A tribute to my father...

In loving memory of Jay Lutey
1952-2011

As delivered June 25, 2011, in Ironwood, Michigan

We Luteys were fortunate for several years to live close together. And then seven years ago, Sarah moved to Indiana... and three years ago, Mom and Dad moved to Ohio.
So home became wherever we could be together.

A Lutey tradition during the holiday season is to watch “It’s a Wonderful Life.” We love Clarence the angel, who taught George Bailey that

“No man is a failure who has friends”

and told him:

“Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?”

Standing here today. . . surrounded by so many who knew and loved him. . . I feel that my father was the richest man I’ll ever know.

One of my earliest memories is riding on Dad’s shoulders up the hill to watch the Michigan Tech Huskies play hockey.

Dad spent his life lifting us up — with his strength of character, his strong work ethic, his commitment to his family and friends and through his unique and witty sense of humor.

There’s a perfect expression for it, but we’re in church, so I’ll call him a smart aleck.

Dad had what he called the imp of the perverse in him, from his puns, to practical jokes like burying a neighbor’s car in snow, to picking up his nearly empty dish of Mom’s chocolate mousse and licking it clean in front of company, and then looking innocent over his lack of table manners.

Sarah and I were so blessed to have him for a father.

Dad was the steady hand on our backs as he taught us to ride a bike. A firm grip on our hands as we walked from house to house trick or treating on Halloween. And a gentle touch washing our hair. Mom was always in a hurry to rush us through a bath and get us into bed… so we’d raise a fuss and demand that “Magic Hands” wash our hair.

I bought my first camera when I was nine, because I wanted to be just like him...

He had the patience and creative eye to capture some gorgeous photographs — from waterfalls, to sunsets over Lake Superior, to mountain views and lots of family portraits.

If you have a photographer in your life, grab the camera now and then to snap a few pictures of them. For every picture on display today of Dad, there are at least two dozen pictures or slides without him.

Dad taught us to be self-reliant. He made us learn how to change the oil in the car, how to change a flat and how to drive a stick shift.

He taught us the value of fiscal responsibility, which became especially useful as we inherited Mom’s shopping instincts.

When a sisterly squabble broke out — and there were some epic battles — one of us might complain that something wasn’t fair.

Dad would tell us that life isn’t fair.

I don’t think we needed the lesson carried this far.

When I have any decisions to make in my life, I can ask “What Would Dad do?”

And the answer will be the right choice.

Dad was very organized and always trying to improve himself.

He kept a planner, where he tracked his life in his neat, precise print. He logged his exercise routines, and kept a list of his references and business contacts. He stored a copy of his favorite margarita recipe in his planner, and tucked in a photo of Teresa and a love note from her.

He kept a list of his friends – most of whom are in this room today, or whose families are here.

Dad wrote down his values — from having close relationships with Teresa and his family and friends, to having security and a meaningful job and having free time to enjoy his hobbies.

Dad also wrote down his dreams.

Perhaps someday we’ll understand God’s plan in not giving him enough time to achieve them all.

If we can learn anything from losing him, please let it be this…

Writing down your dreams and goals is important, but don’t wait for some future date to pursue them.

Buy that home in the mountains or on a lakeshore.

Travel to Alaska… Yellowstone… England… or France.

Visit the Apostle Islands.

Drive a Corvette Stingray.

Live each day as if it may be your last, and always let those you love know how much they mean to you.

We know how much Dad loved us, and how much he loved his grandson, who shares his first name. I treasure the memory of the first time Dad held Jace, or his smile whenever a little voice called him “Buppa.”

Thank you, Dad, for telling me how proud you were of the job I’ve done raising Jace.

The greatest gift Dad ever gave us, though, was the love he shares with Mom.

I wish every child could grow up surrounded by that much love.

Dad loved it when Sarah and I returned from a trip to Chicago, where our great aunt Helen, affectionately known as Hudgie, filled our ears with the story of how Mom chased him shamelessly.

Those who knew Dad in his youth know what a great athlete he was.

He let her catch him.

There are those who’ve asked if I’ll ever get married. I don’t think my standards are too high, I’m holding out for someone who will look at me with at least half as much love as the way Jay looked at Teresa.

I miss you already, Dad… but you don’t feel that far away because I’ll carry you with me in my heart forever. 123

Love,

Amanda

Pass it on

Too often we forget the importance of kindness in our lives. I never truly appreciated the impact of committing random acts of kindness until I found myself the recipient of one.
My son and I set out on Good Friday on a trip to the U.P., to spend the holiday weekend with my grandmother and an aunt. We pulled into the drive-thru lane at a fast food restaurant in Portage to order a light lunch, something to tide us over until we could sit down for dinner at my favorite pizza place.
When I reached out to pay for our meal, the fast food employee surprised me by pressing change and a receipt into my hand. She told us that the customer in the car ahead of us in line had paid for our meal, and asked that we receive the change. We had no idea who was behind the wheel of the white car with Minnesota plates. We smiled and waved at the driver as they pulled out of the restaurant.
The four-hour trip north passed by quickly while I came down from the emotional high of such an unexpected gesture of kindness. I temporarily set aside my own troubles while trying to think of ways I could pay it forward. Just like a great comeback pops into your head hours after a confrontation, the most obvious solution didn’t occur to me until we’d been on the road for an hour.
I should have passed the change back to the drive-thru clerk and asked her to use it for it the car behind me. She’d looked both surprised and delighted to play a part in that stranger’s act of kindness.
The next day, after catching up with three classmates over coffee while we brainstormed ideas for an upcoming class reunion, I left money with the barista. I told her I was buying coffee for the next person to order, and why.
Harold Kushner said, “When you carry out acts of kindness you get a wonderful feeling inside. It is as though something inside your body responds and says, ‘Yes, this is how I ought to feel.’”
He’s right. It feels good, even better than being the recipient. I’m already plotting future acts of kindness.
You can, too.
Pay the toll for the car behind you, or drop money in a parking meter about to expire.
Drop off baked goods for police officers, firefighters or teachers, with a note letting them know how much you appreciate their service.
Leave an extra-large tip after eating out.
Finding ways to commit random acts of kindness don’t have to be monetary. Smile at strangers, hold doors open, wave at the people in cars that pass you by or let someone ahead of you in line at the grocery store or bank.
Be generous, but sincere, with compliments.
The Rev. Henry Burton wrote, “Have you had a kindness shown? Pass it on;’Twas not given for thee alone, Pass it on.”

Think twice before starting new year with a new look

(Originally published in 2005)
Many start the New Year with a resolution regarding their appearance, like trying to lose weight. Health and fitness changes are good for you.
I don’t recommend trying to make a drastic change, though, to other aspects of one’s appearance. I speak from experience.
At my family’s second Christmas in Marble, Colorado in 1987, I received three gifts that stand out. One was my first diamond ring, which still fits. Another was a makeup mirror that has not stopped working in 17 years. The last gift is memorable in its own way.
That present was a frosting kit. Not the kind you spread on a cake. This is a kit to “frost” your hair. My mother had taken pity on my efforts to lighten my mousy hair and bought the kit as a present.
You see, when I was in middle school, a geek with glasses and braces, I was convinced that I’d be so much better looking as a blonde. I’d tried using a bottle of spray-on lightener to little effect. The spray is activated by exposure to sunlight or, in my case, the heat of a blow dryer. This is not good for the health of one’s hair.
One school night in January of 1988, my father was out of town and my mother, sister and I were looking for something to do.
“Let’s frost your hair,” said my mother.
I got the kit from my room and we set up an at- home salon at the kitchen table.
The kit came with a plastic cap, a pick that looks like a knitting needle and hair lightener. The cap fits tightly over the head and has little dots on it, where you can stick the pick through to pull out a strand of hair. This is so just a few select strands will be exposed to the lightener.
My mother, bless her heart, is not the most patient of souls, especially when it comes to dealing with hair. As a child, having my hair brushed or put into pigtails or a ponytail for school was not something I looked forward to. At bath time, we used to beg her to let dad wash our hair, because he could do it without excessive tugging. Mom’s technique left a lot to be desired.
So there I was, wearing the cap, with my mother jabbing the hook at my head. Ouch.
Once she was satisfied that she’d yanked enough hair through the cap, she applied the lightener.
“It burns,” I said.
“Oh, it is supposed to do that,” was her nonchalant reply.
When the timer went off, I got into the shower to rinse the dye out of my hair.
Stepping out, I looked up to see my mom backing away from me, an expression of horror on her face. She was repeating, “I’m so sorry” over and over again.
I looked in the mirror to see what was wrong.
My hair was white.
Instead of a few highlights to brighten up my color, the reverse had happened. Now I had a few streaks of my natural color while the rest of my head had no color at all.
To make matters worse, my hair was mush, completely over-processed.
Keep in mind that my hair then was past my shoulders in length, with big 1980s bangs and lots of layering.
“We have to move!” I wailed, dreading the idea of going to school like that.
It was now after 9 p.m. Mom had a friend who was a beautician, so we piled in the car and headed to her house after calling to explain the emergency.
My hair had to be almost completely chopped off. I went from looking 13 to being able to pass for 60.
I’m not sure how I made it through school the next day, and have a blessedly vague memory of it. I do recall many odd looks, plenty of questions, and laughter when my back was turned.
Very few photos exist of me from that time, because I’ve destroyed the ones I got my hands on. By October of that year, my hair had grown out enough that only the ends looked frosted.
That incident cured me of doing anything crazy to my hair for many years. I tried a few more times in college to lighten my hair, but finally decided to live with the color I was born with.
It must be a hair color passed on from my mother, although we can’t be sure, as she was a bottled blonde up until the past year. My father has dark hair, and, at 52, has so little grey that friends accuse him of coloring it.
I’ve had my share of hair catastrophes, but nothing was ever as bad as me with white hair. My sister had her share of catastrophes too. She was the victim of an unfortunate perm that made her look like a well-known singer from the 1960s, a well-known male singer.
What lessons did I take away from the granny hair?
First, that my mother gets absolutely zero input on what my hairstyle or color is.
Second, that if you want to make a drastic change to your hair color, visit a salon.
The most valuable lesson is one that took me years to understand. Happiness does not come from appearance, but from within. Learn to love yourself for who you are, not who you think you can be.
Have a happy new year and don’t make any dramatic changes to your appearance. Consider a new lipstick instead.

Are You Ready To Rock?

Here is the story of Jace’s first rock concert experience, at the age of 9, from getting ready to the day after. We went to see Green Day at the Colisseum in Madison in May 2005.

*Amusing note before we get into the concert. The night before, I started singing “Basketcase” while doing the dishes and Jace was taken aback.
“How do you know that song?”
Silly boy. I knew that song before he was born, and it is MY Dookie cd he has in his room.

Getting Ready

I picked up Jace after school and we headed home to get ready for the concert. I wanted more comfortable clothes and Jace planned to spike up his hair. I opted for pigtails in my hair, and my favorite hat, from Finlandia University (navy with white collegiate style letters of the school’s initials, that’s right... FU.)
Jace, with some help from me, the blow dryer, root lifter, hair glue and frosty hair color gel, worked his hair into a fauxhawk. We dashed for the car, making a stop at the ATM and to fuel up before heading to Madison. Halfway there I realized I’d forgotten ear protection for Jace. Shit.
Jace, who had been dubious about why he needed ear protection, was unfazed by this as he played a game on his Gameboy.
As this was his night, the concert tickets having been his birthday present from me, we stopped at the mall to pick up dinner. I opted for Arby’s, Jace chose Quizno’s. Back in the car, I braced myself for having to deal with Madison rush hour traffic on the Beltline. I hate driving normally, but put me in rush hour traffic, and I get tense. The things a mother will do for her child.

Waiting in Line

Negotiating the traffic wasn’t as bad as I had anticipated. I stayed in the right lane and was ready to take the exit. Had a bit of a wait at the stoplight, a lot of cars ahead of us were making the left turn toward the Coliseum.
I paid the $4.50 parking fee and followed the parking lot attendants past where the line had formed to find a spot under a number I would remember, 22. Jace and I got out of the car. I let him hold onto the Gameboy, figuring it would keep him occupied while we waited in line.
I love people watching, and had a lot to take in. People punked out with makeup, jewelry, hairstyles and colors. Fun. My hat got a few glances.
The line moved slowly but steadily after the doors opened. When we were about halfway to the front, a security guard came up, shouting that other lines had formed and were moving faster. Jace and I joined the mad dash across the parking lot to a new line.
I tucked Jace’s Gameboy into the small purse I had with me for cash and car keys. More of a drawstring bag that I could secure to a belt loop on my jeans if I needed to. The security guard didn’t bother to pat Jace down, and looked like he was about to wave me through, but he was cute so I raised my arms for a pat down.
Sad, really, how I seek out those cheap thrills.

Better than expected

Once inside, I directed Jace up the stairs. Most fans were headed down be on the floor. Jace was too young for the mosh pit experience, so I wanted to find seats. I figured we’d end up high in the nose bleed section, but on a whim, I kept going in the direction I expected the stage to be set up until we came to the beer garden and could go no further. We passed through the curtains and found seats.
Incredible seats. Stage right, about 11 rows up, with a clear view of the front of the stage. We settled in and I gave Jace back his Gameboy since we had over a half hour to wait until the opening act came on. I people watched some more, especially the kids sitting on the floor waiting.
Jace got a kick out of watching the wave of people rush the stage.

Meltdown

My Chemical Romance was the opening act. They sucked. To call it music would be too charitable. It was an obnoxious, obscenity filled noise and it was loud.
If you’ve ever heard the sound that a helpless animal makes when a bird of prey swoops in and carries it off, well, this was worse. Primal screaming with a torturous bass throb.
Jace did okay for the first few songs, used the backlit screen of his Gameboy up during the “ballad” when everyone else held up lighters and cell phones. He cheered when the lead singer asked who was at their first concert. Then he recoiled in horror when the singer suggested turning to the cool parent or older brother or sister who brought you and “kiss ‘em right on the mouth.”
The act got louder, and Jace had a mini meltdown. He couldn’t take the noise and was upset.
“F@ck!” I thought, “Maybe he is too young for the rock concert experience.”
As Jace told me later in the car, he screamed and couldn’t even hear himself. Poor kid. (What’s funny is that I now enjoy a lot of My Chemical Romance’s songs.)
My only concert experience while growing up was seeing the Kingsmen perform “Louie, Louie” in the parking lot behind a bowling alley in Davenport, Iowa.
I had Jace sit down, cover his ears, and gave him the Gameboy again. While he played, I used my hand to help cover his ears.
Fortunately, it was the last song. I turned to the nice girl next to me and asked if she would watch our seats. She agreed, so I took Jace out of the arena to get some air and light.
When we were at a horse show in April, I’d spotted a family restroom. Now, I couldn’t find it. I asked a janitor where it was, and he knew there was one, but not where. He asked in an office and was told it wasn’t available.
Double F@ck.
Jace needed to go, so I sent him into the men’s room, then waited anxiously for him to emerge. If he wasn’t out soon, I would be going in after him.
He always takes a damn long time, and he finally came out just when I was about to storm the room.
I bought a large Cherry Coke for us to share (Why can’t they give you lids and straws at these events?) and we walked back past were concert t-shirts were being sold. The cheapest shirt was $25, and Jace and I agreed that ordering on-line would be better.

Pink bunney

We found our seats, thanking the girl who guarded them for us. The stage was still being set up for Green Day. I asked Jace if he’d like me to give him some tissue to use as ear plugs. He eagerly accepted and stuffed his ears.
While we waited for Green Day, a Pink Bunney, holding a beer and a floppy stuffed toy pink rabbit, walked on stage. Jace and I were entertained by its antics, chugging two beers, taking exaggerated hops and shaking its tail and feebly doing the arm motions to “YMCA.” He wandered back off stage, and the lights soon dimmed. The crowd went wild, and then Green Day was on stage.

Calling out to Idiot America

The band opened with the title track of the new album. I was in awe of how great our seats were. For once, I didn’t need a jumbo screen to see the performers’ faces. They were so close. I could see Billie Joe and Mike clearly, but the view of drummer Tre Cool was blocked a bit by the stand supporting speakers.
After “American Idiot,” the band played “Jesus of Suburbia,” ending it with a blast of pyrotechnics that sent a heat wave toward us.
Incredible. Just amazing.
Jace was thrashing, throwing up his fists and jumping around to the music. Some of the sound effects from the pyrotechnics threw him, but he was having a great time.
Billie Joe is so phenomenal on stage. He takes in all the energy and adrenaline of the crowd, attracting it like a lightning rod. Then he amps it up and feeds it right back to us. He was all over the stage, thrashing, marching, leaping. His face is so expressive. He has the imp of the perverse in him, very Puck-like.

Billie Joe owned us. He had the audience in the palm of his hand, was massaging his balls (figuratively, not literally) and we all wanted more. If he was the Pied Piper, we would have followed him anywhere. As it was, he directed us in the Wave, and had us singing along and cheering at his command. He fired water guns at the audience, and brought one lucky bastard up on stage to help him squirt the crowd. At one point, he screamed out “Somebody please fuck me!” I think most females, and perhaps some of the males, would have been more than willing to take him up on that.
Billie also flashed his ass crack, inciting a frenzy of mostly female screams.
I glanced at Jace, but he didn’t seemed fazed by it.
Billie Joe sported a crown during “King for a Day” and the lights dimmed then the band segued into a cover of “Shout.”
Billie Joe recruited three audience members to play along on stage. He selected one kid from the back who had been holding up a sign, and told him to dive into the pit and crowd surf his way to the stage. The kid did, naturally, and his award was getting to keep the guitar he played.
Green Day played so many great songs, including “Longview,” “Basketcase,” “Minority,” “Holiday” and “Maria.”
When they played “When September Ends,” the lighters, cell phones, and Jace’s Gameboy were lit up again.
Jace sat down a time or two to give his legs a rest. I couldn’t feel my feet anymore, and was hot and sweaty, but was having too much fun to care.
The band left the stage, but didn’t keep us waiting for long, perhaps a few minutes while the crowd chanted “GREEEN......DAY.....GREEEEEEEN.....DAY”

On our way home

Green Day came back on stage and played one song before starting up “Boulevard of Broken Dreams.” I told Jace that when the song was over, we were going to head for the exit. We sang along and waved our arms. Green Day started playing “We are the Champions” as we left. We ran into a student from one of the high schools I cover for the newspaper in the lobby. He looked surprised to see me there.

Jace and I paused in the lobby to listen for a few minutes, before skedaddling out into the blessedly cool night air. Then Jace, in a burst of fresh energy, led me in a race across the parking lot to our car. We had no wait to get out of the parking lot, and were back on the highway to head home in just a few minutes.
I suspected we might be missing a song or two, but this was a school night, and it was just shy of 10 p.m. Not having to be stuck in traffic waiting to leave was worth missing a song or two. Turns out what we missed was a sing-along to “Good Riddance.”
Oh well. Next time I'd stick it out to the end. But not with a 9 year old in tow.
Jace and talked about the concert most of the way home. He now understands why ear protection at a concert is a good thing. Not only does he want to see Green Day again someday, but he was dreaming of learning guitar so he could cover Green Day songs someday. He also asked if he could crowd surf next time.
I’ve created a monster.
There was a lameass fan next to Jace, a teen with overly long black hair who just stood there sullenly. No clapping, cheering or dancing. Jace asked “Why did he waste money on a ticket if he was just going to be so lame?”
Excellent question. I’ve asked similar ones myself when I see people too drunk or stoned at a concert to ever remember being there.
I’ve been to five Dave Matthew Band concerts, and am going to one again in July. But those concerts are more mellow than Green Day was (I’m sure pot smoke has NOTHING to do with it.)

Speaking of smoke, the Coliseum was blessedly smoke free for most of the concert, other than some from the pyrotechnics. Then, about two songs before the end, an ugly toad of a woman two rows ahead of us lit up. Yuck. She had hair dyed badly to an orangish color and was wearing a spaghetti strap tank that made her look like an overly stuffed sausage.

We arrived home at 10:45, after a quick run through the McDonald’s drive thru for a late night snack. All that jumping and dancing around left us famished.
I had Jace take a bath to help him settle done and hopefully ease any leg soreness he might have. I read for a bit before a wave of exhaustion rushed over me. I managed to get my teeth brushed and face washed before I crashed.
I woke up with Green Day music in my head (and was humming it under my breath for most of the day.)
Jace, with wild hair, was a bit hard to get moving, so he was about 3 minutes tardy at school. I popped into the Beaver Dam office to download a few pictures, before leaving for the Randolph office. I hit the Super Walmart and picked up the new DMB cd on my way, plus Green Day’s International Superhits for Jace.
He’s got it in his bedroom stereo while Dookie, Nimrod and American Idiot are in rotation in the Intrigue’s 12-disc changer. We ordered Green Day t-shirts last night. One for him (it’ll be a bit big, as the small size was sold out and we had to go with medium.) I got one too, I may not wear it often, but I figure I can pass it down to Jace when his gets too small/worn out.
Overall, it was a great experience.
Before the concert, Jace didn’t get why I like my live DMB cds even more than the studio releases. Now he understands. The Green Day concert experience was just amazing. If you get the chance, GO.

First Day

So much to say, so little time...

I'm hoping to use this blog as a forum to post my writing. I plan to continue writing a column and need somewhere to put them.