Fear of dogs and loyalty



It’s funny how nicknames end up sticking with someone. George Costanza was sick of his name and tried to get a nickname, T-Bone and ended up with Coco. Howard Wallawitz ended up with “Fruit Loops” instead of “Rocket Man” I got a nickname when I was too young to remember. There was a neighbors dog that I was really afraid of and his name was “Butch” So in order to traumatize a young toddler (and DYFES didn’t exist at the time) the name Butch was thrown my way just to see my to see my scared reaction to it. So it was “Hey Butch…. ha ha ha … he’s petrified and crying, isn’t that cute?” So after so many “Hey Butches” the name stuck. In some family circles, even to this day, I am still called that.
In one of my many different work environments I was once called “Hank” This nickname also stuck only because Glenn Haley just kept calling me that. We worked together for years in a depressing dark warehouse and went out almost every night in his car with an eight pack of bud nips cruising for chicks. It was the thing to do back then. At the end of every night Glenn would look over at me and say, “Where the hell are all the chicks, Hank?” And I never knew the answer to that question so I would just shrug my lanky shoulders and say “Don know Glen. Don’t know. See you tomorrow morning”.

Fear is nothing to fear
When I read back on a lot of my past posts in this blog, I see a lot of confirmed fear, starting in my youth and continuing on up. What I never really shared is my absolute conquering of fear. One step at a time I have confronted great fears in my life and kicked the living shit out of them. It’s taken 55 years of walking into many rooms full of unknown uncertainties and people and then realizing how stupid I was to have even let fear overcome me like that. Maybe just for survival purposes it seems have I survived fear. Probably only 8% of it is pure heroic bravery. But I will never overcome my fear of dogs, especially German Shepard’s.

Eat Drink and be Merry (you only got one life)
I used to blame a this fear on not really having a father around, and to an extent that might be so. If we can all just realize just how human every one really is. No one belongs on a pedestal. 50 years ago (see last post) my hero father was blindsided by something that really affected him greatly. Haven’t we all at some time or another reached that low depth that my father writes about? But you know what..In 50 years nothing is going to matter. This horrible thing that he wrote about (and I believe it to be infidelity) that caused him to express this drunken slur of words on pain and “dazement” (that isn’t even a freaking word!) means nothing now. Everyone involved with it is dead and “the cross to bear for life” is just buried in time except for on this 50 year old yellowed page in his journal.
I also laugh a little when I read another post by him in the same journal 1966:
“First, cut down on drinking, limit yourself to a few a day. Second, give up entirely the track. You fully realize it is too expensive, too habit forming. Third, cut football games from 7 to 3. This was your plan a few years ago anyway.”



Drinks, “a few a day”? So you drank everyday? No wonder you had stomach and intestinal problems. He doesn’t even mention the smoking. Mom and Dad were at the track all the time. This is what I say about that: you should enjoy life and do whatever it is that makes you happy. Why stop going to the track? Have a few drinks everyday. To each his own.
Seven football games a year. I had almost forgot the NFL was on a 14 game schedule back in 1966 so there were 7 home games. But why cut down on football games? Maybe because the New York Giants were 1-12-1 in 1966? Their worse season ever. That’s a good reason.

Come on Pops be a real fan..….like me! I ended up sleeping in my car for a few months eight years ago because of economic disaters and I still somehow paid for my season tickets and went to the games. Also, at that time the Giants had extorted from me a fee just to have the right to purchase tickets in the newly built stadium. A PSL they called it. Personal Seat License. Come on they said, lets just create a license to buy seats from us. Who do you think you are? Now they are losing season ticket holders and begging them to stay. I was so late with this PSL. ($2,000!) I kept extending the deadline on their stupid demands and might have been the last season ticket holder to have finally finish paying it.

Last season I went to every game and they were horrible. Most times they had the lead and lost it. Most losses were what they call “heartbreakers” but after the game we watched the sun melt into the Jersey sky, cooked marinated steaks and steamed clams, clinked our plastic cups together and said “Fuck it!”

Wait till next year.

My fathers seats were last row of the mezzanine. The seats were so good the players wives sat in the same section.

My fathers seats were last row of the mezzanine. The seats were so good the players wives sat in the same section.

3 Responses to “Fear of dogs and loyalty”

  1. Butch says:

    Fear of dogs is cynophobia.

  2. Gabbygill says:

    Track? What track did they go to?
    YES! We are here for a very short time. do what ever makes you happy. Just live it to the fullest!

  3. They went to Liberty Bell horse racing track. There was a horse named “Joanies Pony” that they loved.

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