A CAROUSEL OF BECOMING

With its flashing bright lights,
music blaring odd tunes,
it’s colorful horses,
decorated zebras
and other embellished
great creatures found in zoos.

They follow each other,
in an endless loop,
of a circular chase,
going nowhere quick.

I wonder if it’s worth
two tickets to ride here,
aware of what I see
but blind to what may lurk
behind the song and dance,
of this fair’s attraction.

The skeptic within me,
expected not a thing,
but a petty paycheck
covering the little,
big high school expenses
a teenager faces.

He talked all but minutes.
Explaining all the rules,
before telling me that,
“You are hired starting
tomorrow, July first.”
I was taken aback.

I accepted the job,
as he handed me forms
to complete, like tickets
needed before riding.

He shared all the glitter,
albeit not of gold,
but of screaming riders,
racing down crowded halls
on their way to find the
next best carnival ride.

He began to tell me,
“Seeing all their smiles,
hearing all their laughter,
is in its own reward.”

Then went on to tell me,
“It’s not just about the
paycheck but the impact
you will leave on their souls.”
By now his words, a blur,
I waited for my turn.

With a bit of self-doubt,
not truly knowing what to expect,
I boarded with doubt but,
with enthusiasm.

Noting I only brought,
my determination,
loyalty and willing
to give my all and more.

I changed seats a few times
before my ride’s last spin.
the colors stayed vibrant,
and the music still played.

Coming to a complete stop,
I exit with one last look,
it seemed like nothing changed,
but after many turns,
I noticed everything
about me changed that day.

All because of a chance
given to me by that
gentle soul who believed
in offering me more.

 

AN IMPROMPTU JOURNEY AND A SPONTANEOUS FRIENDSHIP

Retelling tales, sparking curiosity without filter or rhyme,
By lifting our voices through laughter and experiences,
Deep breathes and nervous giggles dissolve any mishap.

Driving highways towards destinations unknown,
Arriving for a night’s stay, just after sunset,
Night welcomes time for nourishment and a quick nap.

Inviting casual morning conversations,
About where to go, but not making the day’s plans,
Leaving it all to chance with a dash of intention.

Gradually the first excursion is within sight,
Anticipation and excitement quickly grow,
Into racing childlike heart beats and bellyaching laughs.

Chatting, deciding where to go, what to see first,
Intending to seize all of the day’s offerings,
As if the day’s activities had been well-rehearsed.

Taking our time, as if it were planned choreographs,
His voice never pretentious, he shares what he knows,
Explaining how relationships aren’t created overnight.

A bond which is built on trust and occasional disagreement,
Welcoming friendship, enduring both our lifespans,
Through tales sparking curiosity and candid revelations.

In talks of our next journey, we forego a map,
When planning a new adventure around the same time, yet,
Knowing a road trip just wouldn’t be the same, if done alone.

In a hurried instant, our journey is under-wrap,
With a shared promise of faith and no pretenses,
Guaranteeing a road trip will be due in one year’s time. 

MY PRESENCE IN YOUR ABSENCE

I took a chance,
hoping to catch
the morning sun
climbing up where
the sky and the
ocean meet up
with each other.

I sit and wait,
impatiently,
for the sun’s rays,
to embrace me
not just in warmth,
but like the hugs
you gave freely
reminding me
count my blessings.

I watch the sun,
quickly climbing
towards the vast sky,
as if it’s light
was your spirit
following me,
right by my side.

I know you’re here,
talking to me
with your deep voice,
much like each wave,
hitting the shore
with its loud crash.

Reminding me,
of life’s lessons
you had taught me
from early on.

Each day the pain
of losing you,
shrinks much like the
shadows closing
to noon’s full height.

So many things,
I wished to say,
but our time
simply, ran out,
before I could
share all of it.

I hear your voice,
in gentle winds
whispering words
telling me of
memories shared,
and lessons learned.

With each sunrise,
brings promises,
consistent waves
offer comfort,
gentle breeze
keeps me balanced.

I hope you know,
I carry you,
in all I do.

Each step I take
is shaped by you,
with every choice
reminds me of
it’s my way of
saying thank you,
for making me
the man I am.

 

THE VOID BETWEEN GRIEF AND REJOICE

Don’t you go crying because I am gone,
Smile beyond the tears, that our paths crossed.
Imagine how empty life would have been,
If I was not there to fill your life’s void.

Time allows you to heal and carry-on,
With not one memory forever lost.
There’s no turning back time; stop, lift your chin, 
Think of the moments we shared and enjoyed.

My light will shine on you for all your days,
Letting the sun’s warmth embrace you with love.
With that, I will always be by your side,
When you answer the knock on your door.  

With your final breath and a prayer of praise,
I watched you answer the call from above.
Leaving those you left behind bleary-eyed, 
With a lifetime of memories and more.

Unknowns to you of your homecoming date,
Yet, everything is ready and in place.
Proving, true love has no need to translate, 
Nor does it need announcement to be known.

It seemed there was an unforgiving wait,
Until I saw your most beautiful face. 
As promised, I’m waiting at heaven’s gate,
With a long overdue welcoming you home.

Our love did not end, just transformed with time,
From two walking hand-in-hand to one soul.
God’s entwined our shared stories and tales told,
For the future generations pleasure.

It’s the moment you grasp Heaven’s sublime, 
Noticing the footprints you left behind.
Allowing time to share untold stories,
Leaving only happy tears to treasure.

 

 

LOGIN, LINGER AND LOOK, LOGOUT

With the flick of the power-on button,
boot up the computer, click the browser.
Log in with your personal credentials,
then prepare transport to your inquiry.

Get all your information together,
come up with a handle or a new name.
Or perhaps use yours, if you are okay,
with others knowing your identity.

Then come up with a password to match you,
against the handle and name, you just chose.
This will protect your information from,
prying eyes and those wanting to be you.

The password must be a keyboard mix of
letters, numbers and characters scrambled.
For your own eyes and mind to remember,
you’re all set with your login credentials.

Within seconds of the click of the box,
a new page pops up of various hits.
All related items you just searched for
ranked in order from the most relevant.

From watching a how-to-do videos,
to a biography on Fred Rogers.
Wherever your mind meanders to search,
hundreds of hits yield your unique request.

The mindless minutes online turn on you,
becoming wasted hours of lost time.
Searching endlessly even the mundane,
anything and everything on your mind.

Your eyes remain fixated to the screen,
flipping pages of related content.
Until you take up a new Yahoo search,
finding something else you want to fancy.

You took a chance, exploring the chat rooms,
seeing what all the hype is all about.
An infinite number of topic lists,
each begging for endless conversations.

You look around, find one to your liking,
cautiously you enter, then look around.
Conversations awaken your senses,
with many voices, none feel your liking.

Though many of them claim they long to meet,
most vanish behind screens, remaining discreet.
Hiding truths, they fear to show openly,
in silence, their insecurities grow.

Quietly, you leave and close the chat room,
knowing the time to face reality nears.
As you’re about to log off and exit,
you glance at the clock, taking note of the time.

Wondering where the day disappeared to.
into thin air with the blink of an eye.
Leaving you wondering where the time went,
thinking you only spent minutes online.

Once you log off your username and shut down,
with the flick of the power-off button,
Your thoughts drown, replaying all that you saw,
even when the screen finally went dark.

 

REVISITING, REMINISCING AND RETURNING

After several rescheduled dates, I finally managed to take my friend and past colleague out for a very belated birthday lunch.   As one of my favorite graduate school professors used to perfectly say, “life gets in the way of living.”   Today, it felt especially true.

Anyhow, back to my story…

About a week before the planned date or maybe the moment when I confirmed my plans, my anticipation exponentially grew from the day previous. By the actual date of the lunch my nerves were rattled.  From the outside, you would never have guessed my insides were shaking.  It would be the first time since I retired, I returned to my most recent stomping grounds of my just over forty-year career with the YMCA of South Florida.  Although I do workout at a local family center, I do so early enough to avoid most staff.  I find myself doing my best to blend in with other members.  I see it’s a bit different than the corporate office setting I worked in, where everybody knew me and had some kind of interaction with me, the payroll guy.  I have work history with the YMCA going back further than before the birth of a good majority of our staff.  

To my disbelief, my former daily parking spot was available.  I parked with a sense of familiarity, flooded by nostalgic memories of my morning routine.  I parked my car in my former spot and departed the comforts of my car.  I took a deep breath, then sighed and immediately I thought of this as a good omen for my upcoming day.  Walking up to the main entrance, I detected the building’s exterior and lobby walls and floor were somewhat updated since my last day on Friday, December 13, 2024.  When I stepped into the elevator, its interior itself still had cardboard construction flooring and upon the doors opening on the second landing, this, too remained unchanged.  

As I stepped out of the elevator and proceeded to the main office suite lobby.  It was then I remembered the receptionist was out with key staff preparing for their largest annual fundraising event.  The entire office is accessible only by digital key, so I had to find other means to be admitted and escorted throughout the various suites.  Beyond the doors, I walked freely through spaces, once holding purpose, now they open a flood of memories.  I attempted to ring the bell several times at the youth development suite.  Finally, a young lady answered the door, obviously someone new to me.  Before I had a chance to introduce myself to her, I was recognized by a couple of staff members.  As they came to the door, they pulled me into their arms with an embrace and warm welcome.  Each embrace felt like a timestamp marking a piece of my history and a vivid memory.

I was introduced to a few of the newbies, then I was paraded around in their suite as if I was their hometown celebrity.  I received more hugs from long tenured employees and fist bumps from those who knew me for a fraction of their time.  Here I was introduced to the new staff as if were a living legend.  For the better part of an hour.  I spent my time sharing stories with them before I was escorted to the corporate office suites.  I made certain on my rounds I popped in to say hello to those staff who I knew who weren’t part of the welcoming committee.  I hope I didn’t miss anyone as it was an overwhelmingly emotional experience.  Any oversight of not greeting those I missed was purely unintentional.

Last thing I wanted to hear, was someone heard I was on premises, but I was thought too good to even stop by and say hello to anyone or any one person.  I assume everyone knows as well as I do, this is the stuff juicy kind of gossip that gets blown out of proportion and goes viral in seconds, thanks to social media.  Though I mention it, I don’t let it consume me with wasted thoughts. 

As I had finished greetings and small talk with a few, my lunch date was ready to go head out to lunch.  After pulling out of the parking lot, my lunch date suggested Chinese cuisine for lunch, I yielded to her liking, after all it was her choice for her birthday lunch.  Over better than an hour, we spent our time together in a more intimate conversation with each other.  We caught up on family happenings, recent vacations and life in general.  The social introvert in me enjoyed the one-on-one time I had with my lunch date but I’d be remiss not to say, it was nice to encounter familiar faces for albeit a brief moment and catch up.  From the surface, everything appeared the same as when I left however; I know everything of me has changed.  

Driving back to the corporate office, I better understood how strange it felt to return as a guest rather than a tenured fixture.  Time has a quiet, subtle way of shifting our roles without asking permission.  We wrapped up our conversation with one last laugh and before we knew it, we arrived in the parking lot.  I pulled up to the main entrance.  We both got out of my car gave each other a farewell, bone-crushing hug with an implied but not spoken, we’d do this again, sooner, not later.  

My friend was able to get under the covered entrance and I back into my car just before the skies opened up in a heavy rain, as if the heavens cried happy tears over my revisiting, reminiscing and returning to my not so distant past.  As I drove away from the building which once held my daily rhythm, I felt a strange peace settle in.  The walls shifted, the faces changed but the echoes of my presence still lingered — warm, familiar, and gently fading.  What I once carried as duty now returns to me as memories, softened by time and sweetened by connection.  I came to share a meal, but I left with something deeper: the quiet affirmation of how the world moves on, the imprint of a life well-lived remains.  Though everything of me has changed, I see now that change is not an ending — it’s a continuation, written in the smiles, the embraces, and the stories still told in my name.

 

RESTING MY RUMINATIONS

With my first breath, my mind freely feels, 
There’s someone laying right next to me,  
Feeling my heart beat in sync with theirs.

I stare at the ceiling fan whirling, 
Absorbing my radiating heat, 
I lay still, as to not stir them awake,

It’s just about three in the morning, 
I am mentally not all present,  
Yet, my body is fully awake.

Still laying in bed, I shut my eyes 
Begging for just another hour, 
So, I won’t be robbed another night.

In one breath, I wish they joined my fight, 
Helping to slay my nightly demons, 
Winning back my lost hours of sleep.

By now they found their way to my mind,  
My nightly guest just won’t go away, 
Telling me, they were just passing through.

I fight my demon, insomnia, 
I ruminate today’s disaster, 
Playing in my mind, an endless loop. 

Feeling their heart beat and their next breath, 
Until my body’s madness succumbs, 
Into silent screams that fade away.

With my last breath, my mind is set free, 
Not even an ounce of energy, 
Until I finally fall asleep.

Ending my night’s tossing and turning, 
I manage a few hours of rest, 
Before the sun welcomes a new day.

It’s on the wings of hope and a dream, 
I start with a prayer of gratitude, 
For today’s better than yesterday. 

 

MY FINAL ONE LAST GOOD-BYE

With Labor Day passed, 
a northern breeze cools the air, 
with a whisper reminding 
foliage to transform themselves, 
into their varying autumn hues. 

The forest stirred with movement, 
as if the whisper reminded animals, 
start preparing and gathering 
for the cold winter ahead, 
coming sooner 
than later.

The trees replied, 
with many turning golden, 
some oranges and a few red, 
all the while white caps formed 
on the small waves of the lake 
as if they, too answered 
the wind’s whisper.

Animals of all colors and sizes, 
mindful of the whisper’s message, 
began to make arrangements.

Squirrels and racoons scurried, 
    collecting for their winter reserves, 
bears began eating their last big feast     
    before taking in for their long winter’s nap, 
geese prepared to take their long flight, 
    to their southern winter homes, 
while deer, moose and others took a gamble, 
    of not worrying about their tomorrows.

Yet, all dealt only with the stresses 
of just getting by today.

Cottagers answered, 
Mother Nature’s subtle call, 
much like their wildlife counterparts.

They begin closing their summer residences, 
    more of a winter’s slumber, than a winter’s hibernation.  
Packing the portable cooler with perishables, 
     for enjoyment in their winter home;  
placing winter dust skirts on the beds, 
     guaranteeing fresh linens underneath, 
washing one last round of dishes,     
     patiently waiting for return of festivities; 
rounding up the last collection of trash,     
    avoiding collection of rancid scents; 
storing away outdoor furniture and fixtures, 
     preserving their use for next season; 
putting away bird feeders, 
    once the last bird had its last season’s fill; 
boats pulled out of their water’s home, 
    leaving them on their trailer and covered; 
water pumps and plumbing pipes drained, 
    draining water, leaving basins and pipes dry; 
switching of the electric at the master breaker;     
     cutting the last life of the summer residence,

once done, 
then saying, 
one final good-bye to summer friends, 
even when one more, 
becomes more than just one good-bye.

With October’s second Monday near,
one more autumn holiday, 
celebrated in unison 
by both nations,
when again, 
the winds whisper, 
a firm reminder, 
to one and all, 
finalize preparations, 
for the winter’s season of 
shorter days and longer months, 
awaiting just around the corner.

Knowing there will be at least one, 
maybe more, one day visits 
checking in on the hibernating home, 
but until then, 
a final check, 
of last minute items 
with a double check off, 
the season’s end master to-do list, 
before the door is locked for the season, 
for one last time as if saying good-bye 
to another lifelong friend. 

Summer’s long gone, 
when autumn bids farewell, 
while winter’s bitter, 
blustery freezing gusts, 
reminding all, who is truly in charge, 
by leaving more than a dusting of snow, 
and a layer of ice with each squall's scream.

With each visit,
the caretakers’ pilgrimage, 
treading softly, as to not awaken, 
those choosing a winter’s deep sleep. 
Waddling through knee-deep snow, 
carefully crossing the fragile ice laden lake, 
with hopes it doesn’t shatter beneath them.

As seen in the not so close distance, 
with just minutes, before day’s light yields 
to swiftly approaching darkness of the day’s end, 
they eventually arrive, unlocking the door. 
Entering, they’re greeted by the darkness inside 
and hollowing winds bellowing through the rafters. 
A cold, dark, shadow is within their grasp, 
suddenly, a deep vacated voice, 
angered by being stirred 
and awoken too soon 
from hibernation. 

The caretaker comforts, 
gently igniting the fireplace, 
putting on the first pot of coffee, 
as light, warmth and comforts 
conquering the cold darkness, 
hearing an unspoken apology. 
Building a bond, rekindled peace 
by hushing winter’s once rage, 
with each arriving friend, 
resolving another 
voided space.

Where echoes of 
winter’s silence gathered, 
I watch the snow settle, 
like memories, holding its breath, 
beneath the thick sheet of ice. 
waiting to shatter and be told, 
as we once again gathered 
not just to warm the hearth, 
but to tend the flame of years past.

For each echoing laugh 
and silent tears shed, 
we inherit the season’s quiet vow, 
to return, to relive, to remember, 
and to keep the soul of summer alive, 
even in the winter’s longest night.

It’s then we are reminded, 
the value of lifelong friendships 
who, over decades of friendship 
became nothing less than family.

Bringing warmth, 
on the coldest winter days 
and 
cooling comforts, 
on the hottest summer days by 
sharing stories of cherished memories, 
and then telling tales of years past.

The hands of time 
keep moving forward, 
knowing there will be the day,
I am left to hand over the keys, 
to the next caretakers, 
with no turning back time 
except in my memory. 
Within their time, 
they will come 
together 
to tell tales, 
to share stories 
and make memories, 
and call it their very own, 
even when I know another 
summer is just around the corner, 
even after my final one last good-bye.

 

 

 

ROBERT, ROBB BUT NEVER BOB

I attended a social event this weekend, billed as a “meet and greet” for mainly retirees but open to anyone seeking connection and the need to expand their social circle. As an early retiree, I’ve come to realize how much of my social life was tethered to my career. It’s one of those things while you work you take for granted, the social aspect, morning catching up over a cup of coffee, having lunch together and afternoon hallway chats of shared deadlines. Let’s face it as we get less young, these social circles shrink, even harder to meet people and making new friends becomes increasingly challenging. 

 

Those of you who know me, are quite aware, especially if you travelled with me, I’d sooner be an hour early than a minute late. I arrive at the venue about twenty minutes, ok half hour before the event actually officially starts to allow myself time to account for traffic (there was none), should I need to stop for anything (a last-minute Jardiance run) and to allow myself enough time to calm my nerves down. This social introvert puts on a great show meeting new faces but unless you live my life you don’t realize the effort, I put in to be ready to mingle and at the end how much it drains me. About the Jardiance run - Google Jardiance side effects and then you will know. 

Within fifteen minutes more than two hands full of people already entered. So I proceed to enter the hall. Once entered there was a long card table serving both as the check-in and registration desk. I proceeded to the table and was immediately acknowledged by a woman my age who was too happy, perhaps she already had her maximum caffeine and/or sugar intake for the day. She proceeded to give me a lanyard and requested I find my name tag and put it on for the duration of the event. The name tags were printed in an easily readable bold large font in a cobalt blue color. Some name tags had a ribbon on the bottom of the name tag with their rank in the club. The colored ribbon perfectly aligned with the name tag itself shared various titles including club officers, some as guests from other chapters and some with years of service involvement with the sponsor club. 

 

All this flashed me back to high school extra-curricular activities for a brief moment. It only took a matter of seconds for me to find my own name tag.  I asked the polite yet overly happy woman at the desk if she had a spare blank name tag to correct my first name.
 

        “By any chance can I get a blank name tag, I found mine, it says Bob.
        Now, here’s the thing, I don’t go by Bob. I never have. My e-mail
        signature says Robert as do my professional documents. My closest
        friends may call me Robb. But Bob? That’s a name I never claimed
        to have ownership to." 
 

The smile turned into a frown as if I asked to borrow her last dollar to selfishly get a bottle of water in the middle of a desert. Without skipping a heartbeat, she said, 

        “No! The names were taken off the event’s pre-registration e-mails
        and I was specifically told by the club’s president to use the names
        from the e-mail and that’s what I did.”
 

I highly doubt she took my name from my e-mail as all my e-mail setups to e-mail signature always say, “Robert” not any deviation or abbreviation as I have gone by Robert in both academic and career all but one year. When my family moved to Toronto, for the start of my Grade 2 year. For whatever reason I was called “Bobby.” I digress. She refused to change and the frown started to look like more of anger as I tried to justify my case. I attempted to explain but it all fell on her deaf ears. 

        “Only my parents and a handful of a few very close family and
        friends who are nothing short of family who refuse to see me as
        anything but the little boy I once was still call me ‘Bobby’.”
 

Informally, I will accept Robb, my official signature is Robert W Kovacs, formal situations, Robert and lastly formal for certifications etc is Robert William Kovacs.
 

I digress. 

Upon not issuing me a new name tag, I politely thanked her for time and moved on into the main room for the introduction and opening keynote speaker. During the opening keynote, I kept ruminating on the situation in my head what gave them the right to rename me and assume my name is “Bob” as opposed to “Robert” or worst-case scenario, “Robb.” Another one of my quirks, I tend to ruminate over on trivial issues in an attempt to rectify or perhaps handle a similar situation better in the future. They divided the entire audience into four sections based loosely on the registration questionnaire. It was made clear several times when the speaker stated,
 

        “This is not a social event for dating or those looking for a possible
        romantic connection. This is a professional networking event for
        retirees to reengage into the social scene and make new friends.”
 

I already knew men traditionally have less friends and participate in less social activities outside of their workday or immediate family gatherings as they get older. It doesn’t get better for men, as we get older and retire from our careers, we become less social and to find it increasingly harder to meet and make new friends than our female counterparts. As an early retiree; I can concur on both as I didn’t realize how much of my social life revolved around my career and I didn’t really do much to expand my friendship circles since high school as I like to say, life gets in the way of living.

In addition to holding down a a full-time job and establishing my career, I provided respite care and assisted my Mom in caring for my Dad until his passing in 2016. After my Dad’s passing my Mom has been through several serious health issues which interrupted her independence. Even though she remains fiercely independent and blessed to be able to handle most things on her own. I do my best to help her with the physical demands of owning a house and the mental fortitude to make sense of the mountains of paperwork she receives from insurance following every medical appointment.

With that being said, during this time I saw most of my closest friends move on and out of South Florida for careers, marriages or a chance to try something new while I stayed within the same geographical area since Grade 8. I was blessed with a great career with the YMCA of South Florida for just over forty years and was exposed to a variety of positions and have a legacy I am very proud of. However, I missed out the chance to be exposed and network with new and different people, new companies, new cities, etc., I don’t regret the choices I made, I am just learning to adapt to my new journey. 

Ironically, the keynote speaker’s topic was quite along the same lines of stating to put our needs first after years of putting careers, families and other items before our own needs. 

The one takeaway resonated with me. 

        “Today is the gift of the present. Make it count as the day you do
        something for yourself first as tomorrow is never guaranteed.”
 

Later, after the keynote, we separated into the four breakout groups. I inferred the four groups were based broadly on our work experiences and loosely on our educational attainment and to even a lesser extent of other factors from the questionnaire. The groups varied from fifteen to twenty-five participants a facilitator. The group facilitator asked us to form a circle and face each other. Immediately, I felt as if the roles briefly swapped from my days of summer camp director. This time I was the new kid on the first day of summer camp. Much like them, we all started out as strangers and by end of camp became best friends. 

        “Once we make our circle, I need a volunteer to start the ball rolling.” 

The ball was tossed directly my way, I was left with no choice but be the first one catching the ball. You guessed it. As the facilitator threw the soft foam ball randomly, I became the first person to catch the ball and answer the facilitator’s questions of ourselves, 

        “State your name, what kind of career/job you had recently, a
        hobby/interest and something unique about you.” 

I fully accept being a social introvert and dislike being thrusted into being the center of attention but I was not prepared to be the first one to catch the ball and having to introduce myself. 

        “Hi! My name is Robert or you can call me Robb. Despite what
        my name tag says, please don’t call me Bob or any other derivatives
        off of Robert. I retired from being the payroll administrator for my
        organization for over 2000 employees for the last dozen or so years.
 

        In my spare time I am recreational writer/amateur blogger and
        like to catch up on useless tv shows I missed out while I worked
        and went to school full-time since 1988. 

 

        Something unique about me, I worked for the same non-profit 

        organization since I was 14 years-old in vastly different capacities 

        for my entire just over 40 year career with the YMCA of South Florida.“ 

The facilitator smiled and responded.
 

        “Thank you for sharing Bob.” 

Before I passed on the ball to the next random person, I gently yet quickly corrected the facilitator. I thought I’d made it clear and reminded him and the remainder of the group.
 

        “Robert, Robb but never Bob, please.” 

Laughter rippled through the ballroom. I felt as if everyone was laughing at me for being difficult not necessarily for my quick quip of the incorrect name tag and my correcting my what I preferred to be called. The facilitator then went on a mission to explain how we are introduced to others has a lot to do how others perceive us to be. I guess in this case I came across stern, rude, obtrusive and any other negative adjectives to describe me rather than more friendlier and neighborly sounding Bob or Bobby. 

After the laughter calmed down, Again, I explained firmly why I choose to be called Robert or Robb.
 

        “I call myself Robert, because that is the name I lived into and
        answered to everyone outside of my family. It’s the name
        I signed on every legal document, every greeting card and
        anything and everything else of prominence or not.
 

        It’s the name my parents chose for me and the one I chose to
        carry forward with intention. It may sound formal, yes, but
        it’s also my name and I wear it proudly.
 

        Bobby is reserved to very immediate family and takes me back
        to how people perceive me as the little boy they knew fifty
        plus years ago. Bob feels too casual and is someone else’s
        shorthand for who they think I am or might be. 

        The use of Robert is intentional and deliberate. It holds my
        life, my history and most importantly my voice.”
 

When I finished my few moments of a monologue, the room erupted in a roar of applause. My first thoughts, the participants were relieved I finally finished what seemed like a long drawn out speech rather than the few moments where I made my comments before we moved on to the next person. 

Shortly after I finished my comments, the person next to me, shared with me, how I gave him courage to stand up to their preferred name. It was than I recognized the magnitude of my comments may have freed up others to reclaim their own preferred names, their own history and story coming along with their name. 

After all is said and done, I am, Robert W Kovacs, I sealed both my academic history and my professional legacy with this name. My journey, my stories and my history will always be remembered by others as told by none other than Robert, Robb but never Bob.

 

 

 

WHEN YOUR CALLING DID CARRY ON IN MY JOURNEY

In high school, I was definitely reserved; ok, more shy and socially awkward than the social introvert I am today. I was a newbie, as most of my fellow classmates knew each other since elementary or at least middle school and here I came into their realm in Grade 8, where I really didn’t make many friends. By the time I began my freshman year of high school, I was already working part-time at the local YMCA after-school and really didn't get involved in extra-curricular activities that took place after-school.

Over the first few months, I made friends with a few classmates who I sat with at lunch.  A few were much like me and a couple were less socially awkward but by all means did not fit in the popular and cool kids cliche.  Out of this small niche, I am still touch with two of them.  I consider one of them my closest friends, almost like a brother, though he no longer lives in South Florida.  The other is a very close friend, though we don't talk as often, we pick up conversation as we didn't skip a beat.  She, too, no longer lives in South Florida.  

I don't recall who recruited me to be part of the class cabinet, a leadership club much like student council but on a grade level.  They said its were all the popular and cool kids hung out and I can begin to make more friends.  Even a few teachers steered me towards getting involved with the class cabinet or other extra-curricular activities to meet others.  Although my involvement was limited to activities held during the school day or weekends due to my job responsibilities.  I joined the class cabinet and it was here I was introduced to Mrs. Sandra Carrion. I was offered opportunities to participate and support the efforts of the class cabinet in ways I could with my limited time availability.

I never had Mrs Carrion as a Spanish teacher and only got to know her only as the class cabinet faculty sponsor.  As I recall, It was not until my junior year of Spanish, my teacher required her class to visit other “countries” (aka the other Spanish teachers) and have our “passports” stamped by having conversations in Spanish as part of a class grade requirements. I can barely handle speaking my native tongue of Hungarian let alone grasp Spanish.  This is when I got to know Mrs. Carrion on a more one-to-one level through our "passport" conversations . With her patience, prompting and perseverance, I passed my Spanish class as she made me want to do nothing but my best and ultimately I became more engaged in the class cabinet.

Cheers to you Mrs. Carrion, for the incredible human being touching not just my life but many of my friends and generations of others. Your sincere love for teaching and the students in a friendly yet no-nonsense approach left little room for any inappropriate behavior issues to arise.

It is with my honor, I present to my acrostic poem sharing my story of the difference she made in me.  With love from one of your forever grateful students, from the great class of 1988, South Broward High School!

 

=========   

 

Speaking Spanish was not my thing, nor had you as a teacher,
But I was part of the graduating class of eighty-eight,
Here I had the pleasure to get to know you and then you, me.

Seems like it was only yesterday when all of this happened,
Being in class cabinet, your impact left a streak in me,
Until recently, I never even gave it second thoughts.

Looking back on my legacy filled career, it all made sense,
Leadership, public speaking, teamwork, fundraising skills and more,
Developed many of the skills I needed for my career.

Our friendship of teacher and student grew over the years,
God blessed me with only the best to join me in my journey.
Since I still lived in the area, I tried to keep in touch.

Stopped by when I could, catching you up with my life’s happenings,
Even though visits were infrequent, brief and not quite enough.
Never felt anything less than welcomed, like close family.

Over the years, on campus visits became more difficult,
Reminiscing my high school days is all I thought I had left,
As offsite get togethers were difficult to coordinate.

Some of my darkest days, you helped me find my light once again,
Always available to lend me your compassionate ear,
Not knowing how much that meant, I can’t thank you enough today.

Dreading the days, I came to get my class “passport” stamped by you,
Rarely, I was able to carry a full conversation,
Albeit, patiently you helped me through those dreaded minutes.

Cheerfully, you greeted us with your warm welcoming smile,
Allowing us to come as we were and helped us find ourselves,
Reaching out, by offering a helping hand or a lifeline.

Real teachers knew it’s not always of classroom lessons learned,
Instead, it’s the knowledge gained to become better citizens,
Only those lives you touched know the difference you created.

Not knowing, when you answered the calling you heard long ago,
Those impacted yesterday, still speak fondly of you today.
You helped make my high school days not just easier but better.

Cherished memories of those days still bring smiles years later,
Once I realized you held a key piece of my life’s puzzle,
I had to express my gratitude and appreciation.

Perhaps the debt of gratitude I owe was paid back in full,
Besides passing on the calling to the next generation,
But remaining grateful for you being part of my journey. 

 

WHEN THE WINDS WHISPERED ME MY CALLING

I don’t
recall when
nor how early,
but my ears too,
heard the calling,
just as my mentors
did a generation earlier.

 
When I first heard the winds,
they whispered my name,
like a soothsayer,
reading my fortune,
through her crystal ball,
telling me my tale
for all my tomorrows.

 
She started sharing, 

“Your efforts, didn’t go wayside or go unnoticed.”

“You’ve been good with kids, of all ages and 

especially those with different abilities, pre-school and 

those like you, as demonstrated by your success 

working with them at your job. 

I believe you just found your own calling.”

In a sense,
without knowing,
albeit not in a classroom,
of an elementary school,
I, too became a teacher but
at the local YMCA and its
facility rich campus. 

This was the beginning
of what became my career.
of just over forty years,
my roles changed,
through varied
departments
and different
disciplines
and capacities.

I remained,
a teacher of
my own calling.
Whether
working in.
summer day camps
or
child care programs
or
in my
later years,
training the next generation,
in becoming part of this
international movement,
known simply, as the YMCA. 

Looking back,
my school days,
I coasted by many classes,
some just did enough for a pass,
even aced a few, where I favored either
a course or a teacher, or in a rare case, both. 

I remained lucky,
the hand I was dealt with,
resulted in a poker’s royal flush.
When it came to my teachers,
the greater than majority,
heard their calling early
and made learning fun
and taught in ways
beyond textbooks.

They answered without question,
dancing and singing to their joy,
knowing how to make that difference,
in teaching just one right lesson,
peaking a student’s interest,
who needs a helping hand,
finding their own way
with life’s struggle
not letting go of
their student’s
hand until
success
was met. 

My memory recalls, as I remember, always when asked,

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” 

Waving my hand to be the first one to say,
“I want to be a teacher!”
 

Just like them,
I wasn’t looking
for a short work day,
nor one with every holiday
then a full summer off with pay or,
sprinkled with more than a handful of
negotiated half days of work due to whatever.

I wanted to answer the calling,
heard by so many of my teachers,
so I can honor and thank them,
for their investment in me,
by my depositing my gift
on the next generation
of differently abled
learners whom
were just like
me in a way
or another. 

Each day,
I prayed and hoped
I was making a difference,
just like the ones did with me. 

I always wanted to be the one,
who sang my own song,
though I couldn’t sing a tune,
who danced my own dance,
though I own two left feet.
I always wanted to be the one,
cheering for the underdog,
reminding me, I was one too! 

I knew,
how to relate
and make the
connection
one student
at a time.

With the common denominators,
setting the stage for success,
uncovered hidden talents,
stayed present with me,
expanded my interests,
showed interest in me,
its only then they built
the foundation of
something larger
we created together. 

I still prayed and hoped,
in becoming a teacher,
then I was reminded,
I too, became a teacher
albeit not in school or
traditional classroom,
where a teacher’s desk
was replaced by a
playground and
outdoor field or
singing camp songs
on a bus to our next
summer camp trip.

When the day’s winds changed direction and felt warmer, 

the soothsayer returned, 

she shared her final words with me.
I leaned in,

listened to her whisper, 

once again, with an open ear.
 

With her final words, she thanked me and 

reflected on my yesterdays then reminded me, 

“Its time to take care of you, its time to reward yourself, 

its time for you to bring everything to a close. 

It’s time to pass the torch, 

just as it was done for you so many years earlier.”

I kept my promise,
I danced to my own song, with my two left feet.
Through my tear-soaked eyes,
seeing all the interest earned by my investments.
in the faces of many whose lives I impacted.

I left,
with them
laughing with me,
as they too,
chased their own calling,

as I heard them say in unison,
“Please don’t let Mr Robert sing!”
as I sang, my final and one last song.

 

 

 

THE PRESENT IS THE GIFT OF HIS PROMISE

Before
I check out
my day’s end,
I prepare,
for a night’s,
well deserved,
night’s sleep.

With a prayer I seek… 
God’s wisdom,
His guidance,
His comfort,
His peace.

While not fully asleep,
but not quite fully awake, 
I heard Him,
deliver an answer.
Intertwined messages,
through milestones 
of my own life.
I had to unravel, 
before the answer
became omnipresent.

Yesterday I was torn,
today was difficult,
tomorrow will be hard,
Wednesday will be challenging,
Thursday will be harder,
Friday will be hardest,
Saturday I have survived,
with plenty of scars, cuts, bruises,
Sunday I will begin healing, 

Just as He promised, 
the answer was always present,
He just brought it into clear focus,
for my mortal eyes to see.

As I remember Him saying,

“Quit looking back, it’s the past,
you can only playback memories,
as you cannot change yesterday’s.

Lastly, not worry about tomorrow’s
only prepare to embrace them,
not waste today with tomorrow.

My child of mine, 
just remember,
in my time or yours,
all will be resolved,
one day at a time.”

That’s 
where I begin,
with a promise
I made to myself,
by no longer;
chasing my career,
testing my tenacity,
perfecting my plans,
doubting my decisions,
accepting my adversity,
dates with my deadlines,
ruminating my resilience,
conquering my challenges,
masquerading my motivation,
compromising my confidence,
worrying on worthless exchanges,

Instead I will invest in,
give more and take less,
slow down not speeding,
accept all and not be aloof,
learn tolerance and not judge,
take time to hear not just listen, 
apologize from my heart not mind, 
forgive genuinely and not bear grudges, 
make friends with everyone not enemies, 
offer a helping hand not expect a handout,
create more memories to cherish not to recreate,
fulfill promises as made not just make empty ones,
learn to say “no” is just as important as saying “yes”,
make every moment count, not, count each moment “to-do”,
set goals to achieve, for today, short term and tomorrow’s long day,
leave earth a better place with a legacy than when I received it,

It’s only when I can accept myself,
I can mark each day’s end,
With a prayer,
I thank God,
For His Blessings,
For today’s gift,
The present,
Each and every day,
Ultimately making me,
A better person tomorrow,
Then all my yesterdays combined.

 

 

 

 

ITS TIME TO SEW BACK OUR TORN NATION

The other day, a profound numbness came over me. It wasn’t caused by a single headline but by hours of relentless news at my mother’s house, where the local station is often on. It was a culmination of not just the one day of news but a month or more of hearing the bombardment of negativity being spewed by the local news station. Story after story of tragedy, anger and division wore me down until my emotions felt trapped in a cycle without resolution. I am beyond heartbroken of news over the last several weeks, maybe even months and possibly years of hearing of innocent people losing their lives at the hands of what I only could call the devil in human disguise. But I’m trying to keep to most recent times. No matter where you stand, I turned to prayer, but instead of finding answers, I was left with only with more questions. As it often happens when the weight of the world presses in, insomnia came to visit again.

What troubles me most is not only the events themselves, but how deeply fractured our country has become. Regardless of political leanings, most of us agree, we want what’s best for America. Yet, the way we are pursuing it often feels destructive, less about compromise and more about vilifying one another. Disagreement has become disdain, and disdain has become division, which often leads to violent behaviors being exposed.

As a first-generation American, this breaks my heart, it goes against everything I was taught and lead to believe what made America so different and envied by those who would do just about anything to escape their homelands to have a chance at opportunity, freedom and a better life. We, as Americans are supposed to be the example and the light for the rest of the world to follow. My parents came to this country with little more than determination and a belief that America offered opportunity if you were willing to work hard. They became naturalized citizens, raised me to value integrity, kindness, and perseverance and taught me to be the best I could be at whatever I chose to do. Those values shaped my life. At one time, these same values once shaped much of our national identity. Today, however, they are too often drowned out by the noise of partisan extremes.

The Pledge of Allegiance speaks “one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.” Lately, we seem anything but indivisible. It appears to me more we label ourselves and each other, by race, politics, gender, or beliefs, the more fragmented and divided we become. Even our flag and the mention of God, symbols meant to unite us, now spark contention. Instead of finding strength in diversity, we seem to treat differences as lines that cannot be crossed.

Our nation has become a nation of political extremes rather than a compassionate nation lead by leaders of both parties whose polarized extremes are promoting agendas which are subliminally fed through gas lighting truths to us through mainstream media and social networking. This is not what our America is about!

This division plays out most starkly in how stories are told. Some tragedies dominate headlines for weeks, while others are barely mentioned. Recently, when a young Ukrainian woman recently lost her life to senseless violence, the coverage was minimal. Yet in another case, a Marine veteran who acted to protect subway passengers was thrust into the spotlight, vilified long before his acquittal. These contrasts fuel mistrust and frustration.

The point is not to deny the complexity of these events but to ask: why do we measure outrage differently depending on who is involved? Why do some victims become symbols while others are forgotten? When media narratives amplify certain stories and minimize others, public trust erodes, and resentment grows.

The truth is, these tragedies, whether mass shootings, political violence, or targeted attacks are not just isolated events. They are symptoms of something deeper: the erosion of civil discourse, the normalization of hostility and the failure of our institutions to protect the vulnerable.

For me, the breaking point came with the shocking assassination of Charlie Kirk in September 2025. Regardless of one’s views of him, his murder polarized the nation further instead of prompting sober reflection. Violence should never be a substitute for debate. Our Constitution protects the right to disagree, without that, democracy itself crumbles.

I ask, where do we go from here? I believe our nation needs a reset, a collective reminder that being American comes before being Republican or Democrat. We need leaders who can rise above partisan loyalty and remember that compromise is not betrayal. Just as importantly, we need citizens willing to listen to one another without assuming the worst.

America has always been strongest when diverse voices contribute to a shared future. Think of a hearty soup: each ingredient has its own flavor, but together they create something greater. After September 11, 2001, we saw what unity could look like. For a brief moment, differences faded as Americans stood shoulder to shoulder in grief and resolve. If we could find that spirit once, we can find it again.

But unity doesn’t begin in Washington or on the evening news. It begins with us as individuals, taking the first steps. With saying “I love you” more often. With listening to people whose views we don’t share, not to argue but taking time to understand. With performing one small act of kindness, expecting nothing in return. Healing won’t come from a single sweeping gesture, it will come from millions of small ones.

History offers hopeful reminders. President Ronald Reagan and Speaker Tip O’Neill often clashed bitterly on policy, yet they found ways to work together and even maintained a close friendship built on mutual respect. Their example shows how disagreement does not have to end in destruction; it can coexist with decency.

Tonight, I may still wrestle with sleeplessness. I may still pray for answers that don’t come easily. But I will hold on to this belief: America can still reclaim its better self. We can still choose reconciliation over resentment, compassion over contempt and unity over division.

The choice is ours. We can let our fractures deepen until they break us or we can begin stitching the torn fabric of our nation back together. Our nation cannot begin to heal until the day we realize the proverbial saying, “the right wing and the left wing are part of the same bird, only then can it fly” (like an eagle to make America great). The latter part of the sentence in parenthesis is my creative license to be applicable to this post.

For my part, I choose to believe that each of us can play a role in healing. Maybe, if, just enough of us do our small part, then one day soon I and many others will finally be able to get a good night’s sleep.