BLOG | dyauthorandspeaker

Davis Young
- Apr 18, 2023

DY: In Just a Few Words (#132)

I learned this lesson the VERY HARD way.

It’s been 20-plus years, but I can remember my Santa Monica adventure like it was yesterday… maybe even today.

My son-in-law, Keith, was at the wheel as we traveled from their Orange County, CA home to Santa Barbara. Daughter, Tracy, was studying their 1996 Rand McNally Atlas (remember those?) for the best route. Granddaughter, Halle, six months old, was doing her baby thing. And, my outstanding spouse, Karen, was dozing (not a shock to anyone who has traveled in a car with her). We’d been on the road maybe an hour-and-a-half, and it was time for lunch.

Welcome to Santa Monica! It’s a popular place. Lots of folks milling around stores, the beach and the always busy Santa Monica Pier. After a while, we found a parking spot in a garage by the Third Street Promenade pedestrian mall. Because we were heading for a long weekend away - with a baby - the van was loaded with clothes, a portable crib, diapers and lots of other items. As we got out, I quickly tucked my glasses into my camera bag with my two Canon cameras for safe keeping. It was so sunny in Santa Monica my sunglasses would be all I would need for our adventure. I then asked if it would be safe to leave my camera bag in the van. If memory serves me, Tracy said it would be fine. Keith immediately responded, Be quiet! You never know who might be hiding in these parking garages. His voice was quiet, but his tone was harsh.

What in the world was he talking about? The rest of us thought Keith was crazy. So, off we went to lunch. Not a care in the world.

Well, guess what? We got back from lunch and the van had been completely ransacked - clothes, luggage and baby things all over the inside. It resembled a trashed fraternity house on Sunday morning. I mean it was a big-time mess. Has anybody seen my camera bag? Nobody stepped up to say they had. Well, it pains me to say this, but it looked like Keith was right. And Tracy was wrong. The only thing missing from the van was my camera bag. With my two cameras. And my prescription glasses.

Clearly, we have to report this theft to the Santa Monica police if there’s any chance insurance will cover it.

Fortunately, the local police station, courthouse and municipal building were just one short block away. I set off to tell my story. As I came upon my destination, I saw lots of TV cameras along the path to the main door. These included clearly marked network TV crews and their equipment.

You see, the O.J Simpson trial was in full swing. And here I came. Maybe all these reporters thought I was an important new witness. Shall we say I didn’t go unnoticed. I was now part of history, maybe an important part. I carried myself with pride. I wasn’t going to let myself be part of the Simpson circus. I had my own story to tell and I was going to stick to it.

I never saw my cameras again. I also spent much of the next day on the phone with my eye doctor in Cleveland and at LensCrafters in Santa Barbara replacing my glasses. So much for a relaxing long weekend away.

I learned a big lesson that day. Never, ever mention what is in your car in a parking garage or anywhere else someone may be lurking - unless your goal is to have it stolen. And, that is never anyone’s goal.

In a lot of ways, it was a memorable day in Santa Monica, but I prefer to think of it as a forgettable time. Who wants to admit they should have listened to their son-in-law?

DY: In Just a Few Words is a blog that comes out when something needs to be said or every Tuesday - whichever comes first. Davis Young is a communications professional who adds 50+ years of experience and perspective to issues of the day. His emphasis in DY: In Just a Few Words will be humor (a touch of sarcasm here, a pinch of facetiousness there...). Once in a while, he will touch on something a bit more serious - but hopefully not too deep or depressing.

This blog is a product of DY Author & Speaker LLC. Feel free to quote content with attribution. Respond. Agree. Disagree. Share the content with your friends. Heck - even invite him as a speaker for your group! Enjoy!

Davis Young
- Apr 12, 2023

DY: In Just a Few Words (#131)

Happy Birthday to me!

My phone rang off the hook yesterday. My emails and texts blew up all afternoon. Where was my blog? Was I okay?

Yes, I am okay. And, yes, I purposely waited an extra day to release this week’s blog.

Why, you ask?

Today is a special day. It’s my 84th birthday. 84! Who’d have thunk it?

For a long time, I did what I could to keep my age a secret - especially from prospective clients. As I sped past 79 and into my 80s I kept thinking who would want to do business with anyone as old as that? Time has passed this guy by. He’s yesterday’s news.

I have begun to see the world through a different lens. Somebody 84 has compiled a lot (I mean a mountain) of experience. Perhaps that’s valuable to somebody else. Maybe it’s worth passing that on.

I have also become a big fan of chatting with younger people. They can tell me about their new world and encourage me to understand it (not always easy, but well worth hearing and trying). I can tell them about ancient times and perhaps - just perhaps - they can pick up something valuable from that. No, I don’t understand AI or the Metaverse. But, I should at least give it a try. And, for their part, maybe it would be helpful to them if they got a firmer grasp on concepts surrounding loyalty and hard work.

So, I’m done hiding my age. There's a TV commercial running right now where a clearly mature woman says, Age is just a number and mine’s unlisted. Well, mine is listed for all the world to see.

When I was a mere lad of 83, people would sometimes tell me I didn’t look 83 or ask if I felt 83. How do you answer that? What is 83 supposed to look like and how is it supposed to feel? Now at 84, I would have to guess I look one day older than yesterday, but perhaps I am also one day wiser.

Songwriter Merle Travis put it this way:

Some people say a man is made outta mud

A poor man's made outta muscle and blood

Muscle and blood and skin and bones

A mind that's a-weak and a back that's strong

You load 16 tons, what do you get?

Another day older and deeper in debt

St. Peter, don't you call me 'cause I can't go

I owe my soul to the company store

I share the joy and abundance of 84 with all my readers. I am happy. I have a wonderful family. I am appreciative. I am grateful. And, I am very much looking forward to 85.

Look out world, here I come.

Davis Young
- Apr 4, 2023

DY: In Just a Few Words (#130)

I TOLD him they were dangerous.

Have you ever had a child bug you about something to the point where you gave in because you were absolutely worn out and didn’t have the energy to argue further?

Welcome to the world of Denny Young and his Moped. He was just a lad of 14 when the discussion started. Actually, it was more of a filibuster than a discussion. He wanted a Moped and, if he had anything to say about it (and - trust me - he did), that was going to happen.

Denny, Mopeds are dangerous. Really dangerous. You can have a bad accident and get seriously injured or even end up dead. Your mother wouldn’t like that.

Don’t worry, Dad. I know that and I’ll be careful.

The rest, as they say, is history. Within a couple of days, he was part of a pack of kids riding their Mopeds all over Shaker Heights to participate in pick-up baseball games. It was a great summer. No accidents. On into the fall and riding to school, a jaunt of about 10 miles without any bike lanes. Never a hint of an accident. No calls from the police. Denny had proved his point. He was still well short of driving age, but he did have a license for his new toy. The Moped was as pristine as when it came from the dealer.

One day, Denny was standing in our driveway. His best friend - his Moped - was there, too. While it was turned on (in idle mode), the kickstand was engaged. I decided to climb aboard. No big deal. It was in idle mode. On I got.

After a couple of minutes I decided to goose it a bit. When I did, I also leaned back and - shall we say - accidentally engaged the rear tire with the driveway.

The result is that I hit the ground flat on my back while the Moped became airborne. I looked up as the Moped came down. It was going to fall one way or another. Would it tilt right and come down on me or would it tilt left and spare me?

Luck was on my side that day. It tilted left and crashed onto the driveway. That was that.

Yes, I caused the only accident that Moped ever had. I cut and banged up an elbow. Worse was the unseen injury to my pride. I humiliated myself in front of my son.

Today, when we reminisce about our time together in Moped history, Denny asks, How could you ever have let me have one of those? They’re dangerous. What kind of father were you anyway?

I have trouble answering that.

Next week’s blog will come out on Wednesday, not Tuesday. Tune in to find out why.

Complete the information below to get an email when new blogs are posted.

You only need to subscribe one time to be added to the list. Thanks!