Life Lessons - from Dad and Uncle Bern

By: Dad AKA Matt Popular opinion is to never judge a book by its cover. However, I disagree with this maxim based solely on that specific example alone. I don’t know about you, but I literally look at a book’s cover when I’m browsing a bookstore. If it doesn’t appear interesting, it’s time to move on. Same with people, we don’t always have time to get to know someone on a deeper level. It’s ok to form an opinion based on YOUR observations. That being said...be willing to alter your opinions. The other day, a friend of mine called an agent with a local insurance company. This was the first time he had ever called this particular company. He wanted to get some quotes on life insurance policies, which he told the agent up front.  The agent said he understood, then began referring to my friend by his first name, casually cursing during the conversation, and insisted on trying to sell him other policies too. Terrible first impression! It did not take long for my friend to decide that he w

By: Uncle Dave Yanetti I was a milkman.  Yes, I was a modern day milkman.  I delivered milk to dollar generals, restaurants, and mom and pop shops.  It was physical, dirty, smelly, sticky ,  and had an extremely early starting time (3-4am to be exact).  The main way to move product in and out of stores is to use a dolly.  When I first started I thought, no problem! How hard could that be?  Find your balance point and you are on your way!  Well,  it  turns out , milk is  pretty heavy .  Four gallons fit in on e  case and we wheeled in six cases at a time .   Twenty-four gallons at a time, m ilk is  pretty heavy .   On one of my first days, we s topped at a dollar store we had every Tuesday .  Entering this store proved difficult as you had to walk on a raise d  sidewalk with the milk and the door opened towards you.  To make this easy, my trainer recommended I put a crate down to hold the door open  while he went to the back of the store to organize the milk .  To o easy, the door 

By: Dave Hoffman AKA Opa AKA Big Poppa Huff I don’t know why but I could always catch fish. In central Pennsylvania the first day of spring trout fishing was more anticipated than Christmas. When the big day arrived I could stand shoulder to shoulder with ten other fishermen and catch fish after fish while they caught nothing. My grandpap would would watch me and say “please catch one more and quit before they throw you in the stream!“ Time went by. I had two boys of my own. The new tradition was to take them and all of their friends trout fishing on that first day. We all had a blast, but I seemed to catch the biggest and most fish than anyone. My youngest son Zach seemed to be prey to my fishing prowess more than anyone else, as I would tell him to watch me catch a trout from under this stump or under this rock and some how always come through. Time goes by. My oldest son Matt came home with his oldest boy Caiden.  Zach was also home. I thought it was a great time for the four o

By: Matt AKA Dad The warning sign for the events about to unfold should have been just how normal & pleasant the day started out. I was still pretty young, about 6-7 years old, but old enough to play in the front yard by myself. We lived out in the country with forest behind the house and cornfields in front, so there was never a concern about “stranger danger”. It was just my mom and I at home that day and we had recently finished a nice breakfast together. The temperature was already in the 70s, so I was anxious to go kick the soccer ball around. Mom was staying inside to enjoy her favorite pastime, cleaning the house.  (Side note - mine is the only mother I know that would regularly take every dish out of the cupboards to dust. If dusting were an Olympic sport, there would be a gold medal on display in our house!)  I wasn’t outside long before our neighbor’s large brown Labrador, named Bo (I suspect after Bo Derrick), came trotting over for a visit, which wasn’t unusual. She a

By: Opa AKA Big Poppa Huff AKA Dave Hoffman Know your limits. I am not a handyman. I take great care of sick patients. I can really cook. I can run and lift heavy weights. I am not a handyman. Many years ago my wife  decided she wanted to cover up the orange painted walls in our kitchen with a light colored wall paper. She announced that she going to hire a handyman to do the job. I felt an insult to my manliness. I said wait, I can do the wallpapering, after all how difficult could it be? Pick out the wallpaper and and I will take care of it on my next day off of work. At the time I was working in the local emergency room but I was mentally preparing to put up wallpaper. This was long before You-tube instructional videos, but I thought it would be easy, wet the wallpaper, slap it on the wall, then trim the top and bottom. How would I do the trimming? I had the Eureka moment, I would borrow a metal scalpel handle with removable metal blades, perfect! The big day arrived. I was hom

By: Uncle Dave Marshall Paul  Fegley .  Unless you grew up in the small village of Lavelle in the mid-20 th  century, you probably  don’t  recognize this name.  So who exactly is Marsh?  Well, in my life, Marshall wore many hats.   First and foremost , he was my grandfather.  He was also my father figure, coach, mentor, biggest fan and harshest critic.   He taught me how to drive.  He showed me proper grass mowing techniques (never cut low, in the same pattern or in a circular pattern with the trimmings blowing inward) .  He is the reason I shovel my sidewal k and then a pproximately 12 inches on both  side s .  He is the reason I  don’t open my fridge unless I know what I am looking for and  why I arrive early to any commitment I have .  Most importantly, he is the reason I never sit down when I shake another person’s hand. Marshall and Eva, my grandparents, took me into their home when life handed me unfortunate circumstances.  I was always close with them so this move felt qu

By: Uncle Dave A wise man once told me that if I am going to give a speech, regardless of the context, I need to tell a story. When I leaned that my grandmother’s health was  declining, I began to reflect on all of my memories of her .  These memories spanned from when I was a child to my young adult life.   My goal was to pick the perfect nana story.  Who was she as a person and what did she mean to our family.    After days of  reflection,  I  came to the conclusion  that I do not have a story to share with you here today. You see, my relationship with my grandmother was unique for a variety of reasons.  From my earliest memories, nana was my safety blanket that shielded me from  life’s  unfavorable  actions.  Growing up, there were many times  that I felt extremely uncertain about myself and the situations that were evolving around me.  Nana  was there, every  single time ,  to  extend her hand,  sit me down, dust me off and t ell me life goes on.  Nana was my outlet.  I