ve made some mistakes. Can
you find it in your heart to forgive me?”
“Yes!” Hillary replied. “I will forgive you!”
(The moral of this episode: Nobody is perfect. Claim your right to be wrong, and
grant this right to others. Readily and openly admit your mistakes. If you do,
you are more likely to earn others’ trust and respect!)
Daytona International Speedway; Daytona Beach, Florida; February 3, 1998 . . .
Full of pride and ambition after meeting and speaking with the former President
and his loyal wife, I had the car’s battery charged and journeyed to Daytona,
Florida, where I registered the Corvette into the 1998 Daytona 500. The annual
Daytona 500 was considered to be NASCAR’s most spectacular stock-car racing
event.
Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes® proudly sponsored my car. The #13 Chevrolet Corvette
out-performed and out-paced the stiff competition most of the afternoon. Tony
the Tiger, my pit-crew chief, was proud of me, especially because I was a rookie
driver.
Throughout the race, I had skillfully and patiently worked my way to the front
of the pack. Then I darted past Dale Earnhardt’s #3 black Chevrolet to take the
lead as Earnhardt and I entered the final turn on the last lap. But I blew a
left-front tire coming out of turn number four. The Vette went into a wicked
tail spin.
The out-of-control racecar spun like a top; tires screeched and charred pieces
of rubber flew in all directions. When the dust settled and the thick cloud of
smoke cleared, I was a little dizzy. And the Vette, which had a crunched
right-rear fender, was backed up against the wall, just a few yards short of the
finish line.
Earnhardt, who had never won the prestigious Daytona 500, and who was the crowd
favorite all afternoon, took the checkered flag. “The Intimidator” later
congratulated me for my superb effort. Earnhardt told me, “Sir Wantsalittle
Morefromlife, this just wasn’t your day. You drove a hell-of-a race. There’ll be
better days!”
I turned and walked a few yards away from Earnhardt. I felt totally dejected. I
said to myself, “I had this race in the bag. Some black magic cost me the
victory. Lord, how can I bounce back from such a bitter defeat?”
The Lord instantly responded to my call. She showed up at the racetrack in blue
jeans, tennis shoes, and a Dale Earnhardt T-shirt. She said, “Clarence Darrow
stated, ‘As long as the world shall last there will be wrongs, and if no man
objected and no man rebelled, those wrongs would last forever.’ Life isn’t
always sugarcoated. Sometimes you have to take the sour with the sweet. However,
you possess the ability to ‘bounce back’ from unfortunate personal circumstances
or from major personal setbacks.”
God paused for a moment, then She said, “The late Dale Earnhardt won a
remarkable total of seventy-six NASCAR events, and he tied the record of seven
Winston Cup championships in his legendary racing career before a horrific,
head-on, into-the-wall crash took his life at Daytona International Speedway on
February 18, 2001. Like so many people who have achieved some measure of
greatness in their lives, Earnhardt repeatedly bounced back from untimely
defeats, throughout his story-book racing career. Wantsalittle, try to emulate
the good example of Dale Earnhardt and numerous others who bounced back from
times of temporary defeat and became highly successful individuals, as a
result.”
The Lord paused again and continued, “If you’re not frequently making mistakes
and suffering setbacks, it’s a good sign that you’re not doing anything. Carl
Yastrzemski, a perennial All-star first-baseman for the Boston Red Sox,
accumulated over 3,000 hits in his brilliant career. ‘Yaz’ once told a reporter,
‘If you want the hits, be prepared for the misses.’ That’s the way the game of
baseball—and life—goes. After a brilliant career, Yastrzemski was later inducted
into Major League Baseball’s Hall of Fame. Regardless of how many times you
‘miss,’ it’s most important that you keep swinging.”
“Yes, Lord, but will that necessarily bring me success?”
“Thomas J. Watson, the founder of IBM, said, ‘The way to succeed is to double
your failure rate.’ Wantsalittle, use your mistakes and temporary defeats as
stepping stones for greater accomplishments. Don’t be a quitter. Follow through
on whatever you set out to do. If you experience a setback, find out what went
wrong. Learn from what didn’t work. Think of something different. Try a new
approach. Form new ‘success’ images.”
“Lord, I’ll learn from my mistakes and go forward from there!”
“Wantsalittle, Norman Vincent Peale truthfully said, ‘You are never defeated
until you accept the image of defeat.’ As you think with a goal of bouncing back
from your personal setbacks, you will realize greater individual
accomplishments.”
“Thanks, God! I’ll see You on down the road.”
Rockingham, North Carolina; February 10, 1998 . . .
A week later, after repairing the damage to the Vette, I traveled to Rockingham,
North Carolina for the G.M.Goodwrench 400. The race at Rockingham was another,
major, annual, NASCAR event.
As I had done in the Daytona 500, I started near the rear of the field. More
determined than ever, I gradually worked my way into contention. I moved into
second position with only two laps remaining. Jeff Gordon, “the Rainbow
Warrior,” had led the field most of the day. When we took the white flag, with
just one lap to go, Gordon successfully blocked me. And it looked as if he would
be able to hold me at bay to take the checkered flag.
The pressure was on me to try to pass Gordon and steal the victory on the last
lap. I was able to pull up on his rear bumper, but I couldn’t quite muster the
speed to get around him. Gordon was driving an “inside groove” on the track as
he came into the corners. It was tough to get around him. Still, I thought that
I might be able to just squeeze by him on the inside, right before we entered
the second turn. Then, when I tried to sneak by Gordon and dart past him from
the inside, he shrewdly pulled his car way down near the apron and cut me off.
As we approached the third turn, I moved high up on the steeply banked
racetrack. I tried to pass Gordon from the outside as we came out of turn number
three. That last-minute maneuver didn’t work, either.
I was about to concede the race to Gordon and settle for second best. Suddenly,
I remembered that the Corvette had a unique “overdrive” gear. Once again I
pulled up on Gordon’s bumper. When we powered our way out of the fourth and
final turn, I reached down and shifted into overdrive. Like a missile thrusting
from its launcher, the Vette shot up off the track and soared over the top of
Gordon’s #24 Chevrolet. My race car landed directly in front of him as we sped
down the stretch.
Gordon made a gallant effort to pass me from the inside near the wire. But I
just nosed him out as we zoomed across the finish line. Rusty Wallace finished
strong and ended up in third place.
One spectator, Richard Petty, known as “the King” of NASCAR, reportedly said
after the race, “Today, Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife went from being a knight
to being a king! Cheerfully, I congratulate the new ‘King’ of NASCAR!”
As I slowly motored the surprisingly powerful, but temporarily run-down,
gas-thirsty Corvette around the track in the customary “victory lap,” a pigeon
landed on the driver-side windshield wiper. The disinterested pigeon gawked at
the roaring crowd. This time, the vast majority of the racing fans had
collectively rooted and pulled for me in my upstart, underdog role.
I steered the Vette down victory lane. Then I anxiously crawled out through the
driver-side window. I waved a royal-blue ball cap in view of hundreds of
celebrating spectators, who had quickly gathered and crowded around me. Tony the
Tiger could see that I was totally exhausted. Immediately, my crew chief
congratulated me and handed me a cold quart of milk and a bowl-full of Kellogg’s
Frosted Flakes®.
Respectfully, I rejected Tony the Tiger’s healthy reward. “Thanks, Sir Tony! But
I’d really rather have a Tomarlbury and an ice-cold bottle of Zapmeister!”
(The moral of this episode: As Norman Vincent Peale said, “You are never
defeated until you accept the image of defeat.” Always strive to bounce back
from temporary setbacks!)
The Land of Camelot; near the end of the sixth century . . .
I needed some well-deserved rest, so I temporarily returned to Camelot. I sat down
on the grass in my favorite place, under the big red oak tree, which stood near
the top of the hill, about a hundred yards above the legendary lake.
The Lady of the Lake surfaced. Once again she teased me. Helen Hunt’s look-alike
held Excalibur high out of the water. She wasn’t going to fool me. I realized
that, by and large, I still lacked the virtue and quality of character necessary
for me to draw the mighty sword. Therefore, I just ignored the Lady of the Lake.
Instead of testing my strength, I simply played my banjo and sang a few of my
favorite merry tunes. Then I daydreamed that there were sixteen dead knights
scattered across the countryside in blackish suits of armor. The sixteen dead
knights in my daydream symbolized that portion of my angels in black—my dark
side—that I believed I had conquered thus far in my journey.
“I’m totally tuckered out from my jousts and my duels with my angels in black.
Lord, how can I get more ‘R & R’?”
God appeared. She sat down on a fallen log, directly across from me. The Lord
said, “Wantsalittle, it looks as though you could use some R & R—some rest and
relaxation. Author Ernest Hello stated, ‘To work is simple enough; but to rest,
there is the difficulty.’ Whatever may be your endeavor in life, you should
establish a realistic work pace. When you get too tired or gradually wear
yourself down, take a needed and well-deserved break. You’ll be a more
well-rounded, happier individual, and you’re likely to live longer, if you take
the time to step out of the fast lane once in a while.”
“God, I’ve been trying very hard to develop a more virtuous, kinglike character.
But I’m just mentally exhausted right now.”
“Wantsalittle, what do you like to do for fun and recreation? What hobbies or
outside interests do you enjoy? Where would you like to go on vacation?”
“I don’t know! That’s why I came back to Camelot.”
“Try not to take life too seriously. Improve your sense of humor. Exercise your
smile and laughter muscles. Take a trip to Hawaii. Get in touch with nature.
Watch a good movie. Read a good book. Enjoy your favorite TV program. Relax and
do something that’s fun.”
“All right! I’ll try to mix in a little pleasure with my business of
self-improvement.”
“Wantsalittle, I hope that you will. As you think with the goal of setting a
relaxed, realistic, work pace, you will be happier and more productive, as a
result.”
After God disappeared, I opened a rectangular door on my suit of armor, in the
area of my stomach. The compartment inside of me housed a Die-Hard® battery. I
hooked battery cables onto my rundown personal battery and connected the other
end of the cables to a battery charger, which I had sat on a sawed-off oak-tree
stump, some ten yards away.
Then a dark cloud above sent a bolt of white lightning into the battery charger.
A blue-jay, which had landed on one of the battery cables, felt a little tingle
throughout his tiny body as a wave of electrical current transferred along the
cables from the charger to my battery.
“When I receive another bolt or two of lightning,” I said, “I’ll be recharged
and ready to continue my quest.”
(The moral of this episode: Step out of the fast lane once in a while, and give
yourself a well-deserved break!)
National Grand Canyon Park, Arizona; July 15, 1969 . . .
Thoroughly rested and ready to go again, I took off for the Grand Canyon, just
north of Flagstaff, Arizona. The year was 1969.
Under the full moon in the clear evening sky, I got a little daring. I strapped
on a pair of hand-made, blackish, angel-like wings, and I ventured over to the
edge of a cliff, high above the Grand Canyon.
More than a mile below, I saw the reflection of the moonlight in the Colorado
River as it twisted through the monumental canyon. The roaring river sent an
echo through the monumental canyon. It was an awesome, scenic sight to behold.
“I’ve always wanted to fly like a bird,” I said. “I wonder if these manmade
angel wings will keep me aloft?”
I backed up about thirty feet, tightened my wing-straps, and pulled the visor
down over my helmet. I took a deep breath and loped toward the edge of the
cliff.
Immediately after take-off, I experienced a minor problem. One of the mechanical
wings collapsed. I fluttered through the air for a few moments. Then my other
wing malfunctioned. I fell straight down, in a tight spiral, toward the dark
canyon floor.
About five seconds and 500 yards into my free-fall, I philosophically said,
“Maybe I shouldn’t have set my goals so high!”
I was a risk-taking knight, but I wasn’t stupid. I remembered my
life-threatening, ski-jumping ordeal at the Nagano Winter Olympic Games. This
time I had a back-up plan, just in case. I simply pulled the rip-cord on my
parachute. It opened properly, and I floated harmlessly to the ground. I landed
in a small clearing, right next to the raging river.
Down on my hands and knees, I gathered up the life-saving parachute. As I neatly
folded the umbrella-shaped apparatus, I asked, “Lord, how can I set more
practical personal goals?”
As if She had just gone for a leisurely swim at the beach, the Lord walked
ashore, right out of the swift current of the Colorado River. God wore very
little—just an itsy-bitsy, purple-and-white, polka-dot bikini. Immediately, I
rose to the occasion. Things were definitely looking up for me. The Lord said,
“Wantsalittle, if at first you do succeed, try something harder. And try to keep
your nasty little mind off of Me and on what I’m about to say, okay?”
“Yes, Lord. I’m paying close attention!”
“Thanks! . . . You asked Me about ‘setting goals.’ I think that I can give you
some good tips on this subject. Wantsalittle, try to get into the habit of
setting lofty and challenging, but also realistic, personal goals. Your goals
should be written down as personal affirmation statements. Here’s an example: As
I am building more self-confidence with each passing day, I am making major
strides in taking control of my life.”
“God, it’s hard for me to stay focused on some of my personal goals.”
“Well, Wantsalittle, I’m happily surprised by your serious-minded nature, today.
Maybe there is some hope for you, after all!”
“Don’t get me wrong, Lord. You’re strikingly beautiful, as usual. But You kind
of scared me, the other day, with Your ‘Medusa’ threat. Were You really serious
about that?”
“No, I wasn’t. I just wanted to get your attention at the time. Wantsalittle,
thanks for that nice comment about My looking ‘strikingly beautiful.’ Even your
Lord likes to receive a nice compliment, once in a while. I almost thought that
you hadn’t noticed Me in My skimpy bathing suit.”
“God, You must be kidding! Believe me, I did notice and I am still noticing!”
“Thank you, again, Wantsalittle. I thought that you’d like the outfit, at least
what little there is of it! . . . Let’s continue to talk about how you can
achieve your personal goals. Visualize your goals. Act upon them on a daily
basis. Try to anticipate the emotion—exhilaration, for instance—that you would
experience by achieving a worthy, longer-range goal. Constantly image your goal
until the subconscious mind receives the picture that your conscious mind is
continually projecting. If you do, your subconscious thoughts will steer your
conscious thoughts toward actions that will allow you to accomplish your goal or
dream.”
“Terrific! I’ll try to vividly image what it is that I want most.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was afraid you would say.”
“Come now, Lord. What kind of a guy do You think I am?”
“Wantsalittle, do you really want Me to answer that question? Never mind. . . .
There is one other thing that you should do with respect to setting challenging,
realistic, personal goals: Write down at least three ‘objectives’ for each of
your goals. Objectives are personal action steps, which will help you to achieve
your goals. Objectives have three elements: condition—‘At,’ stating when or at
what time you will initiate some action toward your goal; behavior—‘I will,’
stating what you will do to achieve your goal; and criterion—‘So that,’ stating
the desired result of your goal.”
“Lord, I thoroughly understand what You have just said about goal writing. Is
there anything else that You’d like to add on this topic?”
“Yes, Wantsalittle, there is one final thing that I’d like to mention: Author
Ursula Le Guin stated, ‘It is good to have an end to journey toward, but it is
the journey that matters, in the end.’ As you think with distinct, practical
goals in mind, you will more likely achieve those objectives or realize your
dreams. Wantsalittle, think about what lofty, realistic, personal goal you can
set for yourself.”
“Okay, God! I’ve got a pretty lofty goal in mind right now!”
“Good! Go for it! . . . I’ve got to go for now. See you later!” The Lord
disappeared before I had a chance to tell Her “good-bye.”
Cape Kennedy, Florida; July 16, 1969 . . .
I headed for Cape Kennedy in Florida. I was cordially invited to take part in
the Apollo 11 Moon Mission.
Thousands of curious spectators looked on as the moon-bound rocket lifted off
the launch pad on July 16, 1969 and thrust its way through the earth’s dense
atmosphere and into outer space. Roughly 240,000 miles later, the rocket landed
safely on the rocky, barren surface of the moon, right near the middle of the
Sea of Tranquility.
Four astronauts were on board, including me. Three of us—Neil Armstrong, Edwin
“Buzz” Aldrin Jr. and I—boarded the “Eagle” lunar-landing module on July 20th.
Neil, the Mission Commander, and Buzz, the Lunar Module Pilot, couldn’t help
themselves from laughing at me. They thought that I looked pretty stupid with my
space helmet pulled over the steel helmet on my otherwise unprotected full suit
of armor. I laughed back at them. I wondered why the astronauts wore those
ridiculous-looking space outfits over their normal NASA uniforms.
The fourth astronaut on the lunar mission, Michael Collins, the Command Module
Pilot, watched and photographed us from the observation seat in the main
spaceship. After a brief argument and a struggle between Neil Armstrong and me
over “who” would lead the way, Neil stepped out of the modular ahead of me. That
gave him the distinction of being the first man, other than Superman, to walk on
the moon.
As he began his historic, memorable trek, Neil said, “That’s one small step for
man, one giant leap for mankind.” Neil also had the honor of planting the pole
that carried the American flag.
It seemed to me that Neil wanted to be the “first” guy to do everything! I
wanted to be the first at something. So I zipped down my fly, and I proudly
wrote my name in the moon sand!
Buzz was the first to gaze down and see white and blue swirls around our planet
Earth, a beautiful, breath-taking site to behold. All three of us “earthlings”
had broad smiles on our faces.
Just prior to our climbing back into the lunar modular, I shouted,
prophetically, “Maybe no man can fly without artificial help, but let every man
know that he can still shoot for the moon!”
(The moral of this episode: Set lofty, but realistic personal goals!)
“Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star;
Oh, I Wonder Who You Are?”
Character-enhancing Lesson: Learning
Hollywood, California; July 9, 1995 . . .
Fascinated with Hollywood, I returned there in 1995. I spent a relaxing, sunny,
summer afternoon at a neighborhood park, located near Willie’s place.
As I had absolutely nothing better to do, I decided to look around the park
through my high-powered binoculars. I wasn’t bird-watching! I wanted to
“zoom-in” on more interesting subject matter—namely, any attractive Southern
California babe who might be lying around and sunbathing in the park.
A couple of hundred yards or so across the freshly mowed grass, I spotted,
without the field glasses, an interesting “subject.” The woman sat, partially
reclined, on a folded-down lounge chair. With my naked eye, she appeared
promising enough to warrant a closer view. I lifted my visor and looked through
the powerful binoculars. All I saw, though, was a speck of something against a
greenish background. The distant object appeared to be several miles away. I
didn’t realize it at the time, but I WAS LOOKING THROUGH THE WRONG END OF THE
BINOCULARS!
“I seem to be focused on one little thing,” I said, not having realized, as yet,
my backward thinking. “This is really frustrating me. Lord, how can I learn to
eliminate my tunnel vision and see the bigger picture?”
I anxiously waited for God to appear. After several seconds elapsed, I thought
that She didn’t hear my question. Then I turned around and saw Her. God had sat
down on a park bench, just a few feet off to my left. Once again, Her appearance
was simply breathtaking. Her meager, pink, ribbon-tied-in-the-front, halter top
and Her very short, cut-off-high-on-the-thighs, denim pants left little to my
imagination.
The Lord opened up a thick reference book that She had brought with Her. God
said, “Webster’s Dictionary defines ‘learning’ as: to acquire knowledge; to get
to know; that which is learned. Abraham Lincoln may have said it better, ‘I am a
slow walker, but I never walk backwards.’ The art of learning is applied
knowledge. Knowing most of the scientific facts or spiritual truths associated
with life is so much trivial information and of little consequence, unless you
can apply this knowledge to aspects of personal growth and development.”
“Lord, I’m a little confused.”
“Wantsalittle, true learning is the ability to think in perspective. Perspective
thinking can be likened to the whole of a thing being greater than the sum of
its parts. Each part or fact symbolizes some meaning or purpose. For example:
Birds and bees are parts, or facts, of life. However, what’s the bigger picture?
Do you see things that can fly? Do you see the reproduction of the species? Or
do you see two wonderful gifts of nature? Regardless of how you elect to
interpret the facts in your life, your focal point should be on the ‘Big
Picture.’”
“Trust me, Lord. My mind and eyes are currently focused on the Big Picture. You
said something about seeing ‘two wonderful gifts of nature.’ And that is, or
those are, precisely what my mind and eyes are now sharply focused on!”
“Wantsalittle, so much for your serious-minded nature, huh?”
“I’m sorry about that, Lord! But Your choice of words, at times, and Your
generally sexy attire leaves You wide open and exposed to my well-intended,
although sexist, remarks. Please forgive me for my wandering thoughts, my
straying eyes, and my sometimes ill-mannered comments! . . . What else can You
tell me about ‘learning’?”
“Learning comes from all sources of personal exposure. Reading, writing, and
arithmetic are valuable learning tools. Still, ‘experience’ might be life’s best
teacher. He who graduates from the ‘school of hard knocks’ may be among the
wisest and most prepared of all men. One thing’s for sure: The more that you
learn and know in life, the more you’ll know that there is to learn and know.
Indeed, learning is a never-ending process. Wantsalittle, as you think with the
goal of learning to be a more perspective thinker, you will better be able to
apply your overall knowledge.”
As soon as God left, I turned the binoculars around so that I would see a
magnified image through the lenses. Then I clearly saw Roseanne
Barr-Pentland-Arnold-Thomas-Conners—whatever her “last” name happened to be!
Roseanne was wearing a ruby-red bikini and soaking up some rays. She was reading
a songbook that was turned to a tune called “Stand By Your Man,” written and
recorded by the late and great Tammy Wynette.
Although She had already left, I said, “Thanks, Lord, for sharing your wisdom
with me. But this time the Big Picture isn’t exactly what I had imagined it
would be!”
(The moral of this episode: Learning is largely a matter of sifting through the
various details and facts of life and focusing on the Big Picture!)
That evening, I stayed in a downtown Hollywood hotel room. Using my black Bic®
cigarette lighter, I lit a candle, which sat on the window ledge. The candle
burned brightly, and sparks were flying off of it. I didn’t know it at the time,
but within seconds the window curtain had caught on fire. I didn’t see the fire
start because I was performing a headstand on the floor next to my king-size
bed.
I said to myself, “I’ve been bored to death lately. While the blood flows to my
brain, maybe I can come up with a good idea.” Then I asked, “Lord, how else can
I overcome my passiveness and receive a spark of inspiration?”
The Lord made yet another personal appearance. In order that God could talk with
me, face to face, She did a head stand right beside me. It was a good thing that
She dressed in casual clothing—a plain light-blue T-shirt, which was tucked
deeply into Her blue jeans. Naturally, I had a little frown on my face.
Apparently, God didn’t see that the curtain had caught on fire, either. The Lord
simply looked at me. She said, “Inspiration reflects bursts of perspective
thinking—ideas that come to you from your burning desire to tap into your own
reservoir of knowledge. Meditation, getting your mind in a state of relaxed
concentration, can give you the key to ‘see the light.’ Meditation can unlock
the doors to your innermost self. The trick is to bring these flashes of
brilliance to the surface, from your subconscious mind to your conscious
thoughts.”
I wasn’t sure about how God felt, but I noticed it getting a little too warm in
the room. I asked, “Is it just me, or is it getting hot in here?”
The Lord just ignored me and continued, “Inspiration, alone, is useless unless
it manifests itself by way of applied knowledge—creative expression that takes
the shape of inspiring others with your insightful words or artistic products.
Usually, it’s easier to become inspired if you look for new ideas by associating
your current interests and abilities with finding a need and trying to fill it.”
God stopped, for a moment, to wipe the sweat beads off Her forehead. Then She
concluded, “As you think with the goal of becoming inspired, you may create
something that will truly inspire others. Wantsalittle, look to see what’s going
on around you—something that could be improved or changed for the better.” Then
God vanished into the smoke-filled air.
Somebody should’ve told me that cigarette lighters could be hazardous to my
health. My trying to receive a little spark of inspiration nearly trapped me in
a towering inferno!
Fortunately, there was a fire extinguisher in the hotel room. I quickly put out
the curtain fire. When I sprayed the flames, I noticed an empty white plastic
flowerpot, which was sitting off to one side of the window ledge.
I reached in a dresser drawer, grabbed another candle, and lit it. I thought for
a few moments about everything that I had just seen in the room. And then I
said, “An inspirational thought just struck me: I’ll search for my ‘pot’ of
gold!”
(The moral of this episode: When you want to receive a spark of inspiration, it
may help if you look around to see what could be improved or changed for the
better. Then try to create something that will truly inspire others!)
The Corvette energized close to a 7-Eleven convenience store in Phoenix,
Arizona. The year was 1997.
I wanted to purchase a pack of cigarettes. Because there weren’t any vacant
parking spaces in front of the business, I drove around the block and parked,
parallel to the curb, near an intersection, not far from the convenience store.
Two street signs were posted on a pole, which was located at the corner of the
intersection. One sign, signifying North and South, read “Las Easy Street;” the
other sign, signifying East and West, read “El Pipedream Avenue.”
As I walked toward the door of the 7-Eleven, a male clerk came out of the store
with a stepladder in hand. The young man positioned the ladder by the
entranceway, directly under an outside neon sign. He climbed the ladder and
reached up and changed a light-bulb in the dimly lit, green-and-white-and-red
sign. The four big bold words on the neon sign read “Scratch ’N Sniff Here.”
“What an omen!” I exclaimed to myself. I went into the store and walked up to
the counter. I asked the clerk to give me a pack of Tomarlburys and a
one-dollar, “White Knights,” scratch-off, lotto ticket.
Right after I strolled out of the store, I stopped to look at the scratch
ticket. The top portion of the little rectangular card read “Get three matching
symbols on any one row to WIN prize shown.” I uncovered all three rows of
symbols. Pictured on the first row were: dragon / star / wizard hat—no matches
for what could have been a $5 prize. Pictured on the second row were: crescent
moon / curled snake / black cat—no matches for what could have been a $1 prize.
Pictured on the third row were: white knight / white knight / white knight
—three matching symbols—a WINNING ticket, good for a $10,000 prize!
“Oh, thank heaven for 7-Eleven!” I yelled, jumping for joy. “I’m headed back to
Las Vegas!” Before I left Arizona, I stopped at the Lottery Office in downtown
Phoenix to cash my winning scratch ticket.
Las Vegas, Nevada; April 25, 1977 . . .
I set the time and place controls in the Vette to Las Vegas, Nevada, in the year
1977. I marched into Binion’s Horseshoe Hotel & Casino, which was located on
Fremont Street in fabulous downtown Las Vegas. The popular casino was hosting
the World Championship of Poker.
I meandered around the casino for a few minutes, and I went into the gift shop
to purchase a cowboy hat. Then I strolled into the lounge, and I bellied up to
the bar, which was located right next to the poker parlor. I ordered a bottle of
Zapmeister. The bartender was kind enough to bring me an ice-chilled mug, along
with the bottle of beer.
A moment of generosity must have come over me. I tipped the bartender a couple
of dollars for his superb customer service. Then I sat down on a bar stool and
proceeded to drink my beer.
After a minute or so, the bartender walked over again. He asked, “Do you smoke,
Sir?”
“I never did until fairly recently,” I replied.
“Would you like to try one of my ‘Uncool Heavys’?”
“I didn’t know that cigarettes could be ‘heavy’! No thanks, mister! I think that
I’ll just have one of my Tomarlburys.” The bartender grinned and walked away.
As usual, I was dressed in my silver-plated armor wardrobe. But I wore the
cowboy hat that I had just bought, in place of my helmet, which I had left in
the car. The tan, broad-rimmed, cowboy hat enabled me to fit in better with the
rest of the crowd on hand; Binion’s Horseshoe Hotel & Casino presented an
informal, country motif and a laid-back, casual environment.
As I had cashed the $10,000 lotto ticket before I left Phoenix, I had a bundle
of bucks with me. And I was ready for “action.”
One heck-of-a poker game was going on at a big round table, right behind me. I
anxiously watched the action among a star-studded cast of players. Sitting
around the table, clockwise, were: James Garner, (the late) Jack Kelly, (the
late) Steve McQueen, (the late) Robert Shaw, Kenny Rogers, and Paul Newman. All
of the players dressed casually, except for Robert Shaw. Mr. Shaw was decked out
in a dark-blue business suit.
At Mr. Shaw’s request, all of the players at the table wore ties. Newman’s tie
hung loose around his neck. He was slouched down in his seat, and he looked
sloppy and drunk, similar to how he appeared in another poker game with Mr.
Shaw—the memorable occasion when they played poker together on a train in The
Sting, a blockbuster film that debuted in 1973.
A vacant wooden captain’s chair sat between James Garner and Steve McQueen. An
extra black tie was draped over the seat of the chair. Of course, the table-top
was loaded with poker chips, mostly black ($100) chips; all the players had
several piles of chips, either stacked up or scooped up in front of them.
Players’ drinks—various glasses, shot glasses, and bottles of booze, some empty
and some partially empty and some full, were scattered around the top of the
table. In addition, the table surface was cluttered with cigars and cigarettes,
some fresh and some already smoked. Furthermore, the messy table was littered
with several ashtrays, some of them overloaded with rubbed-out cigar and
cigarette butts. And the table was filthy from cigar and cigarette ashes, which
had been carelessly discarded or haphazardly smeared into the dirty,
alcohol-stained, green felt.
I took a drink from my frosty mug of Zapmeister and said to myself, “Poker’s
really my game. I’ll parlay this $10,000 windfall into a small fortune. These
guys don’t look like card sharks to me!”
With a cane lying across his lap—the same cane he used in The Gambler, a popular, western,
made-for-television movie—Kenny Rogers peered over at me, a look of
curiosity on his manly, full-bearded face. I looked back toward Rogers and his
poker-playing pals. I inquired, “Hey, gents, do you mind if I join in?”
“Sure, stranger,” Mr. Shaw said, “but this is a gentlemen’s game. You have to
wear a tie. And NO CHEATING is allowed. . . . DO YA FOLLA?” I slid off the bar
stool and ambled over to the empty chair. Then I lassoed my neck with the black
tie, sat down, and confidently scooted up to the table.
“What’s your game, friend?” Garner asked.
“Five card stud,” I promptly replied. McQueen and Kelly slyly smiled. (Author’s
note: the late Steve McQueen played Eric Stoner “the Cincinnati Kid” in the
popular 1965 movie The Cincinnati Kid. James Garner played Bret Maverick on the
comedy/western TV series Maverick, which aired from 1957 to 1962 and co-starred
the late Jack Kelly as Bart Maverick.)
About an hour later, McQueen and I were the last two players left on a hand that
had already been fully dealt. Both of us were “all in”—no money left in front of
us. There must have been close to $30,000 in the pot. We had just “called” each
other, and it was time to show our hole cards.
I turned over an ace of spades, giving me a FULL HOUSE—aces full of eights. “Try
to beat that!” I exclaimed, a cocky tone in my voice.
McQueen’s four exposed cards were: ten of diamonds, queen of diamonds, king of
diamonds, and an ace of diamonds. He flipped over his hole card—the jack of
diamonds! He filled out his STRAIGHT, “ROYAL” FLUSH! McQueen’s better poker hand
took me by surprise and quickly wiped the smile off my poker face.
Appropriately, I titled this episode “‘Knightmare’ on Fremont Street.” On the
other hand, I could have called it “How I Got Royally Stung By a ‘Gambler,’ a
Couple of ‘Mavericks,’ a ‘Queen,’ and Two Stars from The Sting!” Either way, I
was disappointed beyond belief. With a definite frown on my face, I said, “Nice
hand, Sir Steve. You guys are too tough for me!”
I retreated to an empty seat back at the bar. After I ordered and received
another beer, I asked, “Lord, will I ever find true wealth and prosperity?”
When God appeared, She wore a cowgirl’s outfit—a brown-suede cowgirl hat, a red
bandana, and a long-sleeve, predominately burgundy-and-blue-plaid, western
shirt. She also fashioned a pair of chaps over Her brand-spanking-new,
pre-faded, blue jeans. When God sat down on a vacant bar stool, right beside me,
I couldn’t help myself from admiring Her tan, suede-leather, cowgirl boots.
The Lord said, “Howdy, partner. We both look right at home here at Binion’s
Hotel & Casino, wouldn’t you agree?”
A little disappointed by God’s western shirt, which featured pearl buttons that
were snapped shut, clear up to the collar, I just nodded, affirmatively, in
response to Her frivolous question.
God said, “Wantsalittle, it doesn’t seem like you’re in a very good mood, today.
What’s the matter with you?”
“You wouldn’t be in such a festive mood, either, if You had just lost nearly
$10,000 on one hand of poker!”
“Maybe I can offer you some advice that will help to cheer you up. At least, My
divine message may enable you to find true wealth and prosperity. . . . Mohammed
wisely stated, ‘A man’s true wealth is the good he does in the world.’ The
universal law of prosperity is governed by harmony and order of abundance. Your
mind is a lot like earth’s atmosphere. You will gravitate toward that which you
think about most. If you want more material wealth, put yourself in harmony with
universal abundance. Sharply image wealth and prosperity all around you.”
“Lord, I’ve been imaging for success, as You have so often suggested that I do.
And I’ve had some good things happen to me. But I haven’t accumulated enough
money to get me over the hump.”
“Wantsalittle, how much money do you or does anybody really need? In your case,
you might have more money and more material things if you didn’t partake in
gambling ventures! Your ill-advised patterns of risky behavior are not helping
your cause. With respect to money and financial matters, you shouldn’t look for
any overnight, get-rich-quick solutions. If lack of money and being in debt has
been your way of life, try to change your lack-minded attitude. Develop new
wealth and prosperity habits.”
God had to stop talking for a few seconds. She had to cough and clear Her throat
after She had inhaled too much of the secondary smoke, which filled the casino
area. Then the Lord said, “Constantly think of yourself as being debt free and
without financial problems. If you become preoccupied, daily, with images of
prosperity and abundance, your prosperity-conscious thinking will lead you
toward actions that will result in your achieving these objectives.”
“God, I’m really lacking in material things. Just once, I’d like to be able to
‘put on the dog’—to show some real class and live with a little higher
lifestyle.”
“Wantsalittle, all the money in the world wouldn’t buy you true happiness or
necessarily make you a successful person. More important than any measure of
material wealth, keep these wise words of Henry Ward Beecher in mind: No man can
tell whether he is rich or poor by turning to his ledger. It is the heart that
makes a man rich. He is rich according to what he is, not according to what he
has.”
“Yes, Lord, I suppose that you’re right. I feel a little bit better about my
financial problems, already. Thanks for helping me to ‘see the light’!”
“Wantsalittle, as you think with the objective of being in harmony with the
universal law of abundance, you will attract true wealth and prosperity. . . . I
have to go now. Good luck to you! Please remember to form wealth and prosperity
images!” The Lord disappeared into the smoky atmosphere at Binion’s Horseshoe
Hotel & Casino.
Soon after God left, movie director Ron Howard sat down, next to me, at the bar.
Ron reached over and gently tapped me on the shoulder. “Aren’t you Sir
Wantsalittle Morefromlife?”
“Yes, how did you know that?”
“You’re becoming a pretty famous young man. My name is Ron Howard. I’m a movie
director. I’ve been looking for you. My business associates in Hollywood would
like to purchase movie rights to your unusual, inspirational story. Would you
agree to sign with us for a million dollars?”
Immediately, I experienced a mental flashback. I thought about the flowerpot,
which had sat on the window ledge in one of my recent adventures—the episode
that taught me how to develop more personal “inspiration.” As I was talking with
Ron Howard, I daydreamed, for a couple of seconds, about finding my pot of gold
at the end of the rainbow. Moments later I said, “Sir Ron, I appreciate your
generous offer, but no thank you. I’ve got a serious gambling problem. I’d
probably just blow the whole bundle of bucks. Besides, you’ve just made me FEEL
rich at heart. Right now, that means much more to me than any amount of money or
material wealth! Perhaps we can discuss a movie contract at a later date.”
“I admire your honesty, Wantsalittle. And I respect your circumstances,” Ron
replied. “Here’s my business card. Let me know if or when you change your mind.”
“Sir Ron, it was great to meet you!” I exclaimed. “I’ll get back in touch with
you if I should have a change of heart about the movie arrangement. By the way,
I really enjoyed watching some of your exceptional acting performances, first as
Opie Taylor in the Andy Griffith Show and later as Richie Cunningham in Happy
Days.”
“Sir Wantsalittle, thanks for making mention of my acting career. It’s been so
long ago. Sometimes I wonder if anybody remembers me for anything besides my
more recent roles as a director. Anyway, I better run. I hope to hear from you
again!”
(The moral of this episode: As Mohammed wisely said, “A man’s true wealth is the
good he does in the world!”)
Fed up with the idea of trying to make a fast buck, I promised myself that I
would never again try to win my fortune by gambling. I needed to get away from
the fast lane for a while. Pulling out a map of the United States, I closed my
eyes and randomly put my right index finger smack-dab down on the map. My finger
pointed to Brookville, Ohio. Brookville, with a population of 4,322 and located
approximately twenty miles
northwest of Dayton, seemed like a quiet place to spend a couple of days and
collect my thoughts.
I journeyed to Brookville and registered in a motel. My spacious room featured a
kitchenette. I decided to go to a nearby grocery store, pick up a few things to
munch on, and simply spend a quiet, relaxing evening at the motel.
When I returned from my brief shopping spree, I emptied the contents in the
grocery sacks all over the kitchen counter. A liter-size bottle of Pepsi®,
plastic paper cups, a box of crackers, a package of straws, a carton of
Tomarlburys, and a six-pack of Zapmeister beer were scattered across the top of
the counter.
While I shopped for groceries, I had also picked up an interesting-looking book,
A Whack On The Side Of The Head, authored by Roger von Oech. I laid the book,
which dealt with the subject of “creativity,” on the kitchen counter, along with
the other stuff that I had purchased.
In addition to my grocery shopping, I had stopped at a hobby shop and bought a
strange novelty item. I dumped that bag out on the counter, as well. I didn’t
notice it then, but a little black key fell out of the sack. The key dropped on
the counter behind the box of crackers; the key was hidden from my view.
Immediately, I began to examine the interesting-looking novelty product. It was
a square, thick-sided, clear-plastic box, about fourteen inches across on all
sides. A neck-size circle was cut out of the bottom side of the container.
The see-through plastic box was hinged in several places so that it could be
opened, allowing someone, who was foolish and had absolutely nothing better to
do, to stick his or her head in the contraption and close the front door.
Furthermore, the box had an automatic-locking mechanism. Once closed, I would
need a key to open the front door and get my head out of the box. I really don’t
know why I bought the damn box in the first place. Out of curiosity and wanting
something to play with, I just couldn’t resist!
I sat the box down for a moment, popped the top on a cold 12-ounce can of
Zapmeister, and took a couple of gulps. Then quicker than I could have said
“knight-in-the-box,” I downed the rest of my beer. After I bellowed out a loud,
disgusting belch, I said, “That brewski really hit the spot. I think that I’ll
have another.” I did. . . . And then I chugged another, right after that.
About half way through my fourth can of Zapmeister, I got a little tipsy. And I
got brave enough, or dumb enough, to put my head, after removing my helmet, in
the box. Then I closed the clear-plastic door, which was now directly in front
of my face. Fortunately the gap between my neck and the round hole in the bottom
of the box was just wide enough to allow some air to seep through. That
seemingly trivial circumstance enabled me to breathe!
I grabbed my big fat war club and raised it over the box. I paused for several
seconds before I said, “My creative mind is locked in a box. I lost the key. I
could give myself a good whack on the side of the head, to break the box, but it
might hurt! I’m thirsty for ideas, and I want to drink the rest of my beer.
Lord, how can I become more creative in this dire moment of need?”
Instantly, God appeared. She laughed at me and said, “Wantsalittle, you’ve
really done it this time. What a fix you’re in! Percy Bridgman wrote, ‘There is
no defense, except stupidity, against the impact of a new idea.’ Creativity is
what innovative people with desire and initiative do to make their ideas happen.
The world constantly needs new solutions and new ideas. What worked yesterday
probably won’t work today . . . or tomorrow. Creative thinking means generating
new ideas and new answers. Fresh innovative thoughts lead to all progress. As
Disraeli put it, ‘Imagination rules the world.’ Wantsalittle, right now, you
need to use your best imagination.”
“Lord, I could really use some more of Your advice on the subject of
‘creativity’!”
“Wantsalittle, do you want to become more creative? Here are some tips: Don’t
always be so practical. Loosen up. Get nutty and crazy. Break the rules. Learn
from your mistakes. Use your imagination. Change your viewpoint. See the ‘Big
Picture.’ Ask yourself ‘what if’ questions. Look for the obvious. Get an idea.
Do something to it. Then do something else to it. Before long, you’ll have
something.”
The Lord stopped, for a moment, to take another look at me. I was still standing
there with my head in the box. She just laughed again and said, “Visualize
yourself as being creative. Your creative mind has the power to change something
and make it something else. In his remarkable book, A Whack On The Side Of The
Head, Roger von Oech suggested, ‘By changing perspective and playing with our
knowledge and experience, we can make the ordinary extraordinary and the unusual
commonplace.’ By the way, Wantsalittle, I see that you picked up this great
little book. It is ‘must reading’ if you want to stir your creative juices.”
“God, I promise that I’ll read the book.”
“You definitely should!”
“I’d like to start reading the damn book right now. But it would be difficult
for me to see the words, considering that my head is locked up in this damn
box!”
“Wantsalittle, please watch your language! It wouldn’t hurt for you to show Me a
little more respect, at times! . . . At any rate, as you think with the goal of
becoming more creative, you will transform your imagination. You’ll be able to
create practical solutions and useful ideas. It’s high time that you ‘whack’
yourself into thinking more creatively! I’ll talk to you later.”
When God left, I tossed the heavy war club off to one side. My head was still
locked in the box, but I thought of a way to solve my thirst problem,
creatively.
I reached for the package of straws, which was lying on the counter. The straws
had flexible joints in the stems. I simply stuck a straw through the keyhole on
the front door of the box, bent the straw at its flexible joint, and slipped the
main shaft of the straw into my can of Zapmeister.
After I slurped some suds through the straw, I tritely said, “Indeed, ‘necessity
is the mother of invention.’”
When I finished my beer, I searched for the key to the clear-plastic box.
Luckily, I found it on the counter, behind the box of crackers.
(The moral of this episode: “Creativity” is what innovative people with desire
and initiative do to make their ideas happen!)
Character-enhancing Lesson: Striving for Personal Excellence
Still in Brookville, Ohio; the following day on July 8, 1995 . . .
The next afternoon, just past six o’clock, I wanted to explore the countryside,
a few miles due west of Brookville. A brief, hard, rain shower in the area had
cooled the baking midsummer air. When I arrived, the skies had mostly cleared,
and it turned into a delightful, weather-perfect evening.
I turned the Corvette off of the main highway and onto a gravel-topped county
road. The landscape was peaceful—abundant with expressions of nature in all
directions. Mile after mile of seemingly endless acres of corn and barley rolled
like high seas of deep-green velvet. Wooded hills and river bluffs accented the
rural region’s visible agricultural carpet.
I eased off the gas pedal and almost idled along the rain-dampened, unimproved,
gravel road. I tried to breathe in as much of the pleasant aroma from the lush
flowers and foliage as possible. An easy breeze allowed me to hear the whisper
of the full shiny-green cottonwood leaves, which wriggled in the branches, from
rows and rows of roadside trees.
I passed by a road sign that read “Path to Nobility.” That section of the road
was getting rough; rocks and chuck holes slowed me down to a crawl.
The Vette’s right-front tire suddenly sank out of sight. The wheel had rolled
into a deep chuckhole. The car came to an abrupt stop. I got out and inspected
the damage. The tire was flat.
“The road of life can be rough in spots and full of pitfalls,” I groaned. “Lord,
how can I strive for personal excellence and become the best that I can be?”
God came to my rescue. No, She wasn’t there to help me change the flat tire.
Besides, as She fashioned new, clean, farm-hand duds—bib overalls and a white
short-sleeve, knit shirt—I didn’t have the nerve to ask Her to get Her hands or
Her clothes dirty.
The Lord leaned against the front of the Vette and said, “Wantsalittle, try to
adhere to the words of Aristotle, who insightfully said: Excellence is an art
won by training and habituation. We do not act rightly because we have virtue or
excellence, but we rather have these because we have acted rightly. We are what
we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit. Wantsalittle,
what are the things in life that you do best? Where do your interests, talents,
and abilities lie? When you aspire to actualize your personal talents and
abilities, you must remember that practice makes perfect.”
“I think that I’m doing the best that I can, at least most of the time.“
“People rarely do the best that they can do. Confucius said, ‘When you meet a
man of worth, think how you may attain to his excellence. When you meet an
unworthy one, then look within and examine yourself.’ And Abraham Lincoln
quipped, ‘Whatever you are, be a good one.’ Wantsalittle, here’s the secret: Set
challenging, but realistic short and longer-term goals. Your visions are most
important. As you move from one task to the next, throughout life, program your
mind for success.”
“God, how can I do that?”
“Use positive affirmations in everything that you say or do. Visualize that
you’ve already performed or achieved what it is that you want accomplished. If
you do, with patience and persistence, you shall receive it. As you think with
the goal of striving for personal excellence, you will more likely become the
best that you can be. Will you go the extra mile and strive for personal
excellence?”
“Yeah! From this time forward, I’ll make a conscious effort to go that extra
mile!”
My flat tire didn’t slow me down. I didn’t have a spare tire, but after God took
off, I simply engaged the car’s built in “flex-capacitor” and flew off into the
wild blue yonder.
I stopped, for about an hour, in Brookville to get the flat tire repaired. At
the service station, I thought about how I could become the best that I could be
at something, I remembered my teenage years—back when King Arthur’s gallant
Knights of the Round Table regularly tested their metal in jousting tournaments.
I asked myself, “Why don’t I go back to the good old days in Camelot and joust
against the noble Sir Lancelot?”
The Land of Camelot; about FIVE YEARS PRIOR to when I’d left on my journey . . .
Upon my arrival in Camelot, I entered the World Jousting Championship. The
tournament was about to begin.
Naturally, one of the first people that I recognized at the event was MYSELF!
First, I said to my “current” self, “Drat the luck!” Next, I said to my
“previous” self, “Sir Self, here is what you’re going to look like a few years
from now!”
My previous self said, “Oh brother, I can hardly wait!”
“No—younger self! I don’t think that you quite understand. I’m not your
‘brother’! You see. . . . Just forget it! It’s a long story. I’ll explain it to
you one of these days. For the time being, simply sit over there and hide behind
that big oak tree, and cheer for your older bro—I mean self. . . . Well, I don’t
know, exactly, what I mean! But ‘you’ can witness first hand ‘our’ trying to win
the World Jousting Championship!”
My previous self concluded, “All right! I was going to enter the jousting
tournament, myself. But it appears, anyhow, that I’ll—you’ll—WHOEVER—will be
competing just the same! . . . Whatever’s going on, I’ll cheer for you in the
upcoming jousting matches. At least I know that you . . . e-r-r I didn’t get
killed. That is—unless you’re my ‘ghost’ who has come back to haunt me.”
After I solved that minor problem, I still had a few more similar obstacles to
overcome. I hoped that none of my friends would notice that I had suddenly
“aged” by a few years. I decided to keep my helmet on and my visor pulled down
to hide my face. That did the trick. Nobody knew that “I” was really “me.” Well,
let me put it this way: They thought that I was Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife in
the “body” of my previous self.
In any case, I entered the World Jousting Championship. A large crowd,
aristocrats and commoners alike, was on hand to witness the spectacular event.
The pavilions were filled with gorgeous ladies, curious young pages, and
jewel-bedecked noblemen.
Almost all of King Arthur’s hundred Knights of the Round Table were present and
registered for the tournament. Sir Lancelot, the prohibitive favorite, Sir
Gawain, my former mentor and master, and King Arthur, himself, were among the
list of notable combatants. As a precaution, flat wooden blocks were fastened to
the ends of the knights’ lances to make for safer competition.
Most of the spectators had planned to cheer for either Lancelot, the current
world champion, thought of by most people to be unbeatable, or for the popular
King Arthur. Queen Guinevere wasn’t sure who to pull for. Her fickle emotions
were divided between King Arthur, her loyal husband, and Sir Lancelot, her newly
discovered champion and handsome secret lover.
Two other uninvited and unbiased characters were on hand. Louie and Frankie, the
Budweiser® lizards, curiously watched the proceedings from their side-by-side
seats on a nearby log. The adventurous lizards had heard about me while I was in
Hollywood. They had loyally followed me, and they had arrived in Camelot by way
of “Louie’s time-travel limo,” which they had parked next to the Corvette, a few
hundred feet away from the field of battle.
Several hours into the grueling, hard-fought spectacle, the field narrowed down
to Lancelot and me. Sir Lancelot had easily defeated his good friend Sir Gawain
in one semi-final duel. And I had just won a close battle with the aging but
still-fierce King Arthur in the other semi-final match.
Although a couple of knights sustained minor injuries, nobody was seriously
wounded or killed during the preliminary rounds of the tournament. The stage was
set for the final jousting event.
Trumpets blew to prepare the contestants for the final event. Sir Lancelot and I
dazzled the crowd with our lustrous, shining suits of armor. Our brilliant
shields gleamed and reflected the bright rays shed by the late-afternoon
sunlight.
Just prior to the competition, my “other self” loaned me Spirit, my trustworthy
palomino stallion. My younger self had brought Spirit with him to ride in the
tournament. Like everyone else in the crowd, Spirit thought that I was crazy to
go up against the great Sir Lancelot.
“Master, are you sure that you want to joust and duel with the notoriously
treacherous Sir Lancelot?” Spirit asked.
“Just relax, Spirit, and do your part to help me unseat the world champ. There’s
an apple in it for you if I come out the victor!”
“Wow! Okay, master, I wish you the best of luck! By the way, for some odd
reason, you look much more mature today.”
In preparation for the “finals,” Lancelot and I mounted our respective horses.
We faced off about a hundred yards apart; our shields were up and our lances
were ready. Both of us glimpsed over toward Queen Guinevere. She was chewing on
her fingernails as the last trumpet note sounded, initiating the action.
As two daring and bold knights, we charged each other at full speed. We met at
mid-track. Our heavy metal lances clashed off our round steel shields. The heavy
contact sent out a high-pitched, ringing, metallic sound that could have been
heard from a mile away.
All of the hype and fanfare went for naught. The match was over in a matter of
seconds. My first strike with my long lance glanced off Lancelot’s shield, then
deflected squarely into the middle of his chest. He absorbed a punishing, almost
fatal blow. The little flat wooden block, which had been attached to the tip of
the lance, saved his life.
After Lancelot was knocked off his horse, he lay crumpled on the ground. He
waved a white flag, an admission of his unexpected defeat.
I rode up to where Lancelot had fallen. Quickly, I dismounted Spirit. Then I
held my lance high as I looked down on the surprised,
thought-to-be-unconquerable knight. Immediately, I was awarded the “World
Jousting Champion” blue ribbon.
“Sir Lancelot is a hard-fighting, noble knight,” I said. “Today, though, I have
soundly defeated him. And I am now the new world jousting champ!”
Louie, one of the Budweiser® lizards, said to his pal, “Frankie, this guy’s more
fun to watch than those boring frogs!”
“Come on, Louie,” Frankie replied. “The show’s over.”
(The moral of this episode: To achieve a measure of personal excellence and to
become the very best that you can be, image yourself as already successful. And
remember that practice makes perfect!)
As proud as a peacock, I wanted to celebrate my upset victory over the gallant,
almost invincible Sir Lancelot. I journeyed back to the future and landed
outside a bar in New York City. The bar had an unusual name—Cocktails & Dreams.
The year was 1988.
I strutted into the classy lounge and looked for a seat at the L-shaped bar. The
room was crowded. One swivel stool was vacant at the far-left end of the bar. I
hustled over to stake my claim to the plush, dark-burgundy, velour-covered
highchair. Then I tugged at the top of the tufted-back stool, swung it around,
and promptly plunked my tired butt down.
About thirty seconds ticked off the pink neon Budweiser® clock, which hung on
the far wall. A handsome young bartender (Tom Cruise) was busy serving other
customers. He didn’t see me come into the bar and sit down.
“Hey, barkeep! What’s a guy have to do to get a drink around here?” I sternly
asked.
The bartender sat a partially filled glass of beer down and leaped toward me as
if he’d just been shot out of a cannon. “Welcome to my bar, Cocktails & Dreams!
What’ll it be for you today, Sir?”
“My dreams aren’t that big. How about a shrimp cocktail?”
“Coming right up! . . . Here you are, Sir. As you can see by looking around,
everybody here is having a good time and feels right at home. This is the bar
where your dreams can come true. Dressed in that suit of armor, it appears that
your dream may be that of becoming the legendary Sir Lancelot.”
“Young man, bite your tongue before I reach up and whack it off with my
sharp-bladed ax! Lancelot should dream about being me!”
“I’m sorry, Sir! I was just trying to make light of your unusual attire. Enjoy
yourself and simply nod when you want another drink, okay?”
“Thanks, I’ll do just that!” My shrimp cocktail had a black umbrella-shaped
stir-stick floating in it. A moment later, I began daydreaming. I said to
myself, “I thought that my dream was to feel and act like a king, but . . .?”
Scenes from One Million Years B.C., my favorite movie, rapidly fast-forwarded
through my mind. I tried to visualize myself playing a part in the film. I said
to myself, “I dream of dueling with a gigantic dinosaur and other prehistoric
reptiles with Excalibur at my side. Those big bad creatures wouldn’t stand a
fighting chance!”
Furthermore, I couldn’t forget about the sexy cave woman Loana, played by Raquel
Welch. “I dream of swinging from trees with the beautiful Lady Raquel.” I also
dreamed of enjoying other recreational activities in the company of the wild,
sensual, cave woman!
The late Ted Knight, who played Ted Baxter on the Mary Tyler Moore Show, was
sitting next to me at the bar. Almost anyone in America would remember that
“Ted” was the anchor for “W.J.M. NEWS” in Mary’s popular sitcom. “I’ve always
dreamed of being Walter Cronkite,” Ted said, daydreaming.
“I have a dream!” shouted Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., who was sitting to Ted’s
right at the bar, “in spirit.” One of Dr. King’s lifelong dreams was to
personally witness two black children and two white children walking toward
him—all with their arms around one another’s shoulders and true friends,
regardless of their respective races.
Homer Simpson was on a stool next to Dr. King. Unable to think of anything
specific to dream about, Homer simply sat there with his hands over his eyes. He
“wondered” and saw nothing but “blue sky” in his dream.
Off to Homer’s right, Lois Lane (Teri Hatcher) sat back, relaxed, on her bar
stool. She was also daydreaming. Lois envisioned herself at the alter with
Superman (Dean Cain). “I hope that Superman is going to be as ‘physical’ with me
as he has been with everyone else that he’s ever put his hands on,” Lois thought
to herself.
Seated beside Lois Lane was Peggy Bundy (actress Katey Sagal from Married . . .
With Children). Peggy envisioned herself lying seductively on a bed in a
negligee with her husband Al Bundy anxiously looking on. She imagined that he
was standing at the foot of the bed and wearing his tight under-shorts. But Al’s
head would be attached to Arnold Schwarzenegger’s muscular body. She daydreamed
that her husband was beating his chest with his fists and hollering, “Me,
Tarzan—you, Jane!”
Al Bundy (actor Ed O’Neill) sat next to Peggy. Al’s dream was similar to
Peggy’s, with these exceptions: He envisioned himself lying on the bed in his
body, not Arnold Schwarzenegger’s. In his dream, Heather Locklear was
seductively standing at the foot of the bed and wearing a scanty negligee. Al
imagined Heather saying, “Me, Jane—you, Tarzan!”
At the far end of the bar, Leonard Nimoy (Mr. Spock in Star Trek) simply said,
“This isn’t logical!”
Unable to get Lady Raquel off of my mind, I asked, “Lord, can I really make my
dreams come true?”
When God appeared, She immediately said, “Wantsalittle, indeed you can make your
dreams come true! And you’re well down the road to realizing your dreams, right
now.”
“You’re right, Lord! Sometimes, I forget just how far I’ve come toward achieving
my fondest dream, which is to feel and act like a king!”
“That’s okay, Wantsalittle. I realize that you’re mentally caught up, right now,
in your long journey and with your dreams—particularly your dream that features
the lovely Raquel Welch.”
“There’s just no keeping any secrets from You, is there, God?”
The Lord just winked and giggled and said, “Henry David Thoreau wrote, ‘If you
have built your castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where
they should be. Now put foundations under them. . . . If one advances
confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endures to live the life he has
imagined, he will meet with success unexpected in common hours.’ Wantsalittle,
whatever are your personal goals and dreams, try to be patient yet persistent.
Never give up! Be as determined as a Redbone coonhound in pursuit of your
specific goals and dreams. And try to visualize your goals and dreams as if you
have already achieved them.”
“How can I achieve my dreams by ‘imaging’?”
“Here’s an old adage: Whatever your mind can conceive and believe, it can
achieve. Imaging is a powerful method for actualizing your dreams. If you can
visualize something hard enough and long enough, you will surely receive it. The
more intense the picture—constantly visualizing every detail of what it is that
you want most—the faster your subconscious mind will show your conscious mind
how to act, enabling you to make the right decisions as you actively pursue your
goals and dreams.”
“God, I’m visualizing every splendid curve—e-r-r, I mean every little detail of
my dream, right now!”
“Yeah, Wantsalittle, I’ll bet that you are! But be sure to image dreams that
relate to your talents and abilities. Otherwise, you may end up chasing dreams
that just weren’t meant to come true. In the incredibly moving, inspirational
movie Field of Dreams, Dr. Archibald Graham’s childhood dream was to be a major
league baseball player. He became a doctor instead, after finally realizing that
he was most suited to a medical career. The point: Plan your dreams not just
according to your personal interests, but also in harmony with your natural and
better abilities.” (Author’s note: The late Burt Lancaster played the part of
Dr. Archibald Graham in Field of Dreams.)
“God, I was afraid that you would say something like that. You really know how
to take the fun out of dreaming!”
“In her fine book, Inspired By Angels, Sinda Jordan reminded people, ‘The
journey that leads to the dream is more important to the growth of the soul than
the actual achieving of the goal.’ And James Allen wrote, ‘The greatest
achievement was at first and for a time a dream. . . . Dreams are the seedlings
of realities.’ Henry Ford was dreaming before he originated the assembly line
that led to more affordable automobiles. The Wright brothers were dreaming
before they piloted the first airplanes. If you never have a dream, how can your
dreams come true?”
“Yeah, God. But so many others, throughout my life, have tried to discourage me
from achieving my dreams. Are these people just negative-minded, or are they
jealous to some extent?”
“Wantsalittle, they are probably a little bit of both. Always remember that
there are two types of people in the world—dream-seekers and dream-stealers. The
very best advice that I can give you on the subject of ‘achieving your dreams,’
for now and in the future, is to simply ignore dream-stealers, and allow
dream-seekers to encourage you with respect to achieving your personal goals and
precious personal dreams.”
God paused momentarily. Then She said, “As you think with the goal of vividly
visualizing your dreams, you will assuredly make your dreams come true. Be sure
to use imaging. Try to picture your dreams as if you’ve already achieved them.”
“Thanks, Lord! I’ll give it my best shot!” Then God disappeared.
I wanted to travel to prehistoric times—surroundings similar to that which I saw
in the film One Million Years B.C. I intended to fulfill my dream of using
Excalibur to fight dinosaurs and other monstrous reptiles. Naturally, I also
looked forward to meeting up with the likes of Raquel Welch, the alluring cave
woman in that movie.
I programmed the time-travel module and pushed the magic green Go button.
Suddenly, I landed in what I thought was a prehistoric setting. I glanced around
and saw plenty of huge, towering reptiles. And there was the legendary sword!
Excalibur was leaning up against a nearby pine tree. I was elated. I danced and
I pranced around the Vette in exuberant celebration of my dream come true!
“Thank you, Lord!” I shouted. “With Excalibur at my side, I will go to battle
and defeat these mighty beasts. . . . But where’s my Lady Raquel? Something’s
afoul! Perhaps, I should concentrate on my primary dream—to feel and act like a
king!”
What I did NOT see was a sign posted on a blue-spruce tree, just off to my
right. The sign read “Welcome to Jurassic Park / NO HUNTING!” The time and place
controls in the Vette had failed me. I had transported myself to Jurassic Park,
by mistake. The “sword” turned out to be a movie “prop,” left lying against the
pine tree by some forgetful Hollywood stage-worker. So much for my dream about
hunting prehistoric creatures and being in the company of the gorgeous Lady
Raquel!
(The moral of this episode: Whatever your mind can conceive and believe, it can
achieve. “Imaging” can be a powerful tool to help you reach your dreams!)
Character-enhancing Lesson: Cooperation and Open-minded Thinking
Somewhere in Australia’s Northern Territory; March 4, 1986 . . .
Disappointed with my failure to live out my dream, really a fantasy, with Lady
Raquel Welch, I pulled out a travel brochure. The brochure read “Australia /
Vacation Paradise Down Under.”
I anxiously opened the brochure to a map of Australia. I said to myself, “Ah!
This ‘out-back’ area, near a little town called Walkabout Creek in the
Northern Territory, looks interesting.”
Again, I programmed the time-travel module in the Corvette and pressed the Go
button. Suddenly, I stood on a wide flat rock, on a tiny island, which was out
in the middle of a big swampy lake, somewhere in Australia’s Northern Territory.
A little palm tree was stuck in the sand, right beside me. A sign, tacked to the
trunk of the tree, read “Out-Back Island Resort.” Just under those words, the
sign read “DANGER: MAN-EATING CROCS / NO SWIMMING.”
The Australian summer sun scorched the rocky landscape. All in all, it was a
blistering hot, sultry day. I put on some swimming trunks over my suit of armor
and wiped the sweat beads off of my forehead with a beach towel. Then I popped
the top on a 12-ounce can of Zapmeister and lit a Tomarlbury.
A few minutes later, I gazed out over the muddy lake, just beyond the shoreline,
and saw a crocodile’s head. The croc’s greenish-tinted eyes and long, pointed
snout broke the surface of the water, just long enough for me to get a good
look. I asked myself, “What kind of a vacation paradise is this?”
The Vette was off to one side, buried to the tops of all four tires in the mud.
A wallaby (little kangaroo) was hopping about in a cool pool of cloudy brown
water (a mud hole), alongside of the car. The cute wallaby curiously and
carefully inspected the dirty sports car.
My helmet had a small door on the side of it. On the door, a warning sign read
“Closed Mind / NO Trespassing.” In addition, a metal compartment, with a thick
steel door in the area of my heart, was marked “Cold Storage.”
“This is some funny-looking car, mate,” the wallaby joked. “I hope that you’ve
got 4-wheel drive!”
Not in the best of moods at that moment, I replied, “I’ve seen and heard it all.
I have no time or regard for the shallow opinions of others.”
When I finished my beer, I grabbed for the door on my armored chest and flipped
the latch on my built-in body cooler. Inside the little, cold-storage
compartment, my shrunken and slowly beating blackish-colored heart rested on a
block of ice. And only one last can of Zapmeister was leaned up against the
frozen chunk of water.
With a frown on my face, I said, “Sometimes, I feel in my heart as cold as ice.”
Then I remembered a few lyrics from “Cold, Cold Heart,” a memorable song by the
legendary Hank Williams Sr. I sang, “Why can’t I free my doubtful mind and melt
my cold, cold heart?” Right after that, I asked, “Lord, what can you tell me
about cooperating with others and becoming a more open-minded individual?”
Instantly, God appeared. Properly dressed for the occasion, She wore a
bright-red, two-piece, string bikini. I quickly took another huge gulp of beer
and wiped some more sweat beads off of my forehead. Then the Lord said,
“Wantsalittle, no man is an island. People must learn to get along and cooperate
with one another. Listening, open-minded thinking, and compromise are the
cornerstones for effective communication. Be approachable, and put others at
ease. Establish an ‘open door’ policy, which allows people to freely, but
tactfully express their ideas and opinions, without fear of intimidation or
retaliation from you for their frank comments.”
“Lord, should I apply these more effective communication techniques with
kangaroos as well as with people?”
God didn’t laugh. I guess that She failed to appreciate my attempt to make a
little joke out of the circumstances. She simply continued, “As author Sinda
Jordan suggested, ‘Unlock your mind and release it from the limiting thoughts to
which it clings. Nurture your mind with exposure to new ideas and allow it to
thrive.’ The moral: No one individual knows all of the truth. Exchanging
knowledge—what you and others perceive to be truths—will enable you to retain
any new, valuable information that lends itself to your perception of the truth,
while you discard the rest. By sharing worthwhile information and compromising,
you will constantly grow as an individual.”
As I tried to look at God with a straight face, I couldn’t help but to show a
slight smirk on my mug. I said, “All right, I’m listening to Your advice and
taking it seriously. Is there anything else that You’d like to add?”
“Come to think of it, there are a couple of more things that I’d like to say:
Wantsalittle, please wipe that little grin off your chin. I’m trying to be
serious here, and you should be, too! Sometimes, I don’t know if you are simply
being stubborn or if you are just plain pig-headed and uncompromising. But one
thing is for sure: You are never going to be as noble as you want to be, and you
will never really feel and act like a king, unless you lose your occasional bad
disposition and wave good-bye to all of your less-than-admirable,
uncompromising, stubborn ways! And it wouldn’t hurt for you to tone down your
sarcastic rhetoric, at times, as well!”
The Lord caught me flatfooted. I didn’t know how to reply. Of course, God was
right with Her constructive, but stinging criticism. After thinking about Her
comments for a few moments, I could only think of five small words to say,
“Lord, I am very sorry!”
“I accept your apology. Perhaps I was a bit too rough on you. But there are
times when our minds don’t mesh and we’re not on the same page, at least in
terms of relating with each other in a serious manner. When the occasion or
circumstances justify a more straightforward posture, I don’t really appreciate
your snide remarks. Anyway, you’re only human, so I guess that I can live with
your sometimes quirky demeanors and frivolous comments.”
I wanted to rib God on Her sarcastic remark of my being “only human,” but I
thought better of the notion and let it go. I simply allowed Her to complete Her
valuable food-for-thought message, without offering any light-hearted rebuttal.
The Lord concluded our touchy conversation when She said, “Wantsalittle, as you
think with feelings of cooperation, your open-minded approach to people will
result in more effective person-to-person communications. Who will you want to
learn from and cooperate with, today?”
“The very next human being that I see!” The Lord couldn’t help Herself from
cracking a little smile before She disappeared.
The door to my mind swung wide open. A blue parrot straddled the top rim of the
door. The message printed on the front of the little door now read “Welcome /
Always Open.” I said, “My door will always be open to new ideas, compromise, and
suggestions.”
The ice melted in my chest compartment. I replaced the block of ice with a new
flaming-red heart, which sat, smoldering, on a grate over some burning twigs. I
said to myself, “I’m getting a little warm with this fire burning in my heart.
I’d sure love to go for a swim. But I’m afraid of those man-eating crocs!”
It turned out that there wasn’t a crocodile in the water, at least not of the
reptilian variety. Paul “Crocodile Dundee” Hogan surfaced. The comedy actor had
been wearing a crocodile’s head mask. “I was just teasin’ ya, mate,” Hogan said,
a wide grin across his face. “There aren’t any crocs in this pond. Take off that
heavy, cumbersome suit of armor and come on in. The water here is safe for
swimming!”
(The moral of this episode: Keep an open mind at all times. Respect the ideas
and opinions of others. Be approachable, and try to cooperate with people. If
you do, you will grow as an individual and improve your ability to communicate
with others!)
The Slap Shot that Broke the Ice
Between “the Great One” and Me
Character-enhancing Lesson: Good Sportsmanship
New York City; December 13, 1997 . . .
I needed some exercise, and I wanted to play some hockey. So I headed for New
York City in 1997. I quickly put together a hockey team called the “Camelot
Knights.” Then I matched our team up with the New York Rangers of the National
Hockey League for an exhibition hockey game.
I put on my #13 hockey jersey and hockey gloves over my full suit of armor. I
looked lean and mean; I was ready for contact. The referee dropped the black
puck at center ice, and the contest began.
The first twenty-minute period ended without incident. Neither team managed to
score. It was a hard fought defensive battle, from the outset. Wayne Gretzky,
New York’s famous perennial All-star team captain, finally broke the ice at the
11:38 (minutes and seconds) mark of the second period. The speedy, crafty,
center iceman darted out from his “office” area behind the Knights’ net and
slapped the puck home. Gretzky’s timely goal gave the Rangers a 1-0 lead as we
headed into the third and final stanza.
With just under six minutes left in the game and the score still 1-0, the
fabulous Gretzky stole another puck near center ice and raced toward our goalie,
undefended, on a fast break. I was the only skater who had a chance to stop
Gretzky from likely scoring on the play, which would have virtually “iced” the
game for the stingy Rangers.
I angled in on Wayne from several yards across the ice. I couldn’t quite get to
the streaking Gretzky. Just as he was about to release one of his patented slap
shots, I reached out with my long-handled hockey stick and collared #99 around
the neck. Wayne’s head snapped back, and he lost his balance. Gretzky started to
topple backwards. When he fell, he tried to stretch his left leg out, to brace
himself for the fall. But the front portion of the blade on Wayne’s left skate
dug itself into the ice; his left foot didn’t move along with the rest of his
leg. Gretzky’s awkwardly positioned left leg buckled at the knee. He went down,
hard, hitting his back on the frozen floor. The fall briefly dazed hockey’s
living legend. But my rough, harsh tactics didn’t seriously injure him.
By the time Wayne worked his way back onto his feet, he was fighting mad. “This
is just an exhibition game!” Gretzky shouted. “What’s your excuse for your
madness and unnecessarily brutal, dirty style of play?”
I bitterly responded, “I’m a fighting knight, sworn to the duel. You are a
formidable opponent. Nonetheless, if I had my lance, I might impale you!”
Without further words or delay, Gretzky and I threw our gloves and sticks down
on the ice. We began “duking it out” near the pace-off circle in the Knights’
zone. Both benches cleared; fights broke out all across the rink. Some fifteen
thousand Rangers’ fans whooped it up and hollered. They loved every moment of
the frantic, fisticuffs action.
By the time the referees brought a halt to the brawl, several players’ jerseys
had been ripped and torn. Blotches of blood gradually soaked into the badly
scraped, scarred-up ice.
I was awarded a five-minute major penalty for “roughing.” While I sat in the
penalty box, I tried to analyze my still aggressive-oriented character. I said
to myself, “Lord, do You think of me as being overly competitive or as being a
bad sport?”
The Lord, who had #1 printed on the back of Her Knights’ hockey uniform, met me
at center ice. She said, “Wantsalittle, winning in life is important, but not at
any cost. A fine line exists between failure and success in almost anything that
you set out to do. Practice the ‘psychology of winning.’ Be a fierce but fair
competitor. Get mentally tough from your determination to win. Exercise your
will power to succeed. Strive to perform to the best of your abilities. Then let
the chips fall where they may. More important, remember that regardless of
whether a person or a team wins or loses, true victory belongs to he or she or
those who exhibit the best sportsmanship.”
Suddenly, God slipped on the ice. She fell down on Her hands and knees, which
interrupted Her conversation with me. When God got back to Her feet, She
continued, “Wantsalittle, try to follow the advice of Shri Krishna, Master of
all Yogis, who said, ‘Be even-tempered in success and failure, for it is this
evenness of temper which is meant by yoga.’ As you think with feelings of
determination and good sportsmanship, you will be a tough but fair competitor.
Wantsalittle, do you have what it takes to be competitive and still be a good
sport?”
“Yes, Lord, I think that I do!”
“Great, Wantsalittle! I’ll talk to you later.”
After the game, I stood in line with my teammates as the triumphant Rangers’
players paraded by. Players from both teams shook one another’s hands, a gesture
of good sportsmanship.
I held my hockey stick by my side as “the Great One” walked up to shake my hand.
Together, Gretzky and I glanced down and saw a patch of open water; the ice had
just melted between our skates—the skates of two fierce, but fair competitors.
“Congratulations, Sir Wayne! You truly are the greatest hockey player ever! I
have learned that winning is not so important as just doing my best and showing
good faith on the field of battle.”
“For a rookie, you’re not so bad yourself,” Gretzky replied. “Good luck to you
throughout the rest of your journey!”
(The moral of this episode: True victory belongs to he or she or to those who
display the best sportsmanship!)
My Knight Blues Left Me Singing
the “Jailhouse Rock”
Character-enhancing Lesson: Escaping from Loneliness
Crawford, Colorado; April 17, 2000 . . .
After the hockey game, I spent a couple of days, sightseeing, in New York City.
But I quickly got tired of the hustle and bustle atmosphere in the “Big Apple.”
I wanted to visit a less hectic, less crowded town in rural America. I decided
to travel to Crawford, Colorado—a scenic little ranching community. The town,
with a population of about 200 people, was nestled in the colorful hills on
Colorado’s Western Slope.
I stopped at the Needlerock Inn in Crawford to have a couple of beers and to
play some darts. I entered the building, which was a restaurant and bar under
the same roof. It was a cozy little place with a country atmosphere. I walked up
to the bar and said, “Bartender, I’ll have a bottle of Zapmeister.”
“We don’t stock that brand. How about an ice-cold bottle of Coors®?”
“Okay, that’ll be fine. And can I borrow a set of your house darts, partner?”
“Sure!”
I drank my beer, and then I decided to play a game of darts. As I began shooting
darts, a cute little cowgirl walked by, right in front of me, just as I was
about to throw another dart. She said, “Pardon me! I don’t mean to interfere
with your dart game. But all of these tables and people in here are blocking my
path to the restroom. Some tight arrangement, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is crowded in here. My lady, you’re not disturbing me in the
slightest!” She continued on her way.
When the young woman came out of the bathroom, I unintentionally tripped her, as
she had once again walked directly in front of me. “Excuse me!” I exclaimed, as
she tumbled to the hard, oak-wood floor. “I didn’t see you coming. Are you
okay?”
The slender dark-haired cowgirl bounced back on her feet. She quickly responded,
“That’s quite all right. I realize it was an accident. What’s your name?”
“Sir Wansalittle More—”
Before I had a chance to finish telling her my last name, the offended cowgirl
interrupted me and said, “Mr. whoever-you-are, it’s a good thing that my
boyfriend, who is sitting over yonder, didn’t hear what you just said to me!”
Unfortunately, her boy friend had overheard me. He jumped off his bar stool and
rushed right over. He said, “Hey there, little metal man, you should watch your
step!”
I thought that I was being challenged. I “lost my cool” and swiftly threw a
roundhouse right hook. The tall, lanky dude never saw it coming. My
wide-sweeping punch had caught the red-headed cowboy totally by surprise. Up to
that point, I hadn’t been able to “hit the wall” with my darts. But I managed to
“hit the bull’s-eye” with my fist, when I smacked that local cowpoke square on
his nose! The punishing single blow knocked the starry-eyed cowboy for a loop.
Then, of course, I spent the next twenty-four hours in the local slammer.
When I woke up the next morning, I found myself dressed in a faded-orange prison
gown, which the town marshal had pulled over my suit of armor. Then I noticed
that my ankles were collared to a big, heavy, black ball and chain. The marshal,
not wanting to take any chances with his strange, mean-looking guest, had
shackled me to a jail-house cot, sometime during the night.
The next morning, I woke up and asked myself, “Where am I? What have I done to
deserve such punishment? I’m so lonely that I feel as though I’m locked up in a
dungeon. Lord, how can I break these chains of loneliness?”
For the first time since I started my journey, God didn’t immediately answer my call.
The few minutes that it took Her to arrive seemed like an eternity. While I waited, my
knight blues left me singing the “Jailhouse Rock,” one of Elvis Presley’s first “hit” songs.
When the Lord visited me in my cell, She wasn’t wearing a prison gown. And
She wasn’t there to bail me out or to bust me out of jail.
God wore a sheriff’s uniform, much like that of the local constable who had
arrested me. The Lord just glared at me for a few seconds. She never so much as
blinked. Finally, with Her big, dark-brown eyes still fixed on my face, God
said, “I’m sorry that I’m late. I had another most important matter that required
My personal attention. . . . If you’re lonely, Wantsalittle, it’s probably because you turn people
off. Are you selfish? . . . Hard to get along with? . . . Overly critical of
others? . . . Egotistical? . . . Do you generally wear a frown or a smile? . . .
Wantsalittle, if you want to break out from feeling imprisoned by loneliness,
start by chipping away at your poor self-concept. Stop imaging yourself as being
unpopular. Instead, visualize yourself as a new, cheerful, fun-to-be-with
individual.”
“Lord, at home in Camelot, I live alone. But I rarely feel lonely. During this
journey, although I talk with others every day, I really feel lonely!”
“There’s a clear distinction between living alone and being lonely. Many happy
people enjoy solitude. They like themselves, and they stay active with their
personal interests. Nevertheless, if you would prefer, like most people, to
socialize more often, begin to look at yourself in a more positive, brighter
light. To make new friends, first become your own best friend. Then become
genuinely interested in people.”
The Lord hesitated for a moment. She stared at my silly-looking,
orange-and-white, striped, prison garb and giggled. Then She concluded,
“Wantsalittle, if all else fails, you still don’t have to be lonely. Jesus said,
‘I am with you always, even unto the end of the world’ (Mathew 28:20).
Wantsalittle, as you think with loving, cheerful feelings and keep in close
contact with your God, you should never experience undo loneliness. Try to
improve your self-image. And learn to view others with higher regard.”
Right before God left, She said, “By the way, Wantsalittle, I sure hope that
your little ‘altercation’ at the Needlerock Inn, and your having spent a night
behind bars, has taught you a good lesson with respect to overcoming your
aggressive behavior!”
Still in jail, I introduced myself to my cellmate. “I’m getting out of here in a
few minutes,” I said. “What’s your name?”
“Nick Castle,” the masked inmate replied. (Author’s note: Nick Castle played the
“bad guy” character of Michael Myers in the first Halloween flick.)
“I’m glad to know you, Sir Nick. My name is Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife. It’s
nice to meet a new friend.”
“Likewise! I’m going to be in this joint for a while. Do you like rock
concerts?”
“I’ve never been to one. What did you have in mind?” I asked.
“The cops picked me up at a place called the Mad Dog Restaurant & Fountain Cafe,
just down the street from here. The place is owned by Joe Cocker and his wife
Pam. The guy’s a pretty famous singer and musician from way back when—around the
time of Woodstock, I think. And he still tours the world doing concert gigs.”
Nick stopped to light up a “Demerit” cigarette. Then he said, “Before some
cowpoke recognized me and called the law, the restaurant manager—I think that
her name was Trixie or Tracy or something like that—anyway, the cute little
manager gave me a couple of tickets to Joe Cocker’s upcoming concert in Denver.
I guess that I’m not going to be able to go. Do you want the tickets?”
“Sure! Thanks a lot, my new friend!”
I took the tickets. Later, I attended Joe Cocker’s concert in Denver. The experience
was most enjoyable. I didn’t have to attend the concert alone. Tracy, the
manager at the Mad Dog Restaurant & Fountain Cafe in Crawford, went with me. At
least for that special evening, Tracy helped to free me from my chains of
loneliness.
(The moral of this episode: If you feel lonely, work to build your self-concept
and character, overall. Visualize yourself as a fun-to-be-with, cheerful
individual. And become truly interested in others!)
Character-enhancing Lesson: Being “For” Instead of “Against” Things
Mayberry, North Carolina; June 6, 1962 . . .
I had watched a rerun of the Andy Griffith Show while I was sitting in jail in
Crawford, Colorado. I got a kick out of Sheriff Andy Taylor (played by Andy
Griffith) and his hilarious deputies, Barney Fife (played by the late Don
Knotts) and Gomer Pyle (played by Jim Nabors). So I decided to pay Mayberry a
visit in the year 1962.
A slight miscalculation on my “place” control put me in Raleigh, North Carolina,
about fifty miles north of Mayberry. I elected to drive the rest of the way.
On the two-lane highway and a few miles south of Raleigh, a guy in a cherry-red
1957 Ford Thunderbird passed me. The young man was speeding, drinking a beer,
and smoking a cigarette. Furthermore, the irresponsible driver had ignored the
double-yellow, no-passing lines, which were painted on that stretch of pavement,
and there was a blind curve just ahead.
As soon as he passed me, I leaned over the steering wheel. With a scowl on my
face, I hollered, “Halt, you idiot! I’m enraged! I’m going to chase you down and
whack you up alongside of your head!”
Then I glanced over at my big war club, which was lying on the passenger’s seat.
I asked, “Lord, what else can I do to satisfy my anger and get that maniac off
the road?”
When God appeared, She put my war club behind the seat and sat beside me in the
car. The Lord was very irritated with me. She said, “Wantsalittle, you shouldn’t
react with road rage when another driver does something that upsets you! Such
childlike behavior simply compounds an already dangerous situation! The roadways
of the world are not a good place for you to develop an eye-for-an-eye, hostile,
aggressive attitude! For that matter, neither is any other place!”
“Yes, Lord, You’re absolutely right! I’m very sorry!”
A brief pause ensued in our conversation before God said, “While we are on the
subject of ’driving,’ I have several most important comments. Wantsalittle,
without constant focus and attention to what you are doing, a moving vehicle can
be a deadly weapon. At any given moment, innocent people could be critically
injured or killed as a result of an error in your judgment while driving,
whether or not your mistake was intentional or accidental in nature.”
“Lord, as You know, I have not been driving for very long, and I lack experience
behind the wheel. And as you also know, before I left Willie C. Light’s house in
Hollywood, he gave me some driving lessons so that I could borrow his new—”
“Yeah, yeah. Willie loaned you his new Corvette, which features the time-travel
module, so that you could embark on your journey into time. But I have one
question for you, Wantsalittle: Do you have a driver’s license?”
“What’s a ‘driver’s license’?”
“Just as I thought. Do you know that you are breaking the law?”
“Oh, my God! Willie didn’t tell me that I needed to have a license to drive.”
“That’s okay, Wantsalittle. In all of the excitement about your returning his
time-travel-remote devise, etc., Willie simply forgot to have you take a
California driver’s test and get a driver’s license. Fortunately, Willie was a
good driving instructor. At least you haven’t made any serious mistakes with
your driving up to now. But as soon as you get to Mayberry, you had better have
Andy or Barney issue you a valid, legal, driver’s license.”
“Okay, Lord, I will do just as You suggest.”
“People will probably laugh at you if they find out that you got your driver’s
license from Andy Taylor or Barney Fife in Mayberry. Besides, what will happen
after you leave Mayberry and venture somewhere into the future? For instance, if
a traffic cop from someplace in the year 2007 pulls you over, you will have a
tough time explaining why your ‘current’ driver’s license was issued in 1962!
That’s probably why Willie didn’t bother to tell you that you needed a driver’s
license.”
“Lord, Willie is a pretty smart guy, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, yeah. In comparison with the rest of humanity, Willie is among My better
creations. However, he is not as smart as you may think. For example: If Willie
is as smart as you say he is, why did he allow his bad habits of smoking
cigarettes and drinking excessively cost him his otherwise most loving and very
happy marriage? As most fallible humans could use a little more of, Willie needs
more will power! Nonetheless, Willie C. Light is a pretty smart guy, as you
insinuated. He is also a great father to Marilotta. And he has his perspectives
in pretty good order. Especially, I love the way he identifies with and mentally
supports others’ precious personal goals and dreams. Above all, Willie has a
heart as big as a lion’s. And Willie is a great communicator, and he always
motivates and encourages people to become the very best that they can be.
Therefore, I have overlooked his few personal faults and bad habits. When that
time comes, there has already been a spot reserved for Willie C. Light in My
Heavenly Kingdom!”
“Do You know that much about everybody on our planet?” I asked the Lord.
God giggled and responded, “What do you think? I may look like Jessica Simpson,
but I have an infinite mind. Wantsalittle, while you and many other human beings
may be able to walk and chew gum at the same time, I have to keep track of the
personal lives of some 6 billion earthlings, each and every day! Anyway,
Wantsalittle, you can ignore what I said earlier about your having to get a
driver’s license when you get to Mayberry. I will just have to watch out for
you, every step of the way, while you are driving, during the remainder of your
unusual journey into time. Generally, I think that driver’s licenses are too
easy to get. Far too many people drive as though they
bought their driver’s licenses at their local 7-Eleven convenience stores or at
their neighborhood Wal-Mart discount stores.”
“You mean like the guy who just speeded past me in the cherry-red T-bird.”
“Yes, Wantsalittle, that guy is a good example.”
The Lord thought for a few moments, then She continued, “If drivers don’t value
their own safety and lives, they should at least have respect for all others who
they may so profoundly affect by their careless or downright reckless driving
habits. Especially they should have deep concern for the infants and/or children
who may be passengers in their own vehicles or who may be passengers in other
vehicles.”
“I totally agree. God, can You give me some more valuable driving tips?”
“Wantsalittle, after you have concluded your enlightening journey into time,
unless you intend to meet Me again, in person, perhaps way before your ‘time,’
you should always obey posted speed limits. Excessive speed can kill! And never
follow other cars too closely. You should allow at least one car length in
distance between you and the car in front of you for every ten miles per hour of
speed that you are going. In addition, never pass someone when the yellow line
is on your side of the median, and never change lanes, suddenly or otherwise,
without first signaling your intentions. And swerving in and out of traffic,
whether or not you are using your turn signals, can be very dangerous and could
easily result in your causing an accident.”
“Lord, the guy in the Thunderbird was drinking a beer. Is that legal?”
“Absolutely not! Driving under the influence of alcohol, whether or not you are
drinking at the time, is an accident waiting to happen! And ditto to driving
under the influence of either prescription drugs or illegal drugs! More fatal
accidents can be attributed to people who have been driving while under the
influence of alcohol and/or drugs than for any other single cause. Wantsalittle,
even if the guilty party survived after causing an alcohol or drug-related fatal
accident, that individual would be tried and likely found guilty of vehicular
homicide. Not only that, but also what could that guilty person later say to the
family members of the innocent victim or innocent victims of his or her totally
illegal driving behavior and action?”
“God, I simply couldn’t live with myself if I had done something behind the
wheel of a car, or otherwise, that resulted in the serious injury or death of
another human being or others, particularly if one or more of the innocent
victims were infants or children.”
“Wantsalittle, I’m very glad that you feel that way. Just make certain that you
always obey all traffic laws, always focus on the road, and constantly be aware
of the adjacent surroundings while you are driving. And drive defensively at all
times.”
“What do You mean by driving ‘defensively’?”
“Driving defensively amounts to always being on guard as to the possible driving
mistakes of others. I could give you many, many examples of ‘defensive driving.’
Here are a couple of those examples: You approach an intersection with the green
light to proceed in your favor. Another driver, who might be talking on his or
her cell phone, or for whatever reason may not be paying attention to the red
light as he or she approaches the same intersection from either the left or from
the right of you—that preoccupied, careless driver fails to stop for the red
light. If you were driving defensively, and if you noticed that the other driver
was not slowing down to stop for the red light as he or she approached the
intersection, your alertness and peripheral vision possibly could avoid what
might otherwise result in a horrific accident.”
“Lord, I completely understand, and I totally agree with Your first
defensive-driving example. But I have one question: What’s a ‘cell phone’?”
“Wantsalittle, I was afraid that you were going to ask Me that question. Let’s
just say that a cell phone is a convenient, remote, alternative way of talking
to someone by regular phone. You do know about regular telephones, don’t you?”
“Yes, God! Willie taught me how to use a normal telephone while I was visiting
with him in Hollywood.”
“Good! For now, while you’re on your journey into time, that’s really all you
need to know. Cell phones may have been a marvelous contemporary invention, but
they can be extremely hazardous devices while being used in moving vehicles.
People who have been momentarily distracted while both driving and talking at
the same time on their cell phones have caused numerous automobile accidents. If
people are determined to have cell phones with them while they are driving, they
should at least have the common sense to pull off the road, when it is safe and
legal to do so, when using them!”
The Lord paused briefly. Then She said, “Here’s one more example of defensive
driving: You are driving along a two-lane highway with a posted maximum speed of
fifty-five miles per hour, and you are driving at the speed limit, just like you
are doing right now as you head for Mayberry. In your rear-view mirror, you
notice someone who is rapidly coming up from behind you. As you are already
moving at the maximum legal speed, you know that the other person is speeding.
There is a blind curve up ahead, so there is also a yellow stripe on your side
of the median. Of course, the yellow stripe means that it is not legal for you
to pass another vehicle on that section of the highway. You suspect that the
driver behind you, because he or she is speeding, is likely to pass you,
illegally. And you are not at all sure that he or she will be able to get back
in the proper right-hand lane before that driver arrives at the blind curve in
the road, which is just a few hundred yards ahead. If you were driving
defensively, you would slow down when the vehicle was in the process of passing
you. By reducing your speed, the speeding driver would save some valuable time
as he or she passed you. Hopefully, the careless driver would be able to get
back on the right side of the highway before he or she reached the blind curve
in the road, therefore averting a potential, deadly, head-on collision with any
oncoming, unsuspecting, innocent driver and his or her potential innocent
passengers.”
God paused again, just long enough to take a deep breath of air. Then She
continued, “In other words, Wantsalittle, you need to use your best common sense
and your best judgment at all times as you are driving your vehicle. Finally, as
you should know by now, you must also keep your emotions in check when another
driver has done something illegal, even if that individual has put your personal
safety at high risk. Your getting upset and wanting to retaliate in any way
simply compounds the problem at hand. And your feelings and/or actions of ‘road
rage’ will likely add to the already dangerous circumstance at hand.”
“Okay, Lord. I will always do the very best that I can, while driving, to drive
safely, to obey all traffic laws, and to keep my emotions under control.”
“I sincerely hope that you do. Just remember that driving laws are for
everyone’s safety and wellbeing. And remember to pay close attention, stay
focused, and make sure that, while you are behind the wheel of a vehicle, your
driving is your first priority until you get to your intended destination.”
God stopped talking for a few moments to collect Her thoughts. Then She said,
“Wantsalittle, here’s a fresh idea: Be ‘FOR’ SAFE DRIVING AND ACCIDENT-FREE
HIGHWAYS, not ‘against’ careless or drunk drivers. Be ‘FOR’ CLEANER AIR TO
BREATHE, not ‘against’ smokers, cars, and factories that pollute our atmosphere.
Be ‘FOR’ A HEALTHIER, DRUG-FREE WORLD, not ‘against’ people who use or deal
illegal drugs. Be ‘FOR’ EVERYBODY’S RIGHT TO PRIVACY AND PERSONAL HAPPINESS, not
‘against’ paparazzi photographers and autograph hounds. Be ‘FOR’ PERSONAL
AMBITION AND DREAM-SEEKERS, not ‘against’ procrastinators or dream-stealers.”
“I’m not sure that I’m following You, Lord.”
“By being ‘FOR’ instead of ‘against’ things, you can formulate more positive
mental pictures with your affirmative words. Ultimately, clear visual images of
what you WANT, rather than of what you don’t want, will more likely result in
affirmative actions. Consequently, you and all other people will benefit by
enjoying safer, healthier, and more prosperous lifestyles and communities.”
“Do you mean that I should think and speak more affirmatively?”
“Yes, Wantsalittle, that’s precisely what I mean. And as you think with positive
thoughts, and you visualize what it is that you want, rather than visualizing
what you don’t want, you will more likely achieve positive results. Concentrate
on what ‘FOR’ slogans you can form positive images about with respect to:
racism, alcohol abuse, spouse abuse, child neglect and/or abuse, cruelty to
animals, staying in school, gangs, harmful cults, or any types of criminal,
socially unacceptable forms of behavior.”
“God, that’s truly a divine idea!”
“Thank you, Wantsalittle! Well, I had better get going. I’ve got a lot of
personal matters to attend to.”
After talking with God, I pulled the Corvette over to the side of the road. Then
I got on the CB radio and called the sheriff’s office in Mayberry. . . . Someone
answered my call, and I asked, “Is this Deputy Fife?”
“No, this is Gomer.”
“Sir Gomer, my name is Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife. I’m out here on the main
highway, headed toward Mayberry from Raleigh. I’m about forty miles away.
There’s a reckless and possible drunk driver headed in your direction. Will you
tell Sheriff Taylor or Deputy Fife to stop this nut before he kills someone?”
“Shazzam! A killer on the loose and coming to Mayberry. I’ll get Andy and
Barney. We’ll round up a posse! Thanks, Sir . . . whoever you said you are. I’ve
got to go now!”
(The moral of this episode: By being “FOR” instead of “against” things, you can
formulate more positive mental pictures with your affirmative words. Clear
images of what you WANT, rather than of what you don’t want, will more likely
result in affirmative actions!)
Jerusalem, Israel; in the days of David and Goliath . . .
My journey through Mayberry taught me a good lesson about “road rage.” But I was
somewhat disappointed that I didn’t get the opportunity to personally meet
Sheriff Taylor and Deputy Fife. Anyhow, I set the time and place controls on the
time-travel module in the Corvette to Jerusalem, back in the days of David and
Goliath.
I thought that I had made considerable personal progress in my journey thus far.
I believed that I had come a long way toward fashioning a more virtuous,
kinglike character. I was pretty happy with myself, and I really wanted others
to hear about it. I got my wish!
When I arrived in Jerusalem, about a thousand people gathered around me. They
were enchanted with my unusual metal costume. And the strange, metallic-red
object on black rubber tires also blew their minds! All of the villagers were
very curious about me. They imagined that I was from somewhere in outer space.
I thought that I needed a stage of sorts—some place where I could stand above
the crowd and speak with more authority. A black stallion, grazing on some hay, was close by.
I mounted the stallion and faced the hoard of
spectators.
I said, “Gather around here, all of you inquisitive folks. I want to tell you my
story. My name is Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife. Although you haven’t heard of
me, I’m from the Land of Camelot. I’ve traveled throughout the—”
“You’re from Cama-where?” a confused onlooker broke in and asked.
The onlooker’s rude interruption instantly angered me. I grabbed my ax and war
club and held the weapons high over my head. “I’ve never met my match in either
joust or duel!” I screamed, a bragging tone in my voice. “Who dares to step
forward and challenge the meanest, most ferocious knight in the history of the
world . . . and for all times?”
I didn’t see a short, skinny, young lad in the midst of the crowd. He was
holding a sling, and he was ready to fire. The perturbed boy said, “I’m going to
knock this bozo off his high-horse just as I did to Goliath!” With my big
“brown” eyes staring wildly into the crowd, I suddenly took a blow to the side
of the head; a golf-ball-size stone put a quarter-of-an-inch-deep divot in my
hard steel helmet.
Momentarily staggered by the rock, which had been hurled from little David’s
sling, I shook the cobwebs out of my head and said, “I guess that I’ve been a
little ‘full of it’ lately. Lord, where can I find a big piece of humble pie?”
Once again, God made a timely appearance. She said, “There’s a big difference
between having a healthy ego and being egotistical. There’s also a big
difference between being the life of the party and always having to be the last
one to speak. Author Glenn Clark wrote, ‘Until one learns to lose one’s self, he
cannot find himself.’”
“I guess that I got a little carried away with myself, didn’t I?”
“Yes—you did!” God replied.
I said, “It’s just that I’ve enjoyed so much personal success thus far on my
journey into time that—”
The Lord interrupted. She said, “Any worthwhile achievement simply equates with
going one step up the hill from mediocrity. When you reach that point that you
receive ovations, you should feel most modest, because you have just begun to
tap the limitless resources of your true abilities. Continue to think about that
thing within you that is next worthy of being done.”
“Thanks, Lord! Anything else that You’d like to say while we’re on the subject
of ‘humility’?”
“Wantsalittle, as you think with the feeling of humility, your modest character
will be appreciated by others. You will allow yourself to reach the peaks of
still higher mountains. Determine what you can confidently and proudly
accomplish, but still remain humble about.”
“God, thanks again! I’ll catch up with You later.”
Because the town folks didn’t care to listen to any more of my bragging, the
crowd had dispersed. I sat down on a nearby log and propped my chin up with my
right hand. I slowly digested God’s insightful food-for-thought message on the
subject of “humility.”
While I contemplated about my boastful nature, I smelled the pleasant aroma of a
homemade pastry. I scooted back a bit, straddled the log, and pointed my nose in
the direction of the pleasing scent.
A generous white-haired elderly woman walked up to me. She handed me a platter
marked “Granny’s Finest Humble Pie.” As I licked my lips and rubbed my tummy in
anticipation of the timely treat, my previously brownish eyes suddenly turned
big and blue.
I scooped up a healthy-size portion of the humble pie and took a bite. Then I
said, “Yum-yum . . . delicious . . . this really hits the spot! From now on, I
intend to be modest, as a good knight always should be.”
(The moral of this episode: As Glenn Clark wrote, “Until one learns to lose
one’s self, he cannot find himself.”)
Two-stepping My Way Across the Deck of this Boat
Nearly Drowned Me in the “Sea of Love”!
Character-enhancing Lesson: Finding True Romance
Off the coast of the Bahamas; October 11, 1998; 8:30 P.M.
Now that I had been humbled, I opted to search for true romance. I traveled into
the future and landed on the deck of the Sun Princess (Love Boat) in 1998.
Cruise Director Suzanne Zimmerman and Captain Jim Kennedy cordially greeted me
upon my arrival. (Author’s note: Stacey Travis played the part of Cruise
Director Suzanne Zimmerman, and the late Robert Urich played the character of
Captain Jim Kennedy in the TV series Love Boat: The Next Wave, which aired in
1998 and 1999.)
That evening I spruced myself up, rented a black tuxedo jacket, and headed for
the ballroom. After finding an unoccupied table, I sat down and ordered a bottle
of Zapmeister. Then I carefully scanned the spacious room from left to right,
looking for a dance partner.
I spotted a hot prospect. A short, shapely brunette sat all alone, a couple of
tables off to my port side. I got up and smoothed out the lapels on my black tux
jacket, which I had on over my lustrous, silver, metal suit. Then I ran my hand
through my short, light-brown hair and ambled over to her table.
“My fair lady, would you like to dance?”
“Yes, I would! Thanks for asking. You’re certainly a noble-looking gentleman.
Who knows, maybe I’ve finally found my knight in shining armor!”
The ship’s orchestra played the “Theme to the Love Boat.” We danced. She looked
absolutely stunning. Some simple strands of pearls and sexy, look-at-me,
deep-red lipstick highlighted her strapless turquoise party dress.
This presumptuous lady wasn’t bashful. She clamped both of her arms around my
waist, tightly embraced me, and rested her head sideways on my right shoulder.
She pressed against me so hard that I felt her firm bosoms clear through the
thick steel plates of my armored chest. The diamond-studded band on her
left-hand ring finger intermittently scraped the warming metal on my back; each
little rub ignited flashes of light, which were seen by everyone across the
wide, dimly lit ballroom.
I was thoroughly enjoying myself when, from out of nowhere, Danny DeVito (Louie
from Taxi) tapped me on the left shoulder. I turned around. Danny shouted, “Hey,
you, masquerading in the tin tent! Mind if I cut in so that I can dance with my
WIFE?” I hadn’t realized it, but I’d been dancing with Rhea Perlman (Carla from
Cheers and Zena from Taxi), whose real-life husband happened to be Danny DeVito.
With my head down and a huge frown on my face, I meandered off the dance floor.
I said, “Shucks, I thought that there was some ‘spark’ between us. Lord, how can
I lose my lustful mind and find true romance?”
God arrived at the dance. She said, “Wantsalittle, for a minute or so there, you
had yourself into a real-tight position!”
“You ain’t kidding! She should’ve told me that she was married. I guess that I’m
lucky that I got off the dance floor without getting into a fight.”
“You’re right! Danny let you off pretty easy. Fortunately, he’s got a reputation
for being a lover, instead of a fighter. Wantsalittle, do you want to find ‘true
romance’?”
“Well, I think that’s what I want!”
“At some point, I knew that it would get down to this. So I had already prepared
a brief written document, just for such an occasion. At least, I can give you
something to read that may result in your having more insight on this touchy
topic.”
The Lord handed me a sheet of paper and said, “I could speak with you all day on
the subject of ‘true romance,’ but you might learn more if I share with
you what other notable personalities have said in this regard. These
inspirational quotes pretty much cover all of the bases and might serve to
prevent you from striking out with the ladies. Who knows, you might even hit a
‘home run’ with that special someone!”
I read and got a real kick out of the following noteworthy quotes on the subject
of true romance:
Nobody will ever win the Battle of the Sexes. There’s just too much fraternizing
with the enemy. -Henry Kissinger
He felt now that he was not simply close to her, but that he did not know where
he ended and she began. - Pablo Picas
A woman should soften, but not weaken a man. - Sigmund Freud
A man can be happy with any woman as long as he does not love her. - Oscar Wilde
Seek not the favor of women. So shall you find it, indeed. - Rudyard Kipling
I like not only to be loved, but to be told I am loved. - George Eliot
The story of love is not important—what is important is that one is capable of
love. It is perhaps the only glimpse we are permitted of eternity. - Helen Hayes
I was in love with a beautiful blonde once—she drove me to drink—’tis the only
thing I’m indebted to her for. - W.C. Fields
When I finished reading, God said, “Wantsalittle, here are several additional
comments: A relationship between a male and a female can be quite complex in
nature. From a male’s perspective, the generalization would be that a man likes
good sex and close companionship. And a man wants an ideal mother for his
children. The female’s perspective is much the same. A woman also wants good
sex and close companionship. And a woman wants a good father for her children.
But most women tend to be more emotional in their mental makeup than do most
men. Unless a man recognizes a woman’s true needs, emotionally, and unless he is
willing to make a sincere, faithful commitment to his mate, he is not likely to
get beyond ‘first base,’ at least with any woman who has high moral standards
and who is an individual of exceptional character. And a woman must be willing
to make a genuine, faithful commitment to her special man, as well.”
“God, do I have to make a sincere commitment with each and every woman who comes
into my life? And does every prospective mate have to be sincerely committed to
me in return?”
“Wantsalittle, it depends on the individual. For many men and women, making
sincere commitments to long-term relationships can be difficult personal
decisions. For instance, in many cases, women, because they don’t want to feel
‘used’ or ‘violated,’ physically or emotionally, in any way, are reluctant to
commit to intimate relationships before they receive reciprocal true commitments
from their prospective partners.”
“Lord, I’m a little confused. Are You saying that I must always make a serious,
emotional, long-term commitment to any woman with whom I intend to have sexual
relations?”
“Again, Wantsalittle, it depends on the particular individual involved. All that
I’m saying is that your intentions should be honorable, and your personal
motives for any such intimate relationship or affair should at least be
acceptable to your partner, if not also fully understood. In other words, just
for the sake of your sexual urges, or just for the sake of your sexual
self-gratification, you should never do anything to deceive a woman. Try to look
ahead and realize the future implications or consequences of your words and
actions. Your making a false or haphazard relationship commitment could end up
breaking a woman’s heart. What could be worse is that your selfish, ingenuous,
lustful motives also leave your unsuspecting partner with long-term or permanent
emotional scars.”
“Damn, God! I’m now beginning to understand what You said earlier about the idea
that women, on average, are more emotional creatures than are men.”
“Wantsalittle, did you just use My name in vein?”
“Oh, no, Lord! I would never—”
“Okay, Wantsalittle, I guess that you had your words in the right order. But
please try not to refer to members of the human race as ‘creatures.’ And, yes,
you are starting to see the light with respect to most women’s emotional
framework.”
“Yeah, no wonder W.C. Fields once said, ‘I was in love with a beautiful blonde
once—she drove me to drink . . .’”
God laughed, then I asked, “How old should my prospective mate be? I mean, does
my age or my prospective mate’s age really matter?”
“Wantsalittle, as it is with other personal criteria—height, weight, general
physical appearance, etc.—let your heart and your individual tastes be your
guides. So long as you are not violating any of your nation’s or your state’s
laws with regard to minors, it matters not, legally or otherwise, how old your
partner may be or how many years difference there may be between you and your
prospective mate.”
God paused for a couple of seconds, then She continued, “Sometimes, generally
for reasons that have to do with maturity and/or personal experience, either the
man or the woman might prefer to seek a mate who is a few years older, or even
someone who is considerably older. One word of caution: People who differ in age
by a generation or more likely will not have enough common interests, which
could be an obstacle with respect to mutual success or mutual happiness in that
type of relationship.”
Once again, the Lord paused. Then She said, “Overall, however, the age
difference between mates wouldn’t be as much concern for couples as other
factors—things like: mutual physical attraction, mutual challenge, mutual trust,
mutual respect, mutual goals, mutual values, mutual philosophies of life, etc.
By and large, ‘age’ is a state of mind. A person may think and/or act much
younger or older than his or her actual years. Again, Wantsalittle, follow your
heart. Let what is in your heart and what is in your prospective mate’s heart be
the principal guides to building and maintaining any mutually rewarding and
mutually satisfying relationship, short-term or long-term.”
“Lord, all of what You said makes perfect sense. But I have a question: If a
close relationship, regardless of how long the two people have been together,
eventually turns sour, when should both partners agree to call it quits?”
God thought for a moment, then She responded, “If two people are growing apart,
rather than growing together, and if a separation seems imminent after
considerable thought and every realistic effort to reconcile the relationship,
the couple should probably split and go their separate ways. They should do this
for their own sake and for the best long-term interest of any children that may
be affected by the bad marriage or by the bad relationship. And if children are
involved, both partners should swallow some personal pride and try their very
best to maintain or to establish rational, positive, effective channels of
verbal communication, both during and after the breakup, again for the sake of
any or all children concerned. Wantsalittle, generally, a good rule of thumb to
follow is this: A man and a woman should part ways when one partner or the other
accurately realizes that he or she is no longer, nor will ever be again, the top
priority of the other.”
The Lord hesitated for a few seconds before She added, “Wantsalittle, there is
one more very important thing that I would like to say on the subject of
dissolving a bad relationship: There is no such thing as true love or true
romance if ‘abuse’ plays a part in the relationship! If either partner, although
usually the woman, is physically abused, or if there is excessive mental abuse
in the relationship, the victimized individual should immediately seek
professional counseling and act quickly to dissolve his or her relationship! If
an abused partner remains in the abusive relationship, he or she will
increasingly lose self-respect, self-confidence, and self-esteem, making it even
harder for that individual to end the bad relationship. Not only that, but any
loss of self-respect, any loss of self-confidence, and any loss of self-esteem
will also make it harder for that individual to ‘pick up the pieces’ of a broken
relationship and start over in a new relationship.”
“Lord, that’s good advice. It appears to me that I should forego any serious
relationship until that time that I lose all of my more aggressive, sometimes
hostile temperament and socially unacceptable behavior.”
God quickly and emphatically replied, “That is absolutely right! Wantsalittle,
you have come a long ways in a short period of time in softening your sometimes
aggressive and hostile patterns of behavior. But you still have more to learn
and a ways to go before you will make a truly outstanding and loving partner in
a long-term relationship.”
I frowned and said, “While there may be some truth to the old adages of
‘there are plenty of fish in the sea’ and ‘a bus comes along every fifteen
minutes,’ etc., I am getting tired of ‘playing the field’ whereby my intimate
personal relationships are concerned. I will try very hard, starting right now,
to eliminate what aggressive tendencies I may still have and make myself more
suitable to a quality prospective mate.”
“Wantsalittle, just have some patience. You will find that special someone,
probably sooner than you think. First, though, you have to get the rest of your
life in order and with the proper perspectives in your thinking, generally. And
don’t forget about Marilotta Light. I happen to know that she really likes you,
and she aspires to many of your positive character traits, especially your good
sense of humor and your ability to effectively communicate with people,
overall.”
“Yes, Lord. I may be sad and lonely, but I do have some better personal
qualities, already. And thanks to You, I am getting more and more personality
and character with each passing day of my journey into time. As far as that
‘special’ lady in my life—well, we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”
“That’s almost correct. As God, I already know what’s in store for you. But I am
not going to tell you about your future.”
“Yeah, yeah. I didn’t expect that You would. It must be nice being You!”
The Lord just snickered, then She said, “Wantsalittle, here are a couple of last
significant things that I would like to say on the topic of ‘finding true
romance’: First, there’s a big difference between ‘lust’ and ‘love.’ Lust is
self-gratifying, while love is how you seek to gratify others. Second, as a
foundation to any worthwhile, long-term relationship, there must be mutual
honesty, mutual trust, and mutual respect. At the outset, mutual physical
attraction or ‘chemistry,’ as it is commonly called, may be necessary between
prospective partners. But after the lust for each other wears thin, as will
likely happen at some point in time in the vast majority of relationships, it
will require common interests together with mutual honesty, mutual trust, mutual
respect, and mutual sense of humor to maintain or to strengthen the loving bond
between intimate mates.”
“God, You haven’t mentioned the factor of ‘mental challenge’ between prospective
partners. From my personal experiences, I have found that if I cannot mentally
challenge a woman, her personal interest in me fades fairly quickly. And if a
woman does not challenge me, early on in the relationship, I seem to lose
interest in her, as well.”
“You’re making a great point, Wantsalittle. I must be getting a little rusty in
My old age. Or maybe it’s been too long since I’ve been on a date or had a
meaningful relationship.”
The Lord and I both chuckled, then I said, “God, I have a compliment for you:
You don’t look very old to me.”
“Thanks, Wantsalittle! But if I weren’t standing here appearing to be Jessica
Simpson, who is about twenty-six years of age, just a year or so older than you,
you would think that I was older than dirt. And, unfortunately for Me, I am
older than dirt. As a matter of fact, I am older than everything. No wonder I
can’t get a date!”
The Lord and I both laughed. Then She got back to the topic at hand and said,
“Indeed, especially in the beginning stages of a relationship, mutual mental
challenge will generally bring prospective mates closer together. No two people
are exactly alike, character-wise, or in their personal demeanor, or in their
personal interests, etc. The differences between people make their personal
relationships more interesting and more mentally challenging. As long as there
exists enough common personality traits, enough common personal values, and
enough common personal interests, both prospective partners will likely form a
close bond with each other as they strive to overcome some of the minor or
trivial obstacles in their relationships. Anyway, you’re right on target when
you inferred that ‘mental challenge’ is a prerequisite and/or an intermittent
instrumental factor to just about any developing and more meaningful
relationship.”
“God, what about the notion that ‘a woman scorned is a woman possessed’? It
appears to me that there’s truth to the old saying that ‘nice guys finish last.’
And it seems to me that the vast majority of women don’t really respond to their
prospective mates or that most women aren’t really all that emotionally
attracted to their possible partners until the man says or does something that
really pisses the woman off.”
“Wantsalittle, watch your language! Dammit! I am your God for Christ’s sake! You
are not really talking to Jessica Simpson!”
“I’m very sorry, Lord! Please forgive me. But why is it okay for You to get
pissed and curse and not me?”
“Okay, Wantsalittle, you’re absolutely right! I’m sorry, too. Now, where were
we? Oh, I remember. We were talking about ‘a woman scorned is a woman
possessed.’ There may be any one or more of a multitude of factors involved,
depending on the two specific individuals concerned. For instance, as two people
are getting to know each other, over some period of time, one partner or the
other may lose interest with the other. The man, for example, may simply ignore
the woman or even want to dissolve the relationship. The man’s sudden disregard,
if the woman feels shunned by his actions, or should I say ‘non-actions’—anyway,
the woman’s confused or frustrated state of mind, or perhaps her attitude of
contempt or disdain or rejection, will likely break her self-preoccupation and
get her undivided, full attention, particularly if she really likes the guy and
is simply perplexed by his scorning her. At that point, the scorned woman will
likely become sharply focused on the man and do everything in her power to
recapture his interest and attention. In effect, she becomes ‘mentally
challenged’ from the circumstance or from the set of circumstances that resulted
in her being rejected or scorned. Again, no two people are exactly alike. And
people are not perfect beings. The differences between prospective partners and
their individual imperfections generally make for numerous mentally challenging
moments in their possibly emerging and growing relationships.”
The Lord briefly thought for a moment before She said, “Wantsalittle, as you
think with feelings of love in your heart, you will eventually find true
romance!” Then, as if God had instantly jumped overboard, or as if She had
quickly abandoned the ship, She suddenly disappeared before I could thank Her
for all of the valuable tips.
Both embarrassed and disappointed from my slow dance with a married woman, I
left the ballroom. I walked out on the open deck of the Sun Princess. I just
wanted to get a breath of fresh air. Then I noticed a petite young lady. She was
sitting, just off to the left of where I was standing, at a little pedestal
table, playing a game of solitaire by candlelight.
I must’ve startled the attractive young woman. When she saw me, she sprang up
and out of her chair and accidentally knocked over the already unstable table. Her
crystal champagne glass shattered when it hit the deck. Playing cards flew
everywhere.
The shorthair blonde, dressed in a low-cut, crimson-red, satin, evening gown,
was most alluring. When she bent down to pick up the pieces of broken glass, I
offered my assistance. Trying my best to be a perfect gentleman, I said,
“Please, my lady, allow me to help you!” But as I took a couple of steps
forward, I heard crunching sounds under my recently shined steel boots.
“Hey, you idiot, you’re tramping across some bigger chunks of glass! Now, I
won’t be able to clean this mess up without a broom.”
“I’m very sorry! I was simply trying to help. Can I get you another drink, my
lady?”
“No, no! . . . I’m sorry that I snapped at you. I’ve had a lousy day. I had no
right to—”
I broke in before she could finish, “No apology is necessary. What’s your name?”
“Ellen DeGeneres. And yours?”
“My name is Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife. You can call me Wantsalittle. It’s a
beautiful evening, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose that it is,&3148; she said. “You have a most unique name. Is that
your real name, or did you just make it up?”
“That is my real name. Actually, my birth name was Wantsalittle Morenooky, but I
changed my last name when I was a young boy for obvious reasons.”
Ellen laughed and said, “I don’t know, as yet, whether or not that you’re being
honest with me. I think that you might just be feeding me what you think to be a
clever ‘opening line’! To be honest, it really doesn’t matter to me, anyway. Sir
Wantsalittle Morefromlife or Morenooky or whoever you really are, look at that
gorgeous harvest moon coming up over the horizon!”
“Indeed, it’s quite a sight!” I exclaimed. In truth, I had “gorgeous” on my mind
and something in my “sights,” but it had nothing to do with my thoughts or
observations about the moon!
Ellen looked as pretty as a playmate. With her splendid, well-proportioned body,
curvy in all of the right places, and those bright-blue eyes, she simply took my
breath away.
We both strolled, back and forth, across that small section of the top deck on
the huge, approximately two-hundred-yards-long ship. We sidestepped our way
between tiny pieces of glass and the well-spread-out assortment of playing
cards, which had, by that time, blown across the floor in the stiff, warm,
autumn breeze.
As we stood, side by side, near the bow of the boat, I put a hand gently under
Lady Ellen’s elbow. The thin-figured blonde didn’t comment. She simply glanced
at me, then turned her head back toward the bright full moon. I noticed, but
chose to ignore, the perplexed expression that had just replaced her adorable
smile.
We leaned over the ship’s outer rail and gazed out at the full moon’s big round
orange face, which brilliantly and luminously reflected off the surface of the
calm, dark-blue sea below. It was truly a romantic setting. We could hear the
band inside. They were playing a slow song called “Sea of Love.”
As I admired the view, which included my seeing Ellen’s shapely silhouette
against the bright moonshine, I said, “I’ve always dreamed of dancing in the
light of the moon. May I have this dance?”
“Yes, Wantsalittle, but I’d better tell you something before we do that. I’m
ga—”
As I felt both amorous and optimistic, I put my right hand up, quickly, and
gently covered Ellen’s mouth, stopping her in mid-sentence. Then I whispered in
her ear, “There’ll be plenty of time for more conversation, later.”
As we danced, I stared, for several seconds, directly into Ellen’s radiant,
glowing eyes. Then I slowly lowered my chin onto her bare shoulder. After a few
moments, I turned my head toward hers. I saw that Ellen’s narrow, glossy,
ruby-red lips were parted—what I believed to be an inviting look of romantic
expectancy.
I said to myself, “I think that I’m hopelessly in love. I wonder if Lady Ellen
is already betrothed?”
I had a reputation for being light on my feet on the dance floor. But I
should’ve looked down. At that point in time, my heavy left boot landed solidly
in the center of the “seven of hearts”!
Willie had told me that “seven” was a lucky number. But as my bad luck would
have it, I found out that Lady Ellen was gay. She told me about it moments
later, when I leaned over to offer her the first of (what I had hoped to be) a
series of sweet, juicy, delicious kisses. Shortly after Ellen broke my
love-starved heart, I said to myself, “Two-stepping my way across the deck of
this boat nearly drowned me in the ‘Sea of Love’!”
(The moral of this episode: True love or romance is largely how you seek to
gratify others!)
Character-enhancing Lesson: Giving Yourself a Pat on the Back
Nashville, Tennessee; August 25, 1998 . . .
Until near the end of my journey, when my love hormones would once again
stimulate my behavior, I gave up on trying to find true romance. I decided to go
back in time a couple of months, from October to August. I visited Nashville,
Tennessee, in the summer of 1998.
In need of some pocket money, I picked up a Nashville newspaper and searched
through the “Classifieds” for a temporary job. One ad read “Help Wanted: Someone
to watch Toby, my two-year-old son, and Tramp, my beloved black Labrador, while
I am at work.”
I got the baby/pet-sitting job. The first day, after the lady left for work, I
escorted the little boy and his dog to the neighborhood park. It was around two
o’clock in the afternoon on a hot, muggy day. The sun was bright; there wasn’t a
cloud in the sky.
I unfolded a reclining lawn chair and tied Tramp, the pet Lab, to one end of a
ten-foot-long leash. I tied the other end of the frail rope to the back-right
leg of my lounge chair. Then I told little Toby to go play on his choice of the
slide, the swing, or the jungle-jim apparatus, all of which were just a few
yards away.
With the dog and the kid now out of my way, I opened an ice chest, which I had
brought along, and I grabbed a bottle of Zapmeister. Then I turned on my boom
box, put on a black headset over the ear holes in my helmet, and comfortably
stretched out.
My war club and ax were close at hand. I thought that everything was under
control. I lit up a Tomarlbury, took a swig of beer, and closed my eyes. Next I
sang along to the lyrics of an old country tune (written by Mac Davis), which
was playing on the radio. “Oh Lord, it’s hard to be humble when you’re perfect
in every way . . .”
Preoccupied with my listening to the radio and singing, I had failed to observe
a few things that had just gone on all around me. For one thing, the toddler,
Toby, had wandered down by a creek that bordered one end of the park. I hadn’t
heard Toby, but the little boy had said, “My sitter’s back is turned. Maybe I’ll
go for a swim!”
The dog, Tramp, had broke the rope. “I think that I’ll go for a stroll in the
street!” Tramp had said.
Furthermore, the music had been blaring so loud, through my headset, that the
noise had rendered me incoherent. I hadn’t heard a lady, about thirty feet
behind me, who had been screaming at the top of her lungs. She had been
strolling through the park. A man had tried to grab her purse. While the lady
had struggled with the burly male purse-snatcher, she had cried out, “Help!
Help! This man is trying to rob me!”
When the song finally ended, I leaned forward and took off my headphones. I
looked around. Toby was playing in the creek; he was wading in water up to his
neck. In two other directions, I noticed Tramp dodging cars on the busy street.
And I saw a damsel in distress.
I said to myself, “I think that I’m hopeless. I feel as if I’m losing ground to
every noble trait that I’ve gained so far during my journey. Should I just give
up my quest and go back to Camelot? When will I ‘see the light’? Lord, who will
save me from myself?”
Thoroughly dejected and mentally depressed, I eagerly waited for God to appear.
As if She were Wonder Woman, God came to my rescue. She said, “Wantsalittle, I’m
glad to see that you finally came to your senses! Really, you’re doing all
right, for the most part. It’s okay to be a little cocky at times. But remember
that there will always be something new for you to learn.”
“I need to pay more attention to what’s going on, especially when the welfare
and wellbeing of others are at stake!” I exclaimed.
The Lord said, “Yes, of course, you’re right. In this case, though, I think that
you just had a temporary mental lapse. I know that you would never be
intentionally neglectful whereby children and animals are concerned.”
“No, Lord, I would never purposely do anything that would put a child or an
animal in harm’s way.”
“Wantsalittle, while we’re talking about ‘child/animal neglect,’ I want to make
something perfectly clear: My biggest pet peeves with the human race are those
non-actions, speaking of child neglect or animal neglect, or those hostile
actions, speaking of spouse abuse or child abuse or animal abuse, that occur at
any time and at any place, worldwide. After life on earth, no person is likely
to enter My heavenly kingdom who has ever been purposefully neglectful of any
child or animal! And no individual will likely enter My pearly gates who has
ever been abusive, physically, to any spouse or child or animal! As far as
mental abuse goes, it would depend on the perpetrator, the circumstance or the
set of circumstances, the severity of the mental abuse, and the duration of the
harmful communications.”
“God, you just spewed a pretty full mouthful. Do You mean that in the case of
one of my own children, if I ever have any children, that I could not
occasionally spank the child or ever lay a hand on the youngster?”
“Wantsalittle, you had better not leave any marks or bruises on the child in the
process! Most parents know right from wrong with respect to proper and effective
punishment for their child or for their children. It should be tolerable for
either parent to harshly discipline a child, including his or her giving that
child a spanking at deserving times, but not to the degree that the child would
have any visible scars or any long-lasting marks or any long-term negative
effects, physical or emotional, from the inflicted physical punishment. Many
nations and states have enacted laws on this subject. Parents must adhere to the
laws of that nation or state of which they are citizens.”
“Lord, a minute or so ago, You were speaking of ‘neglect.’ In view of the
current circumstances, with Toby wading in the creek, Tramp running loose on or
near the street, and the woman fighting off the purse-snatcher, shouldn’t You
and/or I be tending to these problems, right now?”
“I respect your concern for the immediate safety of all those concerned,
Wantsalittle. But your God is able to talk and know what is going on, throughout
the universe, at the same time. Trust me, your God will not let anything bad
happen to Toby or Tramp or the damsel in distress while I am in each of their
presence. We still have time to continue with our most important conversation.
That is, we will have the time if you quit interrupting Me!”
“Sorry, Lord. I should’ve known that You would have everything under control.
What about animal abuse? Can you give me some examples of how some people are
abusive to dogs and cats, for instance?”
“Those are very good questions. With domestic, but also dependent animals, pet
owners need to use good common sense. For example, you should not have tied Toby
up with a frayed rope. With dogs and cats, it is absolutely necessary that their
masters always make sure that their pets have fresh, clean water available to
drink at all times. And dogs and cats, as with other domestic animals, should
always be fed, but not overfed, on a daily basis. A dog’s diet or a cat’s diet
should consist of healthy dog or cat food, not of scraps left over from people’s
meals. Many foods that are safe for human consumption are not healthy for pets
and can be gradually or quickly lethal to animals. Chocolate is one primary
example. Dogs and cats should never be given any cookies or candy or ice cream
or anything else that contains chocolate.”
The Lord paused for a moment, then She continued, “In today’s world, there are
too many streets and too many vehicles. People need to be extremely careful with
potential hazards for their beloved family pets. Dogs should be kept in the
house or allotted a fenced yard or a fenced pen when they are outdoors. For
people who live in apartments without yards, they should always walk their dogs,
regularly, with proper collars and leashes.”
“Should pet owners ever spank their dogs or cats?”
“As with children, dogs or cats should not sustain any physical scars or marks
or bear any long-term emotional scars as a result of their being disciplined or
mishandled. Again, any human being who, with intent, inflicts serious injury to
any domestic animal—dog, cat, or other helpless pet—that individual will likely
not be welcome in his or her God’s heaven!”
“Lord, is there anything else that I should be aware of with respect to animal
abuse?”
“Yes, Wantsalittle, there is one other most important precaution that pet owners
should take with regard to their dogs’ or cats’ safety and wellbeing: Many
animals, especially dogs, love to ride in vehicles. Unfortunately, too many
human beings are naïve or downright ignorant when it comes to leaving their pets
in otherwise unoccupied vehicles. It is imperative that a dog or dogs never be
left in a vehicle unless the windows are down far enough to allow for ample
fresh air and ventilation. On a sunny day, even when the outside temperature may
be as cold as ten degrees, the sun will magnify through closed windows in a
vehicle and cause the temperature inside the vehicle to quickly rise upwards of
a hundred degrees or more. Animals simply cannot withstand the hot air
temperatures resulting from being left in unventilated vehicles, even for short
periods of time. Severe brain damage or death may occur under such
circumstances. People should either leave their pets at home or they should
always adequately ventilate their vehicles when they go shopping or into a
restaurant, etc. while their pets are left in unattended vehicles. More animal
abuse occurs from this type of circumstance than from all other types of animal
abuse combined!”
“God, those are some great tips and reminders that all pet owners should abide
by. Beginning now, I will be extremely careful and cautious where both children
and animals are concerned.”
“Wantsalittle, as I said earlier, you are doing all right. You are becoming more
and more enlightened with each passing day during your journey into time. Many
times, people are reluctant or refuse to give themselves due credit for their
more worthwhile accomplishments. Some achievers are perfectionists at heart.
They’re really never satisfied with their efforts, regardless of the recognition
and compliments that they may receive from others.”
“I understand, but sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever ‘see the light’!”
“Wantsalittle, you’re on the right track. Give yourself some credit for just how
far you’ve come so far. Try to be patient. One of these days, you’ll be
pleasantly surprised at yourself.”
The Lord paused, momentarily, and looked out over the park. I think that She
just wanted to be sure that the kid and the dog and the woman didn’t need any
immediate assistance.
Then God said, “If you want to be a perfectionist, that’s fine. For many people,
that’s probably the driving force that enables them to be so masterful at their
work in the first place. Nevertheless, you may be able to live a happier, more
self-fulfilling life if you remember this: Nobody is perfect. It’s what you do
that truly inspires greatness in others that counts most. Therefore, try not to
be overly self-critical. Allow yourself some slack in the rope of perfection.
Think about what you’ve done that has resulted in other people being: thoroughly
pleased, entertained, amused, educated, recognized, better prepared, more
self-confident, or more successful.”
The Lord paused to think, for a couple of seconds. Then She concluded, “One word
of caution: Wantsalittle, don’t go overboard with self-praise. Give yourself
credit when you think that you deserve it, but retain your fine reputation of
modesty. As you think with occasional thoughts of self-praise, you will
recognize your contributions to humanity and feel better about those times that
you may have inspired greatness in others.”
“Thanks, God! I’ll try to focus on what I can do next—some positive action that
might deserve my self-praise.”
After the Lord disappeared into thin air, I exclaimed to myself, “DAMN IT! I’m
NOT going to give up on myself! I’ll do whatever it takes to feel and act like a
king! In fact, it looks as though there’s something that I can do, right now!”
First, I rescued Tramp from roaming around in the traffic. Then, I put Toby in
his playpen. Finally, I picked up my war club and ax and headed toward the woman
who was being robbed. The thief turned in my direction. As I approached him, he
saw the rage in my eyes. He suddenly let loose of his grip on the lady’s purse
straps and ran in the other direction.
“Stop, you scoundrel!” I hollered. “I’ve awakened to my neglectful nature. Now,
I’m going to correct the error in your evil ways!” Handicapped by my clumsy,
cumbersome suit of armor, I couldn’t catch the unidentified man. He easily
escaped. I guess that nobody else in the vicinity realized what was happening.
Anyway, not a soul offered to help me in the chase.
The woman in jeopardy turned out to be country singer and actress Dolly Parton.
I didn’t know who she was until my conversation with her later. She wasn’t
injured in her battle to save her bag, but she was a little upset, naturally, over the frightening experience.
A couple of minutes elapsed before I returned to the spot where Dolly had nearly
been held up. During that time, she had picked up some of her personal
belongings off the grass—items that had been shaken out of her purse as a result
of the skirmish. And she had collected herself as quickly as she could in the
aftermath of her fight with the thief.
As I trotted up to Dolly, she was tucking her white blouse back into her
tight-fitting blue jeans and rearranging her long, thick, light-blonde hair. Then
Dolly took a couple of deep breaths; her lungs expanded as she inhaled some
fresh, clean, Tennessee air. After the trying experience, she made an effort to
calm herself down.
Before I spoke to Dolly, I stood face to face with her. I puffed and I panted,
like a dog in heat. I puffed and I panted from my recently smoking too many
Tomarlburys and from my gasping for air, not because I was overly ‘heated’ about
being in the presence of the breath-taking, busty Ms. Parton. At least that’s
why I thought that I had puffed and panted. . . ? Suddenly, the entire affair
had turned into a “trying experience” for me, too!
“Praise the Lord!” Dolly exclaimed. “Thank ya for comin’ to my rescue. Ya should
give yerself a big pat on the back. Before ya do, though, ya might want to put
down that club with the long sharp spikes! . . . What’s yer name, mister?”
“You’re welcome, my fair lady. My name is Wantsalittle.”
“What did you just say, young man?” Dolly asked, with a surprised look on her
face.
Just as Dolly started to raise her open right hand, probably about to slap me, I
exclaimed, “Hold on there a second! Please allow me the chance to tell you my
full name. It’s Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife.”
Dolly quickly lowered her hand and said, “Well, okay. That explains it. For a
minute, there, I thought that I was gonna have to smack you for what I thought
to be a most insulting remark on your part.”
I said, “Thank God that I came to my senses in the nick of time. Say, you look
very familiar. Do you sing country songs?”
“Yes, I do. My name’s Dolly Parton. Would ya like a couple of tickets to my next
performance at the Grand Ole Opry here in Nashville?”
“Wow! Thanks very much!”
“It’s the least that I can do after what you’ve just done for me. I’ll be
forever grateful to ya, Mr.—I mean—Sir Wantsalittle.” Dolly giggled, briefly,
and concluded, “I’d better be goin’ now. I’ve got a busy schedule. Thanks
again!”
“Nice to meet you, Lady Dolly,” I said. When the lively, well-endowed, blonde
beauty rapidly walked away, I couldn’t help noticing that she had a considerable
“bounce” in her step!
(The moral of this episode: What you do that truly inspires greatness in others
counts the most. And when you think that you deserve it, give yourself a good
pat on the back!)
Three Charming Knight Angels
Who Helped Me “See the Light”
Character-enhancing Lesson: Sensitivity
Still in Nashville, Tennessee; August 25, 1998 . . .
After I saved Dolly Parton from her assailant, I took Toby and Tramp back to
their family. I came to the conclusion that baby-sitting wasn’t really my cup of
tea. The rest of that day, I stretched out on my king-size bed in my motel room
in Nashville. I just wanted to take it easy for a few hours and rest up before
continuing my journey.
My eyes were focused on the “tube” most of the afternoon. Oprah Winfrey
conducted a sensational, heart-warming interview with Christopher Reeve (star
actor in all of the Superman movies). Then I enjoyed a couple of
reruns—hilarious episodes of Coach and Cheers. After dinner, I watched Prime
Time Live and a special edition of 20/20.
New York City; February 13, 1999 . . .
The next day, I felt like taking my first ride on a subway. I programmed the
time-travel module in the Corvette to New York City on February 13, 1999. I hit
the Go button and energized in a parking space along 52nd Street, somewhere in
the middle of the Big Apple.
A sign posted on the curb read “Subway Entrance.” I rambled down the steps and
waited, along with a large group of others, for the next train.
At five o’clock on that Friday afternoon, the subway made its scheduled stop.
Several passengers departed the crowded car. I stepped aboard and briefly
stopped to look around. I shouldn’t have hesitated. I got mauled and nearly
trampled by some people behind me, who had rushed to get on the train. A few of
them rudely shoved and pushed me out of their way; others darted past me.
Everybody scrambled to find vacant seats.
I dashed down the aisle and plunked myself down, full suit of armor and all, on
an open bench seat. The bench, which was wide enough for two people, was the
last available sitting space in the car. I placed my war club and ax on the
unoccupied spot beside me and sat back and closed my eyes.
Within five minutes, I had relaxed to the point that I dozed off. Then I had the
following strange, but vivid and life-enhancing dream:
I dreamt that, at the next stop, a couple of stately, dignified-looking women
boarded the train. Both of them had their hands full of packages. One of the
attractive ladies, an Afro-American, had fairly short, curly, dark hair and
appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties. She struggled to hold on
to her stack of eight or nine various-size boxes and bags.
When the subway resumed and swiftly accelerated, the dark-skinned lady tried her
best to keep the unmanageable packages balanced. Somehow, much like an acrobat,
she succeeded, juggling the parcels with both hands.
A good-looking woman with short, sassy, blonde hair had been sitting across the
aisle from me. Her bright-red and white pinstripe dress shirt, solid-red
double-breasted blazer, matching skirt, and two-toned pumps flattered her
fabulous figure.
Immediately, the blonde recognized the women who had just got on the train. She
hollered out, “Oprah! Barbara! Over here!”
The two new female passengers waved at the woman and rushed right over. When
they both approached, the blonde asked, “Oprah, what brings you to New York?”
Oprah replied, “I’m visiting here for a few days. I needed to get away from
Chicago—you know, the ‘show’ and everything. I’m staying with Barbara. We’ve
been out on a wild shopping spree all afternoon. Look at all of these packages.
You’d think that we were doing some last-minute Christmas shopping!”
“I just love that dark-gray pantsuit, Oprah. Is that the new tuxedo style?” the
blonde asked.
“Yes, thanks! I think that it really brings out the best in me!”
“And, Barbara, how are you?” the blonde inquired.
“Terrific! But we’ve had a long, exhausting day. It’ll be good to get home. I
just want to kick off my shoes and relax for the rest of the evening. Oprah
promised to fix our dinner. I’m really looking forward to it. I’m starved!”
The blonde tried to get my attention. She leaned toward me. In a raised, but
tactful tone of voice, she said, “Excuse me! I’m Diane Sawyer, co-anchor of
Prime Time Live. Those women standing there in front of you, carrying those
heavy packages, are Oprah Winfrey and Barbara Walters. Wouldn’t it be polite for
you to offer them your double-wide seat?”
“Yes, I’m sorry! Why didn’t I think of that? Please give me a minute to gather
up my weapons and to collect my thoughts.”
Then I turned away from all three ladies and whispered, “Lord, am I that
insensitive?”
When God appeared, She stood in the aisle, right between Lady Diane and me. The
Lord winked at me and reached out with Her right hand, softly patting me on my
left shoulder. She said, “Wantsalittle, today’s your lucky day. Here are three
charming knight angels who are going to help you ‘see the light’! Would you look
at that lady dressed in the ivory blouse and dark-brown pleated pants?”
I turned my head toward Barbara. “You mean the lady with the tan cardigan?”
“Yes, Barbara and her friends have always been among my favorite television
personalities. If everyone on the planet was more like these three admirable
women, it would be a more peaceful, wonderful world.”
“I’m a little ashamed of myself right now, Lord.”
“I know that you are. That’s why I’m here. I want to speak with you about
‘sensitivity.’ You must remember that it’s never too late to learn!”
The Lord hesitated for a moment and then She said, “Wantsalittle, sensitivity
reflects common courtesy. Try to keep your eyes wide open to those around you.
John Cowper Powys wrote, ‘It is incredible what a difference it makes to one’s
feelings toward the whole human race when one is treated with politeness and
kindness in buses, trains, subways, ferries, stores, shops, and streets.’
Carefully listen to what people have to say. Become more aware of others in your
midst. Respond to their needs and interests, accordingly.”
“God, sometimes my ‘light’ is on, but nobody’s home. I’ve got to start caring
more about others’ feelings.”
“That’s a good idea. Go out of your way to give people their due notice and
attention. Also, give them their due respect and accolades when they have earned
various forms of personal recognition. You’ll always be in the wrong if you’re
rude or discourteous. Make it a habit to be polite, mannerly, and kind to
people. Above all, learn to be tactful at all times. Put into practice the wise
words of Lord Chesterfield, who said, ‘Polished brass will pass upon more people
than rough gold.’”
“I try to be polite and courteous, at least most of the time.”
“People are seldom as sensitive as they might think or as they ought to be. As
you think with feelings of sensitivity, you will find it easier to earn others’
respect. You will also improve your ability to deal with people. Wantsalittle,
please think about how you can become more conscious and responsive to other
people’s needs.”
“Lord, I’ll try my best to be more sensitive of others’ feelings and needs.
Thanks again!”
“You’re most welcome! I’ll talk to you later.”
After picking up my war club and ax, I got up and acknowledged Oprah and
Barbara. “Would you fair ladies like to sit down?”
“Yes, thank you so much!” Oprah graciously replied. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Wantsalittle . . . Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife. I’m just vacationing in New
York. I’m from the Land of Camelot. I arrived here by way of a borrowed time
machine.”
All three women reacted as if they were totally surprised and caught off guard.
Immediately, Oprah and Barbara threw up their hands. Cartons and sacks sailed in
all directions. One of Oprah’s larger parcels—a gift-wrapped package with
royal-blue paper, a yellow silk ribbon, and a big shiny white bow—landed on my
right steel toe.
With a bewildered look in her wide-open, dark-brown eyes, Oprah shouted, “You’re
who . . . from where?”
Meanwhile, Barbara had pulled out her cell phone. After a few seconds, she spoke
to the man who answered, “Hugh (Hugh Downs), I think that I found a rare,
up-beat story of significant public interest!”
Diane made a call, as well. She said, “Sam (Sam Donaldson)! You’re not going to
believe this!”
As the train came to a quick stop, I woke up and realized that I had just been
dreaming. After I thought about it for a minute, some of my dream didn’t make
good common sense. I doubted that media personalities would have to take the
subway to get around, even in busy, downtown New York City. At any rate, I got
off at that stop and caught another subway train back to where I’d parked the
car.
(The moral of this episode: Go out of your way to give people their due notice
and attention. Always be sensitive to others’ interests and needs!)
I journeyed to Miami, Florida in June of 1996. I loved hockey, and I wanted to
be in attendance for the fourth game of the Stanley Cup finals, as the Florida
Panthers hosted the Colorado Avalanche at Miami Arena.
Thus far, it had been an exciting series. The slightly favored Colorado team was
ahead three games to none in the best-of-seven finals competition, but the final
scores had been close. The two youthful teams, both aspiring to win their first
Stanley Cup, matched up well with each other. However, Marc Crawford, the head
coach of the Avalanche, was apprehensive about the fourth game because his
back-up goaltender Craig Billington was not suited up. He was at home in bed. He
had a bad case of the flu.
Crawford hoped that Patrick Roy (pronounced W-a-h), the team’s veteran All-star
goalie, could finish the series without injury. Up to that point, Roy had been
fabulous in both the regular season and the playoffs.
I had a front-row seat right behind the Colorado bench. I really enjoyed the
hard checking and the great defensive play, by both teams, as they skated to a
scoreless tie after three periods of regulation time and two periods of
overtime.
Patrick Roy, my favorite player, had been spectacular in goal. He turned back
over sixty of Florida’s shots on goal during the game. It was as if the
Panthers’ players had tried to shoot into a net the size of a hockey puck. Roy
routinely blocked one hard slap shot after another.
The contest was still scoreless with less than a minute played in the third
overtime. Then the unthinkable happened to Marc Crawford and his hopeful
Avalanche team. Roy bumped his left skate against the right post on the net as
he was making yet another great save. The stalwart goaltender stubbed the big
toe on his left foot.
In field sports, such an injury is called “turf toe.” In hockey, it must be
called “ice toe.” Whatever it’s called, Roy couldn’t walk, let alone continue to
dance in front of the net. He was finished for the evening.
Without an experienced backup goaltender, it appeared as though the “Avs” were
destined to surrender a goal and lose the fourth game. Crawford was frantic. He
turned to the crowd and saw me watching the action from behind the Colorado
bench. I heard him say to a couple of his players, “Anybody who has the nerve to
attend a sporting event dressed in a suit of armor—either that individual isn’t
playing with a full deck or he’s got to be one-hell-of-a tough competitor.”
The desperate coach had few options. “Hey there, Sir . . . whoever you are!
We’ve got an extra jersey, #13. Do you think that you could stand out there in
front of our net and knock down that little puck every time it comes your way?”
“No problem! I’m on my way,” I said.
I put the colorful burgundy-and-white-and-blue Avalanche road uniform on over my
full-armored suit. Then I pulled down the visor on my helmet and borrowed a
hockey stick. There wasn’t an extra pair of skates, so I slid out on the ice in
my steel boots. The game continued in front of some 16,000 restless and
wondering Panthers’ fans.
About fifteen seconds later, following a pace-off in the Colorado zone,
Florida’s right-winger Ray Sheppard broke into the open and took the puck
straight in on me from the far right side of the rink. I calmly and
strategically scooted out a few feet from the net, shrewdly shrinking the angle
on his pending shot.
Sheppard faked a shot and skated a little to his left. He wanted to position
himself directly in front of the net. But I didn’t bite on Sheppard’s fake.
Instead I slid to my right and patiently waited for the skater’s next move.
The Panthers’ star player ran out of space to maneuver. Sheppard elected to wind
up and uncoil his best slap shot. When he did, the coal-black hockey puck flew
directly toward my head and at a speed in excess of a hundred miles per hour.
The rock-hard puck smacked me on the side of my metal visor and deflected off
the
A native of Colorado, John M. Bartosh graduated from
Golden High School in Golden, Colorado in 1965. Then he attended Mesa Junior
College in Grand Junction and received an Associates Degree before he
transferred to Colorado State University in Fort Collins. John later completed
his schooling at Metro State College in Denver, where he received a B.A. degree
in Psychology in 1971. With respect to more than his formal education, John
said, “More important, as so many others who have made their fair share of
mistakes in life, I also graduated with honors from the ‘school of hard
knocks.’”