Mom's Passing...

This column originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on June 13, 2009.

I have never really felt old - at least, not until this past Sunday. Now I'm feeling a bit more mortal, and more than a little lost and lonely.

My Mom died in her sleep Sunday night, a peaceful way to pass from this world. She was 73 and not in the best of health, so while it was not a total shock it nonetheless was a crushing blow to our entire family.As I sit here preparing for her funeral and trying to figure out what to say about the person who brought me into this world, I have been reflecting on my own life. I suspect that is what people do when their last surviving parent dies, and they suddenly realize they are now the oldest generation in their family.

Mom taught me early on about the power of unconditional love. It was from her I learned that no matter how mad I got at my family members, they were still my family. She taught me that even if awful things were said and done between us, we still had to love each other.

And believe me, we tested that premise over the years. We were different in many ways, but we shared a common trait of stubbornness. Neither of us liked to lose an argument, and both of us knew how to throw that particularly cutting phrase in at the end of a battle. Of course, when you fight with your mother, even if you win you still lose. It took a long time for that lesson to sink in.

My parents split up when I was 12, and I became very protective of my mom. As I got older, I wanted to be out with my friends. But Mom needed me home to watch my younger brother and sister while she worked, because affording a babysitter was difficult. That led to many spirited discussions, and usually wound up with me sitting at home. Mom had a job working in the school cafeteria and later in the superintendent's office. That meant she was at my school often, and it was very difficult for me to get away with anything.

After I got married and had children, my mother discovered her true niche in life. She was born to be a grandmother. She loved my two boys with a passion and dedication that was as pure as it was strong. And she told me early on that life was short, and she had no intention of wasting any time.

"When I die, no one is going to be able to say I didn't enjoy my grandkids" my Mom used to say all the time.

Mom spent every moment possible with those boys. She took them places, played video games with them, refereed their indoor wrestling matches, and pretty much allowed them to do anything they wanted. At Christmas time, the toy stores would open early just to get my mother's business. My kids adored her, right up to the day she died.

And when my son gave her a great-grandson last year (did I mention his name is William?) my mother's life was truly complete. Although she knew him for just one short year, he captured her heart completely. Just when she thought she had given all the love she could, she found she had even more to give.

Now Mom is gone, and I'm a grandfather. All the things she did with her grandchildren that sometimes irritated me so much as a parent, I intend to do with my grandchildren. I'm not going to let anyone say I didn't enjoy my grandkids either.

The next time grandson Will does something amazing, I know I will catch myself reaching for the phone to tell my mother all about it. It will be at that time the true impact of this past week's events will truly hit home.

I'm now the oldest surviving member of my immediate family. It is now my turn to complain about high prices, the younger generation, and how the kids hardly ever call anymore.But I know I will never be able to do it all as well as Mom did. I love you, Mom.

BILL GOUVEIA is a local columnist, and the proud son of the late Patricia (Houghton) Keeler. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.

Grandson Will writes a column

This column originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on May 2, 2009.

I hope you readers will bear with me, because this is my first newspaper column. My name is Will Gouveia, and I just turned one year old – but please don’t hold my youthful inexperience against me.

My Grandpa Bill Gouveia usually occupies this space on Saturday mornings, but I asked Grandpa if I could borrow his column because I have a few things I want to say. He’s doing most of the typing.

I want to talk about relationships. Not the mushy kind, with all that romantic stuff. Remember, I’m only one. I want to talk about the importance of family relationships. Who knows more about that than someone who is completely dependent on them for daily survival?

Mom and Dad have to take care of me. It’s their fault I’m here at all (even though I’m not real clear yet how that happens). But I think I’m pretty lucky, ‘cause I’ve got really cool parents. It’s hard to imagine people who would love me more than they do. They tell me all the time – even when I’m screaming at three o’clock in the morning.

Mom works at something called a bank. All I know is lots of people go there, and they have lots of money. She’s a boss there, and tells people what to do – just like at home. Dad writes for a newspaper. I know what that is, because I love pulling them off the couch and crunching them up.

I want to say thanks to Mom and Dad for making my life so great. To be sure, they haven’t done everything right. Dad should have kept me away from that evil goat at the Petting Zoo, and Mom has dressed me in some pink stuff. But overall they are amazing, and I wouldn’t want anyone else for parents.

Since this is Grandpa’s column, I have to mention him. My full name is William George Thomas Gouveia. I’m named after my three wonderful grandfathers. Grandpa Bill thinks it is a really big deal my first name is the same as his. He tells everyone about it – and I mean EVERYONE!

Grandpa talks to me and tells me stories. He signed me up for Red Sox Kid Nation when I was two days old. He’s promised me one of his Patriot season tickets someday so I can go to a game – although he insists it will be the ticket he usually gives to Dad.

But he also talks to me about stuff I really don’t understand yet. He tells me how important it is to be involved with my family and friends as I get older. He introduced me to Uncle Rick, who isn’t really my uncle but has been Grandpa’s friend since they were in the first grade – which I think was back in the 1800’s sometime. He tells me that a person who has friends and family around him will always be rich, even if they don’t have any money. He says I should be happy I have so many uncles, aunts, and great-uncles and aunts too – not to mention great-grandparents.

The best part about spending time with Grandpa is getting to see Grandma. She taught me how to humor the old guy and get what I want. She apparently has been doing that a long time. She is extra-special in her own right. I learn so much from her, and next to Mom she gives the best hugs in the whole world. Grandpa is a lucky guy.

Grandpa has what he calls his “Golden Rules” and has taught them to me. They are: One – your family is always your family regardless of how much they tick you off. Two – always treat people the way you want them to treat you. And three – never, ever leave Fenway Park until the game is over. Grandpa is a guy who has his priorities straight.

Thanks for reading my first column. Now I’m going to have Grandpa get me some juice. I’m not really thirsty, but it makes him happy to think he did something for me. Dad and Uncle Nate say he wasn’t this way when they were kids. I guess they just didn’t have my charisma.

And neither of them was named William.

Will Gouveia’s grandfather Bill Gouveia is a local columnist, and can be laughed at by emailing aninsidelook@aol.com.

Fighting the Furniture War

This column originially appeared in the Sun Chronicle on March 7, 2009.

The war in Iraq seems to be going better lately, the war in Afghanistan worse. But the biggest shift has been in the Furniture War being waged in my humble household.

One of the most basic rules of engagement is never become involved in a war you cannot win. Despite this valuable advice, men continue to marry women at a dizzying clip. Over time, the losses begin to pile up.

The Furniture War started when the first Caveman dragged home the first comfortable rock chair, and the first Cavewoman made him put it out of sight in the basement. Nowhere are the differences between men and women, or husbands and wives, more clearly displayed than in their furniture preferences.

That is not to say I am completely without victories in the furniture arena. We have a large-screen TV in our family room that if my wife had her way would not be there. Our previous living room furniture was bought over her objection when I got a deal from a friend in the business, and used my then-young children as pawns to gain my evil way.

But my wise and patient wife is in this for the long run. After nearly 32 years of marriage she has clearly developed the upper hand with regard to furniture (and most everything else). Currently she is in the midst of an aggressive offensive, clearly establishing her control of the Gouveia furniture empire.

It started a few years ago when it became time to replace our sectional sofa. We discussed what we wanted, but I had an ultimate goal. I was willing to sacrifice color, style, perhaps even comfort on the sofa purchase. But I was fixated on and prepared to hold out for what I considered one critical yet practical necessity.

I wanted cup-holders. You know, places to put my drink while watching TV. I was willing to compromise and accept cup-holders hidden in the foldable arms, but I really considered cup-holders to be a vital and necessary piece of a functional sofa.

My wife reacted as if I had suggested selling advertising on the couch cushions. She told me cup-holders were for a frat house, not her house. I thought I could wear her down. I brought my youngest son with me during shopping to help plead my case. But in the end, it was simply a hill my forces were unable to secure. Today my beverages sit alone on the coffee table, hopelessly and helplessly out of my easy reach.

So I changed my strategy. I began to work on the coffee table itself. I saw these tables that rise and move towards you, then lower back to their original position. I considered this to be a wonderful compromise. I sent a peace emissary to my wife, and we began negotiations towards a non-violent settlement.

She showed some signs of weakness here. She actually went with me to the store, and eventually agreed to allow me to purchase a table she could “live with if I have to”. But she raised some valid points about the integrity of the table’s construction, and her attitude sent the message that a victory here would most likely cost me dearly in another yet-to-be-determined arena. I meekly surrendered my position, living to fight another day.

But she recently pulled off a major coup in the war. On our way back from the Cape one day, she slyly suggested we stop at a furniture store having a huge sale. It was not for us, she insisted, but rather to look for something her sister was seeking for our nephew. I fell for it.

Half an hour later we left the store – with a new kitchen set. I had not been aware we needed one. It consists of high wooden chairs that narrowly fit my ever-widening rear end. I am a beaten man.

I have informed my wife that should I spill a beverage on her carpet or couch, it is not my fault – I have no cup-holder. She merely shakes her head, and goes back to plotting her next move.

War is Hell. Now where did I put that drink?

Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and a thirsty veteran of the Marriage Wars. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.

Sign of the Times

This column originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on February 28th, 2009

“Sign, sign, everywhere a sign
Blocking out the scenery, breaking my mind
Do this, don’t do that, can’t you read the sign?”
- Five Man Electrical Band

Is it a sign of the times, a sign of trouble, or a sign of things to come? That remains to be seen, but the attitude of Norton officials towards some local businesses is a bad sign in general.

The Norton Planning Board is currently considering a ban on certain types of illuminated signs in town. You’ve all seen the signs – the ones that look like small television sets displaying not only words but actual animation.

The concern of Norton planners (and I use the word “planners” loosely) is twofold. First and foremost, they are concerned about safety. Some believe the signs are too distracting for motorists, particularly at night, and could cause accidents and injuries.

Secondly, the signs offend the delicate sensibilities of some officials and residents. Selectman Bob Kimball summed that attitude up saying “It kind of takes away from the small-town look of things. It kind of gives it a Vegas look.”

Yeah, just the other day a motorist on Route 123 in Norton stopped to ask me how to get to Caesar’s Palace. The signs along the roadway had obviously convinced him he was on the downtown Vegas strip. You know how we locals are easily confused.

It is not my goal here to make light of safety concerns or the wishes of many to live in idyllic rural bliss. But in a town with a record and reputation of being as anti-business as Norton, it would seem officials would have a lot more important things to do than cracking down on good taxpayers who are just trying to survive and make a living.

Norton did not have zoning until 1974. It does not have a clearly defined “downtown”. It is a large town area-wise, consisting of almost 30 square miles. It contains one supermarket, five donut shops, four banks, five schools, two car washes, a small industrial park, a PGA golf course, and a whole bunch of small businesses trying to stay afloat in these oppressive economic times.

Some of these businesses have embraced technology and utilized eye-catching signs. The signs are helping their businesses. The signs are conspicuous (which is what signs are supposed to be) and draw attention.

But are we to believe in this day of cell phones, CD players, GPS devices and car speakers the size of Rhode Island that an illuminated sign on the roadside is a threat to the public? Drivers are capable of safely looking at a GPS screen in their car, but an outside sign advertising a car wash might force them off the road?

Norton has never been a business-friendly community. There was a McDonald’s in Moscow before there was one in Norton. A pizza delivery company was not allowed to locate in the Roche Brothers plaza because of traffic concerns. A Dunkin Donuts near the alleged center of town has been denied a drive-thru by the Planning Board, but homeowners living on tiny residential lots in a Water Protection District have been granted permission to raise chickens on the premises.

Our federal government recently passed an $800 billion economic stimulus package to revive our failing economy. Yet Norton continues to make things as difficult as possible for those small businesses that make up the backbone of our economic system.

I’ve lived in Norton virtually my entire life. I’ve watched it grow from 6000 residents in 1965 to close to 20,000 today. I loved the town I grew up in during the 60’s, and I love the town now.

But I’m able to recognize those are two different towns. The rural Norton of my youth has gone the way of my late grandparents’ Norton farm. It’s still there – it just doesn’t look the same anymore.

To those who are offended by the illuminated signs, I ask – would you be happier with normal signs proclaiming “Out of Business”? Would those signs make your town better and safer? Reasonable regulations on illuminated signs are fine, but don’t ban them.

Norton has many problems requiring prompt action. Illuminated signs are not one of them.

Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and longtime Norton resident. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.

A Curling we will go...

This column originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on January 24th, 2009.

As much as I love sports, I have never been much of an athlete. Anyone who knows or has ever seen me can vouch for that fact.

But that hasn’t stopped me from trying to compete over the years as best I could. As my sons got older, I tried to join them in certain athletic activities. As recently as two years ago I pitched on a slow-pitch softball team, and managed to hold my own. I did decimate a hamstring simply running to first base – but hey, at least I tried.

Lately my attempts to best my two boys have been limited to events such as horseshoes, bocce, and the more-my-speed world of fantasy football. Let the record show I did finish ahead of both of them in one league this year, and for the first time won a championship in a different league. But that doesn’t really count in an athletic or physical skill sense.

Now I am attempting to compete with them in a new and entirely unfamiliar sporting arena. Starting next week, I will be on a team competing against my sons in a sport (?) I never thought I would be playing.

I am now attempting curling. That’s right – curling.

For those who don’t recognize just what curling is, think back to the winter Olympics. Did you see that strange game with people slowly gliding big round rocks down a sheet of ice while others frantically swept in front of the rock like deranged 1950’s housewives? That is curling.

My younger son Nate got into curling while attending college a few years back in Virginia. After watching the Olympics, he and some friends found a curling club in Maryland and decided to give it a try. He thoroughly enjoyed the experience and raved about it to his family members.

His older brother Aaron, a newspaper reporter on Cape Cod, covered an event at the Cape Cod Curling Club in Falmouth a short while back. Intrigued by the unusual game and remembering his brother’s stories, he decided it would be a great Christmas gift to sign the three of us up for curling lessons.

You may be thinking it can’t be all that difficult to slide a big rock down a sheet of ice – and you would be right. But curling is a much more skilled and difficult game than it looks like on television, as I quickly found out. Sliding the rock is easy, but getting it to stop where you want is not.

There is much strategy involved in the game, and I am just beginning to understand it all. The captain of each team – called the Skip – calls all the shots and tells his teammates where he wants each rock to land. The first player to throw on each team – called the Lead – is asked to simply get his rocks in the way of the other team. The third thrower (the Vice Skip) takes over when the Skip throws the last rocks and “has the hammer” as he tries to score. You sweep the ice in front of the rock to make it slide further.

Confused? Me too. But I’m slowly learning.

You deliver the 42 pound granite rock by sliding down the ice and gently releasing it as you gracefully glide. My first attempt ended with me face first on the cold surface. My sons were hardly perfect in their early attempts, but they did catch on much more quickly than their competitive Dad.

There is a definite code of conduct amongst curlers, and a lot of etiquette rules. My fellow curlers are of all ages, although a large percentage of the club members are my age or older. This may have something to do with the fact the average age of a Cape Cod resident appears to be 98 or so, but age is not a big factor in curling. It is much more a game of skill than endurance.

My first match in league play will be Tuesday night. I’m practicing my sweeping. My lofty goal is to try and not make a fool of myself. I’m playing Nate’s team. If I fail, I’m sure my sons will let you know.

Bill Gouveia is a local columnist, a grandfather, and hopefully a curler. If not hospitalized, he can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.

The Power of Will

The column below originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on Saturday, January 3, 2008.

It has been said having a grandchild changes everything. But when whoever coined that phrase said everything, I didn’t know they really meant “everything”.

As I might have mentioned once or twice before in this space, I was blessed with my first grandchild this past April. Grandson Will (did I mention his name is William?) is everything a grandparent could possibly want. He is adorable, personable, and smart as a whip. He has made the lives of everyone around him so much better.

Well – almost everyone.

You see, since Will was born on April 3, 2008 strange and mysterious things have been happening. Changes have occurred not only in the lives of Will’s happy relatives, but in the political world, the business world, and in particular the sporting world.

Since Will was born, politics have undergone tremendous change. The Republicans nominated a woman for Vice President. The Democrats carried Virginia in a presidential election. And of greatest note, the country elected an African-American President for the very first time.

Since Will was born, 300 point daily swings in the stock market have become the norm. The Fed has lowered interest rates all the way to zero. Mortgage rates are at their lowest in decades, and the Big Three car companies are begging for money in Washington like panhandlers on a street corner.

But Will’s greatest impact may have come in the sporting world, in ways both good and bad. Let’s review what has happened there since Will’s debut.

Shortly after Will’s birth, the Celtics went from a last-place team to winning the World Championship, their first in 22 years. The Boston Bruins, the laughing stock of Boston sports for the last decade, are now the hottest team in hockey.

On the flip side, since Will was born Tom Brady has played less than one quarter and suffered a season-ending injury. The Patriots won 11 games and somehow did not make the playoffs. The Red Sox went from World Champions to losing the American League Championship to – it is hard to say this – Tampa Bay.

On the opening Sunday of football season, my son brought Will to our house to participate in our good-luck rituals. He wore a Tom Brady jersey, and we watched Super Bowl video’s (not last year’s) to warm up for what promised to be a great Patriot season.

After Brady went down with his injury, the tiny Brady jersey was promptly removed from my angelic grandson and stuffed in a drawer where it can no longer harm anyone. Later, my son put a Tedy Bruschi jersey on him – and Bruschi got hurt. We are not blaming Will for either injury – but we didn’t put anyone else’s number on his back for the remainder of the season, just in case.

After the Pats were eliminated from playoff contention last Sunday, my family members began to discuss the post-Will world in which we now all live. It quickly became apparent to us that my grandson has been endowed with some type of strange power, and is struggling to control it.

We will now try and find ways to harness the wonderful power of Will. We must find ways to channel his karma for purposes that help us, and steer it away from the unwitting damage his unchecked aura has created.

Maybe we could get him Yankee pajamas and hope it leads A-Rod to marry Madonna and retire from baseball. No, forget it – there is no way we would ever allow Yankee pajamas on a beloved family member.

Of course, non-believers like Will’s mom and grandmother firmly reject any notion that young Will could somehow be connected to anything that brings bad luck. They need to understand we are not saying Will is unlucky – just that he has yet to grow into the superstitions and rituals we all know control the world. We just have to get him through this difficult stage.

I love my grandson with every ounce of my being. But I’m telling you, if the Celtics go on a long losing streak, Brady breaks his other leg, or the Detroit Lions beat the Pats in the Super Bowl next year – we are going to have to cover that kid in rabbit’s feet.

Bill Gouveia is a local columnist and has a grandson named William, who is the greatest. Grandpa can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.

A New Holiday Battle...

This column originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on November 22, 2008

The Holiday Season officially kicks off Thursday with my personal favorite, Thanksgiving Day. My wife and I will gather with family, eat some turkey, watch some football, and enjoy our favorite holiday traditions.

But there is a power struggle going on within our clan over just where the holiday celebrations will be held this year – and with whom.

This is our first holiday season as grandparents, and that is a joy I cannot properly express. My 7 month-old grandson (did I mention his name is William?) has given us renewed holiday spirit the likes of which we haven’t enjoyed since our own two sons were toddlers looking amazed beneath the tree on Christmas morning.

But our family is a bit more spread out now. Our married son and his family live on the Cape. They have expressed a desire to experience their own holiday celebrations this year, skipping some or all of our traditional family gatherings to start their own traditions.

That’s nice. Misguided, but nice.

Just who do these new parents think they are? They have the first grandchild on either side of the family, and decide they will dictate where and when the holiday celebrations will be? Sorry – that’s our job.

You see, we have earned our spot in the family pecking order. These young people haven’t paid their dues yet. There should not be any leapfrogging over those of us who have put in our time.

Almost 30 years ago my wife and I were the newly-married parents of the first grandchild on both sides. This made us very popular. Our presence was requested – read that to mean expected – at the traditional gathering of each family at holiday time.

Concessions were made as to schedules so we could bounce from one family celebration to the other. For years we took our kids on a hectic holiday tour, visiting relatives and friends and usually eating two holiday meals. And for years, we complained about it.

We tried to cut down on holiday travel. People can come see us, we reasoned. But we had a small home, and elderly and handicapped relatives for whom travel was simply too difficult. The mere suggestion we “alternate” holidays between the families was met with disapproving stares and teary-eyed sad faces.

But when my son was a year old, we informed my family we would not see them Christmas Day. My mother was hysterical. My grandmother, to whom I was very close, called me to her hospital bed early in December saying she had to ask me something.

“Please don’t take our baby away from us on Christmas,” this saint of a woman cried to me. I folded like a cheap suit, and promised her I would work something out. And I would have fulfilled that promise – except she died that Christmas morning and our celebration was decidedly muted.

As the years went on and people got older, we eventually gained in holiday status by virtue of our longevity. We bought a bigger house, and began hosting dinners for both families. It took a while, but we got there.

Now we find our status prematurely threatened. Our son and his wife are trying to pull a bloodless coup. With virtually no time served, they are expecting to move into Most Favored Nation status. This would be the political equivalent of Barak Obama totally skipping the presidential primaries, but still expecting to be nominated at the convention.

Our kids live in a condo not large enough for the entire family. While we have tradition on our side, they have a powerful tool in this fight – our perfect grandson. They know full well there is nothing in this world we wouldn’t do for Will (what a great name) and that we would never put our needs and wants above his having a wonderful Christmas.

So we wait and see what will happen. Strategic and top-secret negotiations will no doubt take place. Both sides seek a peaceful settlement.

Maybe we did it wrong all those years. But remembering my grandmother always convinces me that in the end - it was worth it.

Bill Gouveia is a local columnist, and – in case you hadn’t heard – has a grandson named William. You can send him holiday advice at aninsidelook@aol.com.

A Teacher Who Made A Difference

This column originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on October 25, 2008

As voters throughout the area prepare to pack the polling places Nov. 4, I have to wonder: Why don't people get this involved and excited when it is time to participate in their local government?

The obvious answer is - they didn't have an Al Nuttall.

Ever had a teacher who greatly influenced your life? Al Nuttall is a former long-time teacher at Norton High School. If people want someone to blame for my involvement in local government, then Al is their man.

Mr. Nuttall taught social studies - and nearly everything else - during his many years in Norton. He coached several sports, ran the school-sponsored recreation program, and was a student favorite.

In my senior year, Mr. Nuttall taught a course called "Modern Problems." I'd like to tell you I took his class because it sounded interesting and challenging. But in truth, it just sounded a lot easier than math or science.

In that class, Mr. Nuttall introduced us to the politics of government. We studied how the Miranda case changed law enforcement in America. We learned about discrimination and the disgraceful resistance to racial equality in this country. We were exposed to political extremism and topics I knew about, but never really understood.

We also learned how our local town government worked. We studied Town Meeting and the issues facing it in that year of 1974. We learned of the role of selectmen, school committee, and finance committee. It all sounded pretty boring - until Mr. Nuttall decided to bring it all to life for us.

He set up a mock Town Meeting, completely run by students. Some of my classmates were selectmen, and they took positions favored by that board. Others were finance committee members, arguing the opposite position. The issue was what raises should be given to town employees.

The mock Town Meeting audience was the student body. The actual Town Moderator, the late Joseph Yelle, came to run the meeting. I played the role of Finance Committee chairman.

The debate was actually very intense, as both sides argued hard for their position. I don't remember which way the "town meeting" actually decided. But Mr. Nuttall made sure we all learned the rules, how to be recognized, how to treat others with respect, and how to make and vote on motions.

A week later, the recreation budget was up for debate at Town Meeting. As a newly-registered 18 year-old senior, I went to the meeting with Mr. Nuttall. He told me if I cared about the program, I needed to go and support it.

After a resident got up and spoke against it, the chances of approval seemed dim. With Mr. Nuttall's words ringing in my ears, I stood and was recognized. I spoke of the program, how it helped kids and was important to the community. People seemed pleased to hear from somebody who actually benefited, and the budget was approved overwhelmingly.

Mr. Nuttall couldn't stop smiling.

A week later I was called to the school office. I was a bit nervous - that is hardly ever a good thing.

In the office was the principal, Mr. Nuttall, and Town Moderator Yelle. Sensing my confusion, Mr. Nuttall told me the moderator had something to ask me. "I'm looking for a young person to serve on the Finance Committee" the distinguished and dignified Mr. Yelle told me. "Your teacher thinks you would be a good choice, and so do I. What do you think?"

I was probably the first would-be appointee ever to say he needed to go home and ask his mother first. But I did accept, and that led to 15 years on the Finance Committee, six years as a selectmen, 34 years of attending Town Meeting, and eventually having the honor to serve in the moderator position once held by the man who first appointed me.

But none of that would have happened without Al Nuttall, as I said when I spoke at his retirement dinner years later. I told all the people at that gathering that Al Nuttall had made a real difference in my life. And now I've told you.

Everyone should have an Al Nuttall.

BILL GOUVEIA is a local columnist and the Norton town moderator. He got an A in Mr. Nuttall's class. You can reach Bill at aninsidelook@aol.com.

Guns DO Kill People

This column originally appeared in the Sun Chronicle on November 1, 2008.

In this country and this state, we protect children. We insist they be strapped into car seats. We urge parents to make them wear helmets when riding bicycles. We regulate what snacks they can eat in school.

Yet this past week, 8-year-old Christopher Bizilj was allowed to go to a private gun club in Westfield with his father and fire a fully automatic weapon on his own. Not surprisingly, this weapon, designed for no purpose other than killing people, was too powerful for this innocent young child. Unable to handle the recoil, he shot himself in the head and died.

Now I fully admit I am not a gun person. I do not own one. I do not shoot them. I believe they should be heavily regulated - quite a bit more heavily than seatbelt wearing and bicycle helmets.

But I do not support eliminating all guns. I favor responsible gun ownership. I respect the rights of hunters, collectors and enthusiasts to own certain weapons. I back the right of individuals to protect their domicile and property by responsibly keeping a weapon in the home.

But gun shows where 8-year-olds are allowed to shoot Uzis? Sorry NRA - I definitely draw the line there.

While I do not necessarily support a ban on all guns, I see no earthly reason why anyone who is not in law enforcement or the military needs to own a fully automatic weapon. And it is disgusting and confusing to me when those who own them vigorously defend their right to do so.

We have the right to bear arms in this country. That should never be interpreted as the right to possess fully automatic weapons in residential communities. Any argument that it does is, quite frankly, absurd.

I know the gun lobby will spin this incident with this poor child. They will rightfully blame the instructor for lack of supervision. They will rightfully blame the parent for failing to watch over his child properly. They will rightfully blame the gun club for not having proper security.They will blame everyone and everything - except the gun. It is never the gun's fault.

You see, if they allowed blame to be placed on the gun it would be a threat to their industry, their philosophy, and their beliefs. Guns don't kill people - people kill people, goes the famous tag line. That is nice glib advertising, and it gets their point across quite well.

But dead 8-year-old children shot in the head by weapons that should only be used in war make a pretty serious point in the opposite direction.

Guns do kill people. So do cars, planes, and knives. We don't ban cars just because some people do not operate them properly and harm others. Why should guns be any different?

The answer is because they do not serve other purposes as well. People own cars because they make our lives possible. They transport us to and from places. They allow us to make our livings.

Automatic weapons kill people. That is why they are made. That is all they do. They are machines designed for no other purpose.

We are not talking about hunting rifles, or collectible muskets, or target pistols. You don't take an Uzi out deer hunting and gun down an entire herd in five seconds flat. So why in the name of all that is sane do we not ban these weapons across the country?

The NRA and others tell us there should not be bans on automatic weapons and hollow point ammunition. If you do that, they reason, then only the criminals will have them and the good law-abiding folks of this country will be overrun. Also, if you let them take our Uzi's, then they will come after our other guns next. You can't let "them" get a foot in the door.

That argument is as sad as it is wrong.We should ban automatic weapons. We should not allow them at gun shows where you don't need a permit to shoot them. We should more strictly regulate places where guns are shot. And if anyone wants to know why, we should tell them:

Christopher Bizilj.

BILL GOUVEIA is a local columnist and a staunch supporter of responsible gun control and healthy 8-year-olds. He can be reached at aninsidelook@aol.com.

Sox

After watching the Sox come back against the Rays Thursday night, I'm exhausted. But I'm thrilled that at long last, the real baseball season is underway.

It may only last one more game, but who cares? This is what sports is all about, this is the payoff for being a fan. These are games that matter, this is intensity, and this is why I love sports.

CoCo Crisp's at-bat in the eighth inning was incredible. Ten pitches. Ten excruciating, painful, suspense-laden pitches. I was screaming at the TV with my youngest son, telling CoCo he could do it while never for a second truly believing he would. But he did. They did. it was wild.

Now I can't wait for Game Six tonight. I have a surprise 50th birthday party to go to for my secretary tonight, but I will be leaving early. I feel bad - but I will still leave early.

Some things are simply more important than others.

Angry Liberal

This column originally appeared in the Norton Mirror in August 2006 - but it remains relevent today!

Okay folks, step back. Secure the women and children, batten down any hatches you might have, return your seat backs to their upright position, and buckle all safety belts. You are about to hit some reading turbulence.

Today, I am one ticked-off Liberal.

I have never minded the political and social debates between liberals and conservatives. I’ve always thought a spirited discussion of the issues and philosophies of the times was a good thing for this country. And I have shared in trading barbs, good-natured and otherwise, with friends and foes in the past.

But now the mind-numbing and bigoted conservatism of those on the far right, especially those in positions of national leadership, has finally gotten to me. I’m not going to sit back any more and chuckle at their ignorant antics and tactics, or let them paint me and others as supporters of terrorism or valueless demigods concerned only with themselves.

To Dick Cheney, Ann Coulter, Karl Rove, and those locally who are disciples of their conservative brand of hatred and discrimination – your 15 minutes are up. We Liberals (and yes – we are still out here in great numbers) are no longer going to sit back and let you define who and what we are.

I’m so tired of hearing how Liberals are out of touch with mainstream America, how our values are non-traditional and un-American. That’s pure bull****, and those saying it for their own political advantage should be ashamed.

Liberals believe in individual rights and personal freedoms. These are the very principles that drove our founding fathers to create this great country. They came here in search of religious and individual liberties, trying to found a country where people were inherently equal. They were truly the first American Liberals.

You want to tell me my values are un-American? I ask you – what is more American than wanting to ensure equal rights for everyone regardless of their race, creed, national origin or sexual orientation?

You want to tell me that voicing my opposition to this war in Iraq is un-American and gives aid and comfort to the enemy? That is so stupid even those like you who are blinded by political power and ambition have to see it.

Liberals love this country just as much as you do, and they are just as quick to defend it when necessary. But we are not so arrogant and insolent as to think our American way of doing things is right for everyone. We see no need to force ourselves upon those who see or do things differently – unless they threaten us or our allies.

Every great empire in history began to fade when they decided they had to create their own vision of the world everywhere they went. Liberals understand that, and have trouble grasping that ultra-conservatives do not.

We reject terrorism and will battle it wherever it exists with the same ferocity and patriotism you possess. But we will not write a blank check to leaders who manipulate the terrorist threat to advance their political agendas.

We seek to allow people who love each other to marry – you do your best to deny them that right. We seek to give people the right to end their lives with dignity – you seek to control them and use them as political pawns.

I don’t question your love for this country – don’t you dare question mine.

The greatest leaders in this country’s history have been Liberals, and those currently in power aren’t worthy to hold their political sneakers. So spare me any more of this sanctimonious and pious garbage. You hold no edge over us when it comes to values or love of country.

To all you Liberal-bashers out there – Bite Me! We are a peace-loving people, but you really don’t want to make us mad.