A Fool and his Words are Soon Parted

My older son and I made the following video on the Saturday of Father’s Day weekend. The local Kino group put this on, and at the last minute, we decided to give it a shot. Enjoy!

Besides Ghostbusters.

Here’s the scenario:

You’re stranded on a busy expressway late at night, your family in the car with you. The outside temperature is in the low 20’s. You’re in an old car, long since paid for, but sadly, not covered by towing insurance. In fact, it’s not clear how far you might be to a towing service, or how far it might be for them to tow you to civilization, much less your home.

You get out your cell phone and try to decide who to call at such a late hour. You look through your phone’s contact list. Name after name scrolls by. Who would you call if you need to be rescued in such a situation?

I am asking this hypothetically, but I’m curious about the real answer for any of us. Who do we call, and why do we call them instead of someone else?

One of the gifts from my sons:

Here’s the text:

It’s after Midnight, and I’ve finished my wrapping and tucked my handiwork under the tree. Likewise, I’ve stuffed the boys’ stockings, and made sure everything was ready for Christmas morning. Now I sit in the dark, gazing at the lights of the tree.

This is something of a personal tradition for me, dating back to my pre-teen days. Back then I would grab a blanket, settle down over one of the floor-mounted heating vents, and let my mind wander. (more…)

From the Amazon.com description of “The Blessing,” by John Trent and Gary Smalley:

…the life-changing gift the Bible calls “the blessing.” The unconditional love and approval that comes with the blessing is an important element of our self-esteem and emotional well-being. And many of us–perhaps unknowingly–spend a lifetime striving for this acceptance.

I love this book, and recommend it highly. However, of late, I’ve seen the reverse effect: My sons have found unexpected ways of blessing me, the parent. (more…)

When is it really you talking?

Ed, my father-in-law, passed away at 5:21 AM on 9/18/2007. My wife suggested that it was his daughters’ singing that did it, but I’m convinced that hearing them sing would have given him the greatest joy. Saturday evening, he supposedly started singing suddenly, though none of the children were able to figure out exactly what the song was. He was a strong Christian father, served as a deacon at their home church in Texas, and demonstrated more of humility of Christ than perhaps any man I’ve ever known.

Ed was a man of few words, but was never reluctant to tell his family (including his son-in-laws and daughter-in-laws) that he loved them. If asked how he was going, he would simply reply “fat and sassy.” Although he’d been heavy in the earlier part of his life and had a strong frame, I’ve never known the man to be fat. Likewise, “sassy” is something that could be said of him only with a sense of the ridiculous.

Then again…

If you bumped your head, stubbed your toe, or otherwise did something not-terribly serious that resulted in pain, Ed’s immediate observation would be a deadpan: “It looks like that would hurt.” From any other man, those words might come across as uncaring, sarcastic, or harsh. From Ed, it always generated laughter and a break in the tension of the injury.

His parenting advice was simple and straightforward: “I’d rather pay grocery bills than doctor bills” (suggesting that the most important thing a parent could do was to feed the children when they’re hungry, advice that I have clearly heeded), and “don’t send ‘em, go with ‘em” (which was his admonishment toward a life journey where parents and children experience things together). Those two things made up the sum of his parenting advice to anyone who would ask.

He lived a long life (married for 55 years to my mother-in-law Erma), had four children, eight grandchildren, and four great-grandchildren. The family moved here from Garland, Texas in 1970, having been transferred by Ford to work at the Light Truck Plant on Fern Valley road. Ed worked for Ford for a total of 42 years, many of those years consisting of 10-hour days, seven days a week.

He was a veteran of WWII, often telling my sons to make sure they could type, because that skill (unusual for a draft-age man at that time) was what earned him the job of Medical Transcriptionist at a London hospital, and not in combat. In his later years he spoke about his service, but the story he told most often was of the long ride home from Europe on the deck of The Queen Mary, and his joy at seeing the Statue of Liberty as they neared New York City. (I never bothered to check the facts of his story, but have never heard anything to contradict it.)

Stories told by the family of various life events almost always contain a component of Ed’s long suffering temperament and his quiet demeanor. Whether it was his ability to drive (without relief) the virtually endless miles between Kentucky and Texas on their many trips “home” (he was a resident of Kentucky, but Ed would always be a Texan), his tolerance of family members and luggage being jammed into a much-too-small rental car (Jerry Seinfeld’s rental car experience pales in comparison), or his unwillingness to tolerate teenage temper tantrums by simply walking away (I’ll spare my brother-in-law the embarrassment of explaining this one), Ed was always the picture of quiet strength and patience.

Thank you for all your thoughts and prayers as the family (including the associated in-laws and out-laws) have walked this path.

Sunday night, my family is watching the NFL game between the Dallas Cowboys and the New York Giants. One of the Giants’ receivers, Amani Toomer, went out for a pass, which fell incomplete.

My youngest son sat upright on the couch as if he’d been shocked by electricity. Without warning, he shouted out (in a perfect Schwarzenegger voice), “It’s not a Toomer!”*

I nearly fell out of my chair laughing.

* My son was parodying this scene from “Kindergarten Cop”:

I know… I need to video these earlier in the day instead of in twilight. There’s some color funkiness that comes in when things got really dark, but such is life.

I’m debating trying this instead of writing everything. Please let me know what you think.

One of the notable songs from Billy Joel’s “Streetlife Serenade” album from 1974 was a song called “The Last of the Big Time Spenders.” The chorus includes the following line:

…I’m the last of the big time spenders
And I’ve been spendin’ time on you,

An eternal truth that’s too easy to forget is that money is distributed unevenly, but time is doled out in equal amounts. None of us get more than 60 minutes in an hour, 24 hours in a day, or 365 days in a year.

Recently, a very good friend remembered my love of “Hook,” the Robin Williams & Dustin Hoffman version of the Peter Pan story, and bought the DVD for me for my birthday. The most significant reason I love this movie? It’s a constant reminder to spend time with my sons, and more important, how I should spend that time. (more…)