Prom Night: A night without sleep

They are unaware. They are just kids out to have fun with each other away from mom and dad. They don't consider it a life changing experience. It's just a dinner, a dance, a date. They may suspect, but they could not know what evil lurks just outside the protective custody of family or the safe haven of discipline. They may not even care. They are, after all, young.

It's nights like this that test a parents metal..draws them to their faith...forces them on their knees. I'll bet more prayers are raised this day than any other. They are our young men and young ladies. Our true talent on loan from God. Our legacy to the world. And they are out there out of our control and out from under our protective wing. Oh, God help them, better yet, help me!!

I remember prom. It was fun and exciting. I was able to leave the nest and try my wings in open air. My guiding principles were whispers on the wind, remembrances of what I heard was proper etiquette, and all that I had witnessed in everyday life since a time I can't remember.

I didn't think about consequences. I didn't worry about what ifs. The notion that there might be danger lurking wasn't even considered. I was entering the "night life". Until then, it was all child's play. Now I was ready and willing to enter the night realizing I had received the most sacred of adult purveyance.....No Curfew!!

As an adult, it's my time again. This time I can't help but worry. It is not me but still my flesh and blood out there ...somewhere. They are good kids. I shouldn't worry but I can't help it. They are out there in the world mingling with the rest of the world. Driving!!!! Does the rest of the world know how special they are, how precious they are? Does the world understand that they will change it? Do they know how important they are to to us?..to me?

I should go check on them. No I shouldn't... but I want to. I want to make sure they are okay. I want to make sure they are having a good time I want them to be safe. I want them to be home. I want them to come home. That's all. Just come home. Then we can talk about all the other things. The fun, the thrill, the fear, the night out on the town. After...only after...they come home.

I'm not as young as I used to be. Lord it's a little harder to get down here on my knees. It's a whole lot harder getting up. Just bring them home. Amen.

These are, after all, the musings of a mind that wanders.

Fondest Childhood Memories..

We all have them, don't we? Those incredibly special moments with special people burned in our memories that evoke a full gamut of human response. They make us laugh, cry, think, wish, chuckle,sigh, remember and honor. They are a blessing, these fondest memories, and the best ones keep on giving even thirty-eight years later. Here are some of mine. I hope they cause you pause as you remember some of yours.


I have to tell you. I have one of the coolest older brothers anyone could ever have. He was 20 when my twin brother and I were born. My dad had died 5 months earlier and Dave was left as the "man" of the family. He didn't ask for it. He really would have rather gone on with his life. But he didn't. He stuck close enough to mom to take care of her, us, and his new wife and child.

I remember him out mowing the grass in criss-cross patterns making "streets" in the grass so I could ride them on my tricycle. I would try to catch up to him and ride behind as he mowed. And sometimes he let me, purposely slowing down until I got just close enough and then he'd speed up. Sometimes he would misjudge and I, as ornery as I was, would run over his heel. He didn't get mad...he'd just get moving.

I remember Indian Guides. A father son organization through the YMCA designed to provide unique fun father son time together around a theme. They did sleep overs, themed meetings, camping, games and more. They used Indian ceremonies, names and practices. A bunch of the kids and their dads were part of it and it sounded fun. We became members. I don't know how or why, but I do know who. Dave had taken the time to step in for my twin brother and I as "Dad". We went to everything and when it came time to host meetings at the house Dave didn't just make paper invitations shaped like Indian things he had us burn into leather the time and place of the meeting and stretch it across a make shift stretch rack used to tan animal hides. He made peace pipes and we wore handmade leather vests and loin clothes with our name and symbol burned into the them. "Big fox" and "Little Fox". I think those were the names... I still have all that stuff and I take it out and look at it occasionally. It means more to me now than it did then ...and everyday I am more grateful and more in awe of the person who provided the memories.

The summer of 1969 I was 12. Still really unaware of the world that existed outside my own little universe. A 12 mile canoe trip. A requirement if you are 12 yrs old and want to get a canoeing merit badge as a First Class Scout in 1969. I wanted one but I didn't know how to get it. I didn't have a canoe. My Dad had passed away a couple months before I was born...He couldn't take me. I would have to resign to not getting it and move on....Or so I thought. Dave to the rescue again.

It is important to know that I didn't reach 5 ft tall until I was in 11th grade. That same year I began wrestling the 98 lb weight class. I have no idea how tall I was or what I weighed at 12 but it couldn't have been much. It's also important to know that when Dave did something, he didn't just do it he committed to it. I didn't know much about canoeing. I had gone out a few times on the lake fishing with Dave and he had taught me how to paddle but that's all I knew. Dave got all our supplies together, we loaded up the car and his wife drove us to the entry point and dropped us off.

I learned something very interesting that summer. Rivers fill to near over flowing in spring and, as you progress through summer the water level falls. In mid July the water level was pretty low and our 12 mile canoe trip more closely resembled an eight mile canoe "hike" (we portaged, I believe is the appropriate term) with dashes of actual on the water paddling. "We" portaged is a gross exaggeration of the truth. Remember I'm 12. 5ft and a hundred pounds are still 5 years away. Dave literally carried the canoe the entire trip and we carried the supplies. It was an over night trip as I recall and Dave, as tired as he was, found a camp site and cooked dinner. Eggs as I remember. My twin and I were served our food and Dave sat down to eat his. As he was sitting he was stung by something and his plate went flying. I felt terrible. I wasn't really that hungry and I offered him mine but he wouldn't take it. He wanted to make sure we ate. I don't remember to much more of the trip. I remember getting picked up and driving home.

I know for him it wasn't a fun trip. But it did typify the type of man I knew him to be through all those years and even today. A caring, capable, giving, awe-inspiring man. He may never know the influence he had on my life and the legacy he passed to me, and then I to my children, about being a man, caring for others and giving of oneself. I'm not sure greatness is a big enough word. I'm sure he would wince at hearing that word used to describe him as to him it was no big deal. But to me, it inadequately defines the gift that was given to me by the most influential man I have known. Who better to define the gift than he to whom the gift was given.

These are, after all, the musings of a mind that wanders.

I have 4 children. They are older now. In their teens and 20's. I think back to each of their births and remember them as all children must be remembered by a parent. Innocent, fresh, wide-eyed and curious. It is a journey. From the earliest startling discovery, an infants eyes open wide its body shutters and his mouth draws open as the applesauce moves around his mouth (as if to say, "whoa, what was that) to the quiet painful resignation that some times...life just hurts.



But its the in between I'm drawn to. The first step, the first word.... (both a parents delight), the exuberance of the first bike and riding all by themselves, the first trip to the zoo, the first day at school. I remember when my oldest, now almost 25, came home from school. His mother and I were divorced (an unfortunate part of his reality). I picked him up from the babysitters. He was chattering on about school, his friends, his bike....his life. Sitting in the front seat of the car, his back against the door, he was speedily recounting the day. I was taken with the simplicity of his life yet the pure joy he felt in sharing it. He didn't want me to simply know what had happened. He wanted me to FEEL it. And I could. I believe he relished his position as the older brother but even today would never admit it. I miss him...I really do. He is a very special child and when he finds himself, will do great things.

His 2 younger brothers, one a care-taker whose job it had been to make sure everyone had a pillow and blanket at nap time before he could get one himself, the other a perfectionist who climbed into bed by sitting on his pillow and scooching down because the lines on his blanket had to be straight, were not much different. They recounted their day in much the same way, discovering much the same things. There was A difference. While I was regaled with the news of the day, I was not the intended audience. It was okay for me to hear and it was expected that I listen, but their older brother was the real object of their exuberance. They could not wait to tell him about their first time riding a bike, just like him. They had been there for his first soccer game and now they wanted him to know about theirs. One thing did remain the same. It didn't matter who was the audience, you couldn't just know the facts, you had to resonate in their joy. I can not imagine life without them. The world will be a better place because they are it.

And then a daughter. A frightful proposition for a dad. Uncharted water. Shes a funny girl. A bright and sunny disposition always cheerful always on about something. A talker...and an expressive one at that. She had her firsts too and once again I was the intended audience. I vividly remember her first day at school. She had been there when I took the boys to their first day and tried to help soothe the separation anxiety and wipe the tears from their faces and, unbeknown st to me, she had learned the routine. She was excited to just get dressed for school. As she walked in to class she was introduced to the teacher who showed her what to do with her things. From that moment, the teacher had competition. It was a race to the door to see who would greet the children first, show them where to put their stuff and then tour them around the room. The teacher says they came to an understanding. It was teachers job to greet the children, my daughter could show them where to put their stuff and walk them around the room. As I left it was I who was feeling the separation anxiety and even a wink from the teacher who quietly mouthed the words, "she'll be okay" couldn't wipe away my tears. When she got home she had a full sail of new life events to tell me about. We were long past painting my fingernails and toenails or every size, color or shape of hair clips used as she was "doing my hair". Her daily tails were different. The were about events, yes.. but more about the people around those events and for me that was very hard to keep up with. I know this for sure....There is more color in the world with her in it and one day the world will take notice.

As I reflect on their past I naturally must reflect on my own. It saddens me a bit. Its not that I don't remember the exuberance, I do. I miss it. I'm not sure when it happened... but somewhere along the way the reigns of pure joy and excitement slipped from my hands and I had picked the club of responsibility. I no longer relished the fun of rolling around a mud puddle, I was to busy trying not to have to clean it up. I was no longer a seven year old boy, clothes thrown aside, climbing a tree as a member of the Bare Naked Club. I was too busy figuring the deductible owed on my health insurance policy just in case someone got hurt or searching for that very tree I climbed to picket it as a site of unspeakable unmentionables.
Boys climbing a tree naked indeed!!!

When did it happen? When did we stop trying to swing as high as we could and then jump when we got there? I long to think about what could be and not dwell on why they weren't. I have sadly lost the joy of living and replaced it with the pain and, worse than that, I risk doing the same to my kids. I don't want to do that. Its time I started pay attention to the little things and ignoring the big ones. After all isn't that where God resides??

Starting today, I will take the advice of that esteemed psuedopsychologist, Sidney Freeman who said:
"Sometimes you gotta pull down your pants and slide on the ice"

These are, after all, the musings of a mind that wanders.