GEN Z

 GEN Z

 

A 26-year-old female is typically considered a member of Generation Z. Have you interacted with a Gen Z lately? I have, and here is my experience. 

I was leaving a funeral home when I noticed John Etchison sitting in his car. I walked over to his vehicle; he rolled down his window. Wait a minute; that may not be the right way to say that. He might have had electric windows in that limousine. After all, I don’t think they sell roll-down car windows anymore. But I digress. 

I leaned into the open window and asked, 

“What are you doing the rest of the day?” 

It was my subtle way of planting the seed for lunch. I hoped he would say nothing, that he was hungry, and would go to lunch with me. So, my approach of asking, “What are you doing with the rest of the day?” was misleading. I wanted to have lunch with someone. And of course, I was anticipating he might reject me. Don’t we all hedge our bets just in case someone wants nothing to do with us? 

He could tell me he was getting ready to have lunch with a beautiful blonde bomb shell on the south side of town, which he had been after for the last couple of months. And, of course, I would perfectly understand if he ghosted me for a good reason. And a blonde bomb shell would have been a good reason. But he didn’t say that. What he said was, 

“Nothing.” 

Wow, I knew I had jumped the first hurdle. Next, I had an idea where I wanted to go for lunch, but I wasn’t sure if John had something in mind in the way of a restaurant. I wanted to go to Flap-Jacks, a mom-and-pop on Main Street in downtown Browsburg. I used to know a guy years ago who introduced me to the restaurant. 

Walt Smith, aka known as Cowboy

While in Brownsburg, I wanted to visit the restaurant that Walt Smith (His friends called him ‘Cowboy’) often visited. I remembered he loved the place, and the food was pretty good. While living in Florida, Walt passed, and I was unaware he had died. So, while in Browsburg, I wanted to pay what I considered my tribute to him by going to Flap-Jacks. 

He always had a pretty gal on his arm. 

So, I stood next to John’s vehicle (with the electric windows) and we decided lunch was a good idea. John then lamented that he was unaware of the restaurants in the area.

“Do you know where we could go?” (Don’t you just love it when a plan comes together?) 

I stood, offered my best basketball fake, and a facial expression of someone who knew nothing about the area. I stood on the three-point line in the funeral home parking lot, wide open and ready to take my long-distance three-point shot. 

“Well, there is a place on Main Street I have been to before. You want to give it a try?”

“Sure, where are you parked? I will follow you.” 

As Sheldon on The Big Bang Theory used to say, Bazingal!

Like most small towns, Brownsburg has a population of 32,000 and is located west of Indianapolis. Its downtown is older and lacked zoning laws when it was first settled. 

William Harris first named the city Harrisburg in 1848. Why not name the town after himself? Willy laid out the streets. William ws in charge. But then came the Civil War, which put the kibosh on Harrisburg. After the war, Harrisburg became Brownsburg. Why? They wanted a post office, and Indiana already had a Harrisburg. So goodbye to good old Willy Harris and his dream of immortality. In some circles, they call that progress.  

The old downtown (Main Street) is a hodgepodge of businesses and homes on the main drag. A few new buildings have been built next to older houses still standing. It’s a mix of old and new. Some like it, and some want it to go away. 

But my goodness, look out by the Interstate (I-70) at all the activity—all the majors, like Walmart, Lowe’s, Home Depot, KFC, McDonald's, upscale restaurants, nursing homes, car dealerships, you get the idea.   

We pulled into the parking lot of Flap-Jacks, also known by Brownsburg City Hall's taxing department as “The Breakfast Co.” The building was a Burger King and maybe a Pizza place. But Panagiotis (Pete) Avgerinos and his wife, Debora Avgerinos, own the business now. Pete passed in 2018, and as they say, the band marches on. It’s still an excellent breakfast stop if you're looking for warm and friendly service. Leave it to the Greeks to make the business work and be profitable.  

John and I found a booth close to the windows. Of course, men talk about men's stuff—yes, that includes talking about women. Just as we were about to start a deep discussion of how we both have had multiple marriages through no fault of our own, our waitress came to our table. 

She was young (under 20 years old?), had a pleasant smile, and was no shrinking violet. She was in no hurry to take our order; she stood her ground and got to know us with just a few words. 

“What do we call you besides, Hey you?”

"Do you know the movie Aladdin?” 

I looked at John; John looked at me. “Aladdin?”  

“Yes, the movie Aladdin, don’t tell me, you two worldly men don’t know or haven’t seen the movie Aladdin. Its as classic.” 

“Okay, let’s assume we know the movie you are talking about. What about it?” 

“Well then, you would know the main character in the movie, that’s my name.”

“John and I looked at each other again; neither of us had any idea about the movie or the main character.”  

“Why don’t you pronounce the name so we don’t pronounce it incorrectly?”  

                

“Jasmine."

“Jasmine. Oh yes, John, do you remember the night we rolled dried jasmine flowers? Put a match to the end of the roll? What a fantastic stress reliever and mood-enhancing drug. I don’t know about you, but it boosted my energy and sexual desire. Do you remember that night, John?

“Did you really smoke Jasmine? What was it like?” 

“Jasmine, we should not have brought up our private lives in front of a young innocent woman like yourself. We told her we were there for a good time and asked her whether she would allow us to have a good time. She smiled, and John and I could tell she had dealt with smartasses like us before. 

I know what you’re thinking, two eighty-year-old men flirting with an under twenty-year-old girl, we are sick, we are pigs, we are disgusting. She never missed a beat, and we both liked that about her. She took our drink orders (Diet Cokes) and returned shortly. 

“Duncan, you’re going to get us arrested if you keep telling stories like that.” 

“Hey, John, you're an X cop. You can get us out of any problems we get into. I assume you are ‘packing’ today like every other day?” 

“Okay, you wild and crazy boys, what will it be today?” 

As our conversation and meal ended, they were getting ready to close the restaurant at 3:00 P.M. Jasmine came to our table again. 

“Jasmine, we have a problem.”

“What’s that?” 

"One of us says you are over twenty (20), and the other says under. So settle the argument. Which way is it?" 

"Let me tell you how many kids I have first. Then you guess my age." 

"Okay, how many kids do you have?" 

"Six." 

"You have six (6) children? Well, we know what you like to do. How old were you when you had your first child? 

“Nineteen.” (19) 

“Nineteen (19). How old are you now? 

"I'm twenty-six. (26)  

(Honestly, she looked in her late teens)

"Jasmine, can I assume you have a man in your life?" 

"Not so much." 

“Not so much? Does he help with the bills?” 

“Jasmine hesitated. “Not so much.” 

I was afraid to ask other questions. 

We paid the bill and headed to the parking lot. How in the world would a twenty-six-year-old woman be able to care for six children on a waitress's salary? 

I asked John to let me take one photograph of our lunch. With his arms spread, I said, "Our child-rearing days are over, my friend. Thank goodness." 

“Duncan, she tells that story to persuade you to tip generously. And I noticed you were very generous with your tip. You were had my friend.” 

As Mark Twain has been known to say, 

“Never let the truth get in the way of a good story.” (Or a good tip!) 

 

FUNERALS

 FUNERALS

Why not go? Life moves quickly through high school and college graduations to lavish weddings, fun retirement parties, and quiet, dignified, respectful funerals. What’s next?

Sue Ann Webber-Utterback

Maybe that last question is the reason I hesitate to go to funerals. Yogi Berra once said, 

“Always go to other people's funerals; otherwise, they won’t come to yours.” 

I wasn’t sure I wanted to go to another funeral. I received an email from a high school classmate (Danny Sacks) that Sue Ann Webber-Utterback (a classmate) had passed earlier in the week. The funeral would be on Friday, and the visitation would be from 11:00 to 1:00. At my age, I get a lot of invitations to funerals. 

I’m not a novice when it comes to funerals. I was present when my mother was rushed to the hospital with excruciating pain in her leg. The diagnosis was that she had a blood clot. She was taking Coumadin. Her heart was weak. Mom was weak, and the doctors felt that if they operated, she would die from the operation. They decided they would not operate. What about the blood clot? 

When the doctor entered the space, I stood at the foot of Mom’s bed in the small emergency space with clothed walls between patients. Dad was seated next to Lucy against the wall. My mother raised herself from the pillow. 

“What are we going to do?”  

“Wait.” 

“Wait for what?” 

“Mrs. Duncan, the clot will move at some point; it will move to your brain. When this happens, you will have a thrombotic stroke. Mrs. Duncan, I’m afraid, this is very painful news. You're going to die.” 

There was a hush in the room. I couldn’t believe I heard what the doctor said. I looked at Dad. He was sitting up in the chair, and slowly, he slumped, looking at the floor, his elbows on his knees. 

Mom: “How long will it take before it moves?” 

Doctor: “We estimate one to three days.” 

I wasn’t sure what to do. Should I comfort Mom or comfort Dad? I stood frozen in place. Then, the doctor suggested that she get her affairs in order and gather her family as quickly as possible. 

My mother was a deeply religious woman—one of the most faithful Baptists you would ever want to meet. However, she and I were not on the best of terms. You see, I had committed adultery and was divorced. The Ten Commandments have a number seven. ‘Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery.’ I was ostracized or ghosted by my parents for years. 

As the Baptist faith teaches, I can no longer enter the Kingdom of Heaven.” I had committed the unforgivable sin. My parents no longer had a son. And yet, Dad called for my help to get the love of his life to the hospital. I was caught in an emotional typhoon. 

Again, I didn’t know what to do. I was surprised Dad was not up out of his chair, giving comfort. He continued in his chair, looking at the floor. I kept thinking, ‘Dad, get up, say something to her.’ Then Mom raised her head and motioned for me to approach her bed. She clasped my hand thumb to thumb and held my hand tight. 

“I love you, Steve.” … “I’m going to die.” 

“Yes, I heard what the doctor said.” 

I can only assume Sue Ann and Larry shared their tender moments. Was there a conversation between Sue Ann and Larry that may have occurred when she was placed in hospice? Did Sue Ann have her “I’m going to die” moment? I’m sure there were soft words before she passed. 

It's difficult to say goodbye to your wife of 60 years. When the funeral is over and the friends and family have left, Larry will find himself in a home without Sue. It will take time. Moments late at night, he wakes. He now eats meals alone, waking up to an empty house. 

When should I go to funerals, and when should I pass? I don’t have a good answer to that question. Was Sue Ann a great friend? Did I know her well? Was she one of my “Very Close And Personal Friends?” I hate to say it, but “Not really.” Did I know her? Sure, she was always pleasant and kind to me. Her husband, Larry Utterback, was also gracious to me. Most of our interaction was at high school class reunions over the last 50 years. Sue Ann and Larry were classmates. 

But this funeral made me feel like I should at least pay my respects. My mind goes back to when my father (George R. Duncan) passed, and we lived in Florida. Dad asked me to promise him that I would never put him in a nursing home. And so, I took him to Florida with me. 

One morning at The Good Shepherd United Methodist Church, I was wheeling Dad into the sanctuary when the Preacher approached me and said, 

“You need to put your father in hospice.” 

I was stunned at the suggestion. Put Dad in hospice? No, he’s not ready for that!

As it turned out, a woman came to the house at my request, and I asked her if Dad was anywhere near needing hospice care. She broke it to me as gently as possible.

A hospital bed was set up in the living room; a nurse came each day to check on him. Then it began, Dad was not eating. The hospice nurse warned me about the path my father was on. 

He can remain alive for a long time if he is not eating. But, if he refuses water, and won't take water, his life expectancy is about 3-5 days before your father passes. I noticed the nurse trying to place water on his lips with a small wet sponge on the end of a stick. Dad turned his head away from the sponge as if water tasted awful.   

His arrangements were made in Indianapolis years ago. When it came time for my father's funeral. I was unsure if anyone would come. Dad was 99 years old. Is it possible that all of his friends have already died? 

I was surprised at the number of people who came to pay their respects. While greeting people, I noticed a friend (Steven Garrity) sitting in the corner of the viewing room. I was surrounded by a long line of people wanting to say something personal to me, and I wanted to hear each word they wanted to say.  

At one point, I thought the line would slow so I could chat with my friend Steven, but it was not to be. He stood up, and I looked away from the person I was talking with. He gave me a soft and subtle salute and left the building. I still remember that moment.

Did it make an impression on me? Yes, the gift of his time was something I have never forgotten. That event was seven years ago.

I believe He was simply saying, I know your loss, your pain, your feelings, and I came to pay my respects to you and your father. There was no handshake, hug, or whispered words in my ear. Just a glance and a half smile as he left the room. 

As I dressed, still thinking whether I needed to go to the funeral, I was unsure what to wear. I decided on “Black.” Black slacks, a black pullover sweater, and dress shoes. It’s interesting how clothes can make a person feel. Should I have worn a formal suit with a necktie? I believe it would have been acceptable. However, I decided this funeral was not about me; it was about being there and paying respect.

I need not be fearful of this event. I need to blend in like Steven did with me seven years ago, simply be there and pay my respects.   

The funeral home was in Brownsburg, twenty miles west of Indianapolis. Brownsburg has a population of 32,000 and is considered a suburb of Indianapolis. The parking lot was full. I found a space and parked. I walked slowly to the large double doors of the funeral home. I admit I took a deep breath before I entered the building. 

An elder man in a dark suit stood just inside the door. He motioned me to the room where the funeral was being staged. I noticed the register. I signed my name: Stephen A. Duncan. Funny how I have many “me’s.” In some places, I’m known as “Steve.” In other places, I’m known as “Duncan.” Today, I’m Stephen A. Duncan. I scanned the register and looked at the names. 

I pulled away from the register and walked into a very large space. It’s a typical funeral in that there are couches and chairs against the walls and rows of folding chairs in the middle of the room. The casket is against the wall at the far end. A line of people is standing in line. I walked through the crowd, talking softly, and found my place in line. I was ten deep in the line and knew it would take a few minutes to express my regrets. 

As I stood in line, I analyzed the people in the receiving line. Larry Utterback was seated on a stool in front of the casket. To his right was his son. He was very animated and wanted to introduce people to his dad. He tried to make this moment as pleasant for Larry as possible. Next to the son was a daughter. She was flamboyant and focused on a group of five women before me. Next came two young boys. I watched them very carefully. They were uncomfortable being in the line. I assumed their parents told them to be polite. 

As I approached the two young men, I smiled and asked them,

“And who are you?” 

We are the grandsons. I guessed them at an age where I don’t think they were driving a car just yet. They each gave me a limp handshake, which was very polite. I told them I was Sue and Larry's 1962 Pike classmate. They seem to be a little more at ease with that information. 

It was time to introduce myself to Larry's son. Larry jumped in and shook my hand as I was about to tell his son who I was. Larry was very gracious and made me feel comfortable. He told his son that I was the photographer for the class reunions. I had to laugh. 

Larry looked tired; it’s been a challenging week for him. He will be returning to an empty home after the funeral. I waited for anything Larry wanted to tell me about Sue. His eyes left me with the impression that he had been her good and faithful husband. Sue had been ill for a very long time. Larry did everything he could to make her comfortable. Larry is a very good man.

I normally take a lot of photographs, but a funeral is a solemn atmosphere. Taking pictures at a funeral could be considered disrespectful, so I don’t have photos for this post. 

I moved to the back of the room and found other classmates standing and talking. Nellie Marie Sanders, Marion Nicholas Sutphin, Judith Eileen Lovell, John Cross Etchison, Shirley Jane Elsbury. 

The small talk was over, and the service was about to begin. I decided not to stay for the service and the burial. I stepped back a few steps and watched as the room started finding their seats. I moved back a few more steps, turned, and walked slowly to the front doors.

I pushed on the door bar, and the heavy doors released, and I found myself standing in the afternoon sun. If you have your health, you have everything. I don't need cains, crutches, walkers, or wheelchairs yet.  

"A man goes through life to death, it's the middle that counts." 

That sentence is attributed to Ernest Hemingway, though it's not a direct quote from his published works. However, it reflects a common Hemingway-esque philosophy that emphasizes the importance of living a meaningful life during the "middle" years, focusing on the experiences and choices that define a person's journey rather than just the beginning and end. 

The Dash by Linda Ellis

I read of a man who stood to speak at the funeral of a friend. 

He referred to the dates on the tombstone from the beginning...to the end

He noted that first came the date of birth and spoke the following date with tears, 

But he said what mattered most of all was the dash between those years

For that dash represents all the time that they spent alive on earth. 

And now only those who loved them know what that little line is worth

For it matters not, how much we own, The cars...the house...the cash. 

What matters is how we live, love, and spend our dash.

So, think about this long and hard.

Are there things you'd like to change? 

You never know how much time is left, and things can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough to consider what's true and real 

And always try to understand the way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger, and show appreciation more, and love the people in our lives 

Like we've never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect and more often wear a smile, 

Remembering this special dash might only last a little while

So, when your eulogy is being read with your life's actions to rehash... 

Would you be proud of the things they say about how you spent YOUR dash?

 SEX - MARRIAGE 

BY DUNCAN

Let’s assume you might be a little squeamish reading about sex and marriage. If sex and marriage don’t go together, this post might not be for you.

Stay with me; I have a reason for discussing William “Bill” Stephen Belichick. Better known as Bill Belichick. He is currently in the news. He is hawking a book he wrote called The Art of Winning: Lessons from My Life in Football. Yes, the man is in the news. He’s out there, giving interviews and causing quite a stir.

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Who is Bill Belichick? If you don't follow sports or the NFL (National Football League), you may not be familiar with this guy. I don’t know him other than he coached the New England Patriots football team. His high-profile quarterback was Tom Brady. Remember him? The GOAT? (Greatest Of All Time?) Please don’t feel bad, I didn’t know what ‘goat’ meant either.

Bill has been a football coach for fifty years (50). He reminds me of Indiana Football Coach Curt Cignetti, “Google me, I win.” Bill wins; he has eight Super Bowl rings. And many other awards. Give him his due: the guy is good at what he does.

The photo above is a snapshot of Bill’s first and only marriage with his family. However, the very private and focused Bill Belichick doesn’t like to talk about his personal life. His 29-year marriage to his wife, Debby Clarke Belichick, and their three children is no longer a private matter. Of course, the question one might ask is,” Why is it not a private matter now? “What happened?”

“In 2004, Bill and Debby separated, and the divorce was finalized in 2006. Bill and Debby Bilichick were officially divorced; 29 years of marriage dissolved.

Debby Clarke Belichick (67) has not remarried and remains a devoted mother, supporting her children in their pursuits. Read between the lines. However, Bill is making quite a splash.

Yes, their marriage problems are none of our business. However, this could lead to an interesting discussion I'd like to have about sex and marriage. Let’s use this situation as a blueprint for a conversation below.

I have no idea why Bill and Debby divorced. But after poking around on the internet. (No pun intended), I found accusations that Bill had an affair with a woman by the name of Sharon Shenocca. She was a former receptionist for the New York Giants. Bill was a coach for the Giants, and I assume Sharon became a personal and very close friend of Bill.

Sharon was going through a divorce from her husband, Vincent Shenocca. Vincent accused his wife of committing adultery with Belichick. I’m tiptoeing through the tulips here. (The New York Post.) Maybe I should use the word “Alleged.”

According to the divorce proceedings, Bill showered Sharon with expensive gifts and provided her with money to hire a maid for her New Jersey home. This gesture of paying for a maid raises the hair on the back of my neck. Was Sharon challenged when it comes to keeping a house neat and tidy, the way Bill might like it to be?

Bill was also very generous, sending Sharon $150,000 by FedEx for a lavish vacation. And Bill was also renovating a $2.2 million Brooklyn town home he bought for her to live in with her two kids. Vincent in court said, “Put two and two together, it’s not brain surgery, it’s baffling.”

Bill and Sharon’s relationship, or rather, friendship, was not a long-term one. Again, I wonder why? (The maid?) Maybe a year or more. Sharon denied being romantically involved with Bilichick, stating he was just a generous family friend. (The New York Post.) She planned on paying him back.

Linda Holiday, a television correspondent, and Belichick began dating in 2007 after meeting in Palm Beach, Florida. Bill was “friends” with both Sharon and Linda at the same time. Linda Holiday, a mother of two teens, was divorcing her third husband when they met. Was that a typo? Did I say divorcing her third husband?

Linda Holiday and Bill decided to call it quits in 2023 after a 16-year ride. Well, 16 years is certainly enough time to determine if she keeps a tidy home.

The reason they split was that their relationship “ran its course.” I find the words “ran its course” interesting. I struggle to find other words that might be more appropriate, like “ran a ground?”, but not knowing anything about the situation, I have no idea what “ran its course” really means. It is believed they were “pretty separate“ for some time before the official announcement.

Sounds like Bill has a pattern here. Date them, separate, move on. Again, I love the words used here, “pretty separate.” This was not “Breaking News” on any of the major networks. After the split, according to People Magazine, Linda Holiday remained in their Jupiter, Fla. home. Bill didn’t want a lot of press about the split. Linda Holiday was “well taken care of” after the split. Keep in mind, Mr. Belichick did not marry either Sharon or Linda. I found this piece of information to be an interesting football analogy in our coach's mind. Maybe this play was called a “flea flicker” or perhaps the “Razzle Dazzle.” Maybe Bill thought the quarter was over, and it was time for an overtime experience. Maybe it’s because Bill got on a plane and found something new.

Bill and Linda Holiday called it quits, run-a-gound, ran its course in 2023. Bill gets on a plane in Boston and is heading to Florida. Let’s review these dates again to ensure I have them correct.

The next encounter on a plane was on February 21, 2021. As he takes his seat, a very attractive young woman sits next to him. (Is Bill flying coach?) Her name is Jordon Hudson, and she is a college student studying philosophy at Bridgewater State University. Jordon realizes she is sitting next to “money, power, maturity” and takes a selfie. She has a social media following and knows this meeting with Bill Belichick will draw a bigger audience to her social media site. Jordon tells Mr. Belichick that she needs to give him a lesson in philosophy. And so the lesson begins. Belichick listens and is amused. The flight is about three hours. They exchange their phone numbers and contact information, and Bill autographs her philosophy textbook, “Deductive Logic.” The seed of a future encounter is planted.

What happens next is unclear, except to say, they had another meeting under the cover of darkness, let’s say—the darkness of the Press and Entertainment Tonight. So, I will assume Bill has moved on from Linda and is now focusing on his extracurricular activities, like fishing.

Bill is now in a friend-of-the-family relationship. It was also noticed that Jordon was driving a brand-new white Porsche, rumored to have been given to her by Belichick. How can he afford these extravagances?

It’s not hard to find out. Simply Google “Bill Belichick Net Worth.” With 50 years of coaching experience, Bill has earned over $200 million in his career. I’m sure his 29-year marriage with Debby Clarke Belichick and three kids were part of where his income was spent. Not to mention Sharon Shenocca and Linda Holiday. He could afford to be generous and was. After a divorce, and two very attractive women to sample and enjoy, Bill still has $70 million in the bank. A man in his early 70s feels that at this stage of life, he can afford a few extravagances.

Let’s take dinner as an example. How to travel to Bill’s favorite Bistro? An eight-time Super Bowl winner/champion and a man with enormous success in his chosen field, needs to let people know he’s “Living the Dream.” And a man’s hubris has a way of requiring that extra pump of esteem and respect.

Bill drives his latest and most expensive vehicle to the venue. He, of course, needs to have an attractive young sexy woman on his arm. He is welcomed “by name” (Mr. Belichick) by the maitre d—no need to have his name on his lapel or baseball cap. This place ain’t Cheers, where everybody knows your name. The hat check girl doesn’t give you a claim ticket to put in your pocket. They know who you are and will have their fedora at the ready when you are preparing to leave. It’s not spoken. It’s settled, waiters serve quietly, respectively. The kitchen knows Bill is in the house. Bill and his trophy are seated in a cozy nook. Jordon only reads the left side of the menu. Price means nothing. Wine, yes, please, the best.

What is not known is how Jordon Hudson became so important (can I say controlling) about Bill. From February 2021 to date (Four Years), it appears Jordan has total control over Bill Belichick.

Jordan is also known as a “social media influencer,” with 91,000 followers on Instagram. Full transparency, I don’t understand Instagram. When I look at the folders or the files (pictures), that’s all there is, pictures. And this is called an influencer.

https://www.instagram.com/jordon/?hl=en (In case you want to take a peek.)

Jordon Hudson, a former cheerleader and beauty contestant, is 24 years old. Bill 73. A 48-year age gap. As Jerry Seinfeld has said,

“Not that there is anything wrong with that.”

I’ve also learned in the last 18 months that Jordon has become quite the real aficionado. She has purchased four pieces of property worth a total of $8 million. Three investment properties and a home for herself. All have mortgages in her name.

Let’s talk about what everyone is talking about. Bill Belichick and his book. He appears on a CBS Sunday Morning program to promote his book. The interviewer, whom I don’t know (Tony Dokoupil), a CBS employee, was chosen for a friendly chat about Belichick’s new book. Jordon is sitting off camera close by, and when Tony moves away from “football” and asks, “How did you two meet?” Jordon speaks,

“We’re not talking about this.”

Tony turns and looks over at Jordon and asks, “NO?”

Jordon: “No!”

So, if you haven’t been aware of this story, or don’t happen to care one way or the other, it’s okay. I have stumbled across it and found it amusing. Depending on your take on Bill Belichick and or Jordon Hudson, you can come to your own conclusions. It’s a world that I’m not a part of, or will I ever? You see, I don’t have $70 million.

But I’m part of the world of relationships. Women and men. If you read me at all, you already know I’m an older white American Baptist Christian male heterosexual. You may already know my parents have both passed. So, I’m living my life with few filters to guide me through this world to the end. (That was the religious part of the post.)

Here is my take on this story above. I get both of them. I do, I see an ego-driven narcissistic man who makes a lot of money by winning football games. He wants to be important. To who? Maybe it’s in his DNA. He has learned to excel at the highest level of coaching football. Where does he get his accolades from? From his wife, from his family? Look at the picture above and tell me what you see. The wife is not wearing a cheerleader outfit. Hey, she's been through this for 29 years; give her a break.

He is rewarded with money, perks, and accommodations from everywhere as a winner. It goes to his head. Each year, the NFL plays 17 games. He wants to win. He is driven to win. With each win, he believes he is better than the other 32 coaches who play each Sunday. Consider this: there are 272 regular-season games. If he wins 17 of them, he is a GOAT. (Greatest Of All Time.) He says to himself, “I want that, I need that!”

He has a formula for winning, and he runs his operation (team) with an iron fist. No joking and no smoking. You do it my way, or you're out. Fifty years later, he needs the reassurance of his value as a coach and is unwilling to step down. The drug of winning is too addictive. At 72, he has a $50 million, five-year contract with the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Proof he has value. Bill knows he wants someone on my arm who also believes I’m good at what I do, on and off the field.

I’m sorry to say this, and I will be criticized for even saying it. When you get married, everything is terrific. Then the children come along; the lover turns into a mother. The mother then feels the need to mother the husband. Oh, it doesn’t happen overnight; it takes a while. The wife knows better than the husband. She is smarter than her husband; she becomes more assertive than her husband.

Some men are okay with the shift. Sometimes it happens even before the kids are born. Walking down the aisle at the wedding, the bride winks at a girlfriend, “That’s the last BJ I’ll ever give.” Yes, I know what an ungodly thing it is to say. That’s not how it works.

Yes, it is … I’m sorry. If it’s not another woman, then it’s golf, fishing, hunting, or working on a car in the garage. Or a woman at work. You leave him behind; he leaves you behind. Yes, I know what the Bible says; it’s been pounded into my head from when I was a little boy. There are rules, the commandments, things I can and can’t even think about. In 1976, Jimmy Carter nearly lost the election following a controversial interview with Playboy magazine.

"I’ve looked on a lot of women with lust" and committed adultery "in his heart."

Holy smokes, not Jimmy Carter. Okay, I’m making this sound like all of the problems with relationships are with women. And we both know that’s not the case. Some truly reprehensible individuals should never be in a long-term, committed relationship. But some women seem to like that kind of guy for some reason. Yes, it’s a small percentage of the female population. But they are out there.

Turning to Jordon Hudson. It’s easy to criticize her for what she is doing. Societal norms suggest the age gap is inappropriate. And maybe it is. I see comments like, “It won’t last.” What won’t last?

The pattern for Belichick is to enjoy and move on. He hasn’t married the last two flings. You think he is going to marry this one. “She is using him.” “She’s a gold digger.” So is a woman going through a divorce. There is nothing that can be said about Jordon that is not true. Jordon has an agenda, and Billy-boy has an agenda. She seems to understand the game plan, get it while it’s hot. He gets what he wants, and she gets what she wants. Does anyone think she will bear children and raise a family? Not me.

She is going to get all she can while her skin is tight and she has a winning attitude. She is as hard as nails. And has a case of Estee Lauder, Pure Color Envy Hi-Luster, Drop-Dead Red lipstick at the ready. Believe it. She has a plan in place. She is smart enough to know the clock is ticking. She may change her mind down the road and want what is considered a normal lifestyle. However, she has experienced the good life, the fast life, and she will not give it up for something as mundane as children. If it’s not with Billy, it will be the next one with money. She and Billy are made from the same cloth. So, I say to both of them, ride that rocket before it runs out of fuel.

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