Twenty Fifth Christmas

This Christmas will be mine and Heather's twenty fifth together.  That is pretty amazing....for me.  She should have a crown for all she has endured.  It's one thing to put up with me.  It's a whole diferent ballgame to put up with me and everything else she deals with.  I haven't made it easy on her.  I know this.  I have my moments.  She has taken every little instance of my being an ass and still seems to muster a smile when she sees me.  This in itself makes her eligible for sainthood in my book.  If I had the means I would shower her with jewels.  Sometimes I think she has stayed with me out of respect for her gender.  It's possible she understands that if she were to leave me it would be unfair for the rest of the female population because I would be in search of someone else to take care of me.

Heather, thank you for being with me for all these years.  Thank you for being the love of my life and for loving me back.  Thank you for being the best mother to our boys.  Thank you for completing my sentences.  Thank you for all the things that I can't think of while I write this.  You deserve more than I can ever give you.  Merry Christmas.

Backspace. Backspace.

I sat down at the computer tonight and tried to write something for my blog...this blog.  I had written quite a bit and went back to proof read it and realized I didn't like any of it.  There were some pretty good words and phrases but overall I didn't like it.  Backspace.  Backspace.  Backspace.  Repeat.  Repeat.  Repeat.  And on. And on.  I decided when I started this blog that I would write when I was moved to write.  I don't want to write just to put words down.  That's boring(Much like this).  I'm going to call it a night and go watch T.V. with my Heather.  Goodnight

Aspire to be strong

I've always been one to hold a grudge when someone wronged me.  I always thought it was the tough way to be a man.  Today, for no particular reason I decided it was not the way to go.  I decided today that forgiveness is strength.  It may not seem like it but it's true.  To let someone have the power to make me angry and tense when I see them or hear their name is pure weakness. The power should belong to me.  It is so easy to hold a grudge, to stay angry.  It's much more difficult to forgive.  I think it is going to be worth the effort. I only hope that those that I have wronged will aspire to be strong as well.

Birthdays...they keep coming

Another birthday.  Malry,  you are nineteen years old and have the innocence of an infant.  You have the purest of hearts. You see no faults in others. You love and are loved by all that come in contact with you.  You hold no grudges.  You have no contempt. You are physically confined and spiritually limitless.  I love you so much.  Happy Birthday.

Sincerely,
 Your humbled father.

My proudest Fathers Day

My son, Greggory, is in Canada.  He is a Student Ambassador.  He is 11 years old.  Fathers Day is Sunday.    I am faced with a double-edged sword.  I am sad that Greggory will not be here with me on Fathers Day. I have Malry. I know this( The guilt from this not feeling like enough is a whole different story for a different time)  but I am going to miss Greggory. While missing him will be pretty strong, it will pale in comparison to how proud I feel to say that he is not here because he is traveling in another country.  My 11 year old son is in a different country doing things I will never experience. This boy of mine, my legacy, will be more than I have ever been.  He will leave his mark on the world. I thank God that he is my mark.  I thank God that he is mine.

The Essay That Began Our Growth.

My wife, Heather, and I found out that Malry had Cerebral Palsy when he was about 5 or six months old.  Because of his complicated birth an organization call Early intervention was brought in to help us in getting the right diagnosis and services if needed.  When Malry was a year old he started attending a center called Happy Hour School.  As the parents of a child like Malry early intervention was there to help us in any way they could.  Our case worker, who we credit with giving us the courage and building blocks to be the parents we are now, told us about a weekend of workshops for people involved with special education.  Parents were welcome and Early Intervention agreed to pay for us to go.  It was at this workshop that we first heard the essay I am about to share.  It is a bit long but it made such an impact on us that we have kept it close for 18 years. It's by Erma Bombeck and it is one of the most powerful things I have ever read.  Many who know us have seen it before but I wanted to share it again for those who have not.

The Miracle Of Getting A Handicapped Child
By: Erma Bombeck


Most women become mothers by accident, some by choice, a few
by social pressure and a couple by habit.
This year, nearly 100,000 women will become mothers of
handicapped children. Did you ever wonder how
mothers of handicapped children are chosen?
Somehow, I visualize God hovering over earth, selecting his instruments for
propagation with great care and deliberation. As he observes, he instructs his angels to
make notes in a giant ledger.
"Armstrong, Beth, son, patron saint, Matthew. Forrest, Marjorie, daughter, patron
saint, Cecelia. Rudledge, Carrie, twins, patron saint...give her Gerard, he's used to
profanity."
Finally, he passes a name to an angel and smiles, "Give her a handicapped Child."
The angel is curious. "Why this one, God? She's so happy?" "Exactly," smiles God.
"Could I give a handicapped child to a mother who does not know laughter? That would be
cruel."
"But, has she patience?" asks the angel.
"I don't want her to have too much patience or she will drown in a sea of self-pity
and despair. Once the shock and resentment wear off, she'll handle it. I watched her today.
She has that feeling of self and independence that is so rare and so necessary in a mother.
You see, the child I'm going to give her has his own world. She has to make it live in her
world and that's not going to be easy."
"But, Lord, I don't think she even believes in you."
God smiles. "No matter. I can fix that. This one is perfect. She has just enough
selfishness."
The angel gasps, "Selfishness? Is that a virtue?"
God nods. "If she can't separate herself from the child occasionally, she'll never
survive. Yes, here is a woman whom I will bless with a child less than perfect. She doesn't
realize it yet, but she is to be envied. She will never take for granted a 'spoken word'. She
will never consider a 'step' ordinary. When her child says 'Momma' for the first time, she
will be present at a miracle and know it! When she describes a tree or a sunset to her blind
child, she will see it as few people ever see my creations. I will permit her to see clearly
the things I see...ignorance, cruelty, and prejudice...and allow her to rise above them. She
will never be alone. I will be at her side every minute of every day of her life, because she is
doing my work as surely as she is here by my side."
"And what about her patron saint?" asks the angel, his pen poised in midair.
God smiles. "A mirror will suffice." 

I don't know if Erma Bombeck had a handicapped child.  I've never
 thought to research it.  I do know that the words she wrote gave
Heather and me strength when we needed it.  It seemed to be a guide for us.  I hope that anyone I introduce it to will gain as much as we did from it.

Don't Erase Me

I was watching a T.V. show and they said that when doing a psychological evaluation of children the child is asked to draw a picture of their family. They are then asked to start erasing it.  Just hearing this on T.V. made me do some really deep thinking.  Someone much smarter than me came up with this idea that you can learn something about children without them speaking a word.  You can see how the child sees their family by how they draw them.  But what impacted me was how loudly they would speak by who they decided to erase first.  Maybe, if every parent tried to be the last one erased from the picture, we would all be better off.  Think about it.  I certainly am.

Unfinished Sentences

Heather and I were up late and for some reason this kinda came to me.  Maybe it was because I was really sleepy.  Maybe it was some cold medicine.  I don't know.

UNFINISHED SENTENCES

Where do the words of unfinished sentences go?
Are they pushed up against curbs and left for the sweeper?
Do they gather in the air and fall down like sleet?

Where do the words of unfinished sentences go?
Are they left by the door like a wet umbrella?
Are they piled on the shoulders of the ones not speaking them?

Where do the words of unfinished sentences go?
Are they chewed and swallowed to be spewed at a later time?
Are they scribbled in a diary to be read and re-read?

Where do the words of unfinished sentences go?
Are they tattooed on the brain across an ink banner?
Do they die quietly, forever silent?

I think the answer is "Yes"