I Was Not Born Into Money, But I Was Born Into Love

We all have different measures, levels, and definitions of success. For me? Success is living joyfully, prosperously, and generously; surrounded by good friends, family, and trusted colleagues, all of whom believe in, support, encourage and invest their time, and yes, sometimes, their money, into making our lives and associations work productively.

Let's be real: both love and money make the world go 'round. But it's about keeping it all in the balance, proper perspective, and priority and true understanding of what that all means; keeping your eye, the entire time, on the prize. But what is that prize? It's different for everyone, isn't it?

Again, for me, it was about moving to Los Angeles to become a "star," whatever that meant. As the years passed, "making it" in "Hollywood," became less important, while appreciating what really matters in life became more important. And I came to that decision after much trial and error; after many moves back and forth between my hometown of Rochester, NY and Los Angeles; after deciding to care for both of my parents in their elderly, ill years - and not doing that for any other reason other than I loved them.

There was no estate to inherit; no massive bank account from which to gain dividends, etc. I cared for them because I loved them. Pure and simple. And I don't regret one minute of it, even as I did so during a period in my life when a person is supposed to get married, have children, buy a home, secure and invest in a financial future. I did none of those things, and I admit it was to tough to watch as my friends did all of those things.

And so, now, here I am, all these years later; a writer, an author, a producer, a performer, an executive, and it's all happening for me. Sometimes, it takes longer for some than others to succeed. But at the same time, I have had a measure of success in every area of my life since the day I was born. I may not have been born into money, but I was born into Love. I may not have made all the right early financial decisions, but I made all of the right spiritual ones.

And I am the man today because of everything that has brought me to this moment, for better or worse. I consider myself a loving-kind, generous, intelligent, accomplished human being, who has been assisted in life by countless individuals, none of the least of whom have been my closest family members, my dearest friends, and a few cherished colleagues. I am who I am because someone, somewhere along the line cared about me and made me feel I was worth something to them - and the world.

Indeed, what a successful life I have lived and continue to live on a daily basis because of so many wonderful, beautiful souls. Blessings to each of those who have loved me, and taken the time to care for me and about me and my work. As I have said many times before, you all know who you are.

"Don't Mess With My Son"

I used to be picked on when I was a little kid, mostly every day, and mostly because I was cute and talented, and in many instances, cuter and more talented than any of the other kids, especially the other little boys, the bullies, who were always jealous of me because I had all the little girls after me.

As a result, every day I would be called dreadful names or be physically assaulted in some way.

But through it all, there was my Mom, who would stick up for me and do my battles for me.

And when I would want to fight back, she would say, “Don’t you dare, Herbie J. Don’t you be like them. Don’t dirty your hands.”

Then, one day, the bullying got so bad, that my Mom went across the street to the house where not one but two bullies lived - they were brothers. Yes, I was double-teamed against. But then my Mom demanded to speak to their mother. In tears, she cried and said to the other Mom, “My son can’t walk down the street without one of your sons making a remark or picking up on him in some way. I want it to stop!”

My usually docile, never-bothered-anybody Mom was now standing firm in her faith; practicing what she always preached; realizing that Love was not a doormat; and not being lukewarm, but confirming that sometimes it’s okay to be hot under the collar, especially when it came to the protection of the son she loved.

So, as my Mom stood there, furious and in tears, the message was clear: “Don’t mess with my son.”

Sadly, Mom is gone today, and incredible as it may seem, there are still the adult bullies of the world who attack me today; the mean-spirited, the insecure bullies who make an easy target of good-hearted souls like myself who they envy. But they don’t envy me because of my talents; they envy me because of my sincerity, which scares them. They are so busy being insincere in their everyday lives, that they simply do not understand sincerity when they see it; and in order for them to make themselves “okay,” they feel the need to lash out at the sincere for being sincere.

And that’s okay. I forgive them. As we should all forgive anyone who hurts us.

If we don’t, then we become like them. We “dirty our hands,” as my Mom would say.

And that’s just not productive.

We just have to be at peace in knowing that the bullies of the world...are hurting…and dealing with their jealousies; their lack of self-worth and inability to be sincere.

They try to take the good-hearted with character assassinations, and the good-hearted have no choice to all allow this: the good-hearted and sincere can’t lash out…because the more they lash out the weaker they will appear.

So the good-hearted just have to let Love and Forgiveness and the all good Moms on Earth and in Heaven do the battling.

It’s what Love, and Forgiveness, and Heaven and Moms were made for.

Blessing Babies

One of my Mom's many endearments was that she used to bless everyone with her Rosary, including me, especially after each visit to her home.  And she would do so before and after she was diagnosed with dementia.

I would walk outside to my car, turn, and there'd she be, standing at her front window, with her Rosary in hand, blessing me with the Sign of the Cross.

That said, the Democrat and Chronicle, the local newspaper from my hometown of Rochester, New York, publishes an annual baby announcement supplement with photos of all the infants born in the previous year.

A few months before my Mom passed away in 2008, I remember walking into her apartment that year on the day the supplement.

She was sitting on her sofa, with the supplement on her lap.  Her left hand was holding steady the supplement; her right hand was holding her Rosary, the crucifix from which she was using to tap the photo of each infant.

When I asked her what she was doing, she replied, "Blessing babies."

We should all have such dementia...or at least be graced enough to be "blessed" - at any age - by who does.

Roe, Wade, My Mom and Me

I live in Cerritos, and I usually try and attend the daily 6:30 AM Mass at St. Pancratious Church in Lakewood.

But I had an appointment today in Burbank and figured I would not be attending church this morning.

At least, I thought would not be...until earlier this morning, when I awakened with this thought:

I can attend the 8:00 AM in at St. Finbar's Church in Burbank, which I used to attend all the time when I lived in Burbank.

So, I was good to go.

But due to the usually-congested traffic on the 5 Freeway between Cerritos and Burbank, I had to go by 6:00 AM.

Then once on the freeway, and half-way to Burbank, I realized I forgot my rosary, a rainbow-colored rosary that once belonged to my Mom.  It's the only one I have left from her collection of rosaries, including a dark green rosary that I lost in Florida when I lived and worked there a few years back.

Though disappointed about my lack of rosary in hand, I continued on to St. Finbar's in Burbank.

Upon arrival, I started toward to the left middle pews of St. Finbar's to where is my usual spot in any church I attend, mostly because that general area is where I also used sit in church as a kid, and especially whenever I would attend Mass with my Mom.

Before taking my seat, however, I ran into a friend of mine in the vestibule who lived in my former apartment building when I resided in Burbank.  We were happy to see one another and I thought after, "Wow...what a coincidence."

But I had not seen anything yet, as in, "You ain't seen nothin' yet."

When I eventually walked to my side of the church inside, I found my regular pew, to the left of stands a statue of Jesus.  I kneeled, said my initial prayer, sat down in the pew, and waited for Mass to begin.

As the priest and those assisting entered from behind the altar in front of me I happened to turn to the pew behind me, and noticed a rosary, hanging over the front part of the bench.

I'm like, "Alright!  I have a rosary for Mass!"

It was only after I picked it up and started to pray that I realized it was a dark green rosary...just like the dark green rosary that once belonged to my Mom, who passed away in 2008.

I did a little "gasp," just as the Mass began to an audience which also happened to include the First and Second Grade classes of St. Finbar's School, all of whom sang this morning.

This day, and each day before when I would see those blessed kids at the Morning Mass at St. Finbar's in Burbank, it always reminded me of when I would do the same with my classmates at the three different parochial elementary schools I attended in my hometown of Rochester, New York.  Those being St. Peter and Paul's on Brown Street, St. Agustine's on Chili Avenue, and St. Anthony of Padua on Lorimar Street (which, by the way, is near exact replica of St. Pancratious Church in Lakewood, which is one of the many reasons why I love that particular church).

Back in Burbank at Finbar's I listened to the first reading, and then to the priest who gave the homily, which mentioned how today is the 45th Anniversary of the Roe v. Wade landmark decision.

I gasped again upon the realization and reviewed the events that brought me to this moment this morning.  My 9:00 AM meeting...the trek to Burbank...seeing my friend in the vestibule...seeing the new green rosary on the pew behind, as if waiting for me to reach for it...the school children at Mass...and then the revelation relayed by the priest of what day this was Father Francis Mendoza.

My mother's name was Frances, and in her later years, she used to jokingly refer to herself as "St. Frances."

This morning, that didn't seem so far off.  In fact, it seemed all meant to be.

After Mass, I approached one of the sweet church parishioners about what to do with my new green rosary.  I told the story of what had just transpired and asked if it was okay to keep the rosary.  I felt awkward about it, thinking someone may have left it there.

The nice church parishioner, a woman, told me keep the rosary.

I was delighted, and it was now 8:45 AM, she was heading a separate church group in additional prayers.  I decided to stay with them, hoping the extra prayers would be completed by my 9 AM meeting, which would be taking place at the Starbucks up the street.

I finished praying with the prayer group at 8:59 AM.

I had one minute to make it to my meeting.

Once outside the church, I telephoned the colleague who I was scheduled to meet and told him I might be late.

"No problem," he said.  "I'm still on the freeway."

A blessing in disguise...one of many this morning.

In all my thoughts are this:

First and foremost, my Mom was saying hello to me this morning from Heaven, while wanting to make sure I had a rosary.

Seeing my former neighbor in the vestibule was great.  My appointment went wonderfully, and my heart was full.

As to the Roe v. Wade issue...and abortion, I can only speak for myself and offer my personal opinion regarding this issue or any issue. I don't sit in judgment of anyone's religious, social, or political beliefs.  Each of us should have the right to do anything they want to do about anything.  And while I don't think there is a woman in the world who would want to put her body through the trauma that transpires during an abortion, I believe each woman or any human of any gender should be able to do whatever they want with their bodies.  We're all doing the best we can, and any good-hearted individual tries to make the best choices they can; to make all the right decisions.  And, for better or for worse, we all live with those decisions.

I also believe that we are dearly loved by Heaven where God resides with endless mercy, and loving-kindness.

That being said, I am pro-life.  That doesn't mean everyone has to be pro-life, but it does mean that I pray everyone would be.  And that's the way I see it, and I'm just sharing who I am and where I stand on the issue, and nothing more.

However, Father Francis this morning at St. Finbar's stated it infinitely more perfectly and  beautifully...and I paraphrase here, in quoting him:  "We should live in a world where there is room for EVERY life."

And I can only add this to that:

I just sure am glad that there was room in this world for me.  I'm so very happy and grateful that my Mom didn't abort me, or that any parent of those precious children singing in church this morning did not abort them, and for that matter, that any parent of anyone I know, know of, or love, or any parent of whose ever reading this, decided not to abort them either.

In every way that matters...

Neither of my parents received a formal education.

But they were two of the most intelligent people I knew.

They were never motivated to be more to have more.

They were fine just the way they were.

They had just enough to get by in this world, while they had nothing of what this world calls secure.

They never bought a house; had no investments.

No annuities.

No money.

Nothing.

Not a dime.

But they were happy and smart in every way that matters.