Today we all need a break from the endless news cycle so I thought it may be a great idea to write this temporary distraction piece to spur a laugh or two. So, here it goes. 

If I want to head back in time a bit it only takes a second or two for me. You only need to mention the “CB” Radio. That is the Citizen’s Band (CB) Radio for those who may not have been a user or even around in the 1970’s and 1980’s. The CB preceded most all other mobile communication and it was a method our “Big Rig Drivers”, local Pick up owners, volunteer firemen and just about anyone (who was cool) would use to talk to others from their vehicle. They would mount it under their dash and it would open up their world of public conversation at a distance. It was not secure communication by any means and everything you said to a friend through your microphone could be listened to by anyone on that channel. 

Those connected had large “Whip” antennas on their cars or trucks and replicated the same with bigger antennas on their homes. The mobile whip antenna was a thing of beauty symbolizing the muscle under the hood (or dash in this case). You were a connected member of society who likely could respond faster than anyone else to any chaos known to man or beast. This could be a car accident, a fire or simply an overlooked get together that you had only stumbled upon by hearing it on the CB. A “Home base station” was recognizable by the huge triangular shaped frame antenna that seemed like it could reach out to another planet. I’m not sure, but this could be a variant theory of where the phrase “Bigger is better” came from. It seemed like the big and bad CB operators had antenna’s on poles that extended hundreds of feet into the sky and dwarfed their homes. Sadly, I do not think the antenna range was ever tested so it’s likely that bigger might have only represented a more obnoxious disruption to the horizon. 

There was a wave of television shows that spurred the popularity of CBs including Movin’ On, BJ and the Bear or the big screen movies entitled, Smokey and the Bandit, Breaker – Breaker and Convoy to name a few. A new language was born where Smokies were the police, Billy Goat meant Old Timer and 10-4 was a resounding understanding and agreement of the facts you just stated. These influences were deep for a young kid looking for an adventurous life where the good guys always won and everyone was just “Cool.” To participate, you must understand that every CB user needed a handle. That handle was his or her name to be known by when speaking into the handheld microphone for the airwaves. I recall the day I was listening to hear some “Big Rig” talk and I picked up a skipping signal from the stratosphere echoing a southern drawl voice all the way from Louisiana. It was not what the trucker said, it was the fact that I could hear it. I lived in upstate New York so you might be able to imagine the glee of a 10-year-old equal to discovering a precious gem in the backyard or contacting aliens. The man on the other end of the CB was “Snake Eyes.” I thought that was the best handle I had ever heard and thought it clearly represented a serpent able to strike with a potent venom at any moment. Little did I know at my age it likely represented rolling two die with a single mark on each. At that moment I created my name and took on my handle, “Puny Eyes.” 

Puny Eyes sounded almost as cool as Snake Eyes. After all, it included “Eyes” and that in itself would catch random listeners attention. I am not sure where I got the “Puny” part of the handle, but the definitions I retrieved in later years betrayed “Cool.” Puny is small or sickly. Wow, small, sickly eyes! That description does not represent someone who you would want to talk to on the CB radio or how I wanted to be described. I didn’t have a deep voice at that age and community trust was better, but that name should have likely been adjusted. Besides, my eyes were normal sized and I was not unusually small or sickly. Parents who let their kids use the CB might have restricted its use these days with the thought of “Puny Eyes” being at the other side of the conversation. Today, most kids would be restricted from going to “that internet site” if they had a desire to chat. 

During my CB-years I had a childhood friend whose handle was Red Fox. He had chosen his name modifying his dad’s handle, Gray Fox. I appreciated that, but his handle was not unique or interesting enough and did not come close to my Snake Eyes inspiration. My handle rolled off the tongue. Not considering my thoughtful reflections of today I stuck with Puny Eyes! Red Fox and I chatted about “stuff” probably twice per week for a year or two. It was a great outlet and likely entertained the open airwaves with our innocent topics. It is interesting to compare then and now. What if the phone of today was open communication? I’m pretty sure that the privacy police would be on us pretty quick, but what an interesting conscience keeper. Although the CB radio created only a false sense of anonymity, users kept a sense of honesty and cleanliness in their conversation. Obviously, I listened with my untarnished youthful ears and may have saw the world rosier than it was, but that is the memory that stuck in my head. The reach of my CB radio seemed continental and maybe limitless, but no fear was ever produced by its use. It was just pure joy. 

Breaker, breaker, this is Puny Eyes signing off with some lessons of fearlessness, decency, courtesy and respect taught to me through my CB radio in the good ol’ days! Thanks for listening in and hope this “Break” took you away from the stress of today for a bit! 

“Reflect and Laugh to Refresh your Spirit” 

and then …

“Do Your Job” the best way you can 

Jim Laterza

There are some places in life that never leave us, even when we leave them.  What transpires in these temples of our formation lingers like an indian summer over the rest of our life.  The memories and experiences imprint on our very soul and provide the standard by which we measure goodness, love, right, wrong, joy.  None of these places have marble tiled foyers or soaring columns.  They are rarely pristine, often worn, and always well lived in.  While not mecca, they are certainly worthy of a pilgrimage when seeking a renewal of spirit.  We have all knelt at these altars, humbled by their influence, grateful for their refuge.  They are the sites of our most precious memories and most meaningful relationships.  More often than not, we find our way back to them on the scent of fresh baked rolls, or the sound of katydids on a summer evening, instantly transported to the safety and comfort of home.  It is the place our self-confidence is nurtured.  It is where who we are is created.

For me this was my grandmother’s dining room table.  It was the gathering place for the whole community.  The coffee was always on, and more often than not, there was some fresh-baked treat or other available as accompaniment.  The door was never locked.  Even when my grandmother and my aunt weren’t home, they left the doors open in case company stopped by.  They prioritized family, whether by blood or proximity, above all else.  Those relationships were what they lived for, and the number of people whose live’s they touched was an indication of how desperately needed their kind of love was. 

A typical night would see anywhere from four or five to twenty people crowded into the small dining room. There was a lot of laughter, and some tears too.  Folks didn’t always agree.  Healthy debate was plentiful, and often colorful.  You knew better than to express your opinion if you didn’t have the knowledge and experience to defend it.  More than anything else, though there was relationship.  Personal interaction.  Eye contact.  True concern for one another and an attempt to understand even if agreement was unlikely.

It’s what I miss most about my formative years.  I didn’t realize then how quickly that type of interaction was going to fade from the world.  The more “advanced” we have gotten, the further we have traveled from a place where discourse leads to compassion and disagreement does not equal disrespect.  Blame is now more important than resolution and redemption is unheard of.  Everyone’s voice has equal volume when there is nothing to compete against, and isolation gives a sense of bravado far greater than any that would be displayed face to face. 

I am as guilty as anyone of succumbing to our digital age.  For years our dinner table has had as many electronic devices present as people, if it serves as a gathering place at all.  The same is true of every room in the house.  I’m embarrassed by the number of virtual tethers in my home.  The formative years for my kids have been dominated by social media and streaming entertainment instead of real experiences and real relationships.  In an effort to give them the newest, coolest, and best of what our society offers, I have deprived them of what’s most important.  Engagement.  We text from the same room, share memes, YouTube videos, and communicate in a shorthand as likely to include a GIF as a complete sentence with punctuation.  A family desperately oblivious to our need for a reset and reconnect. 

And now here we are, a couple of weeks into limited interaction with the outside world and things are starting to change.  Social Distancing has lead to dinner at home instead of in a crowded, noisy restaurant becoming our new normal.  That, accompanied by a strict no electronics at the dinner table policy, excluding the one we use to Zoom for an extended family Taco Tuesday, has led to conversation, collaboration, cohesiveness.  We have discovered there isn’t much on social media when everyone else is home just like you are.  We have discovered that there is only so much T.V. anyone can stomach before searching for a book, or a game, or better yet, seeking out a conversation.  Our house has started to resemble the home I grew up in.  Sad that it has taken a government order to get us here.  Funny that “Social Distancing” has resulted in reclamation of some of the closest relationships anyone should have.  Not how I would have hoped for a culture shift but I’ll take the victory when there aren’t too many of those going around. 

Will we be able to maintain this when the social freeze thaws?  Only time will tell, but right now my back patio feels a lot like my grandmother’s table used to.  If we get lucky, future days will see it  filled with family, both by blood and by proximity, that need that place where they feel safe. Where they can find a little bit of themselves in the person sitting across the fire pit from them on a fall evening.  Where they discover what being a person is all about from someone that has lived long enough to become one.  And maybe, just maybe, it will be the setting for the conversations and memories that linger like an Indian summer over the rest of their lives.