“Time goes fast when your having fun,” I must be having an exorbitant amount of fun, because time is going very fast.

Last month, I celebrated another birthday, and the birthdays are getting closer and closer together. I shared with my friend that I had a great day with the family, and she said, “do you still celebrate your birthday?” I said, “hey, I’ve hung around a long time, they better treat me good.”

That birthday was celebrated for two weeks by friends who must celebrate every good thing in your life. These are the friends who overlook the fact that you are not perfect. Recently, because of poor judgment, I had to make a change in my life, and I am amazed at the reaction to this decision. A few of the people I felt were important in my life are no longer available to me, but, surprisingly, several people that I thought were only acquaintances are now good friends.

I had mentioned to on of these acquaintances that I need to find a new church, because the church I had attended was too far away. She invited me to attend church with her and we have become good friends. /A lady I have known for a long time, and I have had the opportunity to sit and reminisce about the good old days, and it’s been nice. If I had not made that change, I would not have time to spend with her.

I am blessed to have several friends who have been part of my life for a long time, and without them, my life would be incomplete. Recently, I was reminded of a book I received several years ago from on of these friends, titled “Girlfriend Eat Your Peas.” It simply said, “to stay healthy, because I love you and I need you in my life.” Another friend gave me a note that sits on my desk that says,” good puts people in our lives, it’s up to us who we turn away and who we refuse to let go.” I thank him, everyday for the people in my life who have refused to let go of me and to all my faithful readers, “dear friends, please eat your peas.”

It’s a mystery wrapped in a perplexity shrouded in an enigma.

Why the heck did Westminster Councilman Tyler Diep drop out of the race for the 72^nd Assembly seat after out-fundraising all of his opponents, to the tune of $135,000?

His explanation to local media is that, and I’m paraphrasing here, that there was no longer a strategic advantage to running because two other Vietnamese-Americans – Garden Grove City Councilman Joseph Dovhin and OC Board of Education member Long Pham – are in the race.

Huh?

Like many, many others, I read the initial reports and scratched my head.

Then, after chatting with him at a luncheon in Stanton, I gave him a follow-up call and asked – in my unrefined style – “Tyler, what the heck is going on? Can you break it down for us in plain English?”

He didn’t give me much.

“I’m not ready to start the life of a state legislator,” the 29-year-old said. “Where I have to be away from home a lot.”

Wait a minute. Do you have a wife? I asked. Nope. Children? Uh, no.

But he does have a fiancée, though he insisted that she had nothing to do with his decision.

OK, good enough. I’m not buying his story, but Diep is an effective councilman who, I’m sure, will continue to sway his colleagues on important matters concerning Westminster. But something’s going on that Diep is not disclosing to me, or other media types. And we’ll just have to live with it… for now.

Diep, who came to the states from Vietnam in 1991, was elected to the Westminster City Council in 2008 and quickly established himself as, to use a cliché, the strong, silent type. That is, he speaks carefully and deliberately and doesn’t leave much doubt about where he stands.

Clearly, he’s got aspirations for higher office, and I don’t think many folks were surprised that he was running for the seat in the 72^nd District.

Oh, and about that $135,000. The money will now go to other candidates or to Diep’s own reelection campaign for the Westminster City Council. So I asked him: Is it fair to spend campaign money on your City Council run when folks donated it for your Assembly run?

“Sure, there will be some going to my City Council reelection,” Diep said, before adding that such maneuvering is commonplace in the world of politics:  transferring funds from one campaign to the other.

Pressed further on his reason for dropping out of the Assembly race, because I, skeptic that I am, was not buying his explanation, he admitted that his decision is a bit perplexing.

“I really don’t have an explanation,” he said.

Sure he does. I’ll stay on it and, and luck be with me, find out and let you know in some future version of this column.

It’s the war our country tried to forget even as the veterans who fought it can never forget: Vietnam. So it’s not surprising that what should be a renowned destination point in Orange County is – outside of Westminster – barely known.

I’m talking about Sid Goldstein Freedom Park in the Civic Center area, a tribute to the American troops and South Vietnamese warriors who fought side-by-side against the communist Vietcong hell-bent on imposing their northern ways on the southern part of that country thousands of miles away.

Don’t get me wrong. This is no pity party, and I’m heartened that we’ve come a long way since some misguided citizens – maybe the understatement of the year – spat upon vets returning from that war and spewed invectives at them.

These days, no matter our feelings about our politicians’ decisions to go to war, we give respect to the men and women who are sent to fight.
But being a child of the 1960s and 70s, I still think about Vietnam, the terrible toll, the strife it caused, the black-and-white images on TV that are indelibly etched on my mind.

Besides, a few weeks ago, while visiting Saigon Mall, I ran into a Vietnamese-American veteran of that war who reminded me how deep the wound is, so I made a return trip to Freedom Park the other day.

For those of you who haven’t been there, here’s a quick primer on the lay of the land: It’s about 2 acres featuring grassy areas, a garden, bench-lined walkways, donors’ plaques, a plaque commemorating local veteran Sid Goldstein and at the center of it all the monument, a fountain and an eternal flame.

The bronze monument, portraying an American infantry soldier and a soldier from the former Republic of South Vietnam standing side-by-side on a marble base, with the flags of their countries behind them, is 11-feet-high and was designed and sculpted by Tuan Nguyen.

It was longtime City Councilman Frank Fry who spearheaded the Vietnam War Memorial Project back in the late 1990s. The dedication of the memorial was held nearly 10 years ago on April 27, 2003.

When I visited the other day it was nearly people-less, which has been the case the handful of times I’ve been there. How distasteful it was to see a homeless man with a grocery cart and all his belongings encamped in the corner of the park. I offered him some change and chastised myself on the ride home for not asking the obvious: are you a veteran?

What a column that would have been. Perhaps I’ll return.

I also ran into a visitor from Washington D.C. who had happened on the park toward the end of a trip to Southern California that included the usual jaunts to Disneyland and Hollywood. She couldn’t believe we have our own war memorial.

“The one in D.C. is pretty impressive, too,” I told her.

And it is.

But so is ours. And more locals – and tourists – should know about it.

Heritage Monument, the centerpiece of Sid Goldstein Freedom Park in the civic center area of Westminster

Already, I’m seeing pumpkins and ghouls in local stores, so I figured: is it too early to write a Halloween story? Nah.

Last year, the hubby and I forgot all about he holiday and, come dusk, with children children converging and expecting goodies, we shut off the lights, lit a couple of candles, hunkered down in our bunker — I mean home — and prayed that we wouldn’t hear that terrifying “Knock, knock, knock.”

No such luck.

We didn’t have the guts to open the door and break the bad news, so the hubby yelled: “Sorry! Out of candy!” Mind you, it was about 7 p.m. and one of the kids, who might or might not have been dressed up as a CEO, called it like it was: “Poor preparation!”

He was right and I told myself, never again, so this year, we’re ready. In fact, we’re more than ready after researching popular, and not so popular, goodies. We’re determined that the little monsters walk away from our porch smiling, not scornful, so I’m offering some do’s and don’ts for the big day.

Don’t
1) Do not fail to buy candy and then try to hide. They know. Oh, how they know. Also, stay away from Dum Dums, saltwater taffy, licorice and wax candy.
2) Do not be the neighborhood do-gooder and hand out toothpaste, or worse, floss. Unless, of course, you want to clean egg off your house the next morning.
3) No fruits and vegetables. Listen: this isn’t a vegan convention or a farmer’s market, it’s Halloween. Decadence is the word of the day.
4) No homemade popcorn balls or apples. The kids’ parents probably won’t their kids eat them even if they wanted to, which they probably don’t. Can you say CHOCOLATE?
5) Do not ask the kiddies to do a trick for their treat, unless you’re amused by a jumping jack or unenthusiastic pirouette from the gals. Your purpose is not to exploit them, it’s to let them exploit you, OK?

Do’s

1) Hand out the old standards, because they’re still all the rage: Snickers bars, Milky Ways, Kit-Kats, Reese’s, Hershey’s bars or kisses, Baby Ruths, Candy Corn, Razzles.
2) If you want to mix it up, you can’t go wrong with Nerds or Pop Rocks.
3) Be friendly but not chatty. They’re on the clock and it’s all they can do to mutter a “thank you” before they’re on to their next victim.
4) Keep a porch light on, unless you want an injured ghost writhing on your property or, worse, a lawsuit.
5) Decorate your house, or your porch-area. Wear a costume yourself. It adds to the fun and kids appreciate it.

My Dad and I have been attending baseball games since the 1980s.

It’s a summer ritual that never disappoints.

Years ago, we drove to L.A. to see the Dodgers.

These days, we’re all about the Angels for one big reason: my Dad is 84-years-old and doesn’t drive or walk as well as he used to. So I pick him up in Claremont, drive to Anaheim and he kind of leans on me as I get him to his seat.

The last few years have been tough ones for him. He’s got a number of maladies, including neuropathy –he’s had a handful of nasty falls but refuses to use a cane or walker – and kidney difficulties, which have landed him in the hospital several times. He fell in the garage earlier this year and lay there, quite conscious, in a pool of blood. I suspected the reason he didn’t call out was he was ready to call it a life.

His weight has dropped from 165 to about 130. With all the pain and such, his spirit seems to have emaciated a good deal as way.

At any rate, nearly three months ago, figuring the Angels and Texas would be in a division race late in the season, I bought us two field-level tickets to last week’s matchup and told him, in the tough love manner he taught me: “You can’t do much about the balance problems, but you can strengthen your legs, so get to it.” So I show up last Thursday night and I couldn’t help but grin. He’d gained 10 or 15 pounds, he was standing upright rather than bent and guess what? He’s walking pretty well, too.

And he couldn’t wait to get to the game.

Which we did.

“How about I drop you out front, find a parking space and then come and meet you,” I say, thinking I’d save him some strength.

I’ll clean up what he said to me: “Horsecrap.”

Like I said, he wasn’t too proud to lean on me as we descended the steps to our seats (or maybe he was too proud to fall in front of thousands of people and chose the lesser of two indignities), plopped down in our seats and watched and talked baseball for more than three hours.

A few observations: My Dad likes to see a baserunner hustle from first to third on a base hit; he’s a fan of what baseball insiders call the manufactured run; he noted that the team needs more power at third base; Trout, he said, is something to see but Mantle was more powerful and also faster before he tore up his knee.

What else? He talked about the greats he had seen live, at stadiums across the United States. Mantle, Berra, Whitey Ford, Musial, Mays, Nolan Ryan and maybe his favorite: Bob Gibson, who he watched pitch a three-hit shutout and hit a solo home run for a 1-0 victory in St. Louis.

He sang “Take Me Out To The Ballgame” with joy and vigor. I tell you, the man was in paradise and he turned to me late in the game with a gentle smile on his face and said: “Son, it doesn’t get better than this.” On the way home, my wife seemed shocked. “Your Dad has come alive,” she said.

The Angels lost by a score of 3-1, I told her.

It hardly mattered.