Memorial Day Observance

This Memorial Day weekend, I am reminded of six and a half years ago when a friend and I took our WWII veteran dads to Washington DC to visit the WWII Memorial. The dads were both celebrating 85th birthdays, and my friend and I looked forward to honoring them and celebrating with them.

I expected to enjoy the trip and the 'dad time', but I didn't anticipate being moved so deeply. As we toured the Memorial, on several occasions people would ask the dads if they were vets of 'the big war’. When our dads responded that they were, people would shake their hands and say "thank you". Men and women in uniform would stand at attention and offer a salute along with a few words of "thank you for your service".

During preparation for a tour of the Capitol building, the tour guide singled the dads out, confirmed their WWII vet status, and recognized them for their service. Upon being recognized, the whole tour group of maybe 75-100 people gave the dads a spontaneous standing ovation.

My friend and I got to hear our dads exchange war stories that we'd probably never otherwise have heard. These old soldiers and so many others endured more than we’ll ever know in service to their country. They, along with their 'brothers in arms' literally changed the world for the better.

The Greatest Generation, indeed! We owe them much.

Have a great Memorial Day.

Brief update from the breakdown lane...

I have spent the last week or so getting my folks moved into assisted living. They are moved and settled, thanks to help from my brother as well as the fine folks at 'Two Men and a Truck'. My brother flew back to Atlanta on Wednesday morning, and now I am stuck with getting all the leftover stuff dealt with. I hate it. I feel like I've fallen into quicksand and I can't get up....and the more I try to extricate myself, the deeper I sink in. I held a garage sale to try to move some of my folks' junk. I HATE garage sales. They are by far my least favorite way to spend a Saturday. And last night during a wave of severe weather, we lost power here at the 'move out' location. Power is still off as I write. Depressing. Can't wait to finish the task at hand and hit the road. I miss my wife. I miss my life. Glad to help, and glad that my folks are getting some 'assist' to their living situation. But where is the assist for my sorry situation. Oh well, this too shall pass. It's just got to.

Assisted Living, here we come.

My folks are slowing down.

At their ages (soon to be 92 and 93), I guess they’ve earned that privilege.

Until recently, they have managed pretty well to live independently, but last week I made the call to see if we couldn’t get them into ‘assisted living’ as soon as possible.

Over the last several years, my parents have functioned fairly adequately with a mutually dependent, symbiotic relationship.

While my mom has had her share of physical limitations and challenges, she has remained fairly sharp mentally. She has occupied herself with many of the ‘details’ of their lives: keeping track of appointments, balancing the checkbook, etc.

My dad has suffered from memory loss, and was diagnosed with ‘early stage Alzheimer’s’ a couple of years ago. In spite of this, until recently he has been relatively clear mentally and very good physically.

So, the way the relationship has worked, is dad has been doing the physical ‘heavy lifting’, and mom has been telling him ‘what to lift’ and ‘where to set it down’. While that ‘symbiotic’ relationship has been working in the past, the future seems a little more problematic.

Dad’s Alzheimer’s seems to be taking a firmer grip on his cognitive skills and he appears more mixed up, more often and with a deeper level of confusion. I know it is not going to go away. And mom’s formerly clear thinking also seems to be becoming a little more muddy. She can’t hear well at all, so its difficult to determine how much of her ‘muddy thinking’ is mis-communication due to her not hearing, and how much is just otherwise muddy.

An indication of Mom’s lapse in ‘sharpness’ has been her ongoing self-delusion that Publisher’s Clearing House is getting close to sending her a check for “millions”. Her expectations for her ‘big payday’ have been so real to her that she has obsessed about out how to divvy-up that money between her kids, grandkids and great-grandkids.

My only brother lives in Atlanta, so we each live about 1000 miles away from our parents. And, as life has worked out, none of the grandkids live any closer to my folks than my brother and I do. Any of us who would want to help have difficulty due to the distances involved.

So, we’re working at getting them set up in assisted living. It will be a new stage for them and for us, but I’ve finally recognized that this season of their lives has arrived.

Thought for the Day

"Ever notice how your 'profound thoughts' appear downright puny when you attempt to commit them to the written word?"

What is wrong with this picture?

Several weeks ago, I was listening to Radio Station WRKO 680, a conservative talk station serving Boston, MA. At the top of the hour, the local newscaster led their newsbreak with the following story:

“The struggling Lawrence (MA) Fire Department will receive a $6.62 million Staffing for Adequate Fire and Emergency Response Grant from the United States government that will allow the city to rehire all of its laid-off firefighters and even add new positions.


The grant, which will be paid over two years, will allow Lawrence to rehire the 23 firefighters laid off since June and to employ 15 more to replace those who have retired recently or have left on disability, according to a report in the Boston Globe.”

The report explained that this was a federal grant issued by the Department of Homeland Security. Homeland Security!

It seems foolish and short-sighted to throw federal tax money at such a purely local problem. The Lawrence city fathers had apparently acted in a fiscally responsible manner in attempting to live within their budget by reducing expenses and personnel. The Feds, however, aren’t afflicted with the same conscience about living within budgetary constraints. Homeland Security (which I mistakenly thought had something to do with keeping us safe from terrorists) turned on the spigot and came to the rescue with resources not only to re-hire the laid off workers, but to employ 15 more!

I wonder what will happen in two years when this funding runs out?
And why don’t I feel any safer from terrorists?

A Christmas Story

This “Christmas Story” is something I witnessed last summer. I call it a “Christmas Story” because, although it didn’t take place during the Christmas Season, I suspect it took place because of Christmas and all that the advent of Christmas inspires.

• • •

I had stopped at a rest stop along Interstate 25, near Ft. Collins, Colorado. It was about dusk, and I needed to use the facilities before I completed the two hour drive home.

As I parked my car, I noticed an obviously homeless man and his dog. From the look of the way he had arranged his worldly possessions, it was apparent to me that he had made his camp for the night in the lee of the rest stop that I intended to use. He displayed a sign that read “Hungry man and dog. Please Help. Thank you.”

I did my best to make sure my eyes didn’t meet his while I made my way into the rest stop. I was careful to keep my distance as much as possible as I entered the building, used the facilites, and made my way back to my car.

I have to admit, I felt a subtle resentment for the homeless man. I was thinking thoughts like “Why does he have to park himself here…why can’t he take better care of his dog…why can’t he get a job…he’s in my way.”

• • •

About the same time I had pulled into the parking area, another car had also arrived. This car was an older, beat up blue Chevrolet Monza with Montana license plates. I observed that the car was driven by a young woman, traveling with a newborn baby, two older children, and dog. I wondered what circumstances would have her traveling without the company of another adult, so far away from home, so late in the day.

This woman’s older kids (a boy of eight or nine years old, and a girl aged five or six) had also used the facilities, at about the same time that I did. The woman had waited in her car with the newborn and her dog.

I took note to make sure the homeless man didn’t bother the children as they traversed the grassy area between the parking area and the rest stop. They returned safely to their mother’s car about the same time I returned to mine. I felt some relief that ‘homeless man’ and his dog had not ‘been a problem’. After all, I am a ‘pretty good guy’ and wanted to make sure that the children remained safe from ‘homeless man’.

• • •

I continued to observe the little family as I prepared to depart the rest stop area. I was busy adjusting my seat belt and locating a radio station to take me the next stretch of my journey, when I noticed something that I will remember for a long time.

From the beat up blue car with the Montana plates, the young boy emerged and made his way back toward the homeless man. In his hands, he held a couple of slices of bread which his mother had apparently made into some sort of sandwich. He brought it to the homeless man and offered it to him. The young girl followed her older brother, carrying a small bag of dog food which she used to fill the dish of the homeless man’s dog. She also appeared to give the man a few coins.

I could see the reaction of ‘homeless man’ and his dog, appearing grateful for the gifts of the children and their mother. ‘Homeless’ nodded his head and waved at the mother, as the dog joined in with a grateful wag of its tail.

I continued to observe the mother in her car, holding her young baby and watching her older children minister to this homeless man. I noticed, for the first time, a well worn pink leather Bible on her dashboard. And I thought to myself “she really gets it”.

The sad irony did not escape me. I am ‘comfortable’, yet didn’t wish to be ‘bothered’.
She appeared to me to be ‘needy’, yet she gave. I remain humbled by this little scene. And, as I look back on this some six months later, I realize that I witnessed firsthand a small picture of what Christmas is really about.

• • •

“I was hungry and you fed me,
I was thirsty and you gave me a drink,
I was homeless and you gave me a room,
I was shivering and you gave me clothes,
I was sick and you stopped to visit,
I was in prison and you came to me.”

• • •

“Jesus called his disciples over and said, "The truth is that this poor widow gave more to the collection than all the others put together. All the others gave what they'll never miss; she gave extravagantly what she couldn't afford — she gave her all."


(Matt 25:35,36 and Mark 12:43-44 from THE MESSAGE: The Bible in Contemporary Language © 2002 by Eugene H. Peterson. All rights reserved.)

Listen with your....eyes.

I recall a certain Sunday morning breakfast, that took place many years ago. I was enjoying a cup of "morning wake up" coffee (actually, most likely a series of cups of coffee) and reading the morning paper as we sat around the breakfast table.

Our youngest, Jamie, was sitting next to me. At the time, he was about 4 years old.
(He is pictured at left, at approximately that age).

Jamie wanted to tell me something, and said "Daddy, listen to me."
Without bothering to put down the paper, I replied "I AM listening, Jamie..". He replied, "Daddy, listen with your eyes!".

He wasn't satisfied with just a little passing attention. He needed full frontal, in your face, eye contact. He craved and deserved to have my full attention, not just a little sliver of my still somwehat sleepy brain. He launched a little dagger, straight to my heart. There apparently remains to this day some scar tissue of regret from the wound that little dagger inflicted on my heart.

I did put down the paper, and, looking him squarely in the eyes I said "Okay, Jamie, I am listening..." (with my ears, my eyes, AND my brain).

James (f.k.a "Jamie") moved away this week. Out of the house, out of town, and away from our direct influence.

Jackie and I are now, officially, 'empty nesters', for the first time. Empty Nesters. Kind of a 'bittersweet' feeling.

We've had other times when all three kids were out of the house, but it was different as they were away at school or some situation where we knew that they would return home to live. But this is different, as all the childhood bedrooms have been vacated...and the old school days memorabilia for each of the three has been boxed up and put in the store room (no doubt, to be thrown away at some later date).

But as I wax nostalgic on the 'good old days' of having the kids at home, I wonder how many times I didn't "listen with my eyes" to each of the kids. I regret any times they didn't get my full attention, because they always deserved that and so much more.