November 2022 – Page 2 – Leadership Blog

Power & the Caregiver

As I understand, taught, and used, power is only necessary to wield when “events dictate.” Otherwise, power remains sheathed and locked away. It is a potentially destructive force that resides in our hands, head, and heart. So, the wise call upon power only when it MUST be used.

A caregiver is in an influential position, as the weapon of power lies in their hands, and the recipient needing care, thus, is vulnerable. One needs, and the other gives. How apparent is this in so many human relationships? Consider the power of parents relative to their children, the teacher to their students, friends with friends, ministers to their flock, doctors to their patients, and bosses (leaders) to their subordinates. Where, in the lives of humans (or animals), is power a non-issue?

Throughout my many roles as a teacher, child psychologist, entrepreneur, and leader of many employees, I had the power to express myself and protect myself and others in my circle of family and friends. Yet, on reflection, I realize I rarely used my power to harm or control another. If I did, it was to protect myself and those close to me.

Being a caregiver is “powerful” because those who need care are either nearly helpless or entirely so. In every instance, however, the caregiver MUST be there for them unconditionally. Whether the care is only partial or to the point of lifesaving, the caregiver does what must be done.

Most importantly, when “events dictate,” powerful people must empower those in their care.

Power, mine to give—To be your best for you and—Good to empower.

Being The Caregiver

Having been cared for, for many years, I fully understand Lentte’s commitment to me and her caring for me in many ways. Accordingly, if I need a model caregiver to pattern myself after, she’s right here by my side.

As of now, and for the last few months, I have become her caregiver. She had an operation to insert a device into her heart (Watchman), an operation on her right wrist to free the hand nerves after breaking her wrists earlier this year, and a disappearing back pain. All this AND getting old and not being oneself (or not being who and what she was not too long ago).

Going from caregiver to needing care is a significant change for anyone, but I believe it’s more difficult for women because they have been major caregivers. I hope I have been clear about this in my previous two papers.

My love is going through this, and the good news is that she is coming through it very well and ought to be caring for me again soon. Also, the good news is that I’m in excellent shape, exercise, write daily, and feel great, keeping in mind I am about to be 96 years old. Maybe that’s what the Mexico experience was telling us?

So, what can I say to my readers about being a caregiver? Be open, vulnerable, and firm but soft. Listen and understand as best you can, and at all costs, be honest. Say what you must say but with a connection to the other. Lenette and I remain in constant dialogue. I love her, so how good is this?

If the need arises, drop me a line, and I will do my best to help you either accept care or be the caregiver. Please, never give in or up, but stay the course and be loving because we all are somewhere within us.

I receive from you—you receive from me with love—we need each other

From Giving Care to Needing Care

Going from caregivers to becoming receivers of care may be what a few caregivers look forward to. However, I believe this to be a small group because of what I am witnessing and learning. True caregivers have a difficult time transitioning into needing and receiving care. They may deny this, but their behavior is their truth.

It is primarily women I am writing about because most women are Caregivers. Probably even as young girls. This is not a task most men do; they will, if necessary, but men have been the hunters, seeking to feed and care for their families in a much broader sense. With women, it is more than just care they give. It is themselves, a labor of love.

We have the good fortune of visiting nursing care here in our apartment. As an observation, the majority are experienced caregivers. Oustanding caregivers deliver from their hearts, souls, and heads. They clearly are committed to their patients. Only on rare occasions will a nurse perform their duties briefly and mechanically with no heart.

Still, the problem I write about is when it is the caregiver who NEEDS care. They simply do not take this lying down, and the battle they wage is with themselves. They are so accustomed to being the caregiver that being in need becomes a significant problem. Maybe they see this as a personal failure?

There is no preparation for this because aging is what aging is. Leaving one to deal with the loss of strength, most activities, declining health, and more, much more. Needing care is not easy to give into. Women are not alone in their fight to hang on to what they were. Yet, I believe their struggles are much different from the ones men experience. Women and men are different, which is a good thing.

Women made to give—Themselves, love and more—Boys and men need them

More About Where We Live

Even when some of us think this is an easy transition, I DON’T THINK SO! And why this paper or papers? First, a few facts about where we live. “Revel Ranchero.” Formally a part of the magnificent Harrah’s Cattle Ranch situated below Windy Hill, and the Sierra Mts. is close to Lake Tahoe and numerous Ski Resorts. And, I think, the best weather in the U.S.A.

As I have previously written, Lenette and I live here in the senior village. One 4-story building houses an indoor heated saltwater pool, exercise and activity rooms, Dinning room, and bar. We have about 150 seniors living here with a growing waiting list for apartments. It is a good place, well managed and committed staff. I’m guessing that about 30 plus of the residents are men and the apparent majority are single women that have outlived their husbands.
I’ve written that we are happy here and have made wonderful friends. In fact, it is why I write “village.” I think of a village as a close-knit group of people who care for each other. “Revel” in Reno fills the bill very well. And, as anyone who knows me would expect me to give credit to its leadership, I do. But this is the living environment.

It is also evident that each day those that need care increases. It is a relatively slow process but insidious in its relentless overtaking of each of us. A few residents are in their 70s, most in their 80s, and some 90s, and I may be the oldest of that group. I know I’m the only World War Two vet. There are 24 of us that have served. Korea, Desert Storm, Vietnam, etc., is where all the rest of the vets have served.
Single Women may be as much as 80% of our resident population. They find and make friends, if wise, and join activity groups. They also come together for meals and the camaraderie that the table provides.

Events Leading Up To “Ribs in Wisconsin”

Bill Prinzmetal (and a few others) write that my teen stories are fun for them because everyone from 1948 on knows me as the camp director, storyteller, folk singer, and a young, stocky student at UCLA who was equally ready with a true story or a made-up adventure!

What follows is a prequel to what I wrote recently about going into that Wisconsin town. All of it is true.

The summer camp I attended as a kid was called Camp Wooster, located in Northern Illinois, close to the Wisconsin Border. It was funded by wealthy Jewish businesspeople. At that time, if you were Jewish and needed a job, you usually worked for a Jewish firm. Being Jewish and not being hired by non-Jewish firms was common. In those days, most application forms asked for your religion.

I loved Camp Wooster, being in the country with a big lake, activities galore, and a caring and talented staff. My favorite activities were boxing and fencing. I was good, and no one ever beat me. I so enjoyed being in the ring and the battle. Although I went there for many years as a child, when I was 15 years old, I applied for and was hired as a dish washer. There were two of us who worked together after every meal. We prided ourselves on clean dishes, speed, and as few broken dishes as possible. We heard about the rib place in the small Wisconsin town and were told never to go there. But two teenagers and ribs? The attraction was too powerful for two fearless teens. You know the rest of the story.

The “stomach” drives us—And so we go, warned not to—A lesson forever

More Life Changing Events

In High School, the Navy came on campus to give a test to 17-year-olds and above for the V-5 program. The Navy was looking for exceptional young people to enlist for 4 years and train to become a navy pilot with full college support afterward to become a professional of one’s choosing. Only two of us passed the test to enter this elite program. The test was followed by a physical exam. I was confident I was going to make the program.

The physical went well until I came to a table with cards full of colored dots. I was told to say the numbers I saw on the cards. What numbers? I saw none on any card. At that moment, I discovered I was severely red-green colorblind. NO NAVY FOR ME! It was like they told me I had cancer.
I quit school in my senior year and joined the Army. With 3 brothers serving, I had to join.

After the horrendous typhoon in the middle of the Pacific, I landed on Okinawa. The story of the 3 Japanese, their surrender, and our year-long relationship has been told. THEY CHANGED MY LIFE. They showed me: Commitment, integrity, courage, and honesty.

Music caused me to meet our company’s captain. He discovered that I quit school to enlist, which led to his insisting I take the High School Certificate Exam. He arranged and administered it. I tested at the 96th percentile (about as high as one could go), and he (a Ph.D. professor of Agriculture) offered me a four-year radar training program in the Philippines with an officer’s rating. Instead, I decided to go home to attend college.

Life Changing Events

In 4th grade, I was given a letter to deliver to my parents. I opened it because I thought I was in trouble and did not want my parents to know. They had enough on their hands. My mother used to say that she did not want the police to bring any of us home. In other words,” don’t get in trouble.” The letter asked my parents to approve my attending a special school for unusually bright students. Tests showed that I had an unusual “comprehension” ability. I did not want to go to another school or away from my friends, so I destroyed the letter. Did that change my life? Most certainly.

Years later, I worked at a Jewish summer camp for Chicago’s poor and underserved kids. One Friday night, in a small Wisconsin town, I went with a friend for ribs. The small town was putting on entertainment, including food and dance. However, this was a Jew-hating town with a public sign at its entrance that said boldly NO DOGS OR JEWS ALLOWED! We were warned not to go into this town, but we did so anyway. As a teen, I knew no fear, so the sign only lit my fire. In fact, the warning and the sign drew me almost as much as the ribs.

We immediately attracted attention, and the crowd formed a pyramid with the mayor and two police at the front. My friend and I were forced to retreat into the drugstore behind the counter. I grabbed two bottles of wine to use for protection as the angry crowd gathered.

Within a few tense moments, our camp director broke through the crowd, turned toward the mayor, and punched him squarely on the jaw, knocking him to the floor. He motioned us to come, and we walked behind him to the pick-up, waiting with its motor running. He never said a word as we drove back to camp. That event was also life-changing, and it taught me much about leadership.
Sy

All Good Things Come To An End

Before leaving San Crystaból, we were told that our journey home would take us through unsafe areas, places where bandits rule the roads. We heard that travelers in motor homes were killed, left hung on the highways, robbed, and molested. Still, we had no choice but to head north to the USA. Of course, much of our time was spent reliving our remarkably real, mind-bending experiences. No explanations, only a lot of thinking and talking.

Our drive north was uneventful until two fully armed bandits stepped out on a lonely road about a hundred miles from the border. They motioned with their sub-machine guns for me to pull over, and of course, I did. Lenette was still napping, so I slowly got out of the car. One of the men motioned me to the side of the road, and the other opened the door and put the gun to Lenette’s head. She woke and became instantly aware of the situation. We both stayed remarkably calm, and since Lenette’s Spanish was far better than mine, she asked what they wanted from us.

The one nearest Lenette replied, “Marijuana or pesos.”

Ironically, we were leaving Mexico because we were running out of money. We had enough left for gas to return home. Lenette invited them to search the VW, explained that we had no Marijuana, and showed them what little cash we had left. After one checked the VW, he found my Buck Knife, our only weapon. As the bandit examined it and fingered the blade, Lenette told him it was a gift from our son and important to me. He held it for a minute and looked us over. In those moments, I believe he considered killing us.

Smiling, he put the knife back where he found it and said, “Adios!”

Stunned but eager to leave, we quickly got back into our van and resumed our journey home, aware of how lucky we were. Serendipity? The word hardly does it justice! Or were we being watched over? In any event, it was a trip never to be forgotten.

Our Mexico Experience (Continued)

Moises told us that we must go next to Casa Na Bolom, in San Crystaból, where Archeologists Frans and Gertrude Duby Blom lived. Frans Blom was a famous archeologist studying the Mayans, and “Trudy” was a world-renowned photographer who came there to find him. She did, and they married. The two of them never stopped studying and caring for Mayans. At the Casa, rooms were always kept open and offered without cost for the Lacandon Maya who came to San Cristóbal for medical reasons.

Their hacienda was at the base of the stairway that led to a central plaza surrounded by totally white structures and a church. Below the small hill, the jungle overgrowth covered everything but the one road in and out.

We drove in, right up to their doorway, and when we knocked, someone came and said, “Welcome, we have been waiting for you. We have a room for you and dinner when you settle in.”

Frans had passed away some years back, but spending time at the dinner table in Casa Na Bolom (Na Bolom means “Jaguar House” in the Tzotzil language) was nothing less than a miracle.

By now, we were used to going with the flow. It was all very surreal, but Events dictated, and we were willing and excited to see where they took us. Why we’ve had these experiences and what meaning they have, if any, I do not ponder or worry about. Lenette and I can only be grateful for them all.

Living means using—No need to remind, I know—And do it fully.

Nurturing Our Natural Voice

One of the most important jobs any leader has is to nurture each person’s voice in their inner circle. Then, it becomes the responsibility of the inner circle members to do the same for those THEY lead. This helps people be themselves and express their thoughts and feelings. People remain or become voiceless if those in power do not create the environment for this.

Without a voluntary voice, a person will only say and do the “safe” thing, which is ALWAYS less than their potential to accomplish. For most people, how they present themselves publicly depends on their relationship with those in power over them. If people feel respected, heard, and understood, they WILL be open and full contributors to whatever they are doing and with whomever they are doing it with. This should happen in our homes, schools, work, and personal relationships.

To speak one’s mind is supposedly a birthright. Every human’s right from a baby’s first yelp to expressing themselves through various sounds, tears, and, eventually, words. It’s as natural as breathing. As true as this is, so is it that too many voices are denied, forced to remain silent, or respond with false sounds instead.

While forced silence is unnatural, it still happens as a process of self-protection. We are supported throughout our life experiences to be ourselves, naturally, or to be what others in power want us to be, which is entirely unnatural. Some of us fight, even if we lose, and fight again to be ourselves; death is no barrier to being or not being.

How sad for relationships, when regardless of circumstances, those who hold any degree of power use it to keep others from being the “SELF” they (and we) are all born to be.

I am ME not you—Your are YOU and no one else—respect is a must.