A Little Awkie, A Little Big Man

What’s a “Little Awkie”? What about “Little Big Man”? Actually, they’re “who” questions. Both were nicknames given to me at one time or another. In both instances it took me years to figure out what the heck they meant.

Although they might sound like Indian names, they are not.

Dubbed Little Awkie by dad, it seemed quaint when I was a kid. Fortunately, it was only used in the presence of the immediate family. But I had never questioned or really thought about its importance until later in life.

The affectionate nicknames dad gave my two younger sisters were apparent. Susie was “Susie Q”. The baby of the family, Sally, was “Brat” because she was “always there” in your face chatter-talking. By the age of five, the four of us other kids had so often told her to “Shut up!” that she developed an ulcer. Imagine that! A family full of brats.

Other of my siblings had their own nicknames, all of which came from dad. “Brat” became the affectionate name for the baby in the family, Sally. The name fit perfectly. Born seven years after the next youngest family member, her presence became an annoyance to the rest of us four kids.

Sally was "always there”, chatter-talking, always wanting attention . She usually got her way because there wasn’t much anyone could do about it. It became so bad that at some point we started telling her to “shut up”, and yet she was the most loved member of the family and got plenty of attention without her intruding on our privacy for what seemed every moment of our days.

Although we reminisce about it now as a fond (?) memory and joke (?!?!) about it, Sally developed an ulcer, and I say this with guilt, at the age of five years old. Imagine that! A family of brats! Needless to say, we effectively became respectful to the needs of the Brat as dictated by mom - we had to "grin and bear it". An amount of annoyance was still there; we just didn’t yell at her anymore.

Although Susie, the closest in age to myself, was called “Susie Q”. Since Dale Hawkins had made the song of the same name in 1957, when Susie was five years old, it wasn’t entirely unique. There was also an affectionate expression that whenever Susie fell asleep with a child’s exhaustion after a long day of activities was a takeoff of another 1957 song by the Everly Brothers, “Wake up little Susie, it’s time to go to bed.” Then she’d be swept up in dad's arms and carried off to bed with hardly a stir of awareness to what was happening.

I don’t remember my older sister, Nancy, of having a nickname but as she became a young adult and brought one of her boyfriends, Roger, to family gatherings dad would refer to him as the “big dummy”. The name fit so perfectly but never used in his presence. I don’t remember dad ever calling the man by his Christian name.

Since he had a good tinge of red hair, my older and only brother, Russell, was simply called Rusty when he was little and Russ as he approached adulthood except for mom who never gave up using his given name.

It wasn’t until after dad passed away that I pondered the significance of being Little Awkie. As I thought back to when I was but a little runt, I had a tendency to be “awkward”!

The single incident I vividly remember was when, ignoring mom’s oft-said directive, “Don’t run in the house!”, I whacked my head on the wooden base of what seemed a monster of a living room chair. Now barely noticeable, a one-inch scar on my forehead is a reminder of that summer afternoon when I bawled. Even then I hadn’t learned my lesson as I went running to mom for comfort. She tended to the gash as she scolded, “I told you not to…..”

There’s another scar at the base of my chin from falling off my bike and scraping a few layers of skin onto the sidewalk. Doctor Pauley said I’d never be able to use a straight razor. Many years later, I proved him wrong when I tempted fate. I didn’t bleed to death.

What does “Little Big Man” portend? When living in Orlando, Paul, my next-door neighbor’s son, gave a friendly wave from his dad’s driveway when he name-called me those words.

Having spoken to Paul on various occasions, although he had a full head of dreadlocks, which might imply social profiling on my part, he spoke as a more intelligent communicator and a better educated professional than myself. So the labeling confused me, thinking “little” was somehow derogatory. A few years later, when I was lifting this and hefting that while landscaping the front and back yards of my home here in Spring Hill, it dawned on me how I was always doing some pretty strenuous yard work.

On one occasion Lenny, Paul’s dad, saw me struggling to uproot a monstrous, sickly, ugly ligustrum bush. Lenny came over welding a machete to help, leaving me to finish the job on my own. I accomplished the task without being a Little Awkie about it. So, although small in stature, I constantly tackle jobs that others might consider too big to handle, saving themselves time but at a cost. Well, I’d rather do it myself! Another mystery solved.

Although neither Little Awkie or Little Big Man are Indian names, there’s still a bit of American Indian in my views on life and death.

Some twenty years ago I had wisely set up a living will with instructions that in the event of being in a coma, or some other life threatening condition where I’m left unconscious, rather than pulling the plug, don’t plug in the contraptions to begin with. No going “totally tubular” for me.

Indian names or not, I’ve long envisioned myself following the American Indian tradition whereby, as I grow weak in body but still sound of mind, I should walk with nature through the wilderness along a path of Mother Earth toward oneness with the universe to rejoin the Great Spirit, or My Maker, the center of all being.

Okay, I admit the scenario might only be a fanciful myth scripted by writers for the big screen. But, to me, the idea has a certain attraction.

No last minute decisions, no end-of-life consultation, no pointless hospital charges that would take away from leaving my beneficiaries whatever life-side possessions I may have accumulated. In other words, no going “totally tubular” for me. Becoming a natural part of the food chain seems right.

I should have no regrets. There should be few tears from anyone, save in the event of an untimely, accidental death. Just remember the good times. As mom used to philosophize, “When it’s your time to go, it’s your time to go”. My dear mother was kept alive on life support until I arrived to take part in the pulling-of-the-plug ceremony. Pointless. She was already gone.

Salt Licks and Me, Too

“But I’m not old”, said the young man in his mid-twenties when I suggested he was loading his food with too much salt. I didn’t bother to argue but I assure you, not out of retribution for the inconsiderate comment about age. Most young people remain fearless in all aspects of life, especially health concerns, until bad habits result in threats upon their lives. Sorry guy, but you are what you eat. Even though salt is a preservative in processed foods, it doesn’t extend the life of humans.

Call it atheroslerosis or arteriosclerosis, excess amounts of salt damage the elasticity of and contributes to the hardening of the arteries as does smoking cigarettes, high blood pressure, diabetes and a diet high in saturated fats. Leading to increased levels of cholesterol under the inner lining of artery walls adds to the risks of strokes and heart attacks.

True, as a kid one I did my fair share of salting everything from gravy and mashed potatoes to vegetables I might not have otherwise eaten except for the strict rules set at the dinner table. Salt made the food more palatable.

Instead of French fries, we had oven-baked crinkly cut potatoes and I rationalized that, since I didn’t use ketchup, the volume of granules streaming from the saltshaker was no worse.

It would have been blasphemy to salt my favorite meal of made-from-scratch Spanish rise with mom’s special ingredient (yellow mustard). It was befitting that this was the last meal she fixed for me before she passed away. Just about everything else was subject to a good sprinkling. Buttered popcorn. Goulash. Apples. Thinking back those fifty years, people even salted watermelon, including myself. .

Even though I grew up on a farm with all kinds of fresh veggies, I wouldn’t eat tomatoes unless cooked in one of the many dishes that graced the dinner table. Others did and if they didn’t cover tomato slices with sugar, salt was used as a flavor enhancer.

Potato chips, peanuts, pretzels and many other packaged foods that are still salt-ready were real treats because they were rationed, as was pop. As sure as my parents would head out to play euchre on Saturday nights, it was Nehi and chips for us kids. Thursdays were pop and popcorn night, and an apple afterward, because Friday was vacuum day.

‘Salt licks’ were placed in pasture fields for cattle in the spring and summer. No, I didn’t get down on my hands and knees and partake with the cows but, before being placed on the ground, a chip off the salt block provided for an exotic taste with a variety of added minerals! Calcium, iron, phosphorous and zinc.

My first pizza was Chef-Boy-R-Despicable in the box. Only the provided ingredients - dough and some abomination of tomato sauce and grated cheese. No added toppings. Everybody agreed, just the one time was once too many.

My first real pizza was at Pizza Hut, 1970. Working odd hours, from sunrise to mid-afternoon at a radio station, I braved it on my own. It was delicious! Small, hand-tossed with a ham topping, I relished it all to myself. No salt then but somewhere along the way it too became a habit. Talk about a constriction of the arteries! I gave it up years ago – the salt, not pizza.

Over the past five decades advancements in medical research have proven excess salt also increases the risk of stomach cancer, kidney stones, eye problems and bone loss, thus osteoporosis, later in life.

The 1990 Nutrition Labeling and Education Act required food companies to begin what we have become accustomed to see on over 6.5 million packaged products. Inclusive of the ‘Natural Facts’ are Recommended Daily Allowance figures for diets consisting of 2,000 calories.

Serving size, calorie count, calories from fat, saturated fat, dietary fiber, and sodium levels have all become attention getters. I now balance my diet with fruits and vegetables, which I prefer raw with no side dips. Salads go without dressings. A few olives (calories and salt content noted) and slices of cucumber marinated in diluted white vinegar suits me just fine. Kind of odd to some but who should judge my culinary delights?

One wonderful discovery has been ‘no salt added’ products, particularly stewed tomatoes which I use a lot. I kid you not, there’s a difference of 1% versus 13% RDA. The Great Value deal is a generic brand that costs half the price of name-brand packaging. Frozen dinners are laced with two to three times as much salt.

Successfully reducing my salt intake, I can still satisfy the craving by continuing to follow instructions given by my periodontist to swish a warm, mild saltwater solution that helps to heal mouth sores and strengthen gums. I just don’t swallow.

Don't forget the dental floss

A friend once asked, Don’t you ever run out of things to write about?, to which I smiled, chuckled and gave the simple reply, No. A current event, a discussion or a social observation might trigger a thought process that finds find my fingertips streaming along the keyboard. In this instance, a personal experience bring these words to print.

A twelve-inch piece of dental floss and the subsequent expense of one thousand, one hundred seventy five dollars and twenty-five cents have led to comments on health care.

When the veterinarian quoted the seemingly astronomical figure to save the life of my Burmese cat Elvis, the dearest of my animal friends, I barely flinched. Rather than dwell on dollar signs, my mind centered on the tragic event caused by leaving the floss on the bathroom sink and how I had cost my three year old cat two or more of his lives. The vet explained that other pet owners are frequently faced with circumstances similar to mine. The nylon thread was imbedded in the intestinal wall, thus necessitating surgery.

As I waited for x-rays to be taken, my eyes gazed upon a pamphlet that displayed the threats of periodontal disease of cats and dogs. The heart, kidneys and liver absorb toxins from the poor condition of the teeth and gums. I was already familiar with the danger to the human heart and shouldn’t have been surprised to learn that all mammals are subject to the same health dangers.

I’ve spent three decades attempting to preserve my teeth and gums by flossing, gargle-washing and brushing at least twice daily. Twenty years ago periodontal surgery was necessary and this past fall molars had to be extracted. Quarterly check-ups and the guidance of periodontists throughout the years hadn’t prevented the worsening of the condition.

In some cases periodontal disease is hereditary. I assume this the case in my instance since I remember how Mom flossed fastidiously, although there is no known family history to claim this as fact.

Poor tooth and gum care aren’t the only causes of periodontal disease. Since diabetics are inherently susceptible to contracting infections, gum disease is one of the acknowledged complications. If not treated, periodontal patients are also at risk of developing diabetes, which can lead to nerve damage and eye and heart diseases.

Simply put, oral bacteria enters the blood stream, becomes attached to fatty plaques in the coronary arteries and contributes to clot formation, restricting normal blood flow and robbing the nutrients and oxygen required for the heart to function properly. This may lead to a stroke or heart attack.

High levels of stress (think financial worries) increase the likelihood of gum disease two-fold. The lack of proper care during troubling episodes of adulthood can be an attributing factor as a result of a regimented routine being disrupted. Good habits can die quick.

Periodontal disease is the number one cause of tooth loss. According to a 1996 American Dental Association/Colgate survey, U.S. dentists say gum disease is a more pressing oral health concern than tooth decay by a 2-to-1 margin.

Studies have also found that rheumatoid arthritis patients are nearly eight times more likely to have periodontal disease. And although studies have found 60% of periodontal patients are twice as likely to have chronic kidney disease, more research needs to be done to link the two together.

During periods of hormonal changes, such as puberty, menstruation and menopause, women become more susceptible to gum disease. Pregnant women are said to be seven times more likely to deliver pre-term, low birth weight babies.

The first signal of gum disease, gingivitis, is sensitivity to hot and cold liquids. The build-up of plaque (tartar) along the gum line due in swollen gums and possible bleeding. Pockets develop as irreversible bone loss leads to further irritation to the gums.

This leads me to concerns about the discussion of health care reform. Unless dental care is inclusive to the dialogue, the health of millions of Americans will remain at a high-risk level. Data from 2005 shows $86.6B was spent on dental care (44% out-of-pocket, 50% private insurance and 6% paid through public programs). And yet, 70% of Americans have no dental coverage and of that figure, 35% forgo an annual dental check-up.

Universal health care isn’t likely to resolve the shortcomings of the medical necessities for the populous. Overall costs could be contained with minimal dental coverage. Without this consideration, gum disease will leave millions of Americans requiring unnecessary medical attention for deteriorating heart, kidney and liver conditions.

Darwin’s Theory of Evolution, “survival of the fittest”, specifically applies to those with periodontal disease. Dental care coverage could curb eventual medical expenses and save lives.