I will earn this!
To donate to my Facebook fundraiser, please go here: https://www.facebook.com/donate/1243819506174142/
If you don’t want to do that option, please consider a
donation direct (hosted by PayPal Giving Fund): https://www.paypal.com/donate/?hosted_button_id=HGFXP4RTLVU5E
Fraud and identity theft are plagues raging across our country like wildfires. Unfortunately, our veteran communities are not immune. The roughly 18 million Americans who served in the US Armed Forces[1] were the source of more than 110,000 fraud complaints, including 44,039 imposter scams that reportedly cost them over $103 million in 2021.[2] In addition, Military.com reports, “Veterans are more than twice as likely to have their identities stolen than American civilians.”[3]
The Department of
Veterans Affairs has undertaken a number of efforts to help veterans protect
their identity, determine if their identity has been stolen, and report fraud
and identity theft cases when they are victims. You can find more information
about their initiatives at www.va.gov/identitytheft.
If you suspect that
you may be the victim of fraud or identity theft, you can call the VA Veteran
Identity Theft Helpline at 1-855-578-5492. Their hours of operation are
Monday-Friday, 8:00 a.m. – 8:00 p.m., ET.
TRICARE also provides
information on how to spot and report fraud and abuse: www.tricare.mil/ContactUs/ReportFraudAbuse.
I sincerely appreciate
everything the VA and TRICARE are doing to safeguard our veteran communities.
But regrettably, both networks regularly endanger those same veterans because
of unsafe practices. This must stop right away.
Note:
the examples I share are my personal experiences. They are not, however,
isolated incidents. These practices and problems are widespread in our Veterans
Health Administration and TRICARE networks.
“If you are ever contacted by phone or email, don’t share any personal information and report the incident to your contractor immediately.”
I received a call the
other day on my cellphone. The caller ID read TOLL-FREE NUMBER. In the past, I would
let a call like that go straight to voicemail. Spam calls appear as TOLL-FREE
NUMBER. Do you know who else calls with that ID? The VA hospital and TRICARE
network. Missing calls and playing voicemail ping-pong with the VA are painful
experiences. Since I have so many appointments with my providers, I am now in
the habit of picking up on those annoying spam callers.
This call was from
TriWest, the Western US provider of TRICARE health services. They needed to
talk to me about urgent medical information for Kevin Byrne.
My first response was
the obvious choice: “What kind of urgent medical information do you need to
review with Kevin Byrne?”
But before answering
my question, they needed to confirm some information. The contact asked me to
provide my full name, date of birth, and the last four of my Social Security Number.
I apologized, saying,
“I don’t give information to random callers from unknown toll-free numbers.” I
refused to provide any of my personal information, despite aggressive demands
from the caller that I do. Instead, I called a known TriWest contact number, where
I bounced along through several people until someone could pull up this
“urgent” information. They were trying to schedule a routine test, even though
I had already scheduled the appointment weeks prior. The call was unnecessary,
and it most certainly was not urgent.
My response was not what
every veteran would do, nor was it the reaction my TriWest caller expected. The
normal and expected response is to provide all requested personal information
in a less than confidential format.
We are grooming our veterans to hand over confidential personal
information for no other reason than because someone calls and says they are
official.
The FCC provides valuable
information on their webpage, “Consumer Tips to Stop Unwanted
Robocalls and Avoid Phone Scams.” Included on this list are recommendations
for responding to scammers that fit the profile of the call I received (I leave
it to readers to decide if they have had similar experiences in their regions).
Make No Mistake: scam callers will
target individuals by using fake credentials and pressuring statements such as,
for example, that they are calling from the VA or TriWest and need to talk to
you about urgent medical information.
Our trusted providers set
a dangerous expectation for our veterans on handling personal identifying
information. Some may resist the pressure, though, in the past, I admittedly
have shared information more freely than I should have. Others, especially our
most vulnerable, can be lured into dangerous habits. We are grooming our
veterans to be top targets for individualized scam calls.
Maybe your reaction
is, “I don’t have that problem. I just go straight to the VA for everything in-person.”
I used to think that way when I was a (relatively) healthy disabled veteran…
“The mission of VA Privacy Service is to preserve and protect the personally identifiable information (PII) of Veterans, their beneficiaries, and VA employees by promoting a culture of privacy awareness and maintaining the trust of those we serve.”
Over the last two and
half years, Covid-19 has led to many changes in our world. One noticeable
difference at my VA hospital is the large space between healthcare
administrative staff and veterans. That’s a good thing, as it keeps us a little
safer in this strange new world.
Sadly, here’s a
typical conversation for me, the staff member, and anyone else within 20 feet:
“Good Morning. I’m
checking in for my 9:30 appointment.”
“Last name.”
I give it.
“Last four.”
I give it.
“Can you confirm your
date of birth?”
I confirm it.
“Can you confirm your
address?”
I confirm it.
Suppose one person
sits in the waiting area of 20, 30, or more veterans. How much confidential
information can they collect because the VA is having us shout across barriers in
public? I will not try that experiment, and I don’t recommend anyone else take
matters into their own hands to see how much PII they can collect.
The National Institutes of Health (NIH) notes the vulnerability of our veteran community increases due to “the older average age of veterans compared to the general population, as well as the increased risk for mental and physical health problems.”[iv] When we go to the VA, we might let our guard down. This might happen because:
I think the next time
I go to the hospital and face personally identifiable questions, my response
will be, “I would rather not shout it in the room. Can we go somewhere to
discuss this or any other confidential information?”
How is that going to
work? If it is going to be a problem, it already is a problem.
The Veterans
Administration and TRICARE must implement immediate corrective action to stop
putting our veterans at risk.
Kevin
Kevin J. Byrne
Captain, US Army
(Retired)
Kevin Byrne has been an advocate and a voice for veterans finding multiple sclerosis since his diagnosis in 1999 while serving as an Air Cavalry Troop Commander in Korea. You can learn more about his fight at https://NeverStopNeverQuit.com.
To celebrate the rerelease of these four published books exclusively
on Amazon, I’m running a free Kindle promotion from Friday through Tuesday
(August 19 – 23).
https://www.amazon.com/Kevin-Byrne/e/B01IWR8P3G
Go to my Amazon author page if you would like to own a
free copy of:
My MS and E
…in abeyance
Annie Flynn – first row,
second desk
Moments
Of course, you can always buy a print copy anytime
through Amazon. Contact me directly if you would like a copy signed by me (and E).
Kindle prices will go back to normal on Wednesday, August 24.
100% of all royalties go directly to NEVER STOP NEVER
QUIT, a charitable organization supporting the fight against multiple
sclerosis.
Never Stop… Never Quit…
Kevin
Please consider a donation to NEVER STOP NEVER QUIT.
100% of your donation will directly support our fight. We pay the cost of managing our foundation.
All donations are tax deductible to the extent allowed by law. You will receive a receipt.
Kevin
I'm excited to announce my rerelease of four published books exclusively on Amazon (paperback and Kindle versions). 100% of all royalties go directly to NEVER STOP NEVER QUIT, a charitable organization supporting the fight against multiple sclerosis.
Click on the link to my Amazon author page if you would like to purchase any of the great titles out there: https://www.amazon.com/Kevin-Byrne/e/B01IWR8P3G
This is preparation for the release of my next novel. Sensations
will come out in early 2023.
April 27, 2034 – Eleanor
Nickerson developed technology that records and recreates human emotion. Once
labeled the 21st century’s greatest gift, a worldwide crisis places her against
government attempts to control the experience and the underworld’s exploitation
of our need to feel. Ellie now faces her truth when pressed for the vision of
her creation:
“I am not a God.”
“But what if you were?”
Never Stop… Never Quit…
Kevin
Moments (novel)
Dominic Bandall is a condemned man. A once powerful
attorney in New York City, he and his law partner, his wife Sharon, focused on
their never-ending fight for justice. Now an aged man, his body is battered
from the crippling ailments he has endured in his lifetime— his mind is
burdened by the memories of the 9/11 attacks that killed Sharon and so many.
On February 28, 2019, a young law student named Angela
Grant met him at his office in Honu‘apo, Hawai‘i, to conduct a series of interviews.
What transpired over the next 10 days began with his first confession: “I can
see moments in time, Angela.”
… in abeyance
(a novella) and
Christopher Baxter is a man recognized for his
accomplishments: West Point graduate, medical doctor, combat veteran. Chris is
also a condemned man-a man who struggles with the familiarity of circumstances
he has carried his entire life.
Nothing else changes; no mystical stories or tales of
fantasy. What would you do if humanity stopped dying? As the world struggles to
come to grips with dormancy, is one man-Chris Baxter-just another unwilling
participant, the curse, or their salvation?
My MS and E is
a children’s picture book depicting a typical interaction between Kevin and his
daughter, Eleanor. They share an unbreakable father-daughter bond, even in the
face of his ongoing struggles with multiple sclerosis.
Annie Flynn - first row, second desk
(short story)
Annie Flynn knew early on where life would take her.
“The northeastern region of Syrtis Major Planum. That’s where I’m going to
land.”
Experience the magical life of Annie Flynn, from those
early years in the first row, second desk to humankind’s first landing on the
red planet.
Please consider a donation to NEVER STOP NEVER QUIT.
100% of your donation will directly support our fight. We pay the cost of managing our foundation.
All donations are tax deductible to the extent allowed by law. You will receive a receipt.
Place and Time: TBD
Dear Standard Insurance Company, all executives and employees,
Please save the date for my celebration of tomorrow and plan for
an exciting future.
Why January 31?
Way back, in February 2022, one of your disability benefits analysts
presented me with an offer regarding my long-term disability claim with your
company. I was honored that he would “like to offer an opportunity to settle
your claim in exchange for a lump-sum payment.”
It’s every little boy’s dream to be chosen for such an honored
opportunity, especially since “The Standard does not routinely settle LTD
claims for a number of reasons.” I won’t lie, I was tickled pink.
Unfortunately, after several rounds of misleading calculations
and not-so-veiled threats, like “we know that you write books” and “if you do not
accept the offer, you will still have to regularly validate your ongoing
disability (to prevent fraud)”, I was still unable to understand how you came
to the lump sum dollar amount presented. I’m pretty good at math, so it was odd
that my calculation was quite different. I said it was wrong — he said it was
right, showing me “the full three pages of the present value calculation
you received.”
I thanked him then showed him again, this time in detail, how his
calculations were wrong.
And the Truth Shall Set You Free!
Nevertheless, your determined analyst persevered, taking my
question regarding the deductible income adjustment to your actuarial
department.
Imagine his surprise when he found out that there was another
variable not included in “the full three pages of the present value
calculation!” I wonder if you can imagine my surprise; I can’t.
Apparently, “the present value calculation process incorporates
actuarial mortality assumptions.”
So, since your team did so much hard work and determined the correct
mortality assumptions for an individual living on disability with multiple
sclerosis, I figured I would take the baton and do some more of that math I
love so much.
By the calculation of your actuarial department, discounting for
the time value of money, my life expectancy is 131 additional months. I will be
dead by the end of January 2033, at the ripe old age of 61.
Let’s Just Pretend
I know your guys are smart, but please humor me for just a
moment. What if I become a medical wonder and exceed the medical expectations of
Standard Insurance Company’s actuarial department?
That would be nice. I would definitely want to celebrate.
Therefore, please save the date. When I’m not dead on January
31, 2033, I would like to celebrate with all my close family and friends, and
with my advocates at The Standard. There will be food, drinks, music, and lots
of celebration. I may even have a piece of cake!
In the Meantime
I have lots of party planning to do. Thank goodness I have 131
months. Formal invitations will follow as we get closer to the event.
In the meantime, here’s some wonderful reading for your
actuarial department about the life expectancy of individuals living with
multiple sclerosis. It was published in 2020 by the National Institutes of
Health, National Institute on Neurological Disorders and Stroke — Wow! Say that
five times fast with a mouthful of crackers.
“Multiple Sclerosis: Hope Through Research”
What is Multiple Sclerosis?
The disease is rarely fatal and most people with MS have a
normal life expectancy. New treatments can reduce long-term disability for many
people with MS. Currently there are still no cures and no clear ways to prevent
the disease from developing.
I have enough challenges to deal with daily, so please don’t try
to stack the deck against me more.
Please consider this an official decline of your opportunity.
I hope you’ll still come to my party!
Kevin
This
is not about what my life will be like when the fight is over.
I
will never stop…
I
will never quit…
This
is my story
Never
Stop… Never Quit…®
***
Please consider a donation to NEVER
STOP NEVER QUIT.
100% of your donation will directly
support our fight. We pay the cost of managing our foundation.
All donations are tax deductible to
the extent allowed by law. You will receive a receipt.
I first wrote this piece in 2018 as a preface to explain the logic behind
my collection, The Ramblings of a Condemned Man. Four years later,
as a new world began to take shape, I decided to dust off these digital
pages and revisit my rationale for using the word.
“Chaos” is not a perfect choice, but it is the best explanation I can
supply when I address the inevitable question, “What are you thinking?”
My life has always been rife with chaos. Some of the turmoil was inflicted
on me — I am merely a victim. Other times, I have been guilty of instigating
disarray. Of course, chaos is often a simple fact of nature. My most
memorable moments occurred when all three energies combined. As to the
correct proportions of responsibility, prudence would expect me to split
much of the blame between nature and others. However, I can’t fault the
darkened skies of nature for somber winter moods any more than I can blame
her absence for summer drought. And, though others have been witnesses,
partners, even agitators to my stupidity, I cannot lay blame on them for the
chaos my mind wrestles with. I take ownership of it all.
I don’t believe my body experiences a greater share of hardship when
compared to others. My mind, however, finds it challenging to see beyond the
chaos, many times to the detriment of peace and beauty around me. Looking
back on my life, images that most often come to mind are the chaotic, the
horrific, and the truly burdensome. At some point in the past, my brain let
go of many great recollections for some unknown reason. The memories that
remain often play second fiddle to my demons.
In and of itself, confronting chaos is not bad. You can achieve a great
deal of satisfaction by solving impossible challenges, overcoming
overwhelming odds, or righting the wrongs around you; it’s the calling of
every superhero. But, when or where does it end? At what point will our hero
look beyond today’s villain, stop reminiscing over yesterday’s evil, and
forgo anticipation of tomorrow’s plight?
It must be nice, taking off the cape to enjoy the win and rejoice in
today’s treasures. But unfortunately, this freedom is not afforded to
condemned men. My sentence is the recurring vision of chaos. The reality of
my multiple sclerosis (MS) antagonizes turmoil already deep inside me.
Twenty-three years later, I remain fascinated by the continuous thrashing my
body has undertaken since my diagnosis. My mind constantly rattles its
dedicated response to every emotion and fear I possess: “What’s next?”
I am indeed a condemned man, but not for the reasons you might assume. The
chaos of my MS falls mainly into the last category: it is a simple fact of
nature. I’m not a victim of my disease; MS is just another obstacle in life.
Compared to other forms, one powerful difference with the chaos of MS is
that an answer exists to the question, “When does it end?”
Never.
Writing is my way of soothing all forms of chaos, easing the daily wounds
they inflict on my mind and body. I began this adventure in 2008, writing
stories meant only for our unborn daughter. Ailish never joined her mother
and me in this world. Weighted by grief, we experienced an agony once
unimaginable to me. I wasn’t yet mature enough to simplify this emotion as
chaos, but I was drawn to continue writing my thoughts, hopes, and dreams
about life to someday share with someone. On August 28, 2010, Eleanor was
born. I remember thinking, “I already have so much to tell you.” Everything
I write in those pages is for her to read when she receives my journal, and
it becomes hers.
Later in 2010, writing became a response to the increasing chaos caused by
my MS. The blogs I still write are my way of expressing hope that someday
there will be an answer to “When does it end?” By exposing everything to my
readers through my blog and confronting chaos, I raise awareness in our
fight against the devastating effects of multiple sclerosis. More
importantly, the more I write about the chaos of my MS and share it with
others, the more my fears lessen. The semi-biographical character named
Kevin Byrne now carries the weight, not Kevin Byrne, the author. In 2017, I
published My MS and E, a children’s picture book version of a recent
blog post. It tells the story of how Ellie beautifully navigated my world MS
during one magical trip that created moments so wonderful. There is no chaos
in the world that could ever dampen those memories.
If writing helps me cope with my MS, why not apply it to other aspects of
my life?
As it turns out, I was already doing that exact thing. In 2014, while Ellie
spent the week at OMSI camp (Oregon Museum of Science and Industry), I spent
that time in an East Portland internet café drafting the novella
…in abeyance.
So, I went back and finalized the story with this new outlet of expression.
The main character, Christopher Baxter, is a personification of the chaos I
carried with me for far too long. Chris is who I am, was, wanted to be,
feared, struggled to overcome, and so much more, wrapped up and scripted
into an entirely fictional persona who lives in a fictional world (with a
heavy smattering of historical context in this alternate reality). Placing
the turmoil onto Chris’ shoulders relieved the burden from my own.
I began to write stories overflowing with the anxieties of my unrest.
Sometimes an entire saga addressed just one struggle I faced. My favorites
are those based on the utter confusion in my head that I can’t quite
accurately describe any other way. Some stories are dark and gruesome;
others express a more thoughtful perspective. Alternate realities became a
surrogate for the chaos I could not otherwise express.
Regardless of why I wrote the stories, sharing my chaos this way helped me
sleep a bit better. Maybe it discounted my fears. Perhaps it validated them.
However, I hoped that my therapeutic benefit from writing paled compared to
the enjoyment you receive from reading my tales.
I gathered some of my favorite stories and, through the NEVER STOP NEVER
QUIT private foundation, published
The Ramblings of a Condemned Man in 2018. They were the words
I wrote or revisited to help me battle a harsh struggle with MS and personal
chaos that lasted nearly two years.
In the blink of an eye, it was 2022.
I got a call last month regarding the progress of my MS. It was from the
insurance company that handles my long-term disability; one of their
actuaries determined that my disease is now considered “total, permanent,
and irreversible.” I asked them why they deemed it permanent AND
irreversible, rather than just one or the other. He didn’t understand the
question.
The insurance company was my final holdout, still tracking how I
progressed, hoping I would get better. Now, it’s unanimous.
In the four years since I first shared “Chaos,” my body has weakened, my
muscles have atrophied. I deal with the constant pain of chronic neuropathy,
torn muscles and tendons, bladder diverticula, scoliosis, and a host of
other symptoms. I guess permanent was not sufficient to describe just how
fucked I am — my condition is permanent AND irreversible.
In the four years since I first shared “Chaos,” I am happier and more at
peace with life than I have been for many, many years (my brain lost track
of that last moment).
Writing became a release for so much chaos it quickly became my drug of
choice. I published …in abeyance as a separate novella, followed by
Annie Flynn – first row, second desk. My first novel, Moments,
and a short story collection, Triune, soon followed. I was writing
away the constant noise of my chaos as quickly as it built. I continued to
write and share. I battled back against my physical decline by increasing my
hours in the gym. I continued to reverse the effects of poor diet and
nutrition by dropping the excess weight my body could no longer handle. I
looked better, felt better, sounded better.
But, like any euphoric drug, addiction has a dark side. “Just to make the
pain go away” became my reason for living. Healthy beneficial activities are
neither healthy nor beneficial when they become an obsessive focus. My
writing suffered; my body began to feel the pain of overexertion; my weight
dipped far below a healthy target. I replaced one set of chaos for another —
if I do that long enough, they will both rise up and crush me. As everything
worked so much better on the outside, my thoughts focused on, “I don’t want
to live like this.”
In October 2019, I stopped trying to fix the broken in favor of building my
life. When I thought my 17-month journey was complete, I began to share
“Reconstructing and Defining Kevin” with my readers. Over the next four
months, the real work began. I exposed flaws in my effort to repair
“something broken” in my life. I was still searching for resolution; I
continued looking for closure. I found neither.
There will never be a lasting resolution of my priorities. Each concern I
hold dear will require attention and care for the rest of my life, more on
some days than others. Nevertheless, I embraced my discovery and their
connection to the Seven Dimensions of Wellness.
But that’s another story…
What Does This Mean for My Chaos?
Though it is still there, chaos no longer controls my life. I recognize my
memories, fears, and anxieties as subconscious responses to my surroundings,
yet they no longer trigger. Only through my capacity to monitor then
positively regulate those responses in each dimension of existence can I
profoundly affect my wellness.
What Does This Mean for My Writing?
I want to breathe life into pages far beyond anything I have accomplished
to date, telling tales conjured up by my constant noise. No longer will I
look to put words down solely to ease my anxieties. Instead, I will write
stories because sometimes I smile as my mind floods with the images I
create. I may laugh, cry, or even nod my head in approval of the tale. On
other occasions, the crafted images chill me to the core. I want to elicit a
bounty of reactions as I breathe life into stories, narratives, reflections,
and rantings.
Rebuilding and Rebranding
I have begun the process of removing my published works from distribution.
After cleanup and revision, I’ll re-release my titles through these
channels:
·
Books: My MS and E, …in abeyance,
Annie Flynn – first row, second desk, and Moments, will
republish. Publishing and distribution channels are still in negotiation.
100% of all royalties received will continue to NEVER STOP NEVER QUIT in
support of our fight against the damaging effects of multiple sclerosis.
·
Short Stories: the remainder of
The Ramblings of a Condemned Man and Triune will publish for
free on my blog site,
https://neverstopneverquit.blogspot.com. I just want to share; If you enjoy the stories, please consider a
donation to NEVER STOP NEVER QUIT.
On the Horizon
After these changes, my focus will revert to the stories that flood my
mind.
·
My short stories will continue. I have been busy sharing
tales over the last few months. I have no plan to slow down.
·
Sensations, my next novel, is tentatively planned for
the end of ’22 or early ’23. More to follow.
·
My journey, documented in the raw blog series,
“Reconstructing and Defining Kevin,” is currently under revision and will
gain new life as a piece I hope will help others as much as it guided me on
this journey.
·
I will continue to blog, sharing sometimes-too-much detail on
my journey. There is so much in motion now; the days are not nearly long
enough.
To those who think my disability is permanent AND irreversible, you may
be correct. However, the thought doesn’t scare me. My writing is no longer
an exercise based on anxiety, fear, and resistance.
I choose to focus on what my writing is — what it is for myself and what
I hope it brings to the hearts and minds of my readers.
Kevin
February 2022
This is not about what my life will be like when the fight is over.
I will never stop
I will never quit
This is my story
Never Stop… Never Quit…®
Kevin Byrne
Portland, OR
Please consider a donation to NEVER STOP NEVER QUIT.
100% of your donation will directly support our fight. We pay the cost of managing our foundation.
All donations are tax deductible to the extent allowed by law. You will receive a receipt.
Short Story
“Grandpa! Grandma!”
Lilly’s squeal bounced across every wall throughout the two-story home in a
way that only a five-year-old’s squeal can bounce. She stood at the top of
the stairs tracking every step the two made.
“Dad!” Lilly said. “Grandpa Mike and Grandma Gail are walking up the
driveway.”
“What are they doing so early on a Monday morning?” Dad’s voice came from
somewhere.
“I don’t know. Grandpa has a big bag in his arm,” she said. Still up on the
second-floor landing, Lilly dropped to her belly to get a better look
through all the front windows. “I can’t see where they went.”
Dad peeked out from the bathroom, shook his head, and smiled. Lilly was
still trying to scout the positions of her visitors.
In a calm voice, he suggested, “Why don’t you go down there and see what
they’re doing?”
“Good idea!” Stomp. Stomp. Stomp, stomp, stomp. Lilly darted down the
stairs to wait by the front door. The anticipation was almost too much to
contain. Was Grandpa behind the front door, waiting to surprise her with a
“Gotcha!” if she got too close? Maybe he was sneaking in around the side to
zap her with the tickle monster. It was quiet. Too quiet.
When Dad started to make his way down, he was not surprised to see Lilly
still by the entranceway, head turned and one ear pressed against the door.
“Are they here?”
“I think so. But I can’t tell.”
Dad was still amused. “What can you tell by listing to the door?”
“Not much.”
With a chuckle, Dad tussled his daughter’s hair as he urged her out of the
way He unlatched the bolt and turned the handle, coming face-to-face with an
all-too-familiar sight.
“Geez, Pop, Gail. Get a room, you two!”
Mike smiled and said, “Ha! Sorry about that, Brian. Love is in the air,
Son. Love is in the air. Happy Valentine’s Day!”
Brian moaned just loud enough so everyone could hear him as he turned to
make his way back upstairs and finish getting ready for work. On his way, he
mocked his father’s happy mood.
“Love is in the air… Whatever,” he said, just quiet enough so no one could
hear him.
Centerstage was now open for Grandpa Mike.
“Who’s ready for some Valentine’s Day breakfast?” Mike sang in his best,
‘Come on down!’ tone.
“Me!” squeaked the first voice.
“Me!” squealed the second.
“That sounds like a tie to me,” Mike said.
Lilly and Gail stared each other down with grimacing scowls, both thinking
they should have won that round. Lilly cracked a smile first; Grandma Gail
claimed her victory.
“You ready for breakfast, too, Grumpypants?” Mike called upstairs.
“Good one, Grandpa,” Lilly chuckled as she grabbed the bag her grandfather
was holding and made her way to the kitchen. As she walked, a scowl returned
to her face, her shoulders slumped, and she clumsily walked side to side,
side to side, mumbling, “Grrr! I’m Mr. Grumpypants.”
“Good one, Lilly,” Gail chuckled as she followed Lilly’s version of Mr.
Grumpypants into the kitchen.
Mike smiled, glancing upstairs to see if they got a reaction from his son.
“Breakfast in ten, Brian,” he said, loud enough for anyone upstairs to hear.
Mike hoped his son wasn’t alone up there and wouldn’t come down. Love is in
the air.
“I’ve got a busy morning, Dad. I need to get to work,” Brian said. He was
yelling from the bathroom.
“I said breakfast in ten.”
“Yes, sir.” Brian just closed his eyes and took a calm breath. “I’m never
going to win this one, am I?”
“Nope.”
Mike walked into the kitchen to see his two helpers laying out the contents
of his shopping bag onto the kitchen island. Two jars of peanut butter, two
jars of jelly, a loaf of bread, and a pack of soft tortillas. Neither helper
seemed particularly confused, but they were waiting for further
instruction.
“Who wants to help me make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?” Grandpa
Mike asked, looking deep into the crowd of two.
Lilly bounced up and down with her hand held high. “Ooh,” she said. “Me.
Pick me!”
Gail quickly raised her right hand, placing the tip of her index finger to
her nose. “Not it,” she said. Lilly claimed victory.
“Okay, munchkin, you’re up.” Grandpa Mike started barking out orders in
rapid succession as Lilly scrambled to keep up with his pace.
“I need four plates,” Grandpa said. Lilly darted to the cabinet, counted
off four dishes, then dashed back to the island. She placed them down and
announced the completion of her mission.
“Four plates!”
“Four napkins on the table.”
The report never came in until her task was complete. “Four napkins!”
“Five spreader knives.”
“Five spreader knives!”
“I smell coffee brewing. Let’s get a cup for your dad. Black.”
“A cup for my dad. Black!”
“Two orange juices.”
“Two orange juices!”
“Pizza cutter.”
Lilly didn’t know what to do. “Pizza cutter?” she asked. A look over to
Gail didn’t help. They were both confused.
“You heard me,” Grandpa Mike confirmed. “Pizza cutter.”
“Pizza cutter!”
“Cutting board.”
“Cutting board!”
When Brian turned the corner into the kitchen, he shook his head again. No,
this was not a fight he was going to win. “What is your grandfather up to
this morning?” he asked his daughter.
“Breakfast,” she said. Then, taking her dad by the hand, Lilly led him over
to the table and motioned for him to take a seat in front of a piping hot
cup of coffee. She sat down by his side.
Grandma Gail made her way over to the table and took a seat, her hands
warming up around the cup of tea she made while the other commotion was
going on.
“Okay, Lilly,” Mike said. “Do we have everything?”
“I guess so, Grandpa. I got everything you told me to get.”
“Then the last thing I need to get is cracking. So, let’s get cracking!”
Lilly squeaked and laughed. Gail chuckled. Brian shook his head at the corny
pun.
Grandpa Mike reached across the kitchen island and took the first plate off
the stack. He raised it, keeping his arm straight, slowly rotated the dish
in front of his family, showing both the front and back to prove it was
empty.
“First up, sweet Lilly,” he said. The five-year-old bounced and clapped her
hands in excitement.
Mike opened the pack of whole-grain bread, set the first two pieces from
the end aside, and grabbed two fluffy slices, placing them on the cutting
board. He looked back up and scanned his audience for reactions. Nothing.
Next, he reached towards the peanut butter jars, then paused ever so
slightly before grabbing the chunky peanut butter. Lilly gasped a sigh of
relief as her grandfather opened the jar. He scooped a generous portion and
lathered one slice of bread end to end with a spreader knife. Mike looked up
and reached across for a jelly – the jar of raspberry preserves, to be
specific. Lilly wasn’t concerned he would make the wrong choice that time.
He spread an even amount across the second slice. When the crowd inched
forward, waiting to see what would happen next, Grandpa Mike reached across
and grabbed the pizza cutter.
“When you were a baby,” he said to Lilly, “you loved peanut butter and
jelly sandwiches. We used to eat them together every day.” As he talked,
Mike started to cut into the coated slices. Three cuts up, two across. Next
piece, three and two. Twelve squares each. He looked at Lilly. “One day, you
grabbed the peanut butter slice while I was still spreading the jelly. So I
thought, ‘If that’s the way you want it…,’ and I just put the jelly slice on
your plate.”
Mike looked back down and grabbed a peanut butter corner. “You would take a
bite of peanut butter,” he said as he placed the first corner on her plate
before grabbing a raspberry preserves-coated version of the next piece. He
continued, “then, you would take a bite of jelly. Until one day…” Grandpa
Mike rebuilt the two images: peanut butter – jelly – peanut butter – jelly,
for one, then jelly – peanut butter – jelly – peanut butter, for the
other.
“…we did this.”
There were more giggles, bouncing, and clapping as Mike presented his
checkerboard sandwich creation to Lilly.
“I remember that,” Brian said. “You always had some silly way to eat a
sandwich.”
Lilly looked at her dad and giggled in agreement before picking a plate to
show Grandma Gail.
“That’s a good-looking sandwich, Sweetie,” Grandma Gail said.
With approving nods from all, she put her plate down to wait for the other
breakfast creations.
Mike grabbed the second plate and presented it with the same pomp and
circumstance. However, he picked a tortilla and laid it directly onto the
plate this time. The second jar of peanut butter, the creamy one, was his
next selection. Mike reached for the unopened jelly but paused. With his arm
still extended, he looked over to Lilly for a recommendation. Aghast by what
he must be thinking, wondering if her grandfather had gone mad, she shook
her head no – it was more of a nervous twitch – but refused to say a
word.
“You’re right, my dear,” Grandpa said. “My lovely bride definitely prefers
the sweet sugars of your favorite raspberry preserves.” He tapped the jar,
indicating his selection. Lilly gasped a breath of relief. Gail knew he
would never dare.
Mike continued. “Unlike you, however, she does not like that fancy organic
12-grain bread. She prefers…” Mike picked up the package and squinted to
read its tiny lettering. “…low-calorie, low-carb, high-protein, whole-wheat
tortillas, with creamy peanut butter and raspberry preserves.” Mike smeared
the peanut butter in a lazy S down the middle of Gail’s tortilla before
blending it with a healthy smidge of preserves. He placed the “contaminated”
jelly spreader into the sink before carefully rolling the breakfast
sandwich, neatly folded at one end.
Brian congratulated Gail, “that’s one fine-looking peanut butter and jelly
burrito. ¡Come con gusto, Señorita!”
Lilly admired the creation. She said, “I think I might try that the next
time I have a PB&J. Whenever that will be.”
“Tomorrow!” all three shouted in agreement. More giggles, more
bouncing.
“Brian,” his dad said as he grabbed the third plate. “In all of your years,
you have never strayed from the original.”
“I am who I am,” Brian said as his father pulled two more slices from the
bag. He grabbed a spreader and applied an even layer of crunchy peanut
butter, corner to corner and end to end, onto one piece before reaching for
the unopened jar.
“Yep, old school grape jelly proves you are who you are. I love it!”
“No school like the old school, Dad. You taught me that.”
Mike grabbed the fourth spreader and spread the grape jelly. It was not
spread on the clean slice, mind you, but directly atop the peanut butter
layer. He looked up and winked at Lilly before spreading a second layer of
crunchy peanut butter on the other slice.
“I started doing this for your school lunches when you were a kid,” Mike
said. If you put the J in between layers of PB, it won’t bleed through the
bread before lunchtime.”
“That’s what Daddy does for me,” Lilly boasted.
“You two must be the envy of your classes,” Gail said. But the task was not
yet complete, so she set the stage. “What about you, Grandpa?” she asked.
“Would you going to have for your Valentine’s Day breakfast?”
“It’s a tough one,” Mike said. He rubbed his forefinger and thumb across
his chin as if he was deep in thought. “Grape or raspberry?” There was no
anxiety this time, but Lilly was again on the edge of her seat.
“Raspberry it is!”
Gail’s hands raised in triumph once more.
Brian jerked his neck back, shattered by losing a race so close.
Lilly sighed, happy that breakfast prep was almost over.
“Sorry, Son. She got me hooked on the ’serves.” Mike grabbed the two loose
end pieces and put them on his plate.
“That’s not a word, Dad,” Brian said while his father dropped and smushed a
healthy serving of crunchy peanut butter on one slice. “At least you haven’t
gone creamy.”
“Nope, I’m a chunky man,” Mike said, pausing to rub his belly. He then
grabbed the fifth spreader (it was uncontaminated) and scooped raspberry
preserves, piling them on top of his peanut butter. Then, using the second
slice as a press, he pushed the preserves across both peanut buttered and
un-peanut buttered portions of the sandwich.
“You never could eat your sandwich like a normal person, Pop!”
“It’s the perfect creation,” Mike explained as he walked over to the table,
plate in hand, and sat next to his wife. “The pressure spreads the preserves
across the bread, but not too far over the edge. See?” He traced his finger
along the bottom of his sandwich, noting three different points where
raspberry preserves protruded but never separated from their host. “Every
time I bite into this PB&J, my mouth will enjoy a different
sensation.”
He circled one corner of the bread. “Almost all grain with just a hint of
raspberry sweetness. Will there be peanut butter somewhere in that bite?” He
looked over at Lilly, but she just shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know
either.”
“This part here,” he said, running his finger along the bread’s ridgeline,
“will be a healthy mix. The bread, preserves, peanut butter, and bread again
will all come together in a fantastic battle for control of my taste buds.
Every next bite will be different from the last.”
Then, he pressed the middle of his creation, denting the soft slice for
just a moment. “This is payday! A hefty portion of chunky peanut
butter-ness. Sometimes I save the center for last, enjoying the unique
combinations of every other bite my sandwich holds. Sometimes I gobble a
path straight through, satisfying my urge before cleaning the bones off my
prey.” Grandpa Mike’s eyes grew wide as he scanned the table, searching for
a reaction. Lilly’s eyes grew wide, Gail’s formed tears of laughter, Brian’s
looked down as he continued to shake his head.
“That’s still weird to me,” Brian said.
Gail looked over at Mike and shared a quick, silent conversation (one you
can only have after 21 years of marriage) before tapping her hand on the
table.
“Lilly, dear,” she said. “I have some Valentine’s Day presents in the car.
Of course, they are no artisan peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but why
don’t we get them to share over breakfast.”
“Arty who?” Lily asked.
“Come on, silly! I’ll explain on the way.” As the girls popped up to get
gifts from the car, Gail looked back at Mike and winked before opening the
front door.
“Thanks, Babe,” Mike’s silent reply said.
“‘Fantastic battle for control of my taste buds!’ That’s a good one, dad.”
Mike leaned back and enjoyed another sip of coffee.
“Thanks,” Mike said. They enjoyed a silent moment before he decided to
share a story.
“You know, Brian, I’ve made a lot of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in
my life.”
“I’m sure.” Brian showed no interest in this declaration. His dad continued
anyway.
“I’m talking thousands and thousands since I was a kid. I ate them all my
life. I can make a good sandwich – a normal sandwich.” Mike pointed out
Brian’s, and he pointed to Lilly’s. “For me, though, they were always weird.
I never thought so, but everyone who has ever watched me make one thought
they were weird.”
“That’s because they are, Dad,” Brian said.
“True.” Mike thought about that for a minute, but he had to reconfirm.
“True.” Again, the table remained silent for a while.
“But,” Mike said, as though he realized a point to his losing argument, “I
continued to make them. You know, many people think that the way you craft a
PB&J is a sign of what kind of person you are.” He pointed to Lilly’s
plate – “Strong, intelligent, and organized.” He swung his finger over to
Brian’s plate – “Traditional, loyal, reliable.” Pulling his arm back, Mike
gestured towards Gail’s plate, by his side – “This one’s confident,
creative, and exciting.
“Me?” Mike looked down at his plate. “They think this says that I’m a mess.
Never got my shit straight; at my age, I never will. However, even though
everyone always had a comment about the poor form of my sandwich, I
continued to make them.”
“Good for you, Dad,” Brian said while getting up to refill his cup. What he
really wanted to do was eat his sandwich; that coffee was burning a hole in
his empty stomach. But, when he heard the car door outside slam shut, he
hurried back to his seat.
Mike continued, “I met Gail a few years after your mom and I divorced. Do
you know what that woman said the first time she saw me make a peanut butter
and jelly sandwich?”
For the first time, Brian was curious how the story would turn out. “What’s
that?” he said.
“Nothing,” Mike replied. “Since the first day we met, Gail has never
commented on my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”
To Brian, that was interesting. “So, what does she think about them?” he
asked.
Mike shrugged his shoulders, twisted his face, and threw his hands in the
air. “I have no idea,” he said. “That I am confident? Creative? Don’t have
my poop in a group? Maybe she thinks I am a complete loon.” Brian spat a bit
of coffee while laughing. His dad piled it on. “She may be playing the long
game, waiting for me to check in on the funny farm! Lilly, too. She has
never said a word about Frankenstein’s sandwich.”
Both men kept laughing so hard they never heard Gail and Lilly come back
into the house. Cautiously, the girls inched their way in towards the sound
of bellowing laughter. Mike jumped up, tears streaming down from his face.
He lifted Lilly with one arm, then wrapped the other around Gail’s
waist.
Brian had to know. “Hey, you two,” he said, between snorts of laughter. How
come you never said anything to Grandpa Mike about his ugly peanut butter
and jelly sandwiches?
Not sure of what the joke was, they looked at each other curiously.
“I don’t know,” Gail said. “It’s his sandwich.”
Lilly remained clueless but could not contain herself, joining in on the
laughter. “Because that’s the way Grandpa likes ’em,” she giggled.
Mike held his two treasures, unable and unwilling to dry his eyes. “Brian,”
he said, “do you know what to do with someone who doesn’t share their
opinion about everything?”
“What’s that, Dad?”
Mike pulled his two girls in tighter, kissing them both on their
cheeks.
“You love them for the rest of your life!”
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