“Our noblest selves know the truth…each of us are built to do astonishing things with our human gifts and materialize outstanding feats with our productive talents.  Every single person alive today carries the capacity deep within their hearts – and spirits – to do this. You absolutely have the capacity to lift your work to the level of artistry and have an impact on the betterment of humanity.” – Robin Sharma

The journey along this path to mastery is your story.

Everyone has a story.

I am Mark Brodinsky and this is Storytelling for Singers & Songwriters

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Storytelling for Singers & Songwriters: ilyAIMY

Music is the narrative of our lives, it’s the thread that connects all of us… it’s the sounds that emanate from our soul. There’s no other way to explain why someone writes a song and sings it. You might think it begins in the mind, it doesn’t. You might think its origin is from love or joy, hurt or anger, angst or depression. Of course, it is from all of those things. We don’t have any logical thoughts, we have emotional ones, we feel, then we communicate.

Songwriting is the music of your heart, whether you believe it or not. Members of the group you are about to meet have been making music for quite some time… and give others the chance to share the music of their hearts as well.

Below is a link to an interview I did with members of the band which is just part of their story. Meet ilyAIMY members: Rob, Heather, and Kristen. Learn how it all started, why people make music in the first place, and how it all unites us, sometimes divides us, but ALWAYS makes us FEEL… the words and the voices we long remember.

Now, ilyAIMY:

https://youtu.be/ZAxhr_aJWmU

Learn more and explore the music and history of ilyAIMY and find out where you can see them next: http://www.ilyaimy.com/

Until next time, thanks for taking the time.

Mark Brodinsky

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As they rolled the gurney from his condo and down the hallway, my father, with tears in his eyes, looked at me and said, “I’m never coming home.” I looked back at him, with confidence and doubt in my voice at the same time, if that’s even possible, and replied, ‘That’s not true.”

I didn’t lie.

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Forty Days

I got lucky this year. The kind of luck you make, not the kind that seems to fall out of the sky, appear out of nowhere, or happen simply by chance. No, the kind of luck you work for.

I’ve been immersed in a year-long program, The Heroes Journey, teaching me the tools, thought processes, mindset, and maybe most importantly, the heart, to be a true 21st-century leader. The program is led by Darren Hardy, a man who has been my mentor for the past decade, and not even knowing it when I first discovered him ten years ago, would have a profound effect on one of the most significant moments in my life.

As part of this program, in module one, we were instructed to interview a few people from different generations than our own, since this is the first time in human history where five generations are employed in the same workforce, at the same time. As one of the interviewees, I chose my dad, since he was born in 1935 and is part of what is referred to as The Builders or The Silent Generation.

So back in January, I sat down with my father, (and my mother, who listened in), and asked him dozens of questions, learning so much more about his childhood, about his perspective on the world from then until now, about his greatest fears, about his greatest accomplishments, about his role as a husband and father. I left that interview, feeling inspired and more at peace since I knew at age 86, my dad was getting up there in years and though very independent, you just never know when your conversation with one of your aging parents, might be your last.

What I learned gave me a greater sense and greater respect for who my dad is and in turn, where some of my own pride, character traits, and fears emanate from. What I learned helped me gain greater insight into the man who helped create me and then shape me. What I learned brought me closer to his heart.

This was a blessing, for truth be told, after childhood my dad and I were not that close. It had absolutely nothing to do with anger, resentment, or anything of the kind. I just always viewed us as very different people. If felt like he saw the world as more black and white, I found more of the colors. I didn’t gravitate to him to talk about my problems, fears, heartaches, or the like. I always reached out to my mom – probably because the woman has the biggest heart you’ve ever seen, and there always seems to be plenty of room in that heart to handle any concern or challenge you bring her way.

I had always seen more of myself in my mom, she is extremely hard working – while my dad worked hard, he also focused just as much on his downtime, relaxing, while my mom still charged hard throughout her work career. My dad retired at 62, we had to convince my mom to shut it down in her mid 70’s. I just always saw her as stronger, though she’s often put herself in that position because she wants to know what is going on and the woman just flat out does the one thing all of us can do more of, she cares. She cares about anyone and everyone she meets.

After the interview with my dad, I realized a great deal more about the impact he had on my life and the work he truly did put in. I also had the understanding, he didn’t mind being in the background. He was kind, logical, fair, and loving. I never ever felt unloved. I always knew he cared about family, especially staying connected to his base, his family in Wilmington, Delaware, where he grew up.  We lived in Maryland, (still do), and my dad didn’t get to spend time with his family as often as I know he would have liked.

I also gained more insight into just how much he adored my daughters, his granddaughters, Sophie and Emily.

Besides what filled his heart, I knew more now about his fears, one of those fears he experienced more recently, brought on by my his now compromised ability to get around, having to use a three-wheeled walker with a pouch, to get from one place to another, making him an easy target for someone who wanted to take advantage of him in any given moment. His other fear was to protect my mom, to make sure she would be ok, especially financially. My dad is seven years older than my mom, and in his mind, he always believed he would be the one to go first, leaving her behind.

Except, on Labor Day of 2021 it appeared the tables had turned.

In the late morning on that holiday, while I was on another call, I saw my parent’s house number appear on my mobile phone. I ignored it since I just figured it was my mom calling about getting together for dinner later that day.

But then their number appeared again, it was the number for the house phone and that meant it was probably my dad calling.

I put my other call on hold and picked up the call from my parents’ line. It was my dad.

“I can’t wake her up, I can’t wake her up. They’re taking her away,” he’s crying to me. I immediately responded. “What do you mean… Mom?” He said, “yes, I can’t wake her up.” I stopped him to ask the question that was the most important at the moment since, from the sound of it, I was almost sure my mom had just passed away. “Is she breathing?” I said. My dad told me yes, she was and she had squeezed his hand. But now she was in an ambulance, headed to the hospital. When I got to their condo, my dad told me that when my mom’s radio alarm clock went off at 10:30 am, he heard it and realized she had not come out of the bedroom and he went in to check on her. But when he tried to awaken her she couldn’t speak or open her eyes, only squeeze his hand. So he his hit the medical alert button he always wore around his neck and called for help.

The reality, my mom had suffered a stroke, not a huge one, though as I have learned through this process, the size is not necessarily as important as the location in the brain. She was also battling a significant urinary tract infection that no one was aware of but ended up doubling the challenge at the moment for the doctors. Not to mention the current COVID restrictions and lack of beds and shortage of nurses at some of the best hospitals in Baltimore.

The bottom line is I had a feeling we were in for a long ride, I just could not have imagined that forty days later, how life would change. I knew at the moment, it already had, it’s just that the significance of that day would lead to even greater consequences. I also couldn’t know at the time, how many moving pieces would soon lie before me.

My mom was moved to two different hospitals, based on bed space and then on the challenge of knocking out her infection, which the doctors managed to accomplish. But, once stable, it was time to focus on her rehabilitation and at the same time, try and keep my 86-year-old father, who was still driving and living as independently as he could, on track and keep him calm. My dad has always been very emotional and now he was on full tilt.

My family is small, it’s myself, my younger sister, my mom, and my dad. Because of this, I accepted and I wanted to be in front leading the charge to navigate my mom’s care and be there for my dad, as his go-to for support. Though my dad could basically live independently, he was even still driving, he had some health challenges. of his own. Plus, I had to find a way to still care for myself. I knew if I let up on my daily habits and disciplines and just put them all aside, we’d all be in trouble.

Getting back to Darren Hardy for a moment, for a decade now, I had been doing the work in a program called, Living Your Best Year Ever, which meant every year, for the past ten, along with a few other men who are now like brothers to me, we tracked and worked on daily habits and focused on three life goals. The constant work on this growth mindset had helped me build the muscles, physically, mentally, and emotionally, to face a challenge just like the one before me. I knew had to stay healthy, in body and mind. After all, you can’t give what you don’t have.

I knew I was built for this.

I found myself in charge of choosing from a list of rehab facilities for my mom and helping my dad with his independent living, asking friends to assist him with making some meals (my dad didn’t cook, though he could microwave and heat-up food with the best of them) and even accomplish part of this process while I was halfway across the country.

When my mom had a stroke, I already had a trip planned, one that was planned months before and was scheduled to embark on just six days after her life-changing event. Even in my mom’s compromised state, the consequences of the stroke appeared to be more physical than neurological, and she was begging me to still go away on my trip.

When there was one day during that first week that her overall health seemed to be slipping backward, I had decided there was no way I was going away. But then she stabilized and I made a conscious decision to head out west, on a 7-day trip to Las Vegas, The Grand Canyon, and Sedona, Arizona. The trip was commemorating the ten-year journey of being part of the aforementioned program, heading out west with the two other members of my Mastermind group. This was to be a time for bonding and celebration for our decade of progress in so many areas of life.

Since Covid had made visiting my mom a real challenge, there could be only one visitor a day, and my dad was holding his own living by himself, I knew I could be thousands of miles away and still navigate it all with phone calls to communicate with my mom, my dad, the doctors, the social workers, and other family members to give them updates. What I could accomplish on a mobile phone in Maryland, I could certainly still accomplish the same from Nevada or Arizona.

It all worked.

Even while I was away, I led the charge to get my mom transferred into a sub-acute rehab facility, doing it all while on the road from Vegas to the Grand Canyon and managed to also navigate my dad’s emotional state during the process. He was upset, but he was still doing all he needed to be independent. I was able to keep most of my extended family and my parent’s friends in the loop on my mom’s progress. And I was still managing to experience and enjoy my time with my close friends and to immerse myself as much as possible in the incredible, beautiful parts of the country where we were traveling.

Like I mentioned earlier, I told myself I was built for this, and for the most part, I was. Handling all that was in front of me with patience, perseverance, fortitude, and emotional stability. The consequences of the decade of work I had put in, (and still going), to focus on personal development and this growth mindset – were now carrying me through two of the most significant events of my life. The first event had been the reorganization of my family in 2016 and now, what I couldn’t see coming, was that while my mom struggled on her stroke recovery in rehab, my father started to struggle at home.

His vision, his fear, was coming true.

For most of September, my dad was doing ok living on his own. I would go over at least a few times a week to help with some light house cleaning and make sure his meals were good-to-go. My sister would also assist. My dad and I went out for a few dinners together, once sharing the biggest cheeseburger and fries I have ever seen, (hey, when you’re 86, just eat what you want), and we’d talk about life and I’d listen to his stories, many I had heard before, but it made my dad happy to share them again, so I listened.

But when the calendar turned to October, so did my dad’s health.

He started to complain about certain health conditions getting worse. He couldn’t lift his head up right, his legs were starting to get heavier and heavier, (he already suffered from significant lymphedema), he was frequently out of breath from trying to walk, he said it hurt to eat and as it turned out, he had suffered mini-strokes, called TIA’s, which no one knew, though after at least one phone conversation with him, I had my suspicions.

In any case, there were new challenges in front of me. I live nearly an hour away from my parents and was I going back and forth to assist and to visit, staying with my girlfriend, Stephanie, who fortunately lives only a few miles from my parent’s condo, to visit with my dad and still visit and coordinate my mom’s care. I was able to be there the day she was transferred to a sub-acute rehab facility, fortunately, the one I wanted, and I was also visiting her a few times a week as well. I was doing all of this while trying to still lead my health insurance team, to be there to co-parent for my daughters, both enrolled in a local college, to transfer my dog back and forth, since I co-parent for him as well, to spend time with my girlfriend, to keep family and friends up-to-date about both my mom and now my dad, and to try and take care of myself, to maintain my physical, mental and emotional well-being  – and be as strong, and stoic as possible for all who needed me.

There were all these pieces to the puzzle, to the maze of life I was navigating, but I could see how life was slowly making a 180-degree turn, from worry and concern about my mom and her recovery from the stroke, to focusing on my father’s significant health challenges.

It was about a week into October when I realized I just couldn’t handle helping to care for my dad and his health concerns on my own. It had gotten to a point I never thought I would experience in my life, that one night I was even putting an adult diaper on him. And in the moment, he didn’t even seem to care, it was no longer about pride, it was about needing assistance, a helping hand. I knew then I had to call in help if I was to handle his mobility challenge, so I vetted and hired a caregiving agency to assist with his care.

I was also now caught trying to navigate a very delicate see-saw, telling my mom that my dad was having “some” health challenges, but not revealing all about his downturn, for fear she might stop working hard in her daily therapies, speech, physical and occupational. I needed her to still fight to get better after her stroke, despite the fact it appeared my dad might be headed for the fight of his life.

And that he was.

On October 11th, that Sunday morning, neither my sister who had stopped over to see him nor the caregiver, could get him out of bed. When I arrived and we finally got him to sit up and get into a wheelchair, his breathing sounded “wet” and labored and he just kept falling asleep. I had no choice but to call 911.

It was a week I’ll never forget.

My dad went from being treated in a private area in the emergency room, (again a bed shortage in the hospital), because his oxygen levels were not good and he had some internal bleeding which needed to be rectified – first a blood transfusion and then finally being admitted to a hospital room and having a procedure done to stop the bleeding. The doctors seemed to think that would improve his blood flow, and eventually help his lungs, though he was suffering from a bout of pneumonia as well.

At the same time, I was still making visits to my mom’s rehab facility. I had to tell her my dad was hospitalized but was stable, I couldn’t hide the fact, because she knew she couldn’t reach him by phone and he wasn’t coming to visit her. I still couldn’t reveal too much more because I wanted to keep her spirits up and not compromise her recovery efforts.

The procedure to help my dad and stop the bleeding worked temporarily and made him more stable, but soon his natural oxygen levels were once again dropping, meaning the doctors had to keep increasing the liters of air being pumped into his nose and mouth to get him the proper oxygenation to his body. About a day later, an echocardiogram revealed some “vegetation” around two of his heart valves, endocarditis, which normally would require surgery to correct, but with my dad’s advanced age and weakened state, the doctors could only recommend a program of intravenous antibiotics, lasting at least 4-to-6 weeks.

With all of that going on, even on Thursday of that week, there was talk of sending my father to inpatient rehabilitation, maybe even the same facility where my mother was still recovering. I thought, what a blessing that would be, to have them close again, if even for a few weeks because my mom was making significant progress and I figured she could be released before the end of the month.

With a slight ray of hope, that night I decided to head back to my home about an hour away, to do laundry, get more clothes, to repack, and on Friday, to even try and work for a few hours in my office, before heading back to Baltimore later that afternoon to see my dad and visit my mom again. But in the late morning, the phone rang, it was the cardiologist to explain to me the ramifications of my dad’s heart condition and then while she was still talking, the doctor in charge of my father’s care was also calling me. She said things weren’t going well. They were pumping more and more oxygen into my father’s lungs, he was on two different antibiotics now, and his liver and kidneys were starting to fail. The doctor also told me looking in my dad’s eyes, it seemed he was giving up the fight.

The man, who just one day before, I thought might have a chance and even after assessment by the hospice team, I was told was not a candidate for hospice, all of a sudden in the late morning of Friday, October 15th, he was.

My next call was to the hospice advocate and I made the heart-wrenching decision to send him one floor up in the hospital, to the inpatient hospice wing. Standing there in my office I stared at the e-mail, the one which had just been sent to me, where I had to sign the release forms to make this a reality.

But first, I called my mom.

I had to tell her everything, of what was about to happen, to tell her all of it. And I needed for her to make a decision, for I had made one on my own, a vision I had in my mind six days earlier when my dad headed to the hospital. If he took a turn for the worse, I was going to make something happen –  my mom was going to have the honor and dignity of seeing my dad before he died. He wasn’t going to pass away, while she sat alone in that rehab facility, I was making damn sure of it.

I told her, “Dad is not going to make it. We have to send him to hospice. The doctor told me he is struggling with respiratory distress and many other things. I need to know from you, do you want to see him like this, or do you want to see him in hospice, once he is sedated and comfortable?” I wasn’t sure what she would say, but it was her decision. So I waited, and she said, “I’m already so upset, I want to see him and to talk to him.”

That was all I needed to hear. I told her I was coming to get her and for the first time in six weeks, she was getting out of that rehab facility, at least temporarily, so I could get her to see my dad. I signed the paperwork to send my dad to hospice, then I called the hospice advocate. I told her straight out, “I signed the papers, but here’s the deal, you cannot move him until I get my mom to see my dad.” I was in my office an hour away or more from her facility. I would have to make the drive, then get my mom into her wheelchair, get her out of rehab, drive another 30-40 minutes to the hospital, in early Friday afternoon rush hour traffic, and then wheel her in and up to his room, so she could see him and say goodbye. I told the hospice advocate it would probably be more than two hours’ time for me to make this happen.

“Don’t you dare move him until I can get there,” I said. “My mom deserves the chance to say goodbye.”

I was moving fast now, (probably driving too fast as well), on my way back to Baltimore and I called the rehab facility on the way. They were actually inconsequential in all of this. I was taking her out of there, whether they approved it or not. I was getting her regardless. Ask for forgiveness, than permission.

When I called to speak to the nursing supervisor, I didn’t ask, I told her what was about to happen when I got there. She listened and she didn’t put up any argument. I told her I accepted all responsibility. This was going to happen. I would come up to get my mom in the wheelchair, I needed to do it. I didn’t want them to handle this then have her waiting at the door for me. I needed to see her and speak to her first and then get her transported out of there.

It went as planned. I got my mom out of the rehab facility and we made the slow drive in that early rush hour traffic, to the hospital where my dad was going to end his days. I double-parked outside since I realized I would have to drop my mom in her wheelchair at the front door. There was no time to park in the visitor’s lot then wheel her across the street to the hospital. We checked in, but because of Covid restrictions, there was only supposed to be one visitor at a time to my dad’s room. That would be impossible since I had to push my mom in her wheelchair. Once security learned my dad would soon be heading to hospice, the restrictions were lifted. So we headed upstairs to the second floor, room 252.

I wheeled my mom slowly inside his hospital room, where my dad was sitting up, staring off into space, the loud noise of the oxygen machine, now pumping thirty liters of air, straight into his nostrils. Apparently, he could no longer tolerate the oxygen mask and intubation was not an option since there was a DNR. That was a strong and noble decision on my parent’s part, years earlier, to create advance directives that would not allow either of them to just be kept alive on machines, or in a vegetative state.

My dad was struggling, but as I wheeled my mom next to his bed, she called out his name and grabbed his hand, “Robin, Robin, can you hear me? I’m here.” With the loud sound of the air flowing from the machine and the fact the hearing aid in his right ear was apparently missing, I had a feeling he could not hear her. But he slowly turned his head and saw his wife of nearly 60 years, now sitting by his bedside, feeling her gripping his hand. Shocked to see her there, he tried to softly say her name, “Bonnie…”,  and then he started to cry, as much as he could with the tremendous amount of oxygen being transferred into his lungs. He got to hear her tell him she loved him, I did the same, as I went around to the other side of the bed and kissed the top of his head. “I love you dad, and I’m sorry.”

I then went down to move my car, leaving my parents alone and sending my sister, Donna, who had now arrived at the hospital, up to see my dad. She was having a rough time. I understood.  After all, a girl loves her daddy first and the first love of her life was slowly slipping away.

As I walked out of the hospital, I paused to look at the sky and knew that in this moment of extreme stress, anxiety, emotion, and words I can’t even seem to find to describe the scene, I had done the one thing that I had seen in my mind as something that had to happen –  I got my mom to see my dad. She experienced the dignity and honor of saying goodbye. In turn, I gave my dad the respect of making sure his bride was by his bedside, while he could still see and hear her. He felt her hold his hand. He heard her say his name – and he got to hear that she loved him.

For the rest of my life, that moment will serve as one of my finest hours.

Hospice, which I never experienced before and hope never to again, is a strange thing. The person you love is kept comfortable, in my dad’s case, doses of morphine and a light amount of oxygen, just enough to keep him breathing. The nurses and doctors tell you that hearing is the last sense to go before you die. So although my dad was not awake, we were told he could hear all we were saying. My mom could only stay for a short time that afternoon, since I had to take her back to her rehab facility, with my dad still lying there, but breathing peacefully now. You don’t know how long someone will live in hospice, as the caregivers told us, only God knows that moment. So I took my mom back, figuring if my dad was still alive the next day, I would bring her back in the afternoon. She had already experienced that single moment I could control… it wasn’t up to us anymore. The remainder of his time on this earth was up to a higher power.

I returned to hospice that evening, talking to my dad as he slept, in his coma-like induced state, telling him how grateful I was for the life he had given me, my sister, and my mom. Thanking him for doing the one thing I needed him to do in my life, to love my mother. And for nearly six decades, he did just that with unwavering devotion. I stroked his head, cried, and told him I was sorry as well, for the closeness that we didn’t always experience. For the times I could have made more of an effort, and we could have spent more time together and I could have asked more questions and gained more insight. And I cried… because I was losing him and I love him.

My dad passed while I was sitting in the parking lot outside of my mom’s rehab facility. Since at that time on Saturday, my dad was still breathing, so I had gone to get my mom to bring her back to hospice. But we wouldn’t make it back in time.

When the end came, my sister and her husband were in my dad’s room. My brother-in-law called me at the moment because the nurse was in the room and had confirmed, after three long breaths, there were no more. On Saturday, October 16th, nearly 24 hours after sending him to hospice, my dad was gone. Time of death, 2:52 pm.

2:52, the same exact numbers of the hospital room where he had spent the prior six days of his life.

Our family is not the only one to lose, to mourn, to experience the heartache. We all do. Every single one of us. Everyone loses, everyone has bruises. The scars of loss you carry with you to share with others, the lessons of a life are for all of us to learn from.

I’ve learned that the person who asks the most questions, not only controls the conversation, they get to live a deeper life, for those questions you are asking are of other people and you get to learn more about the value, the depth, and the color they bring to his world. The questions might be black and white, but you can’t escape the color in every answer. Every life has these colors, every life has value and meaning. Everyone matters.

In the end, I realize God had given me a gift. Though we weren’t always close, my dad and I spent six weeks, exactly forty days, in each other’s lives every single day, either in person or on the phone. We said, “I love you”, to each other more times in those six weeks than perhaps the combined days of our entire lives together.

God knew what he was doing. HE always does.

The writing of my dad’s eulogy was a struggle for me since I am a writer and almost never experienced any type of writer’s block. But I was struggling with exactly what to say and how to share my dad’s story… until I realized I had his story and it was in the pages of notes I had taken when I interviewed him for the Heroes Journey program ten months before. I pulled out the notes and was able to weave these notes and the knowledge I gained about my dad and his life into the final words I would say about him, standing on the altar just above his casket.

This is why I thank Darren Hardy and his A-Team for the exercise of that Heroes Journey program, for as I said in my eulogy at my father’s funeral, “What a blessing this was. Because if I hadn’t done that interview exercise, standing here today, I never would have learned more about his life and the man who was my father. And I decided part of that interview should play into what I’m about to share… just some of what I will remember about and have learned from my dad.”

You never know where life might take you or the people who will touch you in ways you could never have imagined when you first meet them. I thank Darren for the thought and idea that inspired me to dive deeper into my dad’s life – the man that helped to create and to shape me. How could I know when I first found Darren a decade ago, that one thing I would do attached to a program he developed, would become part of the final words I would speak about my father as I lay him to rest. That’s some serious synergy.

This story isn’t about Darren Hardy, it is however about the power of developing yourself to the point that no matter the challenge, you must build yourself into someone who can rise to the occasion. In a quote from Wayne Dyer, one I heard just before my dad’s passing: “You must learn to develop an inner candle flame that never flickers, though the worst goes before you.”

I know in my heart I tried to do just that. Though now in the aftermath, comes the hurt and the heartache.

It is also about reminding myself and every one of us – the value each and every life has, if we only take the time to listen and to participate. The story is about my dad, my mom, my sister, and those forty days of our lives, from my mom’s stroke to my dad’s passing, a turn of events that are still hard to wrap my head around. But they are and forever will be part of the reality of our existence.

It is a story about the value my dad brought to not only my life but to all those who took the time to get to know him.

Thank you Dad.

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As they rolled the gurney from his condo and down the hallway, my father, with tears in his eyes, looked at me and said, “I’m never coming home.” I looked back at him, with confidence and doubt in my voice at the same time, if that’s even possible, and replied, ‘That’s not true.”

I didn’t lie.

He is home.

Rest in peace dad. I love you.

With pride, your son,
Mark

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Give what you can, while you can. We’re all here for a reason, with different talents and abilities, and deep in the confines of our heart, we are givers, because if we give we make others feel valued and appreciated.

The best are creative givers, those who find a way to take their unique abilities and improve other lives, to touch others and affect their story.

Everyone has a story.

I am Mark Brodinsky and this is Storytelling for Giving.

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Storytelling for Giving: Daddy’s Little Riders

“I’m not doing it for the money, but instead to introduce youth to the sport and teach knowledge and responsibilities to the kids in an effective manner and safe environment.” – Paul Brown III

For Paul Brown III, giving back has meant going back… to his youth.

“I always tell this story,” says Paul. When I was a really young kid, maybe five or six, I was riding my tricycle up to the top of my street in Columbia, Maryland when I heard a loud engine noise in the distance. A guy soon rolls by in a motorcycle and he sticks his foot out and pretends he’s pedaling, even though he wasn’t. I thought it was so cool that he didn’t have to pedal, I didn’t care that he mocked me, I just loved what he was riding and it got me interested in motorcycles. I started watching racing and developed a genuine love for it. I didn’t get into racing or riding until I was in middle school – around age 13. My first bike was a Yamaha RT 100, a 1994 model and it was a trail bike. I got it from my friend’s brother who never seemed to like riding the bike and his parents were willing to sell it to me. I saved up my lawn mowing money and bought it. My parents didn’t really want me to have it, but my dad eventually saw the love I had for the bikes.”

Everything in life begins with a little love and the passion Paul had for motorcycles transcended into a big idea. He saw it in his mind, now he holds it in his hands… Daddy’s Little Riders, (https://www.daddysrider.com/)

“Eight or nine years ago I was on my big bike doing some track racing,” says Paul. “I did some racing back in the day and I was going around the track, but I was going really fast, even scaring myself with the speed and the maneuvers I needed to make, so my buddy and I decided we’ve gotta slow ourselves down and get some training. We took a class, learned a little bit about corner speed, corner spins and road racing in the dirt and we noticed there were dirt bikes with street tires on them. We looked around to see if this kind of thing had made it to the east coast, it’s been popular for years overseas and even on the west coast here, but we found that locally Sandy Hook Speedway hosted the mini-moto series and go-kart racing. The two go hand-in-hand because of the size of the track, so we got 150 F Honda’s and put street tires on them. We went out and started riding and found joy, because we could do a lot of the same stuff we were trying to do on the big bikes, on a smaller bike.”

For Paul, that’s where the idea to run his own mini-moto training camp came from, learning the craft, and teaching his own daughter, who was only 4-years-old at the time. “I thought how cool it would be to teach other kids this same thing,” Paul says. “It’s a different type of sport. You get all the leadership skills you would in other sports, as well as the discipline and self-confidence. You get all that stuff, but you get it on the bike because you have to respect the bike!”

It’s a unique program for the youth and Paul wants to keep it that way – because it’s not really about racing, it’s about riding and gaining those life skills. Sometimes in life, you’ve got to slow down to speed up!

“The whole things is centered around being creative with it,” says Paul. “There were organizations out there for kids, but it’s all about race, race, race. My idea is, how do we get a kid on a bike at 5-years-old who just loves the noise and the thrill? We provide everything you need, you just bring the kid. The bikes are governed so they only go the speed of a power wheel or go-kart.”

Paul says he wants to keep the concept simple, not only the platform he’s teaching on, but the reason he’s teaching at all, to get kids out of the house and active in this world.

“All of the gaming is taking the youth off the streets, keeping them inside and having them play games on a video system instead,” laments Paul. “I want to get them back engaged with what we all loved to do as kids, ride bikes, even bicycles if they want. But my business, my side-hustle, is based on the mini-moto platform and some other racing and we are able to do this nearly year-round.”

It’s having an effect. Whether it’s on training wheels or two wheels, Daddy’s Little Riders is helping kids to gain confidence and have fun!!

Paul says he recently taught a young girl, whose father was supportive of this program, but whose wife was scared to death for her daughter. “Two months ago, when it was all said and done, the father came up to me and said, ‘You know your program is authentic and customizable, cause every step of the way while my daughter was riding you got to tweak the program to fit her.’ “I never thought about it that way before, but it is how it goes… we work on what each individual child needs to work on, whether it’s turning or reaching the brake, we make it fit their individual skill level.”

Not only does Daddy’s Little Riders feature Paul’s knowledge, expertise and desire to give back, but it’s also a family affair, which is especially helpful since it’s currently a part-time business. Paul’s full-time gig is as the Information Technology Director for Prince George’s County Fire-EMS. Before that he worked for 16 years at the University of Maryland in the field of network engineering and IT as well.

So with Daddy’s Little Riders, having the support and the participation of his family makes the part-time process easier for Paul and he wants to keep it small because with a full-time job and a full-time family he says he wants to be able to make decisions that will positively affect his family.

“My wife, Shelly, does all the social media content and my daughter, Kamya, is a mentor, depending on the type of riders we have,” says Paul. “She’s 11-years-old now and if the riders are eligible to be on the track, I take my daughter out there and have some of the riders follow her. It allows them to understand more and she can talk in their terms. So if what I say is too technical or at an expert level, she can speak more in their language. ”

 

Speaking of language, Shelly is a speech pathologist and just recently opened her own private practice, so Paul says the family is trying to get that up and running as well. It’s a busy life, as it is for so many entrepreneurs, but the family is still committed to the passion project of Daddy’s Little Riders, after all, it was Shelly who came up with the name after watching Paul teach Kemya how to do it.

“The passion part of this mission, you fit it in where you can get it in,” says Paul. “If you get to a point where you can replace the full-time income, great. As far as for the future of what we are doing, I’m the type of individual who is not so proud to reach out to people who can help me and I can help them in turn. I enjoy trying to elicit people for guidance and support, including sponsors. I’d like to run my own facility one day, somewhere I can operate and hire a staff to do what I do and then I can incorporate different programs, as well as hire kids who are interested in riding to teach others to do the same.”

It’s also about giving back at an even deeper level.

“United Karting near Arundel Mills, the other track we use, has also asked me if there was a charity I would like to donate toward,” says Paul. “My dad has bone cancer and I think I’m going to want to do something in cancer research because that is something that is wiping out a lot of people around here. What little I’m able to profit now goes back into the business to keep the bikes going and have the gear for the kids, ages 5 to 16. There’s a lot of growth potential here, which I can really only reach with my own facility. We need backing… sponsors and to raise money. Am I ready for it? You’re never ready for the next big step because everything is a risk. It all depends on who is willing to get on board with it.”

Paul’s business is about embracing that same spirit we all have as children… when we believe anything is possible. Life is the ultimate ride, no matter how many wheels you’ve got under you, whether it’s four wheels, or only two. Daddy’s Little Riders is a great head start.

Until next time, thanks for taking the time.

Your Storyteller,
Mark Brodinsky

Email:paul@daddysrider.com

Website:http://www.daddysrider.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/daddysrider/

Twitter: @daddysrider, #daddyslittleriders

Instagram: daddyslittleriders

Go Fund Me Donations:  https://www.gofundme.com/daddysrider

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There’s always a way. If you see something you want to accomplish, then dream, plan and take action – sooner or later you’re bound to find success. It’s one of the laws of the universe, what you focus on expands.

Find a way to give and you truly start to live.

When giving becomes a way of life, you’ve got quite a story to tell.

Everyone has a story.

I am Mark Brodinsky and this is Storytelling for Giving.

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Storytelling for Giving: The Why Behind MotorcycleTalks

“Four wheels move the body. Two wheels move the soul.” ― Anonymous

For attorney Jason Plotkin, it’s a soulful sacrifice, a labor of love, a way to change hearts and minds, and a big part of his mission: to give back and at the same time, to enjoy the ride of life.

So when Jason started noticing the charitable work being done by bikers, he knew he had found his desire, to focus on a niche truly enriching the lives of others. All it takes is one idea – throw a pebble in the ocean, make a wave, or in this case, shift an idea about motorcyclists into high gear.

“The way the US and the world are right now is so fractured,” says Jason. “It’s all so opinionated and polarized. I started to meet a lot of motorcycle riders who are very charitable. Most are blind to color or politics, they just care. So I wanted to share their stories and change any stereotypes out there about bikers.”

Jason, who participates and orchestrates a number of charitable efforts, says he used to see motorcyclist Chuck Ritz a great deal out in the community and at the 9-11 rides. Each September, Chuck places flags along Putty Hill Avenue in Parkville, one for every person who lost his or her life in 9-11. “I was so impressed by the work Chuck did so selflessly,” says Jason. “And I knew more people needed to know how charitable motorcycle riders really are.”

“As an attorney handling personal injury cases I have witnessed first-hand the issues motorcyclists go through after an accident, not just physical, but their challenges navigating an insurance claim and the legal system. It really clicked for me when I was representing a rider who had been injured. I said to myself I should tie in what I’ve learned from handling this case and the good deeds I see so many riders doing and create a community force for good.”

The first story for MotorcycleTalks was about Chuck and his efforts to give back, including his Hope and Peace Foundation, which has raised thousands to support a myriad of causes, most prominently two rides: one raises funds to give hope to those facing the pain of child abuse, the other ride is to remember all those connected to the 9/11 attacks. (https://www.motorcycletalks.com/stories-chuck-ritz).

Chuck’s story helped launch the Motorcycle Talks website back in October of 2018 and the idea has taken on a life of its own.

“Other people think it’s so amazing,” says Jason. “The stories are so well-received in the motorcycle community. The riders are happy to be represented so favorably and are thrilled we are changing the stereotypes of riders out there. Just because some have long hair and tattoos or feel the need for speed doesn’t matter, they are human just like everyone else.”

The one thing you can’t always see, or others fail to recognize when they see a biker come up alongside them, is the heart of that rider. So many motorcyclists have huge hearts and want to funnel their passion that comes from the freedom and joy of the ride, to help others less fortunate.

Just like Len Elliott, the focus of the second MotorcycleTalks website story. Len became a Mason and a Shriner and helps lead the Boumi Motor Corp, dedicated to those Shriners who enjoy fellowship and the open road. The Motor Corp does incredible work in raising awareness and funds for children in need. (https://www.motorcycletalks.com/stories-len-elliott)

The Motorcycle Talks website and stories align perfectly with Jason Plotkin’s mission of serving and enriching the community in general. Jason, CEO of the Pinder Plotkin Legal team, has won award after award representing causes and philanthropic organizations, especially in Baltimore County. Jason serves on the Board for the Parkville Carney Business Association, the Education Foundation of Baltimore County Public Schools, Inc. and the YMCA Parkville/Perry Hall Community Advisory Board.

“The Motorcycle Talks website and stories is just another way for me to give back and not have it take away from my family time,” says Jason. “Like many of the other charity events I participate in, I take my girls, 6-year-old Hailey and 4-year-old Chloe and my wife along as much as possible. I’m always looking for opportunities to do more than one thing at a time, but still, be present as a husband and father.”

Jason continues: “I’m expecting to launch my next book next month, this one on motorcycle safety, as another way to give back. My goal is to have the books printed, and then donate them to motorcycle organizations and dealers to resell the books and give a portion of the proceeds, or all of the proceeds, to the charities we tell stories about.”

One of the biggest charities in recent years was the Ride Across Maryland, featuring former WJZ-TV personality, Dick Gelfman. Gelfman was more than happy to share his story with Motorcycle Talks – describing his life-long love affair with motorcycles, as well as the story of The Ride, from its early beginnings, to where it is today, as the group looks to attract a younger demographic and relaunch The Ride, hopefully as early as next year. (https://www.motorcycletalks.com/stories-dick-gelfman)

Then there was the story of Wayne Hoffman, enjoying the ride of his life, as the Huffy the Clown. Now that he’s retired, Wayne’s mission in life is participating in a ton of motorcycle events, especially the charity events, creating fun and “talk-about” balloons, helping to relieve others of their troubles by helping them smile, and a nicely crafted balloon can do just that. (https://www.motorcycletalks.com/stories-wayne-hoffman)

Relief also can be serious business. One of the stories that Jason Plotkin says, “blew me away”, was that of the Motorcycle Relief Project, (https://www.motorcycletalks.com/motorcycle-relief-project). The story featured an interview with Mike Bobbit, the operations manager for MRP and a first-hand description of the impact of the Relief Project from Richard, a veteran suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but who found the Motorcycle Relief Project and has seen his life turn around because of his experience with MRP.

Louie Isenberg, another motorcycle enthusiast with quite a tale to tell, shared his story with MotorcycleTalks back in March of this year. Back in 2014, Louie suffered life-threatening injuries in an accident where he was hit by a car. But for Louie, it became all about the comeback and giving back.  Viewing what he saw as an injustice in his area schools when it came to free lunches and those who did or did not qualify, Louie came up with the idea of the Lugnut Lunch Program, named after the business where he services bikes, the Lugnut Custom Service Station, in Stonesboro, Pennsylvania. Louie is living proof that motorcyclists are always looking for a way to play a part in improving the lives of others, (https://www.motorcycletalks.com/louie-isenberg).

Jason says he was especially fond of the story about Maryland Delegate Kathy Szeliga. “Kathy is the all-American woman,” says Jason. “She’s like every other person out there, but she picked up a love for bikes as a child and never let go of it. No matter how successful she has been she never forgets that passion and is now advocating for riders all across Maryland.” (https://www.motorcycletalks.com/kathy-szeliga)

Then there’s the most recent story, of Cyndi Brandt, President of the Mid-Atlantic Women’s Motorcycle Rally. The MAWMR was started with a vision of creating a community, but also as a fundraiser in support of women who face breast cancer. Over the years, the rally has evolved to assist any woman with any challenge surrounding any cancer. “Cyndi’s rally has become a force for women in the motorcycle community,” says Jason. “It’s so amazing. Before we did the story I couldn’t believe we had never heard about it… I mean how could we not know about it? It’s helping people in all walks of life.” (https://www.motorcycletalks.com/cyndi-brandt)

Jason says he wants to see the MotorcycleTalks stories take on a life of their own. Right now he is self-funding the website (and utilizing yours truly to write the stories), but in the near future, he would like to see it become fully funded through donations or sponsorships. “I’m fully funding this project right now,” says Jason, “because I want to get it off the ground so others can benefit. There is too much negative news out there, I wanted to build a website to share positive stories. The motorcyclists do amazing work in terms of giving back to the community and to charitable organizations and everyone should know about it.”

It’s just another cause close to Jason’s heart because he loves to give. Between his passion for living a bigger purpose and the motorcycle community’s burning desire to serve the community and the less fortunate, it’s now all about synergy and significance.

MotorcycleTalks is ready and waiting to share your story. Let’s give everyone something to talk about.

Your Storyteller,
Mark Brodinsky