I was thirteen years old on February 4, 1964, when the Beatles, with their mop haircuts, appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show and drew the largest audience ever on television. It did not take long before I grew my hair out to a mop haircut. 

Prior to the Beatles, I was into the surfer look. I was and still am a Beach Boys fan. At my daughter Maria’s wedding she and I did the father-bride dance to the Beach Boys song, God Only Knows. “God only knows what I would have done without you” takes on a different meaning between a father and daughter. But I regress.  

Back in my 11-13-year-old world, you were either a greaser or a surfer.  I was a surfer. The bottom line, going from a surfer to a Beatle wannabe mop required only a couple of weeks’ growth and a reshape. 

As I progressed through high school and into college I wore my hair longer and longer.  By the time I was a Sophomore in college, it was almost shoulder-length. Except it did not look that long because it turns out my hair is very curly when it is long.  I had long sideburns.  

Since getting my first “career” type job after college, as the years past, my hair got shorter and shorter.  It has been years since I needed a hairdryer. My Cost Cutters haircut is now a quarter-inch long on the sides and about three-quarters of an inch long on the top. 

Today, because of social distancing I am again growing my hair out. My hair is not long yet because I was getting my haircut at about 4:00 in the afternoon on the day Cost Cutters shut down in reaction to the pandemic. Having longer hair just does not seem like a big deal in the giant scheme of things.  Been there, done that. 

Every afternoon, Linda and I go out for walks.  As we do so we see kids playing in their yards. We admire the chalk art they drew on the sidewalks.  We greet and chat with neighbors about this and that along the way. The pandemic is a terrible thing but walking around the neighborhood during a pandemic is quite pleasant. 

I see my neighbors far more frequently than prior to the Stay at Home order.  We stand apart as we talk. At first, we mostly talked about having to stay at home but not so much anymore. Now it is about more normal things like yard maintenance, movies to stream, gossip, how to get out a stain and the like.  There are worse ways to spend our time. 

I chatted with the couple who live across the street and down a few houses.  They are both working from home from their corporate jobs. They are spending far more time with their 18-month-old daughter who would otherwise be at daycare. Of course, it is a blessing but it is also a challenge.  That little girl loves to be outside and online meetings are not outside. It is fun to watch and interact with them from across the street. Little Josephine now waves back when I wave at her.  

We certainly are not eating at restaurants.  Three times we ordered and picked up. Once from Chianti Grill, once from Carmello’s and once from McGoverns.  That worked well but mostly we now cook at home. We grill steaks, hamburgers, and chicken. The spaghetti and meatballs were good and the leftovers were nice.  Mix in a couple of hot dishes, Ikea Swedish meatballs we found in the freezer downstairs and we are doing fine. Some meals are better than others. However, by and large, we are doing what we told ourselves we should do for years.  Eat more at home and less at restaurants.    

Just an observation from Instagram and Facebook posts.  It feels like many of the families which were constantly running from one extracurricular activity to another are sort of appreciating not having every minute of their lives occupied with scheduled activities.  I wonder if some families will choose to be involved with fewer activities post stay at home order.

Sports are a big part of the economy.  Shutting them down is a big deal. I was looking forward to watching the MN Twins this season but I have to say I do not miss them as much as I thought I would.  It makes me wonder if sports will become less of a big deal post-pandemic.

I got to say I am enjoying all of the stripped-down music performances.  I stream music now but when I look at my old music cd collection it is filled with highly produced music such as The Beatles, The Beach Boys, Motown, etc.  Listening to an artist with a single acoustic guitar or piano singing their song is kind of refreshing. 

Pandemics are scary.  The impact of our reaction to a pandemic is something historians will study and debate. However, the grandparent in me feels maybe parents spending more time with their kids, on balance, is generally a good thing.  I sort of like spending a little less time worrying about how the home team is doing. Connecting with my neighbors is nice. As disrupted as normal is right now, longer hair than I prefer is just not very important.

 

The closer you look the more you see.

www.scaleandperception.com

 

During the summer between my Junior and Senior year of high school, I was driving to the family cabin on Rush Lake.   I rear-ended another car at speed while driving north on Highway 65 a couple of miles south of Cambridge, Minnesota. The Green Barn produce store was just ahead on the right and there was a flea market on the left.  I glanced to my left to see the flea market and when I looked back ahead, the car ahead of me had slammed on the brakes. I slammed on my brakes as fast as I could but rammed into the back of his car pushing that car into the car ahead of it. 

My head shattered the windshield.  The Highway Patrol said the accident likely would have been fatal had the sun visor not absorbed some of the impact.  When the patrolman drove me to the hospital to get checked out, he said: “Kid, by the time the lawsuits are over, you will wish you had died in this accident”.  

They asked for $175,000 and declined the insurance company’s offer of $18.000.  My life was much changed during the almost two years between the accident and the full jury trial. For almost a year I heard nothing, then various legal documents would randomly arrive in certified envelopes.  By then my dad had died. Mom had no clue what to do. The insurance company told me to do nothing, they were handling it. I was working parttime making pizzas while being a full-time student at the University of Minnesota.  Mom was working as a salad lady at Midland Hills Country Club. 

For that entire two-year period I was pretty nervous.  In the end, the jury awarded the plaintiffs $1,750 and the insurance company was happy the settlement was for one-hundredth of what the plaintiffs asked.  

Avoiding death is not the moral of this story. The moral of the story is, the worst you can imagine is almost never what actually happens. Even when the worst does happen, life goes on and the best you can do is to move forward as best you can.

Many people talk about life-changing moments.  Looking back, shattering a windshield with my head was not a life-changing moment. The highway patrolman was wrong, the lawsuit that followed the accident never made me wish I had died in the accident.  I wish the highway patrolman would have told me, there is nothing you can do to change what just happened. It was bad but could be much worse than it is. The best you can do now is move forward the best you can.  

We had to give a 3-minute speech in freshman year English class about some event, real or imagined, in our past.  The speech needed to have a beginning, middle, and end. Some comment was made by the teacher about how moving the class to cry or laugh out loud would be a good thing.  I bet my buddy Harry that I could make some of the girls cry.  

I started out by telling the class about how when I was in sixth grade, I was riding my bike on County Road B just about to cross Snelling Ave on my way to Har Mar Mall when a car on Snelling failed to stop and T-boned a car crossing Snelling on County Road B about 30 feet in front of me.  

A four-year-old girl was thrown from the car and smashed into the pavement. She screamed for her mommy with blood flowing from the side of her head and one arm was twisted obviously severely broken.  Suddenly she stopped screaming, looked at me and quietly said “help me” as she breathed her last breath. I went on to describe the scene in detail. Tangled metal, steam rising from the engine compartment.  The pool of blood, a mother trapped in the car unable to get to her dying daughter. How at first except for the girl’s screams it was silent. Then there were sirens and people gathering. I even described my terrifying nightmares that followed. 

Several of my classmates and the instructor teared up.  I won the bet. I confessed at the end of the speech that I made it up.  There had been a fatal crash where a young girl was thrown from the car but by the time I arrived on the scene, it was like an hour later.  They were towing away the cars. I never had nightmares about that accident. Back then kids didn’t wear seatbelts. I did not witness the accident but it is totally plausible I had.  If I had witnessed the accident, it might well have haunted me for the rest of my life. 

It might have haunted me but it might not have.  The reality is, even when we are at the center of the event, it is not possible to know the impact of that event on the rest of your life or even the rest of the week. 

When I drove up to the cabin on that Saturday I did not know I was about to come close to dying.  It took almost two years to know the actual result. The little girl really did tragically die an hour before I rode my bike through that intersection.  I had no idea it was going to get me an A on a speech several years later.  

We are often advised to prepare for the worst and hope for the best.  However, I am here to say what is worst and what is best is often only clear in hindsight and even then it is debatable. For sure things will be different. For sure some very bad things will happen to some very good people.  For sure there will be unforeseen consequences. However, there is no telling what will be the exact impact of a bad event.   

When we are in the middle of a crisis, knowing the future is not possible. Assuming the future will be bad is not helpful.  The trick is to do what it takes to survive the crisis and move on to make your future as good as possible. The best we can do is the best we can do.

 

The closer you look the more you see.

www.scaleandperception.com

I write this, as I normally do, alone in the den with soft Spanish guitar music playing.  Linda is in the living room listening to an audiobook from the library while she knits. So things are normal except they are not at all normal. The whole country is social distancing in the effort to slow the spread of COVID-19.  Life here and around the world is very much not normal right now. 

Tens of millions of people who used to go to work every day are now working from home.  Millions of people became unemployed and filed for unemployment benefits. Tens of millions of students who used to go to school every day are now online learning from home.  Gyms are closed and thousands are now doing virtual workouts. Online shopping was popular but now millions more of us are shopping online. Take-out has been around for decades but now millions of more people order food from their favorite restaurant and eat it at home. 

We are told the COVID-19 pandemic will get exponentially worse before it gets better. The good news is by all accounts, it will get better.  Eventually, when enough of us will either get a vaccine or survive being infected thus being immune, the pandemic will calm down to the point that our health care system will be able to cope. I hope everyone survives and the economy again flourishes.  

In the meantime, lots of people in lots of ways increased the use of connected technology.  More people are streaming shows, ordering online, working from home, distance learning, virtual workouts, facetime with friends, online banking and the list goes on. Every one of these activities existed prior to the COVID-19 pandemic.  However, the use of connected technology increased by orders of magnitude due to the COVID-19 pandemic. 

Tens of millions of people who never or rarely worked from home are now working from home.  They remotely connect to their organization’s system. Soon, they will be comfortable with video conferencing.  Gone is the commute to work. They will get the hang of it. They are learning to message about that thing instead of mentioning it the next time they saw you in the hallway.  

Once the pandemic subsides, many of the people who are now new to working from home will continue to work from home.  Once the egg is scrambled, you can’t unscramble it. When most, or even many of the people in an organization are comfortable with working from home, working from home becomes a very normal way to work.  

The same thing will likely happen in education.  Distance learning works. People learn online all the time.  During the crisis, millions of students and thousands of instructors will experience distance learning. Sure there will be hiccups but most issues will be overcome. 

I certainly do not know how much of the distance learning will continue after the COVID-19 pandemic.  However, very likely much more distance learning will happen than happened pre the COVID-19 pandemic.  

Distance learning will not completely replace brick and mortar schools. There is a major socialization component in attending schools with other students.   However, if there is an increase in distance learning, many students will likely be spending less time in the physical school.  

Most people will go to extraordinary lengths to avoid change.  It can take months, even years to implement a technology change in most organizations. Because of this pandemic, a major technology change happened for tens of millions of people over a weekend with little or no planning.  

I worked on the project which is currently being used to get unemployment benefits to the masses.  The nice thing is online systems are not so much volume sensitive. So when in one week the volume of people filing for benefits changed by about a hundred times, the system handled it.  But when we implemented the system dozens of employees chose to retire or leave the agency rather than learn the new system.  

Right now every newscast is about what is changing.  This pandemic will very likely be at the root of some very fundamental changes in how we all interact.  In many ways, life will not be the same as it was. That said, after a whole career in change management I believe the best way to deal with it is not to worry so much about what is changed.  The real trick is to concentrate on the new thing.  

The difference between working in the office and working from home is not really that relevant.  What is relevant is how to best work from home. The change already happened. The only question is how to make the best of it.  

The COVID-19 pandemic changed so much. Nobody asked if we wanted the change.  Nobody asked if the change is for the better. It changed, that story is over. The question is really about how we move forward.  You can not unscramble the egg, you can though make an omelet with a scrambled egg.  
The closer you look, the more you see.

 www.scaleandperception.com

 

About ten years ago, at a social gathering, I witnessed two guys do a back and forth spouting of random “facts” for the purpose, I think, of showing they were smart.  I thought it was funny because most of their “facts” were in the category of things that sounded true but were in fact not true.  

For the record, no religion on earth has the majority of people on earth as believers.  NASA says you really cannot see the Great Wall of China from space. More people speak Spanish than English as a native language. Studies do not show vitamin C is effective in preventing colds.  

I started a post about the “two guys in the living room” story.  My idea was knowing a bunch of “facts” is no longer indicative of being “smart” because facts are so easily found using our devices.  I spent many frustrating hours trying and failing to write that post. It seemed so straight forward but it was not. What stopped me was defining what it means to be smart.  

What does it mean to say someone is smart or smarter?  I ended up writing on a different topic however, the question of what it means to be smart, was haunting me.  For much of my life, being smart was a part of my self-identity. Certainly, there is a long list of not smart things credited to me which makes being humble easy.   But I thought I was reasonably smart. It was time to research.

Turns out, being smart, as such, is not a real thing. Source after source explained what we know or don’t know is much more complicated than a simple label of being smart or dumb.  

Knowing stuff involves the process of learning. Nobody is born knowing how to knit or read or write or balance a bank account or plan a trip to the moon or much of anything.  Learning requires time, effort, experience, contemplation, and the like. Unless you take the time and expend the effort to actually learn we as individuals, will not know. 

Everyone learns stuff relevant to their own lives and interests.  We just do. It is part of being human. What we learn depends on our life experiences, training, focus, circumstances, expectations, and the like.  Some of us seem to have certain innate abilities which can make it easier to learn some types of things. However, even with such abilities knowing still requires learning which requires effort and time.

The young man who fixed my furnace knows more about furnaces and how to fix them than I do.  I am willing to bet he knows more than I do about many things. On the other hand, maybe I know more about some stuff than he does.  The people who study such stuff will tell you it is absurd to think of one person as smarter than another. We are all smart in our own way even though we may not be smart about the same things.     

Everyone’s life experience is different. Our perspectives are different.  The furnace repair person is looking at life from the perspective of a 23-year old just starting his career.  I, on the other hand, am looking at life from the perspective of a person who cares much more about the room being warm than how to replace a furnace controller. 

My high school grades were terrible.  Based on that evidence, I had no future in college. That said, from the time I was 10 or 12 years old I had been told several times by various people that I was smart.  A couple of those people had Ph.D.’s. Most people who knew me assumed I was going to college. 

I was accepted into college because my SAT test scores were good.  I do not remember my actual SAT score although I do remember my SAT score was not stratospheric, it was good enough to get me into the University of Minnesota.   

A person is not smart because they get a high score on tests like the SAT, IQ  or the Armed Forces Qualification Exam. Tests like these seem to basically measure the same thing because scores on one tend to be consistent with the others.  They are said to measure the ability to reason and to learn, however, there is a bunch of research that challenges exactly what is being measured. That said, the use of such tests is institutionally entrenched and likely will continue to be used for many years to come, no matter what they actually measure.  

There is a difference between what we know and our ability to learn. Learning takes effort.  Our relative ability to learn is more or less something we are born with. It may be easier for some to learn but everyone has an ability to learn.  That said, knowing more about a topic means only you know more about the topic. It does not make us smarter than other people.  

In today’s connected world, informaiton is relatively easy to find.  A person with a very high IQ can look up information on almost any topic but, so can most anyone else.  It might be easier for the person with a high IQ to understand because they can learn more efficiently but with effort, pretty much we all are capable of understanding most things.  

I wonder how often what I say is wrong or misguided. I am sticking with the belief that I am smart but I am coming around to the fact that most everyone else is smart also.  

 

The closer you look the more you see.

www.scaleandperception.com

Jon and I were the same age (15).  A couple of months before I was punched in the face, he and his family moved into the big fancy new house about two blocks from our house.  It was a one-punch fight. Being punched in the face hurts. I deserved it and apologized once I got back on my feet. 

Jon walked past me on the bus wearing a long, flamboyant scarf.  I stood up and pulled the scarf hard. He calmly turned around and punched me in the face.  It was then I realized I was way overmatched. He helped me up, and I apologized. From then on we were not friends but friendly.

Some teenage boys (me, then) can be territorial.  Whether the cause is hormones, or whatever, being punched in the face helped me learn my primal need to defend my territory was not so much needed in today’s world.  I was lucky guns were not involved.

Sometimes violence is narrowly avoided but the underlying issues still need to be addressed.  A couple of years after college, I was a busy Unemployment Claims Representative in the Minneapolis Unemployment office determining eligibility to collect unemployment benefits.

Jim (I do not remember his real name but he had a real name) looked every bit like the unkempt, homeless, 40-year-old, white man he was. Six months earlier he was let go from his job as a part-time dishwasher because his boss’s nephew wanted a summer job.

After reviewing statements from both he and the employer, I determined he was eligible for about  $20 a week for up to thirteen months. At first, he just stared at me for like 30 seconds. Then he reached out and in one motion swept everything (pictures, papers, a pencil holder, box of paper clips, a cup of water and the like) off my desk crashing onto the hard floor.  Then he screamed something like, “I do not want to be homeless anymore” at which time he pulled out a knife and pointed it very threateningly about a foot from my face. He was crying and his hand was shaking.   

We had drills about this sort of situation. A coworker called the police immediately.  My job was to be calm for the several minutes it would take the police to arrive. Deescalate.  Well, all I could think of was to ask why he was so upset with being granted Unemployment benefits.  

Before the police arrived he put the knife down, apologized and sat down defeated.  The gist was he had been homeless since spring and winter was coming fast. There was a shelter he was eligible for if he could show he was not eligible for other benefits. He had spent weeks going from agency to agency getting forms signed saying he was not eligible for benefits and thus eligible to live at the shelter.  

From Jim’s point of view, me signing the form saying he was eligible for even these paltry Unemployment benefits were condemning him to try to survive outside in a Minnesota winter without shelter.   The police escorted him away in handcuffs and that was the last I heard of him. I was never asked to testify or submit any statements. I do not know his fate.

Violence is never the answer but frustration and fear can motivate desperate people to do violent things.  Sometimes when I hear about violence on the news, I am reminded there is almost always more to the story than the act of violence itself.  

My older brother John completed basic training and was home on leave a couple of days after my high school graduation (June 1970).  We were standing in the backyard shooting the breeze when he looked around and lowered his voice making sure nobody else could hear. He then gave me the following advice. 

“When you kick somebody in the head.  Make sure you knock them out. If you do not knock them out, they will get up and likely kill you.”  He was not talking figuratively because I asked. He was very serious. He proceeded to demonstrate how to kick someone in the head and knock them out.  

I sometimes get frustrated but I never was frustrated enough to want to kick someone in the head. Yet, I think there is an underlying truth in my brother’s observation: When an action you take hurts someone, they will be highly motivated to hurt you back.  

Violence causes more problems than it solves. Violence is not acceptable, whether or not it would be effective in resolving an issue.  Yet there are issues that need to be resolved. Violence is usually not a rational response but in the heat of a tense situation, rational is hard to come by. 

My best friend, HP, in high school, was of Japanese descent. We were at a dance in the basement of Har Mar Mall. Some jerk and a couple of his friends threatened HP, saying they did not like foreigners dancing with the girls.  My older brother and a couple of his friends told me and HP to keep dancing. They would handle the problem. We kept dancing and violence happened to the people who harassed us. A non-violent method of resolving the issue would have been better.   

Violence is almost never justified. Violence almost never solves the issue which led up to the violence in the first place. Nevertheless, violence exists.  Condemning violence is easy. Understanding what led up to the violence and how to resolve the issues is very much, not easy.  

 

I was one of several dads featured in an article called “Fathers who are good at mothering” in the May 1982 issue of RedBook Magazine. RedBook had a circulation of about 2.3 million per month back then. 

The issue was published in late April. However, a couple of weeks later on May 13, 1982, when Maria was born, the article was still on the bulletin board in the maternity ward.  Pro tip: When your spouse is in hard labor, focus on her and not the conversation with the nurse about the article. Just saying.

I ended up in RedBook because the family psychologist who was the instructor at a fathering class was contacted by RedBook for a recommendation of someone they should interview. He suggested they contact me. 

When Betsy, Maria’s older sister by two years, was a couple of weeks old, Betsy and I attended a Fathering Class in the big first-floor meeting room in St Joseph’s hospital. We and about 18 other fathers/infant teams met on Saturday mornings for three weeks.  During the third class, the instructor said his kid was getting too old to be considered an infant so he asked for a volunteer to help demonstrate stuff for the next session. I volunteered. Betsy was only about 2-months old and didn’t seem to mind.

We, Betsy and I, assisted for about six or seven sessions (three classes per session). A couple of weeks after Maria was born, she replaced Betsy as the demonstration baby.  Maria and I did about five sessions of three classes each. 

As I write this post, the “Hop! Hop! Hop!” song we sang at the Fathering Class has been running on a loop in my head. We held the baby facing us, making sure we supported the baby’s head.  We would gently bounce and quietly sing this song in our normal tone:

Hop! hop! hop!

Hop my pony hop.

Though the road is rough and stony

Hop-along my little pony

Nibble as a top

Hop and never stop

I probably sang this to Betsy and Maria hundreds of times and was always rewarded with a smile.  

It was wonderful being present for the birth of both girls. I remember how focused and worried we were about the birth itself.  The delivery is intense, but when it is over, I am their dad for the rest of my life.  

The class was to help dads be more comfortable with their new infant.  Back then, family dynamics were changing. Unlike our parents’ generation, in my generation, both mom and dad often had a job. We dads needed to be much more involved in the day-to-day care of our kids than our fathers were.  This class was there to help us dads learn to be fathers who were good at mothering. 

A primary requirement for the fathering class was that the dads bring their babies to the class by themselves.  The first time I had Betsy alone outside the house was when I took her to that class by myself. It was sort of scary.  But Betsy and I got along pretty well.  

I was shocked when I got to that first class. Most of the moms had accompanied the dad.  The instructor brandished the moms from the room. Then he closed the curtains because the moms were gathered at the windows. These moms had never been separated from their babies. Both mom and dad needed to know, dad could be trusted with the baby. 

By the time Maria was helping in the Fathering Class, most of the dads came to class that first day alone.  Expectations changed. Doctors, nurses, and recent parents with young kids began to encourage new parents to give each other a break by taking care of the infant alone. The parents were learning to trust each other’s ability to care for the baby. 

I don’t remember how it was arranged.  The day after Maria was born, an exhausted me was interviewed in the hospital cafeteria by the author of the article and another lady for about an hour.  As far as I know, the follow-up article was not written. I was also contacted by the producer of one of the local talk shows but there were no dates that worked for me to be on a show. 

Please know, I was not some super dad.  I think I was a good dad but not even in the same class of good that I see many dads are today.  I think my generation bumped up the bar on what it means to be a more nurturing dad. But this current generation has taken being a nurturing dad to a whole new level of good.   

Here are the few paragraphs about me from RedBook Magazine May 1982: 

 ….. ”I can’t imagine how I could have had the same kind of attachment to my child without having changed her diapers or got up for her in the middle of the night.”  says Paul Leegard, 29, of St Paul, Minnesota. He recalls: “I had heard so much about bonding at the moment of birth that I absolutely had to be there. It was a wonderful moment.  I’ve talked to fathers who were in the waiting room while their wives were delivering, and when they went to the nursery they said, “I wonder which one is mine.” When you’re there for their birth, there is no doubt which one is yours.  Our baby was alert and I was elated.”

Paul, a personnel manager for White Farm Equipment Company in St. Paul, is one of the new breed of fathers who attended Lamaze classes and the delivery of his daughter Betsy more than two years ago.  He considers himself an equal parent, although he is quick to admit that his parenting time has been limited by the demands of his full-time job. His wife Linda, 28, who shares a secretarial job with another woman and spends the rest of the time at home with Betsy, by necessity she does more of the housework and child care.

Nevertheless, Paul says he does not shy away from getting up at 3 A.M. when the baby cries.   “Betsy woke up at three the other morning and I couldn’t get her back to sleep till six,” he recalls.  “I was annoyed at the time, but in the long run, sharing responsibility is neat.”

Paul travels around the country recruiting personnel for his company and reports that he hasn’t met a man under 35 who’s not interested in helping with the children.  “I want to say, I helped bring up my child.” Paul says, “If she turns out rotten, I’ll share the blame, but if she turns out good, I’ll share the credit. And I have a sneaking suspicion I’ll share the credit. “

 

The closer you look the more you see.

www.scaleandperception.com

 

In the fourth or fifth grade, as a geography lesson, we drew flags from the countries of our nationality.  I drew Swedish and Norwegian flags. Mom’s side, Swedish. Dad’s side, Norweigan. Over the years, my guess is I have been asked my nationality hundreds of times.  Maybe thousands of times.  

As an adult, I was often questioned about what nationality the name Leegard was from. I would respond back in the day, there were so many Legaards in Webster, South Dakota that the postal service asked if some would change their name to make it easier to deliver the mail.  So some of the residents, including my grandparents on my dad’s side, added an “e” and removed an “a” to make it easier for the postmaster.  

We all have ancestors and those ancestors all lived somewhere else.  None of us choose our ancestors. It always surprises me when people seem overly interested in the nationality of other people’s ancestors.  I have been asked hundreds of times about my nationality. Most often it seems to be an attempt at getting to know me. However, my best friend in high school was of Japanese descent. Some inquiries about his nationality were not innocent. 

I do wonder if I have any unique Scandinavian characteristics. Admittedly, I don’t really know what a unique Scandinavian characteristic would look like.  The best I can come up with is the Scandinavian stereotype of blonde, stoic and likes to eat bland food. Before I went grey, I had dark hair and my complexion has always been on the dark side, not pale.  I don’t think of myself as being stoic. I like pizza and tacos.

Legally, ancestry is supposed to be irrelevant.  As an American, discriminating against me for being Swedish or Norwegian is against the law.  I believe it would also be morally wrong to discriminate against me because my relatives were from Sweden, Norway or wherever. Do onto others and all that. 

I don’t introduce myself to others by saying, “Hi, I am a Swedish and Norweigan person named Paul Leegard.  Being Swedish and Norweigan is part of my identity but not so much of how I think of myself. I think of myself as a good looking genius adventurer who is an excellent writer and whose presence makes everyone around me better.  Just kidding, I am not that adventurous.  

All kidding aside, nationality actually refers to the country a person lives in.  I am an American citizen and thus I am American. Full stop. My ancestors maybe lived in Sweden or Norway but no matter where my ancestors are from, since I live here, here is my nationality.  The correct answer to my nationality is I am an American. 

Heritage, unlike nationality, is about traditions handed down or traits inherited.  Heritage also can refer to inheriting things like property. I did not inherit any Swedish or Norweigan property.  My DNA includes DNA from people who once lived in Sweden or Norway.  As for traditions, I attended two Lutheran church basement lutefisk dinners. Lutefisk is bad but I like Swedish meatballs.  

We had no choice in who are our parents or where they lived.  We had no choice in the generations who preceded our parents either.  The only thing we can control is how we handle ourselves today, and how we treat others around us.   

Feeling connected to the past is reassuring.  We feel part of something bigger than ourselves.  When I think about places to which we might want to travel.  Going to Sweden and Norway comes to mind because that is where my relatives were from.  But if I am honest I could justify dozens of other places for equally good reasons.  

We should never treat another person poorly because of the nationality of their ancestors. Sure sometimes it takes me a while to warm up to others.  However even if that was a characteristic of some Scandinavians, it would be wrong to ask me if I am Scandivaian when you first met me and then assume I would not be worth the effort to get to know. 

The world is now far more interconnected than it was in my youth. With each passing generation, Swedes marry Norwegians and their kids marry others from god knows where.  The nationality of our forefathers is often a list, not a single country.

I recently read a very interesting observation.  Almost everyone who has their DNA analyzed to determine their ancestry discovers their ancestors are from multiple regions of the world. More than that, most often they were unaware of at least some of those regions prior to the results. 

I fully understand the curiosity about from whence we came. Being connected to our past is reassuring and important.  However, we need to remember, where someone’s relatives are from should never be a factor in how we treat them. 

My mom said I drew the flags very well.  I doubt she was an objective observer. Just saying.  

 

The closer we look the more we see.

www.scaleandperception.com

 

Let us pretend a kid wants me to play trucks. I probably would politely say no because crawling around in the sand takes a bigger commitment at my age than I am willing to commit to.  I can make engine noises and push a truck with the best of them. However, crawling around in the sand actually would be tough. 

However, I was not asked by a kid to play trucks.  In reality, my 9-year-old granddaughter borrowed my phone and soon started asking “would I rather questions”.  Would I rather go skiing or to a water park? Would I rather be a famous inventor or a famous singer? With each question comes a brief discussion.  We have a fun time and exchanged ideas on lots of topics. I was surprised by some of our answers. It was great fun.

Sure some kids still play trucks but not as much as we used to.  In today’s world is more about apps, electronic games and the like.  As a kid, I played with trucks, kids games are different now. The world has changed 

The games we played 60+ years ago somehow feels less relevant to the world our grandkids are growing up in.  My formative years were spent learning to do stuff relevant to those times. But here we are, the world changed.  Almost every day, someone I know posts something on Facebook about how the world is worse for all the change. I understand their point but that ship has sailed.  The world changed and we, seniors, just like everyone, live in the world as it is now.

As a senior citizen, I use tech but not nearly as well as the kids do.  It is not my fault or their fault. It is just one of the truths about being my age. The world is very different from the world I grew up in. 

Statistically, over 85% of people in the United States of America are younger than I am.  It is a fact. I am older than most people. At 67, I am old enough to be proud I made it this far.  

Many of the people I interact with are close to my age.  Even most of the younger people with whom I interact do not seem to treat me differently because of my age. To me, my age feels like a very normal age to be.  I do not feel special or weird being 67, it is just the age I am. 

Obviously, age is not just a number. I currently have one kidney, dentures, glasses, hearing aids, orthotics in my shoes, thyroid meds, blood pressure meds, allergy meds, and the list goes on.  I can attest to the reality that people my age are somewhat forgetful.  

My balance is good but not as good as it used to be.  My stamina is good but not as good as it used to be. My hair is gray.  My joints are often sore from a lifetime of use and abuse. I never was very flexible but I am less flexible than I used to be.  I think I am as intelligent as I ever. However, I am not as quick-witted as I used to be. It feels like it takes me a beat longer to process than it used to.   

What I did not realize about getting older is that getting older is not about what I am unable to do.  No matter what I am unable to do, there is always more to do than there is time in the day. Which is not to say I try to cram all of the activities possible into every waking hour.  Sometimes the activity I choose to do is take an afternoon nap. 

Yes, I know I am a person of a certain age. I am not old because I am too old to do certain things.  No matter our age there are always things we are unable to do. I am old because most other people are younger. 

I think now that I reached a certain age, I finally understand what being a person of a certain age actually means.  I think it means my formative years were spent prior to the proliferation of tech in the world. I try to learn tech.  I embrace the use of tech. However, my formative years were not spent playing tech games and the like. When I was a kid I played trucks in the sand.  

I do my best to adapt to this new world but I understand those who grow up in this new age are of this age.  I will always be from a different, older age. I sincerely appreciate all of you younger people who tolerate and help those of us who really did grow up in a different time. 

The good old days are a nice place to visit once in a while however today is where I live.  I was fortunate enough to be born at a time when it was possible to grow up in the industrial age and then be present for the start of the information age. That makes me old, I guess, but I can say for certain that a 67-year-old grandpa is very capable of enjoying today’s kids’ games with their granddaughter.  

I would choose the water park because it is warmer and more relaxing than skiing. Also because there is less chance I would get hurt.   Being a famous singer would be cool but a famous Inventor might invent something which could change the course of the world.

 

The closer you look the more you see

www.Scaleandperception.com

About a month ago, mid-November 2019, my Urologist called saying I likely had early-stage kidney cancer. Since then appointments, Christmas shopping, and surgery. My right kidney, along with a cancerous tumor was removed.  

Bullet dodged.  I am a little sick of sleeping in a recliner but I am, in fact, thankful and well on the way to recovery. 

The “early stage” in early-stage kidney cancer means cancer has not spread to any other organs.  Early-stage kidney cancer has no symptoms. I had no symptoms. There is no routine test to screen for early-stage kidney cancer.  Mine was discovered by a CT Scan. The chain of events leading to the CT Scan will forever be viewed by me as a life-saving miracle. 

Once cut out, early-stage kidney cancer, rarely recurs. However, if kidney cancer spreads to other organs, it is tough to battle. Kidney cancer is resistant to many of the standard treatments.  Mine was early-stage kidney cancer. As my Urologist said, if you have to have cancer, early-stage kidney cancer is a good one to have.  

About two weeks post-surgery, I am doing well but still in recovery mode.  A couple of days ago it dawned on me, a cancer survivor is now part of who I am.  Fortunately, I am a cancer survivor whose prognosis is looking good. At the very least, I will not die from cancer in my right kidney. The right kidney is gone. 

I am age 67 now. Over the last couple of years, it feels like every couple of months, someone posts an obituary of a former high school classmate.  Every time I see one, it gives me pause. I know and accept we all will die of some cause at some point. I, for one, want to live as long as practical. At least for now, I do not want to focus on my death. 

I will be a cancer survivor until I am not.  In the meantime, my life continues. I hereby choose to not to put an asterisk related to kidney cancer on any future plans.  I have no plans to ride a bull in a rodeo or parachute out of an airplane just because I survived cancer. Why tempt the fates.   

So that is that. We move on. 

Here is a bit of the “how” my cancer was discovered and what the past month or so has been like.  Remember, I had no symptoms of kidney cancer, Nobody suspected I had kidney cancer. Also, for the record, robotic-assisted surgery is kind of cool. 

About 6 years ago I had a pain in my side. After a CT Scan and an MRI, It turned out to be a blood-filled cyst one on each kidney. It was so rare, I signed a release so a radiologist could publish the details.  I have no idea if the details were actually published. So for 30 months, every six months I would get a follow-up ultrasound which confirmed the blood in the cysts was being absorbed by my body. The Urologist wanted me to have one last scan six months hence.  I don’t remember why but three years ago, I canceled the final ultrasound scan and did not reschedule it. 

Jump ahead about 3 years or so to early October 2019.  During my annual physical, I get all the standard tests including a prostate exam.  The doctor said the prostate felt fine. A couple of days later I log into the Allina MyChart and there is the following note from my doctor.  The note says my:

 “PSA level is still within normal limits, but we get a little more concerned when the PSA level increases by more than 0.7 from one year to the next.” … I think that it would be a good idea for you to check back in with a Urology specialist again regarding your prostate gland.”

So, there I am waiting in my Urologist’s exam room. He walks in not looking pleased.  He says he just reviewed my case file. He noted that I did not get the last ultrasound scan.   He emphasized how important it is for me to have these scans. He indicated he was reluctant to treat me unless I agree to get an ultrasound of my kidneys.  I agree, of course. He exams my prostate and says my prostate is good. 

The ultrasound scan is six days later.  A couple of days later, the urologist office calls stating the radiologist would like me to get a CT scan just to be safe.  

A couple of days after the CT Scan my Urologist, himself, calls to tell me  I have a semi-solid cancerous tumor on my right kidney based on the report from the radiologist.   A week later, my Urologist is taking Linda and me on a 3-dimensional tour of my insides. We see the cyst and the cancerous growth next to it.  

In the post-surgery appointment I learn just how lucky I was.  The radiologist interpreting my ultrasound compared it to my last ultrasound 3 years earlier and noticed a slightly darker spot next to the now, not blood-filled cyst.  Probably nothing but just in case we better order a CT Scan.  

So my General Practitioner says it is probably is nothing but go to the Urologist just be safe.

The Urologist confirms it was nothing but because of my past, insists I get one last scan just to be safe.

The radiologist looking at the “one last scan” says it is probably nothing but just to be safe let us do the CT scan. 

Well, in my view, that is a miracle. I am now a cancer survivor. 

Officially I had a robotic-assisted laparoscopic radical nephrectomy performed by a highly skilled and experienced surgeon.  The post-surgery pathology report confirmed the 5 X 4 X 3.5 cm tumor on my kidney was clear cell renal cell carcinoma. The margins were not involved by the carcinoma which is to say the cancer was contained within the tumor and had not spread. 

I am thankful beyond words to all of the professionals who worked together on my behalf and for the support from family, friends, neighbors and even strangers.  Support makes a real difference. 

I am not sure the doctor understood the look on my face when I promised I would get scans for the next ten years.  I was thinking to myself, wow that is cool, he has confidence that I will be alive for the next 10 years.  

 

What you see depends on how close your look.  Scale and Perception.com

In a little restaurant just up the road from the University of Denver, the server nodded indicating it was my turn to decide.  I pretended in my head to myself I was choosing between the pancakes with scrambled eggs or seafood eggs benedict special. I always go for the pancakes with scrambled eggs. Besides eggs benedict had runny yolks.  I was about to respond with two pancakes and scrambled eggs, please. But then in a life-changing moment, I decided to seriously consider ordering the egg special instead of my usual scrambled eggs.

With my best inquisitive look, I asked the server: pancakes with scrambled eggs or egg special?   Am I allergic to seafood? No, I love seafood. Pick the special. Poached eggs over a toasted English muffin topped with good-sized chunks of shrimp and crab meat covered by a delicious creamy hollandaise sauce.  Boy golly, it was good.  

Picking the usual is what made me the person I am.  Why should I change? I almost never go wrong with the usual. The usual is almost never bad. Even to this day, most often, I plod along choosing the option that I usually choose, doing what I usually do.  I wear what I usually wear. I eat what I usually eat. Linda is far more likely to pick a more interesting option than I am. 

However, I am a bit changed. Once in a while, I intentionally try a different option than my norm.   Even though I never had eggs benedict before, why not give them a try. The odds of me starving to death is low.  I might even enjoy them.  

It is not about just restaurant options.  It is also about what I watch on TV, or the book I choose to read, or the podcast I listen to or the way I drive home or any one of hundreds of things where I have an option.  Most of the time I choose my usual but once in a while I choose a different option.  

The power of choosing other options is more than just enjoying something different.  Certainly once in a while, I regret choosing the new thing I chose. It really is not about the option I choose or about whether it is better than my usual.  Choosing a different option is about expanding my view of the world.

Maybe this will explain it better. 

When winter comes to Minnesota and the ground is covered in new snow.  When you cross a field you leave behind a path. If you continue day after day to follow that same path, the path gets worn down and safer.  Even if it snows again, continuing to follow the same path over and over again is safer. However, by continuing to follow that path, as a practical matter, all other options for crossing that field become less of a real option.  It is just so much easier to walk the beaten path than to trudge through high snow banks and deep old snow to head for a different option.  

Always following your same old options is being in the same old rut. The longer you use the same path the deeper the rut becomes and the harder it is to follow other paths.  Making a different decision once in a while keeps multiple paths open. 

Certainly, other paths might not lead to better places.  Salted caramel ice cream is pretty good, why would someone choose another option.  However, it was choosing a different option which led me to like salted caramel ice cream in the first place.  I still also enjoy mint chocolate chip. I also like a hot fudge sundae with a good vanilla ice cream. 

By choosing other options once in a while I better understood the goal is not always to find the best.  Making an occasional different choice helps me appreciate the nuance of life. I might prefer one flavor of ice cream over another but I like most flavors of ice cream. Most of the time, a different choice does not lead to a bad outcome.  Usually, it leads to the discovery that there is a broad range of reasonable options. In a small way, it made my life more interesting. 

When we stay in a rut, our view of the world never changes.  Getting out of the rut, expanding your view of the world, even in small ways, of course, changes your view of the world.  Go to a place you haven’t been to before. Talk to someone you don’t normally talk to, tell them you like the rainbow colors in their hair.  Walk a different path. Drive the long way home. Eat at that place you wondered about. There are lots of ways to get out of the rut.  

Getting out of the rut periodically does not make you a different person. It adds perspective and depth to the person you already are. It is about taking different paths across that snowy field. None of the paths are as safe as the one you usually take, however there it is, you discover most often they are quite safe enough.  

Who knew I liked eggs benedict.  I always avoided a runny yolk. Choices need to be made, once in a while make a different choice than you normally do.  It will expand your horizons.  

 

The closer you look the more you see.

Scaleandperception.com