Gas prices fuel the recession

Just when you thought it was safe to get out of the recession – ta-da! Here comes another mighty blow to our recovery thanks to soaring prices at the gas pump. The price per gallon has vaulted past the $3 mark and is quickly advancing to $4. It’s predicted to peak at $5 this summer. So goes gas, so goes our economy. We Americans apparently suffer from a nasty case of short-term memory loss. Remember back in 2008 when gas went to $4 a gallon? What happened then? That’s when the recession hit – hard and fast. So-called experts tried to blame the downturn in the economy on the housing market, auto sales and job losses. I think you can look at those as symptoms of the high cost of fuel. The more you spend to keep your car running, the less you have to spend on anything else, including new cars. When people quit buying things, jobs go away. When jobs go away, homes are lost to foreclosure. When foreclosures go up, housing prices come down. When all of these things happen, Wall Street gets jitters and the DOW drops. The whole vicious cycle is tied to those dead dinosaurs we convert to gasoline and other fuels and lubricants. It’s time we made fossil fuel as extinct from our lives as the great beasts that provided it. Most of my life I have heard rumors of the big oil companies and car companies buying up patents to alternative fuels and super fuel-efficient cars to keep them off the market. If there is even a single iota of truth to that, now is the time for those things to surface. I don’t believe the stories, but who knows for sure. What I do know is that the cost of gas in 2008 hurt me bad. It hurt a lot of people much worse than me. That’s why I’m scared to death of what will happen this year if we get anywhere near $5 at the pump. For a couple years now I have been planning to take my family to a family reunion in California this summer. After 12 years of marriage, my wife and sons have never met my father’s side of the family. I fear gas prices and other financial concerns will force us to have to wait another two years for the next reunion. To look at it another way, there are hundreds of gallons of gas I am not going to buy. There are several motels and campgrounds I will not be staying at. There are snacks and soft drinks we will not be consuming. Somewhere out there are numerous businesses that will not benefit from me and my family. The tourist traps in my path will not be sprung. I don’t think we’re anywhere near being alone in that regard. I don’t think you’ll be hearing very much about staycations this year. They’ll just be “stays.” If someone were to ask me where I’m going on vacation this year, I’d have to say to a movie or two. If conditions permit, we might even get a day trip to Galveston. Once there, however, we’ll have to find a way to fund the trip back home. On the plus side, I no longer have to commute to the office. I can literally roll out of bed and start writing at my computer. That will save me a fortune in dino-goo at the pump, but it is really isolating at the same time. When you work in a creative field like this, it helps to have others to share and bounce ideas off of. Imagine what it would have been like for Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein to take down the president if they each worked online from home. No collaboration, just a text or an e-mail. Trust me; they wouldn’t have gotten very far – at least without WikiLeaks. Anyway, getting back on topic, I would sure like to hear from readers about how the soaring gas prices are affecting you. Please take a moment to either comment online or email me at jsouthern@hcnonline.com. I think our stories will paint a very real picture that the experts and politicians don’t want to see.

Living on love is worth every dime

Another Valentine’s Day has come and gone and once again I find myself surrounded by my wife and children and memories of my money. They’re good memories. It was money well spent. Who knows, if I hadn’t spent it on Valentine’s Day I just might be surrounded by my money with memories of my wife and children. Seriously though, I doubt my wife would leave me if I got stingy on Feb. 14. She might make Feb. 15 incredibly unbearable, but she’d still be mine. That is, I think she would, right Sweetheart? Sweetheart? Uh, let me get back to you on that. I was listening to KSBJ radio earlier this week, and they were playing a version of the old Newlywed Game where they pit newlyweds against “oldieweds.” That got me thinking about how well married couples know (or don’t know) each other. That was compounded when I took Sandy to see “The Vow” at the movie theater. It’s the story about a young husband who has to win back the love of his wife after a car crash erases all her memory of him and their life together. Her life was so different before they met that it was almost as if she had led a double life. A lot of things have been going through my mind as I’ve listened to the questions and watched the movie. How would I have answered some of those questions on the radio? How would Sandy have answered the ones about me? I like to think that I know my wife as well as she knows herself. I also like to think that I’m a multi-millionaire with a big, fancy home, nice cars and servants, but that’s beside the point. I learned a few years ago when I first joined Facebook that I apparently didn’t know my wife as well as I thought. There was a game where you asked your friends to answer questions about yourself to see how well they know you. It turns out that I knew my ex-wife much better than my wife. Now my ex-wife is my ex-friend on Facebook. We’re still friends in real life, but my focus has shifted to knowing and understanding my wife better. I’ve learned, for example, that women are moving targets. Once you think you’ve got them figured out, they change everything. It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind and the expectation of the man to know when it changes and what it has changed to. For example, if her favorite ice cream is Death By Chocolate, the man must automatically know the next time they’re at the ice cream parlor that he should order her the Mocha Mint because that has always been her favorite. There are some questions women ask that have very obvious answers. “Does this (insert name of garment here) make my butt look big?” The answer is always “no.” The same answer applies when she asks you if another woman in the room looks pretty. Most of us guys, however, often have the mouth in motion before the brain can intercede because the brain is too busy noticing how much prettier the other girl would be if her butt wasn’t so big. Interestingly enough, I used to have this dream long ago where I would wake up in the hospital and not recognize my wife and sons and thinking I was still married to my daughter’s mother. How would my wife and boys take it? How would I handle it? I never did find out and in all honesty, I don’t want to know. I love my wife and children dearly, and don’t think they could ever escape my memory because they are so thoroughly engrained in it. Life without them would scarcely be worth living. If there is anything I’ve learned in all my years it’s that there is nothing more important in this world than love. When Jesus was asked what the most important part of the law was, he summed up the Commandments into two parts: love God and love your neighbor. The common thread is love. I’ve also learned that love is not an emotion or feeling but a choice and a commitment. Love doesn’t quit. People quit, but real love does not. Love is what carries us through the highs and lows of life. As the late columnist John Coit once wrote, “Life is short and it hurts. Love is the only drug that works.” It is because of love and commitment that the saying is true: Real fathers have pictures of their family where their money used to be. In all honesty, I’d rather have the love and a lifetime of memories of my wife and children than my last dime. In the end when all is said and done, I can only take one of those things with me when I pass away. I think that’s what Jesus meant when he instructed us to store up treasure in Heaven.

I'm glad I wasn't my parent

If I had been my parent when I was a kid, I would have had a very miserable childhood. Whenever I stop to think of the things I did when I was at the age my children are now, I realize what a sheltered and adventureless life they live. Actually, we do have a lot of adventure in our lives, but it pales compared to my childhood. The things my parents let me do (and the things I got away with) would make me a nervous wreck if my kids did them today. How my parents survived my childhood without having a heart attack or killing me, I’ll never know. Today I get after my boys for shooting their Nerf guns in the house for fear they’ll break something or shoot an eye out. We didn’t have Nerf guns back in the Disco Era. I did have a BB gun, and I used to go outside and shoot nearly everything that didn’t move – and a few that did. The same went for my experience in my teens as a hunter with my single-shot shotgun. The safest place for game birds was within my sights. My children have never been hunting and have only a mild interest in fishing. My hunting career lasted only three years or so and ended when the ringing in my ears began (and to this day has not stopped). I used to be an avid fisherman as a boy. I’d often walk or ride my bike over to the Frog Pond, which has a small creek running by it. I caught a lot of suckers, but not much else. Occasionally my exploits with a fishing pole would net me a small trout, carp or some sunfish. Come to think of it, not much has changed in that regard in the last 30-some years. (Sigh) One adventure we do share is a love of camping. Even that has changed. As a Boy Scout, we cooked our food over a fire and slept in pup tents that you could barely sit up in. My boys cook over propane stoves, sleep in tents the size of condos and have all kinds of electronic gadgets for entertainment. Growing up in the booming metropolis of Niwot, Colo., located just northeast of the People’s Republic of Boulder, my brothers, buddies and I had free rein to go just about anywhere we pleased. We rode our bikes all over town, over jumps, off road or anywhere else we could. Outdoor games like hide-and-go-seek could be confined to a yard or the entire neighborhood. We always knew when it was about time to go home when the lady next door would do her nightly summon of her son. His name is Mike, but we called him Mister because his initials were M.R. Each evening his mom would sing out “Miiiichaaaael … Miiiiiisteeer! Time to come home!” If we didn’t respond right away, it meant we were in someone’s house, down at the Frog Pond or over at the Fina (a little country store and gas station) and couldn’t hear. While my friends and I were everywhere, I get uneasy having my boys play with the neighbor across the street. Our house is on a busy corner in Rosenberg and I don’t feel it’s safe for my kids to ride their bikes in the area. In addition to a lot of traffic, we share a corner with a restaurant, bar, gas station and a Laundromat. Some of the characters we see on a regular basis make you wonder if there was a big sale at the thrift store and if all the dentists had been run out of town. There must also be a lot of deaf people in our community because of all the cars that go by with the music up so loud you would swear we were having an earthquake. I got my driver’s permit the day I turned 15½ and my license on my 16th birthday. My oldest two have no interest in driving. I had summer jobs away from home and went to college on the other side of the state. Not so with my youngsters. Living on a hobby farm in a rural community and being hyper-active in Boy Scouts gave me experiences that my children may never have. I used chainsaws, wood splitters, pocket knives, electric saws, sanders and drills; butchered rabbits and chickens; went rock climbing, canoeing, climbed mountains, drove cross-country, jumped from 30-foot cliffs into the water, jumped on our trampoline (without those safety nets), slept in igloos, and played a lot of sports. I plea the Fifth on such things as drinking, chewing tobacco, sneaking into concerts, playing with illegal fireworks, watching movies with ratings above my age, and reading certain types of magazines for men (and I use the word “reading” very loosely here). I never did smoke or try any drugs. After all, a fellow had to draw the line somewhere. I lived a very busy, active and adventurous life. My boys can build with Legos and play video games. They are active in Scouts, but even then it’s not like they’re out in the woods thinning out beetle-kill stands of pine or climbing Longs Peak on a hot, summer day. Maybe it’s time to change all of that and get my kids (and myself) outdoors more often and engaged in fun and challenging activities. That way they can experience more of life and I can learn more about the hell and countless hours in prayer that I put my parents through.

Forget winning, let son build his own derby car

It’s time to get down and derby again. Every year for the last 10 years we have gone through the Cub Scout rite of passage where we turn a block of wood and four plastic wheels into a racecar. I loved doing it when I was a Cub Scout and still enjoy it with my boys. It’s that idealistic time when a father and son work together on a project with the father instructing his young Scout in the proper use of knives, saws and other tools as the youngster plies his new skills to craft his masterpiece. Scratch that. Let’s get real. This a time when overly-eager and overly-protective dads plug in the power tools and shape racers with the accuracy and detail of a profession machinist. All the kid can do is watch, which is boring, so he runs off to play while dad loses himself in the whir of power tools and sawdust. Making a pinewood derby car is more science than art – at least if you want a decent chance to win. A couple weeks ago I was knee-deep in that obsession when a neighbor kid came over to play with my sons. When he asked what I was doing, I told him I was working on the pinewood derby cars. His response nailed me fast to the pole of guilt. “Oh yeah, my dad is making mine, too.” There I was, a former preacher of kid-built derby cars doing what I had done every year for a decade. It must be genetic, as my father did the same to me and my brothers. At least I made my boys sand and paint their cars. I wasn’t allowed to touch mine until the race was over. Two of my three boys have now gone through Cub Scouts without ever having made their own cars. My youngest son still has two derby seasons to go. As he will be a Webelo, I intend for him to build most of his car next year and all of it the following year. It will be the father-son bonding experience it’s intended to be. I’ll probably have the older two make their own cars as well for the Pack’s sibling race. The derby car experience has always been about the journey, not the destination. Making the cars is much more fun than watching them zip down a wooden track in less than three seconds. If you think about it, you spend many hours building a car that will only be used for about 10 seconds or so. When it comes to Scouting and pinewood derby cars, I would love to see the emphasis put back on the spirit of the competition. Each Pack gets to set its own rules, within certain parameters. I’d like to see most Scout units create a rule or racing division for cars that are mostly kid-built or made without the use of power tools. I’d like to see the emphasis for the trophies switched from the races to awards for design and craftsmanship. I think that would help teach the boys how to properly use tools and to create with their minds. I think the sense of pride and accomplishment increase the more the boy can claim ownership in his own project. Children learn better from experience. Watching dad work isn’t much of a learning experience. Working with dad, however, is an experience you will treasure the rest of your life. No doubt that everyone wants to win come race time. The winning is so much sweeter for the boys who make their own cars versus those who had theirs handed to them. Those victories really mean something. Several years ago a limited-run movie came out called “Down and Derby.” It was about a competition between dads to make the perfect derby car. While the dads go to extremes to one-up the other, the boy and other relatives discover the real winning spirit of the pinewood derby race. It’s a fun film if you can find it. I highly recommend it for all Cub Scouts and their parents. All that being said, I do have to report that my middle son Luke finished his derby career with something no one else in my family has ever had before – a first place trophy! I give all the credit to him. After all, he sanded and painted the thing all by himself!

It's not Tebowing, it's prayer

When it comes to the phenomenon that is Tim Tebow, the average person – and most definitely the media pundits – clearly do not understand him. They confuse his Christianity with the idol worship of modern athletes. When he prays, they call it “Tebowing.” It’s not Tebowing, it’s prayer. It’s one man speaking to God. It’s one man behaving the way he believes God wants him to. It’s admirable. What Tebow is doing is not striking a pose that so many associate with his success on the football field. What he is doing it taking a private moment on a public stage and thanking the one who made it all possible for him. I’ve never met Tim Tebow, and to the best of my knowledge have never seen him in person or heard him speak more than sound bites on TV. I respect him as a brother and a man of God. I am thrilled at what he has done not only for the Denver Broncos but for the NFL and society in general. I’ve been a Broncomaniac since the days of old No. 7 – the first No. 7, Craig Morton. I was born and raised less than 60 miles from Mile High Stadium. My dad had the games on TV, but I didn’t care about football until the year Morton led the Broncos to the Super Bowl. That was the first football game I ever watched, and I was hooked. Since the days after Super Bowl XXXIII, Denver has been awaiting the second coming of John Elway. We got Griese on our Bristered hands and finally called in a Plummer. Quarterbacks came and went, and ultimately Orton heard a boo. Sent packing, Kyle Orton was replaced by Tebow. It hasn’t been pretty, but the results speak for themselves. Tebow wins football games. Sure it’s not just Tebow; there is a whole team behind him. But try convincing Colts fans that their team can win without Peyton Manning. Try telling us old-time Bronco fans that Denver could win without Elway. What makes Tebow a cultural curiosity is not his unique style of play or his remarkable number of come-from-behind victories — it’s his overtly public display of his faith in Jesus Christ. That, more than anything, is what I admire and respect about the man. The fact that he is leading my favorite team doesn’t hurt, either. The NFL and all of pro sports have had numerous Christians in their ranks. The late Reggie “the Minister of Defense” White and former coach Tony Dungy and the Pittsburg Steelers’ hairy star Troy Polamalu are among some other notable Christian stars. None of them has been the lightning rod of public praise and criticism that Tebow has. Lots of athletes have bowed in prayer or pointed skyward in a gesture of thanks to God, but few if any have been as controversial at the Broncos quarterback. I don’t know why. I don’t understand why people feel that striking a pose and calling it Tebowing is a trendy sign of respect and success. If all the Tebowers out there really want to pay respect, they should actually use that pose as an honest moment of prayer. If they want to mimic his success, they should call on his God, not him. Tebow is no saint or savior. He is a man. Ultimately it does not matter what he accomplishes in football or how many games he wins or awards he receives. The only thing that will matter is how he served God and what he does to advance the Kingdom of Jesus Christ. It’s the only thing that will make any difference when our time in this world is over. With that benchmark, I count Tebow a winner in the extreme. My love and respect for my brother in Christ will not waiver if he never wins another football game. I may become critical of him as a player, but never as a man of faith so long as he preaches and practices biblical truth. I would expect no different. If my words or actions were not in line with the Bible, I would expect someone to call me on it. Like Tebow, I’m just a man, a sinner in need of grace and redemption. Without God there is nothing. Without Jesus, I am nothing. Without the Holy Spirit, I am a shell of a man, empty of hope and meaning. Tim Tebow understands this. That is why he is so often in prayer. It’s something to emulate, not imitate. God bless you, Tim Tebow … and go Broncos! P.S. I’m all for Houston, too. Go Texans!

Put the service back into customer service

My first draft of this column was brutal. I had a really bad experience trying to buy some reading glasses from the optical department at a local big box store and I wanted to vent about it. At the same time, I had a very pleasant experience getting them from a local department store from an overworked and overwhelmed employee who had no choice but to make me wait for hours. As I wrote the column I found that way too many words were being vented toward a very pushy salesperson and not enough toward the very pleasant and very helpful one. I guess it’s human nature to want to complain. As I read and re-read the column, I realized that I wasn’t writing about the experience as much as I was about customer service. If you’ve ever been to the Chick-fil-A restaurants in Rosenberg and Greatwood you will know what I mean about the difference that customer service can make. Every time I walk into one of these stores I am greeted with “welcome to Chick-fil-A”. The multiple greetings usually come from very busy people working feverishly behind the counter. Anyone who has worked in the fast food industry can tell you that it is very hard, unrewarding and low-paying work. The people at Chick-fil-A, however, act as though as if they love what they do and that their customers are the most important people in the world. They will bring your food to your table and invariably someone will come by to check on us and offer to refill our drinks. I can’t recall a single time a fast food burger chain has provided that level of service. None of that has anything to do with my experience buying glasses, but it illustrates perfectly what I mean about the quality of customer service. The first place I went to for glasses was not very busy. I got prompt attention from the employee. That person began upselling and pushing products I did not need or want. My insurance benefits were probed as well as those of my family. I did not appreciate that violation of my records. I was very offended to be pushed toward buying a more expensive pair than what I needed. It was clear to see that this person was looking out for a big commission and did not care about the needs of the customer. The place where I got my glasses should have turned me off, but didn’t. It was at the JCPenney in Rosenberg where there was one person waiting on a line of impatient people and a ringing phone. The selection of frames was much smaller. But Regina, the salesperson, maintained her cool. She kept smiling, apologizing for the wait and treated each customer with her full attention and dignity. I found out later that Regina was a student at the University of Houston and had only been working there for two months. They were on their second day with a new computer system, and she was plagued by all the problems associated with it. On top of that, her manager abandoned her on one of the store’s busiest days of the year and left her to fend for herself. Knowing what a miserable day Regina was having, I was amazed at her poise and grace in dealing with all these hardships and that she still smiling and acting friendly toward each customer. That kind of service and dedication far outweighed the inconvenience of the long wait I had. It was worth it to me. And in the end I got what I wanted for a lot less money than the pushy person tried to get from me. All of this reinforces my belief that life is not about how we fend for ourselves but rather how we serve other people. What’s important in life is not what we get but what we give. Giving your time, talent and treasure will do more for you and those around you than taking all you can get ever will. I honestly believe Zig Ziglar when he says that you can get whatever you want out of life if you help enough other people get what they want. All the great motivational speakers and business leaders understand that living by the golden rule is the absolute best way to make a living. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you requires action first. You have to give something of yourself in order to have others do the same in return. Jesus did not say to have others do unto you before you do unto them. You’ve probably heard the saying that if you want to have a friend you must first be a friend. That is so true. Once you open yourself up to giving, the receiving naturally follows and in abundance. Later this week when I go to get my glasses, I will probably stop and have lunch at Chick-fil-A. When I return, I will know that I have done business with people who understand this principle and that my day will be better for it. And I hope your experience in reading this column has been more beneficial to you than it would have been if you had read my original gripe piece. That is my gift to you today.

Resolve to set goals this year

Don’t make New Year’s resolutions. You won’t keep them. I’ve tried for years and have almost never taken one through a whole year. Most people start theirs on Jan. 1 and abandon them well before the Super Bowl. Instead of making New Year’s resolutions, make real, personal goals. Some really good advice on goals passed to me by Dave Ramsey includes these five simple steps: First, put your goals in writing. Don’t scribble them out on a cocktail napkin. Write them someplace more permanent. Type them in a Word document that you can save on your computer and also print a copy to display somewhere where you will see them every day. If one of your goals is weight loss, post it on your refrigerator door. Second, make your goals specific. If you want to lose weight, determine a specific amount. Don’t just say I want to lose a few pounds. If you want to lose 20 pounds, make that your goal. Map out how much you need to lose each week to reach that goal, set an exercise regimen and chart your eating habits. If you want to read more, determine how many books or how many hours a week you will spend doing that. Write out what you want to read and why. Third, make your goals time sensitive. A goal without a deadline is just an unfulfilled dream. If you want to lose those 20 pounds before summer, set Memorial Day as your deadline. That is one pound a week. If necessary, break a larger goal up into smaller, more manageable steps. Fourth, make your goals measurable. How will you know that you’ve reached your goal unless you have some way of measuring it? If weight loss is your goal, you can measure that on a scale or in the size of your clothes. Fitness goals can be measured by the amounts and duration of weights lifted or miles run or walked. Reading is measured by the number of books read. Fifth, make your goals personal to you. This is the big “why.” For what reason do you wish to achieve your goals? If it’s to please others, you may have a problem with co-dependency. Your goal may involve service to others, but don’t sacrifice your own satisfaction for the sole purpose of someone else’s happiness. If your goal isn’t personal, you will lack the motivation to achieve it. Without motivation comes failure and a further sinking into whatever you’re trying to get out of. What do you do once you achieve your goal? Celebrate! Don’t get caught up in the “now what funk.” Don’t fall back into old habits. Take some time to enjoy what you have accomplished and then move on. Keep the habits that helped you reach your goal and, if applicable, stretch your goals farther. If necessary, make new and more challenging goals. If you have a book reading goal, try writing a book. If you lost weight, blog about it. If you reached a financial goal, increase it. If your goal was a one-time thing like earning a college degree, embark on a new mission. That mission may include use of your degree or something way out in left field. The key is not to stop. The minute you stop pursuing goals is the day your dreams will die and take you along with them. Zig Ziglar, who is well into his 80s and has short-term memory loss due to a brain injury, still has goals of helping motivate others through books and speaking engagements. He has had to modify his techniques, but the goals are still before him. Getting back to Dave Ramsey, I recently listened to one of his recordings where he urges people and companies to have a BHAG — big, hairy, audacious goal. Not an unachievable pipe dream, but a mind-blowing goal that requires you to stretch way out of your comfort zone to accomplish. Most likely that will be a longer-term goal. It may take some time and several steps to set up. Each step toward your BHAG can be a personal goal. My first goal for 2012 will be to no longer make New Year’s resolutions. My next goal will be to set my goals for the year following these proven steps.