Tonkin to You!

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Grey Whiskers and Fur

Most of my friends know (or know of) Willis Tonkin. Willis is 10 lbs of spunk, spite, love, and perpetual playtime all rolled up in the body of a Jack Russell Terrier. If there is such a thing as an animal soulmate, Wills Abner Stoltsfus Tonkin most certainly is mine. The Amish middle name is courtesy of my wife Missy, who theorized that Willis may have come from the humble beginnings of a Pennsylvania Dutch puppy farm. Willis came to us almost 7 years ago courtesy of my brother-in-law, a rental-property owner and self-proclaimed “dog broker.” Upon checking one of his properties where tenants had “skipped town,” he found Willis as a tiny puppy, locked in a bathroom, with no food or water. It was unclear if the owners had intended to come back for him. I didn’t know any of these points before arriving home that day, other than my wife’s promise that “a surprise” was waiting for me, but that we “didn’t have to do it.” I opened the door to find Willis’ buggy dark eyes staring at ...

Keep saying “hi”; a case for saving human interaction across generations

A few weeks back, my brother and I were shopping at an area Target. When I came out of an aisle, I almost collided with a trio of college-age people. “Woah, I’m sorry,” I said, realizing I should have looked before moving into the foot traffic. None of the young folks responded to me. I said “I’m sorry about that” as they continued to walk past, not one of them acknowledging the attempt at normal social interaction. I couldn’t decide if I was more irritated or offended. Like the rest of you, I’ve experienced similar interactions at stores, restaurants, and while walking my dog Willis at the local college campus. Attempts at polite social norms (i.e., saying “excuse me,” when walking past someone, thanking someone for holding a door, etc.) are often met with eye contact and no vocal response. While such instances are usually people far younger than me, I’ve noticed more of this behavior in older folks as well. I think this approach to communication (namely choosing NOT to vo...

Fleeting Light: Thoughts about "50" on the shortest day of the year

I’ve been told that it’s common during one’s fiftieth year to do a recounting of the life you’ve lived so far. While the big 5-0 is past the halfway point for most of us, it’s a place to check momentum. How has the trip gone? Which turns have been the right ones (or wrong ones)? Is there enough gas in the tank to make it the rest of the way to the “final destination”…and in a way of our choosing? Momentum, at this point, seems to take the place of fuel. If anything, the challenge is to gear down to keep the car from flying down the hill. While not everything our elders told us is gospel, the old folks who say that life starts moving faster at the half-century mark have it right in my book. Despite the pressures of time, much of this year has been a chance to stand on top of the hill (the one I’ve been told I’m on my way over) and look around. It’s been less about innovation and change than inventory; directly, what’s been done and what’s left to do? 50 is a rare sweet spot ...

It's All In There: Thoughts on Integrating Work and Life at 50

When I was a kid, spaghetti was a regular meal at our house. Cheap, tasty, and loved by all, my grandmother or aunt would frequently whip up a large bowl of pasta and round it off with Prego spaghetti sauce. I can still remember the company’s catch phrase in the 80’s: It’s in there. I can sort of say the same for my day-to-day life at 50. The walls between personal, professional, academic, and artistic pursuits seem to be thinner every day…and each of these areas feels stronger because of it. This part of middle age feels like the era of integration…of being open and honest with who I am at nearly every level, and bringing the strengths to bear! In my 20s, I felt compelled to keep my music life segregated from coworkers and supervisors. It was my “dirty little secret,” that on weekends I became a different person, far removed from the suit and tie guy serving in IT middle management. I most definitely put on my mask at 8 a.m. Monday morning, removing it at the end of every ...

When red fades to white: Turning the page to 50

Despite the stigma with such terminology today, my mom proudly epitomized the term “fiery redhead.” She was headstrong, opinionated, and had no problem telling other people (including her twin boys) her opinions on anything. She had strong views on how the world functioned, the value of hard work, and, above all, the need for her twin sons to have each other’s backs. I’d have likely disappointed my mom more by backing down from a conflict that needed to happen than by getting a three-day suspension for a fist fight in 8th grade (true story). My mom showed love through action. She worked long hours as a single parent at a factory job so my brother and I would have amazing gifts at Christmas, new clothes for school, and homemade pizza for our birthdays. I have many fond memories of this once a year treat, which also happened to be one of the few foods she could cook (by her own admission). These pizzas, with her secret “hot roll mix” crust, were followed by a cake from Wissing...

The Final Countdown....to 50

Many of us find new ways to describe ourselves in our 40s. Some of us are people “of a certain age.” Others are “not as young as we used to be.” The brave among us are “middle aged,” though that title conjures up images of a long-ago time when the world was becoming more decrepit and falling apart…a logical analogy with the new creaks and groans that seem to multiply every morning when we get up. And then there’s the sign on the side of the road of life: 50. Half a century on the planet. Officially eligibility for AARP and foster grandparent programs. Yeah. 50. It’s coming at me like a Gen-X-seeking missile in just a few weeks. The weirdest part isn’t that I’m GETTING older… it’s that I don’t FEEL older. Yes there are the grey hairs multiplying in my beard and the bedtimes that seem to be creeping earlier (as well as the urge to rise early….even on weekends), but I don’t see the world with angry eyes. I joke with my colleagues that we are all lucky to be teachers of the 18-...