Rothacker Reviews

The American Dream

I recently read this article written by Robert Trigaux and published in the St. Pete Times.  The American Dream.  Quick, what comes to mind?  Little house in the burbs with a white picket fence, right?  This is an overused generalization that for me, signifies only one thing, that for most of us there really is an American Dream - whatever it might be.

Robert's article is based upon a survey conducted by advertising giant JWT.  Ann Mack, JWT's director of trendspotting ran point on this project.  Although the results of this survey are available to the public...for 3K, the questionnaire that JWT uses is quite interesting and available to the public...for free: Download JWT_AmericanDream_SURVEY.pdf .

In the questionnaire's cover letter, Ann says:

"As a throwaway line, 'the American Dream' passes with a nod and barely a second thought.  You can say 'He's living the American Dream' or 'She's been pursuing the American Dream,' and few people will want to know just what you mean."

The fact is, when I heard the question "What does the phrase, 'the American Dream' mean to you?" my inner status-quo took quite a head-on jolt.  I asked myself, just what was my own American Dream?  And, was I achieving it?

To contemplate about your own American Dream, is to take a deep breath and, for a moment, to step off the hamster wheel of life and work.  This exercise can be healthy and invigorating.  Why not let this question invoke a status check of your life?  And if you do not live in America, no worries...from your perspective what does the American Dream mean?

If you have your own personal Web site, tell us what the American Dream means to you?  And encourage others to do so as well!

I'll tell you what the American Dream means to me in the next couple of days.   

Tampa: Basketball Training

"Dad!  I kept my eyes on her feet just like Scott told me to do.  It worked, I stole the ball.  I couldn't believe it!"

"You know mom, I'm really starting to think about college!"

Scott Savor is responsible for initiating both of the above remarks.

Scott is a Human Performance Specialist, who works out of Sport's + Field's, Athletic Performance Center.  We are sending Carla to work with Scott to improve her basketball skills.  We think we're getting more.

Victoria, our older daughter started playing basketball in 1991.  Rosemary and I have been around girl's basketball coaches ever since, including the prestigious Trinity High School teams of the mid-nineties. With the exception of crossing paths with Pat Summitt, at Trinity while she was recruiting for the University of Tennessee, we have never met anyone who knows basketball like Scott Savor.

One of Scott's main performance enhancing philosophies is that over ninety percent of an athlete's potential for improvement can be found above the neck. If you are a parent, you don't even have to wonder how refreshing this point of view is, you instinctively feel it.

Although Scott trains professionals, he is still taking on high school and college athletes. If you or your sons/daughters are interested in one, free complimentary workout with Scott, please contact me by e-mail and I'll hook you up.  david(dot)rothacker(at)gmail(dot)com.  Please contact me if you'd like to help your student athlete improve more than their vertical jump, say like their desire to go to college!!

Scott's credentials.

A Lifetime of Secrets

A Lifetime of Secrets, is the fourth Post Secret book in a series by by Frank Warren.

I have a couple of different processes that I go through while writing a post.  Sometimes I aim for polish.  Other times I'll polish after I've launched.  I always however, strive to get beyond a point of raw work - words that need attention before the polish stage.  For my thoughts here on A Lifetime of Secrets, I choose raw.

And it feels really good to do so...

Did you ever use the term, "you can't do that in Russia."

Well, the absolutely exhilarating feeling here is, "you can't write like this in a newspaper or magazine."

Imagine holding a thought inside that terrified you so much, you couldn't mention it to one other human being.  Or some little kernel of knowledge about your company - if you were to mention - would get you fired.  Or feeling such utter despair about something.  Or wanting to retaliate for an injustice that someone caused you.  Or declaring to the world that you were about to do something.  Or sharing with at least one other human being the pain another caused.  Or of not being able to tell another about a deep sexual belief. 

A Lifetime of Secrets is like a message that one puts in a bottle and casts it adrift, with one exception.  Lots of people can read the message in a bottle.  And for the writer that liberation is exhilarating. 

A Lifetime of Secrets is like writing in your own diary, with one exception.  The entire world can read it.

A Lifetime of Secrets is like taking pain pills.

A Lifetime of Secrets are messages of hope delivered in a sparkling brass and wood carriage of artwork.

A Lifetime of Secrets are messages of despair draped in cloak and dagger works of art.

A Lifetime of Secrets are messages of love shot across the ship's bow in arrows of beauty.

A Lifetime of Secrets are soul-releasing messages drawn in crayons from the heart.

A Lifetime of Secrets are messages of desire saddled on a Clydesdale of prestige.

A Lifetime of Secrets are messages of desire laced in brown paper and bowed in pink.

A Lifetime of Secrets are messages of fear cloaked in crayon and charcoal.

A Lifetime of Secrets are messages of truth journaled on cardboard canvass.

A Lifetime of Secrets are messages of truth etched on postcards from the soul.

A Lifetime of Secrets are messages of truth released from the mind's dungeon.

A Lifetime of Secrets are messages to one's self, told to the world.

A Lifetime of Secrets are messages of hope scribed tickets, receipts and napkins.

A Lifetime of Secrets are messages of hope told to the world and aimed for one.

A Lifetime of Secrets are messages of hope, hoping to be understood.

It's a cold winter day when the door bell rings.  You sign for the package and head back to the den.  You look at the delivery.  It's wrapped in brown paper and bound in string.  The return address is in red and the address is in blue.  You gaze into the fireplace as your soul warms.  Your best friend has sent you a gift and you whisper thanks - as if she is sitting right next to you.  You untie the string and carefully remove the brown paper.  It's a message in a bottle labeled A Lifetime of Secrets.

 

The Last Lecture - Synopsis

The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch

"What wisdom would you impart upon the world if you knew your demise was to be immediate ?"  "What matters most to you?"

College professors are frequently asked to plan a lecture with these questions in mind.  The searing difference between Randy Pausch's last lecture and all of the others?  Prior to the lecture, Randy was told he really did have only a couple of months to live.

If you can read, are related to one other person on this planet and have a heart, you must pick up this book and listen to what Randy told his students and in turn told the world.

July 25, 2008 - Randy passed away.

Thanks to all of you folks who type in The Last Lecture Synopsis in Google. I am getting a million hits...in relation to my little corner of cyberspace.  I am not honestly sure that Randy isn't working through me right now, but if you are visiting Rothacker Reviews from Google, check out what I think that Randy might be saying right now...

Lead your life the right way and your dreams will come to you.

Leave your legacy for your kids while you are still alive.  Live your legacy.  Live your legacy.  Now.

Chief

This is a story about how Rosemary Rothacker, in the fall of 1977, began calling her husband Chief.

Thursday night was THE night for David and Rosemary.  They began the night playing co-ed volleyball at the local high school.  Next it was a stop at Lud's, a local pub, with a few friends.  Then came bowling at Southgate Lanes.  Rosemary bowled on one end of the lanes in a woman's league and David on the other with the men.  After bowling ended at midnight the newlyweds closed down the lane's bar with their friends.  The night concluded at Sambo's, a Denny's-like eatery.  Friday mornings were a bear*.

As time progressed, Rosemary began calling David, Chief.  Friends and relatives took notice.  It was generally observed that the name was spoken out of respect.  David, a rather tall fellow, who to some was rather intimidating, was the husband, the leader.  The name seemed to fit.  Soon, even relatives began calling David, Chief.  It all became very comfortable and for years no one questioned where the moniker came from.  Until one day someone asked David.  As he explained the name was spoken by Rosemary out of respect for him, Rosemary listened.  And then Rosemary's face began to turn red as she clenched down upon her jaw and began to jump up and down.  Rosemary jumped up and down, right out of the room.  It is said that she kept muttering, "Bobbit, Bobbit, Bobbit!"

Gaining her composure, she returned to the conversation.  As she wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth, revealing razor sharp incisors, she said, "Let me tell you how I came to call Einstein here, Chief.  We had been playing co-ed volleyball for a few weeks when a new guy joined in.  He was about six foot three, the same height as David and he was mentally challenged.  He never moved more than a foot from his position on the court.   When he was at the net, he hardly moved at all other than to put both of his arms up in the air.  He played volleyball exactly like the Indian character in the movie One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest.  By chance, do you remember what Jack Nicholson called that Indian character?"

From that time on, David reserved his explanation of how Rosemary came to call him Chief, to when she wasn't around.

*Note: the author's body racks with pain and his head pounds as he thinks about being so young and foolish.

Hey Coach: Shouldn't we be running suicides?

Carla Rothacker:  "Hey coach, if girls were late last year Coach P made us all run suicides."

Vickie started playing softball in 1986.  Since then Rosemary and I have gone through twenty-two years of coaches with the girls.  They both played softball and basketball.  (Carla is a sophomore playing basketball for a Hillsborough county high school).  Last year she played for Coach P., who is in our top three of best all time coaches.  Coach P took over a troubled girl's basketball program.  He was tough love.  He left the program to pursue other scholastic athletic endeavors in the State of Florida.  We miss him dearly.

Carla's coach this year is well intentioned.  He wants to win and he wants the girls to do well.  I believe that this is his first year at the high school level.  He displays a public temper and lacks discipline amongst the troupes.  His temper is obvious.  That he lacks discipline comes from Carla's comment about the fact that she misses running suicides if girls are late.  Carla's remarks pierced my nearly thirty years of management experience like a hot knife cutting through soft butter.  My dear friend Rosa Say, from her book Managing With Aloha:

When a leader is respected, he will find that others want to be guided, and he's the one they choose to lead the way for them; he's the one that others are naturally compelled to follow.

Our young basketball coach will eventually learn this.  But his adventures cause me to look inside.  Is the grip that I have upon the helm of my own ship firm enough?  Honestly?  It hasn't been.  I've let the excuse of my health and nagging self doubt allow my grip to slip.

Note to dave in the future:  davie,  at this time you are working with the most passionate, hungry-to-learn group of people that have ever been under your tutelage.  You got your head out of your ass and recognized this.  You grabbed hold of the wheel...with conviction.  Your people loved that you would tell them to run suicides if you needed to!

Holiday Break

I am going to take a break from writing here until after the holidays.  I'll be checking and replying to comments so please feel free to engage. 

From Rosemary, Victoria, Carla and myself - a very warm holiday wish to you! 

Dave

What Kids Say

Light Stuff Monday

One day I was hugging Rosemary when Carla, our youngest who was about ten at the time, came into the room.

"Pah-leeeeze!  Would you just get a room?"

More Carla:  I was getting ready for work one morning, clearly exhibiting to Carla another day of pain in which I had to endure.  She was also a bit down, so in trying to cheer her up I said, "Oh boy!  You get to go to school and have fun!"

"Oh yeah Dad.  I get to go to Spanish class.  How fun is that?"

Deb: Soul Graffiti Artist

It has never dawned on me that Deb  was anything less than an artist.  I've felt that way for forty-eight plus years.  (You don't need a calculator for this one)

I know Deb fairly well.  So, when I read her Soul Graffiti Artist post, I knew there was significant personal meaning attached.  I can hear her vocal expressions in the written words.  What Deb has done here is to put a name, identify with words, what she is - what she really is!  This is so powerful, so internally powerful, so internally beautiful.

Here is an endorsement of Deb from Phil Gerbyshak:  "...she's one of the most truly..."   A comment like this coming from Phil is like the Pope saying a priest that he personally knows is a devout Catholic.  Phil knows people.

I am not certain if I wrote a book about Deb, that I could accurately describe her, her heart and her soul.  But one thing that I can relate is that she is a giver, a giver of herself.  Deb is an Air Force mom.  Her son Vince is now stationed in Korea, after serving a tour in Iraq.  Deb has given up parts of herself, parts of her soul, to help military moms and dads who have lost their sons and daughters in war.

I am priviliged to know Deb.  She knows too that I get her.  And this is huge, for there are things about herself, about her spirituality, that she knows others can't handle.  Fortunate for me she knows that her big brother can!

Check out some of her online art work.

Stillness

To move forward sometimes we must be still.

Since the advent of Dave 2.0 I have tried to keep a tighter focus here at the Reviews.  I need to break from my mission however, I need to break for peace and reality.

I am sitting on a small hill, elevated twenty feet from the beach and water.  The ocean's distinct smell laps upon the shore as the seagulls squawk about in the distance.
My mind has been cleansed of thoughts about work and what I'll be when I grow up.  There is no anxiety to radio back from my mind's position on the edge of the universe.  It is a time to let go and take in the now. 

A crisp breeze blows peace and quiet as the sun sits half submerged in the oversized pond before me.  As the stage curtains of blue give way to the theatre of orange a nothingness pervades my seat in the audience.  My eyelids begin to feel heavy and I allow them a brief respite.  A bluish-gray cloudscape appears before me.  Energy blips fly about.  I think they are souls.  Souls that have went before me and souls living in our present dimension.  My father-in-law Al is here, having crossed from the present dimension Friday morning.  There is a smile on his face as he holds a frosted glass of Genesee Cream Ale.  His spirit drifts back and forth, acknowledging the need for me to be still.  Vince Lombardi and Napoleon Hill join Al.  They tell him stuff about me, stuff that he never knew, stuff he wouldn't understand in the present dimension.  It is good.  The wind shifts and the cloudscape gives back to the yellowish-orange sphere on the horizon.  All is good, very good.