Licensed to teach English and History in the state of Virginia. Full time #housespouse. I'm just trying to live a happy life. I read, I run, I write, and I do other goofy stuff.
There have been many key men in my life. Men that have been there for years and decades. As it happens when you get older, many have died. Aside from my father and my grandfathers, most of these men were uncles. When I look back at my 40+ years of life, there are very few men from outside my family that have been there for more than a few years.
Pat Pelletier was one of them.
For over 30 years Pat was my barber. And my father's barber. And, more recently, he's been my son's barber. He was always there for me. Through tough moments in my life, and his, he was ready to stand behind me to give me a new look for the month. To make me feel better about myself.
I don't remember when I first met Pat but I can remember what likely drove us to him. When my dad and I moved to King George in 1980, we found a barber. I distinctly remember him cutting my hair. More specifically, I distinctly remember him rubbing his penis on my arm as he moved around the barber chair. My arm. Sitting on the arm rest. I remember where it happened but don't remember who it was. Just a faceless man cutting my hair while rubbing himself on me. I pass by the shop every day and, after 30 years, have days where I don't think about the assault.
I don't know if I ever told my father about the incident but I do remember, in some form or fashion, telling him I didn't like going there. So we found Pat cutting hair in Fredericksburg. He was across the street from the 2400 diner, on the corner of Princess Anne and Germania Streets, and it was a routine of going there for a haircut. Back then, Larry Lancaster, Pat, and a third barber would cut hair.
This was where I was introduced to the subtle routines of barbershops. Or at least I would have been if I paid attention. As I grew older, I realized there was a very precise, yet unwritten, ebb and flow to the routine. As the new arrival, you found an open seat and waited your turn. You had to take note of who else was sitting in the chairs waiting because there was no order to the seats, no deli counter tickets announcing which person was next. You just had to know. But if you goofed, or didn't pay attention, Pat would remember.
Pat would also remember your name. Most of the time. And he'd remember your haircut. All of the time. And as I got older, he'd remember when he last saw your father and tell you that he came in for a haircut the week before. But Pat was always there, ready to talk or listen or stay silent. He was adept enough to know what you were in the mood for and could adjust his socialization style just as quickly as he could adjust the clippers.
As a small boy, I wasn't given much choice in my haircut styles. Or at least my father had a few hard and fast rules on what haircuts I could not get, primarily a mohawk. With my son, I loosened the reins and he was allowed to get what he wanted. Being a Beatles fan, he insisted on growing it long like a mop head.
For over 30 years Pat was a staple of my life. Every month I'd stop in for a haircut. I went off to college and, if I was lucky enough to time my trips home right, I could avoid the barber in the small college town of northwestern Pennsylvania and have Pat cut my hair. I had no problems with those barbers, they worked in a pinch, but they always asked what number I was. Number 3 on top, number 2 on the sides. I could never remember the numbers. Pat, he just knew what you meant. He was an old fashioned barber and would know the difference between short, long, high and tight, and blocked in the back. And, if he cut it a little longer than you wanted, he always asked if it was okay before you left giving you a chance to have him fix it. But if you were in a rush, you could always sit down the following month and say, a little shorter than last time and he would remember.
My least favorite part of visiting Pat for a haircut was the itchy hairs left behind. As I grew older, those hairs got greyer. And fewer. And he began to offer to cut the hair in my ears. And eyebrows. But, over the years, the decades, that I saw him, my favorite part remains the back of the neck shave. Warm lather. A sharp straight razor. A steady hand. At times, it felt like I was in Floyd's Barber Shop when he pulled out the razor and sharpened it on the strop. It felt comfortable. Like home.
For over 30 years Pat was there for me. Unless he was fishing. Which would sometimes lead me to get a haircut from Larry. Or Pat's sister Paulette. Or his partner Joe. But oftentimes, if Pat was on vacation, it meant going home to wait until he came back. For over 30 years Pat was there, to listen to a quick summary of how your life was going. Or talk baseball or football or fishing. Regardless of where his shop was located, he was there.
I don't know when exactly it happened, but Pat got sick a few years ago. He started wearing gloves. Walking with a limp. Taking breaks with his foot in a chair. He was no longer the youthful barber of my childhood. He had grown into an old man with an underlying illness. As most men do, you put on a brave face and don't talk about it much. You suffer in silence. I never asked what was wrong with him but learned through the years that it caused him a lot of pain. Standing on his feet made things even more painful.
As time went by, his health improved in spurts and failed in spurts. And then he was diagnosed with cancer. Stage IV. I found out around the same time I found out my mother's partner had gotten the same diagnosis. It was heartbreaking on multiple fronts. As Pat rebounded a little after treatment, he told me he was at peace with death and ready for it. He didn't say it like he wanted to die but like a man that knew his time on earth would be short and that he was prepared to see Jesus.
After that conversation, he cut my hair one more time. Maybe twice.
Little did I know that my last haircut from Pat would be my last haircut from Pat. I went in a few times to have Joe cut my hair and would get some updates on how he was doing. In the hospital. Out of the hospital. In a care facility. Wherever Pat was, he wasn't standing behind me asking me if I wanted a long crew. I regret not saying goodbye to Pat one last time. Not giving him a hug or shaking his hand. He was there for me for so many years. He helped me look good.
And now he's gone. Gone are the days of itchy necks. Gone are the days of seeing a photo of his son in a baseball uniform. Gone are the days of seeing the football pennants on the wall. Gone are the days of seeing Navy hats on display. Gone are the days of a shaved neck. Gone are the days of the crinkly paper around your neck. Gone are the days of the Dippity-Do in your flattop. Gone are the days of a slightly slippery floor covered in loose hair.
Pat the Barber is gone. But his impact on this world is not.
For those that don't know, YouTube has been struggling with a few issues over the past few years (can you say Logan Paul and a dead body?). And as any company does over time, they make changes. One of those changes smacked me in the face this morning. I sat there checking my email first thing in the morning like always and see something from YouTube in my Inbox. In short, they will be turning off monetization for small channels. Specifically, they are giving everyone 30 days to meet their new minimum of 4,000 hours of watch time (240,000 minutes) and 1,000 subscribers.
That "and" is key there as I'm probably close enough to meet the minimum watch time to get to that goal this year. But the subscriber count is really where I'll take a kick in the pants. And to grow your channel by 900 or so subscribers in 30 days is so unlikely, I'm resigned to be demonetized for the foreseeable future. As in years. Even though I broke through the old minimum last year and actually made money at doing something I love, I've now been reduced to watching from the sidelines as the bigger channels get bigger and the smaller channels disappear.
I'm still bitter. I'm still processing my emotions. I'm still sad and mad and so many other things.
And no, I'm not going to ask you to subscribe to my YouTube channel or read my blogs. As much as I'd love to beg you to do that, I think you already would have if you enjoyed my content.
But I have to share something from one of my biggest supporters out there. My son. He is a huge YouTube consumer. If given the opportunity, he would watch YouTube all day and all night. What he enjoys is beyond my scope of understanding. I still can't comprehend how he can spend so much time watching people play Minecraft. I can't change who he is but I just don't understand. Getting back on track, as I was still processing the news and getting ready for work this morning, I shared the bad news with my son. The conversation went something like this:
Me: "I have some bad news William. YouTube has demonetized my channel." William: "They deleted your channel?!" Me: "No." William: "They deleted your videos?!" Me: "No." William: "Can you still upload videos? I don't understand." Me: "Well, basically I won't be able to make any money on my videos." William: "Oh. Well that sucks." Me: "Yep, it sure does."
It was a pivotal moment and I knew it. I was still pissed off and wanted to throw a chair through the window, but I knew, right there as I sat on the bed, that I would continue to do this thing I love. As I drove to work I wasn't sure if I wanted to put my fist through the window or cry uncontrollably. I ended up finding salvation in the bottom of my Starbucks coffee (#notsponsored!). And I realized I was having yet another John Locke moment where I just needed to scream "Don't tell me what I can't do!"
Since I started this journey through my midlife crisis back in 2016, I've struggled with my own identity. I finally found it last year. I'm a house spouse and a content creator. When I left my last job in 2016, I was kicked to the curb like a piece of trash. In 2017, I finally realized I wasn't trash and managed to pick myself up, brush myself off, and get back out there. It's 2018 and I'm back on the ground, wondering why the YouTube bus has decided to run me over.
I know there's a lot wrong with YouTube. I also know that I'm not part of the problem. I'll continue to edit videos just like I'll continue to research my articles. I'll continue to produce videos just like I'll continue to write stories. I'll even continue to pay for YouTube Red and YouTubeTV. But I feel like the platform I've enjoyed, supported, and been a member of since January 29, 2007, has betrayed me and all the other little guys out there. It wouldn't take a big push to get me invested in a different platform. ::coughcough:: Samsung? ::coughcough:: Casey Neistat? ::coughcough::
In closing, I'd like to ask you to do two things for me. First, support your family and your friends. Help them fulfill their dreams. Second, support those small, local businesses you know. Help your neighbors because they have dreams too.
As a fresh-faced house spouse that's a 41 year old man, I'm a bit of a contradiction. And I'm okay with that. People don't understand my role in my family and in society and usually give a look of confusion when I answer the "what do you do" question. But to be honest, sometimes I don't understand my role either.
You see, as a house spouse, or housespouse if you prefer, I am fighting decades, centuries, and maybe even millennia of tradition where the "man" is the provider and the "woman" is the house keeper. So giving me a confused look is totally okay. But I challenge your preconceived notion about me because I still feel as though I "provide" for my family, just in other ways.
One of the ways I provide is by cooking. And I have a long and checkered past with cooking. Once upon a time, back in the olden days when television was on low-definition and cassingles were easily found, my ability to cook was limited to the simple things. A bowl of cereal. A sandwich with cheese and mayo. A box of macaroni was about as complex as I got.
As I grew older, I expanded my cooking abilities by learning how to make hot cereal, adding ham to my sandwiches, and, when I wanted to live on the edge, put tuna in my mac and cheese. But now that I'm a house spouse and YouTube creator, I'm delving deep into cooking. Deeper than I ever expected to go. And I have the women in my life to thank for it.
My wife was, and probably still is, extremely cautious about my cooking. While she seems happy to teach me how to cook certain things, she doesn't like it when I don't follow the recipe. Or when I DON'T. FOLLOW. THE. RECIPE.
I have my reasons for changing things, namely that when I cook, I try to put things in that I like but also know that the kids might like. And sometimes I just want a change on that recipe that's been used and reused so many times we're all a little tired of it. But another big reason is food allergies. My kids and myself are allergic to a few things and adding or removing or otherwise modifying a recipe is pretty normal. Prime example is most cookie and cake recipes from my grandmothers include nuts of some type. That's a big no-go in our house.
But back to the recipes. According to the Washington Post, they might be "dead." And I can sort of see their point. With Generations Y and Z, apps are the shiznit. Apps are so hip, that my daily crossword will use "APP" as the answer to clues talking about computer programs. Meanwhile, I still try to make "SOFTWARE" fit into three squares. Apps are so commonplace, they can do just about everything for you. And as the article suggests, cooking is one of those things.
Despite all of these things swirling around in the vortex of today and the future of cooking, I'm not sure I agree with the idea that recipes are dead. And as I sit here and think of ways to convince you that I'm right, the only thing I can do is prove that recipes will become more of an "artisan" thing. Like blacksmithing and glassblowing, using recipes will not die, only become more of a niche market for artists.
That makes me sad. As much as I want to preserve history, especially my family's history, I can see how cooking will become an art (I mean, it already is but you know what I mean) reserved for special meals and everyday cooking will be relegated to bots, apps, and maybe even food replicators.
So where does that leave me as a housespouse trying to learn how to cook? It leaves me in debt to those women who came before me and who are with me now. My grandmothers, their mothers, my parents, my wife, all of them have worked so hard at the hearth, the oven, the cooktop, to ensure I was fed and wouldn't go hungry. I can only hope my children can do the same for their kids.
Today's entry is a little different than normal. Over on my YouTube channel, I've slowly been picking out recipes from my grandmother's and making them. It fits right into my new full-time job of being a house spouse. Well, one recipe stood out as an ideal candidate for my 40 Years Ago Today entries.
Recipe:
From the November 15, 1977 issue of Capper's Weekly:
Oatmeal Bars
If you love oatmeal cookies and hate the time it takes to cook them, try these. Delicious!
3/4 cup shortening 1 cup firmly packed brown sugar 1/2 cup granulated sugar 1/4 cup water 1 teaspoon vanilla 1/2 teaspoon rum flavoring (optional) [I skipped this since I didn't have any] 1 cup flour 1 teaspoon salt 1/2 teaspoon soda [baking soda] 3 cups uncooked oats 1/2 cup chocolate chips 1/2 cup butterscotch chips
In
a large bowl combine shortening, brown sugar, sugar, water, vanilla,
and run flavoring. Stir until fluffy. Add flour, salt, and soda, mixing
well. Stir in oats and chips. Bake on well-greased pans at 350 degrees F
for about 20 minutes. Use one 9-by 13-inch pan and one 8-by 8-inch pan
for thin crispy type bar; for a chewy bar, bake in one 9-by 12-inch pan
[this probably should be a 9"x13" pan]. You will have to use your
fingers to press dough out onto pans. They are very good served with
gelatin.
Forty years ago today, I turned one. I had a giant, round, chocolate cake to celebrate. And I got presents of course. Looks like I got a small cart to ride/scoot on that had some blocks on it. And from the looks of it, they were tasty. I also got what I think is a indoor/outdoor bowling set and a small green truck that looks like the Mystery Machine but isn't.
Today was a big day 40 years ago. I went in for a "complete skull EMI brain scan" (what we would call a CT scan today). Turns out "EMI" is just the brand of the CT scanner. There's some interesting history out there on not only EMI but also CT scanners. A few tidbits in case you're interested:
Here's a YouTube video on the EMI Scanner (circa 1975):
Also of note, "studies that had been done by mid-1977 showed that CT head scanners perform reliably and provide accurate diagnoses of nearly all abnormalities in or near the brain for 80 to 100 percent of patients." And that by early 1977, only 400 scanners were present in the US.
All told, pretty damn impressive that a baby, who isn't even a year old, is having a scan of this sort done. I have yet to hear from Dr. Melvin Cheatham, but this speaks volumes to me about his level of care for his patients.
Sources:
Policy Implications of the Computed Tomography (CT) Scanner. November 1978. Accessed on January 4, 2017. http://ota.fas.org/reports/7813.pdf
Wasn't feeling in the mood for a run this morning. Almost stayed in bed. But I dragged ass out of bed and put myself in front of some coffee. My son finally got out of bed and said he wanted to ride his bike while I went for my run. So I hung out until he finished his breakfast then we headed out the door.
The run itself was fairly pleasant. The weather was a little cooler. The bugs weren't around. And the wind was nice. Oh, and I had some company to keep me entertained along the way.
Video: Here's yesterday's 360 VLOG.
Weather: Temps were about 75F. Sun was out with a few clouds. Wind was moderate. Humidity was light.
Fluids and Fuel: Coffee before the run. Plain water during the run. Ran out with half a mile to go because I had to share with my partner. Recovery was two English muffins, two eggs, two pieces of pork roast, and coffee.
Aches and Pains:
None.
Gear: Wore shorts and a t-shirt.
Today's Motivation: Didn't have much to start with. Once I got out of bed and my son said he'd join me, then he was my crutch the rest of the time I was out there.
Naughty Neil: Weigh-in was a day late but I'm down to 231 pounds. Despite eating so many evening snacks. But I'm doing better at curbing it before I even start.
Got my 4 miles in this morning in my new team uniform. Or gear. Or kit. Or whatever you want to call it. It was long overdue in arriving but well worth the wait. Glad I had the chance to test it out before I left on my trip. The cycle jersey looked like it would fit but it was snug. I know it's supposed to be snug but I didn't expect my arms to be so big. Made me feel a little like the Incredible Hulk - one flex and I'd rip a seam. But I didn't. And I know cycle people are usually smaller than me (more aerodynamic, right?) but I still felt like a stuffed sausage in there.
The shorts were a little surprising. They looked way too small (size XL) but they fit quite nicely. So that was cool. No chafing after 4 miles, which was even cooler.
The rest of the run was filled with horse flies, neighbors, and lots of sweating.
The rest of the day was filled with sitting in the car driving to my moms. Once there, it was time to talk, eat dinner, film the cows, and stay up late.
Almost forgot! So I got a message today from an old running friend. She saw my photo and both she and her husband commented on how much weight I had lost. Totally made my day! Thank you Royanna! And, on top of that, yesterday I did my monthly measurements. I was a few days behind schedule because I was sick, but here are the numbers:
Weight - 233.2 pounds (down from 246.2 right before I quit work)
Waist - 101.5 cm (down from 110 cm)
Total cm Measurements - 650.5 cm (down from 677 cm)
Photos:
Video:
Weather: Temps were about 80F. Humidity was high. Sky was overcast. No wind.
Fluids and Fuel: Nothing before the run. Plain water during the run. Ran out of water after 3 miles. Recovery was coffee followed by an egg white sammich thingie from the gas station with a few, ONLY A FEW DAMMIT, hashbrowns.
Aches and Pains: The sleeves on the jersey bunched a little but once fixed there was no pain. Right shoe probably wasn't tied tight enough so I felt some chafing on the heel.
Gear: Shorts and cycle jersey.
Today's Motivation: I knew I wouldn't get a run in after I got to my mom's so I got up early and got it done.
Naughty Neil: The gas station food wasn't a great choice but it was a good choice in what I chose. Lunch today was light and dinner was fairly healthy. I'm doing much better. But I still had some McDonalds fries. But only a medium!
Splits:
As I ran, I realized what names I had come up with for the neighborhood routes I use. I created them, used them a few times, then forgot them. And instead of going back to find them, I just ignored them and called them the "loop" when I should have used the proper word. So, a "loop" is a full 1.5 mile loop around the hood. A "lollipop" is 1.25 miles, and skips one of the dead ends. A "circle" is 1 mile and skips both dead ends. If that doesn't make sense to you, don't worry. A lot of what I think of doesn't make sense to me either.
Loop - 18:34
Loop - 18:46
Circle - 10:48
Finish - 48:09
Today's run was well needed. Down right necessary. And although I was slower than I wanted to be, I survived, didn't get bit, and feel pretty damn good right now.
The weather yesterday was very wet and very stormy when I woke up so I just went back to bed and skipped my run. For a few minutes I thought about going after work but I ended up cooking dinner for the kids which meant some creativity in the kitchen. Pancakes are tricky to cook.
So today I needed to stay true to my word and get my run in. And I did. And I even did my workout, although not as many reps/sets as I wanted to.
Anyway, the run was nice. The weather wasn't. Warm and muggy and the flies were out. Yuck. Saw my dad finishing his walk as I was starting mine. Also saw Mrs. Sparbel out getting her workout done.
And there might be a horse fly war brewing. Details to follow.
Photo:
The angry hawk.
Yesterday's Video:
Weather:
Temps were around 80F or 85F. Humidity was moderate to high. No wind. Sky was slightly overcast.
Fluids and Fuel:
Nothing before the run. Plain water during the run. Overflowing oatmeal, one egg, and two sausage for breakfast.
Aches and Pains: Nothing really. Still a bit wheezy but not really short of breath.
Gear: Wore shorts and a t-shirt.
Today's Motivation: Most of my motivation was because I didn't want to disappoint my coach. I told her yesterday I was really going to get my run in today. So I did. Felt much better after I got it done.
Naughty Neil: I've been doing really good on the food. It's hard as shit and I really wanted a Whopper for dinner tonight. But instead I had shrimp tacos and tortillas. Lots of tortillas. And dip.
Splits:
Time is an estimate because I'm too lazy to go back upstairs to get my watch. But it's close.
Loop 1 - 18:00
Loop 2 - 19:30
Finish - 37:30
Today's run was slow and a bit dreadful. On the flip side though, I did get to spend some time walking around with my dad. I saw my neighbors, their kids, their kids' kids, Mrs. Brown, and the Halls.
Long story short about the Halls, they are the oldest, most consistent runners I know in the area. And they are always nice, wave to you, smile, say hello, and all that jazz. Great people.
Yesterday's Video:
Weather: Temps were about 80F. Sky was murky. Humidity was high. High enough that I could see water droplets floating around. Not falling like rain, just drifting like motes of dust.
Fluids and Fuel: Nothing before the run. Plain water during the run. Recovery was half an avocado and two egg whites and two sausage links on toast. And coffee of course.
Aches and Pains: None.
Gear: Wore shorts and a t-shirt.
Today's Motivation: Felt tired this morning. Probably because of all the pasta I had last night. And that I didn't want to get out of bed. But I knew I wouldn't run after work and that I had a limited amount of time. I almost gave up on the run several times but after walking with my dad and getting so close to the 3 mile mark I eventually just toughed it up and finished.
Naughty Neil: Hmm...Nothing comes to mind right now.
Splits: Finish - 43:30 (I did the full 3 miles but in an odd route that didn't allow for splits)
Today's run was a mixed bag of sorts. Last night's dinner seems to have caught up to me and my daughter. More than likely it's dessert that got us (fried ice cream). But we survived. She cut her practice short and I cut my run short. But we survived.
I was lucky enough to have my son come along with me this morning. He rode his bike while I ran (and walked). It was pretty slow but still nice to get out and get some stuff done. Of course we experimented with the GoPro. We also ran into a former classmate of mine who's back in the neighborhood taking care of his mom.
And that was about it for our run this morning.
Yesterday's VLOG:
Weather: Temps were about 75F. Sky was clear. Wind was light. Humidity was moderate.
Fluids and Fuel: I ate breakfast before the run. It was two eggs, two slices of toast, two sausage patties, and coffee. During the run I had plain water. Recovery was nothing. That was later followed by half a banana. Then later followed by two prosciutto wraps. And water. And tea. Basically I didn't have lunch. Dinner was tacos with blueberry muffins.
Aches and Pains: None. But the stomach was grumbly.
Gear: Wore shorts and t-shirt.
Splits: Loop 1 - 15:41
Checking in on my daughter - 2:48
Loop 2 - 17:35
Finish - 36:05
A few days back, I had a dream about Casey Neistat. It was bizarre but it had a moment of clarity that's important.
I went to a grocery store or market of some sort and Casey was there doing some sort of book signing. He had a huge line. So I hung around, got impatient, and left. I came back awhile later and there was no line and Casey was just sitting there chilling out.
As I went up to get an autograph and selfie with him, some other dude rolled up and cut in front of me. As I was giving him the stink eye, he and Casey were talking about something and he said something to the effect of "I'm going to write a few words and get paid a million dollars for it." To which I responded something to the effect of "I'm going to write a million words and not get paid for it because I know the money will come later." To which Casey really responded in a positive manner to my thought process and brushed off the jerk that cut in front of me.
Now, what does all that mean? Well, it was just a dream. But when I woke up, it made me re-think my blog and how I have ads on it. I've never been a big fan of ads on websites. And it was something I've long thought about changing. So as of right now, there are no more ads on my blog. Will that change in the future? I doubt it.
You see, Google AdSense has a minimum payout of $100 a month. When I looked yesterday, I had a whopping $14.62. I'll never see that money and I'll never get to $100 a month. I'd rather sacrifice the money and run a blog that's more visually pleasing.
So there you have it. No ads. Guess I could have kept it that short but I needed to explain the motivation behind it.
In other news, I'm working on more YouTube videos. I struggled with my channel back in the early days of YouTube, mostly because I didn't understand it. Now I'm a day late and a dollar short on what could have been a cash cow. But at least I understand it. Anyway, below is my newest video. Please check it out!
Work out is done! I'm just slow in writing it down. Got my workout in first thing this morning. My warm-up was cleaning the bathrooms for my wife's party tonight. Certainly got down and dirty with that one and certainly broke a sweat doing it. The workout itself went just fine. Nothing terribly exciting other than it hurt. But in a good way.
After my workout, it was off to town to get groceries. I was trying to find a way to make it exciting but I'm pretty sure it's hard to do. But I tried anyways. After groceries, it was back home to unpack, eat, and go to therapy.
That's where the excitement began. A minor emergency at work meant a lot of driving around and getting way outside of my schedule. But I managed to get things back on track in time to go pick up the kids from school. Then it was back home to prep some more for the party, feed the kids, then off to my trail meeting.
Phew! Busy day. But it was productive and I'm sure I'll sleep well tonight.
Today's challenge was making a trip to the dump exciting. I'm pretty sure I failed but hey, at least I gave it a shot. Along the way, I pulled some serious Mr. Mom stuff. Dishes were done. Laundry was washed, dried, and put away. I did my workout this morning. Pretty much everything on my list was taken care of except doing my two hours of exercise. But after yesterday, I was wiped and was pretty sure I couldn't pull 2 hours of sweating to the oldies.
So instead I walked around like the old farts in the neighborhood. Which is what I felt like when I was out there walking.
The rest of the day was just boring stuff. Organizing things for the rest of the week, helping with dinner, blah blah blah. You get the idea.
Here's more information about Yahoo tanking it in the market. And keep in mind, they discontinued their Work From Home program and claimed that it worked perfectly. That was 2013. So while some think working from home is going to be the norm, it's not something that works for everyone. But for those that can work from home, it's a huge boon to the employee and employer.
Photos:
Video:
Weather: Temps were cool, maybe 50F, when I did my walking warm up. Not much exciting going on early in the morning. I did the rest of my workout in the basement where it was a warm 74F.
Fluids and Fuel: Coffee before the workout. Plain water during the workout. Recovery was more coffee, two eggs, four slices of bacon, some home fries, and two slices of toast.
Aches and Pains: Well, my ass hurts from doing all those fire hydrants. But aside from that, I just felt old. I also managed to knock out two whole pushups. Yeah, beast, right?
Gear:Nothing fancy, just shorts and a t-shirt.
Today's Motivation: I'm back to being addicted to the green box in Training Peaks. I also want to kill it this summer. You know, get that Ken Doll body. But with man parts.
Naughty Neil: Breakfast was larger than planned but I was hungry. Hangry.
Today was the beginning of a new chapter in my life. I'll go into plenty of details later about why I left my previous employer. Today, I wanted to focus on the positive side of a fresh start.
The first day of my midlife crisis is nearly complete and it was pretty good. A little more tiring than I expected but I did everything I wanted to do and a few things I needed to do.
My first, and biggest, goal for today was to go for a hike to my secret, but not so secret, beach at Caledon State Park. I had envisioned myself taking a quick jaunt down to the water, unrolling my towel, and just sunning myself for an hour or so. Turns out it was a hike, not a jaunt. The sun disappeared. And I felt restless. As I hiked myself back to the car, I realized I'm following my father's footsteps in not really taking to retirement. So I decided it's going to be more like a working retirement. And even though I keep saying I'm unemployed, I'm not. I have a job. That pays. It's all about the mindset.
My second goal for today was cutting the grass. Which turned out to be harder than expected. The hike really sapped my strength and gave me some hotspots to deal with. But I toughed it out, spent what felt like forever picking up branches, and got the grass cut. I was going to power through my lunch break and finish and I finally stopped myself and said screw this, I don't need to push so damn hard, I can stop and eat whenever I want.
So I stopped and had lunch then went back and finished cutting grass. By then I was wasted. So I cleaned up, took a nap, and did some laundry. I can envision myself watching Mr. Mom at some point as a training video on how not to have a mental breakdown.
Anyway, that was the meat of today.
The saddest part was the weigh-in this morning. I'm so damn fat. I've put on so much weight, it's scary. But today's just the first day. One step at a time. It won't happen over night.
Photos:
Video:
Weather: Temps were about 70F and rose to about 75F. Sun was out but skies were overcast at times. Wind was light to moderate.
Fluids and Fuel: Breakfast was one egg and one slice of toast. During the hike I had plain water and some NUUN. I had an apple granola bar when I finished my hike.
Aches and Pains: Ball of my left foot is about a 2. Chafing is about a 2. Right knee is about a 1. Got way too out of breath hiking back. Not like a medical emergency kind of out of breath, more like "I shouldn't be this fat and out of shape" kind of out of breath.
Gear: Wore shorts, t-shirt, and a hat. Also packed my Mystery Ranch bag with camera gear.
Today's Motivation: Quitting my job yesterday. I've been dreaming about the hike to this beach for months.
Naughty Neil: I caught myself dreaming about lunch on my hike today. I ended up eating hamburgers instead of fish like I had planned. But it's the thoughts that concerned me more than anything.
Splits: Not exact numbers.
Distance - 4 miles
Time - 2:00:00
Despite the photos I post here and elsewhere, I'm more than just a goofy face with a bad sense of humor. Deep down, there are raw emotions. This is going to bring up some of them, so if you're prone to crying, get a box of tissues. If you're like me and have a heart of stone, grab a few tissues anyway.
Prologue
I recently wrote about "the accident" I was in when I was a kid. I covered a lot of the basics of the story and it's a good place to start before reading this. So go ahead, read it, and then come back.
Just before Thanksgiving, I went to the office and started my day like I normally do. Because I was in a rush to get to work, I didn't check my phone for emails, messages, Instagram posts, etc. So when I got to work, I was surprised to see a new Facebook friend request. Surprised because it doesn't happen often. It wasn't anybody I knew, not a member of the KREndurance Team, and the only common thread I could find between us was that we've been to the Biltmore. I was about to delete the request when I decided, on a whim, to read the message she had sent.
Juliet's first Facebook message:
I just about shit a brick.
Her message gave enough detail to make me about 90% sure she was who she said she was and more importantly, she was somebody I've been looking for for decades.
After a few messages and emails, I was 100% sure of not only her identity, but I was also sure of her character. It was pretty easy to skim through her Facebook history and verify the details in the accident report. It was also easy to find the newspaper articles and death certificate for her mother. And reading about her story just made everything firm up. It was clear she wasn't a spammer.
Before I get too far ahead of myself, let's pause for a moment. My memory, my dad's, my mom's, they've all changed over time and there are conflicts. It's been 30 years, so I expect that. So if there's an inconsistency, well, time happens. But if you have first-hand knowledge of the event, then please feel free to chime in and clarify things. After all these years, I'm sure somebody got something wrong. Even in the past few weeks, I'm sure I've re-told things here incorrectly.
The Accident
Now, let's rewind to 1985. It was October 25th, a Friday. It was dinner time and my dad and I were eating at Roma's, a local restaurant in Dahlgren. I'm sure I had a gyro with Mr. Pibb and my dad had wing dings (aka chicken wings). This is the first discrepancy in the story. My dad remembers going across the river to get a new headlamp for the van. It's possible both versions are true because both would have put us on the same route back home. But I do know the lollipop came from Roma's so that part can be verified.
We traveled up the hill on Route 206, heading west toward home. As I said in my other post, I remember my dad shouting "oh shit" or "oh fuck" or "hold on." I looked left and saw headlights. I knew instantly from his tone of voice that we were having an accident and we'd hit the car. It was one of those moments where things are moving too fast to do anything but time slows things down to make everything vividly clear. I may or may not remember hitting the car itself. That part is a bit blurry. But I do clearly remember seeing the headlights. I was knocked unconscious by the impact.
This is a satellite view of the intersection. We were the green arrow. They were the grey arrow. The red circle and arrow show the point of impact and direction of travel afterwords.
When I came to, I tried to get out of the van. I couldn't. That's where I panicked a bit. I couldn't open my door. The van had hit the other car hard enough to slide the front quarter panel over top of the door, making it impossible for a 9 year old kid to open. Probably impossible for an adult to open too. I don't know if this was the moment I developed that claustrophobic fear of being trapped or if it was always there. But that split second of being trapped in the car is what scared me the most. Or at least what I remember scaring me the most. I'm sure watching all those Rambo movies and the A-Team with exploding cars didn't help.
I remember my dad having a calm and cool head and had me get out on his side of the van. Neither of us seemed to be seriously injured and were able to walk away from the crash. We got out, walked somewhere, and the rest is blurry to me. I'm pretty sure we walked over to the parking lot of the plumbing store/NAPA store.
From what my mom and dad tell me, the driver of the other car got out to check on us to make sure we were okay. He then went back to his car. I vaguely recall an EMT checking me out to make sure I was okay. My dad and I got a ride to the hospital from a friend. It was a husband and wife. The wife worked at the school as a secretary or in the cafeteria and knew us. The wife didn't want to take us in their car and wanted us to ride in the ambulance. I think my dad wasn't that worried about our injuries and thought it would be better to ride with them than in the back of the ambulance. More than likely, we would have had to ride with the passengers from the other car since King George County didn't have many rescue squad units at the time. Knowing my dad, he probably just wanted to get us to the hospital to be checked out but didn't want me to see the other people and he didn't want to wait for another unit to arrive. So the husband drove us. I remember none of that.
I do remember hearing the baby in the other car screaming at the scene. It bothers me even now but thankfully the memory has faded. You knew the baby was scared but I didn't know if it was hurt. I don't remember much else about the scene of the accident. I know I was moved to safety and we probably stood in the parking lot of what was then a plumbing store and NAPA store. I wasn't allowed near the other car. I'm sure there were lights and sirens but I don't remember much about them.
At the hospital, I vaguely recall getting an x-ray. I'm pretty sure I was on a gurney sitting in one of those hospital gowns. I think it was either here or at the accident scene when I felt embarrassed about my under-roos. Stupid Incredible Hulk.
My parents kept a personal record of my health. It's in a green journal book that has traveled with me for years. This is the entry for that night.
After the hospital sent us home, I called my mom. She knew right away something was wrong because it was late, like 9 pm, and she was on the west coast (she had recently moved to Madera, CA). She asked if I was okay, I said I was, she asked if dad was okay, he was, then she asked about the people in the other car. I told her the driver, the dad, had a few broken ribs, the daughter in the back seat had a broken pelvis and leg, and the baby in the car seat was just fine. But there was a "fatality." She asked me if I knew what that meant, I said it meant the lady died. She was surprised and asked more. She said I had apparently read it on the accident report. I don't remember reading an accident report and just assumed I had overheard the conversation between my dad and the police officers or fire/rescue workers either at the scene or at the hospital. Again, there's a discrepancy in the story here because my dad says he didn't fill out any reports at the scene and only filled one out for the insurance company later. I don't remember reading any report but suppose I could. Either way, I knew what "fatality" meant.
She knew something was wrong right away, partly because of my voice but mostly because of the time of day. She said I started the conversation with "I'm okay and Dad's okay but..." and then I went on to tell the story of the accident. She said I was amazed that the baby "didn't have a scratch." My mom also said I had marks on my hips from the seat belt and that dad had bruises on his arm. Mom wanted to talk to dad but my dad called her later after putting me to bed. She knew he was shaken and it had been a long and hard night. After getting a similar report from my dad, she specifically asked him if she was going to talk to me about death and the lady that died. He said I didn't know. My mom said he (meaning me) does know because I knew the word "fatality" (although it could have been the word "expired," again, another minor discrepancy). Even though my dad had done his best to shield me from seeing her body, reading anything that talked about it, or even overheard anything related to it.
A few days later I was talking to my mom again and she wanted to know how I knew what that word meant. Apparently I had seen my dad fill out the form and he put a 1 down and I somehow knew that meant the woman in the other car. Both of my parents thought that was stunning. So again, more discrepancies. Either way, it doesn't really matter.
The After Story
At some point after the accident, my dad and I went to see the two wrecked cars. I remember both the van and the car being in a lot off of 301, near where the ice cream shop is now. But the photos show the van in our driveway and only the other car in the grassy junk yard lot. After some discussion, my dad and I think he had the van towed to our house because he assumed he could repair it. After finding that the body had moved off the frame, he had it towed to the same lot as the other car and that's where we took more pictures. However it happened, I'm not sure. Of all the photos I've been able to look through, I only found four Polaroids, two for each car.
I do remember emptying out our belongings when the van was in our driveway. This is when we learned that I was knocked out because I hit my head on the dash. I used to ride on the edge of the seat and kept my seat belt loose because I liked to look out over the front of the hood at the road. When my head hit the dash, it left a crack a few inches long. We also learned that I had a lollipop because it was on the floor. I was a little freaked out about being a few inches from a more serious injury.
Because the van was so damaged, it was totaled. I remember my dad fixing his small black Ford Currier pick-up so he would have something to drive. He remembers borrowing a friend's truck to have something to drive.
These are the notes I took in about 1998 after looking through the photos. This is how I recalled the story back then. So a historical account of a historical account.
The Growing Mystery
Over time, I was always curious about the family in the other car. I wanted to know if they got their lives back together. I wanted to know if they healed after their mother died. I wanted to know if they held any hatred towards us for what happened. I wanted to know if they hated us or blamed us for what happened. I just wanted to know something.
I've talked to both my parents over the years about the accident. Nothing major developed and the stories were always the same. But the curiosity was always there. I think it's the same curiosity that drives me to learn more about my own family history. And based on the impact this accident had on my life, it made the family in the other car almost feel like cousins or a long lost branch on the family tree. But I could never figure out a name or put any sort of story behind their family down on paper. It was just a mystery.
October 26 and 29 articles from The Free Lance-Star newspaper. There was no Sunday paper in 1985 and no further articles could be found.
About a year ago I gained access to the state of Virginia's death records on Ancestry. I quickly spent a few days looking at how and when people died. People I knew. Childhood friends. Children of neighbors. It was a quick way to feel really shitty and depressed. So I quickly took a break and only occasionally searched for the mystery woman that died that night in the 1980s.
I knew the accident was in the 1980s, I knew roughly how old I was, I knew where the accident occurred, I knew it was the mother that died, I knew a lot. But I didn't know key details. I didn't know the exact date and I didn't know her name. When I searched, I learned that even though you may die in a certain place, sometimes your death certificate lists your place of death as the nearest hospital, especially when you're involved in a car accident. Despite learning about other people and about how to search, I still had an unsolved mystery. I couldn't find my family in the other car.
Until Juliet sent a friend request.
Mystery Solved
After getting Juliet's friend request and reading her email, I knew the mystery had been solved. She was the person I was looking for and I was over the moon that she found me. It was like a puzzle piece had been lost in 1985 and she found it.
That Tuesday before Thanksgiving was emotional on many levels. I was profoundly happy that she found me and that I could now learn what happened to those in the other car. But I was also deeply saddened to read her side of the story. I sat there at my desk and cried three different times as I learned more about her, her family, and what happened to them in the last 30 years.
An excerpt of the February 2013 Glamour magazine article about Juliet, her sister Jen, and her daughter Emma.
The Other Car
So what happened in the other car? I really should let Juliet tell this story but I'll fill in what I know so far.
Russell Wallace was the driver of the other car. His wife, Tien Kim Wallace was in the front passenger seat. Their daughters, Juliet and Jen, were in the back. Juliet was sitting behind her mother while Jen was in a car seat. Despite being the most fragile, Jen was remarkably unharmed by the impact. She was in a car seat. I remember telling my mom about how amazed I was that the baby was fine. That was a point in the story she reminded me of several times during our many conversations.
Mr. Wallace had some injuries, primarily broken ribs. Juliet had a broken pelvis or hips and I think a leg. She also said her head and face had injuries. Mrs. Wallace died. A wife and mother of two. According to the police report, the accident occurred between 8 and 8:15 pm. Virginia State Trooper D. F. Hatfield responded around 9 pm. Tien Kim Wallace was transported to the hospital and pronounced dead by Doctor Paul Hine at 9:38 pm.
Leading up to the crash, the Wallace family spent time at Ocean City and then Assateague Island. I would go into detail about the last few days of their lives before the crash but frankly, they make me want to weep just reading them again. So I'll move on.
I'm confused about how they ended up in King George. They lived in Woodbridge, VA at the time and our little po-dunk county isn't near any direct route back home from the Ocean City area. Even if they went down to Virginia Beach and then back north. We may never know the truth but the working theory I have is that they were lost and rushing to find a way back to a major road to get home. Route 301 was nearby and if he had continued on the road he was traveling, he would have gotten there near the bridge into Maryland. It wouldn't have been the best way to get home but it would have worked eventually.
Whatever the reasons were for being on that stretch of road are moot though. The dad ran the stop sign and we hit him. We can't change the past, only learn from it.
Juliet said the local fire and rescue members that responded to the scene would visit her in the hospital frequently as she recovered. Her mirrors were covered in newspaper so she couldn't see her face. She was transported to Fairfax for an MRI but spent most of her time at Mary Washington Hospital to recover. She was released from the hospital for her mother's funeral at Quantico National Cemetery. But she couldn't walk and had to stay in the van. Her mother was buried with military honors, presumably because her husband was in the military although some records I found show she was a Staff Sergeant in the Marines. She was listed as a "consultant" for Revlon "beauty products."
Commonwealth of Virginia - Certificate of Death - Tien Kim Wallace
Moving On
This is where the Wallace family's story takes a turn for the worse. After the accident, Juliet ran away from home. Her father was abusive so she left. She ended up homeless in Washington D. C. before finally coming home. Only to find her dad and sister gone. She went through the foster care system and got her life back on track thanks to a great foster family.
She lost track of her sister and father but eventually found them. When her father died, she reconnected with her sister who had also gone through the foster system for the same reasons. Once reunited, they ended up bonding in a unique way. Jen donated an egg so Juliet and her husband could have a child. Bizarre, amazing, and true.
Video from The Jeff Probst Show.
From what Juliet has said, it sounds like her dad didn't move on or heal very well after the accident. And while I don't think that was the right thing for him to do, I can't fault him for being distraught over the death of his wife. I don't know what I would do if I had to walk in his shoes. Sadly, the story he gave his children was that a drunk driver was driving the van and caused the accident.
Meeting Juliet
I just got back from meeting Juliet and her daughter Emma. It was surreal. I think it's not only surreal in the sense that we met, but that we found each other or even cared enough to want to meet. Dad and I met them at the local Sheetz and talked. I wasn't sure if it would be a 5 minute talk or a 5 hour talk. In the end, we spent about two hours there. We talked about the accident, life before it, and life after it. The conversation ranged from light to heavy and every where in between.
After a break all around, I led Juliet and her daughter down the road to the scene of the crash. Doing that was even more surreal than meeting her. After pointing things out and chatting, the weight of it all began to settle in on me. Not just that her mom died, but more that we've both been looking for each other and we've both been looking for answers to our questions. Our families came crashing together, literally, and here we are after 30 years meeting each other for the first time.
Some people surely think we're crazy for wanting to meet each other. But I think because we were both kids at the time and both needed to heal old wounds, and were ready to heal them, it was something we wanted, or even needed, to do. Some people may not understand why we would even care about what happens to each other. But there again, we both felt the need to find out what happened. And while I think we've solved the mystery behind a lot of things in this story, there are a few more questions that have come up.
Sunset at the scene.
The Mystery Returns
After doing some quick research and learning more from Juliet and my parents, there are new questions that come to mind. Even though it isn't my family or my truth to seek out, I wonder about things. Why was the family driving on that stretch of road? My guess is that they were lost and in a hurry to get back on track. Why was the mother buried with full military honors? My guess is that she worked for the American government during the Vietnam War and had earned it. What will happen next? This is the biggest pill to swallow for me because I've had this question hanging around for so long I don't know what to do now that I have the answer. My guess is that I'll keep in touch with Juliet and maybe find an answer to a few other smaller questions I have.
Video of the intersection the day before meeting Juliet.
Missed Connections
As time passed, the accident became a defining moment in my life. Not good, not bad, just a moment that has been with me ever since and still connects me to other people. Two years after this accident, my neighbor's wife died near the same area. My family and I moved into his house last year. I know where she's buried and have visited her grave to pay my respects. Because of her death, I almost always check to see if traffic is going to run a red light as I cross Route 301. Because of the 1985 accident, I have rules about lollipops. Because of every accident, I wear a seat belt.
Roma's used to be owned by the Kufadakis (sp?) family. We loved her bougatsa, a Greek pastry dessert. My family now frequents King George House of Pizza. The owners know the Kufadakis family and last year they made bougatsa for me. It was amazing. Roma's is now run by my childhood friend Scott Coleman.
Because of the lollipop, I do not allow lollipops to be consumed in the car. My son gets one after every haircut but he knows he can't have it in the car. Sounds like a crazy rule but it's one that's stuck with me. I don't think it was a rule for me after the accident but I do know I never really allowed myself to do it anymore.
Juliet's birthday is in between my daughter's and my wife's. Her husband's name is my mom's maiden name. We both like The Goldbergs. Sometimes it's the neat little things that connect us all.
About six or seven years after this accident, my dad had another one at the same intersection. Nearly identical scenario. This time he was in the Ford Currier pick-up, traveling in the same direction, when a guy pulled out of the NAPA store on the right side of the road. Again both cars were totaled, but this time nobody was hurt. I think about both accident every time I drive through the intersection. My dad tries to avoid it now, especially since VDOT has made improvements that actually make it more difficult and dangerous to drive through.
Video from December 5, 1991. The aftermath of the second accident.
Technical Details
A summary of sorts of all the specifics I could find. In case somebody else down the road is looking for information.
Date:
October 25, 1985 - Friday - 8pm
Location:
Owens, King George, VA
Intersection of Route 206, Dahlgren Road, and Route 218, Windsor Drive, and Route 624, Owens Drive
The Wallace Family:
1979 Honda CVCC four-door sedan - BSF-985
Russell C. Wallace
Tien Kim Wallace
Juliet (Wallace) Pearrell
Jen (Wallace) Kimble
The Richard Family:
1975 Ford Econoline Van - YJY-763
Gary Richard
Neil Richard
Other Individuals and Groups:
Virginia State Trooper D. F. Hatfield - 3518
Virginia State Trooper C. W. Carrico
King George Sheriff's Office
Dahlgren Rescue Squad
Dr. M. J. Goeden - Emergency Room, Mary Washington Hospital
Dr. Paul F. Hine - Pathology Department, Mary Washington Hospital
Richmond Low - Commonwealth's Attorney for King George County
Documents
Virginia State Police Report - October 28, 1985 - # 85-21-5175
Contact
If you have information about the accident, please contact me at tk42one @ gmail.com.
