FORGIVE ME GOD - THERE WILL BE POTHOLES IN MY LEGACY

As we unravel the fabric of our personal story, we are left with a mixed bag. This is the time for a spiritual guy like me to come clean – to make amends for unruly behavior. The urgency to make things right stems from an aging process that leaves me feeling vulnerable when I look at the landscape of my life. I need closure from the times in my life when I “missed the mark.”

My children have heard my “sordid” stories because I used them as teachable moments for behaviors to avoid. I typically tried to provide “real-life” stories about my misdeeds and those of others as a way of promoting character-building qualities. This concept failed quite miserably, because my kids followed in my footsteps anyway.
When I was a young teenager, my parents departed for a business trip. I was left behind in the care of my older brother. Like most teenagers, I yearned for the day that I would turn sixteen so that I could move through the rite-of-passage of getting behind the wheel of an automobile. For me, that day didn’t come fast enough and those keys hanging near the front door presented a serious temptation. Without considering consequences (a typical problem for kids), I took off on a joy ride with my friend Chrissie. I was feeling very adult-like until we cruised through a neighboring town as a police officer was traveling toward me in the opposite direction. Chrissie spotted the cop and freaked out. I responded by over-turning onto a side street and nearly ending up in the front yard of a nearby house.

The officer spotted my brilliant move and pulled me over. After asking me the question I didn’t want to hear, “Son, can I see your license?” we were escorted to the local police station. My brother came to the station where we were released into his custody. “Wait until Mom and Dad get home,” Rick kept repeating. I wanted to hide under a rock and stay there indefinitely. I wrote a long “how could I have done this” letter prior to my parents return. I even included various punishment options within the letter’s body. When my parents returned home they received the news from my brother. Although they were not as angry as I expected, they indicated that I was to appear in court to respond to my behavior. I remember that fateful day when my father and I made our way to the county courthouse where I was vigorously lectured by the judge and then released to my father because I said that I would never to stupid tricks again.

Chrissie was a chatter-box, so the news of our adventure permeated the halls of our high school. We instantly became risk-taking, law-breaking heroes. It is interesting how teenagers can reframe things and make behaviors appear so awesome, even back in the days of my youth. I still have my high school yearbook which is full of quips about the “adventure,” “the ride,” and the good-natured teasing about my anti-social behavior.
That same school year, I took Latin because my parents thought it would help me with all those long medical terms. For some inexplicable reason, my Latin class was inhabited by all the “jocks” from every imaginable sport (no girls allowed). Things were complicated by the fact that the teacher was a first year rookie who was also the head cross-country coach. Mr. P. was known by many in the class for his coaching skills. No classroom introductions were necessary. The class period was split due to a lunch period which was squeezed into the middle of Latin.

The split-class option with lunch posed various sneaky “boys will be boys” possibilities. We brought red Jell-O back from lunch and conveniently placed it on page thirty two of Tony P.’s Latin book. I think this translation page was about Caesar’s Gallic wars. I remember Mr. P. retorting in his nasal tone, “Boys, your not being very funny at all.” On another occasion, we tortured our poor teacher by taking the onions out of our hamburgers and putting them in the radiator of the classroom before he arrived. Then we waited… As the aroma permeated the air, Mr. P. responded with, “Boys, I don’t think that was a very wise thing to do.” In spite of our antics, we actually formed a very positive relationship with Mr. P.

In the mid 1990’s, more than thirty years after the fact, I learned how potent a legacy I had left behind. At that time, I worked as Director of Guidance and Counseling for a midwestern high school. I was charged with the responsibility of helping formulate a new comprehensive guidance plan for our school. In order to accomplish the task, a colleague and I visited various exemplary school models throughout the state – one of them which happened to be my old alma mater. As I visited my school as an alumni, memories of my past began to envelope me. When we entered the counseling department office, we were greeted by retired counselors who were volunteering as part of their retirement package. When I mentioned my name and that I had attended the school decades ago, the gentleman laughed. The counselor replied, “We have heard of you and your antics along with some of your classmate’s behavior.” “Throughout the years, your story has repeatedly been mentioned by alumni and the Latin teacher.” I said, “This is quite amazing. “Is Tony still teaching here?” “He certainly is and you will find him in the teacher’s lounge.” the volunteer remarked.

As I entered the teacher’s lounge with my co-worker, I immediately sat down to have lunch. After we ate, I looked around the room to find Tony. I asked a teacher where he was sitting and as I moved toward his table I noticed the older version of my teacher. I introduced myself, but it was unnecessary. Tony grasped my arms and immediately began laughing. It was his last year of teaching and we sat at that table and he reminisced with his colleagues about a story that has touched so many lives.

Forgive me God – there will be potholes in my legacy! All of my memories constitute the nature of who I am. They remind me of my humanity and the ways in which I touched the lives of others for better or worse. I have one story. I don’t have the choice to take parts back. I just hope that in the end that I am appreciated for the sum total of all its parts.

James P. Krehbiel, Ed.S., LPC is an author, freelance writer and cognitive-behavioral therapist practicing in Scottsdale, Arizona. His personal growth book, Stepping Out of the Bubble is available at www.booklocker.com. James can be reached at www.krehbielcounseling.com.

THE ENERGY IS IN THE NAME

My name is James P. Krehbiel. One day my dear 92 year old mother called my business office. I can’t recollect what she wanted, but I knew that it had never happened before. I recall that Tammy, my business administrator, was working the switchboard at lunch and took the call. “Is Petey there?” my mother said. Tammy responded with, “We have no Petey that works in our office complex. “Oh yes you do,” my mother replied. “You have a Petey Krehbiel and he is my son.” Tammy, with a bit of laughter and eyes wide open said, “We know your son as James, but I will get your son Petey right away.” From that moment on, Tammy has referred to me by the name that nobody in my professional life had heard - Petey.

Names hold meaning, history, cherished values, and energy. They also may represent, in some symbolic way, the essence of our relationships. Names explain to other people who we are, but more importantly, they provide us with awareness as they distinguish us from others. Our names are reminders of the way we project ourselves to the world.

Maybe I have a split personality? James and Petey don’t carry the same energy. James is the softer, gentler, more professional side of me. Petey is the part of me that likes to take risks, gets feisty, and can be impulsive at times. I think these two energy systems actually compliment one another quite well. I actually believe that we all have various energy systems or subpersonalities that crystallize early in life as way of coping with the world.

Often, certain versions of a name may represent a parent’s desire to maintain their parenting rights. We have Markey, Bobby and Tommy. Unless you live in the South, these names represent a parent’s desire to cling to the connection of one’s child. I think that is why I call my adult son little Peter. Through the use of affectionate forms of a name, parents can sustain a sense of connectedness long after the children have left.

Isn’t it interesting how names can change when people leave one relationship for another? Recently, a woman told me that her first husband called her Barbara even though her family refers to her as Bobbi. Her first marriage was an abusive relationship that fortunately ended. When she remarried, her new husband followed the path of her ex-husband by also calling her Barbara. The energy fostered by that name was too sad and consequently she opted to have her new partner call her the name that characterized the best of her history - Bobbi.

Sometimes names can create embarrassment. People are prone to slips of the tongue and may call someone by the wrong name. To make matters worse, sometimes politicians make goofy comments using wrong names that cause them trouble with the media and adversaries. Have you ever called a friend by the wrong name, because you were too preoccupied? Even more debilitating, have you ever called your partner by another name during an intimate moment?

Did you every wonder why prospective parents spend so much time reviewing names prior to the arrival of a new baby? Names are powerful tools, like words. We want them to characterize our children in a positive light. It’s hard to take a name back, so it is important to get it right the first time. For parents, names are filled with all the hopes, dreams and aspirations for those we love.

There certainly are lots of names. There are trendy names, biblical ones, political names, “cutsy” names, and titles from yesteryear. It’s interesting that many of the names of our elderly are now in vogue! Some people select names based upon the meaning of the words. My daughter’s name Amy means “the beloved.” Her daughter’s name Malia means “peace” in Hawaiian.

Sometimes people hate their names, particularly their last names, and go to the courthouse to change them. Others are fascinated by their last names, and go to the library to search for clues to their family history. People, after divorce, may change their last names to remove any vestiges of negative energy from their past as they build a new beginning.

Our names will be connected to our legacy. People may not remember our professional lives, but hopefully they will remember our names and what we stood for. I like my names. My mother said her grandfather, James, was a kind and considerate man. I like that energy, so I will keep the name along with Petey, the little boy who liked to slide in the street playing a pick-up game of baseball.


James P. Krehbiel, Ed.S., LPC, CCBT is an author, freelance writer and nationally certified cognitive-behavioral therapist practicing in Scottsdale, Arizona. His personal growth book, Stepping Out of the Bubble is available through www.booklocker.com/books/2242.html. James can be reached at www.krehbielcounseling.com.