Don Osmond: In my opinion…

August 10, 2009

What happens in Vegas…

Filed under: Cresting 30 — Tags: , , — donosmond @ 5:43 pm

…stays in Vegas.

A line that epitomizes what the city is all about. It’s no wonder the coined nickname is “Sin City”.

When I told my friends my 30th birthday would be celebrated in Vegas, eyebrows raised and questions abound.

“How do you celebrate your 30th in Vegas when you’re a Mormon? You do realize we’re going to see it all on Facebook.”

At that moment, I was so grateful I wouldn’t be embarrassed to share what was planned for the week. However, getting “tagged” on Facebook pictures didn’t excite me, but the imminent photos loomed no blackmail over my head.

It’s unnerving to think that nothing is secret. Anything we do is often forged into the tablets of the World Wide Web by innocent bantering friends.

Although our actions can’t always be perfect, we can try our best to make sure we are doing what is right.

So, the week in Vegas is over. I’m 30; here begins a new decade. No regrets! (Except for that really awful picture Jeremy took of me — can we get that off Facebook, please?)

I suppose the point of all this is: Whether we are aware of it or not, we’re accountable for everything we do — to ourself, family and God. Thanks to the Internet, the realization of accountability is that much more tangible.

What happens in Vegas, may stay in Vegas; however, the electronic evidence is there for all.

August 8, 2009

You know this guy???

Filed under: DonSense — Tags: , , — donosmond @ 5:36 pm

Can I share a secret with you? Do you promise not to tell anyone?

Oh, the irony of that statement.

I have the hardest time remembering names.

If remembering someone’s name is considered the best compliment one could ever give, forgetting someone’s name is probably the biggest social blunder one could make at parties and gatherings.

Well, events like the one below, happen to the best of us more often than we would like to admit. And, the scenario usually plays out something like this:

Being socialites in our late-20s and early-30s, we attend parties and functions where we fraternize with new acquaintances all the time. During those get-togethers, jokes and good times are shared.

Unfortunately, at the close of the evening, we go our separate ways and disappear into our private lives. We rarely consider getting each other’s contact information; we’ll just connect on Facebook.

Weeks go by, and we forget about that evening until another serendipitous rendezvous, reuniting all of our closest acquaintances together again. These are the moments, when paths cross, and re-introductions are inevitable; the embarrassment sets in.

“I know I know ‘em; I just don’t know ‘em.”

I’ll illustrate by putting myself on the chopping block … I keep running into one guy at every party throughout this state — literally, from Salt Lake City to St. George.

We’ve been introduced to each other at least five or six times. And, each time he seems more frustrated that I can’t remember his name.

“Look, buddy. I know you, I just don’t know you.”

Like most people, my problem has nothing to do with face recognition. However, when it comes to recalling someone’s name, I’m not always found wearing the victor’s crown.

Some just have names not easily forgotten. Um-m-m… Osmond?

So, the next time our paths cross and I don’t call you by name, it’s not that I don’t know you, it’s just that I don’t know you.

Please don’t hate me; I’m trying harder, and I’m getting better.

I’m so busted!

August 3, 2009

Flirt to convert

Filed under: Cresting 30 — Tags: , , , — donosmond @ 10:58 pm

I’ve recently started getting e-mails from faithful readers on different topics. Some tell me stories about their conversation as it pertains to my family; others are a little more curious about my dating life — insisting on lining me up with their daughters.

Truth be told, I do enjoy reading those e-mails. Some of them spawn concepts for my blog.

The idea for today’s blog, for example, came from a young woman’s e-mail who is frustrated about dating. She read my Cowboy article and mentioned how disheartening it is for her to find a good LDS guy.

Her solution to the dilemma was to start dating guys that aren’t LDS — broadening her dating pool.

She asked my opinion about dating someone of another faith, and supplementing her statement with, “hopefully he’ll convert and we’ll get married in the temple.”

It’s a dating tactic often referred to as flirt to convert.

Well, I’m no Dear Abby; however, I can provide my thoughts.

First off, you don’t crest 30 years old without having that notion cross your mind once or twice. And, being LDS, the constant reminder of eternal marriage looming over one’s head is intimidating, to say the least.

So, have I thought about the flirt-to-convert tactic? Yes. I’ve dated girls of other Christian faiths, and at times even considered taking those relationships more seriously.

Converting to another religion solely based on a love interest may not be the best foundation to begin a marriage.

Although, does flirting to convert work? Sure. I’ve heard success stories. Those relationships take extra time and are fraught with challenges, but what relationship isn’t?

I guess, in the end, each of us makes our own dating decisions. What will work for one doesn’t always work for another.

For the young woman looking for her cowboy … define your goals through sincere prayer and let your heart guide you.

The path of life isn’t always lined with silver, but the wisdom gained through experience is worth 10 times its weight in gold.

August 1, 2009

Mistaken identity

Filed under: DonSense — Tags: , , — donosmond @ 9:42 pm

There are times when we are mistaken for someone else.

If you are being compared to someone you admire, a case of mistaken identity can be viewed as a compliment. However, there are times you’re told you have a striking resemblance to Tobias from “Arrested Development.” (That’s no lie. It happened to me last week. Please tell me she was joking.)

I digress.

A few years ago, my family and I took a flight to Denver. I think my father was performing out there, but I honestly don’t remember. Regardless, it was a reason to take a family trip for the weekend.

The seven of us boarded the plane in Salt Lake City. My parents and I were seated three-across on the left, and my brothers in the neighboring seats.

As with any typical Osmond sighting, we were picking up a few audible whispered conversations.

“Psst. That’s Donny Osmond.” (Over the years, I’ve trained my ear. It’s kind of a game my brothers and I play; a misspent youth, I know.)

Anyway, we were in our seats no more than 10 minutes before a young, 20-something woman approached us. She seemed a little timid, but with a personal determination to find out the truth about this famous guy. If I were a betting man, I’d put money on the possibility her mother coaxed her into asking — the young ones usually are.

By the time she got to us, it was as though I could read her mind and knew what she was going to ask.

“Excuse me. Are you Donny Osmond?”

I knew it!

But, something was different this time. I’ve heard this question hundreds of times before. What was so odd about this one? She was looking at the wrong person — me!
I didn’t know how to respond. Befuddled with disbelief that she would question me, I responded with: “I’m sorry. I’m not.”

By now you should know the seating arrangements (this adds to the humor). My father was on the aisle, my mother in the middle, and I was near the window. The young women had, quite literally, leaned over my father to ask if I was Donny Osmond.

As I turned to my father, his facial expression seemed to say it all: “Is this girl for real?”
Before we had the chance to correct her error, she started making her way back to her seat, four rows up.

As mentioned before, the experience is either flattering, or disturbing. It all depends on whom you are compared to.

Did she really think I looked 50 years old? Ouch!

July 27, 2009

A tribute to our pioneer heritage

Filed under: Cresting 30 — Tags: , — donosmond @ 9:27 pm

Pioneer Day is quickly approaching; I just love an excuse to shoot off fireworks!

Even though in Utah we’ll all be enjoying a day off work filled with exciting parades and flashy fireworks, there is a deeper meaning behind our celebration. It’s a time for us to remember our heritage.

Our Mormon pioneer ancestors taught great lessons of courage, faith, devotion, commitment and sacrifice through their example. All we have to do is open a journal from yesteryear.

I did that the other day. My extended family is amazing with keeping journals and telling stories. My mother’s brother, Mike, is probably one of the best family historians — but I’m not biased. For the past I-don’t-know-how-many years, he’s been compiling our family history.

As I was thumbing through its pages, I came across an amazing story of the familial bonds of love. Doing a little research and fact checking, I was amazed to find a number of similar accounts online of the same story.

In 1846, Meltiar Hatch (my fourth-great grandfather) was recruited into the Mormon Battalion. Since the loss of his parents, Meltiar felt compelled to look out for his younger brother, and convinced the company to enlist Orin as well.

During their enlistment, the company would marched daily, often for many miles, toward California. The arduous and consistent marching, along with the difficult tasks they were required to do, would often leave the soldiers very weak by day’s end.

Orin, who was only 16 at the time, became very ill during the trek. The weary traveling weakened his body and he contracted a fever, which left him unfit to continue the march. Tending to his needs would only stifle the company’s pace.

Seeing the strain the young boy inflicted on the whole company, the commanding officer ordered that Orin be left behind.

Just as the company was leaving, Meltiar promised his brother that he would return.

That evening, and after a lengthy trip, Meltiar and a close friend retraced the soldiers’ march with the hope of finding young Orin where they had left him. With their help, Orin made it back to camp later that night.

The next day, the commanding officer was shocked to see Orin — still infirm. Again, the officer ordered that Orin be left by the wayside. But, Meltiar’s determination to protect his brother was unwavering, and returned to assist his brother again the following evening.

These events repeated for a few days before the officer, seeing Meltiar’s commitment to his brother, offered his horse until Orin was well enough to march with the company.

Our ancestors may be gone, but their legacies live on forever within us. Enjoy your Pioneer Day.

Blogger’s Note: A more complete account of this story was originally published in the July 1994 Friend magazine.

July 20, 2009

Simplifying celebrity

Filed under: Cresting 30 — Tags: , , — donosmond @ 9:10 pm

Events within the entertainment industry hit my family pretty hard during the past couple months. Untimely deaths often give reason for reflection, especially when they involve those whom we’ve had a close relationship with.

Most everyone knows my family associated with the Jacksons throughout the years, as well as entertainer Danny Gans, who co-produced the Donny and Marie show in Las Vegas. However, when a celebrity is lambasted by the limelight of media attention, sometimes the simple things they do go unnoticed.

Interestingly, when our time is up, it’s the kind and simple things we are remembered by.

During Danny Gans’ memorial service, personal stories were shared of how he always looked for ways to give back to a community that gave him so much.

One such story described his daily trip to the theater. He would travel the same route every day, and would regularly visit with a man who had been left homeless.

Often, Danny would take a couple minutes to stop and chat. During these visits, it became apparent to him that this man had difficulties walking. Danny decided to purchase a wheelchair the following day, and give it to him.

No one ever heard that story until Danny’s memorial service. Why? Because those stories don’t sell magazines and newspapers. Those stories are not what the media thinks the public wants to hear.

When Michael Jackson died, the media kicked into a whirlwind frenzy. They unleashed the stories of yesteryear and tapped every aspect of his life.

Now I’m not here to vindicate or condemn a celebrity for the way the media portrayed them. And, thankfully, I’m not the judge of salvation — I leave that job for God.

However, I don’t think any of us realize the private lives of a celebrity until we hear a young girl say, as Paris Jackson said of her father, “Daddy has been the best father you can ever imagine, and I just want to say I love him so much.”

Michael’s sister Janet Jackson summed it up best when she said, “To you, Michael is an icon. To us, Michael is family and he will forever live in all of our hearts.”

These comments struck me, and got me thinking.

Life is not about celebrity, or being adorned with countless accolades; it’s about the legacy we leave behind. May we all consider the lives we touch well before our time is called.

July 13, 2009

The inopportune timing of service

Filed under: Cresting 30 — Tags: , , — donosmond @ 8:15 pm

No matter the situation, someone’s need for service always comes at inopportune times.

Last Tuesday: perfect case in point.

I had more than a laundry list of things to accomplish, which included: working on a new business, fixing my motorcycle, getting packed for a trip, stopping by the doctor’s office and a date. I also needed to write a blog for Mormon Times, and had a bad case of writer’s block.

In short, my day was slammed.

That morning I must have summoned the “irony” gods, because my phone started ringing. Grandpa needed a little help with his computer.

OK, that shouldn’t take long; it’s probably nothing more than a mouse click or two.

But as I pulled into his driveway, a thought came to me. “I’m going to be here for a while.” However, I brushed that aside because of the countless times I’ve helped him before. This won’t take more than five minutes.

Boy, was I wrong. The universal law of entropy descended in a gray cloud until it engulfed the entire house. Every solution to each problem created a larger, more contagious, unpleasant result.

After two hours of banging my head against the computer, I successfully disconnected my grandfather’s Internet connection to the house … oops!

I reached the point of acquiescence, and accepted the fact I would be there a while. So, it was time to call the expert — my father. (Believe me, he does more than just sing.)

He and I went back and forth via the phone troubleshooting every problem; even called a few customer-service reps for additional help. And, my five minutes became five hours, quite literally.

Finally (either by stroke of genius, or just dumb luck) we got everything working. My grandfather was grateful for the help — even gave me a candy bar.

Unfortunately, my to-do list went unfinished for the day. However, I learned something: No matter how busy we may think we are, don’t forget to take a little time out of your day to help each other out.

Blessings come to those who serve. (Heck, helping my grandfather helped me … I got a blog topic to write about.)

For the record, I wouldn’t change the outcome of that day at all. I got to spend time with my grandfather. By the way: Happy 80th birthday, grandpa!

July 10, 2009

Who’s your daddy?

Filed under: DonSense — Tags: , — donosmond @ 8:09 pm

What is it like to be the son of Donny Osmond?

If I had a penny for every time someone asked me that question, I don’t think I would need to work for the rest of my life.

Without fail, it comes up during every introductory conversation: “… and this is my friend, Don Osmond. Yes, the son of …”

The dialogue becomes extremely interesting when my new acquaintance stands in disbelief. Thus ensues a short game of verbal tennis: “Na-a-ah.” “Yeah.” “No.” “Yep!” “Really?”

By then I pull out my driver’s license and point out the “Jr.” at the end of my name.

After the embarrassment wears off, additional questions follow — ridiculous ones, too: What’s it like to be famous? Does your dad still wear purple socks? Do you all sing around the piano at home?

For the longest time, I’ve hated these questions. Why are people so enamored by my life? I’ve never considered my father to be anything but my dad. Sure, I’ve seen the videos. I’m still baffled at how crazy the crowds would react when my dad and his brothers took the stage. For some reason, I never connected my father to the Donny Osmond icon.

Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? How could one not recognize notoriety when he’s sitting across the dinner table?

It’s largely because of my upbringing. My parents were never caught up in the whole “Hollywood” scene. They centralized a focus on what was really important to them — our family.

Which brings me to my point. Each family situation is unique but, at the same time, perfectly normal. That’s the beauty of normalcy — it’s subjective.

So, what is it like to be the son of Donny Osmond? Normal. Yep!

I get up in the morning; have breakfast; go to work. Occasionally, I’ll go on a date — same as any typical bachelor.

However, there are the occasional “not-so-typical” things. Going to premieres. Walking red carpets. Meeting famous people.

It’s still normal. It’s rare, but normal.

The same thing is true for each of us. If you do something your whole life it’s going to always seem ordinary. It’s just when someone points out those things that we realize how extraordinary our lives actually are.

I’ve even met a few people whose lifestyle intrigued me and asked them a million questions. A perfect example is when I met a professional race car driver. I love going fast, and had to ask him about everything he does — probably to the point of ad nauseam.

So, I’ve come to realize that people are just curious. I don’t mind getting asked questions about my family. Well, on second thought… let’s just keep it to a five-question limit.

July 6, 2009

Answering the call when something is at stake

Filed under: Cresting 30 — Tags: , — donosmond @ 6:38 pm

Have you ever gotten the call? You know what I’m talking about. The phone rings with an unknown number, but curiosity gets the best of you and you answer it.

The voice on the other end says, “Hello, this is President Harold from the stake.”

That’s about the time your heart sinks to the bottom of your gut. Butterflies don’t even begin to compare to the anxiety that engulfs your body. Autopilot kicks in, and you systematically go through every potential question he could ask.

Do I pay my tithing? Check.

Did I get home teaching done last month? Check.

Have I been to the temple recently? Check.

And, after you’ve mentally raced through every possible query you can think of, you realize the purpose of the call — a stake calling.

Two weeks ago, I received that call while having a little fun in Vegas (Mormon-style, of course). Following an exchange of pleasantries, the stake representative who called me said, “Brother Osmond, the stake president would like to extend a stake calling to you.”

Bewildered. I think that hardly expresses adequately the feelings that overcame me.
At first blush, I thought this was some sort of funny prank and I was getting punked. I knew — without a shadow of doubt — the stake can’t give me a calling; I’ve only been the ward activities co-chair for three months.

Apparently, that’s not the case. If the stake needs you, they call you. And, my stake doesn’t waste any time getting callings filled.

The following Sunday, I was released from activities, called in as the new FHE “Grandaddy” (stake family home evening co-chair), and running my first stake FHE meeting.

Talk about a whirlwind weekend. Honestly, I would have felt more comfortable in a dark forest without a map or with a compass that doesn’t point north.

However, the amazing thing about a calling is even though the task seems impossible, all that is required is a willingness to try. Miraculously, the ability required to fulfill the calling (regardless of capacity) is provided when you just put forth even the smallest amount of effort — even if it’s only a desire to do your best. I suppose that’s the blessing of service.

Of course, in contrast, the other moral of the story is to do a better job screening your calls; something might be at stake.

June 29, 2009

Be thankful for moisture

Filed under: Cresting 30 — Tags: , — donosmond @ 6:30 pm

Some may call me crazy, but if you’re following me on Twitter you’ve probably seen one or two comments about how much I love the rain. Let’s just say, “we don’t get much during Utah summers.”

I realize Utahns don’t have much to complain about when comparing weather patterns with Arizona or Nevada. But during these dry months, a little rain is pretty nice every now and then.

However, in Mormondum, rain isn’t called rain. It’s called moisture… and we’re thankful for it. Come to think of it, the same can said about snow, sleet, fog, dew, etc. — it’s all moisture.

During the past couple of weeks, a downpour of moisture has blanketed Salt Lake and the Wasatch Front; twice as much than we typically see in June.

Regardless of whether you’re a moisture lover, you have to admit the city is a lot greener — a little atypical for the summer. Usually this is about this time when the grass begins to thin out and lighten its shade of green. Even the mountains turn a little browner, leading the Bureau of Land Management to post signs prohibiting campers from building fires.

Not so much this summer.

Cloudy skies seem to be a constant around here. It’s almost as though the entire state packed up and moved to Washington. The weather is also a little reminiscent of England; some days the sun is shining, but you better have your ‘brolly’ handy just in case moisture begins to fall from the heavens.

All of this got me thinking; “Why do Mormons call rain ‘moisture’?”

Is it just one of those cultural things that we can’t figure out? Or, did someone happen to mention the word ‘moisture’ in a talk or prayer and we all decided to follow suit?

Whatever the case may be, I find it humorous. I don’t think we can change it. But, the next time you the word ‘moisture’ in church, it’s going to bring a smirk to your face.

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