In The Moment...

***Note - I started this blog a couple of weeks back, and was finally able to finish it this morning.  I make note of this so as not to totally confuse my lovely wife when she reads about events that occurred that far back being portrayed as though they were last night.  She has enough to worry about without her having to wonder if my cheese has done gone and slipped off my cracker...***

Our 6 year old son, Elliott, lives in the moment, and sometimes that can be quite frustrating.   For instance, if a toy (any toy, it doesn’t matter what it cost, or if he plays with it every day or just discovered it in a corner of a closet, after long forgetting it’s very existence) suddenly breaks or doesn’t work, it can set in motion any of a plethora of reactions, ranging from “oh, well…can I have a snack, Vern?” to a tear-soaked meltdown that concludes 10 minutes later when he wipes his eyes one last time and says “can I have a snack, Vern?”

I find myself waffling from battling my own baffled impatience to staring into his wet eyes and battling instead a pity for this six year old boy I love so much and anger towards anything that would dare cause even the first tear.  I struggle with not understanding, with trying in vain to empathize with his plight, with not being able to successfully convey to him my perspective, with being faced with the challenge of finding that elusive middle ground between coddling and “toughening him up”. 

Last night Elliott had been in bed just a few minutes when he started crying because his MP3 player wasn’t working.  (It should be noted that it was past his normal bedtime, so he was really tired)  Leona assured him that it was just a dead battery, but he continued to cry, saying it was broken and he would never be able to listen to it again.  He had taken the battery out and he bent a metal piece on one of connector ends.  It was so small that Leona didn’t even figure out what he was talking about until we were in the well-lit kitchen and I was recharging the dead AAA battery.  As it was charging, we were trying to get the twins down.  I wasn’t feeling well and my wife, who had requested I go to bed a couple of times already, was now insisting.  After putting Simon down, she took Cash from me and took my place in the glider rocker in the nursery.  On the way to bed, I took the charged battery and put it into Elliott’s MP3 player.  It lit up and began playing so I carried it up the hall to Elliott, who I found fast asleep in his top bunk. 

I turned it off, but plugged in his headphones and put it in his bed beside him and patted his head. 

He lives in the moment. 

I awoke at around two-thirty this morning still not feeling well.  I knew that my continued tossing and turning was steadily increasing the likelihood that my lovely wife’s exhaustion level would be at an unacceptable level when her alarm sounded in a few hours, so I arose and retreated to the solace of my trusty computer.  My computer (and by this I mean any of the computers in our house which I may happen to be planted in front of) is where I inevitably find myself when in need of retreat, be it from a bad mood, bad news, or as was the case at around two-thirty this morning, a bad stomach ache.  My computer offers me refuge in so many forms.  It feeds my thirst for news.  It feeds my newfound need to keep up with friends, whether it be to share a laugh, a condolence, or a prayer, be it of thanks or for help.  It offers me the mindless entertainment of surfing from site to site, my keyboard metaphorically assuming the role of my television remote.  And when time and life permit, it also offers retreat to a blank page on the computer, to my therapy.   Writing is such a tremendous outlet for me.  I love words, and I love creating with them. 

 Sometimes I find myself typing a prayer.  Perhaps a prayer for a friend, loved one or both, for myself, or in some cases, thanks for answered or unanswered prayers, typed or otherwise.  It is a widely held belief that it is therapeutically beneficial to write letters, never to be delivered, to those in our lives with whom some form of closure is needed or with whom something needs to be communicated and for whatever reason cannot be done through words.  I have always been able to successfully write what I’m feeling much more so than with verbal communication, so I have written such letters and can attest to their effectiveness.

I find it equally effective with my prayers, with the obvious exception that I know that they are delivered.  When I am done typing my prayers, I erase them.  I type “Amen” and then hit “Delete”. 

Time and life cooperated this morning when I wasn’t feeling well and I opened a blank page.  I had no specific thought, prayer, or inspiration, so I simply sat at first, staring at the blank white screen.  Then I found myself typing story ideas.  I have two unfinished short stories that I have been thinking about a great deal lately, so I brainstormed on them. 

            I can’t say for certain when the brainstorming ceased, but at some point I found myself compiling a list.  It was a list of things I needed to accomplish, and it included household chores, projects, etc.. The list evolved into areas of my life I need to work on.  (Needless to say, I don’t always type in order of importance)  After a few minutes of compiling what was surely an incomplete list of chores, projects, and areas of “opportunity”, if you will, I started a prayer.  I confessed my shortcomings and asked for God’s help in completing the list I had compiled.   When wording my prayer, I found that a request for patience was an overwhelming theme.  Patience in being able to complete tasks I wanted done, patience while waiting for answers to prayers, patience with our children, patience to stop and enjoy the few, cherished alone times my wife and I are able to enjoy. 

            Then it hit me.  I tried in vain to suppress a smile when the realization came that, in essence, I was asking for God to help me live in the moment.   The image of God trying to get this across to me and my not getting it, and of him finally patting me on the head and winking at Elliott while my proverbial light bulb illuminated right where he was patting was funny enough that I almost forgot about my aching stomach.  Especially when I imagined Elliott giggling.  And then asking God for a snack. 

            I cleared the screen and started my prayer anew.  I started by thanking God for my children and all they are teaching me.  I thanked him for the wisdom he affords me through them and asked again for patience.  Patience to be a student instead of always attempting the role of teacher.  Patience to realize that not all of the traits and habits of our children are in need of correction or even molding.   Patience to realize that I have surely caused my Lord much more frustration in my lifetime than my children could cause me in 10 lifetimes.  And I asked for the wisdom to be more like Elliott.

            So that I may learn to live in the moment.

The New Dad And The Athletic Supporter

I've officially been a Dad for a little over eight months now, and I'm not sure exactly how long you have to be a Dad before the "Oh, yeah...I'm the Dad...I've gotta do this..." moments officially cease, but I now know this for certain - It ain't in a little over eight months.

It was a relatively quiet morning, especially considering the fact that there was no school, and all four of our kids were home, along with the friend who spent the night with Sydney. I was trying to get a little work done on the computer when I heard Elliott say "I'm gonna go practice for T-Ball, can I wear my uniform?", to which I say no, explaining that it has to be clean for his game tonight. There's a slight pause and then he says "Ok, well, what is THIS?". I turn to see him standing in the bedroom doorway, wearing nothing but a shirt, (Did I mention Sydney had a friend spend the night?) holding up the athletic supporter and cup his Mother purchased for him last night.

*POW*!!!! Right in the kisser...unsolicited "You're the Dad" moment.

The realization of the fact that I was faced with having to explain nether region protection to a six year old without the benefit of any preparation, be it study, a moment of reflection, or my wife laughing right before he approached me, still did not overshadow the fact that he was standing in my doorway with said nether regions exposed to the world. So I said what I'm certain most fathers this side of Bill Cosby would have.

"SON!, you don't have any pants...I mean, why aren't....go get some pants on, and then I'll tell you...wait! Come back!"

I said "Come Back" because it hit me that, painful as it may have been to admit, he was actually dressed for this discussion. I motion for him to come to me, and he meanders my way, with a thoughtful "Wow, you're still learning this Dad stuff, arentcha?" look, which would have been sweet if he hadn't been scratching his nakedness as he walked.

"Ok", I begin, taking the athletic supporter/cup package from one of his hands, and pulling his other hand away from where this thing's actually going to end up. I took a deep breath and the conversation started out something like this:

"When boys play sports, sometimes accidents happen, and you can get hurt..."

"I know! Yesterday I got hit in the face!"

"Ok, right, but sometimes, you can get hurt in other places. Like, well, where you were just scratching..."

"Right here?"

"Yes, yes...." (pulling his hand away again)

"Now to prevent getting hurt, some sports have you wear pads, like shoulder pads for football, or shin pads for soccer, things like that. Well, boys have an extra piece of protection that they wear." (I hold up the cup)

"Oh, yeah! I know what that's for!!"

At this point, I exhale a little, and begin to relax.

"You do?"

"Yep!", he says, and grabs the cup and puts it on his elbow. "It's a little big..."

**Pow**!!!! Right in the kisser!

"No, son, (Big inhale), it goes right here", I say, pointing to my nether regions.

Silence.

"Ok?", I ask

Open mouth, but...Silence.

I pick up the supporter and say "The cup goes in here"

"And where does that go?"

"You wear it like underwear"

"Stop it Vern!!!" (Elliott's usual response when he thinks I'm messing with him)

"No, really...put it on"

He tries to put it on, but struggles. His first attempt would have positioned the cup in a way that sitting would have been quite uncomfortable, let alone sliding into second. I help him get it on correctly. It's a little big, as most things are with Elliott. Not so big that it affects the correct positioning in the front, but the straps that are supposed to hug his buns are instead flapping in the wind. It doesn't help matters that he's clinching his butt cheeks in and out, in and out. I start to ask why he's doing this, or tell him to stop, but I have learned you gotta choose your battles.

"Now then", I say, and grab the cup. "And this slides down here" and it's supposed to. Honest. It really, really is supposed to.

But it doesn't.

And now I'm struggling.

"You sure it goes there?"

"Yes, Son"

"It's not going..."

"I know, Son, but it does go in...oh, take it back off for a second!"

"What for? Are you sure this works? Hey! I feel my bee-hind (that's the way he says it...) Are you supposed to feel your bee-hind?"

**Pow**!!!! Right in the kisser!!

I help him get the supporter off and put the cup in. He puts it back on and then looks down at it. Then he looks at me like I have 5 heads.

"See? Now you're protected!", I say, and demonstrate this by knocking on the cup as I would a door.

He smiled and I said "So you get it now?" and he shook his head.

He looked down again and then back up at me and gave me a smile.

And so I have graduated from the class of cup and jock instruction, yet another in the long line of classes that I will have to complete in order to get my degree in parenthood. Some of the classes have happy endings and some of them don't.

This one ended with Elliott walking away from me, knocking on his nether regions with both hands, with the two rear straps of his jock floating in the wind.

A Letter To My Sons

Dear Simon and Cash,

 

Welcome!  I want you to know how very excited and proud we are to have you officially joining our family today.  Even now, as you’re still in your Mother’s belly, you are loved more than you will ever know.  I want to take just a moment or two to introduce you to some of the people that are going to be a part of your lives. 

Your mother is the most amazing woman I have ever known.  You are going to come to realize how wonderful she is over these next weeks, months and years, and you will, as we are, be very thankful to have her.  She has so many qualities that make up the beautiful person she is.  She’s funny.  She has a sense of humor that makes you want to be around her.  She’s brave.  She tackles the obstacles that come her way without so much as a whimper, and I can attest to the fact that sometimes that is not easy.  She’s protective and genuinely interested in her children’s everyday lives.  Sadly, that is becoming a rare quality, but your Mother is overflowing with it. 

And she’s loving.  When she looks at you, when she touches you, you can feel how much she loves you.  I speak from experience because I’ve felt that love and seen it in how she looks at and touches her children.  There will be times, when you are sleeping or otherwise unaware, that she will be looking at you with love in her eyes.  That’s the way she is with her kids.

Her kids.  That would be your big Brother and big Sister. 

Your big Sister is named Sydney and she can’t wait to meet you both!  She has been preparing to meet you by helping out in a variety of ways.  She helped with a baby shower for you both (She made a poster for the occasion that is hanging on your nursery door as we speak…) and she painted a picture especially for you two that is hanging in your nursery above your changing table.  She is a beautiful, artistic person and is full of love.  If you want to get on her good side, tell her London is cool or that you like the Beatles.  Oh!  One thing though.   Don’t go into her room without knocking. 

You have a big Brother too and he is very proud of that fact.  He is even wearing a shirt today that says “Big Brothers Rock!”.  His name is Elliott and he can’t wait to play with you and he has so much he wants to share with you and teach you.  He was the one who you probably heard saying “Hello in there!!” into your Mother’s belly on more than one occasion.  He is full of energy and he has a huge heart.  He has already shared with me that he wants to give you both presents when you’re born.  Some of these presents are toys that are his, but he wants you two to have them.  He’s going to be a great big Brother.

You are also blessed with Grandparents that are so excited today to meet you that they are about to burst!  Your Nina is going to be so special to you both.  She is to everyone who knows her.  She is so very loving and protective and willing to make any sacrifice for her family.  All you need to do is look around your nursery and you can see the love that she put into it just for you.  As busy as she was, she found time to be at our house cleaning and preparing for your arrival.  Your Mother is thirty years old, but when she is sick, hurting, or is even having a bad day, she wants her Mother…your Nina.  That is a testament to what kind of Mother she is, and she is every bit as good as a  Grandmother.

You are going to love your Pop-Pop.  He is so much fun and he loves his Grandchildren!   I can almost close my eyes and see him playing with you two, making you laugh, giving you a ride on the tractor, or having you help in the garden.  He is everything a great Grandfather needs to be and he is so anxious to meet you two!  The quality in Pop-Pop that I have come to admire the most is that he is never afraid or hesitant to show his children or grandchildren how much he loves them.  You boys will never have to wonder how much he loves you. 

Your Grandma Thelma is about as excited as I have ever seen her!  She already loves you both so very much.  And like your Nina, Grandma Thelma has been over at the house constantly, helping clean and prepare for your homecoming.  Never has there been a more loving or sweet woman, at least not that I’ve met.  And she is a prayer warrior.  I would be willing to bet that she is praying for you two right now.  Many of the blessings you will have in your lifetime will be due to your Grandma Thelma’s prayers.  And just wait till you taste her banana pudding! 

You will never have to worry about having someone to roughhouse with or kid around with as long as you have your Grandpa Smokey!  He has a way of antagonizing you, but in a way that makes you want more.  He will probably have nicknames for both of you and will always be ready to tickle or tease you.  And you will love him.  As we all do.  He loves his children and grandchildren unconditionally and would do anything in the world for any of us.

You are also blessed with so many other special family members.  Your Uncle Alex has a huge heart and has been calling to check on you two all the time you’ve been in your Mother’s belly.   He will be one of the first ones to the hospital this afternoon I’m sure because he can’t wait to meet you!  He and your Aunt Carla are responsible for many of the things in your nursery.  Carla is an amazing person, always helping without being asked, and checking up on you two and the rest of us.  And your cousin Connor is going to be one of your best buddies I’m sure! 

Your Uncle Justin and Aunt Barbie are anxious to meet you as well, and they are going to provide you with a little cousin in a few months!  You will never have to worry about someone to play with.  Justin and Barbie are so much fun and you will love them just as your big Brother and Sister love them.  They have both constantly checked up on you two and are going to be there to welcome you into the world today!

Your Aunt Sallie and Uncle Lance are eagerly awaiting their new nephews too!  They both can’t wait to play with you.  They are constantly asking when you’re going to be born!  They are both very sweet and you’re going to love them. 

Your Great Aunt and Uncle Shelley and John and your cousins John Henry and Josh have been counting down the days too.  Josh has said many times that he wants your Mother to have the babies, only NOT when he is around!   Shelley has done so much to help us out and prepare for you guys and we are so thankful for her. 

You also have your Nana and Papa, who you will absolutely love.  They provided us with your cradle that is in our bedroom.  They are so sweet and can’t wait to hold their Great Grandbabies! 

You will meet your Uncle Dan and cousin Tyler too and you will get a kick out of both of them.  Dan was married to your Aunt Donna, who you will hear so, so much about in your lifetime.  I wish so much that you could have had the opportunity to know her and experience her.  But I will do my best to tell you everything about her and how she was a role model for all of us.  I want you to know her, even if you can never meet her, at least on this earth.  She would have loved you more than you can imagine.

Your Uncle Dave and Aunt Ann are right up the road, outside of Atlanta, and I look forward to them both being a big part of your lives.  I love them both so much and you will too.

Your Aunt Beth and Uncle Randy will be down to visit soon too, hopefully!  And they will bring with them four more of your cousins!  They are great people and I know you will love them as I do.

You also have your Uncle Wayne, Aunt Marsha, and cousins Nick, Lauren, James and Becca,  They have all been in one way or another an influence in my life and I would not be who I am without them.  They are as close to a perfect family as I’ve ever seen.  They have taught me so much about how to love, how to live, and about our Lord.  And then there is your second cousin Emma, who you will love to death. 

And that brings you to me.  My name is Vern and I’m your Daddy.  I am new to fatherhood, but your Brother and Sister have been doing a great job of breaking me in.  They have each shown me how you can feel unconditional love for your children.  I love them as I love you, and aside from the love I have for your Mother, I’ve never felt anything like it.  The four of you are now the center of my universe, the main consideration of each and every decision your Mother and I will make.  I am humbled by the responsibility of being a father to you all, but am so grateful to God for the opportunity.  I want you to know that I’m going to make mistakes.  A lot of them.  And I ask for your forgiveness.  I know that in all likelihood, you’re going to break my heart at some point.  And I want to you know that I forgive you for that.  I want you to know that you can never do anything that would make me not love you.  

I saved the most important person for last.  I want to introduce you to Jesus Christ, my Lord and savior.  I want you to know him most of all.  As hard as it is for any of us to fathom, he loves each of you more than we ever could.  He died on the cross to pay for all of our sins and it is through his mercy and love that heaven awaits us.  My most important job as a parent will be to do everything I can to make sure you know Jesus and I vow to do just that. 

I can’t believe that I am mere hours from meeting you, my Sons.  I cannot describe the feeling I have in knowing that I will hold each of you today.  I am so honored, so blessed, and so scared. 

Know that I love you.  Know that most of all.  And know that of all the things in this world that I have ever been proud of, none outside of being your Mother’s Husband can compare to being a Father.

 

 

I love you both,

 

Daddy

Occasionally, and by occasionally I mean daily if not more, I am stricken by a phenomenon known as cranialtunage.  This common affliction strikes when a song becomes so ingrained on my brain that inevitably I am forced to either listen to it a few times or listen to something else in hopes of dispelling it from my consciousness.  When I was younger my friends and I used to sing annoying songs out loud to one another as a form of torture, knowing it would take hours to get them out of our heads.  As a rookie parent, I have been assured by many veteran parents, some retired and in the hall of fame, that Barney is going to become a staple of my life for at least the next 5-6 years.  I have heard the song and I am scared. 

Being afflicted with cranialtunage is not always a bad thing, though.  There are some songs that push their way from my subconscious into my everyday life and are not dreaded nor cursed, but accepted and appreciated.  Being the fan of the written word that I am, I oftentimes enjoy most the songs with thought provoking or meaningful lyrics as much if not more than those with catchy tunes.  On any given day you may hear Springsteen, Dylan, U2, or anything from country to pop on my lips and if the song actually raises my emotions to a level to where humming becomes full out singing and you are earshot, keep in mind I am dealing with an affliction and kindly yet swiftly move to an area where you can no longer hear me.  Your cooperation is appreciated.

A couple of weeks ago, I came across a song that since playing it that one time, I have not been able to shake.  I have to, literally have to, listen to it multiple times a day.  It is an old song, almost as old as I am, (hold your jokes please) but it is not the original version I have played and re-played these last couple of weeks.  It is Bridge Over Troubled Water - not Simon & Garfunkle’s version, but a remake by Johnny Cash and Fiona Apple and in my humble opinion it is an incredibly moving version of the song.  Those of you who know us know that my wife and I are great admirers of Johnny Cash and to that end are naming one of our twin sons Cash.  I have always admired self-aware people, and Johnny was just that.  He knew he was a superstar.  He knew he was a sinner.  He knew he was a Christian.  He faced his demons and overcame them, and gave the glory to his Lord.  He was just a man, and he was ok with that.  That’s very cool.

One of the most fascinating elements of music is how a song can mean so many different things to so many different people.  As I listen to the lyrics of this song, I often find myself thinking of my kids, born and unborn, though I know this was not what the lyricist was trying to convey. 

 

                              When you’re weary, feeling small

                              When tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all

                               I’m on your side

                               When times get rough

                               And friends just can’t be found

                               Like a bridge over troubled water

                               I will lay me down

                              Like a bridge over troubled water

 

            What an incredible vow this can be from a parent to a child.  I can definitely see myself saying this to Sydney, Elliott, Cash or Simon, though probably not with dry eyes.  (And for the record, I was more than properly prepared and forewarned about the hormonal changes this pregnancy would bring to my wife, but nobody, and I mean NOBODY told me that it was contagious.) 

            The last verse of the song hits me the hardest.  When I hear Johnny’s rich baritone sing those words and the realization hits that one day Leona and I are going to have to let the children go out into this crazy world and experience it on their own it is a mind-numbing consideration.  But then something happens, something unreal.  Something spiritual.  I feel a peace come over me and I realize that while the lyrics in so many ways are indicative of my feelings for those in my care, they are also every bit a reminder of my Lord and his promise to me.  That he has always been and will remain with me through fatherhood.

  

                         Your time has come to shine

                         All your dreams are on their way

                         See how they shine

                         If you need a friend

                        I’m sailing right behind

                        Like a bridge over troubled water

                        I will ease your mind

                        Like a bridge over troubled water

 

            There is another element to cranialtunage that I have come to know and believe.  that God puts some songs on our brain right when we need what that song is saying to us the most.  I remember thinking to myself one day while I was listening yet again to Johnny sing that song that God must have wanted me to rediscover it.  The peace that the song was giving me could not have been coming from any other source.  And then for a moment I was humbled as I often am and thought to myself “God surely has much more important things to do than to put a song in my head”. 

            It was then that it hit me.  That very second.  A smile spread across my face as I realized that this song, the one that I just could not get out of my head, the song that was relevant if spoken from God to me as well as from me to my kids, was sung by a man named “Cash”.

            And it was written by a man named “Simon”.

           

           

 

 

 

What's In A Photograph?

           It’s a dated photo, as is evidenced by the cars in the background, 1960 model vehicles that show no signs of age. It is a picture of a man in his thirties in a white button-down shirt, white undershirt, brown slacks and black rimmed eyeglasses in his breast pocket. His brown hair remains only on the sides of his head, with the exception of a small patch around the crown. Over his left shoulder, the top of a neighbor’s front porch is visible and that along with the grass to his right at the bottom of the picture reveal that he is obviously standing in a front yard, probably his own. In his hands he holds his youngest son, a mere infant staring up at his Daddy.
           And he’s smiling.
           To most that may set their gaze upon this picture, it would probably seem quite unspectacular, but considering that the man is my Father and I am the infant in his arms, I would understandably disagree. Especially in light of the fact that it is the only picture I have ever seen of myself in his arms, and one of only a handful in which we both appear. Needless to say, I have always treasured that picture, and recently I’ve found myself looking at it more and more. I oftentimes find my eyes on that picture around the time I am dwelling on my impending fatherhood and the related insecurities I feel, and it comforts me.
           Not unlike a song, a smell, or even a well told story, a photograph can transport you, if just for a few moments, to a different time and place. Even if you can’t remember that time or place. We’ve all felt it. Looking through a photo album, or more so to many these days at a computer monitor, our eyes find an image and the involuntary smile appears, sometimes accompanied by a laugh, sometimes by tears. Both have happened when I look at the picture of my Father and I, and oftentimes I become overwhelmed when thinking of how much that photograph means to me. Among the plethora of emotions I feel in those moments is thankfulness.
           I am thankful that for whatever reason, someone that day (probably my Mother) said “Ken, let’s get a picture of you and Vernon.”. Because of that, I am able to possess the treasure of that image.
           A few years ago, on a trip home I scanned that and other family photographs and made some CDs to give to family members. It was then that I realized that I really had no real visual documentation of my life since leaving home so many years ago. Four years of college, my years in the Air Force in New Mexico, my years in Tennessee, and so very few photos to show for it. Since then, I have become “that guy”. The guy who always seems to have his camera and ain’t afraid to use it. Sometimes you are grateful for “that guy” and sometimes you wish for the sake of your sanity and corneas that he and his flash would just go away. One phenomenon that never ceases to amaze me, however, is that inevitably, whomever complains the loudest about “that guy” having his camera out is usually the very person who is the most vocal about getting copies of the pictures “that guy” is taking. (You know who you are. You are smiling and shaking your head sheepishly as you read)
           On any given day I may take anywhere from 0 to 100 or more photos, depending on my mood and the day’s itinerary. I will be the first to admit that the majority of my photos would fit under the classification of “throwaways”, and some friends (yes, you, Michael Renner) oftentimes become incensed at the reckless nature in which I shoot pictures. I do this: a) because I am not a photographer per se, and b) because some of the gems that result from the element of surprise and/or lack of posing are priceless and worth the throwaways. And blessed with the technological advances in media storage for digital cameras, I find no reason not to go gem searching whenever possible. I have a 12 megapixel camera which means I can crop or blow up any part of my photos and make more than one picture out of a single shot (which means even unintentional background content can be made into a standalone picture) and I have a memory card that allows me 1000 pictures before having to dump them to my computer. And that’s just one of my memory cards. (I actually just heard a collective groan from my friends and family members) Add to this the fact that I have photoshop and the possibilities that result from the pictures I take truly become endless. (Whoa! That time I heard a collective groan AND sigh!)
           But look on the bright side – none of you will ever have to say “Do you have any pictures of the twins?” or “I’ll bet Sydney and Elliott are getting big” or anything of the sort. As long as I have a camera and there is an internet, there will never be a problem with lack of pictures nor the availability to view them. As with the picture of my Father and myself, I am thankful for the ability to capture so many moments and make them available one day for my children. And of course I am thankful for the pictures that I do have of my Father and the rest of my family. I am thankful that when I tell my children about their Aunt Donna, I can show them pictures of her. Like the one of she and I sticking our tongues out at each other playfully that turned out to be one of the last photos of she and I together. That picture and a great deal of prayer continue to comfort me in the times I miss her most.
           So in the event that I snap your picture, whether you expect it or not, don’t be upset with me. You never know when a simple picture of you, maybe without your knowledge, and maybe with your hair messed up or a weird look on your face will become a treasure for someone who loves you in the years to come. Or it may just make me laugh out loud for a long period of time.
           Either way, it’s worth it.

Three Men...(rerun)....

           I wrote this two years ago and rereading it I find the glorious irony and circumstantial significance of it simply fantastic. Not to mention the fact that it overwhelms me with a feeling of immense intimidation. You’ll understand once you’ve read it.



           This is the story of three men.
           One was a military man from out west, one a disc jockey in a small southern town, and one a star athlete. All three were family men. The backgrounds of the men were as different as their appearances were. One was of medium height and build, one was short and stocky and one was well over 6 feet and athletic. There were similarities, however. They all were responsible, hard working men. They all began balding in their twenties and eventually grew out of their hair. And they were good Christian men, all three.
           The military man grew up in Wyoming, where ranching was the most prevalent way of life. Hard work was not rewarded, but expected, and he did his share and more. He and his siblings had chores that many would consider full time jobs nowadays. He played sports and was most fond of basketball. He played for the Newcastle Cagers and once set a district record for points scored in a single game by draining 36 points off of 12 field goals and 12 free throws. After high school, he joined the Navy and set out to see the world. His trade in the navy was that of an electrician and he was good at it.
           While in the navy, he met, courted, and married a girl from a small town in South Carolina. The couple started their family in 1956 with a baby boy. Two years later a girl was born and it was eight years before the brother and sister got another sibling, a younger brother born in 1966 in Millington, Tennessee. The oldest boy was fond of sports and played whenever he could. The girl proved to be quite a scholar and from a young age excelled in school. The youngest boy was a bit spoiled and could be a brat at times, but his love for his big brother and big sister and was genuine. They all three loved their Daddy dearly and he gave all of himself to them and his wife. He worked long hours to provide for them and they had a good life, filling their lives with love and good Christian values.
           The family moved from Tennessee a few months after the youngest boy was born and set up a new home in Smyrna, Georgia. A few months after arriving at his new post, the navy man came home from a long night at work and told his wife he was tired and was going to lay down. On the way to his bed he stopped to play with his youngest boy, who was now eleven months old. It was the last time he would play with any of his kids.
           The navy man died in his sleep, leaving a wife and three kids. The newly widowed woman took her three children back to South Carolina and started a new life there. Years later, all three kids had their college paid for by the government due to the fact that he died while in the service. Even after his death, the navy man provided for his family.
           The disc jockey had a family of his own, with a wife and two kids. He lived and worked in the same small town he grew up in and provided for his family by entertaining listeners all around the county with his radio show. His wit and love for a good joke, sometimes at other’s expense, made for a fun ride to work for hundreds of listeners in his small town and any others the radio signal would reach.
           The disc jockey also played sports. He played on his high school’s football team and during one game in particular made a play that is still talked about today by those who knew him and were lucky enough to see it. They talk about him running at full speed down the field, so far ahead of anyone on the other team that the crowd was celebrating before he even reached the twenty yard line. Then they talk about how a few yards later, he tripped and fell, squandering any chance of scoring what was a certain touchdown. But the disc jockey loved a good joke, even if he happened to be the butt of it, and nobody laughed harder at that story than him.
           The disc jockey’s life was going as planned until one day when his wife suddenly died. The laughs don’t come nearly as easy for suddenly single father with two children yet to raise, but he endured. He eventually met a woman who herself had kids and they combined their families. He became a stepfather to her children along with the two he already had. His new wife’s oldest kids were in high school, and so they were only around for a short while before heading off to college. They called him by his first name, but his youngest stepson, who was in elementary school, called him “Dad” and he became a father to a young boy who had not known one in his lifetime. He gave of himself selflessly, working long hours to make sure none of the kids did without, and, along with his wife, raised them in a good Christian home.
           The star athlete was bound for glory by his junior year in high school. Having played multiple sports most of his life, he had made the decision at that point to concentrate on the one he loved the most, and that was basketball. By the end of his junior year, he had letters coming in from head basketball coaches whose attention he had garnered with his play. Big time college programs with legendary coaches. He would surely end up with a scholarship, go on to college, and then the sky was the limit. The level of success he had attained was the result of countless hours honing his skills, rain or shine, with or without other players.
           The star athlete’s work ethic was impressive enough in and of itself, but was even more admirable when considering that at home, he was also the man of the house. His father had died when he was young and his mother had just recently remarried. Until that time, the only father figure his little brother had was him, and he was a hero to that little boy. Now, he didn’t have to worry as much about going to college and leaving his mother without a man of the house and his younger brother without a father figure. That position was filled and he could concentrate on which big time basketball program he’d sign with.
           He would not sign with a big college program, however. He would break his ankle not once, but twice in a year and the offers curtailed considerably. He would instead accept a scholarship to a small liberal arts school and play his college ball there. He excelled athletically at the small school and met the woman who would be his wife there. He would later say those years were the most fun for him because he felt like he got to be a kid for the first time.
           Today, the star athlete is in his high school’s hall of fame as well as his college’s. He led his team to the district tournament championship and subsequently to the national championship tournament his senior year and is still regarded as one of the best players ever to play for his college. He is now a successful businessman and he and his wife have three unbelievable kids. And he never stopped being a hero to his little brother.
            All three of these remarkable men were, in their own way, heroes. They all gave selflessly of themselves and all three had a profound effect on one little boy’s life. I know this, you see, because I was that little boy. I was the eleven month old boy the navy man played with the morning he died. I was the youngest stepchild to the disc jockey. And I was the little brother to the star athlete. All three were, at one point, the man in my life, and anything good I have attained or become is directly attributable to them.
           This is the story of three men. And one grown up little boy who thanks God this Father’s Day for blessing my life with them.


           Re-reading this today, knowing that I am a Step-Father like the DJ and one day soon will be a Father like the military man, I can only hope that I live up to even half the example these three men provided for me.