Fundraising Tip...

Question: How do you ensure that lots of donations come in to the Volunteer Fire Department in its annual fundraising drive?

Answer: Arrange for the fire truck to break down in the middle of the community's annual Christmas parade down Main Street, with Santa Claus riding on top of it.

Yup. How embarrassing. Better there, I suppose, than on the way to a fire call, but it does leave the community feeling a bit uneasy about our ability to respond in an emergency....

But the good news? It made everyone aware of how badly we need funding for a new truck, and we raised more donations than ever this year. We're hoping to replace our aging fire truck in the next year or so (maybe sooner!).

It's getting cold out...

It's starting to get a little cold out...I think I might have to put the doors back on my Jeep soon.

Time Heals All Wounds? Still Waiting...

This will be Katie's fourth Christmas without her mom, and her sixth without her dad. People say time heals all wounds, but I think they're wrong. It changes them, maybe, but I don't know if they ever really heal completely. This time of year, especially, is still so terribly hard for her. The loss of her parents has created a dividing line in Katie's life, and there will always be a "before" and "after" on either side of that line. The music, the decorations, the smell of Christmas cookies, the anticipation of Christmas morning...for Katie, all of that holiday cheer is tainted by memories of Christmas past. The joy of Christmas she once knew is gone, and it's so unfair for a child to be robbed of that joy. And she wants so much to get it back. She tries hard - she helps with the decorations, she helps bake the cookies, she sings Christmas carols all the time, but behind her beautiful voice I can hear that her heart just isn't in it. As much as she wants it to be, her heart is just...someplace else.

We were putting up decorations last weekend, and in one of the boxes we found a wreath that Katie and her mom had made for their front door in their last Christmas together. When she opened the box containing the wreath, I could see the tears start welling up in her eyes right away. Without a word, she carefully took it out of the box, straightened the bow, and hung it on the front door. And then she completely fell apart. She just sat down on the floor and cried. It was a stark reminder of just how hard this time of year still is for her.

Last night was the Christmas program at school. The choral director, knowing what an amazing voice Katie has, gave her an opportunity to show her stuff with a solo number this year. He let her pick any Christmas song she wanted to sing, and she chose to sing "Where Are You Christmas?" It's a sad but hopeful song about losing the joy of Christmas and then finding it again, and it so perfectly sums up Katie's view of the season. We were a little unsure about it when she first told us that was the song she wanted to sing, but I understand it now - it's her way of using her voice to bring herself face to face with her feelings. Singing is her way of turning raw emotions into something she can grab onto. Just like when she played Annie last spring - when she sings on stage, she gets to be somebody else for a little while, and being somebody else allows her to get those feelings out through her song. It's her way of taking control of something that she had no control over, and owning it. Completely owning it. I totally get that now. And I totally admire her for being able to do that.

Katie got the gift of her voice from her mom, who could sing an audience to tears every time. I think it's very fitting the way she uses her gift to help her deal with her pain.

Anyway, here she is. Those of us who know what she's been through could hear her heart in every single word. And the rest of the audience? Well, I saw a lot of people wiping away tears, so yeah - I think they got it too.



"Where Are You Christmas"

Words and music by James Horner
Copyright © 2000

Where are you Christmas
Why can't I find you
Why have you gone away
Where is the laughter
You used to bring me
Why can't I hear music play

My world is changing
I'm rearranging
Does that mean Christmas changes too?

Where are you Christmas
Do you remember
The one you used to know
I'm not the same one
See what the time's done
Is that why you have let me go

Christmas is here
Everywhere, oh
Christmas is here
If you care, oh
If there is love
In your heart and your mind
You will feel like Christmas all the time

I feel you Christmas
I know I've found you
You never fade away
The joy of Christmas
Stays here inside us
Fills each and every heart with love

Where are you Christmas
Fill your heart with love

Homeless For The Holidays

One day about fifteen years ago, my friend Jill and I went into Concord to do some Christmas shopping. It was a bitter cold day - by nightfall the temperature had dropped well below freezing, with the kind of wind that bites right through your clothes no matter how many layers you have on. As we walked quickly down Main Street that night, hurrying through the cold wind to get to our destination, Jill suddenly stopped in her tracks. Turning toward her, I followed her gaze to an old homeless woman who was huddled in a doorway, wearing only a tattered house dress with a torn flannel shirt over it. The woman was sitting in the doorway with her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her, shivering and trying desperately to stay warm against the bitter cold wind. As Jill looked at this poor old woman, the compassion overflowing from her eyes hinted at what she was going to do next. I could see in her face that she wanted to help this woman - that she needed to help this woman. Then I watched in astonishment as Jill took off her coat and handed it to the old woman. "Merry Christmas," she said. "You need this more than I do." The old woman's eyes lit up. "God bless you, my dear. God bless you. You are an angel," she said. It was one of those moments that is forever burned into my memory. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised by her selfless act. That was Jill. She was one of the kindest and most caring and compassionate people I've ever known. Still, the homeless woman's words - "You are an angel" - touched something deep within my soul, and her words still hang in my memory like a moment frozen in time. The kindness of an angel had given that old woman warmth on a bitter cold night, and for at least a little while, her life was made just a little bit less cold and dark.

...

I was in Concord yesterday doing some Christmas shopping. It was cold out, but not nearly as cold as it was on that memorable day. I was walking down Main Street, just a few blocks from where we were that night, when I was approached by a homeless man. He said he was hungry, and he asked me for a dollar so he could get something to eat. At that moment, I was instantly transported back to that bitter cold night fifteen years ago. As I looked at this man, a feeling of urgency came over me. Jill's selfless act, and the old woman's words - "You are an angel" - echoed in my mind like a haunting melody. In her memory, I felt like I needed to do something to help this man. A dollar wasn't enough, I had to do more. But what?

After standing there for what seemed like minutes, I noticed that we were standing right across the street from a diner, and I had my answer. "Come with me," I said. I led the man across the street and into the diner, and we sat down at a table for two. I told him to order anything he wanted from the menu. I told him my name, and I asked him his. His name was Henry. I sat with Henry for over an hour, and we talked. He told me his life story. He had been a soldier in Vietnam back in the seventies. Then he worked on the docks in Portland for 30 years until he was laid off. He had tried to find another job, but no one would hire him. Eventually his unemployment ran out, and he lost his apartment when he couldn't afford the rent anymore. He drifted around for awhile, eventually ending up in Concord. He gave up looking for a job "five or six years ago," he said. He said he had lost track of time after the first year or two of living on the streets. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he last had a roof over his head. As Henry spoke, it occurred to me that he was no different from the rest of us. He once had a job, a home, a life. And then one day it all just fell apart. The same thing could happen to any one of us at any time.

We finished our lunch, I paid the bill, and we said our goodbyes. I told him that I wished I could do more for him. "Son, you did more for me today than anyone has ever done for me in all my years on the street," he said. "Most people just walk away when I ask them for help. Some look the other way and pretend not to notice me, others just shake their heads and walk on by. But you didn't walk away, and I thank you for that. I thank you for that." And with that, we went our separate ways.

By now, Henry is probably hungry and cold again, just as he was when I met him. But for one hour that day, Henry's life was a little bit brighter. For one hour, Henry got to sit in a warm diner, and eat a hot meal, and talk to someone who was willing to listen to his story. For one hour, Henry got to feel like somebody cared.

I'm not telling you this to pat myself on the back for doing a good deed. What I did was nothing, really - it only cost me $17.92, and I got to spend an hour hearing about the life of an amazing man who had seen some amazing things in his life. No, the reason I'm telling you this is because my lunch with Henry probably wouldn't have happened had it not been for the inspiration of my friend fifteen years ago. And I'm hoping that, by reading this story, someone else might be inspired to do the same one day. It doesn't have to be lunch with a homeless person, or giving away your coat to someone who doesn't have one - there are so many things we can do to help people in need - little, everyday things that can make someone's day just a little bit better. All we have to do is look around us.

It's too easy to look the other way. So this Christmas, don't look the other way. Find a way to make a difference, no matter how small. If you make one person's day a little brighter, even for one moment, then you've made the world a better place, for that one person, for that one moment. And that matters. That's what Christmas is all about.

So this Christmas, do something that matters. Be someone's angel. Make a difference.

Christmas Physics

I'm a physics geek, so I thought this was funny. I didn't write it - if anybody knows who did, please let me know so I can give them proper credit.

...

Is there a Santa Claus? Modern science has concluded the debate once and for all...

1. No known species of reindeer can fly. BUT there are over 300,000 living organisms yet to be classified, and while most of these are insects and microbes, this does not COMPLETELY rule out flying reindeer, although apparently Santa is the only one to have ever seen one.

2. There are 2 billion children (defined as persons under the age of 18) in the world. BUT since Santa only visits the Christian children, that reduces the workload to around 15% of the total - 378 million according to the latest figures from the Population Reference Bureau. At an average (census) rate of 3.5 children per household, that's 91.8 million homes. One presumes that there exists at least one "good" child in each home, since Santa doesn't bother with the kids on his "bad" list.

3. Santa has 31 hours of Christmas to work with, thanks to the different time zones and the rotation of the earth, assuming he travels east to west (which seems logical). This works out to 822.6 visits per second. That is to say that for each Christian household containing at least one "good" child, Santa has just over 1/1000th of a second to park his sleigh, hop out, jump down the chimney, fill the stockings, distribute the remaining presents under the tree, eat whatever snacks have been left, climb back up the chimney, get back into the sleigh, and move on to the next house. Allowing for travel time between houses, this means that to make it to every house within the allotted 31 hours, Santa's sleigh would need to travel at a speed of approximately 6,500 miles per second, or over 30,000 times the speed of sound. Now, a conventional reindeer can run, at most, maybe 15 miles per hour...but see point #1 for reference on a yet-undiscovered species of flying reindeer that might "theoretically" be able to travel faster than that.

4. The payload on the sleigh adds another interesting element: Assuming that each child gets nothing more than a single, medium-sized Lego set (2 pounds), the sleigh would be carrying 642 million pounds of payload, not counting Santa, who is invariably described as overweight. On land, conventional reindeer can pull no more than 300 pounds each. Even granting that a theoretical species of "flying reindeer" (see point #1) might be able to pull TEN TIMES the amount of weight that a conventional reindeer could, we would still need approximately 214,000 reindeer to pull the sleigh. The ropes and associated hardware for attaching all these reindeer to the sleigh further increases the total weight - not even counting the weight of Santa and the sleigh itself - to over 1.3 billion pounds. And let's not forget that the weight of 214,000 reindeer and 1.3 billion pounds of cargo on top of a house would subject the roof and frame to a downward force of approximately 71,294.06 pounds per square inch - enough to crush even the most robust residential structure into a pile of dust and rubble.

5. Those 378 million medium sized Lego sets would occupy a volume of approximately 189 million cubic feet. A volume of that size traveling at 6,500 miles per second creates enormous air resistance. This would cause the reindeer to heat up in the same fashion as that of a spacecraft re-entering the Earth's atmosphere. The lead pair of reindeer would absorb 14.3 QUINTILLION joules of heat energy. Per second. Each. In short, they would burst into flames almost instantaneously, thereby exposing the reindeer behind them, setting off a chain-reaction of catastrophic proportions, and creating deafening sonic booms in their wake. The entire reindeer team would be vaporized within 4.26 thousandths of a second. Santa, meanwhile, would be subjected to an accelerational force of approximately 17,512.47 G. A 250-pound Santa would be pinned to the back of his sleigh by nearly 4,329,000 pounds of force per square inch. Until he was vaporized 5 thousandths of a second later.

Conclusion:

If there ever was a Santa Claus, he's dead now.

Why Do Toy Companies Suck?

Well, with Thanksgiving out of the way, the Christmas season now looms before us. For kids, Christmas is all about the toys. I know we try to teach them about the true meaning of Christmas, and the spirit of giving, and helping those less fortunate, and all that stuff, but let's face it - for a kid, it really is mostly about the toys.

Toys come in brightly colored packaging. Packaging that is designed to get your attention sitting there on the store shelf. Packaging that displays the toys in all their fun-filled glory. Packaging from which the toys clearly are never intended to be removed. How many times has this scene played out in your house on Christmas morning:

Child: "WOW! I got a [insert name of latest toy here]!!!!" Rip...grunt...struggle...grunt....grrrr...

You: "Here, let me help you with that."

20 minutes later, you're still struggling with the endless array of tape, cardboard, zip ties, rubber bands, plastic fasteners, and those INFERNAL wire twisty ties that secure the toy inside the packaging - and they're not the nice soft kind of twisty ties like you find on a loaf of bread - oh no, they're made of heavy duty 6-gauge wire and twisted around in nine different directions and mechanically tied off at the ends in such a way that you have to use pliers just to untwist them far enough to enable you to get the wire cutters in there to cut the rest of the wire off. Only to find that there are 17 more of them hiding underneath the cardboard insert, which you can't get to until after you've removed the 14 plastic fasteners (which often require the use of bolt cutters or a hacksaw), cut through the solid plastic cover with tin snips, removed 23 screws (all with different types of heads), and used a chain saw to remove the 12 remaining plastic clips that secure the toy to the box. All the while, you're muttering to yourself about how much you'd like to meet the guy who decided that such packaging was a good idea, and fantasizing about putting him in a giant hermetically sealed package of similar design and laughing with delight while someone tries unsuccessfully to get him out.

By this time, the child has completely lost interest in the toy, and has moved on to the next one. Which requires you to repeat the above process again. So you clean up the blood, bandage up your fingers, and start all over again with the next toy. And the next one. And the next. Until your fingers fall off and you have to open the rest of them with your teeth.

Most toys these days have so many safety features as to make them completely unusable. They also go through extensive safety testing, and have warning labels pasted all over them to ensure no one gets injured in any way while using them - yet I've lost count of all the cuts and other injuries I've sustained while removing toys from their packaging. Not to mention the multitude of choking hazards presented by the pieces of wire and plastic scattered all over the floor after the unpackaging ordeal. Seriously, with a 2 year old running around, that's no laughing matter. What in god's name are these people thinking?

Now, on the off chance that you do manage to remove a toy undamaged from its packaging, then assemble it in such a way that it loosely resembles the picture on the (now shredded) box with the (now illegible) instructions printed on the back (in broken english and 32 other languages, in a space the size of a postage stamp), now you have to figure out which of the 27 screws you have to remove in order to insert the batteries (which, of course, are not included).

And then you get to experience the heartache of watching your child burst into tears when their new toy breaks within 5 minutes after turning it on, because the toy is a giant, flimsy, plastic piece of CRAP that falls apart if you look at it too hard. Do toy companies not understand that toys are meant to be PLAYED WITH? By CHILDREN? Do they not understand that making toys that break when you touch them is simply NOT ACCEPTABLE? Do they not understand that the TOY needs to be at least as sturdy as the PACKAGING IT CAME IN??

And then you take the broken toy back to the store for a refund, where the manager says "I'm sorry, we can't accept this return because the box is all torn up."

And then the child learns some colorful new variations of the f-word when you, through gritted teeth, explain to the manager that they, in fact, damn sure WILL be accepting this return, because the f%&^*ing product they sold you is a poorly made plastic piece of steaming CRAP which is physically impossible to remove from the f&^%*ing package without destroying both the toy and the f&^%*ing box. Words are exchanged, threats are made, police are called, etc etc. You know the drill. We've all been there.


Can't they just make toys that WORK the way they're supposed to, and come in a simple box that you can open without the need for power tools and a first aid kit? Seriously. Is that too much to ask?


Rant mode off. I feel better now. Thank you. And have a Merry Christmas.

Thankfulness...

We're off tomorrow for a 9-hour drive to Western Pennsylvania to spend Thanksgiving with Jen's sister. Have a great week, everyone.

For Thanksgiving, here are 100 things I'm thankful for (in no particular order, except for the first few).

I am thankful for:

1. Jenny, the love of my life. She is my soul mate, my best friend, and my compass. She is my source of inspiration. She is my rock. She is the beacon that guides me when I can't find my way. Her unconditional love and support sustain me always. She is my heartbeat.


2. Laura, Katie, and Christina. My girls. People have pondered the meaning of life for centuries, but they've all been looking in the wrong place. I have found it. My girls are my life. They are the reason I get up in the morning, and the reason for each and every breath I take.


3. My mom. She made me who I am.


4. My father. Even though we didn't get along, I wouldn't be here without him.


5. My brothers. Always there when I need them.


6. My sisters. Always there when I need them.


7. My friends. I can count my closest friends on one hand. They are the people I know will always be there for me. I choose my friends carefully, and I don't use the word "friend" lightly. If I call you my friend, it means something.


8. Sunrises. Each one represents a new day, a new chance to live and breathe and think and feel.


9. Sunsets. An ending, but the promise of a new beginning tomorrow.


10. Trees. Representing shade, strength, life, and renewal.


11. Walks in the woods.


12. Angels. Yes, they do exist. I have personally known at least two of them.


13. Second chances.


14. Every breath I take, and every beat of my heart.


15. Sobriety.


16. Spaghetti and meatballs.


17. Dreams. And making them come true.


18. Music. Beautiful songs that speak directly to my soul.


19. My guitar.


20. Climbing to the summit of a remote mountain, standing there and looking out at the view knowing that I'm one of only a handful of people in the entire history of the world who have ever seen the view from that particular spot.


21. The goals I've accomplished.


22. The goals I have yet to accomplish.


23. Laughter. It really is the best medicine.


24. Tears. They wash away our sorrows and give us a means to express our strongest emotions when words are completely inadequate.


25. Living in the most beautiful place on Earth, with 800,000 acres of National forest land for a back yard.


26. Being a teacher.


27. Being a father, a husband, a brother, a son, a grandson, an uncle, and a friend.


28. Spring.


29. Summer.


30. Autumn.


31. Winter.


32. Stars.


33. Sunshine.


34. The old man I once met while hiking on the Appalachian Trail. He was about 80 years old, hiking alone, and he stopped and ate lunch with me. He told me to live life every day until it kills me. I never saw him again after that, but I've never forgotten his words of wisdom.


35. Thunderstorms.


36. The sound of rain on the roof.


37. Sex.


38. Lakes. Nowhere is nature's beauty more apparent than in its glassy reflection upon the surface of a still mountain lake.


39. Rivers and streams. The calming sound of flowing water. Simple beauty.


40. Oceans. The never ending waves, the ebb and flow of the tides. A perfect metaphor for the circle of life.


41. Wildlife - too many to count in our back yard - deer, moose, bears, wolves, coyotes, foxes, rabbits, squirrels, birds, etc etc...nature in all its living glory.


42. Hiking trails.


43. Teachers. My friends and colleagues, and the ones I had when I was a student. They are the reason I became a teacher myself. And don't forget, many of life's teachers are not found in a classroom.


44. Baseball. Playing it, watching it, coaching it. They call it the perfect game for a reason.


45. Birds. They give the forest life. There's nothing like sitting outside in the morning watching the sunrise and listening to the birds.


46. Coffee. Can't live without it.


47. The kindness of strangers. Seeing someone do something nice for someone they don't know, just because it's the right thing to do.


48. My first kiss. Magical.


49. Memories. Cherished memories of past experiences, and of loved ones no longer here.


50. Having things to look forward to. Every day is an adventure, big or small.


51. The hard times. Because they made me who I am.


52. The wisdom that comes from experience.


53. Soldiers. All of us owe our freedom and security to those who bravely and selflessly serve their country.


54. Snow. A fresh blanket of snow over the mountains. A quiet walk in the woods after a snowstorm.


55. Rain. Renewal. Sustaining life.


56. Friends I haven't met yet.


57. Campfires. There's just something magical about sitting around a campfire singing songs and chatting with friends and family.


58. Being me. I don't know how to be anybody else.


59. Freedom. See #53 above.


60. Children. Little ones, big ones, and everything in between. They are the future of this world. Teach them well.


61. Babies. New life. Innocence.


62. Jeeps. The most fun you can have in a vehicle with your clothes on.


63. Cool breezes on warm summer days.


64. Warm breezes on cool autumn days.


65. People who stand up for what they believe in.


66. Banana splits. With extra chocolate sauce.


67. Rainbows. Nature's way of saying "The storm is over. Carry on." I have a cool rainbow story I'll share here one day.


68. Love. A simple word that means so much more than words can say.


69. The fact that good usually wins over evil. And even when it doesn't, the knowledge that it will in the end.


70. The laws of physics. Perfectly designed and 100 percent reliable (and without them, I wouldn't have a job).


71. iPods.


72. Beauty, in all its myriad forms.


73. Hugs.


74. Libraries. Especially the smell of the old books down in the basement where no one ever goes.


75. Clean water, fresh air, and the way nature sustains itself by constantly replenishing both (if we could just stop polluting it so nature could catch up).


76. Waking up in the morning. A new beginning. See #8 above, sunrises.


77. Spell checkers.


78. Email.


79. Mom's oatmeal cookies. With raisins and NO EVIL WALNUTS (!)


80. Blue jeans.


81. Cats, dogs, and all the other animals we keep as pets, for their companionship and unconditional love.


82. Promises kept.


83. Pink roses that show up when you least expect them.


84. Forgiveness. Both given and received.


85. Love. I know I listed that one already, but it's important enough to count twice.


86. Hope. Without it, there is no future.


87. A smile and a friendly 'hello' from a stranger. It's easy to forget that sometimes the little things can make someone's day just a little bit brighter.


88. Peanut butter.


89. The boundless energy and imagination of children.


90. Centipedes. Because they eat spiders. And I HATE SPIDERS (!)


91. Every moment I ever spent with my grandparents. So much wisdom. So many memories. So little time.


92. Pizza with everything on it.


93. Amazing people. I've always surrounded myself with them. I learn from them. I try, with varying degrees of success, to emulate their best qualities while still being myself.


94. The friends I've made all over the world through blogging and other forms of online communication. Some of them are among the amazing people I mentioned in #93 above.


95. Good listeners. They're the ones you can talk to about anything. They don't judge you or try to "fix" things. They just listen. They are priceless.


96. Christmas morning. It was fun as a kid; as a father, it's nothing short of magical.


97. Being there. All the things I've experienced in life, the good and the bad, that have made me who I am.


98. June 29, 1977


99. Smiles. In every society, every culture, everywhere in the world, a smile means the same thing. There are few other human gestures that are as universal.


100. My mind. It gives me the ability to think and feel and love and experience and learn and grow and adapt and survive. The mechanism of the human mind is the most amazingly complex process in the known universe, so complex that even the human mind itself can't fully comprehend it. Every thought, every emotion, every idea, every artistic creation, every word ever written or spoken, every musical note, every scientific discovery...all originated in the human mind. How can I not be thankful for that?

Your turn. What's on your list?

Seriously?

Well, they've done it again. My government has proven once again that it is run by brainless dipshits puppets hanging by the strings of corporate greed, who care more about protecting the interests of their campaign contributors than the citizens they are supposed to represent.

I'll warn you, I'm gonna get political here for a moment. I try to avoid politics most of the time, but every once in a while something comes up in the news that I just have to comment on. This is one of those times.

...

Okay, I don't have breasts, so maybe I'm not allowed to have an opinion on this particular subject. But there are a number of people who do have breasts who I happen to love very much, so I think that qualifies me to have an opinion, does it not?

In case you haven't heard the news, a US government task force released new federal guidelines yesterday advising women to wait until they reach the age of 50 to start getting mammograms. And even then, to only get one every two years. Oh, and the best part? The panel also advises women to stop doing self-exams, because they don't do any good.

That distant sound you heard last night echoing over the horizon at around 5:30PM EST? That was the sound of me opening my newspaper and, upon reading this news, spitting coffee all over it while every single molecule in my brain simultaneously shouted WTF are they thinking???

For many years, the American Cancer Society and most other cancer organizations have been advising mammograms every two years for women between the ages of 40 and 50, and every year after 50. Many even suggest a baseline mammo at age 30 for later comparison. And the benefits of the self-exam should be obvious. Doctors and cancer organizations have been educating the public on that practice for many years, and I personally know several women who may have saved their own lives by doing it.

But, as we all know, the US government is owned by large corporations, in this case insurance companies. Mammograms are expensive. And early detection of cancer is even more expensive, because then you have to treat it. Cancer treatment costs money. From the government and insurance companies' point of view, it's much cheaper to find it when it's too late, because then the patients die off quickly before racking up too many medical bills.

The logic behind the study's conclusion is that all those mammograms add up to a lot of radiation over the years, and what they're saying is that 90 percent of all those mammograms come back negative, and are therefore unnecessary. I understand about the dangers of radiation exposure. Really, I do. But what about the other 10 percent? Are we really saying that they don't matter? Tell that to all the women whose lives have been saved by a mammogram they hoped was "unnecessary." Better yet, tell that to the family of someone who didn't get one and should have. I dare you.

And the self-exams? Unnecessary, they say, because they create too many false positives and scares, which leads to unnecessary biopsies. [Reading between the lines] And "unnecessary" biopsies cost money for the government and insurance companies. Much better to let a few people die than spend all that money on "unnecessary" biopsies, right? Would someone please explain that logic to the little girl in my house who misses her mom more than anything? Because I can't.

Breast cancer before the age of 50 is rare, and even more rare before 40. So when a 34 year old woman finds a lump in her breast, more often than not her doctor will brush it off and say it's nothing to worry about. "You're too young," they'll say. "It can't possibly be cancer." Insurance companies have been trying for years to avoid paying for mammograms in younger women. These new guidelines give them even more ammunition in that fight. 95 percent of all breast cancer cases occur in women over the age of 40. So the other 5 percent don't matter? Again, can someone please explain that to the little girl in my house whose mom was in the other 5 percent? And look her in the eyes while you're explaining it. I dare you.

Defenders of the study say that it's just a guideline, and that it doesn't exempt insurance companies from paying for mammograms and biopsies. Yet. How long until the first "coverage denied" letter goes out from an insurance company, containing the phrase "according to current Federal guidelines..."?


Okay, politics aside now. This isn't a political issue for me, you all know that. This is very, very personal. Jill was 34 when she found a lump in her breast. She never had a mammogram, and she never did a self-exam until that morning. Maybe if she'd had a mammogram earlier; maybe if she'd done a self-exam earlier; maybe if her doctor had taken her seriously when she had that pain under her arm; maybe if...

Maybe.

Damn it. Our government sold out to the corporate fat cats who got them elected. They assembled a hand-picked panel of puppets to issue guidelines based on corporate greed, guidelines that fly in the face of common sense and advice from medical experts all over the world. And people are going to die because of it.

...

I wrote a letter to the American Cancer Society today suggesting that they start a new fund specifically for the purpose of counteracting the effects of this government "study" and re-educating the public on why the government got it wrong. I sent a donation along with my letter to start the fund off. I ask you now to do the same.

American Cancer Society website

Katie video

As promised, here's the video of Katie singing the national anthem.

Oh, and just to clear up any confusion for real world friends and relatives (I got a bunch of emails yesterday, 'cuz this is something we've talked about recently), the article has Katie's last name listed as D'Antonio, which of course is not technically correct. Her legal name is still Katie Gaines, but she sometimes goes by D'Antonio just to avoid having to explain why her last name is different from ours. She's still undecided on that, and we're in no hurry. As Katie says, she "likes being a D'Antonio, but Gaines is easier to spell" :).

Anyway, here she is:

[Update: I don't know why some people are having trouble seeing the video. It seems to work for some people but not for others. I can see it on my computer, but my brother and a few others are only seeing a black screen. I'm working on it]

Katie...Football Star???

"High School Football Team Credits 10-year Old Girl With 1st Victory"

That was the headline in this morning's newspaper. Katie is the 10-year old girl to whom the headline refers. Here is an excerpt from the article:

...

The MWHS football team was 0-10 going into Saturday's game, and they held out little hope of winning against their formidable opponent this week, the previously undefeated Worthington High. However, it seems MWHS may have found a good luck charm in the form of a ten year old girl named Katie D'Antonio. No, she isn't the new quarterback or a lightning-fast wide receiver. She's the lovely young lady with a voice like an angel who nearly brought the crowd to tears with her spectacular rendition of the Star Spangled Banner preceding Saturday's game. Katie was selected to sing the national anthem this week because the school's marching band, who normally carries that honor, was away at a competition. With a powerful voice that sounds years beyond her age, D'Antonio stood on the 50-yard line and belted out a version of the Star Spangled Banner that sent chills up and down the spine of every patriotic American in the stadium.

Then something amazing happened: MWHS won the game 27-10. Following the game, coach Dan Nolten told reporters "I'm pretty sure the girl who sang the national anthem had something to do with it. I think she's our new good luck charm." The team has already requested that Katie return next week to sing the national anthem for the final home game of the season. If they win again next week, the marching band may well find itself out of a job next year.

...

So how about that? A star of the stage, and now a star of the football field too. Is there nothing Katie can't do?

[I have video of her, but I'll need to get it transferred into the computer from VHS tape first. I'll post it up as soon as I can]

REPOST: My Brother, My Hero

This is a repost from back in June, so some of you have seen it before. I was planning to write a salute to the armed forces for Veteran's Day today, but I got too busy and time sort of got away from me. So instead I offer this salute to my brother, who serves as a shining example of the bravery and determination of our veterans.

And to all the men and women of the armed forces, I salute you for your bravery and dedicated service to your country. You put your lives on the line so that the rest of us can sleep peacefully and live without fear. Your sacrifice has not gone unnoticed. Thank you for all that you do.

...

My brother Chris wrote a comment on my Father's Day post a few days back, in which he reminded me that I am his hero. I responded by telling him that he got it wrong, and that in fact he is my hero. And, since this is my blog, I get to have the last word. So there.

Chris is 11 years younger than me. He'll always be my baby brother. When he was born, I was right at the age when I was beginning to make that transition from "boy" into "man". I was the big brother, and I took that responsibility seriously. As Chris grew from baby to toddler to little boy, I took him under my wing and tried to teach him right from wrong. I tried to protect him from things I thought he shouldn't see or know about. I tried to teach him how to grow up and be a man like me (cuz, ya know, I was 16 by then, and I knew EVERYTHING...). I tried to be a father figure for him, since we didn't really have a father.

And he looked up to me. I guess that's when he decided that I was his hero. I was the cool big brother he tried to emulate. He wanted to be just like me. He walked like me, talked like me, acted like me, wanted to do all the cool things I did.

And then, somewhere along the way, I took a wrong turn and became an alcoholic drug addicted monster who he didn't recognize anymore.

And he called me on it.

He was 8 years old when he said to me, with tears in his eyes and a look on his face that I will never forget, "You're not the big brother you used to be. What happened to you?"

Those words bounced off of me at the time, because I was in no condition to hear them. But now, almost twenty years later, I can still see the hurt in his eyes that day. I can still hear the disappointment in his voice that day. I can still hear those words over and over in my mind. He had put me up on the highest pedestal, and I let him down. I let him down in a very big way. And the worst part? I didn't even know it. I was so wrapped up in myself that I had no idea how much I was hurting my baby brother.

We didn't really talk much after that, until several years after my recovery. He was 18 before we really sat down and talked again. I had hurt him so badly that I thought I'd lost him forever. But time heals, or so they say, and he somehow found a way to forgive me for all of the pain I caused him. I wouldn't blame him one bit if he hadn't, though. Not one bit.

And the baby brother who used to look up to me? Now I look up to him. He has no idea how much I admire him. I tell him that often, but he still has no idea.

Chris graduated from the Citadel military college and entered the Army as a 2nd Lieutenant. He was promoted quickly up through the ranks over the years that followed. Then in February 2007, while serving in Iraq, a roadside bomb exploded near the personnel carrier he was in. Four other men died in the attack. Chris was seriously injured, but the medics on the scene saved his life and got him airlifted out of there. He was in a medically induced coma for over six weeks while some of his internal injuries healed, and we wouldn't know the extent of any brain damage until he was finally brought out of the coma.

He lost one kidney, part of his liver, and part of one lung. His head injury left him with cognitive, memory, and visual deficits. His legs and spine were severely damaged, and the doctors said he would never walk again.

But those doctors didn't know Chris. Chris is a fighter. He is the strongest and most determined man I have ever known. If you tell him he can't do something, he will do it, just to prove you wrong.

And he did. Eight months after the attack, Chris stood up from his wheelchair and took three very slow and very painful steps toward the General who awarded him his Purple Heart medal with a proud salute. He has since been medically retired from the Army, and he has spent every waking moment of the last two years working out at the rehab center.

He is able to walk short distances now unassisted. He is getting stronger every day. Early in his rehab, I told him (knowing that he can't resist a challenge) that when he's ready to run the Boston Marathon, I will run it right beside him. I think I better start training for the marathon, because he will get there before long. And knowing Chris, he'll hold me to that challenge when he does. He'll probably beat me by a mile.

So Chris, that's why you are my hero. Even as a young boy, you had the courage to stand up to your big brother and tell me what you thought of who I had become. You held me to the highest of standards, and when I let you down, you still found the compassion in your heart to forgive me. You have proven time and time again that your courage and your character are strong enough to withstand any challenge that comes your way. Your strength and perseverance are an inspiration to everyone who knows you. In dedicated service to your country, you nearly lost everything. But you refused to let your injuries beat you. You refused to give up. And for that, Chris, I salute you. My brother. My friend. My hero.

Parent / Teacher Conference

V has always been a good student. That's why I was concerned when her grades suddenly started slipping. Her test scores were low, her homework was often incomplete, her participation in class had dropped to near nothing. She looked tired and stressed. I was worried about her, so I pulled her aside after class one day and asked her if everything was okay. She assured me that everything was fine and that she would try to do better. She didn't offer any reasons for her sudden change in performance, so I didn't pry. I let her know that I was there to help if she needed it, or if she ever wanted to talk, and I left it at that. But as time went on, her grades continued to drop.

So I sent home a mid-term report requesting a parent/teacher conference.

When her mother arrived for the conference, all the questions I had were immediately answered when I saw the pink bandanna covering her bald head.

I guess maybe some people don't understand the kind of stress cancer puts on a family. I got the impression that she had dealt with teachers before who didn't understand, because she felt the need to immediately try to explain her daughter's poor performance and make excuses for her. I stopped her in mid-sentence and told her that I understood. I assured her that I would do whatever I could to make sure V got through my class with a passing grade, and I offered to help in any way I could with any other classes she might be struggling with. I asked her to assure V that if she ever needed someone to talk to, I really do understand a little of what she might be going through. I didn't tell her why, but I think she could infer from how I said it that I knew a little something about the stress of a family dealing with cancer.

Without meaning to pry, I asked her about her prognosis. She told me she doesn't expect to be at V's graduation in June.



Dear medical community,

Please, PLEASE find a cure for cancer. Too many children are losing their mothers; mothers are losing their children; wives, husbands, brothers, sisters, daughters, sons, friends - it's indiscriminate, and they're all dying way too young. They all have so much left to do in this world, and it's so unfair for their lives to be cut short this way. Too many lives have been forever changed by this ruthless monster of a disease.

Please find the cure. Please. So many lives depend on it.


With unconditional hope and sincerity,

Jeff

My Grandfather...

We went to visit my grandfather at the nursing home today. It was his 97th birthday. With late-stage Alzheimer's disease, he doesn't remember who we are anymore, but he was happy to see us anyway. He always loved children, and it makes him so happy to see the girls. He always had this unique way of relating to children, with a disarming smile and a gentle kindness about him that never failed to put kids at ease. That gentle kindness and disarming smile are still there, even though the grandfather I remember is long gone now.

People from his day have been called "The Greatest Generation." He grew up during World War 1, lived through the Great Depression, and fought bravely in World War 2. He saw many changes in the world around him during his lifetime, but he never let the changing world change who he was. His core values always remained intact, no matter what difficulties life threw his way, and he always found a way to adapt to the changing world. I've done my best to follow his example, with varying degrees of success, in my own life.

Seeing him with the girls today brought back so many memories from my childhood. I would spend two weeks every summer with my grandparents and we always had so much fun together. My grandfather taught me many things about life and how to live it. He was like the father I never had. I didn't appreciate his wisdom back then, but I sure do now. And every once in a while he gets this certain look in his eyes that just takes me right back there, if only for a moment. He's still in there somewhere.

Since he doesn't remember who we are, we have to introduce ourselves every time we go there to visit. It's always like he's meeting us all for the first time, and his eyes light up with that same warm and welcoming smile he always had. He always loved meeting new people, so I guess if there's a silver lining in all this, it's that he gets to experience the joy of meeting new people all the time, even if it's only in his mind. When he saw Jenny today, the way he looked at her reminded me of the day he met her for the very first time. I remember how his eyes lit up that day, and how he took me aside later and said "Jeff, you better marry that girl, because she is damn sure the best thing that ever walked into your life." That was the best advice he ever gave me, and I'm sure glad I followed it. He was still himself back then - god, that seems like so long ago.

It's so sad when I think about all those wonderful memories from my childhood, and all the things he lived through in his life, and I realize that he doesn't remember any of it anymore. All the great moments in history; all the things we did together; all the things he taught me; all the great advice he gave me...he made such a difference in my life, and he doesn't even know it now. A lifetime of memories, all gone.

I remember when his Alzheimer's was still in its early stages, I would go and visit him every week and we would look through family photo albums. He knew then that he was starting to forget, and he wanted so desperately to remember everyone, so he would point to pictures of people and say their names out loud. He would tell me stories about each person in a photograph, trying to remember details about each of them. Over time, the stories began to change, and the details became less and less vivid. Sometimes he would look at a picture and think for a minute, and I could see the recognition in his eyes, but he couldn't remember who they were; and other times he would look at a picture and just shake his head as if he had never seen that person before in his life. I'll never forget the time he pointed to a picture of my grandmother, who was his wife for 65 years, and he shook his head and said, "I don't know who she is," then shrugged his shoulders and moved on to the next picture. I remember being consumed by an almost overwhelming sense of sadness at that moment. It was the first of many such moments in the years that followed. I kept coming there every week, and he always looked forward to my visits, until one day I came to visit him and he looked at me as if he'd never seen me before. I could see in his eyes that he didn't have any idea who I was. I completely broke down when I left there that day. I sat in my Jeep in the parking lot of the nursing home and cried for the longest time, and then drove home with tears still streaming down my face. The cruel and heartless monster of Alzheimer's had finally stolen everything from him. That was 3 years ago today, on his 94th birthday.

We brought him a birthday cake today and sang happy birthday, and we sat and chatted for awhile. He kept asking us who we were, and why we were being so nice to him. He kept telling Jenny how pretty she is, and how nice it was that she came to visit him. Katie and Laura made him laugh. Christina made him smile. I did my best to look happy on the outside, but underneath the facade I was so desperately missing the grandfather I used to know.

By now, he's already forgotten we were there today. And when I go there again next week, it will be as if he's never seen me before in his life, and I'll have to introduce myself all over again. I hate that.

...

Jenny's mom has recently started down the same road. Please say a prayer for her and her family as they begin this long and difficult journey.

Score 1 For Mother's Intuition...

Okay, I know you're all anxiously awaiting an update on Laura - sorry it's been a few days, but things have been pretty busy here. After three days of weird dizzy spells, Laura started having other strange symptoms, including numbness in her hands, pain and swelling in her knees and ankles, and feeling very tired. Interestingly enough, when we were with the ER doctor last week, Jenny asked the doctor, "could it be Lyme disease?" and the doctor dismissed it. It couldn't possibly be Lyme disease, he said, because she didn't have the classic Lyme rash, and her only symptom was the dizziness.

Ahem. Yeah. Well, score 1 for mother's intuition.

So when Laura woke up with numbness in her hands, pain in her joints, and fatigue, which are all symptoms of the later phases of Lyme disease, Jenny called the doctor and convinced him to do a Lyme test. It came back positive.

So here we are. Three or four weeks of antibiotics, and we hope for the best. Everything I've read about Lyme disease suggests that it can be hard to treat, and even harder to know for sure when it's gone, because some of the symptoms can linger on long after the disease is cured. But at least we know what it is now - it's very unnerving when your child has unexplainable symptoms and nobody can figure out what's wrong with her. At least now we know what we're dealing with and we can do something about it. Of course we've also read lots of horror stories about the possible complications, which can be scary if you let it, but we're trying to keep our heads on straight about that. We'll just keep telling ourselves that the serious complications are rare.


Oh, and, uhhh...not that we're keeping score or anything, but...

Jenny (no medical degree): 1
Doctors (4 of them, with medical degrees): 0

Sometimes a mother just knows, I guess.

Okay, seriously. Dr. Checklist? WTF?

Laura came home from school yesterday feeling dizzy. She laid down on the couch for awhile, and her dizziness got worse over the next few hours. She had no fever or any other symptoms. So just to be safe, Jenny called the doctor.

Now, we used to have a really great pediatrician. He was the archetypal small town doctor who knew all his patients by name, and even made house calls in some cases. He was old school, but very good at diagnosing things based on a child's description of their symptoms (which is an art form in itself, as every parent knows). He was fantastic. Unfortunately, he retired last year, so we had no choice but to switch over to a pediatric clinic in the next town over. We've had nothing but bad experiences with them so far, but unfortunately there aren't very many choices around here. That is one of the downsides to living in a small town in the middle of nowhere.

So anyway, Jenny called the clinic and asked to speak to the doctor. An hour and a half later, the doctor called her back, and the following conversation took place:


Jenny: Yes, my daughter came home from school today feeling diz—

Doctor: [Interrupting] What school does she go to?

Jenny: ______ Elementary. She came home feeling d—

Doctor: [interrupting again] Mmm hmmm, we've seen 34 cases of swine flu at ______ Elementary this week.

Jenny: Okay, but my daughter was feeling—

Doctor: [Interrupting yet again] Any fever?

Jenny: No.

Doctor: Sore throat?

Jenny: No.

Doctor: Coughing or wheezing?

Jenny: No.

Doctor: Abdominal pain?

Jenny: [Getting impatient] No.

Doctor: Dizziness?

Jenny: Yes. She described it as feeling like—

Doctor: Any diarrhea or vomiting?

Jenny: [getting really annoyed] No. She was just—

Doctor: Headache?

Jenny: No. Just—

Doctor: Okay, yup, well it sounds like another case of swine flu. Give her plenty of fluids and rest. You can give her Tylenol to keep her—

Jenny: [Interrupting. Way beyond annoyed now] Okay, you need to stop talking now. Are you seriously telling me that you're going to diagnose my daughter with swine flu on the basis of dizziness and where she goes to school??

Doctor: [Silence]...Well, from what you've told me—

Jenny: You haven't given me a chance to tell you anything! I've answered 'No' to every question you've asked, except dizziness! You haven't even given me a chance to describe her symptom! And the only other information you have is where she goes to school. So please tell me, on what are you basing your diagnosis of swine flu?

Doctor: Well, the CDC protocol says to go through the checklist and—

Jenny: Okay, seriously. Dr. Checklist? Can I please speak to someone who has a medical degree and knows how to use it?     [God, I love my Jenny. You never have to wonder what's on her mind. I LOVE that about her]

Doctor: Ma'am, this is the protocol we've been—

Jenny: Christ. Nevermind. [Hanging up]


Anyway, Jenny was concerned enough that she decided to take Laura to the ER. There, she was once again greeted with the same checklist, and not given a chance to explain Laura's symptoms. When they finally let her speak, she explained that Laura's only symptom was dizziness and that she was concerned about her because there is a family history of diabetes, and high or low blood sugar could potentially cause that kind of dizziness with no other symptoms. Finally taking her seriously, they did some tests, which all came back negative. The also did a CT scan of her head to rule out the really bad stuff, and everything looks fine in there. So we still don't know what's going on, but at least they aren't insisting she has swine flu anymore. She's going to see a neurologist today, and we'll see where we go from there.

But holy crap. WTF?? What kind of a doctor makes a diagnosis like that with no information at all? Were those "34 other cases of swine flu" at her school diagnosed the same way? Probably. If that silly checklist is really the CDC protocol for diagnosis, then I'm guessing this "pandemic outbreak" we keep hearing about on the news is just a huge load of crap, because they're assuming that anybody with a runny nose or fever has the swine flu. And how many people have been sent away with this "checklist" diagnosis without any investigation of their symptoms? If I bang my head against the wall and go to the doctor with a headache, will they tell me I have swine flu? Probably.

In case you can't tell, I have little respect for doctors who don't think for themselves. I don't mean to generalize, but sadly this seems to be the state of the medical profession these days.

Frustrating.

The Reunion

Well, I went to the class reunion Saturday night.

As expected, I saw a lot of people there I thought I'd never see again. And a few people I hoped I'd never see again. And a few people I didn't remember ever having seen before in my life, but who seemed to remember me all too clearly (I hate that).

There was Steve, who was one of my good friends all the way back in elementary school. We had drifted apart by ninth grade, but we still had a few classes together in high school. He's a lawyer now and living in Boston.

There was Mark, who shared his lunch with me one day in ninth grade when I forgot mine, and subsequently became one of my good friends throughout my high school years. We said we would keep in touch after graduation, but we never did. He's a product analyst with 3M now.

John and Tracy were there - we all knew they would end up together. They were voted "cutest couple" in 12th grade. Still together. They have three kids now, and live in Manchester.

Brian was there. He and I were good friends until we had a fight over a girl in eleventh grade. We never really talked much after that. All is forgiven now, and we were both hoping she would be at the reunion so we could remember why we thought she was worth losing a friendship over. But she wasn't there, so I guess we'll never know. Brian is an accountant now with [insert name of large corporation here. I don't remember which one, but aren't they all pretty much the same?].

Greg, the class bully was there. He used to beat me up in elementary school, but then I got bigger than him somewhere around seventh grade, which put an end to that. We had a nice conversation about who we both used to be. It's amazing how people change. He's turned into a pretty nice guy now, and he even apologized for all the things he used to do to me when we were kids. He owns an auto repair shop in Concord now.

P (I won't use his real name here since some people don't know) is in AA. Small world, huh. 6 years sober for him. 19 for me. We drank a shot of Coca Cola together in celebration of two lives saved by a wonderful organization.


The award for "Most Awkward Moment" goes to a conversation I had with Karen, who is recently divorced and recently...uhhh...enhanced. The conversation went something like this:

Karen: I just had my boobs done. Do you like them?

Me: [Long pause, not quite sure what to say] Ummmm...

Karen: I used to be a 34B. Now I'm a 38D. So what do you think?

Me: Ummm....

Karen: You can't even tell they're fake, can you?

Me: [Getting more uncomfortable by the second] Ummmmm...

Karen: And they feel just like the real thing too...

Me: [Beginning to sweat. Thinking "please, PLEASE don't ask me to touch them"] Ummmmm....

Karen: I got them with the money from the divorce settlement. Poor bastard got nothing, and now he's wishing he had these. So really, what do you think?

Me: Ummmm...

Okay, I'm never really sure what the proper etiquette is when a woman you hardly know asks you if you like her boobs. I mean, normally I try not to stare at them during casual conversation, since I'm pretty sure most women hate that. So what's the consensus? Is it okay to look in that situation? For how long? A quick glance? Eyes-popping-out stare? 2 seconds? 10 seconds? I wasn't sure. Especially since Jenny was standing right next to me at the time. And she has elbows, and she knows how to use them. (But between you and me...I'll take a pair of real 34B's over fake 38D's any day.)

So I just gave her a quick "thumbs-up" sign, then pretended I spotted someone I knew across the room and made a run for it.


In all, it was a fun evening. I saw a lot of people I knew, and reminisced about some good times with good friends. Some of them were surprised to see that I turned out okay; others said they always knew I would. We laughed about who we used to be; we shared stories of things we used to do. And we drank a toast to absent friends who we knew were there with us in spirit.

A few of us exchanged email addresses and we told each other we would keep in touch. Again. But, just like 20 years ago, I doubt that any of us really meant it.

I Was There

This is about as close as words can get to describing the friendship I had with Jill and how much it meant to us.

I wrote this a few weeks after she died. I wish I would have written it while she was still here. I think she would have liked it.

...

I Was There

I was there the day you climbed into the treehouse and said "Hi, I'm Jill." We were 6 years old, and we had our whole lives ahead of us. Little did we know that one day this random crossing of our paths would come to mean so much.

I was there the day you learned to ride your bike without the training wheels. You kept falling and getting up again, over and over. You were determined to do it. Because you were Jill, and you refused to let anything beat you.

I was there the day you gave me the "best friend" medal that you made for me, and you told me to keep it forever. I still have it.

I was there on your birthday, every year. I was there the day you turned 13, and suddenly hair and makeup were more important to you than baseball cards and hockey. I didn't agree, but I understood. We were growing up, and we were different. But that was okay, because you were still Jill, and you were still my best friend.

I was there the day your father died. I held you while you cried, but I didn't know what to say. You said "Just hold me," so I did. Then I watched you get back on your feet, hold your head up high, and go on. Because you were Jill, and you refused to let anything beat you.

I was there the day Steve M. broke your heart. I held you while you cried, and I told you Steve was a fool, and that anybody would be lucky to have you. And I meant it.

I was there the day you got your driver's license. And the day Mike what's-his-name-isniewski asked you to the prom. And the day you got the lead in the school play. And the day you sang the National Anthem in front of 20,000 people in Concord. And all the other happy and proud moments in your life that seemed to come so easily for you. And I was happy for you, because you were my best friend.

I was there the day we graduated from high school. You were proud of all that you had accomplished; I was just happy to be done. It didn't matter that we had different goals - I was happy for you, and you were happy for me, because you were my best friend and that was all that mattered.

I was there the day you left for college. And I was there the day you got your degree, and the day you got your first real job. And I was happy for you, because you were my best friend and you had accomplished everything you had set out to do.

I was there the day you saved my life. And all the days that followed, when you refused to let me give up. Thank you.

I was there the day your mother died. I held you while you cried, but I didn't know what to say. You said "Just hold me," so I did. Then I watched you get back on your feet, hold your head up high, and go on. Because you were Jill, and you refused to let anything beat you.

I was there the day you met Glenn. I knew right away that he was the one you were going to marry someday, because I knew you better than anybody else in the world. And I was right. And I was happy for you, because you were my best friend, and I knew that all of your dreams were about to come true.

I was there on your wedding day, the happiest day of your life. It was an honor for me to stand beside you that day, and to toast your new life together, because you were my best friend.

I was there the day Katie was born. I'll never forget the look of joy in your eyes when I got there and saw you holding her in your arms. Life was perfect. Everything you'd ever dreamed of had come true. And I was happy for you, because you were my best friend.

I was there the day Glenn died. I'll never forget the sound of your voice on the phone that night when you called, nor the look in your eyes when I got there. I held you while you cried, but I didn't know what to say. You said "Just hold me," so I did. Then I watched you get back on your feet, hold your head up high, and go on. Because you were Jill, and you refused to let anything beat you.

I was there the day the doctor told you that you had cancer. And I was there the day he told you that it wasn't responding to treatment. I held you while you cried, and I told you that you would be okay. I told you that you would beat it, and that you would live to be 100, because you were Jill, and you refused to let anything beat you.

I was there the day you knew that cancer had beaten you. I held you while you cried, but I didn't know what to say. You said "Just hold me," so I did. I knew that you had fought it with all your heart, because you were Jill. I promised you that I would be there until the end, and do whatever I had to do to make it easier for you. And I meant it. Because that's what best friends do.

I was there the day you asked me to take care of Katie for you. I knew that those were the hardest words you ever had to say. I held you while you cried, and I promised you that I would always be there for her and love her with all my heart. And I meant it.

I was there the day you died. I held your hand while you took your last breath. I held Katie while she cried, but I didn't know what to say. I could hear your voice saying "Just hold her," so I did. Then I watched her get back on her feet, hold her head up high, and go on. Because she's Katie, and she's just like you, and she refuses to let anything beat her.

I was there the day Katie started 2nd grade (and 3rd and 4th and 5th).

And I was there the day she learned to ride her bike without the training wheels.

And I'll be there the day she turns 13, and the day she gets her driver's license, and the day she graduates from high school, and from college.

And I'll be there to walk her down the aisle on her wedding day.

I'll be there. And you'll be there too, because you're Jill, and you wouldn't miss any of that for the world. I know that, because I know you. And I know you because I was there - growing up with you, laughing with you, crying with you, celebrating with you, grieving with you. Just being with you. I was there. Because you were my best friend.

I'll never forget.

A Promise Kept...

Yesterday I wrote about going to my high school reunion this weekend. In anticipation of the event, I got out my old year book last night and looked at the pictures of my high school friends, and read all the goofy notes they wrote in the back pages. As I immersed myself in memories of the past, I got stuck on one particular memory and spent a few tearful moments in remembrance of a promise I made one night 20 years ago.

...

It was the night of my high school graduation. After the commencement ceremony, I went to a huge party at my friend Randy's house. Everybody was there. We drank, we partied, we celebrated. We knew that we were all headed off in different directions, but we all promised each other that we would stay friends and keep in touch. None of us really meant it, though. Or maybe we thought we did, but we really didn't. I never saw most of them again after that night. I saw some of them a few more times over the years, but eventually they all drifted away. All except for one.

Jill had been my best friend since we were 6. We grew up together and did everything together. You rarely saw one of us without the other. People called us "J and J" because we were always together. I think most everyone who knew us kind of assumed that Jill and I would eventually end up together - get married, live happily ever after, and all that. But we always knew better. We were friends, and we could never be more than friends. We had our reasons. But I would have done anything for her, and she would have done anything for me. We always looked out for each other. We always took care of each other. That's what best friends do.

It was probably around 2 in the morning, and the party was beginning to wind down, when I noticed that I hadn't seen Jill in awhile. I went looking for her, and I finally found her sitting by herself on the swing on the front porch. In the dim light of the moon I could see tears running down her face. I still remember this conversation like it was yesterday. Every single word is permanently burned into my memory.

"Jill, what's wrong?" I asked.

After a long pause, she replied, "I'm scared."

"Scared of what?" I asked.

"The future. I'm scared of the future" she said, her voice quivering as she struggled to hold back the flow of tears.

I would have asked her what she meant by that, but I knew her well enough to know that she still had more to say, and she was just pausing to collect her thoughts and gather the strength to say it. So I just waited patiently, and then after another long pause and a deep breath, she continued on, her voice stronger now.

"Our whole lives, you and me have always been there for each other. You were there for me when my dad died; you were there for me when Steve and I broke up; you were happy for me when things went well; you were sad for me when things went wrong; you were...you were just always there. Jeff, you're my best friend, and I can tell you anything. There's nobody else in the world I can feel so at ease with. And now I'm going away to school and you're staying here, and...what's going to happen? Everyone always says they'll keep in touch and be friends forever and all that bullshit...but then they find new friends and new interests and they drift apart and and they never see each other again. Jeff, I don't want that to happen. I don't want that to happen to us."

I sat down on the swing next to her, put my arm around her and pulled her in close to me. She put her head on my shoulder and cried while I thought about what she had said. Then I put my hand on her cheek and wiped away her tears. I looked her straight in the eyes and said, "Jill. I promise you, right here and right now, that I will always be there for you. Always. And there is no doubt in my mind that you will always be there for me. When other people say that, it's bullshit...but we're not 'other people'. We're 'J and J'. We know each other better than anyone else in the world. And we will always be there for each other. We will always be friends. Always. I promise."

...

And you know what? We always were. Right up until the moment she took her last breath.

A promise kept.

A friend like Jill only comes along once in a lifetime. If you have one, hold on tightly, and never ever let go.

20 Year High School Reunion

I'll be going to my 20-year high school class reunion on Saturday night. Holy carp, how did I get so old? This will be the first reunion I've attended. I didn't go to the 5, 10, or 15 year. There will be people there who I never thought I'd see again; a few I guess I hoped I'd never see again; and a few I can't wait to see again.

I guess I'll have to shave and get all dressed up. I hate that. People tell me I look good in a suit, but I'm never comfortable that way. I'm a jeans and tee shirt kind of guy. I'd much rather let people see me for who I am, than dress up in a suit and try to look like someone I'm not. I'd show up in jeans and a tee shirt if I thought I could get away with it, but they probably wouldn't let me in the door that way. Maybe I'll wear sneakers or hiking boots with my suit, just to feel a little more like me. :)

There are some friends who drifted away over the years who I've always wondered about. It will be nice to see some of them again and catch up, and see how they turned out.

And there will be a few noticeable absences. There's Jim "The Trombonist" Mulligan, who became a police officer after graduation. He was killed in the line of duty a few years later. And Chuck Bertenhouser, who was killed in a car accident a few years after that. And probably a few others I don't know about.

And of course...Jill. She was my best friend for so many years. Most of our old friends probably don't know she's gone. We all drifted apart after graduation, except for Jill and I. Jill kept in touch with a few others for awhile, but she lost track of them all a few years before she died. She had so many friends in high school, and I'm wondering how many times I'm going to have to tell the story; how many smiling faces are going to walk up to me and ask, "Hey, do you still keep in touch with Jill? Is she coming to the reunion?" I don't want to have to answer that question and watch their smiles disappear. I'm kind of dreading that.

I guess one part I am looking forward to is seeing all the people who had written me off as a lost cause. I was a mess in high school, and most people didn't think I'd ever amount to anything. I was a screw-up, and I didn't have any goals in life. By the time graduation rolled around, I was already well on my way to drinking myself to death. Everyone else had goals. Some of them went straight into college and knew exactly what they wanted out of life. The ones who didn't go to college either had jobs lined up, or had plans to move to the city and start their lives somewhere else, or to join the military. Some just wanted to get the hell out of that little town and explore the world. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. And those who did, looked down their noses at people like me.

But now? I know exactly what I want out of life, and I'm living it. This is going to sound horribly conceited, but I wonder how many of my old classmates can say that. I wonder how many of them love what they do for a living, and are living out every aspect of their dream. I wonder how many of them go to sleep at night truly at peace with all the choices they've made in life. Of course my altruistic side wants to wish the best for all of them, but I have to admit there's a tiny part of me that longs for vindication; a tiny part of my ego that just can't wait to show them all what true happiness looks like. Because most of them probably have no idea. Not that I want to rub it in their faces or anything, but...I just want them to know that sometimes things work out in the end for those of us who got off to a slow start. I know I've borrowed Lou Gehrig's words here before, but I'm going to borrow them again: I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the Earth. Is there anything wrong with that?

Some free advice...

Ladies, here is some free advice for you: If you're ever sitting out on your deck enjoying the crisp autumn air with your husband on the night of your 12th anniversary, and you take your diamond engagement ring off of your finger to show him how empty your finger looks without it, and he tells you to put it back on before you drop it through one of the cracks in the wooden deck and it falls through to the ground below and gets lost...LISTEN TO HIM. And then very SLOWLY and very CAREFULLY put the ring back on your finger. And DO NOT, under any circumstances, drop your ring and let it fall through one of the cracks in the wooden deck and land on the ground below which is only accessible by removing seven floor boards and CRAWLING under the deck in the DARK with a flashlight on the COLD WET MUDDY ground with the SPIDERS to locate and retrieve it.

Just some friendly advice, for what it's worth. Not that I would know.

She's lucky I love her, or I would have been really REALLY mad. And by the way, there are some REALLY BIG spiders under our deck. And you all know how I feel about spiders. And if you read the vows I posted yesterday, there was nothing in there about spiders. Nope. Not one word about spiders. Hrmph.

The Best Twelve Years Of My Life

Twelve years ago today, I stood before a church filled with friends and family, and I made a sacred promise to my bride. These are the words I said that day:

...

Jenny, I love you with all of my heart and every fiber of my soul. Every breath I take is for you, and every beat of my heart reminds me that you are the reason I live. From the moment we met, your eyes told me everything I needed to know, and since that day we have laughed together, cried together, and shared together every part of ourselves. You know the deepest depths of my soul, and I know the deepest depths of yours, and today our two souls are joined forever as one.

And so today I make you this promise: That I will love you, honor you, and be faithful to you for the rest of my life. I promise you that whatever life has in store for us, we will go through it together, side by side, hand in hand, and heart in heart. I promise to comfort you when you're sad, to hold you when you're afraid, to care for you when you're sick, and to love you every day without fail. I promise to be there through the best of times and the worst. In laughter and in tears, I will walk through this life by your side.

Jenny, the circle of this ring symbolizes my unending love for you, and it represents my most sacred promise - that forever and always, my heart, my love, and my life belong to you.

...

Those words still mean as much to me today as they did twelve years ago. Happy Anniversary, Jenny. I love you with all my heart.

There was never any doubt...

Sorry, two posts in one day. But this one can't wait, so here it is.

...

There was never any doubt in my mind that the school where I teach is filled with good kids. Really good kids.

Last week I wrote this post about about a student being harassed for his race. In that post I mentioned that I was surprised to see that around here, and several people commented that racism was everywhere, and that some people are just better at hiding it than others, and that I was naive to think that my home town was any different. I didn't respond to those comments, but in my mind I was shaking my head and thinking "No, they don't know the people of northern New Hampshire like I do. People just aren't like that around here."

When I spoke to the students about racism, they all rallied around C, the student who was harassed. I watched proudly as they supported C and stood behind him, and suddenly the quiet kid who didn't have many friends became the most popular kid in the school. They all showed their support for him in very direct ways. Not some kind of superficial or condescending display, but genuine acts of kindness and friendship, and a real effort to make him feel welcome and accepted. Those are the kind of kids I knew we had around here, and I was happy and proud to be a witness to their actions.

Then they went a step further. Student council elections were held yesterday. C's name wasn't on the ballot, but the students had quietly organized a write-in campaign to elect C to the role of Student Council President. He won the election with over 98 percent of the votes. As a write-in candidate.

I have never been more proud of my students than when I heard that. Of course it was just a symbolic gesture, and of course it doesn't erase what was done to him, but it shows him and everyone else that the person who wrote that word on his locker is one of a very very small minority, and that 98 percent of the students don't care one bit about the color of his skin. I think that speaks volumes to the other 2 percent. And by the way, given the class size, 2 percent works out to be three students. And two of them were likely the two students whose names were on the ballot, who (understandably) probably voted for themselves. Which leaves only one lonely student who voted against C for other reasons. I wonder how stupid he feels now.

There was never any doubt in my mind about these kids. Not for one second.

Do what you love. Love what you do.

“A master in the art of living makes little distinction between his work and his play, his labor and his leisure, his mind and his body, his education and his recreation, his love and his religion. He hardly knows which is which, he simply pursues his vision of excellence at whatever he does, leaving others to decide whether he is working or playing”

     - James A. Michener

Read this:

http://tobeme.wordpress.com/2009/10/07/living

I like this guy. We share a similar philosophy on life, and he has pretty succinctly defined that philosophy there. I have a coffee mug on my desk that summarizes it even more succinctly in just eight words: It says simply, "Do what you love. Love what you do."

That works for me.

Don't Blame The Cow...

On the night of October 8, 1871, legend has it that a cow in Mrs. Catherine O'Leary's barn kicked over a lantern, setting off the Great Chicago Fire of 1871. We've all heard some version of that story before. That the fire happened is a matter of historical fact, but the part about the cow has long since been debunked as a myth. Michael Ahern, the Chicago Tribune reporter who first reported the story about the cow, later admitted that he fabricated the cow story because it made for good headlines. Records from the investigation indicate that the fire did start somewhere in the vicinity of O'Leary's barn, but Catherine O'Leary herself is on record having stated that she was asleep when the fire broke out, and that there were no lanterns present in the barn. Some have speculated that the fire was actually started by some local boys sneaking a cigarette out behind the barn. Others say it was started by lightning, or even by a meteorite. Regardless of the cause, the fire spread throughout the city killing 250 people, burning over 17,000 buildings, and leaving roughly 90,000 Chicago residents homeless.

On the very same day in 1871, the most devastating forest fire in US history broke out near Peshtigo, Wisconsin. That fire burned through 16 towns, killing over 1,500 people and destroying over a million acres of forest land. The Chicago fire captured more headlines, being a big city, but the Peshtigo fire was actually far more devastating in terms of human lives and total area lost. In fact, to this day it remains the deadliest fire in US history.

These two fires forever changed the way firefighters and public officials think about fire safety. Many mistakes were made in the way buildings were constructed in Chicago at the time, which allowed the fire to spread more quickly, and firefighters made mistakes in their attempts to battle the blaze, in some cases making matters worse. Building codes were changed, and new firefighting techniques were developed in direct response to these errors.

On October 8, 1911, the Fire Marshals Association of North America decided to commemorate the 40th anniversary of these fires with a program aimed at educating the public about the importance of fire prevention. The program grew over the years that followed, and in 1920 President Woodrow Wilson declared October 8 to be National Fire Prevention Day, which later became National Fire Prevention Week in 1922.

Fire Prevention Week, a tradition which continues to this day, is marked by public awareness campaigns and educational programs. Local firefighters visit schools and give talks and demonstrations about fire safety. Our local VFD held an open house "Get to know your heroes" program on Sunday, in which people were invited into the firehouse for coffee and doughnuts and to meet our team and see demonstrations of some of our equipment. Ironically, the open house was interrupted when a call came in reporting a brush fire along a roadside, and we had to cut the festivities short. People, please PLEASE don't throw your cigarette butts out the car window. More forest fires are started that way than by any other cause. Dry leaves, dead grass - it doesn't take much. One careless smoker can wipe out miles and miles of forest land. Or worse. Please. I'm begging you here. Stop doing that.

So anyway, in keeping with the traditions of Fire Prevention Week, here are some fire safety tips from your friendly neighborhood firefighter/teacher/blogger:

I can't overemphasize the importance of having working smoke detectors in your home. There is nothing more tragic than a fire death in a home with no working detectors. There should be one in each bedroom, one at the top of the stairs, one in the kitchen and one in the basement and garage. If they are the hard-wired type, they should have a battery backup. All detectors should be tested monthly, and batteries should be changed at least once a year - don't wait until they start to beep with a low battery warning, because that doesn't always work.

Have an escape plan and practice it. Make sure your children know what the smoke alarm sounds like, and make sure they know what to do when they hear it. Every room should have an alternate exit route through a window in case the door is blocked. Make sure your children can open the window if necessary. Have a prearranged meeting place in the front yard. Teach them about staying low to the ground when there's smoke, and to STOP, DROP and ROLL if their clothes are on fire.

Please, please don't risk your life for your pets or valuables. Cats and dogs have remarkable instincts to protect themselves from danger, and they will find their own way out. If you have time to grab the goldfish bowl or bird cage on your way out the door, go ahead, but please don't waste time looking for the cat - he's probably already outside.

These should be obvious, but all of them happen way too often so they're worth mentioning: don't smoke in bed; don't lie on the couch and fall asleep while the stove is on; don't store things on or near the stove, even when you're not using it.

Don't throw your cigarette butts out the car window! (I know I already covered that one above, but it's worth repeating)

Decorative candles are pretty and they smell nice. They can also kill you. Candles are the third leading cause of house fires in the US (next to careless smoking and space heaters). Use them carefully. Keep them away from curtains and blankets. Don't leave them unattended, even for a minute.

Space heaters need space. Keep them away from walls and curtains. Don't leave them unattended.

Keep lamps away from curtains and other flammable materials. If an electrical appliance smokes or smells hot, get it repaired. Replace worn or damaged electrical cords. Don't run extension cords under carpet. Don't overload a circuit, especially in older homes where wiring may not be up to par and fuses or circuit breakers may not be in good working order.

And forgodssake, don't do stuff like this. Seriously:



Use common sense and stay safe.

With All My Heart...

"It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause, who at best knows achievement, and who at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat."

     - Theodore Roosevelt

I pour my heart into everything I do. Sometimes I succeed, and often I fail. When I fail, it will always be because I wasn't good enough. I refuse to ever fail because I didn't try hard enough. I will either succeed with all my heart, or I will fail with all my heart.

It hurts when you try your best at something and fail. So some people take the easy way out, and give it less than their best. That way if they fail, they can convince themselves and others that it wasn't that important to them. It's easier that way. It's hard to admit failure at something you've poured your heart and soul into. It hurts. And everyone sees it. And everyone knows that you weren't good enough. Nevermind the fact that you failed where they never even tried. Nobody thinks about that. They just know that you failed; that you weren't good enough; that you fell short.

I've had a lot of failures and made a lot of mistakes in my life. I guess somewhere along the way I realized that failures and mistakes are part of being human. We all fail, and we all make mistakes. What you do after that is what matters. If you learn from it, and become a better person because of it, then you can't really call it a failure, can you?

My friend Ed, a high school band director, always tells his band members "The worst mistake in music is a wrong note played tentatively - right or wrong, play like you mean it." The same applies in life. Make your mistakes with all your heart. Then admit your mistakes, and move on or try again. With all your heart. Always with all your heart.

So I laugh with all my heart, cry with all my heart, succeed with all my heart, fail with all my heart, live and love with all my heart. And I always, always try with all my heart.

And yes, sometimes that means I hurt with all my heart, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I will either fly or fall, but when I fall it will always be because I was reaching for the stars.

Some Days I Don't Teach Physics

I teach in a very white school district. And by "very white" I mean that in my 14 years of teaching there have been exactly three non-white students in our school (meaning black, Hispanic, Asian, or any other ethnic group typically classified as "non-white"). One of them is a tenth grader this year. His family just moved here in August from the suburbs of Boston. Nice kid - smart, quiet, respectful, friendly, and a good student.

Right outside of my classroom there is a row of lockers. This student's locker happens to be directly across from my door, and as I walked in this morning I saw that someone had scrawled the word "NIGGER" in big red letters in permanent marker on his locker. I called maintenance, in the hope that they could get someone down there to clean it off or paint over it before the students arrived, but it was too late. Before the maintenance man got there, I saw C walking down the hall. He stopped in front of his locker, stared at it for a few seconds, then shook his head and went on about his business. He opened his locker, put his jacket inside, got out his books for his morning classes, and then closed his locker again. He looked at the word again after he closed it, tried to rub it off with his hand, then gave up and turned to walk away with a look on his face that was a mixture of disgust, anger, hurt, and disappointment. He didn't realize I was standing right behind him by that time, and he bumped into me as he turned around.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," I said. "I've already called maintenance, and they're on their way down to clean it off."

"Oh, hey, Mr. D, it's no big deal. I'm used to that," he said, pretending to laugh it off as if it didn't bother him.

His words said one thing, but his eyes told a different story. I could see that he was deeply hurt by it, so I sat him down on the bench and we talked for a few minutes. He told me he saw the same kinds of things in the Boston suburb he had just moved from, which was also a mostly white area, but he was hoping things would be different here. I tried telling him it's just a word, but he had heard that before and he wasn't buying it. It's not just a word, it's the feeling and the hate behind the word that hurts - the knowledge that whoever wrote that word feels the way they do without knowing anything about him except the color of his skin. I can understand how much that must hurt. I tried to assure him that the actions of a few narrow-minded people do not represent the feelings of the student body as a whole, but I'm not sure if that got through to him or not.

So I threw out all of my lesson plans for today, and we didn't talk about physics in any of my classes. We talked about racism and hate instead - why people hate, what it means to be a racist, why racism exists, and what can be done to eliminate it from our society. And in one particular class we talked about guilt. I have a pretty good idea as to who it was who wrote that word on C's locker, but I don't have any proof. I can't make any accusations without proof, but I can sure as hell do my best to make the guilty party feel their guilt. And I think he felt it. He didn't come forward, but I definitely sensed some discomfort in his demeanor. I'm pretty sure it was him, and I'm pretty sure he knows I know.

It was interesting to hear the students talk openly about racism and hate. People in this part of the country are generally very accepting of peoples' differences. Most of the kids expressed their outrage at this incident, and many showed their support for C in very direct ways. He made a lot of new friends today, and it was encouraging to see and hear that. But of course in any group of people there will always be a few who will try to exclude those they see as "not one of us." Most of them would never admit it in public, but you can usually tell who they are. I think the few who feel that way felt very outnumbered in my classroom today. Maybe they learned something from that.

I know this incident was fairly mild compared to the examples of racism that can be found in other parts of the country, but I personally was rather surprised to see it here at all. That just isn't the way we live up here in the hills of New Hampshire. People around here aren't like that - or at least they didn't use to be. Maybe I'm just naive, but I've always thought that the folks around here were some of the kindest and most accepting people in the world. I was disappointed to see this.

On behalf of all open-minded people, I would like to apologize to anyone who has ever been touched in any way by the cruel hand of racism or hate, and to reiterate that the actions of a few do not represent the feelings of the rest of us. On behalf of all of us, I'm sorry.

A little politeness goes a long way...

Sixth period Physics class, while taking a test, Student raises hand:


Student: Mr. D? I gotta take a whiz.

Me: Would you like to rephrase that a little bit more politely?

Student: [pause] ...ummm...Can I please go and take a whiz?

Class: [laughter]

[In his defense, I did say "a little bit" more politely...I guess I should have been more specific]

Me: No.

[Laughter subsides, students resume taking test. Five minutes later, Student raises hand again]

Student: Mr. D, may I please go to the restroom?

Me: Certainly.



[shrug] Lesson learned, I guess.

What is beauty...?

Beauty is truth, truth beauty
That is all ye know on Earth
And all ye need to know

        - John Keats

What is beauty? What is it that makes something beautiful? How do we define it? Why are our eyes drawn to it? Why does it evoke the emotions in us that it does? And why is it universal - why is it that we can look at a sunrise and say that it is beautiful, and know that not a single person on Earth would disagree, yet we can't define why it is beautiful? Is beauty somehow so transcendent that we can't grasp it with our minds? Does our capacity for appreciating beauty come from somewhere outside of ourselves? Perhaps beauty is not a perception, but is itself an objective reality - just as fire is hot and ice is cold - perhaps beauty is a universal truth, but one which defies measurement.

I'm surrounded by beauty here in my mountain home. I shared some pictures of it here last week, and I've been thinking a lot lately about what beauty is. What is it about a beautiful sight that can move a grown man to tears? Or a beautiful melody, or the beautiful words of a poem or prose? Maybe Keats was right - maybe beauty is truth, and truth is beauty. Or is it more than that?

What is beauty? And why is it beautiful? Your thoughts...?


Oh, and if you have a few minutes, go here:

http://wonderofitall.com

If you can get through that without getting goosebumps, you better check your pulse. Which is why I'm leaning toward beauty being a universal truth.

They're dropping like flies...

Katie was sick on Wednesday. Stomach bug. I'll spare you the details, but suffice it to say it was not a pretty sight. Then it hit Laura on Thursday afternoon. Today it's Jenny's turn.

*gulp* ...who will be next...?

Autumn in the mountains...

Yesterday as I tried to describe the sunrise I watched over the valley, it quickly became apparent to me that words were completely inadequate to describe the sight of autumn up here in the mountains. And it occurred to me that a lot of people never get to experience autumn the way we do up here. I try not to take it for granted, but sometimes I do.

They say a picture paints a thousand words, so here are six thousand words for you:













Photos don't do it justice. You have to see it first hand to really experience the beauty and wonder of it in all its 3-dimensional glory. Every season up here has its own unique beauty - the fall colors, the snow of winter, the wildflowers of spring, and the sprawling green of summer. Maybe I'm just a bad photographer, but I've never been able to successfully capture the full extent of how beautiful it is here. I tell people about it, and I show them pictures, and they say it's beautiful, but then when they actually come here and experience it for the first time? It takes their breath away. Many have been moved to tears. It really is THAT beautiful here.

The trees in the higher elevations have already reached their full colors now, while the ones in the valley are just getting started. When you stand down in the valley and look up at the mountains, you can see the gradient of colors increasing as you look higher and higher, then go back to green again as you look toward the peaks where only the evergreen trees can grow, and finally to the white caps on top, where snow has already started to fall. In a few more weeks, the snow will set in everywhere. Usually three to four feet of it up in the mountains, with less down in the valleys. Another sight I can't begin to describe.


This is my world, and I love it. I can't imagine living anywhere else.

I'm Okay...

Thanks again to all of you who commented on my last two posts. Your amazing comments really helped me to put things in perspective and gain some insights. As Kimberly put it, I will "Keep wrestling with God," because in the end that will bring me closer. Conflict is part of any healthy relationship, and it's how you resolve the conflict that determines where the relationship goes next.

On my way to work I drive on some beautiful mountain roads, and there's a spot along the way where I can pull over and see a spectacular view looking down over the valley. This time of year, you can watch the sunrise from there and it appears as if the sun is coming out from between two mountains. With the leaves beginning to change colors, and the orange glow of the sunrise, the valley looks as if it's on fire. It's an indescribably beautiful sight - much too beautiful for words. So I stopped there this morning and sat on the hood of my Jeep and watched the sunrise. I thought of all the things in this world that make it such a beautiful place to live, and all the things I have to be thankful for. I thought about Jenny and the girls, and how lucky I am to have them in my life; I thought about my home in these beautiful mountains, and my job doing what I love; I thought about my family and friends and how I know that they will be there for me no matter what.

And I thought about all the little signs that I've been trying so hard not to see, and I decided just to see them for what they are - reminders that there is something out there that's larger and more powerful than me. Whether it's the traditional image of God as an entity, or whether God is more of an energy field or a "life force" that exists in all of us and throughout the universe, it doesn't matter. I'll find out when the time comes. In the meantime, I'm here to live my life and make the most of it, with my family by my side. Maybe God is love, and if that's the case then I have felt the hand of God through the love of my wife and children. In the end, I guess that's all that really matters. Victor Hugo once wrote, "To love another person is to see the face of God." If those words are true, then I have already seen what I've been looking for.

I feel renewed. I feel like everything is right with the world again. I still have questions, and I still have doubts, but my heart is filled with love - and with that, I can get through anything.

Faith, Hope, Love...and Doubt

Yesterday I posted this. That post received a lot of excellent comments - quite honestly I was blown away by all of them - and all of them made me think. But one in particular made me think about something that I try so hard not to think about most of the time. This sentence from Lily's comment:

"Is it because it hurts so much to believe in God, because He let her die?"

You know how in the movies when you come to that pivotal moment when a character has a sudden realization of how it all fits together, and they show it as a kind of fast-forward flashback of everything that led to that realization, all compressed into about five seconds of images?

Lily, when I read your comment, I had one of those moments. Thank you for that. And I mean that sincerely.

So I went for a walk. Not in the woods, because I knew I wouldn't find the answer there this time. I went to the cemetery. I went to Jill's grave, and I sat down on the ground and talked to her. And God. Like a 3-way conference call. We had a long talk. A good talk. I don't even know how long I was there. Time stood still. The sun was out when I got there, and it was dark when I left, that's all I know.

Still no answers, but it felt good. It's funny, in an odd sort of way, how I find it so much easier to talk to Jill than to God. She's real to me. She exists. Even though she's not here anymore, I can still feel her with me. In my mind I keep hearing the words she wrote in her goodbye letter to me, which I posted here awhile back:

"I will always be with you, Jeff. I will be a part of every flower, every sunset, and every bird singing in every tree. I will be in every butterfly, every raindrop, every blade of grass, and every drop of water in the ocean. Whenever you need a friend, I will be there. Talk to me and I will hear you. Reach out to me and I will hold you close and tell you that everything is going to be alright. Listen for me and I will speak directly to your heart. Speak to my soul, and I will speak to yours. I will always be with you, no matter where you are. Listen with your heart and you will hear me."

I never have to wonder if those words are true or not, because my heart knows they are. I can feel her with me. If I close my eyes I can see her face. If I listen with my heart I can hear her voice. I know her so well that I can almost hear her answer to any question I might ask of her. Whether that's just because she exists so vividly in my memory, or because she really is present in some spiritual form, I don't know, and it doesn't matter. In my heart, she is there. I feel her in my heart. I know her in my heart.

But God? I don't feel like I know him anymore. I thought I did.

And then he let her die, and that drove a stake right through me. The image I had of a loving and personal God who was my friend and who cared about me and listened to my prayers and loved every one of his children...that whole image was crushed beneath the weight of her slow and horrendously cruel death, and I relive it every single day through Katie's tears. And then I watched it happen all over again in the death of young Marissa.

I've never seen God. I've never heard his voice. I've never felt the touch of his hand. So in my mind, he's not real. Not anymore. And I SO want him to be. I really do. There would be so much comfort in knowing that. But no matter how many signs I see, or choose not to see, I can't forget what I've learned.

So Lily, to answer your question? Yes. It hurts too much to believe in God now, because he let her die.

And I don't know how to fix that. I don't know how to forgive him for that. I don't know how to forgive him for that in a way that will allow me to have a relationship with him ever again.

And I hate that. I hate that with all my heart.

Learning to see...

Warning: today's post is somewhat rambling and philosophical. Basically it's just me trying to sort out some stuff that's rattling around in my brain, and as such it might not make for very compelling reading to anybody who's not in my head. It's kinda disjointed and unorganized, because it's just my random thoughts presented as they are. You're welcome to come along for the ride if you want, just keep in mind that I'm really more talking to myself here than to you. So if something isn't clear or doesn't make sense, you can be assured that it made sense to me when it was in my head - some thoughts just don't translate into words very well, and this is one of those areas where there are a lot of those kinds of thoughts.


If you've been hanging around here for any length of time, then you know that I've been struggling with questions of faith.

I was born and raised in the Roman Catholic Church. When I grew up, I rejected the church and all the formalities and rituals that went with it. I still retained a strong sense of faith in God, but the Catholic interpretation of who or what God was didn't fit with my own interpretation anymore. It never really did when I was a child either, but I guess I didn't know enough back then to know that I could question it. Somewhere along the way, I realized that the official God of the Catholic church wasn't someone I could relate to. And since I couldn't relate to him, I found myself drifting farther and farther away from him.

My version of God wasn't interested in formalities and rituals; my version of God had no need to listen to me reciting canned prayers and creeds and trite little sayings out of a book that someone else wrote; my version of God had no need for me to dress up every Sunday and go to some man-made building and listen to some gray haired man tell me what I'm supposed to think and believe.

My version of God wore jeans and a tee shirt, and went for walks in the woods with me. I talked to him the same way I would talk to my best friend - in my own words, with a casual, laid back, conversational tone of complete sincerity and trust. And sometimes a few good-natured jabs when the situation warranted it, because that's the way friends talk to each other. My God didn't want me to worship him, he just wanted me to know him. He wanted me to believe because of what I knew, not because someone told me I had to. He wanted to be my friend. And you all know that I choose my friends very carefully, and I value them very highly, so for me to call God my friend was the highest honor I could possibly bestow on him. My version of God understood that, and he was okay with that. The priests of the Catholic Church? They didn't understand that. They wanted me to worship their version of God, and to do it their way. Or else. So I left the Catholic Church and never looked back.

Please note that I don't hold any of that against them, and I have nothing against Catholics or the Catholic Church as an organization. I'm really not bashing the church here at all, even though it might sound like I am. The Church does a lot of good for a lot of people, but it just didn't work for me.

But of course, the down side to rejecting the church is that I have no one to turn to when I have questions about my faith. People who are part of an organized church, be it Catholic, Protestant, Jewish, Muslim, or whatever, they surround themselves constantly with other people who think the same way they do, and that helps to keep reinforcing their faith. When they have questions, they can ask a priest or minister or rabbi or whatever, and he gives them the answers, and most people are okay with that. But all I have is me, and my own version of who or what I think God is. Or isn't. I have no one to tell me what to believe, and no one to convince me that I'm right to believe it. I'm on my own.

So whenever I've had a problem or a question about my faith, I would do what I've always done - I would go into the Church of the Great Outdoors, and go for a walk in the woods with my friend God, and we would talk things out. I always did all the talking, but I had no doubt that he was listening to me and understanding me, and maybe even guiding me toward the right answers. That always worked for me. It was much more useful to me than all those sacraments and formalities of the Catholic Church.

The trouble is, when the whole illusion of faith came crashing down around me, I found it difficult to talk to God about that - because it was hard for me to talk to someone who I was no longer sure even existed. The nature of my personality is that I'm completely sincere and honest with myself at all times, and that self-honesty would not allow me to have a sincere conversation with someone I didn't truly believe was there. That was a turning point for me, because for the first time in my life I had a problem that I couldn't talk to God about. Because he was the problem. I needed him to convince me that he was there, but asking him to convince me implied that there was someone there to ask, and I didn't honestly believe there was.

I have this memory from my childhood of a priest talking about how you weren't supposed to ask God for signs, because it shows a lack of faith. He said you're just supposed to believe in God because the Bible says so, and the Bible is the word of God, so it has to be true.

And I remember thinking that didn't make any sense. Granted, I was only 8 years old at the time, so maybe I misunderstood what he was saying, but it sounded a lot like circular reasoning to me (and I didn't even know what circular reasoning was at the time).

The way I see it, if there is an omniscient God, then he already knows exactly how much or how little faith I have in him. So asking him for a sign doesn't change anything - he already knows I need one, whether I say it out loud or not. And secondarily, if there is a God, and he truly loves me and truly wants to have a relationship with me, but he knows my heart is filled with doubt, why wouldn't he do everything in his power to convince me that he's real? If he gave me the free will and the intellect that allow me to ponder his existence, then why should I not use those tools to question him, and to ask him to prove it? And why would he not want to prove it?

Of course the philosophers would argue that by proving beyond all doubt that he exists, God would leave me with no choice but to believe in him, which would effectively deny me the choice not to believe. Denying me that choice would be taking away my free will, and we all know that free will is the one thing God won't mess with.

...

Have you ever seen the movie "Signs"? It's one of those movies with a deep meaning beneath the surface plot (hint: it's not about the aliens). Mel Gibson plays a former minister who lost his wife in a freak accident, and lost his faith in God because of it. About midway through the film, we see a flashback to the night of his wife's death. As she lays dying, in her final words to him she implores him to "see". He doesn't know what she means by that, and he rationalizes it away by convincing himself that it was just random words coming out in delirium at the moment of her death. Then at the end of the movie, all the pieces finally fall into place when he realizes that everything around him was happening for a reason, and that what she was trying to tell him was to "see" all those things for what they were: signs.

So I guess what I'm struggling with is learning to "see." I've asked for signs and I've gotten them. I've written about a few of them right here on my blog:

Christina, our miracle child
Katie's rose
Katie's dream

And there are a few others that I haven't written about. They've all been subtle things that I could easily explain away as coincidence or luck, but they've all seemed to be pointing me down the same road, and they've all seemed to come at the exact time when I've needed them most. Maybe that's because deep down I want to believe it but I don't, and I'm simply grasping at anything I can find just to hang on to any shred of faith I have left. Or maybe it's more than that.

I guess it just comes down to faith; to whether or not I can "see".

So why is it so damn hard for me to see?

It's that time of year again...

In my very first year as a teacher, I stood before a classroom full of 9th grade Intro to Physical Sciences students and asked them this question:

"If I dropped an egg and a watermelon from the roof at exactly the same time, which one would hit the ground first?"

I was somewhat surprised to find that most of them didn't know the right answer.

So the next day, I came in with bags filled with an assortment of fruits, vegetables, eggs, watermelons and all kinds of other fun food products. I led the kids outside to a roped off area in the parking lot, and then I went up to the roof and dropped stuff while they timed each one with a stopwatch. After watching two dozen eggs, three watermelons, fourteen tomatoes, five pumpkins, a gallon of milk, and three balloons filled with yogurt explode all over the parking lot, we went back inside and discussed what we learned about gravity.

That was fourteen years ago, and I've done it every year since. It's become a bit legendary around here. By now, most of the kids have heard about the gravity demonstration before they ever get into my class, so they look forward to it with great anticipation. And most of them know the right answer to the question before I even I ask it now - as a teacher, you know you're doing something right when your kids are learning stuff from the kids who took your class before them.

For some reason, Larry the janitor always calls in sick that day. I don't know why.

Yeah, it makes a huge mess, and yeah, it's a pain to clean up (I do clean up after myself, of course - you didn't really think I'd make Larry do it did you?), but it's SO worth it. The kids love it, and they learn something from it, and it makes learning FUN. They never forget that class. I've had former students come back to visit years after they've graduated, and they always ask me if I still do the "egg and watermelon demonstration" every year. Lets face it, physics is a pretty dry and boring subject for most people, so anything I can do to make it fun is worth doing, I think. Remind me to tell you about the time I almost blew a two foot hole in the wall with my air pressure demonstration...

I remember when I was in school, the teachers I learned the most from, and respected the most, were the ones who recognized the fact that we were kids and that kids like to have fun; the teachers who didn't take things too seriously, and who understood that kids can learn and have fun at the same time. So that's the kind of teacher I decided I wanted to be.

So far, I think it's working.

Although I'm pretty sure Larry the janitor is secretly plotting to have me killed, possibly by throwing me off the roof and timing how long it takes before I hit the parking lot. Frankly, I'm a little scared of him.

Did she know somehow...?

I awoke in the middle of the night last night to the sound of Katie's voice. I couldn't make out what she was saying, but from the tone of her voice it sounded like she was having a conversation with someone. Curious, I got out of bed and went to her room. I found Katie sitting on the edge of her bed talking in her sleep. Just as I peeked in her door, I heard her say something like "Bye mommy, I love you..."

Then she looked at me as if startled and confused. Having awakened, she told me she had a dream that her mom was here and she was showing her some flowers she had just cut from her garden. She told me all about the dream, and she remembered every detail of it - even what her mom was wearing and the color of the flowers. She said it seemed so real, and it was like her mom was sitting right there next to her on the bed. We talked about it for a few minutes, then I kissed her and tucked her back into bed. I told her what a gift dreams like that are, and how they comfort us and help us to remember. I went back to bed thinking how lucky she was to have such vivid dreams about her mom. Those are the kind of dreams you treasure, because it's almost like having her back for just a moment.

When I woke her up for school in the morning, I asked her about her dream again. She had no recollection of the dream at all, or even of me coming into her room and talking to her. It was as if it had never happened. I started to think maybe I had dreamed the whole thing, but Jenny confirmed that I had indeed gotten up and gone into Katie's room and talked to her during the night. That was a relief - at least I wasn't completely out of my mind. We had a little laugh about her not remembering any of it, and I told her that happens sometimes when you're half asleep, and we just left it at that. We had breakfast, and I got ready to leave for work.

On my way out the door, Katie suddenly ran to me and said "Wait! Don't go!"

She had a very anxious look on her face.

I asked her what was wrong and she said she didn't know. Then she said she missed her mom, and she started to cry. She said she didn't want to go to school today, and she wanted me to stay home with her. When I told her I had to go to work, she clung to my arm and wouldn't let go.

This was very unusual behavior for Katie, because she loves school and never wants to miss a day - not even when she's sick. I asked her again what was wrong, and she said she didn't know, but she just felt like crying and she wanted me to stay home with her. There was an odd sense of urgency in her voice. Something wasn't right.

Jenny and I talked it over, and we decided to let her stay home from school today. Something was wrong, and we couldn't send her to school like this without knowing what it was. Katie asked me again if I could stay home too, and I told her I couldn't, and that I had to go to work. I asked her why she wanted me to stay with her and she said she didn't know, she just wanted me to be there. I reassured her that Jenny would be there with her, and that we could talk when I got home.

Because of all this, I left for work exactly ten minutes later than usual.

Along my route to work, there is a certain intersection where accidents happen often. It's a four-way intersection with a stop sign in only two directions, and people often miss the stop sign. It should really be a four-way stop, but it's been this way for as long as I can remember. I always go through that intersection cautiously, but I've had a few near-misses when the driver coming from the side failed to stop.

As I approached the intersection today, I saw that there had been an accident. One car had been hit broadside and was sitting on the far side of the intersection after skidding there from the impact of the other car, which was badly smashed in the front. There was an unconscious man in the driver's seat of the broadsided car, and a woman sitting by the side of the road with blood on her face, who I assumed was the driver of the other car. Several others had already pulled over to help, but there were no police or ambulance on the scene yet, so I stopped to see if I could help. I grabbed my first aid kit and went to the unconscious man first. I asked one of the other people on the scene how long he had been unconscious.

They said the accident had happened ten minutes earlier.

I was too busy to think about it at the moment, but later those words echoed in my mind. Ten minutes earlier. If I had left for work at my usual time, it could have been me.

Now of course my logical and rational brain wants to say it was just a coincidence...haven't we all had that "if I had left ten minutes earlier" feeling when we see an accident? But when I think about Katie's dream, and her unusual behavior in the morning, I can't help wondering... Maybe there was more to her dream than what she told me about last night. Maybe somewhere deep in her subconscious, she remembered something else from her dream that made her act out that way.

Maybe she knew, somehow.

I Never Knew What Love Was Until...

Ten years ago today, a beautiful baby girl was born. We named her Laura, after her great grandmother.

I still remember the moment I first held her in my arms. I looked into her eyes and fell in love in an instant. Suddenly I was a father for the first time in my life, and I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I never had a good relationship with my father, and all I knew was that I didn't want to be like him. I didn't know what kind of a father I would be. I didn't know what kind of a father I could be, given that the only example I knew was a bad one. I was terrified.

I remember the day we brought her home from the hospital. Jenny was taking a nap, and I was sitting in the rocking chair holding Laura and looking at her with tears running down my cheeks and thinking "God, please don't let me fuck this up." I had made so many mistakes and wrong turns in my life, and now I was sitting here holding this beautiful baby girl who was totally depending on me to not screw up again, and I was completely terrified. I didn't think I could do it. I didn't think I was good enough. I didn't think I knew how to be a father. It was the most important job I ever had, and I was convinced I was going to screw it up somehow.

"This is her LIFE", I thought to myself at that moment. "Dude, this is important. Please, PLEASE don't blow this."

But then in the weeks and months and years that followed, the most amazing thing happened. I discovered that all I had to do was love her, and everything else just fell into place. I read every parenting book I could get my hands on, until I realized that most of them were telling me common sense things I already knew, and I concluded that every parenting book ever written in the entire history of the universe could be summarized in two words: Love her.

So that's what I did.

I'm still doing that, and I think it's working out pretty well so far as a parenting strategy. Maybe I should write a book. I'm thinking 365 pages or so, with nothing but the words "Love her" printed in big bold letters on each page. I could make a separate volume for boys ("Love him"). Think anybody would pay $19.95 for that book? It's really the only parenting book you'll ever need.

I can't believe it's been ten years. When I look at how much she has grown, and how much I have grown, I can't help but be amazed by all that has happened in these ten years. I don't think I ever really knew who I was before. I don't think I knew what love was until the moment I first held her in my arms. I mean, of course I had experienced love before, but I never knew what it was until I held her that very first time. I never thought about what it meant, I never felt the overwhelming completeness of it until that moment. It was an indescribable feeling, a force more powerful than anything I ever imagined in my life. Love. The love of a parent for a child. The most pure and true and profound kind of love there is.

She has taught me so much about what's important. When I come home from work and she stops whatever she's doing and runs to greet me at the door, and she wraps her arms around me and says "I love you daddy!"...there is no greater feeling on Earth. If I had a bad day, I forget about it the instant I see her. If I'm worried about something, or sad about something, or angry about something, it all just falls away the instant she throws her arms around me. At that moment, nothing else in the world matters. Nothing. Just the love of this little girl who changed my life forever.

Happy birthday, Laura. I love you with all my heart.

A Nation Remembers

September 11, 2001

It was one of those moments in history so profound that most people remember exactly where they were and what they were doing when they first heard the news.

I was in between classes when I heard someone in the hallway say that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. Someone said "I'll bet it was terrorists," and I remember thinking what a sad commentary it was on our society that our minds immediately turn to terrorism whenever we hear about a plane crash on the news. Then fifteen minutes later, the news came in that a second plane had hit the other tower, quickly erasing any doubts I had about the cause.

Confusion and fear and disbelief filled the air. Rumors and speculation and conflicting news reports spread like wildfire through the hallways. Somebody said they heard that another plane had hit the Pentagon, and a fourth plane was unaccounted for. More conflicting stories were heard, and there were unsubstantiated rumors about planes falling from the sky all over the country. By mid-morning, the decision was made to cancel classes for the rest of the day, and the students all gathered in the gym to watch the news on television monitors. Some parents came and picked up their kids early and took them home. Others stayed and watched. I remember standing in the back of the gym, leaning against the wall watching the TV images in utter disbelief, as people jumped out of windows on the upper floors of the twin towers, realizing it was the only way they could escape the flames and smoke that would have killed them anyway. Then the first tower collapsed, and I just sat down on the floor and buried my head in my hands as I thought of all the people who were still trapped inside. I looked around at the faces of my students. Some stared at the TV with their mouths open in disbelief. Some were crying. Some were praying. Some watched in stoic silence, while their eyes gave away their thoughts.

Friends tried to comfort one another. A group of girls sat in the corner holding hands and praying together. A group of boys stood together and tried to convince each other that they were cool, but you could see in their faces that they were all just as scared and confused as everybody else. Shortly after the second tower collapsed, a student came over to me with tears in his eyes and said "Mr. D, who would do something like that, and why?" I could only shake my head and say "I don't know." I hate questions that I can't answer. Another student was sitting on the floor a few feet away from me. She was alone and I saw that she was crying. I sat down next to her and put my hand on her shoulder and asked her if she was okay. She told me that her older brother worked on the 32nd floor of the North Tower. I tried to reassure her that he probably got out, but she knew I was just saying that; she knew I didn't know for sure. But I didn't know what else to say, and I had to say something. I gave her my phone so she could make some calls and see if anyone had heard from him. Awhile later she got a call back saying he was okay. A tiny glimmer of good news on an otherwise horrific day.

I remember driving home that afternoon with my head in a fog, and when I got home I just hugged Jenny and held her for the longest time and promised her that everything would be okay. She needed to hear me say that. I needed to hear me say that too. I'm not sure whether or not either of us believed it, but we both needed to hear me say it. It was the day before Laura's second birthday, and we were both wondering what kind of world lay in store for her.

But in the days and weeks that followed, it became clear that although the terrorists had completed their mission, they had failed to accomplish their broader goal. I drove past houses with American flags flying out front, and flags began appearing on cars, along with "United We Stand" bumper stickers. People were nicer to each other. People who never seemed to care about anything at all suddenly started caring about our nation's future and the freedoms we all take for granted. The resolve in peoples' faces reflected the realization that if we huddled in fear then they would win, and we refused to let them win. Red, white and blue started showing up everywhere. American flags hung from overpasses and on the sides of buildings. The entire world, even our sworn enemies, stood behind us. Heroic stories began to emerge about the brave men and women of the NYPD and FDNY who rushed into the buildings while everyone else was rushing out; the passengers of flight 93 who were credited with stopping that plane short of its target; and the first responders at the Pentagon who pulled survivors out of the rubble and saved the lives of as many as they could. True American heroes, all of them.

And I realized that the terrorists' attempt to break our nation and bring us down had only united us under our flag, and made us stronger.

Then the politicians and lawyers got involved, and the finger pointing started, and...well, let's just leave it at that.

For all those who died that day, may they never be forgotten. For all those who lost someone that day, may they find peace in their hearts and comfort in their memories. And for all of us who remember the horrific events of that day, may we always stand united as one nation, defiant to those who seek to destroy us, and may we never forget what the stars and stripes of our flag represent.

United we stand.

September 11, 2001
We will never forget.

So it turns out the dress code doesn't say anything about underwear after all...

I was teaching my first period Introductory Physics class today, when I happened to notice the girl in the front row. She's new to the school this year, so I've only known her a short time, but I have noticed over the course of the first week and a half that she tends to dress in a rather...ummm...revealing style. The school has guidelines for student attire, but the guidelines are pretty relaxed and vague, so they can get away with pretty much anything as long as it doesn't cross the line.

Well, today she crossed the line.

Today she was wearing a very short skirt, and she was seated in the front row in a manner that revealed...ummm...well, everything. And yes, by 'everything' I mean EVERYTHING. One couldn't help but notice that she wasn't wearing anything under her very short skirt, and it was obvious from the way she was sitting that she wanted to make sure I noticed.

I noticed.

I did a double take, and stopped teaching in mid-sentence.

"Umm...R, would you come up here for a minute please," I said, with my eyes firmly fixated on an imaginary point in space somewhere near the ceiling.

"What'up, Mr. D?" she said with a smirk, as she got up from her desk and sauntered up to the front of the classroom.

"I think you need to go see Mr. Selmer [the Principal]," I said in a hushed voice so as not to embarrass her in front of the class.

"Why? What did I do?" she asked, incredulously.

"Uhh...it's been awhile since I've read the student handbook, but I'm pretty sure you're violating the dress code today," I said, still in a hushed voice.

In a combative tone, she replied, loudly enough for the whole class to hear, "It doesn't say anything about underwear in the dress code, if that's what you mean." This brought a few snickers from her classmates.

"Go" I replied, firmly enough that she knew I meant business, and pointing at the door.

She rolled her eyes and gathered up her books. On her way out the door, she lifted her skirt for all to see.

Yikes. It's going to be a long year in Introductory Physics, I'm afraid.


Oh, and just out of curiosity, I looked up the dress code in the student handbook - sure enough, it doesn't say anything about underwear. I suspect the next edition will address that omission.

The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. And spiders. Definitely spiders.

So we were driving along at 75 mph on Route 3 yesterday afternoon, when I heard Laura say from the back seat:

"Uh...dad...? There's a huge spider crawling up the back of your neck."

She wasn't kidding. It was the hugest, hairiest spider I've ever seen.

Seconds later, in the midst of me yelling "AAAAAAAHHHH!! GET IT OFF OF ME! GET IT OFF OF ME!!!!!!!" and arms and legs flying around in all different directions, a family of five almost drove off the road and died in a horrible fiery crash.


Have I mentioned that I think spiders are evil demons from the deepest depths of hell?

Days like today make it all worthwhile...

I do some work with drug and alcohol addicted teens in Concord. It's about a 90 minute drive from here, and I'm there a couple of days a month either for an evening or on a Saturday here and there. There are professional counselors there who do one-on-one sessions and group counseling. I'm not a professional counselor, I'm just a volunteer. I run some activities with the kids, and I lead a few interactive group sessions where I talk with them about my experience as an alcoholic teen and my subsequent recovery. Many of these kids ended up at the center after being arrested and spending time in forced rehab, which rarely works. After a few times of being in and out of rehab, they get sent here in the hope that we can teach them something about the importance of staying clean. This is not a rehab program, it's kind of a "get yourself into rehab or else" program. The goal is to show them that there is a different path in life, a better path, and that they have a choice. We try to create an environment there where they can discover the road to recovery in their own way. We give them the necessary tools, but ultimately it's up to them to decide whether to use them or not.

We always try our best, but we can't get through to everyone. Some of them "get it" and some of them don't. And sadly, some end up dead or in jail or living on the streets, which is something I have had to learn to accept over the years. It doesn't get to me as much as it used to, but it still hurts me deep inside me when we lose one of our kids. I guess in part, it's a stark reminder that it could have been me, and of how close I came to that reality. On the other hand, many of our "graduates" have gotten themselves into rehab and started their lives over, and some of them even come back later and join us at the center as volunteers like me. That seems to be a common thread among many recovered addicts, and I think it's one of the things that makes AA and many other recovery organizations work so well - there's such a strong drive to give back some of what we were given, because we all know exactly how much that kind of help matters to those who need it.

Through various activities and group sessions, we talk about their experiences and fears and anxieties; we talk about why they started drinking or using drugs, how it makes them feel about themselves, and why they feel powerless to stop; we talk about what it's like on the other side of recovery; we talk about the future, their hopes and dreams, their goals in life, all that stuff. We're not a rehab center; our aim is just to show them that there is a way out, and then point them in the right direction. Then we let the rehab centers take over from there. They have to want rehab before it can work, and that's what the help center is all about.

There's a 17 year old named Luis who comes in every week for counseling. He's a drug addict who's been in and out of rehab since he was 12. He got arrested for selling stolen property to support his addiction, and the judge sent him to us this time because she felt that we might be able to convince him to get into rehab and stay clean. Luis has a long arrest record, but being a minor and committing minor offenses, he was always back on the streets within days. But he'll be 18 next week, so his next arrest could land him in jail. The court order requires him to come here every week, and each time he comes in we have to sign a form that says he was there. He has shown up stoned or drunk a few times, and I refuse to sign his form when he does and I send him home. Then he has to explain to the social worker why he didn't get his form signed for that week, and she comes down on him pretty hard. He needs that. He never had any real discipline growing up, and his parents gave up trying to raise him years ago. He's one of those tough inner city kids. You know the type - poorly educated, but street smart; never shows any emotion except anger; has no expectations for the future except more of the same. His life in the street gangs is the only life he knows. He's never shown any signs of wanting to change his ways, but I've always felt that there was something in there - way down deep. I can usually tell when someone is a lost cause, but I always knew that he wasn't. There are certain things that he's passionate about, and that spark is what always gave me hope. Years of neglect and abuse at home, and a life of street gangs and violence and drugs have led him to build a wall around himself, and he refused to let anybody in. I always knew there was a different Luis on the other side of that wall, if we could just find a way to get in there.

Today was his last day of court mandated counseling, since he'll turn 18 on Thursday. I was talking with him after his session with the counselor, trying to get a feel for where he was headed now that he doesn't have to come to us anymore. We went into the gym and shot some baskets while we talked about his future, and he opened up to me like never before. It was as if he really wanted someone to talk to today, and he had all this stuff built up inside of him that he wanted to get out. He was always very closed off about his personal life, and we could never get him to share anything in the group sessions. Maybe he felt more comfortable today because he figured he would never see me again, I don't know. He told me about his older brother who was murdered in a gang shooting six years ago. He told me about his alcoholic father who beat the shit out of him when he was younger, and his mother who had long since given up trying to raise her children. He told me about his little brother, and how he knew he wouldn't stand a chance growing up in that neighborhood, and how he was destined for the same road.

I'm not sure if it was the look in his eyes, or the tone in his voice, or maybe just the words he chose, but there was something in the way he talked about his little brother that told me he loved him more than anything else in the world. So I asked him to tell me more about him. He put down the basketball, and his face lit up as he talked about his little brother. We sat down on the bench and talked some more. As he spoke, I could see a deep sort of sadness appear in his eyes, because he knew what was in store for his brother's future - the same cycle of drugs and violence and hopelessness that had dragged Luis down that path would soon swallow his little brother too. He knew it would happen, and he felt completely powerless to prevent it.

So I asked him how much it would mean to him if he could find a way to break the cycle - to make something of his life despite all the cards that were stacked against him; to have a chance to save his little brother from the life he knew was in store for him.

Luis hesitated for a minute, and I could see the tears starting to well up in his eyes. Then he shook his head and said, "Man, I don't know what to do," and he broke down and cried. I always knew there was another Luis in there somewhere, and at that moment I knew that I had found him. I can't begin to describe what it felt like to see this young man cry. Luis, hardened by years of abuse and neglect and street gangs and violence and drugs, sat there and cried on my shoulder and literally begged me to point him toward a better life. I told him that he had the power within himself to reach for that better life, and with the right kind of guidance he could get there. All he needed was the will and determination to try.

I spoke with his social worker on the phone, and we discussed some options for his future. She's going to try to get him into a residential rehab program. In the meantime, I gave him the contact number for Narcotics Anonymous, and I offered to go to a meeting with him so he could see what it was like there. I handed him my phone and said "call them." He didn't call, but he said he would think about it. Then he told me he wanted to keep coming back to the youth center to hang out with us, even though he wasn't required to anymore. I told him I'll shoot baskets there with him anytime, as long as he'll talk to me the way he did today.

For the first time since I met Luis, I saw hope in his eyes. Then he told me that in all his years of being in and out of different rehab programs, he never felt like anyone really cared until he came here. He asked me why I cared so much about what happened to him. I told him it's because someone cared about me when I was his age, and this is how I've chosen to pay it forward.

I'd love to be able to tell you that he's going to get into rehab now and get clean and rescue his little brother and they'll all live happily ever after, but I've been around long enough to know that fairy tale endings like that don't always happen. Maybe the old Luis will be back tomorrow, and I'll never see him at the youth center again, but I'm hoping against all hope that he comes back to the center to talk some more next week, and that he follows through with rehab this time. Maybe this time will be different.

Today was one of those days that make all the hard work worthwhile.

Happy Adoption Day, Katie...

Yesterday was the two year anniversary of the day Katie's adoption was finalized. Each year, we celebrate the day she officially joined our family with a mixture of joy and sorrow, as we reflect on the love and happiness that she brings into our lives every single day, but also acknowledge the tragic circumstances that brought her to us. In a way it seems like such a short time ago that she joined our family, and yet I can hardly remember what our lives were like before she was here.

We use the day as an opportunity to talk with Katie about her real parents, and her memories of them. We look at old photographs and home videos of them, and we talk about the hopes and dreams they had for her. We also talk about how much it means to us to have her in our lives, and the legal and symbolic significance of that little piece of paper that says "Certificate Of Adoption" at the top. For us, her adoption day is just as significant as her birthday, and we celebrate it with cake and ice cream and balloons just like a birthday. This year we gave her a heart-shaped locket - inside the locket is a picture of her real parents on one side, and a picture of Jenny and I on the other.

Jill set up all the legal paperwork for our guardianship agreement before she died, and she left it up to us to decide when or if we should take the next step. There are some significant differences between guardianship and adoption, both from a legal as well as from a psychological standpoint. Jill knew that we would know when the time was right for Katie, and she trusted us to guide her through the emotional turmoil that would come with that transition. We could have just remained in legal guardianship indefinitely, but we felt that the benefits of adoption far outweighed any downsides. Just the sense of permanence and completeness that comes with adoption is enough to make it worthwhile, not to mention the legal benefits that it secures for all of us. As guardians, we were looking after someone else's child; as adoptive parents, she is our child. I can't even begin to describe the emotional significance of that - only someone who has adopted a child could know what that means. It means the world. The World.

Katie's adoption is what's known as an "open records" adoption in legal terms. Normally when a child is adopted, their original birth records are sealed, and a new birth certificate is issued bearing the names of the adoptive parents - it's as if the birth parents never existed. We didn't want that for Katie, because her birth parents are still an important part of her life, and they always will be. So we had to jump through some legal hoops in order to keep her birth records intact. We felt that was important enough to fight for, and we had to make several appearances before a judge and get a court order to keep her records open. The court system is very protective about birth records in adoption, and they didn't want to grant us that without a signed statement from Jill saying it was what she wanted. We had to convince the judge that we knew her wishes and had Katie's best interest in mind. It was worth fighting for in the end, because it's an important part of her family heritage, and we didn't want to erase her roots. It's part of who she is and always will be.

As we tucked her into bed last night, Katie looked us both in the eyes and said "Thank you." I asked her what for. "For being my mom and dad," she replied.

I can't think of a better way to have ended such a beautiful day.

Happy Adoption Day, Katie. I love you with all my heart.

Back to school...

First day of school today. I'm always a little sad to see the summer come to an end, but at the same time I can't wait to get back in the classroom and do the job I love. Well, used to love, until I read this post by Pseudonymous High School Teacher. It lists average teacher salaries for each state, indexed against the cost of living for that state, and ranked 1 through 50 based on the cost of living index. Turns out New Hampshire ranks 48th out of 50. Rats.

Suddenly I don't like my job so much anymore....

I mean, don't get me wrong, I still love teaching - I love interacting with the kids and watching them grow and learn, and I love being able to make a difference in so many lives. It's the most rewarding job in the universe. But it is getting harder and harder to make a decent living at it. As much as I love living here and teaching at my little rural school in the middle of nowhere, it's hard to justify doing that when I could easily make three times my current salary if I moved to Boston and got a job as an engineer. I do have a Master's degree in engineering, after all. I'd be miserable there, but at least I'd be miserable with a whole lot more money in my pocket.

But I love what I do, and so do most of my colleagues. That's why we do it.

Teaching would be the easiest job in the world if all we had to do was stand in front of a classroom and lecture, but it's so much more than that. It's all about knowing how kids think, and what motivates them to learn. It's about caring. It's about inspiring. It's about supporting and nurturing and building confidence and encouraging kids to reach for their dreams and never ever give up until they achieve them. It's about making young people believe that they can be whatever they want to be - not just in a career, but in life - and that they can make a difference in the world. Not just telling them that, but making them believe it. It's about teaching them that they don't need to change the whole world to make a difference - that just making one person smile today makes the world a better place, for one person, for one moment, and that matters. These are the kinds of things we try to teach our kids, over and above our academic subjects, and we don't feel like we've done our jobs unless we're successful in doing that.

The best teachers do that by establishing and developing an individual relationship with each and every student. Through that relationship, they learn to recognize when a student is struggling and needs extra attention, and they make sure the student gets the help they need before it's too late. The best teachers form partnerships with the parents, and work together with them to ensure that every student gets the most of out of their time in school. The best teachers genuinely care about every single student, and make sure that none of them ever fall through the cracks. The best teachers know how to relate to their students on their level, and how to teach them without talking down to them. The best teachers know how to spark their students' interest in the things that matter, and how to inspire them to go out and do great things in life. The best teachers know exactly what to say when a student comes to them after class and asks for advice. The best teachers spend as much time learning as they do teaching.

The best teachers remember a teacher they once had who inspired them. Most can name that teacher and still remember, word-for-word, something they said to us that made a difference. And that teacher is the reason why we do what we do. Mine was Mr. Walker, my 7th grade math teacher, who taught me so much more than math.

I just wish they paid us enough to make a decent living at it. Because if you do it right, it's a much harder job than most people realize.

"The talk"

Okay, by now you've all read about yesterday's little "incident". Fortunately, Christina is too young to know what was going on, so she probably won't be traumatized for life. But Jenny took the opportunity to have "the talk" with the two older girls.

The best part about being the father of girls? "The talk" is not my domain. Fathers of boys don't have that luxury, but girls? "Dad, leave the room, we're gonna have some girl talk now."

Yay for me. I got to watch the ball game instead.

So anyway, it turns out Laura already knew it all. She's nine (she'll be ten in two weeks). Holy crap. Where did she learn this stuff? Apparently her friends at school told her everything last year. Will someone please explain to me why fourth graders are sitting around in the recess yard talking about sex? Holy crap, did I miss something when I was in fourth grade? I don't recall even hearing the word "vagina" until I was like twelve, and it was still another year or two after that before I figured out what they were for and why the heck I would want to go anywhere near one.

Katie is the naive and innocent one. She hangs with the same crowd at school, but I guess she must have been out that day. This was all news to her. She kinda had an idea about a few things, but she didn't know what it was all about. She does now.

But, as one of my readers pointed out, it's good to talk openly about it and teach them what sex is really all about, rather than pretend it doesn't exist until they figure it out for themselves.

Although I still think the talk would have been just as effective without the live demonstration...

*sigh*

First they start wearing bras, and now "the talk"...

Yet another sign that they're growing up. Way too fast.

Mom, do NOT read this post. It's about SEX...

We have three children. As most parents of young children will tell you (well, most of them won't tell you, but I will; and the rest of them are all secretly nodding in agreement right now), it can sometimes be difficult to find the time and energy for parents to engage in the type of activity that made them parents in the first place. By the time the kids are asleep and you've finished cleaning up after them and repairing all the damage they inflicted upon the house and its contents that day, you're both way too exhausted to even consider the possibility. And falling asleep during sex is bad for your partner's self esteem. Not that I would know.

So, when a free moment comes along at, say, 1:00 in the afternoon while the youngest is napping and the other two are outside playing in the back yard, and she looks at you with "that look"...well, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. Unfortunately, a man's also gotta remember to lock the bedroom door, an important little detail which this particular man carelessly overlooked in the heat of the moment.

I'm not sure which was more disturbing: 20-month old Christina wandering into our bedroom at the worst possible moment; or the sound of 9-year old Laura standing out in the hallway saying (in a loud whisper) "Christina, NO! Mommy and daddy are ... umm ... Christina NO!"

Okay. First of all, how did Christina wake up from her nap, alert Laura to the fact that she was awake such that Laura came and got her out of her crib, and wander down the hallway into our bedroom without us hearing any of this? Second, and perhaps more importantly, how in the hell did Laura know what we were doing in there? On second thought, nevermind. I don't want to know.

Holy shit. I'm pretty sure we're never going to have sex again.

Things not everyone knows about me...

Since I have nothing else to write about today, here's some random stuff about me that you probably don't know. In no particular order:

1. My favorite color is green.



2. I'm a huge fan of the Boston Red Sox.



3. I used to be very shy. I'm not anymore.



4. I know how to take apart and rebuild an automatic transmission. With only a few parts left over when I'm done.



5. I can rebuild a Jeep from the wheels up. The one I'm driving now, a fully restored 1964 CJ, was built mostly from parts I found in junk yards.



6. It's very very hard to get me angry. And even when I do get angry, I rarely raise my voice. If I do, you better run for cover.



7. I can swear like a sailor when I want to, but I usually don't.



8. I can swear in Italian. I learned that from my grandmother.



9. I don't speak any Italian, except for the swear words.



10. I can be as tough as nails when I need to be.



11. I can be as soft as a teddy bear when I want to be.



12. I am a teddy bear most of the time.



13. I am a hopeless romantic. I believe in "Happily ever after". I believe in love at first sight. I believe love is the source of all that is good and true and beautiful in the world. I believe love is a stronger force than hate.



14. As much as I enjoy being around other people, I treasure my alone time much more.



15. I have many friends, but when it comes to really close friends, I can count them on one hand. And I place tremendous value in my closest friends. I would die for them if I had to, and I know that they would do the same for me.



16. I enjoy parties, but I prefer smaller gatherings with a few close friends.



17. I write poetry.



18. I sing.



19. I play the guitar.



20. I write songs.



21. I cry at sad movies.



22. I am an alcoholic (recovered, 19 years).



23. I counsel other alcoholics through AA and other organizations.



24. I always put my left shoe on first. I don't know why. Left pant leg too.



25. I'm not afraid to speak my mind.



26. I often speak my mind when I probably shouldn't.



27. I'm terrified of spiders. Especially big hairy ones. I think my fear stems from a childhood trauma involving a spider in my pants when I was two or three. I still remember that incident, and I still have nightmares about it.



28. I love being in the woods.



29. I love the smell of rain. And the sound. Especially a thunder storm.



30. I love being in the woods after a rain storm.



31. I will do anything to help a friend in need. As long as it doesn't involve spiders.



32. I expect a lot of myself.



33. I get mad at myself when I don't meet my sometimes unrealistically high expectations.



34. I expect a lot from the people who I know I can count on.



35. If I expect a lot from you, then that means you have proven to me that I can count on you. If I expect little of you, then either I don't know you well enough, or you've let me down before. You will know it if you've let me down.



36. Boxers. Of course.



37. I am fiercely loyal and protective to my friends and family. If you hurt someone I care about, you will hear from me.



38. I may not agree with what you say, but I will always defend your right to say it.



39. Don't ask me an opinion question unless you're prepared to receive a brutally honest answer. I'll try not to hurt your feelings, but if you ask, I'll always tell you what I really think.



40. I expect the same kind of honesty from others, and I can tell when you're lying.



41. I am always sincere. I don't do empty flattery. If I tell you that you look nice, or that you did something well, it's because I sincerely think so. If I say nothing, then don't ask me what I think unless you want an honest answer (see item #39 above).



42. The exception to the above rule is when I'm interacting with children. I will always tell a child they did a good job, even when they didn't. Children need that. Adults are better served by the truth.



43. I love my wife more and more each day. Really. She is amazing (see item #41 above).



44. Never be afraid to tell me what you think, even if it's not what I want to hear. I will respect you much more for being honest with me than for agreeing with me. Honesty and sincerity are very high on my list of things I value in people.



45. I respect people who think for themselves and stand up for what they believe in, even if I disagree with them.



46. I like sunrises more than sunsets. To me, a sunrise represents a new beginning, a new day, and new chance to be alive. A sunset feels like an ending. I don't like when things end.



47. I believe in second chances. Most people who sincerely ask me for a second chance will get one. But they will not get a third chance.



48. I often think too much.



49. I hate camping in the rain.



50. It always rains when I go camping.



51. I love camping anyway.



52. I like movies with happy endings. And zombies (not necessarily in the same movie). And movies that make me think.



53. I love children. Their energy and sense of wonder are a constant source of learning for me. I always try to see the world through a child's eyes, because the world is much more beautiful and amazing that way.



54. I have no political party affiliation, but I most closely resemble a libertarian. That's libertarian with a small L, not to be confused with the (capital L) Libertarian Party, because those guys are a bunch of whack jobs. Some day I'll write about what it actually means to be a "small L" libertarian.



55. I hate impatient drivers. And drivers who talk on the phone. They are usually the same person.



56. I still like to climb trees.



57. I love animals. Not just the cute furry ones, but all of them. Except spiders. Spiders are not animals, they are evil demons from the depths of Hell.



58. I can name the regular starting lineup for the Boston Red Sox for any season from 1971 to the present.



59. My favorite meal is spaghetti and meatballs. My mom makes the best meatballs in the universe.



60. I can bench press 260 pounds, do 110 push-ups in two minutes, and 130 sit-ups in two minutes. I can run a mile in a little over 5 minutes (used to be under 5, but then I got old. I don't know how that happened).

My bucket list:

• Drive across the USA and back, stopping in every state along the way (Alaska and Hawaii will have to be a separate trip. Driving to Hawaii can be hazardous, I'm told. And Alaska is just too damn far away.)



• Learn to surf



• Learn ballroom dancing and swing dancing



• Climb Mount Everest (okay, that one might be a bit of a stretch)



• Get a pilot's license



• Go to see a baseball game in every major league ball park. (8 down, 22 to go)



• Run the Boston Marathon



• Shake the hand of the person who discovers the cure for cancer. I sincerely believe this will happen in my lifetime, and I will travel any distance, any time, just to meet the person who does it and shake his or her hand. Seriously. It means that much to me.

Today's post was written by a special guest...

About two months before she died, Jill wrote me a letter in which she told me everything she wanted me to know. It was her final goodbye, her last confession, her "thank you" to me, and her list of hopes and dreams for Katie, all rolled up into 12 handwritten pages. Four days after she gave me this letter, the tumor in her brain triggered a hemorrhagic stroke, which left her fully conscious but unable to speak, and with much of her body paralyzed. She spent the last two months of her life trapped in her body, unable to move or communicate her needs. I am so thankful that she got to say what she wanted to say before it was too late, and it serves as a constant reminder to me to always make sure the people I love know how I feel about them.

I treasure this letter more than anything else Jill ever gave me (besides Katie, of course), and sometimes when I'm feeling low I pull it out and read it, and her words help lift me up and remind me that I still have a job to do.

The following is Jill's letter. I've omitted some of the deeply personal stuff, but the rest of it is all here. I want to share it with you today because I want you all to have a tiny glimpse into who Jill was. She was a woman whose soul overflowed with love and compassion. She was an angel who walked among us, and whose words and deeds could teach, inspire, and touch those around her in ways we never imagined. She was Katie's mom. And she was my best friend.

---

Dear Jeff,

Oh God, where do I start? Jeff, I don't want this letter to make you sad, you know I would never want that, but there are some things I need you to know. I've already told you most of this anyway but I can say it better in writing and make sure I don't leave anything out this way. Besides, I want you to have something to remember me by, so keep this letter and read it whenever you need to feel that I'm with you. I will always be with you, you know that.

As I sit here on the back porch and listen to the birds singing and feel the warm breeze blowing across my face, I feel more alive at this moment than I've ever felt before in my life. If cancer has taught me anything it's that every moment is as precious as the one before it. There are so many beautiful things in this world, and I appreciate them all now more than ever. Not knowing how many breaths I have left to take, I breathe each one as if it were my last. Not knowing how many mornings I have left to sit outside and listen to the sounds of the birds makes each of their songs that much more beautiful. I'm sitting here engulfed in the sights and sounds of nature, and wondering "how can I leave all this behind?" And I'm thinking about you, and about how hard it's going to be for you when we finally have to say goodbye. I know how much our friendship means to you, because it means just as much to me. We've shared so much over the years and I cherish every single one of those memories. I've always known that our friendship was special and unique, and these last few months have shown me that there was a reason for it all. God knew I would need you one day, and that's why He put you in my life so many years ago and allowed our friendship to grow and deepen as it always has. Jeff, I would have been completely lost without you in my life. I know what you're feeling now and that you're afraid you'll be lost without me, but I know you - you are the strongest person I've ever known, and you always manage to find your way. I know you'll be able to find your way without me. Lean on Jenny if you have to. She will guide you as she always has. She is as amazing as you are.

I can't stop thinking about Katie. I would give anything to have more time here with her. Anything. I know you know that.

... [some really personal stuff omitted] ...

I'll always be with you, Jeff. I will be a part of every flower, every sunset, and every bird singing in every tree. I will be in every butterfly, every raindrop, every blade of grass, and every drop of water in the ocean. Whenever you need a friend, I will be there. Talk to me and I will hear you. Reach out to me and I will hold you close and tell you that everything is going to be alright. Listen for me and I will speak directly to your heart. You and I have always had a special way of communicating without need for words, and I know we'll still have that when I'm gone. Speak to my soul, and I will speak to yours. I will always be with you, no matter where you are. Listen with your heart and you will hear me.

Dying is hard. It's the hardest thing I've ever done. Not the dying part, but the leaving everyone behind part. I have no doubt that where I'll be will be a wonderful place filled with love and joy and free from pain, so don't worry about me, but I hate so much that I have to leave you all behind. I hate knowing how sad you'll be, and I hate knowing what Katie is going to have to go through. But it's comforting to me knowing that she has you, because I know that you'll know what to say and do to help her get through it. Thank you so much for being here for her.

Jeff, Katie is my life. She is my world and my everything. Part of my soul is in her, and knowing that she will grow up without me is like a knife through my heart. But knowing she will have you and Jenny makes it just a little bit easier. Thank you so much for agreeing to take her when I'm gone. You and Jenny are the only ones in the world I would ever trust to raise her. Both of you have the capacity to love her as much as I do, and I see your love every single day in the way you treat each other, and the way you've taken care of Katie since I've been sick. I can see in your eyes that you feel her pain the way a parent feels their own child's pain. You already love her like your own daughter, and that's exactly what I want her to be. She is yours. I give her to you completely and totally without any fears or reservations whatsoever. Please don't think about me or think "what would Jill want me to do" when it comes to parenting Katie - think of her as your own and do exactly what you think is right for her. I have complete and total trust in you, Jeff. I always have. Be there for Katie as you've always been there for me, and I know that she'll be alright.

I know that with your guiding hand, she will grow up to be all that she is capable of being. I've done my best to teach her what I know, and now it's up to you to take it from here. She'll learn things from you that I never would have been able to teach her. Please don't let her forget me. Keep my memory alive in her heart and make sure she always knows who I was. You have the letters I wrote her and the videos, and of course your own memories to help keep hers alive. Beyond that, all I ask of you is to give her the life she deserves. I know you will.

The stuff we talked about last night...I meant it with all my heart, but you know I would never ask you to do that. I just wanted you to know what was in my heart, that's all. Please don't feel like you have to if it comes to that. I know you can't, and I would never ask you to. I'm terrified of what might be coming but I'll be alright, I promise.

... [more very personal stuff omitted] ...

Jeff, you have been so much a part of my life, and I am so thankful for you. I remember when I first got sick and I was feeling so scared and alone, and you stayed with me that day and you told me that I would never be alone and that you would always be there for me no matter what. I can't even begin to describe how it felt to hear those words that day. You have been there for me in so many ways. My whole life you have always been there when I needed you. From the first day I met you in the treehouse I knew that you were someone special. As we grew up you were always there. Every memory I have from my childhood has you in it. Every time I needed you, you were there. Thank you for being there whenever I needed you to be there. Thank you for leaving me alone whenever I needed to be left alone. And thank you for always knowing the difference. Thank you for all the long talks and the walks on the beach and the middle of the night phone calls. Thank you for the laughs and the smiles and the hugs. Thank you for never saying 'I told you so', even when you did tell me so. Thank you for the music and the songs and the memories. Thank you for being there when I lost Glenn, and when I lost my mom, and when I lost my dad. Thank you for everything you’ve ever done for me.

Jeff, you've given me so much over the years, and I only hope that I've given you a little something in return. You’ve always been my strength when I needed strength, you've always been my comfort when I needed comfort. You've always known when there was nothing you could say and I just needed to cry, and you've always been there to hold me and let me cry when I needed to. Thank you. I know now that our lifelong friendship was all leading up to where we are right now. Thank you for taking care of me when I got sick and for taking care of Katie for me. I have no doubt that she will be okay with you and Jenny, even though she's having a tough time with it right now. She loves you guys and I know that you love her too and will raise her with so much love and with the values that make you who you are.

No regrets, okay? I know you've carried that one regret around with you all these years, and I'm asking you now one last time to let it go. It wasn't your fault. It was my choice to make, and I did what I had to do for my best friend. I know you would have done the same for me. Please don't have any more regrets over that, okay? I did it for you, because you are and always were my very best friend and you deserved it and that's what friends do. So no more guilt. No more regrets.

Jeff, you're my best friend. You're the best friend anybody could ever ask for. You have a gift for caring and relating to people. You have so much to offer the world, so use your gift and never be afraid to be who you are. I’ll be watching you from up there, so stay out of trouble. Think of me now and then, and please don’t ever forget. But no tears, you know I wouldn't want that. Just smile and look up at the stars, and know that I’m up there somewhere smiling back at you.

Oh, and if you see a shooting star, it's a gift from me...don't forget to make a wish.



Love always,

Jill

---

I miss her. I'm sitting here crying like a baby now after typing that all out, but I hope it has given you a little bit of a picture of who Jill was. Friends like that just don't come along every day. I miss her so much.

Jill Gaines
1971 - 2006

I will never forget

HELP! My girls are growing up! How do I make them stop??? (Part 2)

You may remember this post from awhile ago. Here is part 2.

...

Jenny took Laura and Katie shopping for back-to-school clothes yesterday.

They came home with... *gulp* ... some of these:



The first thing that went through my mind was the word "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!" (I'm not sure how to spell that), followed immediately by "HELP!!! How do I make them stop growing up???"

But then I remembered once again that I am the luckiest man on earth, because I get to watch them grow up. I get to teach them about life and about what matters. I get to watch them explore the world and discover new things and have the most amazing experiences along the way, and watch them grow and learn from those experiences. I get to be there for every triumph and every tragedy. I get to cheer for them when they succeed, and love them anyway when they fail. I get to gently push them in the right direction when they need it, and watch them find their own way when I know they can. I get to teach them and learn from them at the same time. I get to catch them when they fall, help them get back up, and teach them how to not fall again next time. I get to be their hero when they need one, and I get to stand silently in their shadows and feel my heart jump for joy for them when they make it on their own. I get to be the shoulder they cry on when they hurt, and I get to be the one they hug when they need a hug, whether it's because they're happy or sad or tired or scared or overjoyed or they just need a hug for no reason at all. I get to be amazed and astounded every single day by the sheer joy and wonder that comes from watching these girls grow up and become the beautiful young women they are quickly becoming.

I get to be their dad. And I can't think of anything in the world I'd rather be.

As the great Lou Gehrig once said, "I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the Earth."

I really do.

Camping trip with the girls

Jen and Christina stayed home this time, so it was just Laura and Katie and me. Christina isn't quite ready for this kind of rugged terrain yet - maybe next year. We drove over into Maine to a small unnamed lake just below the Canadian border. It's uncharted territory up there, and the only way in is by backpack. We drove by road until the road ended, then drove the Jeep up a dry riverbed for a few miles until the rocks got too big to Jeep over, then we parked the Jeep and backpacked the last mile or two to the lake. What a beautiful place:



We spent three days there. Peace and quiet and tranquility, miles and miles from civilization. Nothing else compares. I've been there many times, and it's one of my favorite places to camp. It's Maine's best kept secret. And no, I won't tell you how to get there. It's MY spot, so stay away. Pfffffffft. :)

We fished, we hiked, we swam in the lake. We had campfires and sang songs and roasted marshmallows. We caught trout and bass and ate them for dinner. We saw moose and bears and a bald eagle. We saw deer and raccoons and beavers. It was a magical weekend away from it all for me and my girls.

We needed that.

I love watching them discover the outdoors. The are fascinated by nature and all its wonders. So am I. I grew up with this stuff, and I want them to have that too, and to one day pass it on to their children. It's so important for children to develop an appreciation for nature and the environment, because they will be in charge of protecting it someday. I know my girls will do their part.

Our Town...

I live in a very small town in the mountains of the far northeast corner of New Hampshire. Living in a small town up here in the middle of nowhere has some advantages, as well as a few disadvantages. There are some who grow up here and can't wait to get the heck out of this "tiny, dead-end town." And there are others, like me, who can't imagine living anywhere else. I didn't grow up here, but I grew up in another tiny town not far from here. I've lived here in this little town for about 16 years now. It's my home. It's my town.

In a place like this, people genuinely care about one another. When somebody needs help, you can count on the whole town to rally around them and help. Nobody locks their doors here, and crime is practically nonexistent. It's about as close as you can get to the kind of storybook town where everybody knows everybody, and everybody cares about everybody. Some people say places like that don't exist anymore, but they're wrong.

Our town has a Main Street (and yes, it really is called Main Street), and that's where all the action is. There's a 4th of July parade down Main Street every year, and the whole town comes out to watch. There's Bingo Night at the fire hall the 1st Saturday of every month. There are dances at the hall on the 3rd Saturday of every month. There's a park in the center of town, with a pavilion big enough to keep everyone dry when it rains during the annual Labor Day barbecue (which it does almost every year). There's a movie theater with only one screen - it might not be this year's hottest new release, but you can see a movie there for $2.50, and buy a large bag of popcorn and a Coke for $1.75.

Bob runs Culver's General Store. He's been the owner there for the last 30 years or so, and it was owned by his father before him, and his grandfather and great grandfather before that. When you step into Culver's General Store, it's like stepping into a time machine. The products on the shelves have changed over the years, but the store has stayed pretty much the same. The creaky hardwood floors; the uneven wooden shelves with knot holes in them; the sign out front is the same one that was there a hundred years ago, hand carved and faded and splintering with age. Most of the meat, dairy, and produce comes from local farms, and most of it is organically grown without hormones or pesticides. We buy our groceries there every week. Bob always has a smile and a kind word for us when we walk through the door.

Across the street from the General Store is Janet's Flower Shop. Janet has been running that flower shop since 1962. When I go in there to buy red roses, she knows who they're for, and she always picks out the biggest and freshest blooms she can find. Then with a wink, she tells me what a lucky girl Jenny is. Whenever I go in there with Katie to buy pink and yellow roses, she knows who they're for too, and she always gives Katie a little hug and throws in an extra yellow or pink rose for her to keep for herself.

Next door to the flower shop is Harold's Pharmacy. Harold's daughter Sheryl runs it now. She moved back here and took over the pharmacy after Harold died a few years back. Because it's Harold's Pharmacy, and she wasn't about to let it close down when her father died. It was his legacy, and that means something here.

A little ways down the street from there is the book store. Frank is the owner there, and I think he's about 150 years old (okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit there). Frank can find you any book you're looking for, even if you don't know what it's called - just describe any little detail you know about it, and he'll know what book you mean. "Yup! Got it right here!" he'll say, and he pulls it off the shelf and hands it to you before you even finish asking for it. He recently started selling music cds too. He may not be up on all the latest artists, but ask him about Glenn Miller, or Duke Ellington, or any of the other greats from the big band era? He'll tell you everything you want to know, including which cd has the best recording of "In the Mood" or "Serenade in Blue".

Next to the book store is Jerry's Hardware Store. If there's any tool, any part or gadget, or any obscure piece of hardware you need, even if you don't know what it's called, Jerry can help you find it. If he doesn't have it, he knows where you can get it. Or he'll get it for you if you're willing to wait a few days, and he'll deliver it to you personally when it arrives. Jerry's brother Al runs the lumber yard just outside of town. Go to Al's lumber yard and pick out the boards you want, and Al will throw them in his truck and deliver them for you, and then stick around and hold the boards for you while you cut them and nail them together if you need an extra hand. Al doesn't accept credit cards, but if he knows you, you can still do business with a handshake and a promise. Jerry and Al are both good old-fashioned nice guys who will do anything to help a neighbor.

There's Kathy's Diner, right next to the General Store. Kathy knows me well enough that I don't have to tell her what I want from the menu. As soon as she sees my Jeep pull up out front, she'll pop my favorite sandwich on the grill. Sometimes I'll park my Jeep in front of Kathy's Diner, wave to her through the window as I walk over to the General Store to pick up a few things; and by the time I get back to Kathy's, my sandwich is sitting there at my usual table by the window waiting for me, along with a large Coke with just the right amount of ice in it. Good food. Nice lady. And I'm pretty sure she always saves the biggest and best slice of ham just for me.

There's a creek that runs through the center of town, and if you ever need to know anything about this place or its people, just stop by the bridge where Main Street crosses the creek and ask Bill - he's 92 years old and still sharp as a tack, and he sits there by the bridge every day with his fishing rod. He knows everybody in town, and he can tell you the history of any building, anybody, or anything else you want to know about this place. The man is a walking encyclopedia of local knowledge. I wish he would write a book before...well, you know. I've been trying for years to talk him into writing a book about this place and its people. I even offered to do the writing for him, if he could just sit and tell me his stories. Bill has no idea how much his knowledge means to the people here.

I love all of these people. They are my town. They are the people who make this place what it is. People who come to visit here always say it's like stepping back in time to the days when things were simpler, and life was slower paced; a time when people knew their neighbors and cared about each other; a time when a handshake and your word was as good as a credit card. That's the way it is around here, and we like it that way.

But I'm worried about them. All of them - Bob, Janet, Frank, Sheryl, Jerry, Kathy, and lots of others who I didn't even mention here.

Because a Wal-Mart opened up a few months ago, just a few miles up the road from here. With an IGA Supermarket next to it, and an Eckerd pharmacy next to that. There's even a McDonald's inside the Wal-Mart. You can buy your groceries, your flowers, your pharmaceuticals, your hardware, your books and music, and everything else you need, all in one place, and for less money. Better bring your credit card though - I'm pretty sure they won't sell you anything there on a handshake and a promise.

The General Store has been a little less crowded since then. So has the flower shop, and the pharmacy, and the book store, and even Kathy's Diner. I guess I can't blame people for wanting to go to Wal-Mart instead. Lots of people are willing to trade friendly, personal service for low prices and convenience, I guess, especially with the economy being the way it is.

But not me. I still go to the General Store and the other shops in town, along with a few other loyal folks who don't mind paying a little more to support the people who make this town what it is. It's a place where people know each other, and care about each other, and support each other. It's our town. It's a place where you can walk down the street and see people you recognize, and they stop and say hello. They ask about your kids, and they tell you about theirs. They care. I don't want to see it turn into just another town where nobody knows anybody and blank faces pass on the street without even a smile or a friendly hello. It's our town. We are better than that. At least I hope we are.

All across America, small towns like this one are dying, and that's very sad. Most people don't know what it's like to live in a town like this, or even visit one, because there are so few of them left anymore. They don't even know what we're losing.

Randy Newman, James Taylor, and Disney/Pixar said it better than I can (and with a lot fewer words), so maybe this clip from Cars will do a better job at conveying what I'm trying to say here about small towns like this one, and what happens to them in the name of progress. Watch the clip, it's well worth the three minutes of your time:

Our Town

Performed by James Taylor; Words and Music by Randy Newman;
From the Disney/Pixar motion picture Cars

Long ago, but not so very long ago
The world was different, oh yes it was
You settled down and you built a town and made it live
And you watched it grow
It was your town

Time goes by, time brings changes, you change, too
Nothing comes that you can't handle, so on you go
Never see it coming, the world caves in on you
On your town
Nothing you can do.

Main street isn't main street anymore
Lights don't shine as brightly as they shone before
To tell the truth, lights don't shine at all anymore
In our town

Sun comes up each morning
Just like it's always done
Get up, go to work, start the day,
Open up for business that's never gonna come
As the world rolls by a million miles away

Main street isn't main street anymore
No one seems to need us like they did before
It's hard to find a reason left to stay
But it's our town
Love it anyway
Come what may, it's our town.

Come what may, it's our town.

Never discuss politics...

Well, mom always said "never discuss politics with anyone who hasn't seen you naked."

Uh...ahem...mom was always a little weird (sorry mom). But I think what she meant by that was that you should only discuss politics with people you're close enough to that you can disagree and still like each other when you're done disagreeing.

That said, I'm gonna talk about politics today anyway. And I'm pretty sure most of you haven't seen me naked (!), but nevertheless I hope we can still like each other when we're done disagreeing here. A little political discussion might be a welcome change from the sad and dreary stuff I've been writing about here lately anyway.

...

My neighbor bought a new car yesterday. And he didn't even thank me for it. That's right - not a single "thank you"; not one word of gratitude for my unselfish gift; not even an offer to let me take it for a spin in return for my kind generosity. Hrmph.

I'm talking, of course, about the "cash for clunkers" program and the $4500 credit that came out of MY tax dollars to help pay for my neighbor's new car. And by the way, his new car is a Toyota. Made in Japan.

Now don't get me wrong, I have nothing against helping people, and I certainly have nothing against Japan or its people - they're nice folks, and they make nice cars over there and all...but our government has already spent $1 billion of our money to pay for this program, and they just appropriated $2 billion more, and most of that money is going to Japanese car makers. Because they make better and more fuel-efficient cars over there, and those are the cars most people are buying through this program. Why not just send a $3 billion check directly to Toyota Corporate headquarters, and save everyone the hassle.

The idea behind the program is to help the troubled automakers, while at the same time getting a bunch of gas guzzling cars off the road. Sounds like a great idea on the surface. But the trouble is, the automakers' problems go WAY deeper than can be fixed by a few billion dollars (what happened to the $10 billion handout...ahem...I mean "bridge loan"...we gave them last fall?), and even if the whole $3 billion went directly into the hands of the US auto manufacturers (which it most certainly will not), that would only be a tiny drop in the bucket compared to what they need to survive. What they need is a massive restructuring - and yes, that will cause pain and people will lose jobs, and that sucks. You know I hate to see anybody lose their job, but something's gotta give. Unfortunately, it will be the hard-working people on the assembly lines who lose their jobs, instead of the suit-wearing guys in the front office who got them into this mess in the first place.

Sure the cash-for-clunkers program helps people buy a nice new car, and I have no problem with that. If it weren't for the fact that I drive a restored 50-year old Jeep, which I love almost as much as my children and wouldn't trade for anything in the world, I might consider taking advantage of the program myself.



And sure, the cash-for-clunkers program helps dealers, whose lots are overflowing with new cars they haven't been able to sell. And dealers create jobs too, and that's all well and good. Not to mention all the other ancillary businesses that benefit, such as the parts manufacturers, and the shipping industry that delivers the cars to dealers' lots, and so forth. I don't mean to minimize the impact of all those things, but it still doesn't change the fact that the vast majority of that $3 billion ends up in Japan (again, nothing against Japan or its people...but this is OUR money).

I have a friend who owns a Nissan dealership, and of course he's enjoying the crowds in his showroom right now. Good for him; I'm glad he's doing well and he's able to feed his family and provide jobs for his sales and service personnel. But what happens when the cash-for-clunkers program runs out? His showroom will be empty again. And then everybody who needed a new car will already have one. Where will the next bail-out come from then? This is a short-term fix to a problem that requires a long-term solution.

And as for getting the gas-guzzling cars off the road? Contrary to what the radical environmentalists would have you believe (I am an environmentalist, by the way - but I'm the logical and clear-thinking kind), all cars and trucks combined account for less than 10 percent of the total petroleum consumption in this country, and contribute less than 3 percent of the total air pollution. The rest of the consumption and pollution comes from manufacturing and heavy industry, which is conveniently exempt from most of the conservation and anti-pollution legislation. I ($) wonder ($) why ($) that ($) is ($)....... Even if every person in the US traded in their current car for a hybrid, those numbers would only drop to 9 and 2.9 percent, respectively. Hardly enough to make a noticeable difference.

As a side-note, why is it that all the anti-pollution and conservation legislation goes after cars, ignoring heavy industry altogether? Ethanol, for example was the crowning achievement of the radical environmentalists. They convinced the government to pass this legislation requiring all our gasoline to be diluted with ethanol "because it's better for the environment." Oh really? The reality is, the energy used to produce, refine, and transport ethanol, is equal to or greater than the energy saved by using it, and the pollution created by that refining process is greater than that which is prevented by using it (see this link for more). And as an added bonus, the oil companies get to sell us diluted gasoline and charge more for it because "supposedly" it costs more money to refine the stuff. Plus the price of corn went through the roof because so much of it is being used to produce ethanol - and the price of corn effects the price of just about everything else in the food chain. Good for the corn growers, bad for the rest of us. Foolish, gullible government. Somebody made a ton of money on the commodities market that day, and the rest of us have been paying for it ever since. But anyway, that's a whole other topic for another day.

I'm genuinely happy for my neighbor, and I hope he enjoys his new Toyota. I'm sure he'll get many years of reliable mileage out of it, because Toyota makes good, reliable, and fuel efficient cars. But I really don't like the fact that my tax dollars were used to buy it for him. And he didn't even say "thank you."

So that's my opinion. Feel free to disagree with me if you want. And no, you can't see me naked first.

The sun always rises

I had the most disturbing dream last night.

I was outside in the woods. I'm not sure exactly where it was, but the location seemed familiar to me at the time. I saw Laura and Katie walking down a path towards me. Christina was between them, holding onto both of their hands as they helped her walk down the path. They were all singing and laughing and carefree.

Then I saw something behind them. I don't know what it was - I didn't really see it, but it was more like I just "felt" that it was there. A presence. A dark shadow. A creature of some kind - a wolf? a mountain lion? a monster? I don't know, but I knew it was something they needed to get away from. It was stalking them; hiding behind trees and quietly sneaking up on them. They didn't know it was there, and they continued down the path singing and laughing. I tried to call out to them and tell them to run, but no sound would come out. I was yelling as loud as I could but I had no voice. I tried to run to them and get them away from the "thing" but my feet wouldn't move. It was as if my feet were glued to the ground. I waved my arms to get their attention, trying desperately to alert them to the danger that was pursuing them, but I couldn't get through to them. They couldn't hear me, they didn't see me, and I couldn't move to help them. The creature was getting closer and closer to them and I was powerless to stop it.

I woke up shaking and sweating, with tears in my eyes. Never before have I been so relieved to wake up from a dream.

I'm no expert at dream analysis, but I'm guessing this one is pretty easy to figure out, given the recent events that have been on my mind. It's that damned fear that I mentioned in my last post. I know there are things out there that I can't protect them from, and I hate that. I hate being afraid of things I can't control.

I couldn't go back to sleep after that, so I got up and went into each of the girls' rooms and checked on them. Silly and irrational, I know, but after that dream I needed to know that they were okay. Then I went outside for some fresh air. I sat on the back porch and looked at the stars. I've written here before about stars, and how they've helped me find my way back again when I was feeling lost. So I sat out there for awhile just looking at the stars and wondering about all the things that have been heavy on my mind lately. I didn't have any profound insights this time, but it was peaceful sitting out there anyway, and it helped me find my balance. Balance is good.

After a while, Jenny woke up and noticed that I was gone, and she came out and found me on the back porch. We lit a candle and sat out there and talked for the rest of the night. I think it was the first time we've really talked (I mean really talked) since we got back from our vacation. So much happened so quickly, the last two weeks have just been a blur.

We talked about everything that's been on our minds. Jenny is a great listener. We talked all night, and had a few much needed laughs. Then we watched the sun come up behind the trees, and had a cup of coffee together while enjoying the quiet stillness of the early morning air.

Then we went inside and made breakfast for the girls. A new day. Life goes on.

The sun always rises. Always.

Picking up the pieces...

We went to Marissa's funeral yesterday. It was very difficult, and there were many tears. I can't begin to describe the atmosphere there. A child's funeral is completely different from any other. When an older person dies, you can look around at the people present and see a sort of grim acceptance reflected in their faces - they are sad that someone they love has died, but they accept the fact that it was their time. It's not like that at all when it's a child. What I saw yesterday was not acceptance. It was disbelief. Confusion. Shock. And unimaginable sorrow.

And there were children there. So many children. Most of them were her classmates from school. Katie and Laura knew them all. They hugged their friends and held each other's hands as they cried. For most of them, this was probably their first experience of losing someone close to them. Everywhere I looked there were groups of children standing together and holding each other. It just didn't seem real. It just didn't seem right.

Lynne tried her best to be strong. She politely greeted everyone as they filed in, and thanked each of them for coming. Personally, I wanted to punch the next person I heard say to her "At least she isn't suffering anymore," because that's the very last thing somebody wants to hear at a time like that. I know they mean well, but I know from experience that it's the wrong thing to say. But Lynne managed to hold herself together through all of that, although her eyes were stained with tears by the time the service got underway. She broke down at one point during the service, and Jenny and two other friends led her out into the foyer briefly to comfort her. Then they led her back in while holding her hand every step of the way.

Jenny is with Lynne now, doing the best she can just to help her get through another day. That's what friends do. Katie and Laura are out in the back yard now, doing the best they can to help each other cope with the loss of their friend. That's what sisters do. Grief is no place to be alone.

And me? Well, I'm doing the best I can to just be there for my girls and help out wherever I can. Sometimes that just means staying home with the girls while Jenny goes to help Lynne; sometimes it means being a shoulder for Katie and Laura to cry on; and sometimes it means being there for Jenny when she comes home from Lynne's house in tears. My job is just to be there. I wish I could do more than that.

And when I get a free moment, I spend some time trying to sort things out for myself. I'm sitting here at my desk now, looking out the window at those beautiful girls playing outside, and all I can think about is that I can't imagine my life without them. Their lives are so precious and so valuable. And so fragile. Less than one year ago, Marissa was just like them - giggling, playing, laughing, doing what young girls do. And now she's gone. It's unthinkable. Incomprehensible. It's just wrong. And now there's this fear in my mind that shouldn't be there. I don't want it there, but it's there. It's the fear that every parent has in the back of their mind, the fear of their worst nightmare coming true - only it's not at the back of my mind anymore, it's right at the front where I can't stop thinking about it. And I hate that.

I took a walk with the girls this morning. We walked back through the woods to the creek - the same place I described last week where I walked with Katie. It's such a peaceful place there. I love to go there and listen to the sound of the water rushing by. I go there alone when I need to think, and I often take the girls there when they have something they need to talk about. It's a calming sort of place. A great place to sit and think, or to talk things out.

Along the way we talked about what was on their minds. Katie shared her feelings openly. She always does. She's a very expressive child, and when she talks her words come straight from her heart. Laura is a bit less open with her emotions. I have to work to get her to express them sometimes, but once she opens up it all comes pouring out like a flood. They're both so sad for their friend. And it turns out Laura had some things she wanted to say to Marissa but she couldn't find the words to say when we were with her the last time. Now she's sad that she didn't (or couldn't) say what she really wanted to say. I wish she would have told me that sooner. Maybe I could have helped her find the words. I guess I should have asked.

*sigh*

I hate this. I hate that my girls are sad. I hate that Marissa is gone. I hate that Lynne is all alone now. I wish I had answers. Everything happens for a reason? I used to believe that. I wish I could still believe that.

But I don't anymore.

REPOST: Sometimes while I watch them sleep...

I've been thinking about my girls a lot lately. They're never far from my mind, of course, but in light of what happened to Marissa, I've been thinking about them more than usual, I guess.

I posted this a few months ago, but I thought I'd repost it today because it brought a smile to my face when I wrote it the first time. I'm just trying to keep my mind centered where it needs to be right now. And this is exactly where it needs to be.

----

Every night after the girls are asleep, I go quietly into each of their rooms to check on them before I go to bed. Sometimes I sit there for a moment and watch them sleep, and I wonder what they're dreaming about. I kiss them each on the cheek and whisper "I love you" in their ear. Sometimes they smile when I do that. Sometimes they say "I love you too" in their sleep. Sometimes when I kiss Laura on the cheek, she wakes up, just for a second, and smiles at me. She puts her arms out to give me a hug. I hug her gently and tell her I love her, then she goes back to sleep with a content smile on her face. Katie has a little stuffed cat, which she's had since she was a baby, and she sleeps with it every night. Sometimes when I go in to check on her, I find it on the floor next to her bed. So I pick it up, kiss her on the cheek, and put the stuffed animal gently back into her arms. Without waking up, she snuggles it in close to her, and a content little smile comes to her face as I whisper "I love you" in her ear. Sometimes when I go into Christina's room I pick her up and hold her for a minute. She snuggles in close to my chest and sighs. I hold her close and listen to her breathe, and I think about the miracle that each tiny breath represents. I watch her eyes move as she dreams, and I hope she's dreaming about something happy.

Sometimes while I watch them sleep, I worry about the future and what lies ahead for them, but I feel secure in the knowledge that they have a guardian angel watching out for them always. Sometimes while I watch them sleep, I remember something cute or funny they said that day, and a little smile comes to my face as I think about how much my life has been enriched by their lives. Sometimes while I watch them sleep, I think about how fast they're growing up, and how much I wish I could make time stand still so they could stay my little girls for just a little while longer. Sometimes while I watch them sleep, I think about the love that brought them into our lives, and how lucky I am to have been given the chance to experience a love so pure and true and profound, a love that transcends all meaning and defies all explanation.

And always, always, while I watch them sleep, I say a silent prayer that one day every single one of their dreams will come true. Just like mine did.

Even the angels cried...

Marissa Joy McKennan
May 4, 1999 - July 30, 2009

Fly, little angel. You have earned your wings.

Thank you all for your prayers for young Marissa. She is finally at rest. This is the most unimaginable kind of grief a parent can endure, and I ask for your continued prayers for Lynne as she struggles to cope with the loss of her only child. Please pray that she might somehow find the strength to go on. And for her friends and family, as we all try to understand a loss that will never be understood.

Life is such a precious and fragile gift. Hug your children today, and tell them how much you love them.

All out of tears...

Jenny has been sitting with Lynne (Marissa's mom) since last night. Lynne called around 2:30 in the morning sobbing uncontrollably, and Jenny went over there to sit with her and try to comfort her. She's a good friend.

Jenny called me about a half hour ago, herself now in tears. I could hear Lynne still sobbing in the background. Apparently it was a long night over there.

Marissa is still alive, and gasping and struggling for each shallow breath. The hospice staff has done everything they can to make her comfortable, but it's in God's hands now. And you all know that God and I aren't on speaking terms these days, so please say a prayer for this sweet little girl. Maybe he'll listen to you.

I'm all out of prayers. And all out of tears.

I don't know what else to say.

Three years ago today...

It almost got forgotten amid all the other stuff that's going on (well, not really, but it got pushed to the very back of all our minds, anyway).

Jill died three years ago today.

Each year, I'm never quite sure how Katie is going to respond on the anniversary of her mother's death. As she grows and matures, her perceptions change, her memories change, her understanding of the world changes, her ability to express herself changes. But she always remembers. As soon as she came down for breakfast, I could tell that she knew what day it was. It was in her eyes.

So I told her today belonged to her - we could do whatever she wanted to do.

After breakfast I took her to visit Jill at the cemetery. We brought some fresh flowers to put by her grave (pink and yellow roses, of course), and Katie brought a picture that she drew of herself and her mom holding hands in a field full of flowers. There's something indescribably sad and haunting about the sight of a child's drawing lying on the ground, leaning up against a grave stone and held in place by flowers. I've seen that same image repeated so many times now, and still it hits me every single time. It just seems so out of place and wrong.

We sat there under our favorite oak tree for awhile and talked about a lot of things. I asked Katie about the rose that she found the other day, and what it meant to her. She said she's been praying a lot for Marissa, and asking her mom to look after her. She said the rose was her mom's way of saying that she heard her prayers. In her eyes there was no doubt in her mind that this was true, and I could hear that confidence in her voice as well. I could learn so much from Katie, if only I could throw away my doubts and see the world through her eyes. If only it were that simple.

I didn't tell her what the rose meant to me. She doesn't need to know about any of that stuff yet.

We talked about a lot of other things while we were there. She cried a little. I cried a little too. Jill was my dearest friend, and Katie knows that. She has seen me cry before. She understands.

Katie is so much like Jill, sometimes it's like watching Jill grow up all over again. It's comforting in a way, but it's also like living with a constant reminder of how much I miss the friend I treasured so much. I love that she reminds me of Jill, but I hate that she reminds me of Jill. I know that doesn't make any sense at all, but it does to me.

We stopped for lunch on the way home, and then had ice cream. Ice cream always makes things better. When we got home, we went for a walk in the woods. We walked to the creek and sat there on a rock dangling our feet in the water, and laughing about silly things. Then we walked to the overlook and sat there for awhile and listened to the birds, and talked about how Jill had always said she wanted to be a bird. We saw a hawk flying high above the valley, and Katie pointed it out and said that maybe it was her mom flying around the valley and watching over us. Once again, her unwavering faith astonishes me. She has never doubted for one second that her mother is with her always in some form or another. Not for one second. I admire that so much about her. I hope with all my heart she never loses that faith, because it's such a beautiful thing to watch. And it gives her so much comfort.

After our walk, we went back home and spent the afternoon just being together with the rest of the family. We played games, ate junk food, looked at old pictures, remembered, laughed, hugged, and cried a little.

Katie is out in the back yard with Laura now playing on the swings and laughing and talking about who-knows-what. They really are sisters in their hearts.

*sigh*

Time. It doesn't heal all wounds, but it changes them, somehow.

I had lunch with an old friend today...

His name is Jim. Actually it's Father Jim, but I've always known him simply as "Jim". I met him 19 years ago, the day I went to my very first AA meeting. There are no titles at AA, so he always just introduced himself there as Jim. I didn't even know he was a priest until almost a year into my recovery. And yes, even a priest can be an alcoholic. Imagine that.

Jim is the kind of guy who can teach you things and give you advice without you even knowing that he's teaching you or giving you advice. He's a wonderful storyteller. And he's an amazing listener. Rather than giving advice, he just listens, asks questions, and lets me find the answers on my own. The key is that he always finds the right questions to ask - the questions that get my mind going in the right direction; the questions that contain their own hidden answers. Sometimes he'll tell a story with a very subtle message in it, and let me figure out the message for myself. He never smacks me in the face with the message, he just gently nudges me towards it. He knows me well - he knows how I think, and he always tells his stories in such a way that he knows I will figure out the hidden message. Maybe not right away - sometimes it takes me awhile (I'm kinda slow that way) - but eventually I always get it. I've called him weeks later sometimes and said "Hey Jim, remember that story you told me two months ago about [whatever]? I get it now!". And he laughs and says "I knew you would." I love that about Jim. He doesn't preach, he just guides. That's what all the best teachers do.

I showed him the Dear God page from my blog. I wasn't quite sure how he would respond to that. I'm no expert on the rules of the Catholic faith, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to talk to God that way. So I didn't know what to expect from a Catholic priest when he read it.

As he was reading it, I watched his eyes while he read some of the more "colorful" parts, looking for some clues about what was going through his mind. He didn't appear shocked or outraged. A bit sad, maybe, though I think it was more sadness over the whole situation, than over the words I chose to use with the Big Guy. Jim is not judgemental in the least. He doesn't hold things against people. He finished reading it, then he sat back, took a deep breath, and told me a story. Not some preachy story about reverence and unconditional faith, but just a story about a man. A man who lost everything - his job, his home, his family, his will to live...and his faith. A man who questioned everything and had an all-out war with God. A man who shouted obscenities at God in his loudest voice, and challenged God - much like I did - to silence him just to prove that he existed. A man who walked away from his faith and swore he would never look back. That man's name was Jim. Well, it's Father Jim now.

His story gave me hope. No, not hope that I'll become a priest someday (!), just hope that I can fix this. Hope that I can rebuild my relationship with God. Hope that maybe - just maybe - my faith is strong enough to survive.

...

Later in the afternoon, I took the girls into town to run a few errands. We were walking down the sidewalk, and right in front of the flower shop, Katie found a pink rose lying there on the ground. Pink roses were Jill's favorite flower. She had beautiful rose bushes growing all around her house, and almost all of them were pink. She loved her pink rose bushes.

Without even breaking her stride, Katie picked it up and said "Look, it's a message from my mom!"

I stopped dead in my tracks and stared at it. I didn't know what to say. Not just because it was there, but because Katie found it and immediately saw it as a message from her mom (and of course Katie knows nothing of my current struggle with faith).

Okay, so it was probably just a coincidence - after all, it was right in front of the flower shop, and people probably drop flowers there all the time - but the timing couldn't have been better. I can't help thinking that maybe it was more than a coincidence.

So I'm taking it as a sign. Maybe somebody up there really is listening.

I'm Sorry

Sorry for my little outburst yesterday. I don't often use language like that. I guess I just needed to vent. I feel things deeply, and sometimes that is both a blessing and a curse. I allowed my emotions to get to me, and I needed to take it out on somebody. I'm sorry that you all had to see that.

Anyone who knows me well knows that I have been struggling with my faith in recent years. It started when we lost Jill, and I went through a period when I found it easier to not believe in God at all than to believe in a God who would allow something like that to happen. I've spent the last three years trying to rebuild my shattered faith. I found pieces of it here and there, and I glued them together, but I discovered that so many of the pieces just didn't fit anymore.

I used to believe that God had a plan, and that everything happened for a reason, and that it all somehow fit into that Grand Master Plan. But then some things happened that just didn't seem to fit. They seemed too random and unfair and wrong, and I figured they just couldn't possibly be part of what was supposed to happen. I felt like something must have gone horribly wrong up there, and somehow his plan got off the track - like somebody fell asleep at the switch, and things went out of control. I had this image in my mind of God running around like a madman up there, wildly pushing buttons and pulling levers and trying desperately to stop the runaway train and get it back onto the right track again.

Have you ever had a dream where random things start happening that don't make any sense, but you keep trying to make sense out of them anyway, and you get frustrated when all these random events don't fit together like they're supposed to? It was kind of like that. Then one day I had an epiphany, and it was like waking up from one of those dreams - it suddenly occurred to me that maybe all the beliefs I held about God and his Grand Plan were nothing but a delusion. Remember when you were a kid and you realized that Santa Claus wasn't real? It was a lot like that, only much much bigger. And suddenly my entire belief system came crashing down around me.

Over time I've constructed a new belief system from the shattered pieces of the old one. Like a vase broken and glued back together, there are pieces missing. There are holes in it, and it doesn't hold water very well anymore. Some pieces don't fit quite right, but I've forced them in anyway because I know they belong in there somewhere. The glue keeps it all from falling apart, rather than its own internal strength like before. And sometimes the glue doesn't hold up, and it all falls apart again. I guess that's what happened yesterday. It all started when Laura asked me, "Why does God let things like this happen?" and I didn't have an answer for her. I hate having to answer "I don't know" to the really big questions.

Have you ever read the poem Footprints? Well, looking back, I only see one set of footprints in the sand. And right now I'm pretty sure they're mine.

I will repair my relationship with God. I have to. Not for me, but for my girls. They need to have faith in their lives, and I can't teach them faith by pretending to have it. I has to be real. So I will start picking up the pieces again and gluing them back together. There will be more holes this time. There will be more pieces that don't fit quite right. Somehow I will make them fit anyway. And some pieces will have to be thrown out completely, and I will build new pieces to fill in the holes. This won't happen overnight.

But for now, God will have to wait. Right now my girls need me to be strong for them as they cope with the loss of their friend. I'm not strong enough to do that and work things out with God at the same time. So God will have to wait. I hope he has a lot of patience, because this may take awhile. And there is a lot of damage to repair.

Dear God...

WARNING: Some might find this post offensive. If you are easily offended, you might want to skip this one. And even if you're not so easily offended, you still might want to skip this one. This is between me and the Big Guy. And We are NOT on good terms right now.



Dear God,

Hi God, remember me? Remember that nasty letter I wrote you a few years back? The one where I said some really horrible things to you and even questioned your very existence? The one where I challenged you to strike me down with a bolt of lightning just to prove that you existed? Yeah, that one. That was me. And I'm still waiting for that bolt of lightning, by the way. Bring it on.

Anyway, I'm back, God, and I'm pissed off again. Last time it was pretty personal, but I guess you knew that already. I mean, look at it from my point of view: you were sitting up there in your nice cozy office with your feet up on your desk, while my dearest friend in the world was going through unimaginable pain and suffering, and it appeared to me as though all our prayers were going completely unanswered. And I was pissed. Man, was I pissed. And yeah, I took it personally. She was my friend, and you knew exactly how much she meant to me, so you're damn right I took it personally. And I still think I had every right to be mad at you. I still am, by the way. But I guess you already knew that too.

Well, it's a little less personal this time - at least for me - but I'm still every bit as pissed off. I couldn't sleep last night, so I laid awake all night thinking about what I wanted to say to you. I even got up a few times and started to write, but the words I wanted wouldn't come. So I finally decided to forget about the words I wanted, and just say whatever comes out. I hope you can take it. Hell, you're probably not listening anyway.

It's about Marissa. You know, Katie and Laura's friend, the one with cancer? God, I'm sick and tired of losing people to that fucking disease. Do you hear me?? I am SICK and TIRED of it. Fuck.

How can you let this happen to her? God, she's only 10 years old. How is that fair? She didn't even get a chance to live yet. What kind of cold blooded cruel HEARTLESS God are you, that you can sit up there and watch while an innocent child suffers in such agony? Don't you hear her cries? Or her prayers? Her mother has been down on her KNEES every fucking day praying to you, BEGGING you to spare her child, or at least to end her suffering. Day after day, and night after night, she has prayed to you. Are you deaf? Blind? Have you seen or heard any of this? Everyone who knows her has been asking you to help her, and yet she still lies there in unbearable pain. How can you let her suffer like that?? I don't understand it at all. You're supposed to be an all-powerful and loving and compassionate God. So use your fucking power and DO something about this, you heartless bastard. DO SOMETHING. If you're going to take her then just DO IT and get it over with. God, WHY does she have to suffer so much? WHY?? She's only a child. This is so wrong. So fucking wrong.

And what about her mother? Do you give a shit about her? Do you have any idea how hard it is to watch your child suffer like this? Do you have any idea what it's like for a parent to have to look into their child's eyes and tell her that they can't make the pain go away? Do you have ANY fucking idea? Do you have any idea what it's like to have your child ripped from your arms and taken away from you and ravaged by a heartless, faceless monster of a disease that you can't see and can't fight back against and can't protect her from, while your so-called loving and compassionate and ALL-POWERFUL God sits up there and does NOTHING? How can you let this happen?? Are you there?? Are you watching all of this?? Do you GIVE A SHIT??? "Thy will be done", MY ASS. If THIS is your will, then you can GO TO HELL.

Fuck. Where are you? WHERE ARE YOU?

My faith is hanging by a thread, God. Please help me to understand this, because I don't. Jesus Christ, I just don't understand it. At all.

Amen. Or whatever.

Saying goodbye...a long and difficult goodbye.

I've written here before about Marissa, who is Katie and Laura's friend from school. Marissa is 10 years old, and she is dying of bone cancer. She has been in hospice care for the last six weeks, and she is very near the end now. She has been in terrible pain, and her pain medications are barely able to take the edge off. She drifts in and out of consciousness. Her mother has given up praying for a miracle, and now she is just praying for an end to her child's suffering. I can't even imagine being in that position as a parent. I can't even begin to imagine it.

We took Katie and Laura to see Marissa today, probably for the last time. They tried to be strong for their friend, and for each other. They hugged her. They held her hand while she cried. They said their goodbyes. There were many tears.

Katie spent some time alone with Marissa. I don't know what they talked about, but knowing Katie, I'm sure she had some kind and comforting words for her friend. She always does. I suspect that they were talking about something along the lines of what we talked about here. Katie holds more compassion in her little heart than anyone I've ever known. She had tears running down her face when she came out of Marissa's room. I saw the same pain in her eyes that I saw three years ago in the final days of Jill's life. The same pain, but a different level of understanding. She has grown so much since then. As difficult and painful as that loss was for her, it also played a huge role in making her into the caring and compassionate girl she is today.

Marissa's mom thanked us all for being there. She said that most of Marissa's friends had distanced themselves from her in the last several months, or their parents wouldn't let them visit her because they thought it would be too hard for them to see her like this. Nobody wants to get hurt, and nobody wants their children to get hurt, so they all stayed away and kept their children away. Is that really what we should be teaching our kids? To stay away when your friend needs you more than anything? Because it's too hard? Because it hurts too much? That just doesn't seem right to me. We can't really protect them from pain and grief. When someone they love dies, they are going to feel grief, and we can't prevent that. Isn't it better to let them feel it, and help them learn to cope with it, rather than try to sweep it under the carpet and pretend it isn't there? I think so.

When someone is dying, all they really want is to be surrounded by their friends and family and people who love them. We know that. Our girls know that. They wanted to be there for Marissa. They wanted to comfort their friend in her time of need. Because they know that's what friends do. Even when it hurts. So that's what they did.

Please say a prayer for young Marissa. Pray that she finds peace.

Home at last...

Well, after ten days and nights of rediscovering why I HATE hot crowded places, we are back home in our quiet little house in the woods, with a cool mountain breeze blowing through the trees. And now I can't sleep because it's too QUIET...how did that happen? Ten days ago I couldn't sleep because it was too LOUD....Hrmph.

Disney World was a pretty amazing experience, I have to admit. As much as I hate being in hot, crowded places, there really is something magical about Disney World. And much to their credit, I think a lot of it has to do with the people who work there. They all just seem so happy and cheerful. All the time. We saw the same ride operator four times one day - twice in the morning, and twice in the late afternoon, and he still had the same cheerful smile on his face, and the same melodic tone in his voice when he told us to "have a great Disney Day" as we got off the ride. He must say that at least a thousand times a day, but he never seemed to get tired of saying it, and he sounded just as sincere at the end of the day as he did at the beginning. And every employee in the park was the same way. Even the guy emptying the trash cans smiled and told us to have a nice day as we walked by. I have to say that Disney must really choose their employees carefully, and they must take very good care of them to keep them so happy. I'm not a big fan of the Disney Corporation (for various reasons), but I will give them a lot of credit for that.

The girls had a wonderful time, of course. Breakfast with the Disney princesses was a big hit. The weather was hot and humid, the lines were long, the crowds were unbearable at times, but we did manage to find some quiet time too. Our hotel was surrounded by beautifully landscaped gardens, and every morning we took a walk around the grounds to regroup and get ready for our day before hopping on the shuttle and pushing our way through the crowds. We were exhausted by the end of each day.

We took a day trip to Cape Canaveral on Wednesday and got to watch the space shuttle launch. What an awesome sight that was. It was just a lucky break for us that the launch happened that day, since it had been postponed several times earlier because of weather.

Other than that, we did all the usual stuff people do when they go to Disney World, so I won't bore you with all the details.

Jenny has a new best friend:



I have lots more pictures to share, but I'll post them later on the private page (sorry internet friends - I have a new rule about posting pics of the girls on the internet. Long story.)

There were a few times when I caught just a hint of sadness in Katie's eyes. This was a trip she had planned years ago with her mom, and I could tell that she was thinking about her sometimes and wishing she was there. But only for a moment, then the magic of Disney took over and the smile came back to her face again. And it made her feel pretty special when we reminded her that she was the reason all of us were there. What an amazing gift that was. What an amazing gift.

I may or may not be in Disney World right now...

I don't want to tell the whole world that we're away on vacation, because that would be like putting up a big red flashing neon sign that says "Our house is empty now so please come and rob us" (by the way, the key is under the mat, so please don't break any windows to get in. And if you wouldn't mind, please wipe your feet on your way in, and lock up again when you leave. Thanks.) So I won't say exactly when we're leaving for our trip to Disney World, or when we're coming back. We may or may not be in Disney World right now. That's all I'm gonna say.

I won't be posting much for the next week or two. There's internet access at our hotel, but I'm not a big fan of the "family vacation blog" style, so don't expect any day-by-day-play-by-play-here's-all-the-fun-stuff-we-did-on-vacation-today posts. I might post a summary and some photos when we get back, if I feel like it. But then again that's not really my thing, so I might not.

I hope everyone is having a great summer, and I'll see you when we get back.

Oh, and if you do come to rob our house, when the three large and ferocious (and probably pretty hungry and pissed off by now) Dobermans greet you at the door and clamp their very sharp teeth around your throat, you'll want to know the secret command to make them back off...I'll give you a hint: it's NOT "Kill".

Being me...(Soul Searching, Part 2)

A few weeks ago I wrote that I was doing some serious soul searching with regard to some of the dangerous activities I take part in. Among those is my work as a volunteer firefighter. Most of the work in fire fighting takes place in the relative safety outside of the building, out of harm's way. But there are times when we have no choice but to go inside - we won't risk our lives to save a building, but if there are people trapped inside? Well, that's what we're there for. About ten years ago we lost one of our own when the floor of a building collapsed beneath him as he tried to rescue a man trapped inside. I think about him every time I'm out on a fire call. He entered a building he shouldn't have entered, and that mistake cost him his life. One of the hardest things to learn as a firefighter is that there are times when there is nothing you can do to help someone. Not recognizing those times can be a fatal mistake, and one that's all too easy to make. We take all the right precautions, but sometimes things go wrong anyway. That's why Jenny worries about me every time I go out on a fire call. That's why I've been doing the kind of soul searching I've been doing these past few weeks. Knowing how much my family needs me, is it really worth the risk? That's the question I haven't been able to answer. Until last night.


My VFD pager went off during the night. It was a fire in an apartment building in our neighboring town. We were called in as a second alarm because their VFD is as small as ours, and the fire was too big for them to handle alone.

As I was getting dressed to head out to the firehouse, Jenny sat up in bed and said,

"So...about all that soul searching you've been doing..."

In the moonlit room, I could see the knowing look in her eyes. Her eyes have always told me exactly what she was thinking, and this time was no exception.

I sat down beside her on the bed and gently put my hand on her shoulder. "I have to do this," I said softly.

"I know," she replied with a slight smile. "It's who you are. I've known that all along."

She knew it all along, and she was just waiting for me to figure it out for myself. That's my Jenny. She knows me better than I know myself. She always has. I guess that's why I call her my soulmate.

"Please be careful," she said.

I kissed her and said "I love you," and I stopped in each of the girls' rooms on my way out and gave them each a kiss on the cheek while they slept.

Then I grabbed my lucky Red Sox cap, hopped into my Jeep, and headed off to the firehouse.

This is who I am. I don't know how to be anybody else.

What A Wonderful World

I've been very busy this week, and I don't have much time to write. So I'll just let Louis Armstrong say what's on my mind for now. I think this pretty much says it all.

What A Wonderful World - Louis Armstrong

I see trees of green
Red roses too
I see them bloom
For me and you
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world.

I see skies of blue
And clouds of white
Bright blessed days
And dark sacred nights
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world.

The colors of the rainbow
So pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces
Of people going by
I see friends shaking hands
Saying 'how do you do'
They're really saying
I love you

I hear babies cry
I watch them grow
They'll learn much more
Than I'll never know
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world

Yes, I think to myself
What a wonderful world

Stars

I love to go outside at night and look at the stars. If you live near a big city, or even in the distant suburbs of a big city, you have no idea what the night sky really looks like. Even if you're 30 miles outside of the nearest city, the night sky is still partially lit by the city lights, drowning out more than half of the visible stars.

I'm very lucky to live where I do. The nearest big city is about 70 miles away (geographically speaking - even farther by road), and that isn't even a very big city by most standards. Out here in the middle of nowhere, it's dark at night. On nights when there's no moon, it's as close to pitch black as you'll ever see. And there are stars. More stars than you can even imagine.

Ever since I was little I loved looking at stars. On warm summer nights when we were kids, Jill and I would lay on the hillside in her back yard and look up at the stars. We tried to count them once, but gave up after a few hundred. We each had one special star that was our favorite, and we would dream of growing up and becoming astronauts and going to visit our favorite star (hey, we were kids, we had big dreams...). My favorite was Sirius, the brightest star in the sky. Her favorite was Polaris, the North star. In hindsight, how ironically appropriate that was - she always represented true North for me. Whenever I lost my way, Jill was always there to help me find my way back again. Always there. Always pointing me in the right direction. Just like the North star. There aren't many things in this world that are more valuable than a friend like that.

I was sitting outside on the back porch tonight, enjoying the fresh air and listening to the sound of the crickets and other night creatures. I looked up at the beautiful clear sky. It's been awhile since we've had a clear night around here, but tonight there was not a cloud in the sky. And the moon was below the horizon, so it was as dark as could be. There were stars everywhere. I located my favorite star among all the millions of others. I looked at it for a moment and reflected on the enormity of it all - the stars, the universe, the passage of time. I thought about how tiny and insignificant our little planet is in the grand scale of the universe, and how short our lives are in the vastness of that universal timeline. 13 billion years since the Big Bang, according to current scientific theories. If you drew a timeline 100 miles long starting from the Big Bang, the entire course of human history would be represented by the rightmost four inches of that timeline. Four inches. From the most ancient civilizations all the way up to the present - just a tiny flash of time on a scale of that magnitude. What an insignificant fraction of history we are. And our individual life span of 80 years or so would be represented on that timeline by just 3/1000ths of an inch.

Then I looked at Polaris, Jill's favorite star. It seemed brighter than usual tonight, although I know that was just my imagination. I thought about all the times we looked at the stars when we were kids. I thought about how the crazy dreams of our childhood gave way to the realities of our lives as we grew up, and how we somehow always managed to stay the closest of friends no matter what happened, and no matter how much we changed over the years. I thought about how short her life was, and how unfair it was that she left so many things unfinished. I thought about my own life, and all the things I hope to accomplish in it, and I wondered how many of those things will remain unfinished when I'm gone. And a few generations from now, when everyone who knew me is gone, it will be as if I never existed at all. Just another blip on that grand timeline of the universe.

And then I realized that none of that matters. I am here. Right now. And doing the best I can to find my place in this world and do whatever it is I'm supposed to do in the brief time that I'm here.


A few months before Jill died, she told me that she didn't want me to ever feel sad when I remember her. "No tears," she said. "Just smile and look up at the stars, and know that I'm up there somewhere smiling back at you." I still remember the night she said those words. It was a beautiful clear night just like tonight. Remembering those words brought me right back to the present again. So I smiled and looked up at the stars, and I felt the warmth of her smile coming right back at me. It's comforting, somehow, to think that she's a part of all that beauty and wonder up there among the stars.

And it occurred to me that once again, my friend had pointed me back in the right direction. Just like the North star. Just like she always did.

My Brother, My Hero

Chris, this one's for you, bro.

My brother Chris wrote a comment on my Father's Day post a few days back, in which he reminded me that I am his hero. I responded by telling him that he got it wrong, and that in fact he is my hero. And, since this is my blog, I get to have the last word. So there.

Chris is 11 years younger than me. He'll always be my baby brother. When he was born, I was right at the age when I was beginning to make that transition from "boy" into "man". I was the big brother, and I took that responsibility seriously. As Chris grew from baby to toddler to little boy, I took him under my wing and tried to teach him right from wrong. I tried to protect him from things I thought he shouldn't see or know about. I tried to teach him how to grow up and be a man like me (cuz, ya know, I was 16 by then, and I knew EVERYTHING...). I tried to be a father figure for him, since we didn't really have a father.

And he looked up to me. I guess that's when he decided that I was his hero. I was the cool big brother he tried to emulate. He wanted to be just like me. He walked like me, talked like me, acted like me, wanted to do all the cool things I did.

And then, somewhere along the way, I took a wrong turn and became an alcoholic drug addicted monster who he didn't recognize anymore.

And he called me on it.

He was 8 years old when he said to me, with tears in his eyes and a look on his face that I will never forget, "You're not the big brother you used to be. What happened to you?"

Those words bounced off of me at the time, because I was in no condition to hear them. But now, almost twenty years later, I can still see the hurt in his eyes that day. I can still hear the disappointment in his voice that day. I can still hear those words over and over in my mind. He had put me up on the highest pedestal, and I let him down. I let him down in a very big way. And the worst part? I didn't even know it. I was so wrapped up in myself that I had no idea how much I was hurting my baby brother.

We didn't really talk much after that, until several years after my recovery. He was 18 before we really sat down and talked again. I had hurt him so badly that I thought I'd lost him forever. But time heals, or so they say, and he somehow found a way to forgive me for all of the pain I caused him. I wouldn't blame him one bit if he hadn't, though. Not one bit.

And the baby brother who used to look up to me? Now I look up to him. He has no idea how much I admire him. I tell him that often, but he still has no idea.

Chris graduated from the Citadel military college and entered the Army as a 2nd Lieutenant. He was promoted quickly up through the ranks over the years that followed. Then in February 2007, while serving in Iraq, a roadside bomb exploded near the personnel carrier he was in. Four other men died in the attack. Chris was seriously injured, but the medics on the scene saved his life and got him airlifted out of there. He was in a medically induced coma for over six weeks while some of his internal injuries healed, and we wouldn't know the extent of any brain damage until he was finally brought out of the coma.

He lost one kidney, part of his liver, and part of one lung. His head injury left him with cognitive, memory, and visual deficits. His legs and spine were severely damaged, and the doctors said he would never walk again.

But those doctors didn't know Chris. Chris is a fighter. He is the strongest and most determined man I have ever known. If you tell him he can't do something, he will do it, just to prove you wrong.

And he did. Eight months after the attack, Chris stood up from his wheelchair and took three very slow and very painful steps toward the General who awarded him his Purple Heart medal with a proud salute. He has since been medically retired from the Army, and he has spent every waking moment of the last two years working out at the rehab center.

He is able to walk short distances now unassisted. He is getting stronger every day. Early in his rehab, I told him (knowing that he can't resist a challenge) that when he's ready to run the Boston Marathon, I will run it right beside him. I think I better start training for the marathon, because he will get there before long. And knowing Chris, he'll hold me to that challenge when he does. He'll probably beat me by a mile.

So Chris, that's why you are my hero. Even as a young boy, you had the courage to stand up to your big brother and tell me what you thought of who I had become. You held me to the highest of standards, and when I let you down, you still found the compassion in your heart to forgive me. You have proven time and time again that your courage and your character are strong enough to withstand any challenge that comes your way. Your strength and perseverance are an inspiration to everyone who knows you. In dedicated service to your country, you nearly lost everything. But you refused to let your injuries beat you. You refused to give up. And for that, Chris, I salute you. My brother. My friend. My hero.

Soul Searching...

The question Katie asked me last week - "Why does everyone I love keep dying?" - has prompted me to do a bit of soul searching.

I participate in a number of activities that could be considered dangerous. I go rock climbing fairly often; I go white-water kayaking fairly often; I have been skydiving and hang gliding; I work with the search and rescue team; I work with the volunteer fire department. All of these activities carry risks. In fact, there is even wording in my life insurance policy that says exactly that - and I pay a higher premium because of it. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not out there every day taking foolish chances and barrelling over waterfalls in a kayak with reckless abandon. I take all the necessary precautions, and I have a great deal of confidence in my skills and the skills of the people I go with. I won't go climbing with someone I wouldn't trust completely with my life if something should go wrong. Same goes for kayaking in the rough waters. And it goes without saying that I trust the guys on my SAR team and the VFD implicitly. All of us have been doing this for a long time, and all of us are very good at what we do.

Still, things can and do go wrong, as my recent accident proves. I've been doing all of these things since long before I had a family. Back when I was a single guy, I learned to take calculated risks at a time when I was the only one who would suffer the consequences of a mistake. Now that I'm married with children, I am more careful, but I do still take many of the same calculated risks. And the stakes are much higher now. My family needs me. They depend on me. They would be devastated if anything happened to me. Is it selfish of me to go out there and climb up the side of a cliff, knowing that one slip could leave Jenny a widow and my girls without a father?

If I were to quit SAR, someone else would pick up the slack. Same with the VFD. It's not as if someone is going to die because I wasn't there to save them - the team will still be there. Those guys are good, and they would still be good without me. My family needs me more than my team does, so maybe I should quit. If for no other reason than just to give Jenny and the girls a little peace of mind. I know Jenny worries about me when I'm out there. I know she would love it if I quit, but only if I quit because I wanted to. She wouldn't want me to quit for her. I don't think Katie and Laura really know all of what I do out there, but I think they would worry about me if they knew what could happen. I think since I got hurt a few weeks ago, they might be starting to realize that now.

I joined the SAR team years ago because I felt called to do it. Same with the VFD. I like helping people. It makes me feel good to go out there and bring somebody home who might not otherwise have made it home. Is that a selfish reason to do it? Because it makes me feel good? I guess I never really thought that risking my life to save others could be a selfish act, but maybe it can be. Maybe it is. Because I'm not just risking my life, I'm also risking my family's well-being. Maybe that's too much to risk in exchange for my selfish desire to help.


"Why does everyone I love keep dying?" Those words keep reverberating in my mind. It wasn't the first time she's asked that question. She asked me that once before, right after her mom died, but at the time I guess I wasn't really thinking about it in terms of what would happen if I were next. I never really considered before how it would impact her if anything happened to me.

Hrmph. Giving this a lot of thought over the last few days. No decisions yet.

By the way, I'm not looking for answers or advice here. I'm just thinking out loud, and trying to figure out what I need to do. Insights and perspectives are welcome, but please don't tell me what to do (yes, mom, this means you :)).

Father's Day

I wrote this last night, but then I had second thoughts about posting it. My mom and my brothers and sisters read my blog, and I didn't want to dredge up all those bad memories for them. But then I thought about it some more, and I decided to post it anyway, even though it's a day late now. Memories are just that - memories - they are in the past, and they don't matter anymore. But sometimes it's helpful to dredge them up, because sometimes the wisdom that comes with age and experience can give you new insights into things that happened long ago.

That said, mom and siblings, you guys might want to skip this one.

...

Father's Day always comes with mixed emotions for me. My father and I were not close. Okay, so that's an understatement. My father and I were miles apart. He was an old-school Italian tough guy who never showed any emotion except anger; I'm a sensitive guy who wears my heart on my sleeve. So you can probably guess how well we got along when I was growing up.

My father died when I was 19. I said some really horrible things to him right before he died. I still regret that. I didn't go to his funeral, and I regret that even more. Even though we didn't agree on a lot of things, he was still my father, and I should have gone to his funeral. But I was a pretty messed up 19 year old at the time, and I didn't see it that way then. There was never really any love between us, so his death wasn't really much of a loss for me. There were times when we got along okay, but they were few and far between. I guess what I hated most was the way he treated my mom. I can remember being afraid and hiding in the closet when I was little, and listening to them fight. He would say the most hurtful things to her. I didn't even know what some of the words meant at the time (the "C" word was used frequently), but I knew his words were mean and intentionally hurtful, and I felt so sorry for my mom when he made her cry like that. I wanted to make him stop, but I didn't know how. And he would hit her sometimes. I hated that sound. She would scream and cry and he would keep yelling at her and hitting her, and calling her that awful, awful word. It was horrible. When I was 10 or 11, I got between them one time and tried to stop him from hitting her, and he beat the shit out of me. Then I got bigger, and I was finally able to fight him off and protect her. That's when things went down hill quickly between him and me. Whenever he started yelling at my mom, I would jump right in and defend her. He hated that. And he learned quickly not to hit her anymore when I was around, because by then I was big enough and strong enough that he couldn't get away with it anymore. He knew I would do whatever I had to to protect her.

He wasn't always like that. At least that's what my mom always told me. Somewhere along the way his life just took a wrong turn, and he didn't know how to deal with it, so he took it out on my mom. But the good news? He taught me how NOT to be a husband and father. I swore way back then that if I ever grew up and got married and had kids, I would never ever treat them that way. So far so good. :)

But what I said to him right before he died? I shouldn't have said that. I would take it back now if I could. I was pretty messed up at the time, and I never expected that those would be the last words I would ever say to him. And then, in a final act of defiance, I refused to go to his funeral. I guess at the time I thought that by not going to his funeral I was somehow getting back at him for all the things he said and did. But what I didn't realize then was that I was only hurting myself. By not going to his funeral, I denied myself the chance to ever have any closure. Closure is a funny thing - I can't really define what it means. I can't really describe what it feels like to not have it, but I can't tell you what it would feel like to have it, either. Maybe it wouldn't feel any different at all, I don't know. But all I can tell you is that not having closure is not a nice feeling. One day he was there, and the next day he just...wasn't there anymore. Maybe if I had gone to the funeral it would have given me some sense of finality or something, I don't know. I've been to his grave site a few times, but I always come away just feeling empty. I can't feel anything there. I wish I could feel something - even anger would be okay - just to feel something. Indifference is a very cold and unsatisfying emotion.


So anyway, for me, Father's Day has never been about my father. I try to forget about him. For me, it's all about me and my girls. My three beautiful girls. They made me breakfast in bed - frozen waffles (burned on one side because our toaster is broken) and Cheerios :). And they each made me a card. Laura drew a picture of me with my arm all strapped up in the sling and herself on crutches, with the words "Two of A Kind" written above it; Katie drew a picture of us standing in a field full of flowers holding hands, with the words "Thanks for being you" written above it; Christina drew...ummmmm...some squiggly lines with crayons of various colors :). Three beautiful cards from three beautiful girls. What more could a guy want?

Jenny's father died about a year and a half ago, so Father's Day is a little hard for her too. She was pregnant with Christina when he died, so he never got to meet his third grand daughter. I wish he could have met her. He would have loved her. Jen and I sat out on the back porch tonight after the girls went to bed and talked about him for a while. She has some really great stories about her dad. He lived for his children and grand children. He wanted nothing more than for them to be happy. That's the kind of father I always wished I had. That's the kind of father I've always tried to be for my girls.

And of course there's Katie...Katie has some mixed feelings on Father's Day too. She doesn't really remember too much about her real dad. She was 4 when he died. She remembers the night of the accident, and I'm sure she'll never forget that, but she doesn't remember much more about him. She knows he was a good guy, and that he loved her more than anything - Jill always made sure she knew that, and Jen and I have done our best to keep reinforcing it. But to Katie, he's little more than a distant, faded memory and some pictures in a photo album. I wish we could do more to keep his memory alive for her. I wish she could have known him better, so she could remember.

Well, anyway, happy Father's Day to all the other dads out there. It's kind of a weird day in our house, but I hope you all had a good one.

Followup on Katie...

Katie and I had a good long talk this morning. We went to the cemetery again. That's three days in a row. But this time she wanted me to stay with her.

Jill's grave sits right next to a big oak tree. Jill picked that spot on purpose because she always loved sitting in the shade under a tree, and she knew Katie would like that too. Katie and I have had some of our best talks there under that tree. I think Jill knew we would. She was always smart that way.

So we stood by Jill's grave for a minute, then we sat down in the grass under the oak tree. Tears started rolling down Katie's cheeks almost immediately after we sat down. I put my arm around her and she rested her head on my shoulder and cried. I didn't really know what to say, so I just held her and told her it was okay.

After a few minutes, she stopped crying and looked up at me and said, "Marissa is going to die soon, isn't she."

Marissa is her friend from school who has bone cancer. I wrote about her in this post a while back. Her cancer has progressed to the point where it's only a matter of time now, and Katie knows it. We've never really talked about that with her, but she knows it. She knows Marissa has cancer, and she knows more about cancer than any 10 year old should. And she has seen the progression, and she has seen how weak and frail her friend has become, and she knows where this is headed. She remembers the path her mom went down. She knows it could be months or weeks, or even days at this point. Katie and Marissa have become really close friends. She calls Marissa her BFF (for anyone who doesn't speak girl language, that means "Best Friend Forever"). Laura is friends with her too, but Katie and Marissa just seem to have that special sort of "something" that best friends have. A closer bond. A mutual understanding. I think Katie understands what Marissa is going through better than anybody else.

Then Katie told me the reason that she's been coming to the cemetery every day was to talk to her mom and ask her to take care of Marissa when she gets to Heaven. "Because her mommy is down here, and she won't have anyone to take care of her when she gets up to Heaven."

How sweet of her to think of that for her friend.

I assured her that her mom would take good care of Marissa. I reminded her about what a great mom Jill was, and how she always looked out for everybody else's kids on the playground or wherever she went. Lots of parents don't watch their kids as closely as they should, and Jill was always the one making sure all the other kids were safe, in addition to her own. I told Katie that she's probably still doing that up there, and she will make certain that Marissa is okay when she gets there. Because that's who she is. And besides that, I told her, God would never leave Marissa all alone up there. She'll be well taken care of.

Then Katie said the words I dreaded to hear (and this came up in a comment on my previous post): "Why does everyone I love keep dying?"

How do you even respond to that? I mean, all of us are going to die eventually, so in a sense she's right. I wanted more than anything to promise her that all of us would always be here for her, but I couldn't honestly make that promise. Because I don't know that for sure. But you can't say that to a child who wants more than anything to know that you'll always be there. She knows I'd be lying if I made that promise anyway. She knows how the world works, and she knows that sometimes people die and there's nothing anybody can do about it. First her dad died, and then her mom died, and now her best friend is going to die, and sooner or later someone else she loves is going to die. And that's going to hurt. And she's had enough hurting for one lifetime, enough loss, enough grief. More than enough. So how do you even respond to that question? It's not a fair question. There is no good way to answer it.

So I just held her and said "I love you," while she sobbed quietly on my shoulder. Then we talked some more about a lot of different stuff. About life, and death, and everything in between. Then it started to rain, so we ran back to the Jeep and it was pouring by the time we got there. And we laughed about how silly we both looked sitting there all soaking wet with rain dripping off our noses. It was good to see her laugh again. So good.

Then we went home and made peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches. She seems better now that she got that all out in the open. We'll go visit Marissa later today. Katie is making a card for her right now.

Katie is struggling...

Something is on her mind. I don't know what it is, but it must be big.

We have a sort of unspoken agreement that any time Katie wants to go visit her mom's grave, I will drop whatever I'm doing and take her there, no questions asked. She usually asks to go there when she has something on her mind that she needs to sort out. We've always tried to instill in her the belief that her real mom and dad are with her and watching over her always, and that she can talk to them any time. I think she finds comfort in that, and having those one-way conversations helps her to put her thoughts into words and sort things out. And going to the grave site just makes it seem more...I don't know, real, I guess.

Yesterday she asked me to take her to the cemetery. Sometimes she likes to be alone there, and other times she wants me to stay with her, so I always ask when we get there. She wanted to be alone this time, so I waited in the Jeep while she walked over to Jill's grave and sat down on the ground. She was talking to her out loud, but I couldn't hear what she was saying. She sat there and talked for what seemed like forever. It was probably only about 20 minutes, but it seemed like forever to me. Time stands still when you watch a child sit by her mother's grave. There is just no other way to describe that. Time stands agonizingly still.

When she came back, I could see that she had been crying. I asked her if she was okay, and she just nodded and got in the Jeep and looked out the window. That usually means she's not ready to talk about it yet, but I knew from past experience that she'll always come and talk when she's ready. She needs to figure out what she's feeling first, then she'll come and look for help after she's finished sorting things out for herself. That has always been her way of dealing with this kind of stuff.

The rest of the day yesterday she seemed very sad and withdrawn. A few times I asked her if she was okay, and if she wanted to talk, but she didn't want to talk about it. Not ready yet, I guess.

And then this morning, she asked me to take her to the cemetery again. She's never asked to go there two days in a row before. Never. Something is going on, but she won't tell me what it is. Just like yesterday, she wanted to be alone there. She walked over to Jill's grave, sat down on the ground and talked for awhile, then she came back with a face again stained with tears. Again I asked her if she wanted to talk, but she still said no.

She knows that she can always talk to me about anything, but whatever this is, it seems to be something she can only talk to her mom about. It's killing me to see her so sad and not know why. I haven't seen her like this since those first few months after she came to live with us. But at least then we knew what was on her mind and why. I hate not knowing what's bothering her.

She won't talk to Jenny either. We thought maybe it might be...ya know..."girl stuff", stuff that maybe she wouldn't be comfortable talking to me about. But Jenny can't get anything out of her either.

Even Laura said that Katie's been "kinda quiet" lately. She always tells Laura everything, so whatever this is, it seems to be very private. Between Katie and her mom.

I don't know. I hate not knowing. I'm worried about her.

Well, aren't we a sad looking pair...

Update: I don't know why the picture isn't showing up...it was there, and then it wasn't, then it was there again, and now it's not again. So for now, if you can't see the pic just use your imagination: picture a goofy-looking guy with his arm in a sling standing next to a cute little girl on crutches...

First me with a broken collar bone, and now Laura with a sprained ankle...




Laura sprained her ankle in a softball game last night. She plays shortstop, and there was a close play at second. The runner slid, and the throw was high, so Laura had to jump to catch the ball. She tried not to land on the runner when she came down, and in doing so she landed on the side of her foot and sprained her ankle. She'll be on crutches for a few weeks, but she should be walking again in time for our trip to Disney World next month.

When we took her to the hospital for X-rays, she saw the same doctor who treated me last week for my collar bone. She recognized me, and a few jokes were thrown around about how my family was single-handedly keeping the hospital in business. Ha ha, very funny. Grrrrrr. :)

Oh, by the way, the runner was safe at second, but our girls still won the game. That means they move on to the semi-finals in the playoff tournament. Unfortunately, our star shortstop will be watching the rest of the tournament from the dugout. She's disappointed that she won't be able to play, but I know she'll be the first to cheer for her teammates when they do well, and the first to console them when they don't. That's my girl :).

Graduation Day...

I've been teaching for 13 years now, and every year I come home from the graduation ceremony with a heart full of mixed emotions. The school I teach in is a small one, and when you teach at a small school you really have a chance to get to know your students well. 132 seniors walked across the stage today and received their diplomas. As their names were read off, names I've heard every day for four years, and they walked across the stage with huge smiles on their faces, I sat and watched with a mixture of pride and satisfaction, along with the melancholy realization that I will never see most of their smiling faces again. Sure, a few of them will come back to visit once in awhile, but for the most part my role in their lives is done. For four years, I've seen them every day. I've laughed with them in the hallways, I've talked with them about their problems, listened when they needed someone to talk to, helped them reach their goals. They've sat in my classroom and learned; they've sat in my classroom and daydreamed; they've sat in my classroom and slept. But most of all, they've sat in my classroom and grown up. I've watched them grow from the timid and immature 14 year olds they were in 9th grade, to the proud, confident, and mature young adults who walked across that stage today. I will miss them. Every single one of them. But I'm proud to have played a small part in each of their journeys, and I hope that they learned a little something from me along the way. I teach physics, which is not a subject most of them will ever use in the real world. But I always hope that they've learned some of the more important stuff that I've tried to teach them too - the stuff about about life and how to live it well; the stuff about finding their own inner strength; the stuff about reaching higher, and trying harder, and never giving up on their dreams.

And today I was treated to the heartwarming discovery that some of them were actually paying attention. When the class Valedictorian delivered her speech, she turned at one point and addressed the faculty directly. She thanked us all for the memories, and the teaching, and the support, and said a few kind words about all of us as a group. Then she said this:

"And Mr. D...I remember one day when you told us that the real learning doesn't take place in a classroom, and that each one of us has the power within ourselves to achieve whatever we want out of life. I just want you to know that we heard you. And today is the day we start reaching for our dreams. Thanks for always believing in us."

There aren't too many things in the world that can make a teacher happier or prouder than hearing words like that from a student. Truly.

Congratulations to the class of 2009, and I wish them all the best of luck in living out their dreams.

The Treehouse...

This post was inspired by this one from Not The Rockefellers (thanks Rene!). When I read her post, it brought back so many childhood memories for me. So many. I still remember like it was yesterday.

...

Some of the best memories of my childhood took place in the treehouse in my back yard. It was already there when we moved there in 1975, when I was 4. It sat in a big old oak tree right on the border between our yard and our next-door neighbor's yard, so we never really knew for sure whether it was ours or the neighbor's...but at the time we moved there, the neighbors were an old couple with no kids - so the treehouse was all mine, as far as I was concerned.

I spent hours at a time up there. Whenever my mom couldn't find me, she always knew the first place to look. She always found me up there in the treehouse. I would sit up there with my matchbox cars and drive them out the door and watch them fall to the ground. Then I'd climb down and retrieve them and do it again. And again. I would sit up there for hours on end playing with my Star Wars action figures. I would invite my friends up there and we would spend hours playing Rock'em Sock'em Robots, or Battleship, or checkers. I would sit up there on summer evenings and listen to Red Sox games on the radio while looking through my baseball card collection, and dream about growing up to be a major league baseball player.

When I was sad I would go up to my treehouse and cry. When I needed to be left alone to think, I would go up to my treehouse and think. When I needed to hide from the world, I would go up to my treehouse and hide. That treehouse meant the world to me. The world.

One day in the summer of 1977, a new family moved in next door. I was sitting up in my treehouse that day watching the movers unload furniture from their truck and carry it into the house. I was wondering who the new neighbors were, and hoping they would have a child my age to play with. Suddenly this little person climbed up the ladder and appeared in the doorway with a big smile on her face and said "Hi, I'm Jill." That was the beginning of a beautiful life-long friendship. The friendship that changed my life in immeasurable ways. It all started right there. That day. In my treehouse.

I remember when I was around 9 or 10, some friends and I gathered up our sleeping bags and prepared for an adventurous night of sleeping outside in the treehouse. Our first night out on our own under the stars. It was going to be awesome. Then at around midnight we heard something that sounded like howling. Or maybe it was growling. Or snoring. Okay, maybe it was just our imaginations. Whatever. We got scared. We went inside and slept on the floor in the den.

I was an emotional child. My dad was an old school Italian tough guy. "Boys don't cry," he would say whenever he saw me shed a tear. So whenever I needed to cry, off to the treehouse I went. It was my sanctuary. My Fortress of Solitude. My home away from home. I could cry there and nobody knew it. Just me and my tears.

It was a clubhouse. You had to know the password to get in. Only my closest friends knew the password - Jill, Brian, Ted, Dennis, Peter, and Scott. If you didn't know the password, you weren't allowed into the treehouse. I still use that same password for all of my computer accounts to this day (so if any of you guys are out there, now you know how to get into all of my bank accounts).

Jill and I had rigged up an elaborate communication network consisting of a rope strung up from the treehouse to my bedroom window, and another rope from the treehouse to Jill's bedroom window. At the other end of each rope was a bell. Whenever I needed to talk to my friend, I would go up to the treehouse and pull the rope to ring her bell. Minutes later, I would hear Jill climbing up the ladder. She would do the same whenever she needed to talk to me. Hey, we were 10. It worked. It was cool. She was my best friend. She was always there when I needed to talk. We had some of our best talks up there in that treehouse.

I ran away from home once when I was 11. I had a big fight with my mom and I said "That's it! I'm running away!", and out the door I went. But I didn't go very far. Mom knew where to find me. Five minutes later, there was mom at the entrance to the treehouse. We talked it out. She fixed things. Good old mom. Good old treehouse.

13 years old. I stole a pack of cigarettes from dad's dresser, and went up to the treehouse to see what smoking was all about. Hated it. Never smoked again. I'm pretty sure mom knew, but she never said anything.

14 years old. Jill and I were up in the treehouse one day after school. Just the two of us. We were fourteen. We were curious. We didn't know any better. Things happened that shouldn't happen between friends. We both regretted it afterwards. We both promised not to let it ruin our friendship. It didn't. We were always meant to be just friends. We learned that right then and there. In the treehouse.

16 years old. I stole a bottle of rum from dad's liquor cabinet, and went up to the treehouse to see what alcohol was all about. I shouldn't have done that.

*sigh*

I grew up way too fast. It seems like yesterday I was up there playing with my matchbox cars. Then suddenly I was all grown up, with a place of my own, and I didn't need my treehouse anymore. I literally grew up in that treehouse. It was always there. It's where the innocent world of my childhood gave way to the not-so-innocent world of my teenage years. If its walls could talk, they could have told some fantastic stories. I've barely even scratched the surface here.

...

Years later, after I was grown up and on my own, the tree blew over in a storm. The treehouse hadn't been used in years and was already rotting away, but when the tree fell it was like losing a part of my childhood. I stood there and looked at the part of the tree where the treehouse once sat, which now lay splintered on the ground, and I could still see where I had carved "J+J friends 4-ever" in the tree trunk when Jill and I were 10. So many memories. So many laughs. So many tears. All just lying there on the ground in a massive pile of branches and rotted wood.

I had the tree trunk hauled away to a lumber mill and cut into boards. I kept the boards in my garage, knowing I would build something special out of them one day. I didn't know what or when, but I knew the day would come eventually. Then, the year after Jill died and Katie came to live with us, I pulled those boards out of the garage and I knew exactly what to do with them. I built a hope chest out of them, and gave it to Katie for Christmas that year. She keeps all of her special memories of her mom in it. On the front of the hope chest is the board that still bears my carving from almost 30 years ago: "J+J friends 4-ever".


I still miss my treehouse. And my friend. There are some memories that time can never fade.

14 years ago today...

I told part of this story before in this post, but I thought I'd tell it again in case anyone missed it. And because it was 14 years ago today that I met my dear wife Jenny. My life changed forever that day.

I was playing in a band at the time, and performing on the tiny stage in this little bar in Concord when I saw her. There was something familiar about her, but I couldn't quite figure out where I might have seen her before...until I realized that I had seen her there the previous week too, and maybe even the week before that. We performed at this place every Saturday night, and I saw a lot of people come and go, but there was no mistaking her face. She was a strikingly beautiful, tall, young woman with long dark brown hair. She was sitting at the bar with her friends, and they were all talking and laughing, and listening to the music. And there was just something about her. I knew I had to meet her.

As we finished performing our first set, I spoke into the microphone and told the bar patrons that we would be back after a short break. And then, without even thinking about what I was doing, I said "But before we go, I want to sing one more song, and dedicate it to a beautiful young lady out there who I'd really love to meet...this song is called 'Girl At The Bar With The Long Brown Hair, Won't You Please Tell Me Your Name'" (which, by the way, immediately got the attention of every girl in the place who happened to have long brown hair). Then I proceeded to make up the lyrics on the spot, along with a corny melody and a few chords on my guitar. I looked right at her while I sang, so she knew it was meant for her. Never being afraid to make a fool of myself in public, I sang the goofiest words I could think of. She was embarrassed and shy, but her friends eventually talked her into coming up to the stage and introducing herself. It's a good thing, because I wasn't going to stop singing about her until she did. Finally she came up to the stage and told me that her name was Jenny. I told her that was the most beautiful name I've ever heard in my life, and I gave her a kiss on the cheek, and everyone in the bar stood up and cheered. It was one of those magically memorable moments - you only get a few of those in a lifetime, and that was one of them.

We sat down and talked for a little while, but we didn't have much time because I had to be back on stage in 15 minutes for the second set. But we talked long enough that we both could tell there was something there. A spark, I guess you could call it. She was different from the typical girl you meet in a bar. There was something special about her. Something wonderful and magical. And her eyes told me that she was as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside.

She told me she lived just a few blocks away, and she had come there three Saturdays in a row just to see me perform. She told me she wanted to meet me, but she was too shy to approach the stage and introduce herself. So she kept coming back every week, trying to work up the nerve to come up to me. And then when I made the first move with my goofy song, she finally knew that the feeling was mutual. Maybe it was destiny, if there is such a thing. Or maybe it was that special "something" that I saw in her eyes that night. I don't know, I never really believed in "love at first sight" before, but...well, at that moment, sitting at that little table in that little bar, I knew somehow that she was the one. I don't know how I knew, but I knew.

We talked some more after the second set, and then I walked her home when the bar closed. We sat on the front steps to her apartment building and talked until the sun came up. Then we went down the street to a little diner and had breakfast together, and I walked her home again. We finally said "goodnight" (even though by then it was 9:00 in the morning), and she went inside her apartment and shut the door. And as I walked down the street thinking about what a wonderful time we had, I suddenly remembered that, since I had walked her home the night before, I left my Jeep parked back at the bar - and I realized that I had absolutely no idea where I was, or how to get back there. I have a great sense of direction out in the woods. But in the city? Well, not so good...

Which of course gave me a good excuse to go back to Jenny's apartment and knock on the door to ask for directions. Not caring that I looked like a complete dope for not remembering where I left my Jeep, I knocked on her door with a goofy grin on my face and asked her how to get back to the bar. She laughed and said "Come on, I'll walk you there." So we walked the 10 blocks or so back to my Jeep, and then I drove her back home to her apartment again (this time paying attention to how I got there), and we said goodbye for the second time.

And that was the first of many wonderful evenings we spent together. From that first night, I never had any doubts that she was the one. Not one single doubt. Sometimes you just know, I guess.

I love you Jenny.

"Dad, you stink"

My Search and Rescue team was conducting training exercises yesterday. We are a volunteer organization composed of regular guys like me - meaning we all have normal day jobs that are far less exciting - but we take our SAR work very seriously. Most of us have at least 15 years of rock climbing and wilderness survival experience, and some EMT and first-responder medical training, plus we go out on training exercises every couple of months to keep our skills sharp. We train hard with exercises like this, so that when a real emergency happens we all know exactly what to do and what each of our roles are.

We were practicing ravine rescues yesterday, which are a notoriously difficult type of rescue that involves rappelling down into a narrow ravine, strapping the victim (in this case a sandbag dummy) onto a stretcher, and then climbing back out while guiding the stretcher (which is pulled from above by the other team members using ropes) up the side of the ravine. Lots of people go out into remote areas like this to go rock climbing, and they think that if anything goes wrong, a helicopter will just come swooping in to pull them out. But in this area, 9 times out of 10 a helicopter rescue is not an option because of tree cover, so the only real option is a ravine rescue like this. It's a difficult and dangerous operation, which is why we train hard for it. You have to depend heavily on your climbing partner, because your hands are often occupied with guiding the stretcher instead of holding onto the rock face while climbing. And accidents happen.

Everything was going smoothly until, about halfway up the ravine, my climbing partner lost his handhold and slipped, falling into me and smashing my collar bone against the rock wall. Fortunately our safety ropes held, or we both would have fallen about 80 feet down into the ravine. Once we regained our footing and stabilized ourselves and the stretcher, the pain in my shoulder left me with little doubt that I had likely broken my collar bone - and it's rather difficult to climb up a rock face with only one arm. Suddenly our training exercise had become a real rescue - with me playing the role of the unfortunate victim.

Now, you might think that when something like that happens during a training exercise, the exercise would immediately be aborted and all efforts would be focused on the injured man (i.e., me). Of course if I had been critically injured or in immediate danger, that would have been the case. But we take our training very seriously, and since I was not in any immediate danger, the sandbag dummy remained a priority. We have to know how to handle accidents like that in a real life situation, so when it happens in training we treat it as part of the exercise. So half of the team stayed focused on the sandbag dummy, while the other half turned their attention to the task of getting me out of there without breaking any more bones.

They pulled me up without further incident, drove me to the hospital, and the X-rays confirmed that I had indeed broken my collar bone. When Jenny and the girls arrived to pick me up, and I was all covered in bandages and still dirty and smelly and drenched in sweat, Laura ran over to me, gave me a big hug and said...

"Eeew...Dad, you stink."

Nice to see you too, sweetie. And thanks for your concern. :)

Final exams...

I was putting together the final exams for all of my classes last night, and I had to laugh when I remembered this little story from last year's final.

I always put at least one silly question on my tests, just to give the kids a little chuckle to relieve their stress while taking the exam. Last year I put this question on the final exam for my AP physics class:

Can you explain the theory of decoherence in quantum thermodynamics?

(a) Yes
(b) No
(c) Quantum thermo-what?!


Of course any answer was perfectly acceptable, since quantum thermodynamics is well beyond the scope of any high school physics class. Most of the kids answered (b) or (c); a handful of them answered (a)...And one student turned the paper over and wrote several long paragraphs explaining various theories of quantum decoherence (and he was right!). That kid was way smarter than me. He graduated at the age of 16 with a 4.0 GPA, and I think he's at MIT now working on an engineering degree. I love having students who are smarter than me - it keeps me on my toes, because I know if I get something wrong he'll call me on it every time. I think I learned more from him than he did from me.

Have I mentioned how much I love teaching?

A message to one of my readers...

This post is directed to a reader going by the name of ibbabygirl2. Others can skip this one if you want.

ibbabygirl2, you left me a comment on my "How to save a life" post, and I really want to reach out to you. I looked at your profile and went to your blog, but I couldn't find a way to contact you from there. And there are no posts on your blog to comment on, so I have no way to get in touch with you. I'm really hoping you'll return to my blog again and see this.

Your comment - and your profile - sounded so hopeless and desperate and sad. I really don't want you to give up on yourself. I work with addicts through AA and other organizations - I've seen other addicts just like you, who thought they were at the end of their rope, and who somehow found a way to hang on. I see people with depression and hopelessness like yours every day, and I want you to know that you are NOT alone. I've been there too. It's all part of the process, and it's not easy.

Your words: "If anyone cares about a "lowly" addict such as myself, please help"

I care. And I want to help you if I can, but you have to tell me how. Please email me - you'll find my email address up there in the upper right corner of the page.

Please don't give up. Recovery is hard, but you can do this. Send me an email if you want to talk. I will do whatever I can to help you get yourself pointed in the right direction.


Jeff

Alone

I wrote this a few years ago. I think it was a couple of months after Katie's mom died. At the time, Katie was still struggling with inconsolable grief, and I was still struggling to find some kind of acceptance, and to make some kind of sense out of what happened to Jill. I guess in a lot of ways I'm still struggling with that, although I'm getting better at it. One day I looked out the kitchen window and saw Katie sitting under the willow tree in our back yard. She had tears in her eyes, and she was lost in her thoughts, and she just looked so profoundly alone - which, considering that she had just lost her entire world, was exactly what she was. And these are the words that came to me that day. It was a originally a song, but I've long since forgotten the melody, so now it's just a poem. It still works as a poem, I think.



Alone

Copyright © 2006, 2009 Jeff D'Antonio

She sits alone
In the shade beneath the willow tree
Lost in her thoughts
All alone in her world
A world I can't see
Thinking of the life she knew
The life she had with you

Sometimes I wonder
How it feels for you
When you look down at her
And see the pain in her eyes
Lost in memories of you
And when she cries
When she cries herself to sleep
Do you cry all night too?
I do.

Alone
Underneath the willow tree
Alone in her thoughts
All alone in her world
A world that just can't be
The life she had with you
Was gone before she knew
She never really knew

They say He has a reason
They say God has a plan
They say He gives and takes
And that He doesn't make mistakes
But in this life I'll never understand
And I can't help but wonder,
While she weeps in the shade of the willow tree
Or at night by the light of the moon,
When He hears her cries
Does He finally realize...

He took you away too soon.

Weekend getaway

We got away from it all this weekend. And when this family gets away from it all, we get away from it ALL. We backpacked into the White Mountain National Forest and camped in a beautiful little spot next to a creek. We didn't go too far from home this time, since we have Christina now. This was her very first backpacking trip - she rode in a carrier on Jen's back, and I carried all the gear on my back....and that's a LOT of gear (and food) for a family of 5, which gets a little tiring after a few miles. Fortunately we live right on the border of the national forest area, and it's only about a 6 mile hike from our back door to this great little camping spot along the appalachian trail.

There's nothing quite like wilderness camping to bring a family closer together...or cause them to kill each other, if they're not the right type of people for that kind of camping. Some people just aren't built for that sort of thing. Fortunately, we all love it. Laura has been backpacking with us since she was a baby. And when Jill and Glenn were alive, we all used to go backpacking together, so Katie has had some wilderness camping experience too. Christina is just getting started. She enjoyed the free ride on Jen's back, and she had a great time at the campsite.

The worst part about backpacking with a 1-year old? Diapers. Ya gotta carry 'em in, and ya gotta carry 'em out. And they're a lot heavier on the way out. And stinkier. Bleh.

The best part? Watching the girls explore their world. No television, no computers, no video games...just nature. They dug for worms, they fished, they climbed trees. They explored under rocks and found bugs and salamanders. They explored in the creek and found crayfish and tadpoles. They explored in the forest and found birds, toads, bugs, and other small animals. They looked up insects and plants in their guide books and tried to identify them. We had a visit from a family of raccoons during the night, and we watched them try unsuccessfully to steal our food (which was hanging from a tree by a rope for exactly that reason). We took a day hike down to where the creek flows into the river, and there we saw a moose calf, probably about a week old, standing by the edge of the water. We kept our distance, because we didn't know where the momma moose was. They're generally docile creatures, but fiercely protective of their young - and you don't want to be on the receiving end of an angry 800 pound moose.

I love that our girls are so content with just being in the great outdoors. Some kids would be bored to tears without their video games and televisions. But ours are perfectly happy catching bugs and enjoying all the things that nature has to offer. They've learned to appreciate the simple things in life, and I hope that stays with them forever. I think too many kids spend way too much time indoors these days, and they miss out on so much that way. And it's so important for kids to develop an appreciation for nature and the environment - because they are the ones who will be in charge of protecting it someday.

And of course there's the campfire. There's nothing like a campfire. And roasted marshmallows. And campfire songs in four-part harmony.

And after the girls are asleep...time for "us". In my eyes, there is nothing more beautiful in this world than Jenny lit by the light of a campfire. And no place more magical than out there under a canopy of trees. Under the stars. Next to a creek. In the middle of the woods, miles and miles from civilization........

Driving Lessons (Warning: Contains adult language)

How to drive:

Step 1: Get the fuck off the phone.

Step 2: Drive.

Step 3: Don't be a dick.


Following these simple steps will enable you to drive without pissing me the hell off. Yes, it really is that simple.

Thank you. That is all.

Never let your kids out of your sight...

We live in a small rural community in the middle of nowhere. The crime rate here is near zero. We just shake our heads when we hear about other places in the news, places where crime is rampant. "Thank God we don't have to worry about that kind of stuff around here," we say. Our children have a profound sort of innocence about them. They don't know that there are bad people in the world. They don't understand that not every place is like ours. Main Street in our little town is like Sesame Street (minus Big Bird and the Muppets, of course) - it's the kind of place where everybody knows everybody, and we all look out for each other. When you walk down the street in town, you know everyone you see by name. Everyone smiles and says hello. When I walk into the general store, Bob the owner greets me by name and asks me about my family. We've known each other for years, and we're like old friends even though we never see each other outside of his little store. Same with Jerry at the hardware store, and Sheryl the pharmacist. People who come to visit here all say the same thing: that it's like stepping into a time machine and travelling back to a simpler time. A time when people cared about their neighbors and their community; a time when people were honest and hard working and understood what a sense of community was all about; a time when parents could let their kids ride their bikes to the park and play there all day and then ride back home again, without worrying about something horrible happening to them. It's a kind of small town charm that you just can't find anywhere else. It just feels safe here.

Which is why I found this so disturbing. I guess this kind of thing happens all the time in other places. Maybe other people are used to it, but I'm not. Maybe I was just naive to think we didn't have any of "those kind" of people around here. I knew they existed, but not around here. Not in my little rural utopia.

I'm coaching Laura's softball team this year. During practice last week, I noticed a car pulling into the parking lot next to the softball field. At first I figured it was just one of the parents arriving early to pick up their daughter, although I didn't recognize the car. The car parked near the fence on the far side of the field, and a man got out. I didn't recognize him. I know the parents of all the girls on my team, and he wasn't one of them. He stood by the fence and watched the girls as they practiced fielding ground balls. He was a creepy looking man in his mid to late forties. He looked suspicious. He looked like he didn't belong there. But it's a public park, so I couldn't ask him to leave - creepy looking or not, he's allowed to be there.

So I kept one eye on him, and one eye on the girls. I made sure I knew where he was at all times, and I made sure I knew where each of the girls were at all times. I'm pretty sure he knew I was watching him, because he kept glancing over at me, and then he would quickly look away when he saw me looking back at him. I was trying my best to make him feel uncomfortable so he would leave.

Then I saw something that made my heart stop.

He took a camera out of his jacket pocket and snapped a picture of the girls on the field. Then he quickly put the camera back in his pocket and looked in my direction as if to check if I had seen what he did. I was already headed straight toward him. With a bat in my hand. But he was too far away, and he got into his car and drove away before I got close.

Creepy.

I notified all of the parents to be on the lookout for him in case he came back again another day.

We had a game on Saturday. When I arrived at the field, the car was already there. I recognized it immediately, but there was no sign of the creepy man. I scanned around the area but I didn't see him anywhere. I didn't like not knowing where he was. I instructed the girls not to leave the fenced-in field area for any reason without an adult. I informed the parents and told them to be on the lookout for him. I told them to accompany their child to the bathroom if they had to go. I told the other team's coach, and he passed the message on to his girls and their parents. And we all watched and waited, with one eye on our girls, and the other eye scanning the park for the creepy man.

I think it was around the 3rd inning or so when I saw the creepy man emerge from the woods on the far side of the field. He was carrying a large black bag, which I'm assuming was a camera bag. I pointed and shouted to the parents in the bleachers "over there!" and I, along with several of the parents, ran toward the creepy man as he made his way quickly to his car. He got into his car and was gone before any of us got close enough to stop him.

I had the licence plate number from his car, but the police couldn't do anything because as far as the law is concerned he hadn't committed any crime. It's a public park, and he's allowed to be there. And apparently, as long as the girls are in a public place, he's allowed to take their picture. I'm a big supporter of individuals' rights and freedoms, but I think that crosses the line. Nobody should be allowed to take pictures of somebody's child without their permission. I was pretty sure I didn't want to know what he was planning to do with those pictures.


That night I got a call from a friend who coaches one of the other teams. Apparently the creepy man came back again later that day, and was arrested after grabbing a young girl in the parking lot and trying to force her into his car. She got away, and the man was wrestled to the ground by two men and held there until the police arrived. It's a damn good thing I wasn't there then, or he'd be dead. And I'd be in jail. Seriously.

The police contacted me the next day to get a statement for their files. I told them again what I had seen earlier that day. They told me that they found tens of thousands of pictures on his computer. Pictures of children. Local children - my children; my neighbors' children; Jerry the hardware store guy's children; Sheryl the pharmacist's children...all of them...at the park, on the baseball field, swimming in the creek, riding their bikes, playing in the schoolyard, and on and on.... Apparently he'd been at it for years, secretly taking pictures of kids and doing God-knows-what with them. And then I guess the pictures weren't enough for him anymore, so he tried to abduct a child. Thank God she got away. Thank God they caught him before he hurt anybody. As far as we know, at least.

And just like that, our little town lost its innocence.

Never let your kids out of your sight. Never. Not even in a tiny rural town where everybody knows everybody. Because they're out there. Watching. Waiting for an opportunity.

No, I don't have all the answers...

Okay...it's time to clear up a myth. I don't know how this rumor got started, or how it got passed on through so many people, but it's time to put a stop to it right here and now, before it goes any further:

I do not have all the answers. I do not have life all figured out.

I've been told, on more than one occasion and by a number of different people, that I always seem to be so "together"; so well grounded; so strong and wise; that I always seem to have it all figured out.

But the truth is, I'm none of those things, and I don't have any of it figured out. Not by a long shot. I fall apart more often than I'd like to admit. I have many weaknesses. I have many shortcomings. I have many flaws. I've been lucky in a lot of ways, in that I've been blessed with good friends who are always there to help me up when I fall. I've always surrounded myself with people who are smarter than me, stronger than me, wiser than me, better than me at whatever it is we have in common. And I learn from them. I have many heroes, and all of them have taught me something important about life. I've made some good choices. I've also made some really, really bad ones, but I've learned from those. My bad choices once led me to a place where I was able to find myself; where I learned what I really wanted (and, more importantly, what I didn't want) out of life. The things I learned there helped guide me toward making the good choices that got me to where I am today. I am living my dream, but not because I have life all figured out - just because I figured out what my dream was, and then I discovered that I could get there without too much work. So I made some choices that got me there.

So no, I don't have all the answers, and I never will. But here are some things I do know, and a few things I've figured out along the way:

Find something that makes you happy, and do that. Often.

Love deeply. A good friend once told me that love isn't worth a damn until you give it to someone else. So when you find someone to love, love them with every single beat of your heart and every last fiber of your soul. Give everything for them. When you can look into someones eyes and see straight into their soul, then you know you've found "the one." Hold onto them and never, ever let go. We all have the capacity to love deeply, it's one of the things that makes us human - but most people never really learn how. Learn how.

When you fall, get up again. Learn from your mistakes, hold your head up high and go on.

Make your own happiness. The world won't do it for you.

If it takes a lot of effort to make you happy, then you'll never be happy - so learn to find happiness in the simple things. Watch a sunrise, sit by a stream and watch the water go by. Listen to the birds in the morning. Listen to the wind blowing through the trees. Go outside at night and look at the stars. Make a wish on one. These are all simple things, but they hold the keys to happiness if you can just learn how to appreciate them.

Look at the world as if through a child's eyes. Be amazed by little things. Find wonder in everyday things. Treat every day as an opportunity to grow and learn.

Turn off the air conditioning and open your windows.

Believe in something. No matter what it is, just believe in something. Stand for something. Be passionate about something. But always, always do so with complete respect for others who believe differently.

It's okay to plan for tomorrow, and it's okay to think about the past, but you have to live for today. The past is over, you can't change it; the future is wide open, and you can cross that next bridge when you get there; but what matters most is what's right here. Right now. Live in the moment, and live each moment to the fullest.

Always have a Plan B; but if Plan B doesn't work either, then learn how to improvise. Sometimes an improvised Plan C or D turns out to be better than Plan A anyway.

Kiss your wife (or husband or GF or BF, or whatever) goodbye and say "I love you" every time you leave the house. Every time. And mean it.

Life is a journey, an adventure that's filled with surprises. Sit back and enjoy the ride. It's not a race to see who gets to the finish line first. Remember, the one who dies with the most toys is still dead. So slow down, enjoy what you have, and take time to smell the roses along the way.


I've learned so much on this journey we call life - I've learned some hard lessons along the way, things I wish I never had to learn; but I've also learned so many things I'm grateful for having learned. Here are a few of them:

I've learned who I am, what I'm capable of, and what my limitations are. I always strive to make the best use of my capabilities, and to grow beyond my limitations.

I've learned that there are things in this world that matter, and things that don't matter - and that life is too damn short to waste even a single moment worrying about the things that don't matter.

I've learned that love and commitment and friendship mean more to me than everything else in the world. Combined.

I've learned never to make a promise I can't keep. If I make a promise to you, you can bet your life on me keeping it. A long time ago, I broke more promises than I can count, and I still remember the look in the eyes of those I let down. Never again.

I've learned about my relationship with God. Although my faith was once shattered, I always believed it could be put back together again once I found all the pieces - and I'm still finding them. But like a vase broken and glued back together, it can be made stronger than it was before. Different, for sure, but stronger.

I've learned that no matter how dark the night gets, the sun will always rise tomorrow and bring with it a new day, a new chance to live and breathe and think and feel. And that's a beautiful thing to remember at those times when you can see nothing around you but darkness. The sun always rises. Always.

I've learned that the fragility of life is what makes it so valuable and beautiful; and I've learned to appreciate every single breath I take, and every single moment I spend with the people I love. I've learned to take nothing for granted, and to treat each day with my loved ones as if it were my last. Because you just never know.

I've learned that what we do in this world really does matter - the lives we touch, the moments we share, the love we give to others. Because those are the things that the people we leave behind will always remember after we're gone. You don't have to change the world to make a difference - you just have to love and be loved by somebody who will never forget.

I've learned that it's okay to lean on your friends when you need to. I'm very independent by nature, and I like it that way - but sometimes you need a little help to get by, and I've learned that it's okay to rely on others sometimes.

I've learned to never stop learning. The world is filled with surprises and you never know what might come your way next. There is always something to be learned from every experience, good or bad.

...

Now, of course I don't expect anyone to read this and go "AHA! So that's the secret to happiness! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" I've been around long enough to know that nothing is that simple. Everyone is different. We all have our struggles and hardships, and what works for me probably won't work for anybody else. All I know is that this is what has worked for me. And I hope that maybe somebody, somewhere will take a few words from this and apply it in their own life and use it as a stepping stone on the way to finding their own happiness.

Enjoy the journey.

My new set of wheels

This was delivered to my driveway yesterday afternoon:



I know, I know...it doesn't look like much. But when I'm done with it, it will look something like this:




Now, I know what you're thinking: "WTF? WHY...?"

Because I like Jeeps, that's why. Especially historical Jeeps. This one was in Europe during World War II. Based on its serial number, military records indicate that it was shipped to Murmansk on February 12, 1943, where it likely saw combat on the German/Russian front. There are three bullet holes on the driver's side front fender, scars that serve as a reminder of the service and sacrifice of so many during World War II. One of the most rewarding parts of restoring a Jeep like this is preserving those battle scars, which it wears proudly as a badge of honor. After its military service was over, it was sold as surplus in Indiana, where it was probably put to work on a farm somewhere. Many years, and several owners later, age had taken its toll and it ended up in a barn in Vermont, where it sat rusting away for much of the last 40 years. Its seats rotting with age, its steering wheel cracked and bent, its paint largely replaced by rust, the years have not been kind to this old Jeep. But it has a story to tell, and my job is to help tell it.

If you still don't understand why, then read this:

Tales Of An Old Jeep

THAT's why I like restoring old Jeeps. I still have the first one I restored about 12 years ago, a '64 CJ, which is what I drive to work every day. I restored a few other WWII Jeeps after that, which were sold to a collector. This one will be my fourth. It will probably take me about 3 years.

What a long, hard road it's been...

Mother's Day is always hard for Katie. Having two moms, one in Heaven and one here, leaves her feeling somewhat torn between the grief she still feels over the loss of her "old" life, and the gratitude she feels for the "new" life she's built here with us. She loves Jenny like a mother. She even calls her "mom" sometimes. But she still misses her real mom so much. So much that it hurts. I mean physically hurts. I don't think any of us can even begin to understand what that feels like. I try my best, but I know I'll never truly be able to understand.

Mother's Day always comes with a few tears for Katie, and this year was no different. We went to visit Jill's grave in the morning. Katie sat and talked with her for a little while. She cried a little on the way home, and then we went for a walk in the woods and we talked things over. She did most of the talking, I just listened. There isn't really much I could say that would mean anything. She told me how much she loves her life here with us, and how she considers Jenny her "other mom," and me her "other dad." She told me how much it means to her that we've done so much to keep the memories of both of her real parents alive, and that she never wants to forget them. But she told me it hurts so much to remember. Of all the questions a child can ask, one of the hardest to answer is "When will it stop hurting?" Because you know in your heart that the answer is..."Never."

She had a good cry, and then when the tears dried up, she was back to herself again. She got back on her feet and went on with her day. Because that's who she is. She's such a strong little girl, and she knows how to live through her pain and grief. She knows how to carry on no matter what. I guess she learned that from her mom, who was the same way. That was one of the things I always admired about Jill.

...

I'll never forget the day Jill asked Jen and I to take Katie for her. Her cancer had advanced to the point where she knew she wasn't going to make it, and she knew she had to make arrangements for Katie before it was too late. She looked me straight in the eyes that day and said "Jeff, I need to know that Katie will be okay after I'm gone." She had a look in her eyes that I had only seen once before, and I knew that look meant she was about to say something that would change my life forever. She told me that Jenny and I were the only people in the world she would trust to raise Katie the way she wanted her to be raised. "You're the only ones in the world who have the capacity to love Katie as much as I do," she said. At the time I didn't see how that was possible - but now I know that she was right.

When Katie first came to live with us, it was hard. Really hard. She was very resentful toward Jenny. She wanted nothing to do with her. She saw her as a threat to her mother's memory. She was afraid that loving Jenny would mean forgetting her mom; or maybe it would mean letting go, or perhaps just moving on. She wasn't ready to do that yet. So she would lash out in anger toward Jenny, sometimes for no reason at all. She was more open and accepting towards me, I guess because I was filling the hole that was left by her father years earlier, and she was so young when he died that she didn't really remember much about him. But Jenny was filling a hole that was far too new. The wounds were too fresh, and she wasn't ready for that yet.

"You're not my mommy and you'll never be my mommy so just leave me alone!" she shouted one day, just a few weeks after Jill died. Those words still echo in Jenny's memory. Oh, how those words hurt her. Jenny has the patience of a saint, and she understood that Katie wasn't really trying to hurt her; she wasn't really lashing out at her so much as she was lashing out at her situation. She was thrown into a whirlpool of changes in her life, changes that were forced onto her by circumstances way beyond her control, and she hated that. Jenny understood that. But it still hurt her so much to hear those words.

So she stepped aside and gave Katie the space that she needed. She allowed her to be angry if she needed to be; she allowed her to feel whatever she needed to feel; she allowed her to sort it all out for herself; she gave her as much time and space as she needed. And today, it's clear that she did everything right.

Today, Katie and Jen are as close as a mother and daughter should be. She still misses her real mom, and she always will, but now she considers Jenny her mom too. Her "other" mom. Not a replacement; not a substitute; but a mom. How far she has come in just under three years.

Katie took the stage today for her final performance as Annie. When we went back stage after the show, she gave Jenny a Mother's Day card that she made. On the front, she drew a picture of herself on stage and Jenny sitting in the audience. Jill was floating above as an angel. She always draws Jill that way, and I love that - always there watching over her from above. On the inside of the card, she wrote "Thanks for being my "other" mom. Thanks for always being there for me, and for teaching me what it means to be a family. The sun really does come out 'Tomorrow'"

I wish I could find the words to adequately describe how much those words meant. Maybe you have to have been through what we've been through to understand. But those words meant the world. The world.

And Jenny cried. Oh, did she ever cry. Alright...and yes, I'm man enough to admit it...I cried too. Like a baby. I'm crying again now just thinking about it.

What a long, hard road it's been. But it's not a destination, it's a journey. Sometimes we have to keep reminding ourselves of that.

Dear Mom...

Dear Mom,

Thanks for everything.

Love,
Jeff

A little girl named Marissa...

Laura and Katie have a friend named Marissa in their 4th grade class. Marissa was diagnosed with metastatic osteosarcoma (bone cancer) back in September. Despite aggressive treatment with chemo, multiple surgeries, and radiation, she is not doing well. Her left leg had to be amputated because the cancer (which originated in that leg) had spread throughout the bone. They tried to save the leg but the cancer was too advanced. It has also spread to her lungs, liver, and lower vertebrae, and hasn't responded well to any treatments so far.

Yesterday she was rushed to the hospital with difficulty breathing, and they found fluid and several newer and larger lesions on her lungs. She's stabilized now, but it's clear that her cancer is progressing.

She's a tough little girl and has been incredibly strong through this entire ordeal, but I'm really afraid that she's losing this battle now. I've seen what cancer does to a person, and I hate it. I just hate it. She's only 10 years old, and that's so unfair. So please say a prayer for her. Even if you don't believe in prayer, please say one anyway. It can't hurt.

Marissa has always been such a good friend to both Katie and Laura. She's always been there for them whenever either of them needed a friend, and now it's their turn to be there for her. They've been doing their best to keep her spirits up, visiting her when she's been in the hospital, sending her cards and friendship notes, and making things for her to decorate her hospital room with.

The song "Tomorrow" from Katie's Annie show has become sort of a theme song for Marissa - it's one of her favorite songs, and Katie sings it for her every time she goes to visit. It always makes her smile. So Katie is going to dedicate her performance at the theater tonight to her friend Marissa. She wrote a little dedication, and she's going to come out onto the stage before the show and read it to the audience and ask them to pray for her. I'll video tape it, along with the rest of the show, and Katie can give Marissa a copy of the tape so she'll always have it.

Please, please say a prayer for this little girl. Miracles do happen. And she really, really needs one.

Sometimes while I watch them sleep...

Every night after the girls are asleep, I go quietly into each of their rooms to check on them before I go to bed. Sometimes I sit there for a moment and watch them sleep, and I wonder what they're dreaming about. I kiss them each on the cheek and whisper "I love you" in their ear. Sometimes they smile when I do that. Sometimes they say "I love you too" in their sleep. Sometimes when I kiss Laura on the cheek, she wakes up, just for a second, and smiles at me. She puts her arms out to give me a hug. I hug her gently and tell her I love her, then she goes back to sleep with a content smile on her face. Katie has a little stuffed cat, which she's had since she was a baby, and she sleeps with it every night. Sometimes when I go in to check on her, I find it on the floor next to her bed. So I pick it up, kiss her on the cheek, and put the stuffed animal gently back into her arms. Without waking up, she snuggles it in close to her, and a content little smile comes to her face as I whisper "I love you" in her ear. Sometimes when I go into Christina's room I pick her up and hold her for a minute. She snuggles in close to my chest and sighs. I hold her close and listen to her breathe, and I think about the miracle that each tiny breath represents. I watch her eyes move as she dreams, and I hope she's dreaming about something happy.

Sometimes while I watch them sleep, I worry about the future and what lies ahead for them, but I feel secure in the knowledge that they have a guardian angel watching out for them always. Sometimes while I watch them sleep, I remember something cute or funny they said that day, and a little smile comes to my face as I think about how much my life has been enriched by their lives. Sometimes while I watch them sleep, I think about how fast they're growing up, and how much I wish I could make time stand still, so they could stay my little girls for just a little while longer. Sometimes while I watch them sleep, I think about the love that brought them into our lives, and how lucky I am to have been given the chance to experience a love so pure and true and profound, a love that transcends all meaning and defies all explanation.

And always, always, while I watch them sleep, I say a silent prayer that one day every single one of their dreams will come true. Just like mine did.

Wow...what a night.

Katie made her debut in Annie last night. I am completely speechless. Truly. There are no words to describe how I felt sitting there watching her on that stage. I have video, but it's in VHS format and I don't have a way to get it into the computer. As soon as I figure out a way, I'll post it up. Meanwhile, here are a few sound clips (click the pink button to play them):

Tomorrow (in which the piano player botched the intro...Katie recovered nicely though):


Maybe (if this one doesn't give you chills, you'd better check your pulse):



And here are some still photos:




She took her bows at the end with a smile that outshined even the brightest spotlight. The theater just erupted with huge applause and a standing ovation when she came out for her bow. After she took her bow, she looked up towards Heaven, tapped her heart with her hand, and mouthed the words "I love you mommy." Everybody who knows her knew exactly what that was about. The rest of the audience probably didn't notice. What a great moment that was for her.

There's another performance tonight, one on Sunday, and three more next weekend. There has been talk of extending the show for a third weekend, but that's not confirmed yet.

Sorry I don't have more eloquent words to describe her performance. People tell me I'm good with words, but this is one of those rare times when I'm just completely at a loss. I have no words. If anything comes to mind, I'll write more later. But for now...I am speechless.

Katie's big night...

Tonight is the first of six shows for Katie's theater performance in the title role of Annie. I've been watching the rehearsals and the show has really come together nicely. And of course, Katie makes a spectacular Annie (not that I'm biased or anything...). She's a natural on stage, and her singing voice is just phenomenal. She belts out "Tomorrow" like a Broadway star, and when she sings "Maybe", I guarantee there won't be a dry eye in the theater. She is soooo excited about this. She'll have plenty of support from the audience tonight - we'll all be there of course, plus my mom, two of my brothers and their families, a few other members of my extended family, some close friends of ours, and many of Katie's friends, teachers, and classmates from school will be there.

As I mentioned before, the theater group chose this show specifically with Katie in mind for the lead. I have to admit I was a little apprehensive when the director first told me they wanted Katie for this part. Not just because it's a huge role and this is only the third time she's ever been on stage; but also because I was afraid that playing Annie might hit a little too close to home for her. But she's alright with that, and in fact she even uses her real life experience as a tool in her acting. There is one scene in particular in which her character talks about how much it would mean to her to have a real home with a real family, and the look she gets in her eyes during that scene is just...well, completely indescribable. It's the same look she gets in real life when she talks about living here with us. It's a combination of gratefulness for what she has, and longing for what she's lost. And the way s