Flying for Dummies

My business affords me the opportunity to travel quite a bit. Most of the time I like to drive rather than fly. I enjoy experiencing the countryside knowing I can pull over at just about any exit and use a restroom that, although it may not have been cleaned since May 2008, at least allows me to relieve myself while not performing a balancing act in a room barely large enough for me and a good book. On occasion, however, I must fly. A recent trip to Minnesota had me thinking about the preparations necessary for flight. Much like the pilots, I first go through a checklist while packing. This usually entails opening my suitcase several times as I put in something my wife reminds me I have forgotten. Unfortunately she didn’t help me pack for Minnesota so I made that trip, and saw the season’s first snow flurries, without a coat. All major airlines allow you to print boarding passes at home. I do this most of the time. This lets me see how the boarding passes look when they come out of the ticket kiosk at the airline’s counter since I invariably leave the pre-printed ones at home. Please allow me to offer a few tops. First, if at all possible, pack as much of your clothing into one bag, Doing this has saved me the time it takes to return to the airport to pick up the second bag I left behind. Take with you a carry-on bag that is just large enough to take up ALL of the space in the overhead bin. Make sure it is very heavy too – I’ll explain why later. When dressing for your flight there are a few things I recommend wearing. First, wear a pair of pants that do not require a belt to hold them into place. You can still wear the belt, but you will have to remove it while going through security. Second, wear nice clean underwear in case you forgot step one. I also suggest that you wear a pair of pants that are not slick to the touch. Again, I will explain later. Also be sure to put on shoes that are easy to take on and off cause those have to be removed at security. When choosing which line to go through in security, look for the least aggressive looking TSA agent since this person may be responsible for a pat down search. Once you have made it through security and headed to your gate, be sure to return for your belt. It makes running for your flight easier if your pants aren’t around your ankles. Once you are on board the airplane shove your overweight carry-on in the overhead compartment directly over your seat and make sure you have selected the aisle seat. Strap yourself in and enjoy the flight as much as you can. For us smaller guys that can be a challenge in seats designed to fit a narrow Japanese businessman. Big guys in the seat next to me usually cause me to ride the next 3 hours tilting over like an old man in a nursing home trying to pass gas. As you land you will thank me for recommending non-slick pants since when the plane applies the brakes you will realize that no matter how you clinch the buttocks, you will not be able to keep your tail in the seat. Once the plane has come to a stop, jump up immediately and open the overhead compartment. Wait for your oversized seatmate to slide over then apologize to him as your heavy bag slides from the compartment and onto his head. Now, you don’t have to follow all of these tips, but I think they might help the next time the friendly skies call your name. Thanks for flying. Buh-bye now.

Making money last longer than the month

I am a small business man who strives to run his business finances the way I run my personal finances – debt free. I do not like debt. I cannot stand the weight of a note hanging over my head. For me, borrowing money to get something I want is like being given an A on a test I have not taken. I haven’t always been this way. I was once very much a borrower. I had a car note as well as pretty hefty credit card bills. Things changed for me when I realized that I was borrowing more money than I could hope to repay. My total debt had become over a third of my annual income. So my wife and I set out to do something about it. The first thing we did was quit using credit. If we couldn’t pay for it we didn’t get it. It meant we had to do without, but we found that we didn’t really need all of those things we wanted. Once we got the debt ball to stop rolling, we had to start chiseling it down. What did that mean? It meant that my wife worked her normal job and I worked mine. Then, after hours and on vacations we worked the odd jobs to pay down the bills we had. Between the three of us (my daughter helped some, and was compensated for her help) we installed floor and counter top tile, we cleaned offices and houses, I wrote articles for a trade journal, and I traveled to teach classes to others in my industry. During all of this my wife also home-schooled our daughter. For three years we were extremely busy. But, once the bills were paid off we began to back off on the extra jobs. We saved an paid for the things we wanted. In my business I’ve done pretty much the same thing. I buy what I can afford to buy. Sometimes ,when times get tough, one monthly payment doesn’t get made – my salary. Because we paid the price to get out of debt, occasionally missing a paycheck for me doesn’t hurt as much as it could - but it’s not a habit I want to keep! I have friends around the country that approach their businesses very differently. They are leveraged to the hilt. The bank owns virtually all they have. If they take a serious hit they feel they can choose to walk away from it. After all, the bank owns the business, not them. These are very successful businessmen. Millionaires even. And how can I say they are doing it wrong when they are simply following the example our government has set for them. Now, I’m not a man who likes to get on a political stump. But it bothers me that neither party can set and maintain a budget. It’s time for the government to start setting an example for the rest of us to follow. Get out of debt first, THEN build wealth. Smarter men than I could tell you how, but it needs to be done and it needs to be done NOW. In the meantime, I think it’s also time for us to take some personal responsibility and get rid of the debt in our own lives so we can truly hold the government accountable.

Act like a child

IN MY LIFE I GET TO WEAR many hats. I'm a small-business owner as well as an educational speaker and writer in my industry. However, those jobs are nothing compared to the job I get to do on Sunday mornings. One day a week I get to serve as one of the nursery coordinators at my church. That job pays more than all the others combined. Who, after all, can place a value on the hugs, slobbery kisses, and genuine laughter of a child? I don't know why I like interacting with the little ones as I do. There are just so many joys that present themselves each Sunday morning. Sure, some of those joys are a little more humbling than others - changing smelly diapers or cleaning up spills and other messes top the charts. However, I feel that the look of pure joy I see in some of these children's eyes is only a reflection of the joy I have in seeing them. Serving (if it can really be called that) these children allows me to hear some interesting stories. I do recognize the imagination of children can run wild and that the truth is often embellished when they tell me the wonders of home life. If what I hear is true, the little girls have their own castles, and the little boys are busy fighting crime as super heroes. It's amazing to me how some adults are frightened by these little crawlers. So I wanted to share with you a few tips that have made me successful with these miniature human beings. One of the reasons I seem to have a good rapport with children, I believe, is my lack of size. I honestly think that these 3-year-old packages of dynamite look at little old me (with the emphasis on little ... and old) and think, "Yeah, I can take him." Talking with a 2-year-old can be challenging, but you see, I speak kid. And you can, too. Here is my own little Rosetta Stone and you can have it for free: Just make out about two words from every sentence and repeat those words in the form of a question. "A castle, huh?" "His cape?" . Acting silly seems to put me on their level more times than not. Even the poorest of magicians can fool a 3-year-old. The drawback is that they don't understand the line, "Don't try this at home." Kevin Harrison is a local business owner. Reach him at fun4eyes@ comcast.net.

Ghost men of our childhood

Lately, as I watch the buses load and unload their precious cargo, I have begun to reminisce about the school days of my youth. Summers seemed to last longer back then than they do now, but not nearly long enough. I love to relive those days, but only in my mind. Lord knows I don’t want to go through it again. However, there is one thing I miss that I am reminded of every time I watch the Little League games on TV. I remember growing up in the backyards of my neighborhood playing baseball with the limited number of players we could scrounge up. Sometimes we would have a dozen kids out there, while other times left us with maybe four. The fewer players we had the more I enjoyed it. When the roster was less than full you had to rely on a “ghost-man.” These ghosts took your place on the base paths so you could bat again. The truly imaginative of us would try to even get the ghost man to steal a base or take two bases on a single. Ghost men were the perfect teammates. They never argued balls and strikes. They never tried to take you out on a play at the plate. They never took their ball and went home. They never got accused of being on the juice. All they did was wait patiently to be called into action. I miss my ghost men. I often wonder what they may be doing now. Are they like the Lost Boys? Do they never grow up? They couldn’t play multiple sports. Only baseball. Backyard football used an all-time quarterback when we had an odd number of players. Ghost men as receivers never really caught on. There were no ghost men in pick-up basketball games sitting on the side of the court waiting for “next”. And ghost men didn’t play soccer when I was a kid, because if you had a ball you could kick, you played kickball. What if those ghost runners DID grow up with us? What if they could take their place in the corporate world? They could take the blame for an unfinished project. They could be your wingman whenever you went to talk to that “hot chick.” They could be the one you could blame when your wife wants to know why you came home from your trip to the store with your daughter missing one shoe and teething on an unopened pack of baseball cards. Yes, I miss my ghost-men. But sometimes, when the sun is low in the sky and the wind is blowing just right, I can sit in my backyard and, if I turn my head just right, I can hear the ghost-men in the field behind my house saying, “Play Ball!”

Typical High School reunion

Stop me if you’ve heard this one. A lawyer, a business man, and an advertising executive step into a room. Before long they are walking along in step, arms across one another’s shoulders, singing the theme from the Monkees television show, and doing the Monkees walk. Haven’t heard that one? That’s okay, neither had most of the people I graduated with. However, that didn’t stop three former classmates from reenacting this move in a room away from the remainder of their contemporaries at our 30 year class reunion.
While most of the former students of Hattiesburg High School’s graduating class of 1982 danced along with the beat of the music the DJ was dishing out in the main hall, these three were marching to the beat of a different drum. And should we expect anything less? While the athletes, cheerleaders, and partiers of yesteryear all gathered in their groups, the three amigos also picked up where they left off.
The high school reunion of the class of 1982 was a resounding success. As one former classmate of mine said, the only thing wrong with the entire evening was that there wasn’t enough time to get to visit with everyone. As a matter of fact, I often just stood there and watched my peers interact with one another. There were more smiles that night than I can ever remember seeing when we walked the breezeways of Blair Center together three decades earlier.
I did determine two things that weekend. First was the fact that I was further removed from the “cool” crowd than I realized. As talk turned to the party at so-and-so’s house, or the ICH dances of the late 1970’s, I realized (or perhaps remembered) that I was not part of the cool crowd. Instead, I stood in their shadows waiting for them to throw me a bone now and again. The point was driven home when one of the “cool kids” shook my hand when he first got there. I was surrounded by other classmates so I waited to say hello. When it came my turn I decided to reintroduce myself since we all (except for the women of course) had changed somewhat over the ages. He shook my hand and, looking me in the eye, said, “Nice to meet you Kevin.” Nice to meet you Kevin? Like we didn’t have classes together growing up?
The second thing I determined, and the one thing I wish I had realized more 30 years ago, was that I was okay with not being cool. I am secure in who I am and can sit back and enjoy watching people I once idolized, have fun with their own memories. And I am pleased that today I am better friends with some of these athletes, cheerleaders, and partiers than I was in the 80’s. I’m content being me and realizing that I am liked for who I am not who I want to be. I just wish I had realized it sooner.
So, the other two amigos and I are just fine walking in step to our own beat. “Here we come. Walking down the street. Get the funniest looks from… our wives!”

Field of Dreams

In the mid 1980’s most of my spare time during the summers was spent doing one thing – softball. When I wasn’t playing I was practicing. And the time I devoted to my favorite pastime paid off. I played left field for our church team and had a blast doing it. I wasn’t the greatest, but I could hold my own and I could promise you that if you watched me play I was worth the price of admission (free). When I stepped to the plate the outfielders didn’t quake with fear. As a matter of fact, they usually moved in a step or two. But I knew how to find the gaps and every season I was good for an inside-the-park home run or two. My batting average, if you kept with such things (and I did), usually hovered around .650 to .750.

That was in the mid-80’s.

This past week I got a text. It read, “Kevin, we need you to come out of retirement, strap on the cleats, and grab your glove.” My reluctance to put this body rapidly approaching a half-century, through the tortures was overcome by the memories of grandeur. So I dusted off my glove, my cleats and my batting gloves and headed for the ball park.

The feel of the red dirt under my feet was all too familiar. I knew I needed to stretch before getting started but none of my teammates were so why should I? I asked the coach where he wanted me and he hesitantly said, 2nd base. With visions of Ryne Sandberg in my head I took a few tosses from the 1st baseman, handled them all cleanly, and prepared for my first inning in several years. A few batters into the opposing lineup and I had the first ball hit my way. I scooped it up, reached in the glove, pulled out the ball and made a fluid motion to first. At least that’s how it went in my mind. In all actuality the ball never made it to first as it danced out of my glove eluding my grasp when I tried to throw it. Silently I prayed a prayer I never prayed while I was in my twenties. “Please Lord, don’t let them hit it my way.”

In spite of my lack of prowess on the field, I knew that facing the pitcher, I was destined to relive my greatness. My first time up I was informed of the new rule, you start with a 1-1 count. This means I only get 2 strikes. No worries. So I stepped to the plate and faced what I assumed was the pitcher since all I saw was a blazing sun behind him. This gave me about a half second to see the ball. Within 20 seconds I was dragging my bat back to the dugout. The mighty Kevin had struck out. In softball. Swinging.

My next inning in the field brought only one ball hit my way. It was a hot grounder up the middle. I took a step to my right and dove for it. It was just out of reach for the outstretched glove. In my mind. Truth be told, I think I fell more than dove. But it looked good. In my mind.

My next at bat the sun had set low enough that I could get a better look at the ball. I think the pitcher saw the determination in my eyes. The next two pitches were curve balls. Yes, you can throw a curve ball in slow pitch softball. I swear I saw the ball move. Although it may have been forced by the tremendous wind created when I swung, and missed, two more times. Yes, Mighty Kevin had struck out again.
Recognizing my talents could be used better elsewhere I was called in to be the relief pitcher. In my mind. The next few innings were a breeze. Again probably caused by my swinging strikeout for the third time! In my defense, the umpire thought I was taller than I actually was and called a pitch a strike that was clearly over my head so I HAD to swing at a bad pitch.

The final inning saw my team staging a rally. We had put several runs on the board. And with two outs, the batter in front of me stepped to the plate. I must now publicly apologize to him as I prayed once again a prayer I had never prayed. “Dear Jesus, let him make the third out so I don’t have to bat again.” Dear Jesus heard my prayer as the sharp grounder was scooped up and he forced out a runner at second to end the game.

You would think that was the end of my tale. However, anyone over the age of 40 will tell you that with every new sporting event you try comes new muscle aches. I somehow managed to make it home and into bed. The next morning my wife played a cruel joke on me and moved the medicine cabinet down the block. In my mind. As I sit here today, because I can’t get up, I smell of menthol as I wrapped patches all over my body. In my attempt to play last night I think I have found the perfect way to lose weight as I am too sore to even chew. Yep, the pounds are dropping off of me as I type.

In my mind.

Snow White and the 8 Dwarves

Drama has been a part of my life for a number of years. It began with a bit part as one of about a dozen Uncle Sam’s in preschool, and travelled through being a cowboy in the second grade and one of the three kings from the orient are (I’ve looked on Google earth and still have no idea where Are is exactly). I’ve been a cranky old man, a dwarf, a Captain in the U.S. Army in Okinawa, and a fan at a Yankees’ game looking for tickets. In college I played an ant, a clown (type casting), and a harangued father. I’ve acted in, directed, and written more than my share of productions. Some turned out better than expected, while others were fortunate to make it through final dress rehearsal. I’ve also been privileged enough to see some incredible professionals such as Dame Judith Anderson at the end of her career. I sat in awe at Mystere and la Nouba as acrobats from Cirque de Sole performed so close to me that I could reach out and touch them - which I wouldn’t recommend doing. It seems they frown upon that sort of thing. Who knew? And, like many of you, I have viewed Middle and High School presentations that reminded me of my earlier days when I stood nervously on a stage hoping the audience wouldn’t see my knees quaking or hear my voice shaking. However, never, in my entire life, have I been so in awe and so entertained at a production than I was a few weeks ago. That was when I had the opportunity to watch a drama presentation by a class of special needs children at Oak Grove High School. With members of the Oak Grove Junior Civitan club assisting these students with their lines, these actors worked their way through the story of Snow White and the eight dwarves (seems that Disney got it wrong). Specially written dialogue was delivered with great timing. Dance moves like I have never seen before were performed with a grace that you would not think possible. Never before did woodland critters look so cute, a princess so lovely, or Prince Charming more, well, charming. The line, “I’ve got some bad news ” was much better than the way I had always heard the Magic Mirror speak to the evil queen. The eighth dwarf, Diva, was most appropriately named. And the kiss from the prince on Snow White’s forehead was the most romantic you will ever see on stage. With my apologies to the late Dame Judith Anderson, this was by far the greatest off-Broadway production ever. It made for an entertaining evening with a beautiful young date sitting to my right (yes, I had my wife’s approval), and made me resolve to clear my calendar for the next production. I highly recommend you also make plans to attend. I guarantee you will get your money’s worth. And, if you don’t, I will personally refund the price of admission. Kudos to the Special Needs class at Oak Grove. You’ve got this theater critic sold.

HHS 1982 Reunion

In helping plan the class reunion for the Hattiesburg High School class of 1982, I was sitting with a handful of my classmates a few weeks ago. We reminisced as we began to look through the 1982 yearbook. We talked about class events, teachers, and the things we remembered about our days there. The class of 1982 gave us soldiers and doctors, lawyers and businessmen, blue and white collar workers. Many of our graduates are working in states all over this great country of ours, while others remain loyal to (or stuck in) our hometown. Still others are employed overseas. Some of them, unfortunately, are no longer with us. While some went on to much greater things than we ever imagined, others fell a few yards short of their goals. Hattiesburg High School, in 1982, was a far different school than what you will find on Hutchison Ave. today. In 1982, HHS had several campuses. Only your junior and senior years were spent at Blair Center. There was no air-conditioning to speak of. The classrooms opened to breezeways rather than hallways. The dress code required long pants. This was probably a good thing because it was hard enough for this hot-blooded young American boy to concentrate. Focus would have been lost altogether had the girls been allowed to wear shorts. Especially since the shorts of the 1980’s really were shorts. In the winter the small heaters just below the windows gave out just enough heat to warm one side of your hands. Little time was spent in the breezeways. The coats stayed on inside the classes and many of the girls took notes wearing scarves and gloves. You sharpened your pencil often just because the sharpener was located near the heater. In high school we all have friends that we believe will be our friends forever. Many of these people we couldn’t imagine, at the ripe old age of 17, living without. College and life lead us in different directions and, without the technology we have today, we just lose touch with those we once held so dear. While life does try to replace them with new friends, it’s never quite the same as those we spent our formative years with. Some of the differences that may have polarized us back then have faded away. We no longer see each other as black or white, straight or gay, jock or nerd. Now we just see each other for who we truly are – “well-rounded” men who just want some of the long hair we had in the 80’s and, soccer moms who want to know if there is enough time before the reunion to visit their doctor for some, um, touching up. If you were a member of the HHS Class of 1982, this middle-aged, slightly overweight, bifocal wearing man would love to see you at the reunion. I promise I’ll print the name tags in really big font for us all to be able to see!

Anonymity

“Anonymity makes heroes of us all. “ – Anonymous. The above is not really a quote by anonymous or anyone else less famous. I made it up myself. It should be a famous quote though, because it rings with truth. And nowhere is this more obvious than at the many online forums. A few months ago the Hattiesburg American changed its policy of who could comment on an article. The rules were simple. Simply sign on using your Facebook account. Anyone can get a Facebook account. It costs nothing to register. You are already online if you were a habitual commenter anyway, what’s another step? I have noticed that the comments in the online forums have drastically declined in number since the new policy was adopted. The only thing that I can attribute it to is the lack of anonymity. In the past you simply signed in using your clever “handle” and commented to your heart’s content. Then, as long as your comment followed the guidelines, you posted your brilliance (or ignorance), for the entire world to see. “We can all be brave behind the mask of anonymity.” – Anonymous. Yeah, I made that one up as well. It is easy for us to make comments when our picture isn’t in the paper and people don’t know where we work or live. While I miss reading the comments on the variety of topics found in the opinion section, I do like the new format. Why not put a face to your comments? Why not show the world who you are when you disagree? Recent political debates have allowed us to see the candidates for who they really are. I believe, and I am probably showing my ignorance here for all to see, that none of the candidates are as good or as bad as they are made to seem during these debates. However, good or bad, all of their statements are very public. A politician has to have thick skin to handle the “slings and arrows” of the opposition. I, the hidden forum commenter, can say what I want behind the relative safety of my computer screens. Hardly seems fair. In the comic books I read as a child, as well as some of the graphic novels I read on occasion now, the superhero usually wears a mask. Some sort of disguise. When you think about it, maybe the real superheroes are the ones without the masks. “Don’t be afraid to show people the face behind your comments, even if you live to regret them later.” – Kevin Harrison.

I resolve...

It has been brought to my attention that I have failed to post a few articles on my blog as I usually do after the articles have been published. Below you will fins the article written for the first of January 2012. The slate is wiped clean. The resolutions have been made again. We are given the opportunity to resolve to do many of those things we resolved to do last year and failed. But 2011 brought challenges that prohibited our goals from being met. So, if we did not succeed in reaching our expectations, or at least our hopes, what did we learn from those experiences? The philosopher and poet George Santayana is quoted as saying, “Those that cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” 2011 was ripe with learning opportunities. I know what I have learned and I hope that you too have learned from mistakes made. Sometimes, if we are wise, we can learn from the mistakes of others so that we don’t have to make them ourselves. For example, in sports, can we all say we learned never to underestimate an opponent? Watching the Southern Miss versus UAB and Marshall football games proved that point to some respect. I think that Houston may have learned that lesson more than anyone. The economy may be showing signs of recovery. If we do come out of this recession soon, will we learn from our mistakes? I’m not talking about the government. I’m talking about taking personal responsibility. For instance, when gas prices rose to around $4.00 per gallon, what changes did you make in your driving habits? Did you keep those same changes when the prices dropped to around $3.00? In my business I have found that making wiser purchasing decisions allows me to remain open when other independent small businesses are closing all around me. Those same decisions hold true for my household expenses. We have learned that, if we don’t have the money for something, we don’t whip out the plastic with the idea of paying for it later. Becoming debt free in my home and my business was not enough for us. Remaining debt free has been equally important. If your 2011 included the loss of a loved-one, I hope you have learned that long life is not promised to any of us. Take no relationship for granted. Never pass up the opportunity to tell someone how much you love and appreciate them. I’ve also learned that just watching what I eat is not enough. Exercise is mandatory. Hopefully a combination of the two this next year will help me lose the 20 pounds I need to lose. My 2011 “lose 15 pounds” diet only added 5! This year brings a class reunion to the table that I am looking forward to attending. I’m no longer the skinny, mop-headed boy of yesteryear nor am I the man I had dreamed I would become. I have, however, found a happy medium. The most important lesson I can pass on this year to the youth of today is that life doesn’t come with a spell-check. If you made mistakes, don’t dwell on them. Learn from your history. Better yet, learn from mine.

Attention! Attention!

I admit it. I've lost it. I've lost the ability to remember things. My ability to focus. Some of it I blame on age. Some of it I blame on not taking care of my mind like I should. Most of it I blame on the loss of my daughter. Regardless of the reason, I miss my brain almost as much as I miss my Beth.

It was a nice brain when I had it. It did a great job of remembering names, faces, dates and obscure details found only in Trivial Pursuit. My powers of observation were keen. My ability to hold numbers in my head surprised even me. I could tell you my wife's Social Security number, my phone number from when my family first moved to Mississippi in 1970 and the five-digit employee number I had when I worked for a major retailer in college 25 years ago.

I'm not sure exactly when I started losing my mind. My attempts at athletic events did a number on my body, but I didn't lose my mind then. My half-decade at USM did not destroy too many brain cells. Even being a parent didn't cause a decrease in mental faculties (although there were times when I felt like it did).

So what do you do when you are facing what must surely be diagnosed as Adult Attention Deficit something or another? How do you turn off all the conversations going on around you and focus on just the one you should be having with your wife? I was told that taking Ginkgo Biloba may help somewhat - if I can remember to take it.

Have no fear, I have found a solution! Since there is no longer any room for memory in my head, I am storing as much of it as I can on my computer. And my smartphone. And my iPad. These devices are handy at helping me remember important dates, names and numbers. I'm afraid that it won't be enough though. Yes, it helps to be able to have a name and phone number stored away for safe keeping, but when I open my address book and look at some of the names there I still have to wonder who the heck that person is and why did I feel it necessary to save their name and number?

Thankfully my smartphone has saved me more than once. I have consolidated my memory into focusing only on how to get at the information I need. This means remembering one or two steps to have access to several memories. With the help of what is essentially a computer on my hip, I can now remember everything I need to get through the day. I literally carry my brain around with me wherever I go. My future is brighter. I have found salvation in a device no larger than a 3-by-5 index card. There is hope for me yet.

Has anyone seen what I did with my phone?