Funny enough I am in the process of writing my second book. The concept behind it is ‘my life in parables’. So, I will cut and paste chapter one here and ask AI to generate the title. Currently the working title is ‘untitled’. This is a mostely unedited version as well. Here are the 3 titles generated by AI. “My Life in Parables: A Journey of Growth”. “From Latchkey Kid to Life Lessons”. “The Art of Selling Peanuts: My Childhood Story”. I chose the last one for the top title as it is fitting for chapter one.

I am not going to make changes or edit it before posting as it is a work in progress anyway. Your feedback however, on its context, as the reader is still greatly encouraged. Whether you leave a comment or email or fill out the form. Dropping a like so that more people see it would be great too. So without further ado here we go!

1

Ah, Nuts! 

Once when I was eight, an idea sprung up in my mind after leaving the grocery store with my mom. We passed a table of Girl Scouts selling cookies. The box on the table was full of money and I was instantly intrigued. “What if,” I wondered, “I could sell something, so that I could make some money?” . . . “What could I sell, and how would I sell it?” All the way home I thought about this idea. It was a tiny flame within me that kept burning brighter and brighter. I must do this thing, I must find something to sell and sell it, so I too could be as rich as the girls at the Girl Scout table. The idea captured my thoughts and I could not escape it, not that I tried. I didn’t want to escape, I wanted to dive right in! 

This is the story of my life. I rush into things and make things happen. I cover the basics, seek little advice, even when I don’t fully understand what needs to be done. Today, I sit in therapy because of this unchecked passion within me. Do it, and do it on your own, it’s the only way it will happen. I am in control! 

Right on cue from behind the notepad the gentle voice of my therapist asked the inevitable question, “So what do you think about that?”

“Honesty, i don’t know, i don’t know what to think or feel about anything. Everything has become over-complicated because all i do now is think.”

When my mother wasn’t working she was an activist. “Not by choice, but by necessity,” she would later say. Forced bussing was sweeping Los Angeles and my brother and I were being picked up at our old school and  bused into a predominately hispanic neighborhood. To be completely honest, I liked both the bus ride and the lunches at the new school. They had tamales of which my old school did not have and burritos that I am near certain where different than the ones being served at my old mostly affluent white school. Also, I never have had difficulty making friends, I don’t like people but I can make friends easily. My brother would find me at lunch because he knew that I would have several lunches given to me and he would snag one or two. It also served me good to have a 6th grader and his friend come up to me at lunch not to bully but to beg me for food. One thing, looking back that I have come to realize. None of the affluent white kids in my predominantly white school were included in this forced bussing for integration. Only poor white kids were on the bus, I know this because I was friends with most of them and we all lived in the apartments on Ventura Blvd. Like cattle at a slaughter house we were confined, fattened, and led to the slaughter.  This is why my mother became an activist. If forced bussing was going to be a thing, which she didn’t want either, it was going to be done fairly. 

Picket lines and tv interviews, my mom became the face of the bussing protest. You didn’t cross my mother, needless to say, the forced bussing was stopped and my brother and I were back in our predominantly affluent white school with the bland lunches. 

“Do you think this is why you feel you don’t need anyone?” The voice behind the notepad asked. 

“It’s not that i don’t think i need anyone else it’s just that i feel other people just get in the way and therefore it’s better to just do things on my own. i was six or seven when this happened, so to me, it was my mom who did it all. Thinking back obviously she had help but even still today i would be willing to wager a big chunk of it was on her shoulders. If she didn’t need help why would i?” It was more a statement than a question but it didn’t matter the voice behind the notepad simply responded as she always did, with a question. 

“Why do you think this is true for you?” 

“i don’t know, it probably has something to do with my dad.” i responded avoiding eye contact as was my custom and another one of many points of my therapy.

My dad was a busy person too. He was trying to break into the film industry. Working tirelessly to that end. Not as an actor but in post production, editing to be specific. Although, he did aspire to be a camera man at one point as well. He did some motion picture to TV edits and on various projects if you look hard enough and fast enough you will see his name zip by on the closing credits. During the bussing protests my dad helped my mom in holding signs and early on before the real protesting began, my dad demanded to ride the bus. Eventually he won out and rode the bus once. 

Both of my parents were involved in the lives of their children, however, they were busy and that meant we were on our own often. At some point in the apartment dwelling my sister came of age in the eyes of my parents  (she is six years older than me) and took over the role of my supervisor. Still the coolest boss I ever had. I was a bit of a mischievous child. Always planning and scheming terrible ideas. I had some baby sitters that I can remember growing up but I think I drove them away as they changed often. That is until my sister got the position. Even if she wanted to leave she was stuck in the family.

My sister was a girl scout at some point but she had not yet joined their ranks when I hatched my plan to out sell them. I came up with a plan to sell peanuts. You know those peanuts in a can that come in assorted flavors, plain, salted, roasted, honey roasted etc. I made a list and based on the price upsold them. Created an order sheet and then marched out into the neighborhood like Mr Planter Peanut himself to sell and sell I did. When I was done my sheet was full and I had collected a ton of money, all cash. I sat on my bed counting those beautiful bills when my dad walked by. He took a second look paused, thought, and then burst into the room, “Where did you get that money?” He demanded. 

I was in a pickle now. You know when you know, when you are in trouble and I was in trouble. Although, in my mind I didn’t think I did anything wrong, I had a plan and I wasn’t going to swindle these kind people out of their money. I didn’t take into account that I was selling peanuts on false pretense, as I told people I was a Boy Scout. With all the doors I knocked on I can only remember one person asking me why I wasn’t wearing my uniform. I don’t remember what I said, but I do believe they still bought peanuts. I explained my plan with desperation to my dad who didn’t seem to care about all that I had put into it. He didn’t seem impressed at all with my spreadsheet, my accounting, my record keeping, any of it. He told me to get all the money together and we were going to take the money back to these people and I was going to explain to them how I lied about being in the Boy Scouts. And so I did. 

“How did that make you feel?” She asked.

“In the moment, defeated. But that didn’t last long.” i replied.

Although, my dad’s intention was to teach me a valuable lesson on honesty. Which, I did learn by the way. In this current instance I also learned  people admire initiative, spunk, and a can do attitude. Nearly every house was so impressed they insisted that I keep the money. Not only that but there was no expectation of ever delivering peanuts and I can attest none were. I also can attest to the fact that I made more money being honest than I would have had I followed through on my plan which I had every intention of doing. The feeling that I got from the admiration was euphoric. My dad said, “See honesty is the best policy.” I don’t know if he was just trying to save a little face or there was a genuine glimmer of pride. In that moment I took it as pride and I liked that feeling too.

I gained resolve in that moment. I learned people respond to confidence. Although, interestingly, I battle daily to this day with self worth, and confidence. I also don’t want to show my weaknesses and so I put on the necessary masks. I try with everything inside me to not show my insecurities. No one needs to know that I lack confidence, that I don’t like being around people, and that if given the opportunity I could live easily in solitude. At the very least I could live in silence among a few people, yeah that would be ok too. At the same time selling gave me a sense of accomplishment. How does one balance that let alone explain it? It allowed me to feel as if I was in control of situations, especially if it was a successful sale. And no one knew that if I failed to sell I felt worthless, incompetent, weak and useless. If you asked if I did feel dejected, I would deny it to my grave and tell you it didn’t matter to me if people bought what I was selling or not.

“What methods did you use to deal with these feelings?” The voice behind the notepad questioned.

“i didn’t, i learned to stuff them. These are not things worth talking about, i don’t want pity, and i definitely don’t want advice.” 

She looked up from making a note. “Why is advice so bad?”

my mouth dry showing my uncomfortable distain for the topic. 

“Advice makes me feel incompetent. It calls into question my ability to think through or handle any situation.” i finally take a sip of water. “i have been taking care of myself since i was little. i would come home from school, alone, my sister is six years older than me my brother is four years older. my sister moved out after graduation, my brother followed her example only he joined the military. At least my sister was still somewhat available, my brother was gone.” 

“You said your parents were involved in your life. They were just busy. How do you feel that fits your belief that you took care of yourself?” She had a valid question. How do i reconcile these two truths.

“Yes, both can be true at the same time. Life has parallels and overlapping experiences where multiple things can be true at the same time.” i was noticeably defensive.

“You’re right, but for you now I am interested to know how these can both be true at the same time?” She seemed genuinely interested.  

My parents were active in the lives of their children. They attended baseball games, basketball games, football games, parades, concerts, open houses, and graduations. We attended Church often, usually in significant spirts, youth group, camps, fundraisers. We formed a singing group and toured the country. Summer beach trips, father and son outings, family outings. But during the week as littles, I remember coming home from second grade when we lived in Burbank to an empty house. I was alone for a little more than an hour before my sister and brother would come home from school. If they came right home from school. Once they were in High School even though the school was literally across the street from our house, it could be hours before I saw anyone. 

When my sister graduated and moved out we had just moved to the canyon, I was alone from 5am to 8pm Monday through Saturday. My brother didn’t want to move schools his senior year so he still attended the school in Burbank and road with my parents. I was in Jr. High then, seventh grade to be precise. I was in charge of myself, getting up on time to catch the bus for school. When I got home I had to get my homework done, and often ate dinner alone. Occasionally, they would bring dinner home for me, on those nights I ate twice. Although there was still some family outings most of that had stopped. Church wasn’t as important although we still went only, the spirts became more like sputtering’s. I was still very much into faith however. I asked to go to camps, and there was a bible study in the canyon I would go to on my own. 

“So yes, both were true. my parents were active, yet aloof. There was enough rope laying around to hang myself a few times, but always a knot on the end being held by my parents, so i wouldn’t die.”  One thing i hate is talking about myself unless its in a sermon, where i control the whole narrative. Therapy isn’t that.

I often told the peanut story in a sermon. Relating it back to scripture with a personalized life lesson. It’s how I view life, by always asking the question, “How will this preach?” “What lesson is gained from this experience?” Perhaps that’s why i don’t give up easily or discouragement doesn’t last long, because in every experience the dominant question is “What can be gained through this?” For me the Peanut story incapsulates this perfectly. It also displays faith. Strong faith, courage, and a can do spirit are necessary in overcoming difficult situations. If you are not willing to learn than you have already given up. A lesson I have taught on often but never fully understood until I was forced to live it by my own actions summed up in a passage found in Philippians.

“Not that I have already obtained it or have already become perfect, but I press on so that I may lay hold of that for which also I was  laid hold of by Messiah Yahoshua. Brethren, I do not regard myself as having laid hold of it yet; but one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead. I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of Elohim in Messiah Yahoshua.” Philippians 3:12-14

I am sure you have heard of origin stories, every hero and villain has an origin story. Hollywood, loves to make prequels to movies in which they show the origin story of the main hero or villains character. For me my origin story is my ‘latchkey kid beginnings.’ When asked, “What taught you this level of independence?” My response is, “I was a latchkey kid.” Most of my exploring, business ventures, and poor decision making, were a result of my being alone or surrounded by a few friends with adventurous spirits. I don’t blame anyone but myself for any bad decisions in my life and any good ones are the result of good advice or people being in the right place and the right time for me to be successful. I do attribute every good and perfect gift as coming from Adonai, as scripture teaches. I am the result of my parents yes but ultimately the outcome of my life rests on my choices. Today, I choose healthy, healthy thinking, healthy eating (within reason – who doesn’t like donuts), healthy attitude, healthy choices. Today, I choose me, but more importantly I choose the way of the Rabbi.

Obviously it wasn’t always like that, not only did I struggle in life, making many poor decisions, I did so self-righteously. I had a false sense of piety. I faulty faith based on weak interpretations and a lack of true understanding. I compared myself to others in unhealthy ways, “The Pharisee having stood, was praying toward himself thus: ‘Elohim, I thank You that I am not like the rest of the men–swindlers, unrighteous, adulterers–or even like this tax collector.” 

“i was the Pharisee.”  i concluded.

“This is a big step for you,” the voice from behind the notepad remarked. Then looking up at the clock on the wall she continued, “We’ll pick up here next week.”