Who's The Old Dude?

That would be me.

I started a new job this week and I'm sure I'm at least 10 years older than EVERYONE. Which is waaaay cool. And very inspiring. My outward appearance has been beaten down by cancer, too many 50-70 hour work weeks and Mother Nature taking it's course. But it's not what's on the outside that counts. Inside, I feel reborn. Re-energized. Ready.

I was the youngest at a small advertising agency in Los Angeles in 1981––Chiat/Day––working in the mailroom with no idea of what I wanted to do "when I grew up." It was at Chiat/Day that I met my Wife, Teresa, and began a journey that has given me so much. At the time I was 22 years old. And I had thought that any years I lived after 21 were bonus years. Why? I lived in a tough area of LA. Was only 6 years old when one of my friends died. Had friends shot and killed. Played sports with cops circling the baseball field and steel bars on the windows of the basketball gym. Played one-on-one with gang bangers so I could get home safe from the playground.

Chris, from my former job, told me that the people at my new job would adore me. Respect me for the knowledge I had that I take for granted. Admire me for my accomplishments. Accept me because of the person I am. (Thanks, Chris. You're the best). Who's the old dude? I am.

And blessed to be there.

Lucky Man

ELP penned a song called "Lucky Man." And while the lyrics are not an exact fit, that's how I feel as Husband, to my Wife Teresa.

Yesterday was her birthday. I won't tell you how old she is, but she is younger than me––which she reminds me constantly after I have my birthday until she has hers. So, yeah, I'm married to a younger woman. Robbing the cradle. Running a day care. Living with a trophy wife. All of those cliche's.

Usually, I would write an ode or post on the day of my most loved ones B-Days. (And usually my posts have something to do with cancer––which this does, in a roundabout way). But I didn't want to take any time away from Teresa, any more than I have to because of work or getting to and from the job. I wanted to spend every moment I could with her on her special day. It was her birthday, but I was getting the present. I was getting a chance to spend one more day with Teresa, getting to see her, touch her, just BE with her. There was no other place I would rather be.

I am still amazed to this day with how much I love this woman. It may sound like a Hollywood movie script, but I remember the circumstances that lead up to me meeting Teresa. I just got a job in the mailroom of a really hot ad agency, Chiat/Day, in Los Angeles. I didn't know this agency was THE place to be, because I just needed a job and I didn't care what I was going to do. I was getting thrown out of my rented house––owner was selling the place––I was working as an inside sales assistant at a drapery manufacturer––"do you want those pin pressed and fan folded?"––and I had just broke the chains of a relationship with a psycho-bitch who put the "freak" in "freaky". (And I'm not talking about hip-hop freaky. The "boiling a rabbit on the stove, Fatal Attraction kind of freaky). Yeah, what a catch I was making $850/month, working in the mailroom and getting ready to sleep in Griffith Park for the next 5-6 months.

I was stopped at a traffic light at 5th & Grand Ave. in Downtown L.A., in  the Chiat/Day company pick-up truck on my way to drop off some film to get developed. I put my hands up in the air, looked up towards the headliner of the truck and screamed, "Dear God, please help me out here. Can't you send me a normal woman who I won't have to sleep with one eye open anymore?" (See, sounds waaaaay too Hollywood-esque). So after I came back from my messenger run, I took a walk around the office. As I got to the back of the place to check and see if the Coke machine needed re-stocking, I saw her. She turned around just as I turned the corner. Our eyes locked. I smiled. She said, "hi." Not hello. Not hey. Didn't turn away. Just a "hi" and a smile back. I knew right then and there––I had to get to know this woman. And I had to move fast. Was it by chance? Was it fate? Was I just at the right place at the right time? Was I lucky?

Yes, yes, yes, yes. Happy Birthday, Teresa. You give me presents every day, whether you know it or not.