Baby Mustain

Baby Mustain,

You are still in your mommy’s womb growing and developing. So far, you have made it difficult for us to see if you are a boy or a girl. You just will not turn the right way during the ultrasound. Maybe you are trying to surprise us all. Nevertheless, even as you are becoming who you are, I want you to know a few things.

First, we love you. We do not know your name, your sex, your hair or eye color; we do not know how tall you will be. We do not know much of anything about you yet. However, we love you dearly, and we will always love you.

Second, you are God’s answer to our prayers. Your entire family has been praying about you for a long time. Your mom and dad have thought about you, talked about you, and planned for you. At one point, we were not sure you were even going to come along. God, in His wisdom and divine love, has finally given you to us.

Finally, I know your attention span is still pretty short so I will not write you a book here. You do not have to be afraid. The world you are coming into can be a scary place. There are people who are fighting with each other, wars, earthquakes, tornados, forest fires, and hurricanes. These kinds of things are even scary for adults. However, Baby Mustain, you are wrapped in your family’s arms and God’s arms. We will hold you and protect you. We will lead you and guide you. WE WILL BE THERE FOR YOU!

So, keep on growing and don’t kick mommy too hard. We will see you in the summer.

I love you,

Papaw

Fathers, Sons, and the New Year

As each year flows swiftly into the next, we as fathers and sons gain a greater understanding of each other. Fathers gain a better understanding of how their sons are growing, maturing, and becoming men of substance. Sons gain a better understanding of their dads’ wisdom throughout the years.

For me, the ending and the beginning of each year gives me pause to weep over my failures, smile about my successes, and hope for my future. But the pause must be brief. Time doesn’t stop along with me and its ever flowing current pushes against me, urging me toward the future. Finally, tired of the strain from my attempt to hold back time, I move on leaving my failures and successes behind me.

With fresh, fertile soil, 2010 offers the brightest of hope: for me, for my sons, for our families, and for the world.

Happy New Year, boys. Revitalize your spiritual legions. Renew your marital covenants. Strive fervently to realize all your potentials. Never forget the loving ties that bind us together for eternity. I love you, and I thank you for being more sons than any father has a right to have.

Ho! Ho! Ho! Wait Santa! Boys, come quickly!

Every year at Christmas, my family began the day with me playing like I had caught Santa Claus as he was leaving the house. I would yell for him to wait and call to the boys to hurry so they could see him. They alway missed him by only a few moments.

Since they missed getting to see Santa, my sons then turned their attention to checking out what he had left behind...presents under the tree.

Where did those days go? They disappeared as quickly as the Gingerbread house.

My Sons and Their Wives

These four came to visit me. Of this, I'm extremely proud. They brought their smiles and hugs and laughter.

They stayed for a few days, then went home. But they left in their wake a deeply moved, happy, proud dad (and father-in-law).

I am honored by their coming to visit, sadden by their departure, and anxiously anticipating their return.

I love and miss each one of you.

My Very Brief Bildungsroman

I have no idea what the age of accountability really is. I've heard that it's that time when you know right from wrong, and maybe it really is that simple. But perhaps it's a little more complex.

I knew it was wrong when I destroyed tens upon tens of glass Christmas ornaments. Yup. I had every clue. Was I accountable? Who knows?

Was it evidence that my brother had not reached the age of accountability when he fed my dead rabbit for a week? Hardly.

Had I become accountable the day I let a few drops of Dawn fall into the fish bowl because I didn't want to clean up after fish poop anymore? (I don't know if I've ever revealed that to y'all. Sorry.) Nah.

What about the day I trashed classroom at the church building, splattering all manner of evil on the walls? Did I know that was wrong. Heck, yeah. I know it no more now than I did then.

Was I accountable? Should I have been marched down to a cold, moldy baptistry and drowned my demonically sinful nature?

I doubt it.

Maybe the age of accountability isn't negative at all. Maybe it's not the result of some rite that causes an epiphany that'll bring guilt over you like a cold shower.

What if it's the day you can finally put the obvious together and realize that your family is all you'll ever really have? And what about the day where you wake up and think about how nice it would be if you were loading up in a 1982 Ford Futura and heading off to first period? What about that precise moment when you wish you could go back in time and be a better son? How about that time before lunch when you wished you could call up your brother and go grab a bite together? Better yet, how about the day you look at a picture of the brother you took for granted and the father you hope knows how much you've learned from him, and you sigh into open air trying your best to believe in telepathy.

I bet that's more like the day you became accountable, the age of accountability. That's probably a lot more like the day when you've taken your first step, the very first one, toward understanding.

I guess if I'd truly believed that all along, then I wouldn't have been baptized until I was about 25.

My Sons Are Coming Home

At no time throughout the year is my spirit as light as when my sons are coming home.

Too long I joked when they were kids of breaking their plates when they turned eighteen. Too often I noted of how nice it would be to have the house all to myself. To many times when looking for a tool did I mumble under my breath, "I just wish they would put things back where they found them.

Now...too many plates sit unused in the cabinet. Now…the house seems empty and bare and void of life. Now…my tools are all just where I left them gathering dust.

Thankfully, though. My kids are coming home and bringing their wives. The dishes seem to shine with anticipation, the house seems warmer and more inviting, and even my tools...well they will just stay where they are because when my sons get home there will be far too much rejoicing to worry with work.

My sons are coming home, and I am giddy pleased.

Great-Grandsons

I am not sure who's pride is greater, the great-grandsons or the great grand-father.

Frank and Mary only had two children...Bonnie and Vernissa. Bonnie and Harold had only three girls...Debbie, Pam, and Rhonda. Frank and Mary had to wait three generations before the boys came along.

Joey and Shane are the first grandsons!