One of my favorite photos of my sister Betsy, with one of the many dogs she rescued and loved deeply.
My closest friend is my wife Michele. We’ve been married for 37 years. She is my rock, my partner, a patient and involved mother to our two daughters, and someone who has put up with my lame, sophomoric humor far longer than anyone should have to endure. Everybody tells her she must be a saint to still be married to me (either that or a masochist).
But for most of my life, my second best friend has been my sister, Betsy. She was born three years after me. Tragically, in 2021, amid a mounting toll of increasingly unrelenting physical and mental health challenges, she finally lost her battle fighting lifelong depression. She died of suicide.
A day does not go by that I don’t think about my sister. But with each passing month, my deep grief has slowly made room for happier memories of the many wonderful adventures (and misadventures) we had together. I once wrote a serious piece called Twelve Teachers, in which I shared my observations about twelve people who have most powerfully impacted my life for the better. Betsy was at the top of that list.
We were the two youngest of five children. As a result, we spent more time together than with our three elder siblings. Betsy became the historian of my childhood, years later remembering minute details about things and people about which I had long since forgotten.
I have always been a bit risk averse. That was never Betsy’s constraint. She never minded making a complete fool of herself if it would bring laughter to someone else. She relished pushing the envelope to try new things.
One time, the two of us, along with a friend, went to an amusement park. Betsy saw that they had a bungee jump attraction. You wear a harness and are then hoisted up by a cable until you are dangling some 200 feet above the ground before being jettisoned into the open air below.. You’ have to be insane to attempt this – or be Betsy. She did it, while my friend and I looked on in near terror, and she kept laughing riotously as she bounced up and down.
Betsy and me (yes, that’s me with a beard) after our almost disastrous misadventure skydiving. It was all Betsy’s idea.
When we were both at Ohio State (me for graduate school and Betsy for undergraduate), she begged me unrelentingly to join her in taking a one-day skydiving course. I will never forget the churning emotions I felt as I watched my younger sister voluntarily jump out of a plane at 5,000 feet– only to do the same myself moments later. That was Betsy – always pushing herself – and me – beyond our comfort zones just to have a new story to tell.
When we were both in our twenties, Betsy persuaded me to join her backpacking through Europe. We hopped on trains, sometimes without a clear plan for where our next destination would be. Over two months, we explored France, Germany, Switzerland, Austria, Ireland, and more. It is because of Betsy that to this day, I have a love of traveling the world.
Betsy continued to travel on her own or with friends in the decades to follow. Like me, she had her own Grumpy teddy bear that she would take with her. We would compete for who could take our Grumpy to more exotic destinations, me taking a photo of my Grumpy in China, Betsy matching me with a photo of her Grumpy atop Machu Picchu. This went on for decades.
Betsy after her appearance on NBC’s TODAY SHOW, With Katie Couric and Betsy’s twins, Kevin and Tyler.
Betsy had twins in 1990, and nine years later, on their 9th birthday on 9-9-99, she found a way to get on NBC’s The Today Show because of it. It involved a mishap caused by my overly aggressive driving (no one was hurt). Only Betsy could find a way to get on national TV for having twins. But she did. If you’re curious as to the backstory, you can read my article here.
Betsy found joy and laughter in everyday life – baking cookies for new neighbors, babysitting a neighbor’s dog for them if they were out of town. She had a contagious laugh that is impossible to describe. But when she broke out in hysterical laughter – sometimes when she had made a deeply embarrassing mistake – it was impossible not to join her for the ride and get caught up in her exuberant fit of laughter.
More than anyone I ever knew, Betsy could find ways to create joyful chaos and silliness in the most unexpected situations. One time, we were at a water park, at the top of one of the water slides. Just as the park employee told Betsy it was safe for her to push off, Betsy looked back at me and shouted to me – loud enough for the employee to hear – “Tim, I have to tell you something. I want to break up” – right before she disappeared down the chute. The employee no doubt must have been mortified by someone “breaking up” in this seemingly cruel, insensitive manner. But that was Betsy’s wacky sense of humor.
July 2016: One of my happiest days ever with Betsy: a perfect sunny day on a ferry boat ride to Friday Harbor, San Juan Islands.
If you want to understand where I learned how to be juvenile, silly, and completely willing to embarrass myself in front of others, now you know the source: Betsy. One of the reasons I love to make people laugh is because of how effortlessly my sister demonstrated this talent throughout her life. Even when she was struggling with bouts of depression or anxiety, she could still find the humor in an otherwise difficult situation and make me laugh uncontrollably.
Betsy was also a teacher – one who deeply loved her students. For several years she taught English as a foreign language to adult immigrants. She went to extraordinary lengths to find creative ways to make her classes fun and engaging. This should not come as any surprise, but many of her students became long-term friends with her as a result, with many routinely inviting Betsy into their homes for meals.
Through her example, Betsy made me want to be a more caring, selfless person. Despite living a very modest life, always on the financial precipice, she was one of the most generous people I ever knew. She always thought about the needs of the people around her before herself. It was just how she was wired. In early 2021, less than two months before my sister’s passing, I came up with the idea of trying to get 100 people from all over the country to send our mom 100 birthday cards to celebrate her 100th birthday. My part was the easy part. Promote the idea on Facebook and in emails. But all the cards were mailed to Betsy to sort through and organize.
Betsy received over 400 birthday cards for our mom. She opened up every card and assembled several dozen posters displaying the overwhelming outpouring of kindness to our mom. But the incredible part was when I later learned that Betsy had taken the time to send most of these people a personal, handwritten thank-you letter for sending our mom a card. She wrote hundreds of thank you letters – most of them to complete strangers. Who does such a thing? My sister, that’s who.
My all-time favorite photo of me with Betsy, with the Golden Gate Bridge in the background. Nobody could make me laugh like she could. Nobody.
Betsy taught me the importance of expressing appreciation for the people who help us along the way. Nobody I’ve ever known had more friends than my sister. The only things she loved as much as the people in her life were her many cats and dogs she rescued over the years.
I learned so many life lessons from my sister: the importance of having close friendships, showing gratitude, giving to others without expecting anything in return, and finding laughter and joy in the most mundane or unexpected situations.
I am far from perfect. I have many flaws. Just ask my kids or anyone who knows me well. But I know this for a certainty: I am a better person because of the powerful formative role my sister Betsy played in shaping the man I am today. And I will always be grateful to her for that gift.
Sis, you will forever be in my heart.
[Note: If you, a loved one, or a friend is struggling with depression, anxiety, or other form of mental illness, a wonderful resource – and one our family has personally worked with – is NAMI, the National Alliance on Mental Illness. – TEJ ]
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In the Garden of Eden, everything was going great until Eve tempted Adam to disobey God and eat the apple. That’s when all Hell broke out. The moral of the story: It’s all the girl’s fault – at least that’s what I got out of the story. Maybe I’m wrong.
I discovered there are some extremely helpful life lessons found in the Bible. For example, the story of Adam and Eve and the Garden of Eden. When the serpent tempted Eve to eat the forbidden fruit, she selfishly convinced Adam to do the same, even though this was strictly against God’s direct order not to eat the apple. When Adam caved to her unrelenting nagging, God banished both of them into the wilderness and destroyed the Tree of Knowledge. I think the takeaway lesson from this story is clear: Adam may have screwed up, but technically, it was really mostly Eve’s fault. Like 90%.
Just as Adam blamed Eve for his ill-advised decision, there have been a spate of recent news stories about other men throwing their wives under the proverbial bus, blaming them for the husband’s own bad behavior. New Jersey Senator Robert Menendez was indicted for a bribery scheme involving hundreds of thousands of dollars in gifts and cash. When the Feds caught him red-handed with the loot, including actual bars of gold bullion, the Senator manned up and took the fall. I’m just kidding. He denied everything and blamed his wife for the entire scandal, claiming she kept him in the dark about her scheme.
Then there’s Samuel Alito. This nice man is a justice on the U.S. Supreme Court, holding one of our nation’s most trusted positions of power. It was recently reported that for several days in the immediate aftermath of the January 6th storming of the U.S. Capitol, he flew an American flag upside down in his front yard. The upside down flag is widely known to symbolize support by people sympathetic to the “Stop the Steal” election-denying cause.
When confronted by journalists as to why a Supreme Court Justice would prominently display such an obvious symbol of political protest at his residence only days before Biden was sworn in, Alito did the noble thing: He blamed his wife. He claimed he had nothing to do with it and that his wife had put up the flag due to a spat she was embroiled in with an anti-Trump neighbor. Well played, Sammy. Well played.
Left: NJ Senator Robert Menendez; Right: Supreme Court Justice Samuel Alito. What do these men have in common: Both their wives hate them, since they both blamed them for their own bad behavior.
The obvious takeaway for husbands is that it’s perfectly acceptable to blame your wife when you get caught doing something reckless or morally egregious. For too many years, we husbands have been held accountable by our wives simply for making boneheaded, impulsive, and poorly thought-out decisions which we hoped our wives would never find out about. It’s time we held our ground and shifted the blame for our many failings squarely where it belongs: with our wives.
Let me explain how this works. Say you’ve been jonesing for a 20-foot power boat for years, but your wife keeps pointing out that “we can’t afford it.” This despite the fact that you’ve never once complained about all the times she’s gotten her hair done at that fancy salon.
My advice, following in the footsteps of inspirational men like Menendez and Alito, is to ignore her protestations. Go out and buy that boat anyway. You deserve it. And if she ever finds out (which is possible since it’s hard to hide a 20-foot boat in your garage), just blame your impulse purchase on your wife.
Point out that when she said, “You really shouldn’t buy that boat,” you thought she meant, “Oh, my, you really shouldn’t, my darling” the way southern women in the movies often blush and say things like that when what they really mean is “Oh, my, Thank you, darling. How did you know? I just love it. Of course, I will have sex with you tonight.” Explain how you bought it for HER, not even thinking about yourself, and how you plan to name her boat “Beautiful Gal” in her honor. And how the dealer doesn’t accept returns after the sale.
But be careful about trying this technique if you’re thinking about buying those top-of-the-line titanium Calloway golf clubs without her permission. She might not be convinced you bought them for her, given the last time she played golf was 1994 – and all the holes came with castles, clown faces, and pirate ships.
Let’s say you just put half of your retirement nest egg into some convoluted cryptocurrency scheme your buddy Artie told you was sure to quadruple your investment in five months. Say it tanks, becoming totally worthless. Remember, it’s not your fault. It’s HER fault. After all, your wife was the one who once said, “Gosh, I wish we’d invested in Google back when it first went public.” So, clearly she was giving you her tacit permission to try to load up on the next unicorn buying opportunity.
Is it your fault that it turned out that your $200,000 investment in BUBBA BUCKS crypto turned out to be pyramid scheme run by an ex-con named Bubba who had recently served ten years for defrauding people by selling them non-existent condos on the moon? Okay, technically, yeah, it IS your fault. But that’s beside the point. Your wife planted the idea in your brain with that Google comment. So, she’s at least half to blame.
See this poor husband? He’s grossly overweight from eating junk food and never exercising. But it’s not his fault. Blame his wife for serving him his favorite foods and letting him lie on the couch and watch football for hours on end without ever complaining.
Imagine you arrive home at 2am, after playing poker with your buddies – instead of 10pm like you promised your wife – and your wife notices the car’s front bumper has been badly smashed in. Once again, it’s not your fault that you forgot to press the garage door remote, and as a result drove straight into the closed garage door. It could have happened to anyone who was as drunk as you were.
This is clearly your wife’s fault. She should have called you to remind you when the clock struck 10pm to come home NOW! But she didn’t. She deliberately let you keep playing poker and doing tequila shots. So, why should you be blamed simply for failing to notice the garage door was shut when you rammed your Ford F-150 pickup truck into it at 32 mph?
In any healthy marriage, the wife needs to accept at least 50% of the blame for your mistakes. If she really loves you, she’ll agree to take more like 75%. Remember, guys. We’re just men. We’re designed to fuck up. It’s in our caveman DNA. If your wife couldn’t figure that out by the time she agreed to marry you, if you ask me, that’s on her.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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Thanks to my new Google Kindness Translator, Davie is about to avoid a nasty fight with his roomie Brad. Davie texted into the Kindness Translator on his phone: “If u don’t clean up yr trash tonight, I’m throwing u out.” But the message Brad got was, “Bro wanna do za for dnr?” Problem avoided – well, for the moment anyway.
You have probably heard of one of the great game changer apps called Google Translate. You can type or say anything into your phone and with the press of a button, Google Translate instantly converts your words into your choice from more than 130 languages, even Sanskrit.
A few years ago, I wrote about a handy upgrade of this service called Google Translate – Family Edition. It’s perfect for helping parents understand what their teenage son actually means when he grunts one-word replies like “whatever” or “dude” to your question, “When do you plan to do your homework, Nathan?”
I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve almost finished developing an even more powerful version of Google Translate. I think it’s going to be another game changer for kids and adults alike. I call it the Google Kindness Translator. It takes one person’s abusive or argumentative language and, with the press of a button on your phone, converts it into a kinder, more sensitive alternative translation, thereby turning a potentially acrimonious confrontation into a harmonious dialogue.
I came up with my idea in the most unlikely of situations: during a racquetball game. I’ve played with the same group of guys for several years. They’re all great people – well, except for Fred, that is. (Fred is a curmudgeon.) Sometimes, one of the fellows will blurt out something in the heat of the moment he really didn’t mean. That’s when things can quickly get a little chippy.
It all started when Roger hit the ball full force, and it accidentally plunged into the small of Larry’s back. Larry, suddenly in excruciating pain, shouted out, well, I’d rather not print what came out of his mouth. Let’s just say I’m glad no impressionable young kids were within earshot.
Then Larry glared at Roger and complained, “That hurt like the dickens dude! Look where you’re hitting the ball!” To which Roger snarkily replied, “Well, you shouldn’t have been standing in the way of my shot.” Larry was just about to hurl some inflammatory words back in Roger’s face when I quickly intervened: “Larry, when Roger said that you shouldn’t have been standing in the way of his shot, what he meant to say was ‘Oh my, I am deeply sorry I hit you. Are you okay, buddy? Please accept my apology.’ “
Roger looked at me a bit confused, but then Larry said to Roger, “It’s okay. These things happen.” And tempers cooled down quickly. (This really happened as described.) That’s when I saw the potential for a new app that translates angry words into kind ones. I think this could be the next killer app. My new Kindness Translator is still in beta. But check out these extremely encouraging translations from some of my test subjects.
Eleanor is having a nasty shouting match with her daughter Nina. If only Eleanor had tried my Kindness Translator before screaming, “As long as you live in MY house, you’ll do as I tell you, you little self-absorbed prima donna snot!” The app would have converted her harangue into “Nina, I deeply apologize for not being more clear in my expectations. That’s my fault. What I was trying to say is, would you be open to scooping the litter box, since, after all, Buttons is your cat? What do you say? Love you.”
A husband was about to tell his wife, “Seriously, how much longer will you be before you pick an outfit? JUST PICK ONE, for Christ’s sake. It’s been 45 minutes and you’re still trying on blouses. None of them are going to make you look slim, okay? We’re going to be late for the party – as usual.”
But instead, he quietly spoke those words into the Kindness Translator app on his phone, pressed a button, and voilà . His wife heard instead, “Honey, gosh you look fantastic in any of the eleven outfits you’ve tried on. But just take your time. I’d rather be standing here in our walk-in closet with you than at that silly New Year’s Eve party, anyway. I love you.” And with a press of a button, their marriage was saved – for another evening at least.
A retiree had been patiently waiting for seven minutes for another driver to back out of their parking spot, so he could pull into it. But just as he was about to pull in, another driver came racing in from nowhere and took his spot. As the parking spot stealer exited his car, the retiree was preparing to get up in his grill and bark, “Hey, buddy. I was here first. I’ve been sitting here for the past seven minutes waiting for this spot to open up. So, find another spot, or the next parking spot you’ll be looking for is at the Emergency Room.”
But in a moment of clear thinking, he whispered into the Kindness Translator I had installed on his phone instead. Out came a much more restrained message: “Gosh, I had been hoping to take that spot. But kudos to you for being so quick on the accelerator. Are you a professional racecar driver? Hope you find the perfect gift you’re looking for at the mall, sir. Have a nice day.” No one got hurt. And no cars got keyed. Problem avoided.
My new Kindness Translator is in beta. It still has a few bugs. For example, I tried employing it at a recent Trump rally. I pointed my phone at Trump as he went on one of his usual incoherent, rambling rants: “I’m a very stable genius. Only I can save America. I’m smarter than all the generals. Blacks love me. I don’t have a racist bone in my body.”
But the translation came out as follows: “I’m a total moron, a vengeful narcissist, and a bigot. I lost the election and lied about it. Give me all your money.” On second thought, maybe the app is working just fine.
I still have a lot of work to do before this becomes available to the public. I’m convinced my killer app will bring people closer together and maybe help our divided nation heal some of its longstanding wounds – or at the very least help me talk my way out of a future speeding ticket.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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On this very special Valentine’s Day, I wanted to share a special poem I wrote for my wife, expressing just how much I love her. I guess I’ve always been a bit of a hopeless romantic. Hope it warms your heart. – Tim
Darling,
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Sugar is sweet
And so is high fructose corn syrup
Which from a manufacturing perspective
Is easier to handle and cheaper to make
Using an acid-enzyme process
In which corn is milled to extract corn starch
Which is then acidified
To begin breaking up the existing carbohydrates
With high-temperature enzymes added
To further metabolize the starch
And convert the resulting sugars to fructose
To which various enzymes are then added
After which it is filtered usingactivated carbon
Then demineralized usingion-exchange resins
And run over immobilizedxylose isomerase
Which turns the sugars to ~50–52% glucose
With some unconverted oligosaccharides
And 42% fructose
The sweetness of which
Is comparable to sucrose
But not as sweet as you
Love,
Your SWEETHEART
[NOTE: This week’s column was written by my life-long friendand fellow humorist, Steve Fisher. Steve is the person who inspired me to create View from the Bleachers back in 2009, and he is the funniest person I have ever known. Steve gave me permission to share his love poem with my VFTB readers. Thanks, Steve! – TEJ ]
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Sometimes I can disappoint my wife and, without intending to, hurt her feelings. For example, recently she was telling me something about something – not really sure what her point was. I was watching a football game at the time. Then she asked me a question about something or other. Apparently, “Sure, honey, that’s great” was not the response she was looking for when she asked me (I later learned) “When do you plan to start making dinner?” So, she got a little peeved, if you can believe this, just because I had not listened to a single word she’d been saying for the past five minutes. In my defense, it was a playoff game.
Don’t get me wrong. My wife is a wonderful person. But she asked that I not mention her by name in this story and therefore will be referred to as “Joanna.” I love Mic – er, Joanna dearly. But sometimes, it seems I can’t quite measure up to her lofty expectations of her husband. Now and then she’ll roll her eyes in annoyance over the most trivial infractions. Like the time I left the toilet seat up after I used it. Or the time I ate the last slice of German Chocolate cake without consulting her first. Or the time I kissed another woman.
Perhaps that last example warrants additional clarification. I couldn’t very well deny that I had kissed another woman because, technically, I did it right in front of Joanna. She saw the whole thing. I must have misread the other woman’s buying signals because when I kissed her, like Joanna, she was none too pleased about it. This woman, who I’ll call “Sarah,” was, to my surprise, so put off by my sudden romantic overture that she slapped me across the face. But I have an explanation for my actions: She was really attractive. (My wife has informed me that does not make what I did okay. I guess I just disappointed her again.)
In retrospect, I can see how my actions might have been slightly hurtful to Joanna. Perhaps I should have asked her for permission before I took Sarah in my arms, caressed her hair, and kissed her. I probably did not make things any better when later that same evening, I approached Sarah again and once again planted a passionate kiss on her lips. My wife caught me in the act this second time as well. (She sure can be a busybody.) My encore kissing performance just made matters worse. I now appreciate how, from Joanna’s perspective, I probably mishandled this affair, because, to be honest, I didn’t give a second’s thought about how my actions would impact my life partner.
I imagine Joanna was asking herself, “Who is this man I thought I knew? Can’t he see I’m right here?!?” I should add that on my second romantic overture, as our mouths came together, Sarah didn’t slap me. She didn’t push me away. Quite the contrary. She acted as if she really liked it – a lot. She put her arms around me and swooned. It was magical – except for the small part about Joanna being a witness to this scene. I was concerned that she might not speak to me for the rest of the evening – or make me dinner.
I am not proud to admit that I pursued this tawdry affair for three weeks. I only saw Sarah on Friday and Saturday evenings, and on a couple Sunday afternoons. Before each visit, I rehearsed what I was going to say to her to win her heart again. And my lines worked perfectly. Each rendezvous was as exciting as the previous one. But after three weeks, Sarah abruptly broke it off, without so much as a goodbye kiss. She decided she had to put our affair behind her. I never saw her again. I would never feel the touch of her ruby red lips or her hands as they forcefully slapped my face, ever again.
I have to say, Joanna was surprisingly forgiving. Because after having witnessed me kiss Sarah not once but twice, on the way home, she barely brought it up. What a great gal! But to be honest, I’m not really sure why any of this should have bothered her in the first place. For starters, Joanna and I weren’t even married at the time. We were just dating. I had never said I wouldn’t see other people.
Spoiler Alert: When Joanna and I were dating, I got cast as Sky Masterson in a community theater production of Guys And Dolls. My character had to kiss his female co-star, Sarah Brown, twice in each of our show’s eight performances. Hey, I was just doing my job!
Oh, and I’m not sure if this next part is important, but the woman I kissed was a fellow actor in a community theater production of Guys And Dolls we were in, in Miami, FL, the city where Joanna and I first met. We were on stage in front of 400 people just performing our lines, which included two kissing scenes.
So, if you ask me, I really think my wife should have taken up her concerns with the director, not me. I was just following the script.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
[Author’s Postscript: The story above is 100% true. In the play, my character, a rogue, suave gambler named Sky Masterson, falls in love with a character exactly his opposite: an upright, devoutly religious Salvation Army worker named, you guessed it, SARAH Brown.
Our characters kissed twice in each of our eight performances, which were performed on Friday and Saturday nights and matinees on Sunday. In the first instance, the virtuous, innocent Sarah is mortified by Sky’s slick, overly bold unexpected kiss, so much so that she slaps him in the face afterward. And my co-star did not hold back! But later in the play, the two characters fall deeply in love and Sky kisses her again, this time, with her swooning in his arms – just the way my wife swoons every time I kiss her. Um, sort of . – TEJ]
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Likeor sharing this post on Facebook.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it aLikeorsharing this post on Facebook.
