Getting young people ready for the workaday world

Perhaps one of the most jarring things that a young adult may experience is entering the full-time job market for the first time. I'm not talking about jobs during high school, like mowing lawns in the summer, working at McDonald's, or the like.

No, this is showing up at work each day on time, in which you're immersed in a culture you surely don't understand at first, and the rules aren't clear. Some young people appear to get it right away; others don't. The lack of structure and confusion about expectations of you is a big factor.

So I applaud those who would recognize the issue and do something about it. And so it was that I attended my second professional interview day at Allen Park High School yesterday. The deal was that high school students, at best one or two with an interest in my current journalism career, would show me their resume, and I would ask questions to see whether they were prepared and qualified.

I met those with a clear-eyed vision of where they wanted to go and what they wanted to do - teach, become a doctor, go into the military - and others who had interests that they considered doing as a career, but the path from A to B wasn't entirely clear to them. All of them planned to go to college, a couple to a nearby community college.

We were in the gym, at separate tables, and the juniors would approach us, introduce themselves, and we'd get started. The dress code was all over the map: from suits and ties to casual work dress to shorts and t-shirts.

I spoke with one young man yesterday who said on his resume that, after a neighbor moved away and the house was left empty for a few months, that he took care of their lawn. There was no compensation; the owners were gone.

Why? I asked. "I just wanted to be a good neighbor," he said. From the resume, the kid had a GPA well above 3.0. I want that kid on my team.

On other resumes, words were misspelled, and I corrected the words.

I often asked about the last book they had read. Evidently, these juniors had just finished reading "Great Expectations" by Charles Dickens in English Class, so I began to ask the last book they had read outside class. One young man told me he liked to read history books, and he shared them with his Dad.

When the students were ushered into the gym, before they approached us for interviews, they sat on the bleachers, talking with each other, looking at us from across the gym. Their appearance, their demeanor was so refreshing: so thin! so relaxed! so, well, young!

I wish them the best, and I commend the APHS staff for the idea and its execution. Well done.

Riding on the backs of young adults

Young voters turned out in record numbers in the 2008 presidential election, the most since 1972, when 18-year-olds were first able to vote.

According to U.S. News, from a story published in Nov. 2008, "Up to 54.5 percent of Americans ages 18 to 29 voted on Tuesday, just 1 percentage point shy of youth voter turnout's all-time high in 1972, according to preliminary reports. They made up a higher proportion of the electorate—18 percent—than the 65-and-older age category, which accounted for 16 percent.”

“And they leaned overwhelmingly toward the Democratic ticket. For every one vote cast for John McCain, two young people cast votes for Obama.”

Presumably, disaffection with the Republican Party, John McCain’s failure to capture the imagination of young voters, disenchantment with the war in Iraq and dismal job and career prospects, and the “hope and change” mantra of the Obama campaign fueled this surge of young voter support for Obama.

How ironic, then, after owing so much of his electoral victory to young adults, that he wod target the young to achieve his agenda, in two ways.

The first way was to design health care legislation afforded largely on the backs of young people, who will have choice snatched from them.

The second way is by ignoring another issue that looms larger each day; and left holding the bill will be our sons and daughters and grandchildren.

The first is the new health care legislation. The primary targets of the individual mandate are the young, some of whom may delay purchasing health insurance because 1) they’re currently healthy, and 2) they need or want the money for other things.

Not so fast, says the Obama administration: if we’re to provide health care to everyone, particularly those who can’t afford it, or those for whom health and illness is a big issue (say, senior citizens), then someone is going to have to pay for these privileges.

And therein lays the difference between a right and a privilege: rights are free; privileges must be paid for.

In this case, young adults will be compelled to purchase health insurance, whether they choose to or not. It’s the only way that it can be afforded, by exacting taxes or penalties on those who won’t on average break the bank, because the young get seriously ill far less often.

Seems like a crummy way to reward your political supporters. Presumably the betting is that either young adults won’t notice the new decline in their salary, or perhaps be altruistic enough to blithely ignore it.

The second issue that will be solved on the backs of young adults are benefits for older folk like me: Social Security and Medicare.

You’ve probably heard an oldster or two insisting that they paid into Social Security and Medicare for years, and now they’re simply collecting.

Only partly true: the benefits that I will collect from these entitlements will be more than I paid in throughout my career. Young people will pay for the rest of my coverage.

And here’s the secret that most politicians don’t dare mention: the demographics in the future will be a non-starter to continuing this Ponzi scheme. A growing cadre of older people can’t be sustained by a shrinking group of younger people, thanks to millions of separate personal decisions aided by birth control and abortion.

It can’t be afforded unless something major happens. And it is a political grenade whose pin has been pulled. Someone like Congressman Paul Ryan in Congress has the courage to run forward and deal with it, attempting to save everyone else, and he’s accused of rolling Grandma off a cliff?

And either it will happen now, which will be a bit easier, or it will happen later, when our collective backs are against the wall. The way we’re going, I’m betting on the latter course, because Obama and Co. don’t want to face the issue, particularly in an election year.

But political and, more importantly, moral courage demand that it be addressed, and soon.

Jerry LaVaute is a special writer for Heritage Media. Follow his “Pa’s Blog” at http://jlavaute.blogspot.com. He can be reached at glavaute@gmail.com or call 734-740-0062.

Quoteworthy: A Prayer for Owen Meany

Once in a while, I run into a book or a movie or music that shifts my perspective, makes me see things in a different light; opens up new ways of thinking. "A Prayer for Owen Meany," by John Irving, was such a book.

Here is the opening sentence:

I am doomed to remember a boy with a wrecked voice - not because of his voice, or because he was the smallest person I ever knew, or even because he was the instrument of my mother's death, but because he is the reason I believe in God; I am a Christian because of Owen Meany.

Years later, the words reverberate for me. What an adventure follows for the reader, I thought. I skimmed the first eight pages this morning, and I laughed out loud twice, in public.

A little recommendation for some off-center summer reading. Be patient.

Come look at this! or, the soul of a teacher, part II

In Journalism, you're told not to use exclamation points. Among the Heritage Media Staff, we've discussed it and actually joked about its use at editorial meetings.

So when I exchange emails with a school teacher to schedule an interview or to ask or answer a question, I'm often tickled by the number of exclamation points that are used. In one recent note from a teacher, I counted six exclamation points after a single sentence. Six! (oops.)

Now, this Edgemont teacher had recently been nominated for teacher of the year for the third time. Committed, passionate, driven: you can see it in her writing.

Yesterday, I figured out why. Teachers spend much of each day working with children to see that they grasp concepts and facts. It's a little like my teaching my grandson Noah how to throw or catch a ball.

It is amazing the sophistication of motor skills required to do that. Adults have long since taken it for granted in their lives, but try to teach it to a two-year-old and you begin to understand. The act of releasing the ball at the right time as it's being thrown is not automatic. It needs to be taught, and teaching takes patience and commitment.

It also takes a bit of faith. You're taking a leap that your student will get it: that he will understand the point, will enjoy it, will release the ball at the right time. For the longest time, Noah would would reach behind himself, ball in hand, and as his arm whipped forward to throw the ball, he would open his hand prematurely and release the ball behind his head. It was pretty comical, but puzzling. I mean, c'mon! You're two years old, already!

I realized recently that teachers do this all day long, for several hours each day, with about 30 different children. Some of the stuff surely is rote, a reinforcement of what most have already learned, before you move on to the new stuff.

But some may not have yet gotten it, so you need further work with them, and the need to teach them new stuff is always just around the corner. So you work with your students, teaching in a manner which has worked in the past, trying to be engaging so you command their attention.

And one of the natural approaches is to create excitement. The use of exclamation points in your teaching is a small way to create that excitement, and a teacher will pull out every tool in her or his toolbox to drive that message home.

And then, when they do get it, when the light goes on, you want to call attention to your victory. Not for you, so much - it's what you do - but to your young charge.

Come look at this!!!!!! you say. See what he or she did!!!!!!! They got it!!!!!!!

It's a little like the basketball coach watching a player at the end of the game at the free throw line. There's 0:01 left on the clock. The score is tied; a single point will win it.

With the young person at the free throw line, you've tried everything: overhand, underhand, deep breaths, repetition. It's been largely frustrating. And now the game is on the line.

Up the ball goes, arcing toward the net. Swish! It drops down through the strings, and the game is won. Now, that's good, but as the coach, the key thing, the thing that really lifts you, that makes it all worthwhile, is that the lesson took. The student learned.

Teachers get that every day, every hour in the classroom. It has to be one of the most rewarding parts of their job, and no wonder. Come look at this!

My unique journey through Lent

My Lenten commitments for the last several years have been nothing to write home about. I commit to something or other, and when I arrive at the Triduum and reflect back on what I've learned or how I've changed, I have precious little to show for it. I'm disappointed in myself, but life goes on, eh?

Usually, it's a behavioral thing I try to change, but those are resistant to change; they're habits - they're who we are. Despite this, I decided this Lent to try to be less judgmental and friendlier toward everyone, especially strangers.

I had a weight loss goal, on which I've failed so miserably that I've actually gained weight, although I have a specific plan after Lent that may produce some results.

And, practically or, say, liturgically speaking, I decided to attend daily Mass, and to go on retreat, which I went on yesterday. It helps to have a flexible job schedule to do this. I know I'm very fortunate in that regard.

Interestingly, though, I've realized through thinking about it at Mass, and particularly at yesterday's retreat, that I've been extraordinarily lucky in my life. But luck comes and goes, doesn't it?

As I think about it, maybe a better word is blessed. Now, on a daily basis, I see the world and my role in it through a secular prism. My behavior is guided far more by secular humanism, a very fine thing, than it is by a relationship with the Holy Trinity. I mean, that's difficult even to understand, to grasp. Given that, how do you develop a relationship with it?

Well, it's begun. I don't really understand it, and I'm a bit put off by it. I have no idea where it will end, but I've decided to run with it for a bit. We'll just let it play out, by further practice at what I've begun to do.

I was sitting in Mass yesterday after the retreat that immersed me among about 40 like-minded folk for several hours, and I sang and listened to a hymn whose lyrics I didn't recall ever seeing, although the melody was familiar, and very pretty.

As we sang each verse, I thought, Dear God, He's speaking to me! Note the capital letter "H." Yes, that He.

It was at once alarming and affecting, but I realize more each day that it's part of a journey in which we puzzle over what it means. Some of it we spend in isolation; some of it we share with others.

Today, I share with you the second verse of the "Covenant Hymn," which got to me so powerfully in Mass yesterday:

Whatever you dream, I am with you, When stars call your name in the night.

Though shadows and mist cloud the future, Together we bear there a light.

Like Abraham and Sarah we stand, With only a promise in hand.

But lead where you dream: I will follow. To dream with you is my delight.

Have a great day.

Basketball walk

I've examined this photo for months now. To me, the facial expression is fascinating. What does it remind you of? I see curious. I see eager. I see a young boy filled with potential, whose life I hope will be filled with goodness, love and adventure. God bless you, Noah.

Amma and Pa's recent visit to Noah featured delightful weather, and a little boy who is adventure, who is fun, and never stops, except when we insist that he eats something, and takes a nap.

Yesterday it was basketball, in fact all sorts of balls - tennis, soccer - at play. Noah has a small basket into which he's able to dunk a ball, but he made a couple attempts at the official 10 foot high basket yesterday. That need a little work.

I kicked the ball over toward the fence, and encouraged him to kick it against the fence, catch the rebound with his foot, and whip it back against the fence, hard, trying all the time to control the ball. It's how his Dad learned to be a good soccer midfielder. Matthew was able to remove the ball from contention with one hard well-placed kick, and change the direction of a game in an instant.

A little later, Noah led me on a walk around the garage. There are narrow alleys to the right of and behind the garage. We began by walking through a bed of volcano rock down a corridor that was about four feet wide, made a sharp left and reached a patchy area of grass behind the garage.

As we made our way toward the open backyard and the lush open grass, he began to run and to yell. I did the same and began to run and yell myself. We did it many more times together, and I began calling it the "basketball walk." I told Noah that we would use the walk to build our stamina and agility, so that we would become better basketball players.

A little later, I began running sideways on the grass, like sliding during basketball practice, and he loved it. He began doing it too, and we had the best time.

After he went inside and took his bath, we played with a beach ball in the living room. After working on this for a few months, he has learned how to catch the ball, and to throw it back to me. He puts the ball behind his head, and has now learned to release it at the right point so it flies toward me, instead of off into space.

When Amma and Pa bid him goodbye, it was as if we were saying farewell to someone with whom we'd just shared a great daylong adventure, like a whitewater rafting expedition. It was that much fun.

Please be careful of pedestrians and bikers

I ran for 15 years, and biked for a few years. I know the hazards of being out there with drivers of automobiles whose first thought may not be avoiding the runner or the biker alongside then, or who suddenly appears in front of them.

As a driver of an automobile, I'm sometimes guilty of it too. Yesterday, I drove past a poignant memorial at the northwest corner of Haggerty and Michigan, a remembrance of a young lady's untimely death, and a reminder to please be careful with those just outside our vehicles.

When I approach an intersection, I look left and right and ahead to spot pedestrians. Runners and bikers have a way have a way of suddenly appearing, and you realize after a few close calls that you should have been more careful, paid more attention.

The burden, I think, falls on runner and bikers as well. I used to ensure I had eye contact with the driver of the vehicle before I proceeded to cross its path.

Let's watch out for each other.

The price of piety

I've been going to Mass most weekdays, to St. Thomas a' Becket in Canton. I did it partly for Lent.

I learned when I began to lector that the liturgies that often had the most impact on me were those that I chose to go to, as opposed to the weekend obligation. And it's been very worth it. I've enjoyed it, and I'm learning. It's quite a good way to start your day.

But I stopped today in Belleville to fill the car up with gasoline, and at $4.10 per gallon, I spent just north of $65 on on a tank fillup. So the attendance at Mass has become a sort of investment - it has a quantitative cost, a qualitative benefit (I'd like to think), and a resulting return on my investment. I'm gonna say it's worth it.

The first day of spring

Noah got to play in his backyard just a bit on

Tuesday, and his Dad briefly came out of retirement to take a photo or two.

I'm glad he did. They capture Noah's excitement and what is sure to be an adventure-filled spring and summer, as he, among many other things, hones his basketball skills. He needs a little more work on the tomahawk dunk, but that is one sweet outside shot - nothing but net.

Computer classes for fortyplussomethings

Executed properly, this class would be a great idea for people who didn't grow up with computers, yet still want or need to use one. Here are the goals and a draft syllabus. Some of the input I've received so far suggests that skill levels of adults who take this class will vary widely, and that at least two classes at two levels over several weeks might be more sensible.

Here are the goals and a draft syllabus:

Goals and syllabus for Fortyplussomething Introduction to Computer Applications

Goals

· Introduce, familiarize, hone current skills or answer procedural questions about the personal use of a computer. Encourage responsible use, and enhance enjoyment of personal and social life.

Syllabus

· Introduction to PC hardware and terms

· Brief history of the computer

· Social aspects of computers, especially smartphones. Quote from Google CEO. Electronic distractions and driving.

· Introduction to programs

o Word Processing

o Spreadsheets

o Email and attachments

o Social Media – Facebook and Twitter

o Cameras – downloading photos and videos

o Evernote

o Others – Kindle, Contact lists

o How to talk to a Fortyminussomething about a computer (if you must).

o Gesture search on smartphone

o Bookmarks

o Copy and paste

o Setting up and using folders

o Passwords, Internet safety and hacking

· Of particular interest to women

§ TBD

§ TBD

· Of particular interest to men

§ TBD

§ TBD

My goals updated

In September 2009, when I became a staff reporter at The View, I was really excited about my new career. I listed several goals and published them in a column in the View.

A few months ago, my son Matthew asked me how many of my goals I had achieved. As I recall, I gave him some mealy-mouthed answer, something like I hadn’t yet won the Pulitzer Prize for Journalism. A few days ago, however, my daughter Kelly asked me the same question. When I told my wife Jan about it, she said she had been meaning to ask me the same question.

Are they talking with each other about this? Possibly. But it is a good question, one that bears answering. I’ve listed below the goals that I identified in 2009, 30 months ago, and I’m gonna give myself a Pass/Fail/Incomplete grade on each of them.

· To earn and to retain your trust – Pass. The other day, someone thanked me for accurate reporting. It wasn’t the first time.

· To win a Pulitzer Prize – Incomplete. Hope springs eternal.

· To answer questions you never asked – Incomplete. My “nose for news” has improved, but there is much room for improvement. I do enjoy stepping back from situations and analyzing, however. Examples include whether VBT police officer salaries are competitive with other nearby communities, a detailed look at the blended rate, and so on. Also municipal budgets. I like to do spreadsheets.

· To retire from this at age 75, if that – Incomplete.

· To entertain you – Pass, I think.

· To educate you – Pass. I’m nuts about knowledge, about learning new things, and I like to share.

· To send you to the dictionary every so often – Pass, sort of. I may make you wonder; whether you use the dictionary is up to you. By the way, I now know what the word “penultimate” really means. I misused it in a story a while back. Look it up.

· To ask you, when you think I’m wrong, to call me out – Pass. I’ve noticed about half-a-dozen bad mistakes that I’ve made, including misidentifying someone as the mayor of Ann Arbor. And a real public official once called me obtuse.

· To write in a way that’s easy to read, gets the facts right, and pushes you to think – I try to answer questions that are begged as I re-read the story a third time, and to structure a story that’s coherent. And I will frequently call a source to confirm my understanding of the facts.

· To encourage you to read, and I’m not talking about newspapers here. I’m talking about books - I have no idea. I hope so.

· To figure out how to write concisely, using Twitter and The View blog as learning tools – Pass. I’ve become much better at writing shorter stories. I’m on Facebook (way too often for some of you, I suspect) most every day, and I’ve begun recently to blog once or twice each week. Next step: to attract more blog followers (I have three at the moment, and two are blood relatives), and to “monetize” the blog, that is, to begin to make money on it.

· That, as I describe a story, to bring you right alongside me as it unfolds – Pass. Setting up a scene in my writing is one of my favorite things. I want with my words to bring you into the room with me. A recent example was a sidebar story featuring direct quotes from Van Buren Township elected officials, during an animated discussion.

· My secret next desire is to write a story to describe to you a song and the reasons I like it, using just words – no melody, no song sheet – Pass. My column on my favorite songs while traveling had a crack at that.

· To challenge your thinking - Pass. I like to write about issues as they arise from specific occurrences. Because I think most everything is connected, it’s helpful for me to understand and to try to explain the big picture.

· To analyze a situation when appropriate, not just report it. – Pass. I don’t care for the reporting that throws a figurative grenade into our midst, invites us to puzzle over it, and perhaps get overly excited. I think of it as “civic porn.” Better to ask and answer the questions that are inevitably begged – Is it good or bad? By whose lights? Is there another side to the story? What does it mean? What are the facts? Can both sides of the issue see the truth in what I’ve written? Tough test.

· To inject humor into the situation from time to time - Pass. I still have a 1960’s edge to my humor, and I enjoy laughing. I laughed very hard several times yesterday at something completely inappropriate, but absurdly funny. I’m not great at making others laugh, but I’m in there pitching.

· To acknowledge the value that my “home editor,” my wife Jan, adds to my stories before my real editor sees them – Pass. Jan will read this and provide input on it to me before it’s published. Most anything that’s remotely sensitive I seek out her opinion. She has been, and continues to be invaluable to me, in countless ways.

· To never set out to intentionally hurt someone – Pass, with a caveat. I’ve never set out in my writing to intentionally hurt someone. But I can at times be harsh and use hurtful, chiding words in my blogs on political issues of national consequence. Someone suggested the other day that I tone it down when I began to compare the Obama administration to the beginning of the Nazis in Germany in the early 1930’s. I’ve concluded that if clever phrasemaking or observations stultify dialogue, they should be thought about once or twice before publishing. But my attitude is born of an increasingly serious concern that we’re at risk of losing this beautiful nation and its people that I’ve enjoyed and admired for 60 years. I can’t see it threatened without making a fuss.

· That I am a political conservative and that my writing will sometimes reflect that - Pass.

· To help my editor make The View the newspaper that is commonly referred to when locals talk about local issues - Incomplete. Getting or regaining traction in a community so well-served by so many newspapers is not a short-term task.

· To compete with the other newspapers in an honorable way – Pass. I’m on speaking terms with my competition, and we will help each other on occasion.

· To raise the bar for all local reporting – Incomplete. I’d like to think I have.

· That, as I listen to a UM game in the next room as I compose this, to declare proudly that I am a Notre Dame Football fan, and have been for 25 27 years. But to acknowledge abjectly that Tate Forcier is brilliant, as is the rest of the team, and to admit in advance that Michigan will win the next four national championships with Forcier at the helm. – Fail. Boy, did I miss that one.

Jerry LaVaute is a special writer for Heritage Media. Follow his Pa’s Blog at http://jlavaute.blogspot.com. He can be reached at glavaute@gmail.com or call 1-734-740-0062.

The sailing ship

I promised Noah we would go to the zoo next week, but I forgot to tell Jan. In particular, I said that we could see kangaroos. I don't know if they have kangaroos at the Detroit Zoo. I sure hope so.

I was vulnerable. He was seated in the passenger seat, the Taurus was in the driveway, motor running. He played with most everything in reach - rear view mirror, the CD player (I helped him insert the discs) which played the Spencer Davis Group ("I'm a Man"), the center console, which I taught him how to open, the sun visors.

Inside the console, he found the chap stick. He struggled to remove the seal and handed me the detritus. He climbed into the backseat for some reason and began applying it to his lips. You have to watch him because he's still learning, and sometimes he'll bite off a small piece. But he's learned it doesn't taste very good, so that's fixing itself.

In the back seat, I pulled down the center console, which surprised him. I showed him the cup holders, and told him he could rest comfortably in the back seat with a cool drink at the ready, while I drove, although I'm sure he would prefer to drive. I envisioned a trip to South Bend to visit the University of Notre Dame.

I showed him the napkins in the rear console, and for some reason he began saying "No napkins." There was a clear emphasis on the first syllable; don't ask me why. I repeated it, and together we said it several times.

In the end, it was like a sailing ship with two passengers. We traded captaincy, each of us happily surrendering the authority for a short while. The point was to explore, to discover, to test. That we did. What a delightful kid.

The people you met

We bought a new land line phone system recently, and my wife has been transferring names and numbers from the old phones to the new ones. The next stage has her looking at our hard copy address books to be thorough. It's a work in progress.

Yesterday, I looked at our address books to see whether I needed to put any addresses into my cell phone. I found a few and entered them in about 15 minutes. What was noteworthy, however, were the names and addresses that I didn't add.

Some were deceased. Some we hadn't seen for years. Some were divorced.

What was particularly amazing was the number of contractors with whom we no longer work. We've gone through several of them over the last three decades that we've owned a home, parting often on terms where we're less than fully satisfied with the service, or parting in an angry way, feeling as if we were wronged or lied to. One we even sued in small claims court, and won.

As you grow older, you begin to notice the number of friends and acquaintances and associates and contacts you've had, and you realize that dozens of people walk in - and out - of your lives over the years.

How about all the parents of the kids your kids played sports with? Soccer, track and field, basketball. Heck, you used to travel together to soccer tournaments in Ohio, staying overnight in a hotel with your team family, and you had a ball. The games themselves were the point, but the fun and the socializing are more easily remembered than the scores of the games.

School-based associations are another example. Teachers, classmates, events - a whirlwind of activity for a dozen years, and it's gone. Off to college, and things change, forever.

I spent over 30 years walking the halls of a dozen different buildings in which I worked at Ford Motor Company. Given that I was in Finance in Product Development, I worked with hundreds of design and development engineers over the years, more than I could remember as I acquired more and more working relationships, and my memory was asked to stretch back and cover what began to seem like an unreasonably long period of time.

If I suddenly chanced upon a familiar face as I walked down a hallway, early on I would attempt a name as I said hello. But you don't have to make too many errors doing that with names before you learn not to use a name, and to simply say hello.

It's an odd phenomenon, one that you begin to realize as you grow older. Stuff not only happens, it changes over time. Good? Bad? Like O says with respect to his views and public policy on abortion, that's above my pay grade.

Expanding role of hired consultants in public life

Van Buren Township is considering giving up the rest of its animal control business by outsourcing it to a facility in Romulus, to save over $30,000 per year.

The process to select the new Van Buren Public Schools Superintendent, and the process that led to the recent decision to close Haggerty and Elwell Elementary Schools, were led by outside consultants. I thought they did a great job.

Belleville's accounting and budget development process is supported by Plante Moran.

Sumpter Township fired its engineering consultants in December after a relationship of 18 years, I understand. No reason for the firing was provided in the meeting, although the question was asked.

VBT's code compliance inspectors include staff from McKenna Associates, the township's longtime planning consultants.

VBT was embarrassed a couple summers ago when the outside contractor they hired to mow the township's parks and cemeteries was judged to be doing an inadequate job, despite decent references. U.S. Flags decorating veterans' graves were not being treated with the proper respect. Quickly, they obtained help from another mower, a local business.

My point? Consultants are becoming ubiquitous in municipal operations. Depending on your views, you may some of that as good, some not so good. but there is no denying it - they are a larger influence on municipal operations each day.

Memory Lane is washed out

In the late 1980's, for about 15 years, I ran most days, early in the morning, when I lived in the city of Belleville. The alarm would go off at 4:45 a.m., and I would try to be on the road by 5:30, fueled by a couple cups of coffee.

The big advantage of running in the city was the streetlights, illuminating the darkness as I ran down sidewalks, often passing idling cars in the owner's driveway, warming up for the driver still getting ready inside the house.

Eventually, particularly on weekends in the daylight, I would venture farther, and one of my favorite routes was running Denton Road out of town, past Hillside Cemetery on my left as I ran toward the apartment complex. When I reached its far end, I would take a slight left on Old Denton Road, run down there, and often squeeze through the nominal barriers to the back entrance of Van Buren Park.

I would run down the hill, and as I reached its bottom I would pass Belleville Lake on my left, Willow Creek on my right. From the bottom, the road ascended again, and I steeled myself for the uphill climb, never my forte'.

Quiet, pretty, Belleville Lake, trees, water - it was a good run to and through the park.

In the VBT Board of Trustees meeting earlier this week, DPW Director Tom MacDonald said that the road had been washed out, a victim of gradual erosion, and that it needed to be fixed, because it exposed a sanitary sewer which needed to be protected from further natural insults.

Curious, I stopped by yesterday and took a few photos. I learned that Memory Lane had washed away, and if you weren't prepared to swim a short distance, you had to stop, right there.

Thanks goodness the project is in Tom's capable hands, and his fine staff. Shoot, if you replace the road, I might even begin running again.

Packing for Noah

The event rolls around once each week. I begin to anticipate it, like a little kid, about 48 hours before it's scheduled. There's a spring in my step as I look forward to it, and a lilt in my voice. Life just got a little bit - nay, a whole lot - better.

We begin to pack to go see him about a day before, putting stuff on the kitchen table to bring to him.

A tennis ball. Lunch. My work stuff, although I rarely do any real work that day; maybe a phone call or two. New teaching tools, cleverly disguised as toys, like a "shape ball" that holds inside it different plastic shapes like a circle, a square, a hexagon, and about a dozen others.

Noah is asked to find the right fit in the plastic ball for each shape. On our most recent visit, he mastered the skill of holding the shape at just the right angle to insert through the opening.

He knows now how to spell his name. I bring a small plastic license plate that I purchased in Walmart with his name on it, but I forget the zip ties that would secure it to something, and I bring it home. Next visit.

I work with him on how to spell "Pa." He can repeat the spelling when I say it, but when I check a couple hours later, he's forgotten. We'll work on it.

He points to where the poster of the Blue Angels, soaring skyward, used to be on his bedroom door. It's no longer there hanging on the door, and a couple missing paint chips are in its place. Pa did it.

He'd like a new poster of the planes, he says. I say I'll work on it.

There are as many as three trips to the car to bring in the stuff when we babysit for Noah. I bet the stuff, all told, weighs several pounds.

We sometimes don't use the stuff that we bring in, but no worries. It's best to be prepared.

When he succeeded at putting the shape in the right hole, I shouted "Ta-daaaaaaaaaaaa!" He got it right away, and as he worked on the next shape, we waited expectantly for the big moment, and when he succeeded the room exploded with shouting and laughter , among Amma, and Pa, and Noah.

Before we left to go home, Noah and I hid in the bedroom closet. I go in first, he follows and closes the closet door behind us. It's dark in there, but only for a moment, because as I look down I can see the little hand reaching for the doorknob.

The door opens (his parents have had to put new childproof locks that replaced the simpler ones he figured out), and we tiptoe through the bedroom, speed picking up as we reach the hallway, and it's a sprint toward the living room as Amma, who is evidently not aware not aware of our approach, is blissfully relaxed until Noah hits the arm of the couch and says "Boo!" to Amma. She is startled, and shouts, and few moments later I run up and shoot "Boo!" again. Once again, she is frightened out of her wits.

A good day, by any definition.