The Juggler by Ray Shay

The Juggler  

By Ray Shay 

 

Do you ever find yourself juggling?  There are so many different shapes, sizes and colors, that it is hard to keep track of all the balls.  I can close my eyes and see a rainbow of colors spinning and turning as each area of concern tumbles through the air.

As I sat in our Shay Realtors company car at 4S Ranch Community Park waiting for our youngest son Ryan to complete soccer practice, I thought I was doing pretty well on juggling the responsibilities of life, work and family.

Theresa and I have never missed Ryan's soccer games, but instead of attending his practices, I have been busy answering emails and making phone calls to friends, clients, and colleagues.  I was filling up precious minutes of time with this and that, this and that, and even more and more of this and that. 

In between juggling the balls in the air, I kept thinking about our children as I conducted my frequent checklist of their individual challenges and victories.  I wondered yet again why our youngest son Ryan, seemed to be loosing his interest in soccer.  

It would be such a waste because he was blessed with a magical touch on the ball. It must have been a gift from a higher source and I do not want it to be wasted.  

Perplexed, I set my IPad down on the seat next to me and looked up at the ceiling of my car as I tried to figure out why Ryan's soccer mojo was failing. That was when the thin grey ceiling material on the roof of my car heard me say, "Ray, you are such an idiot."

I realized I had dropped one of the most important, irreplaceable balls in my life.  It had hit the dark pavement and was rolling away from me.  Something I promised myself, I would never let happen. 

Here I was sitting in the parking lot of the sports park listening to National Public Radio working on real estate stuff, while our beautiful ten year old son is only about 100 yards away practicing soccer.  In years past, I was always a fixture at Ryan's older brothers, Raymond and Troy's, soccer practices. I made a point of sitting in my beach chair and chatting on the phone and occasionally answering an email.

Ray and Troy Shay

Those sunny afternoons always reinforced the reason I walked away from the SDPD and a career and friends that I dearly loved.  It was to raise these three young boys. I don't know if dumbass is one or two words, but that is what I felt like. I realized that maybe, Ryan is loosing interest in soccer because he thinks I am loosing interest in him and his favorite sport.

It made me think how much our focus changes from our first child to our third.  I still recall Theresa and I tip-toeing into our oldest son Troy's bedroom when he was only a few weeks old and videotaping him sleeping.  Really?  Videotaping a baby sleeping?   The oohs and ahhs were all his.

The photographs, videos, and extensive birthday celebrations peaked with our first and has been sliding slightly south since.  In the early years we got so busy giving our three boys baths, getting them fed, off to school, and over the years it seems life has just gotten busier.

As luck would have it, two days after my epiphany,  I made a point of attending Ryan's soccer practice.  For the first time in many years, my phone actually was out of power.  I watched his practice in peace and quiet.  It was the same field, where I had previously sat in the parking lot.

With my phone dead, watching him play soccer was amazing. I had a strange urge to drop my cell phone in the trash can next to the parking lot.  I don't think I am alone in those thoughts.  

I could see Ryan struggling against an opponent to gain control of the soccer ball, and pass it off to a teammate.  That is when I saw what any parent can easily recognize.  It is the childish glance or the double take when a child sees a mom or dad watching them. 

Of course, after practice Ryan said he did not need me to watch his practice. "it's not a big deal if you don't watch." It was a big deal to me.  As I tussled his sweaty hair atop his head, I made two commitments to myself.  The first was to hire the best Real Estate Operations Manager we could find to join Shay Realtors and better serve our clients wile taking some of this and that off our plates.  

The second promise was to Ryan and my family that no matter how large our business may grow or not, we will not get caught up with so much of the minutia that our trusted employees can easily handle.  Our children's smiles and being close to them are the most important things in our lives.

To ease my parental guilt, I apologized to Ryan and took him golfing. A sport that I am a true amateur. I explained that dads sometimes makes mistakes, but I will do my best not to be a repeat offender as the other balls can fall to the ground if needed, but I will do my utmost to make sure he, his mom and his brothers continue to remain flying high in the crystal blue air, where they belong.

Enjoy your week,

Copyright Shay Realtors 2015 All Rights Reserved   

Let's Go! By Ray Shay

Let's Go! 

By Ray Shay 

Six of the seven Shay kids sitting on our front porch.  I'm sleeping in my sister Sharon's arms.

The strangest thing happened to me on my way to work this week.  I stopped in front of Del Norte High School and our oldest son Troy piled out of the front passenger seat of our car as he grabbed his backpack and two freshly toasted waffles resting on a paper plate.  As he rushed off, I yelled out, "Have a great day Troy!"

As I prepared to merge into morning traffic, I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw our 14 year old son Raymond and his lanky 6' 1" frame folded into the right rear seat. 

While waiting for traffic to clear, Raymond blurted out, "let's go."  It must have been the pitch of his voice or the no-nonsense tone coming from the back seat of the car that caused me to suddenly think of my father, who passed away many years ago.

I felt a tinge of sadness as I pulled into traffic. I could not say anything to Raymond, but his deepening voice was so much like my father's it is kind of creepy.  In the complex DNA coin flip between Chinese and Irish, I think more of the Irish floated to the top. Raymond's beautiful Asian eyes may be from Hong Kong, but his voice is definitely from somewhere outside of Dublin, Ireland.

As I continued driving, I kept thinking about my dad and the memories Raymond tripped in the wiring of my own, slightly disorganized brain.  I know it was the words, "let's go."  I also know, in all the years I was an adolescent,

I'm the little one looking up at my dad.

I only felt close to my father a handful of times.

Let's just say my dad and I did not see eye to eye.  In fact, my most common emotion I regularly felt around him growing up, was a sense of fear. 

All seven of us kids knew he had a rough childhood and he was scarred from combat operations in World War II, the Korean War and the unyielding burden of feeding and housing a family of nine.

All that aside, I will never forget the crystal blue night in the high desert of Albuquerque, New Mexico when my dad cut me off, as I tried to sneak into my bedroom in the garage.

A single car garage conversion he built as a place for me and three of my brothers to sleep.  The  small shower and toilet frequently backed up, but as they say in real estate, it's all about location, location, location.

Sleeping in the garage had its perks.  It was close proximity to the kitchen and multiple food sources, it was really easy to sneak out of our house late at night, and most importantly, it was as far away from my dad and mom's bedroom as possible.

Our entire crew...Joe, Mom, Sharon, Patricia, Me, Rick, Dad, Mike and John

I recall walking into our home that evening and seeing my dad definitely had the Great Santini look working.  He was sitting at his usual perch at the bar adjoining our kitchen wearing his trademark white, short sleeve T-Shirt, jeans, boots, and his high and tight haircut.   As he poured Popov Vodka over his hand chipped pieces of ice resting at the bottom of the glass he told me, "let's go for a ride."

My dad was "half in the bag" as he used to say, but tonight a smile flashed across his face, which surprised me.  It was a strong indicator, I would not have to be light on my feet.  I had recently purchased a sweet-looking, light purple, 1968 Chevrolet Impala convertible. 

My father filled up his drink, grabbed a pack of Kent cigarettes, and a book of matches.  I then followed him out the front door of our home. At 6' 2" and around 220 lbs., he was an imposing figure.  He lit a cigarette and climbed into the back seat of my car.   As the cigarette smoke streamed a thin trail of white smoke into the mile high night sky, he gave me the order to move forward, "let's go!"

 

As I looked into my rear view mirror I could see my dad's muscular arms draped over the back and right rear side of my car.  He kept looking up at the night sky and we were both bathed in the green light and the music from my prized Pioneer stereo.  I just drove and drove.  I really do not recall how long I navigated the streets of Albuquerque.  

I do remember thinking this was absolutely perfect.  It was too loud for us to really talk to each other due to the combination of the wind and the music.  My dad kept smoking, drinking and looking up at the stars.

The entire time I was scanning for and avoiding APD with their blue uniforms and black and white police cars.  Police cars, I dreamed, one day I would be driving.  

To be one of seven kids, and to be alone with our father was a huge deal. For him to appear relaxed and carefree was even bigger. I know the vodka deserved the credit, but I really did not care.  He was happy and I did not want that drive to ever end.

  

When I finally pulled into our driveway, I recall my dad unsteadily put his arms around me and said some nice things.  He then slowly turned and wandered back to the bar and ultimately his end of our home.  I never joined Albuquerque Police Department and I never mentioned to my father what that evening really meant to me.

In the years that followed, my father's demons quieted and with it, his heart began to flourish.  He ultimately rallied and broke the heavy chains of alcoholism and addiction to nicotine.  He then dedicated the remainder of his life to mending fences with the people he loved most and celebrating with each of us our ever-changing lives.  He became his children's best friend. 

My Dad and I on one of his many Ride-a-longs with SDPD

We were all very lucky to have our father, and when he  passed from this earth, he broke all of our hearts.  As it should be.

I think in life, we all strive to learn from our own as well as other people's mistakes.

Ever since our children were very young, Theresa and I have had a funny habit with our kids. It is calledTWD or TWM. We often joke about it and yet we repeatedly encourage it.    

It simply means "Time with Dad" or "Time with Mom." It signifies Theresa or I taking just one of our three sons out alone and focusing exclusively on them as individuals.  It could be dinner, a sports event or even a late night drive around the neighborhood.

I suspect as our kids travel through their own adolescent years, they may prefer mom and I to sit in the back seat.  To their chagrin, we choose up front.  I can then look up at those millions of stars in the heavens and know two of them are looking back at us.  If I listen carefully, I can hear one of them saying, "That's marvelous Raymond."


Enjoy your week.
  

Copyright Shay Realtors 2015 All Rights Reserved

The Last Ride? by Ray Shay

Riding in Style

As our family prepared  to catch our return flight from Salt Lake City, Utah to San Diego this past week, I stood up our carry on luggage with the handle extended skyward. After picking up our boarding passes and checking in our luggage, I grabbed the handle of my carry on only to find our ten year old son, Ryan resting in his familiar spot.

It is a funny location which always makes us both laugh.  He prefers to sit on the "L" shape created by the combination of the handle and the bag.  It has been his favorite

Park City, Utah

spot for many years. I lightly tousled his beautiful brown hair and to his surprise, tilted him back and started wheeling him around.

He has not been my baggage companion for a long time as he is not as small as he used to be. The squeaky wheels and my arm both strained under Ryan's increasing weight. It was a clear indicator he is not getting any smaller.  

As I wheeled him through the airport his older siblings Troy and Raymond who are fifteen and fourteen years respectively, and both hovering around six feet could only dream of such first class service.  

As we moved at our families' consistent hurried pace, I wondered if this just might be the very last time I have the pleasure of hearing Ryan giggle as we slalom through another airport. It also got me thinking about the start of 2015. 

2015 will be full of both surprises and challenges. My biggest challenge is not business as Theresa and I decided early on that our highest priority is our children.  A slightly complex matrix where you want successful employees, great friends and an awesome community, but at the end of the day the ultimate score card is our kids. I think that is true with the vast majority of parents.

With the start of 2015, I feel fortunate we are able to live in this great country and the bountiful blessings including freedom that it presents. I also like that I can still wheel Ryan around an airport and hear his laugh.  It is something I will never forget.

Theresa and I and our entire family wish you a very happy New Year.  

Copyright Shay Realtors 2015 All Rights Reserved 

The Bobsled by Ray Shay

OK, I admit it.  I have never ridden in a bobsled and I never saw the movie, Cool Running.  And yet, given the opportunity to slip on one of those really fast looking racing suits and jumping in, you can count me in!

I know my physique would not look pretty in the tight spandex and I may not win a gold medal in the Olympics, but just to ride in a machine with no engine that goes that frikin fast would be so cool.
 
Is so many ways this month and especially this week, I feel as though I glance up only occasionally from our family bobsled and all I see is a blur.  It's work, it's shopping, it is holiday events, it is the whole enchilada.   From sunrise to sunset we are so busy that we are missing some of the most amazing things. 

Raymond carrying Ryan over finish line!

This all came to mind after our first Santa Run in Pacific Beach last Saturday.

Not enough going on in your home?  Try throwing in a 5K where you wear a red felt Santa jacket, hat, pants, black belt and white sunglasses. Oh yeah it is about 70 degrees and you have to commit one hand to holding up your Santa pants or your falling down on Garnet Ave.. 
 
My life is crazy.  It was not until long after our kids were finally in bed and sound asleep that I looked at the photograph to the right. I had missed it. 

It was a moment in time that reminded me to look up from the blur of our life to really look at a photograph. We take so many pictures I think sometimes we forget how precious these moments can really be.
 

Time really is slipping away if we don't pause.  Even if it is just for a moment.

I guess as much as I feel my life is spent in a bobsled zipping down the icy course, I need to look up more.  If I don't, at the end of the run I will step out a very old man and wonder where all the moments in time went.

To me that would not be a gold medal. It would mean I forgot the most important things in my life which are my wife, children and friends. 

Theresa and I wish you all a great holiday season.

Copyrighted - All Rights Reserved - Shay Realtors 2014 

Countdown by Ray Shay

 

 
I don't know about your place, but our home seems to be surrounded by more launch pads than Cape Canaveral in the early seventies.  Theresa and I peer out through the extra thick, blast proof windows of Mission Control while we constantly check the status of each rocket as it prepares to launch.

If I listen carefully, I can hear a man's deep voice resonate over the public address system as he slowly counts down, "T minus ten seconds and counting. 10, 9, 8,... I never understoodthe T-minus part.  I clicked on the link indicated above and found out NASA also uses an E-minus.  

Pretty cool stuff.

If NASA could do it all over again, I think they would have upgraded to the sound of a soft spoken, articulate woman.  Hearing her voice as the powerful engines shake and start their thunderous rumble the astronauts would be more at ease because they would never have to wonder,  "what did we forget to pack."  If the unfathomable happened and the rocket did explode, at least the last words they heard would not be from someone who could have been the, "Marlboro Man."

 

Mission Control

The rockets preparing to launch at our home are not much different than rockets we all anxiously awaited for as children.  I can still recall counting down the minutes until I turned thirteen years old.  I could not wait for my new job title of, "teenager." That specific day, like so many other days or events seemed to take forever to arrive.

The current launch schedule at our home includes the, "USS - I Want My Driver's Permit" on Launchpad #1.  On #2 we have the "USS - When Will My Paintball Gun Arrive?"  And on #3 we are in the process of an emergency rocket change.  "The USS - I Deserve a Sleep Over" is being rolled away from the tower due to an administrative override.

I better dim the blast shields because the "USS - You Are Grounded" is being fueled with

Launchpad #1

liquid oxygen at multiple fill points and will be launched momentarily.  It's amazing how fast Mission Control can change everyone's launch schedule. Our young astronauts don't seem to realize it is so much harder on all of us to scrub a mission versus letting their fueled rockets fly.  I guess like anyone in charge, being a parent can be lonely.

I find it humorous children cannot wait to grow up while as parents we have a different perspective.  We love progress, improvement and having fun, but I think we tend to notice the splashdowns more than the launches.

Something about seeing those three bright colored parachutes slowly floating down to the deep blue ocean as they hold our children's space capsules safely in their grasps.  After a big splash of salty ocean water, their scorched black re-entry capsule door opens and we can see them smiling.

After they are rescued from the capsule they want to skip decontamination, hugs or anything of the sort.   They rightfully want to move on to the next rocket, the next adventure.  A blessing we all enjoy by being part of this amazing country where opportunity and democracy brings a bright spark to our children's lives. A spark often more muted in poorer and non democratic countries.

Coming Home

I am quick to recognize when our children approach splashdown. In the early morning hours a few days ago, our youngest son Ryan climbed out of his bed and into ours. As I rubbed his messed up hair and welcomed in, I knew his current magical mission of being a little boy is almost over. I wish I could extend this particular mission, but like all missions I know it has to come to an end.

Seeing the scorched and battered rescue capsule reminds all of us of the value of each second we are on this beautiful earth. Despite the worries, effort and challenges we all face, it is a blessing.  One day all of our launch pads will undoubtedly go dark.

When that happens, I hope we can throw all our papers into the air like they did in the Apollo Missions Control Center and yell, "hallelujah!"  Until then, our current challenge is how fast can we get the"USS - You are grounded" into the water?  After all, we have a very long line of amazing rockets lined up all the way from development to the launch pads.

Let's get going people, there is so much more work to be done! 

Honor Our Veterans

Have a great Veterans Day. It is because of our war veterans and their families countless sacrifices over hundreds of years we are able to look up at the evening sky with a sense of wonder and enjoy  the freedom to dream of a better tomorrow.

Thank you,

Copyrighted - All Rights Reserved - Shay Realtors 2014 

"Shooting Stars" by Ray Shay

Our family home growing up in Albuquerque, New Mexico

 

When I was a teenager walking up to our small home in Albuquerque, New Mexico, the first thing I always did was look to see if the kitchen light was on.   If it was, I immediately felt a sense of dread as it meant my father was still awake and he was likely sitting at the bar next to the kitchen.

Like many of the families with parents from the greatest generation it was a unique and memorable time.

Mom and Dad

Our Commander in Chief, the President of the United States sent our dad to fight in two wars.  The first was World War II and the second was the Korean War.  They equipped him with planes and weapons to defeat the enemy and also plenty of cigarettes and alcohol to ease the burden.

All this while our mom raised my older sisters and brothers while working at a San Diego military airplane manufacturing plant.  Like most civilians, our mom helped support the American war machine.  Sadly, it was the cigarettes and alcohol that ultimately shortened both of their lives resulting in them dying before either of them ever laid their eyes on our three beautiful sons.I recall slowly opening our wide front door with a creek and just hoping my dad would be in a good mood.  Sometimes he would have me come over to him as his cigarette burned in the ashtray and the pale white smoke slowly danced upward, hitting the low ceiling before splitting and silently rolling away, while his vodka and quinine water melted the little chips of ice he had cut himself with an ice pick in the small metal bar sink.

My dad would sometimes place his burly right arm over my slim shoulders and point to the ceiling with his left hand and slowly say, "Each of you are my shooting stars".  He would then take his arm off of my shoulders and then point towards our low, white ceiling with the circular swirl marks and say, "You are all going in different directions. I am so proud of each of you. It's just marvelous."

Dad

I never really said much as I counted the seconds until I could get past him and into my bedroom in the garage.  With nine people in our household including seven kids, our three bedrooms and the garage filled up pretty quickly. 

I think sharing a room, having home made clothes, and competing for the best food items were more common back then, or maybe it was just an indicator of which rung on the economic ladder our family landed.  It's funny, I never really felt we were "poor."

Until very recently, I always believed it was the alcohol, my parent's financial worries, or the memories of countless combat operations that resulted in my dad frequently being immersed in his own silent thoughts and often acting like our very own, "Great Santini."

As I sit here in the darkened silence only a few hours before deadline, I realize I have been wrong all these years.  Yes, the wars permanently scarred my parents, but under it all they loved each of us so deeply they would sacrifice anything and everything they had for us.

I think on many of those lonely nights my dad was thinking about his seven "shooting stars" and how he could make sure we stayed safe, clothed and moving in the right trajectories.  It's amazing to think how difficult that must have been.  


Theresa and I have been parents for about sixteen years and only have three kids to worry about and yet we constantly re-evaluate in hopes we are providing them the proper guidance on their complex journey to adulthood and we make the most of our time together.   The most difficult part for me is seeing how each of them change from week to week, year to year.

As you see one stage of their life end, you see another begin.  I find myself holding our youngest son on my lap longer and kissing his head more frequently because I know as he turns into a teenager I won't be so cool anymore and the thought of us holding hands will only be a fond memory.

I just might have to try the "shooting stars" example with our boys. More of a salute to my father and an apology for working so hard to avoid him for so many years.  I guess as a teenager, I never really understood my dad.  He is now gone, just like the cigarette smoke that danced along our ceiling before slowly fading away.

  

Cheers,

Copyrighted - All Rights Reserved - Shay Realtors 2014   

Page Skipper by Ray Shay

Page Skipper

By Ray Shay

9.23.14

I walked into our ten year old son Ryan's bedroom this past week and found him lying on the ground next to his bed.  He was resting his head on the carpet as he watched a show on his laptop computer.  Since he was so quiet, I knew he did not feel well.

Something about your child being sick just tugs at your heart in a certain way that is hard to describe. It reminded me of what my mom would say, "Raymond if I could take your place, I would."  I now understand.  I promised Ryan he would soon feel better as I ran my fingers through his thick, dark hair.

Ryan Shay

Then an idea popped into my head. "Hey Ryan, how about I get one of your old favorite books and I will read it to you in bed?  You know, like
we used to do when you were younger." Ryan didn't even raise his head from the carpet as he said In a very clear and articulate voice, "No dad, that's weird."


I thought it would make him feel better, but In a way, I think it was more for me than him.  Reading a book to our children at bedtime was always a family ritual. At this moment, I once again realized how fast he was growing up.  I was just trying to put the breaks on time.

I think moms are much better at reading to their children than dads. I recall laying down with our sons after they had been fed, bathed, and were dressed in their pajamas.  They would pick out a book or two and

bring it over for me to read.  I would encourage books like, "To the Moon and Back" or anything short or with lots of pictures.  It is not easy to admit, and I am not sure if the the statue of limitations are up, but I have a confession.  I was a bonafide, "Page Skipper." 

That is correct.  I was a dirty scoundrel.  After frequently working long hours as a San Diego Police Officer and doing all the other duties of a dad, I think I was often more tired than our children. To this day, I don't know how Theresa and so many other moms can do it.  They put their children to bed and read ever single word in the book to them.  How is that possible?
 
Sometimes our kids would catch on and yell out while holding their favorite teddy bear, "Dad you skipped a page."  Actually, it was probably more than one page.
 
What our kids did not realize it was a terrifying race against the clock. Laying next to them in their bed I was like a tranquilized dog. One more page longer and I would be saying words that did not make any sense as I fell asleep.
 
More than once, I would wake up to them calling to Theresa, "Mom, Mom, dad fell asleep again." I would sometimes rally, while others nights Theresa would take have to just take over as the closer. The whole experience brings a smile to my face as I realize how fast those years flew by.

A few years back ...

I once again realized we cannot turn the hands on the clock back. In about eight short years the front door to our home will close and there will no longer be little boys or young men to laugh with, or to run my fingers through there hair as they lay quietly by their bed.
 
It makes me recommit to working less, finding new ways to connect with our children.  I may have been guilty of being a "page skipper" but I don't want to miss another second of time as we strive to make the most of our precious time together.
 

Have a great week, 

  

Copyrighted - All Rights Reserved - Shay Realtors 2014 

The Morning Waves by Ray Shay

The Morning Waves

By Ray Shay

7.29.14

 

Do you ever wonder if you are turning into one of your parents?  At 0615 hours, this past Saturday morning, at 18th Street beach in Del Mar, California, my father, Dick Shay probably looked down at me with a knowing smile.  He was looking at his son who is likely too old, too smart, or has come to the point in his life where he simply does not care what people think anymore. 

As the morning sun began to illuminate the pristine blue waves as they barreled into the beach our thirteen year old son, Raymond tossed his Go Pro waterproof digital recorder and neoprene black wetsuit hood on to the sand nearby where I was sitting  

Neoprene Hood and Go Pro

Just before hitting the waves Raymond hollered out, "Dad can you take a video of me riding a wave with your I-phone?"  I nodded "yes" as I was too busy reading emails on my IPAD and reviewing some technical data on home sales.    

After a few minutes, I stopped and looked out at the Pacific Ocean and wondered to myself why I was working at this time in the morning, at one of the prettiest places on this planet. 

I think like most dads I struggle regularly trying to do a better job as a business owner, but more importantly as a father and a husband. 

 

Del Mar Lifeguards Keeping Watch

After chatting with the lifeguards to the left and watching Raymond in the surf, I noticed his black neoprene hood and the Go Pro lying on the sand.  Like many dads and thirteen year old sons our relationship is not all peaches and cream.  I'm his dad and my job is not to always say, "yes." 

I think I have spent too many late hours with other people's children wearing handcuffs in the back seat of my patrol car, escorting them into County Jail or guarding a yellow crime scene taped perimeter, knowing a child's parents will be approaching any minute and I will be telling them what no parent ever wants to hear.

As a result I am probably tougher on our sons than I need to be, but it seems too many parents want to be their kid's BFF's, (best friends forever).  Unfortunately that parenting tactic sometimes ends in tragedy.  

Seeing Raymond once again in the surf, I decided to keep working to build the connection between us.  As I swam out, Raymond looked at me over his grey body board and I could clearly see his beautiful face and read his lips as he said, "Oh My G..." and turn his face away.   His big mistake was leaving both of those items on the beach

I agree it wasn't pretty.  To my sons horror, I probably looked like an old bank robber as I frolicked in the surf wearing grey shorts, no shirt and the black hood covering my head and face while carrying the Go Pro Digital Recorder with a pistol grip in my right hand. 

As our son and the other surfers and wave boarders caught some morning glass, I swam in the waves occasionally using my well tested two handed triangular grip to hold the camera steady as I videotaped Raymond body boarding prowess.  At one point he tried unsuccessfully to hide his face as we both started laughing uncontrollably at the absurdity of it all. 

At the end of the surf session I am not sure if I got any spectacular photographs or a decent video, but I will tell you that among the laughter, smiles and wearing that silly hood, I don't think my parents could have missed us.  The bits of laughter and good mojo between a dad and his son drifting up into the warming San Diego sky probably brought smiles to both of my parents long departed faces.    

I guess as scary as it is ... I really am turning into a blend of each of them.  Theresa and I both believe our children are our biggest treasures above anything else and as a parent you sometimes do unexpected or silly things to remind them of it.      

Have a great week, 

Copyrighted - All Rights Reserved - Shay Realtors 2014 

Reality is so Different... by Ray Shay

Reality Is So Different...

By Ray Shay
7.15.14

Ok, I admit it.  I am a dreamer.  In my dreams the good guys always win.

It was over a year ago when our middle son Raymond blurted out at dinner, "I want to go to the US Naval Academy.  I want to be a Navy Seal so I can be in the fight!"  Raymond's sudden proclamation took my breath away.  He said so much, so quickly, and with so much conviction, it surprised me.  After all, Raymond was only twelve years old.

Just over a year had passed since then when found ourselves standing at the front gate of the US Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland.  Having Raymond attend a Lacrosse camp here seemed like a smart stepping stone on his path to adulthood.  A path that is rarely direct and will certainly be filled with multiple changes and countless obstacles. We checked into our hotel, I was on a mission to find the front gate of the US Naval Academy.  Having been raised as one of seven Navy brats, I knew each military base in the world has a front gate and I was determined to find it.  That was despite pleas from Theresa and Raymond for us to stop and eat, or even my own desires to drink an ice cold beer and eat some Maryland crabs.  I would not stop. I declined all requests.  I just needed to find it. When we finally did,Theresa and Raymond walked up to the front gate and turned so I could photograph them. I was again surprised.  I did not expect it, I was unsure of the cause, but I had to discreetly lower my sunglasses to hide the tears that suddenly filled my eyes. We were no longer just talking about military service.  Theresa and one of our beautiful sons were actually standing where so many other parents have stood before us.  Thoughts of my own family, military service and my dad filled my thoughts.  I could see the broad grin of innocence cross Raymond's face. His childhood dream starting to be fulfilled.  A dream without reality of the hardships and death that warriors all know too well. I really have no choice.  We will support his dream even though I know the good guys don't always win.     After we checked Raymond in we stopped at the Navy Chapel where I knelt quietly in the last row and said a little prayer.  A prayer like most of the prayers coming from that church.  A wish for protection of our son and his dreams and for all past and current warriors who serve our country with honor, pride and courage.  It is them and their parents that deserve our gratitude and our deepest appreciation. Great things like freedom come at a very high cost. Have a good week,

Magic by Ray Shay

Magic

By Ray Shay

6.24.14

Ryan Shay

I think I had one of the longest conversations I have ever had with our barely ten year old son, Ryan this past week.  I don't know if it was because we were on vacation or because we were both floating like two wine corks on the surface of the beautiful and crystal blue Pacific Ocean.

Whatever it was, it was magical. I think it is easier to see magic when your away from your regular duties of work and home life.

Ryan had only just completed fourth grade at Del Sur Elementary School a week earlier, so I was shocked when he began talking about developing his own IPAD applications and how JAVA script really works.  He then quickly crossed into how it could be technically possible to use a scraper to gather animal cells, place the cells in a gene selector and then separate the individual strands of DNA so they could possibly be manipulated. Are you kidding me? I looked around for the hidden camera.  What were you taking about in fourth grade?  I know in my life at that age it was little league baseball, pop warner football and maybe, just maybe, where I was going to ride my bicycle. Ryan summed up his lengthy speech by complimenting his latest teacher, Mrs. Whitehouse.  I know his education did not start or is going to end with her, but she is an amazing woman and a great teacher. There are so many awesome teachers like her who have positively impacted all our kids.   I guess I just want give a shout out of thanks to all teachers and school administrators who are on a well deserved summer break. It is not a big stretch for me to recognize that there are so many parents who are like me, amazed at what you have accomplished with our children. Have a great week, Ray

Memorial Day by Ray Shay

Memorial Day  

By Ray Shay

 

The days leading up to Memorial Day, I found myself thinking of both friends and family members who have served in the United States Armed Forces.  I thought of all the soldiers and military personnel who sacrificed their lives protecting our country and our freedoms which is the real reason we celebrate this special day.

I believe an indication of our deep love of freedom can be measured by the large number of our  warriors who perished protecting complete strangers on foreign lands.  Many of the people they were protecting have never traveled to America, much less sipped from our hard fought cup of freedom. 

I never served in the military, so I struggle to understand the depth of sacrifices of so many young people, many of whom were only kids when they died.  I wondered if my own life had been snuffed out by an Improvised Explosive Device (IED), a snipers bullet or in the up close personal type of armed combat of prior generations, what I would miss the most in my life?

I think it is a personal decision, but I can tell you hands down my greatest joy and thus my greatest loss would have never to have been a father.

I was thinking of our countless heroes from years past while I watched our youngest son, Ryan release a blue and white yoyo from his hand.  The small disk was spinning relentlessly as it raced towards the dark hardwood floor of our living room floor.  The white string neatly unfurled from it's tight confines before the yoyo struck the floor with a surprising deep sounding "clunk" and rolling a few inches before unceremoniously falling over. 

Ryan Shay

The look on Ryan's face was precious.  Having just procured his very first yoyo at Del Sur Elementary School, he had discovered that even with his arm extended above his shoulder the yoyo string was still too long to be operational.   He was simply too short.  

I watched closely as Ryan critically assessed the situation.  He thought for a moment and then deftly stepped up on to our living room couch (with his white soccer flats on), and tried again.   

The extra about twenty inches of height was enough to allow his yoyo to reach the end of it's repetitive journey and quickly curl back up to his little right palm.  With a sense of satisfaction, Ryan quickly turned his head and flashed me a devilish grin.  He had solved the problem.

I just wanted to freeze that brief moment in time that so many of our veterans frequently miss. 
Later in the day, I text Ryan' s older brothers Troy and Raymond the picture to the right. I found hanging in a gunsmith's shop in El Cajon. Two places, I rarely go.   

I noticed the poster on the right was hanging on a "peg board" on the wall of the business.  I laughed to myself because I couldn't wait to ask our three sons if they knew what a "peg board" was.  I began to practice various scenarios on how I could explain it to them.

Towards the end of the day,  Theresa and I attended Raymond's last Lacrosse game of the season for the Del Norte Nighthawks.   As luck would have it, Raymond took a shot at goal in overtime and scored the winning goal. 

As his teammates swarmed him and everyone was cheering, I thought how fortunate we are that we can enjoy our freedoms and spend so much precious time with our children.  A privilege so many military families cannot.

When we returned home, I located a pair of scissors and trimmed the length of Ryan's yoyo string so he could enjoy his timeless toy without leaving his shoe prints on our couch.  He was so happy and for a split second he looked at me like I was his hero.

Deep in my heart, I knew I was not.   I know who the true heroes really are.  They are the moms, dads, sons and daughters who wear American flags on the shoulder of their military uniforms and too frequently surrender their dreams so we can have ours.

Theresa and I hope you had a great Memorial Holiday weekend.    

  

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