Phantom Pain

Pain is one of the hardest things in life, and thus the prevalence of "pain killers." entertainments and self forgetfullnesses which are so dominant in our culture. When I was taking physical risks to deal with libido and perhaps boredom, I also took on some abrasions, concussions, etc. (luckily never broke a bone) and the like. And at that time, especially the fifties, these were referred to as phantom pain when they came back later as "memory" in the bones and muscles. It was only later that I found out that this popular culture term was really to be thought of in terms of amputations, and undoubtedly my dear Uncle Joe, who lost a leg in Leyte in the Second World War, probably had phantom pain for the rest of his life (although we never spoke about it).

Denial is as prevalent as pain, and they are very often intertwined. Fear is also a driver in this venue, and part of the risks I took in surfing, car and motorcycle racing were undoubtedly driven by these crazy mixtures. I liked to be "on the edge," and my favorite color, orange, is, in part because of the caution light, neither stop or go, but ... The only traffic ticket I have ever gone to court to beat was because of a ticket given to me for running the caution light. I lost, but the judge did not fine me because of the philosophical discussion we had. Just a warning,

It was strange to feel sometimes in the past a dull pain in the side of my face where I took a punch from an unknown assailant in a Bremerhaven bar. Or a pain in the femur where another hit occurred at one time or another, and others too. And I can well remember ship mates and others recalling events in their lives because a pain had returned in their bodies and brought back a memory that they had thought was forgotten. Most of these pains are gone for me at this age, but once in awhile something shows up and as age progresses it is harder and harder to have an "a ha" about it.

I have asked a couple of doctor acquaintances to let me know if there is a proper word for this phenomena ... as opposed to the improper phantom pain or just plain pain. Why? Because it is something different than just a memory of pain, deeper & a little more mysterious. The other day my arthritic (right) hand took on another pain, deeper, and I had to look way into the past and see if that might be the phantom of a punch I had thrown way back then.

Regrets

Age seems to bring with it regrets. Reading an astonishing book by Diane Aphill on her aging experience, it was fascinating to read her thoughts on the subject. Her two main regrets were: a tough central core of her character ("a nub of coldness at the center"), and laziness (cowardice). I think I share her regret about the coldness, my second would be impatience (which brought about some indecision and procrastination). Regrets are largely futile, but important none-the-less. I highly recommend her "Somewhere Towards the End' a memoir," a very deep and pervasive book.

Japanese-Americans

My first encounter with an American of Japanese ancestry was at the local Silvermart as a child. Sent to the store to pickup things for my Mother, I noticed the beauty of the fruits and vegetables in the produce dept. The man who arranged and maintained this was Japanese-American, called a "greengrocer" at that time, as I recall. Unfortunately he would vanish at the same time as the Japanese orphans who lived over the hill and attended the local elementary school.

One traumatic event that happened when all these children were taken to an interment camp was that one of the children had to leave his dog behind, and this became one of the dramatic happenings of my youth. My family couldn't take the animal for him, and thus we became part of the search group to place him. Meanwhile I was able to get to know the boy through his grief. We did find someone and my hope is that the dog was reunited with the boy after the war (but that would be highly unlikely).

The last time I had the pleasure of knowing someone of Japanese ancestry was at sea. Turns out that one of my shipmates had been in an internment camp and was willing to share stories with me about this (stories which, for the most part, had not been told here-to-fore in the media.) And so we would sit in mess hall late at night and he would open up to me, the unbelievable heat and cold in the desert barracks they lived in, how barren and uncomfortable it was, how exceedingly difficult for his parents, siblings and neighbors.

After I got back to L.A. I looked him up. We had talked about small boats earlier and he was interested in a sail. I was crewing on a double ender which had a smaller version available to me for day sailing. We went down to Yacht Haven in San Pedro, hoisted the sails and made our way toward the main channel. Problem was that I didn't notice that storm flags were flying and when we sailed out beyond the shelter of a wharf we took a knock down ... very close to one of the California Bear freighters which was coming down the channel. It was embarrassing to have to accept a tow by a stinkpot Chris Craft in order to get back to the slip. Unfortunately the ill fated sail concluded our communication with each other. Too bad. I hope he and my schoolmate from earlier on have had a better time of their lives.