Category: Uncategorized

It was a tough day.

I had received word that my dearest childhood friend had passed away. Her name was Vicki White Maas.  She is the woman in the middle of the above photograph.  You didn’t know her.  Your loss.  In my life she was that person.  That one relationship that endures from childhood through an entire lifetime.

As kids we grew up just a few doors apart.  We quickly became friends because there weren’t a lot of other kids in the neighborhood our age.  We played together, watched TV together, ate lunch at each other’s house, shared our hopes and dreams.  She was that person.

In high school we tried dating each other.  We immediately realized our relationship was not romantic.  Looking back, I think that was the best part of it.  We were boy and girl, but we didn’t have to be boyfriend and girlfriend to be close.  We could be open and relaxed in each other’s company without the stress of maintaining romance.

To know her was to experience her laugh…..that incredible laugh.  It was one of those that begins with a long, audible exhale, followed by a pause during which you wondered if she would start breathing again, culminating in a series of loud guffaws, complete with shoulders and head bobbing.  It was the kind of laugh that lit you up.  She made me feel  funny and clever, even though I knew I was neither.  She was that person.

She refused to let our friendship fade with the onset of adulthood, even after we both fell in love with other people, got married, and I moved far away.  She worked so much harder than me to stay in touch.  There was always the occasional phone call, or the letter showing up in my mailbox, providing the gravitational force to pull us back together.  (Remember letters?….so much more personal and intimate than today’s text message).

The last time I saw her was a year and a half ago.  Sharon and I were back in town for a family reunion, and we had dinner with her the night before. Though we had communicated often, it was the first time I had seen her in decades.  She hadn’t changed a bit.  Same bubbly personality, same smile…..and the laugh.  She was getting close to retirement and was so excited about what was to come in the next phase of her life.  As we were saying good-bye, I asked a man passing by  to take the photo shown above.  I never dreamed it would be the last time I would see her.  In recent years, we stayed in touch on Facebook.  Every time a tornado would pass through my neck of the woods, which was often,  she would always private-message me to make sure I was okay.  She was that person.

Vicki passed away recently from complications due to liver and kidney failure.  Her son posted that the outpouring of love was “mind-blowing”. Not to me.  Not surprised a bit.  What she gave to me, she gave to all…….unwavering loyalty and empathy.  She was that person.

I’m thinking that the thing that makes death so sad is the notion that the wonderful memories of the relationship are only valid if the other person is still around to reminisce with you….that the memories somehow must die as well…..

Not a chance..

There is an episode of Star Trek:  The Next Generation that is titled “The Inner Light”.  In it, Commander Picard is struck by a space probe that causes him to have a vision of a civilization that existed thousands of years ago.  The entire civilization ceased to exist when their planet was destroyed after colliding with a gigantic meteor.  But before the end, they constructed the probe and sent it out into the stars to search for people to inform of their former existence.  Their thinking was, they would never really die as long as the memory of them still remained in someone’s heart.

Thus it will be with my friend Vicki.  I am determined her passing will be instructive, not tragic.  I am going to try my best to preserve her sweet spirit in my relationships with other people…..make it so Number One.

I sincerely hope that you have, or had, a Vicki in your journey, and that this person has inspired you as I have been inspired.  Someone whose influence is such that you feel compelled to write and tell others about them.

Someone who is that person.

 

Hi little man.  As I rock your tiny body in my arms, and stare in awe at the beautiful miracle that you are, I can’t help but wonder what your life will be like.  What things you’ll see, where you’ll go, what you’ll do, what you’ll become, what the world will be like when you’re my age.

I don’t have a clue what the future holds.  But I can tell you what you’ve missed.

You missed a childhood without fear.  There once was a time when the world was not such a scary place.  When you could leave the house in the morning without telling your Mom where you were going, play with your friends all day, and come back in time for supper with no questions asked.   A time when you knew all your neighbors and they knew you, and everybody’s house seemed to belong to everybody.  When your Mom could pack you in the car and take you along to the grocery store without locking the house….even leaving the garage door open.

You missed the serenity of life with no mobile phones.  When people drove their cars actually looking at the road instead of their text messages.  When your car was a refuge from a world constantly wanting your time and attention.  When you weren’t in danger of getting sucked into the deception of social media, with all its facades, a fantasy world where everyone else’s life seems better than yours.  A time when families would sit at a restaurant table and actually talk to each other instead of staring intensely at their phones.

You missed a lot of people.  There were people who pumped your gas, reset the pins on your bowling alley, ushered the aisles at movie theatres, and gave you cash at the bank.  By the time you’re old enough to notice cashiers and waitresses, they may be gone as well.  You missed an incredible great grandmother who would have modeled for you what selfless love really looks like.

You missed dictionaries, phone books, encyclopedias, bottle openers, maps, wringers, rotary phones and shoe horns.

You missed Muhammad Ali, Vince Lombardi, Bear Bryant, Mickey Mantle, Wilt Chamberlain and Arnold Palmer.

American Bandstand, Disco, Wolfman Jack, Veejays, The Twist and sock hops.

Alan Shepard, John Glenn, Martin Luther King, Walter Cronkite, Gandhi, and Vietnam.

The Cold War, the Berlin wall,  the Cuban missile crisis, 9/11, gas rationing, and the Great Recession.

You missed a time when being a Christian was seen by the world as positive and uplifting, not judgemental and non-inclusive.

Some of what you missed was wonderful and will never happen again.  Some of it was frightening.  All of it was instructive.  Or at least it should have been.

Your life will be easier than mine, but will you be happier?  You will be smarter than me, but will you be wiser?   You will see things even more incredible than I have, but will they enrich your life as much?  You will see more of the secrets of the universe unlocked, but will it bring you closer to God?

Here are things I pray you don’t miss:

Laughter, tears, adventure, excitement, sunrises, mercy, encouragement, acknowledgement, the love of a good woman, friendship, forgiveness, success, humility, legacy……..

………..and me…….don’t miss out on me…..I’ll be right here when you wake up.

 

So you’ve raised your kids, they’re grown and gone, and, in fact, are now having kids of their own.  This, of course, puts you into that exciting new phase known as The Grandparent Zone.

As you reflect on this miracle of generational procreation, most of us can’t resist a little self-critique,  a  reflection of how we did as a parent…a little self-scorecard of what you feel you did right or wrong.  And when you come to the wrong parts, naturally you make a promise to yourself that you will absolutely correct these mistakes when it comes to dealing with your grandkids.

I have been blessed with two beautiful grandchildren over the past two years.  Thus, I have had the perfect opportunities to correct the mistakes of my first parenting adventure.  I had my list of best practices ready.  So, in the interest of making the world a better place,  I thought you might like to see part of that list, and how it turned out.  My agenda included, but was not limited to, the following:

“This time around, I will not lose my temper and yell at my grandkids, as I did all too often with my children.”                                                                Actually, I was doing quite well with this.   I would sit back with a knowing smirk on my face as my little grand-toddler systematically worked her way through the house, investigating every iota of merchandise in the building.  ” How cute” I burbled, filled with wisdom and poise.

That was until she discovered the wondrous world of my TV remote control, with all of its fascinating buttons.  From that point on, I would find myself watching an intense football game one minute, only to see the channel change to a show about somebody cooking linguini, followed rapidly by a change to some stud with facial hair showing a young couple how to remodel their house, followed by an infomercial to correct my turkey neck,  followed by a meter to test my signal strength.  Try as I might to hide the remote, it always seemed to end up back in her hands.  Her resourcefulness was impressive!  But eventually it became increasingly less cute and ultimately there was yelling and that was the end of this particular resolution.

“This time around, I will resolve to be more of a help to my wife and daughter and be more willing to change wet and dirty diapers”.                                  Yeah, honestly, this sounded nice in my head but it was never really going to happen.  I did become better at recognizing the signs that an event was about to take place.  There is that hard squint of the eyes and the cheeks turning red.  At that point I would turn to Sharon and say something like “Gee dear, I’ve been hogging the child all day.  Here, you hold him for awhile.”  Unfortunately, my wife being much smarter than me, that only worked once.

“This time around, I will resist the temptation to feed them junk to keep them happy, and will insist they eat healthy food.”                                                        Even just typing that now makes me laugh.  What was I thinking?  You can’t go back to peas and carrots once they’ve had a sampling of banana pudding and chocolate cream pie. So they bounce off the walls.  They’re going back to Mom and Dad soon anyway

“I will spend more quality time with them”                                                      No problem.  They should fit quite nicely on my golf cart as I get in a quick 18.

You get the idea.  In the end we’re kind of wired to be the caretakers we have been, and our parenting skills are what they are.  Fortunately, love overcomes a myriad of mistakes.  And then you look at your own kids, see that they’ve grown up to be good, solid human beings, and realize you’ve muddled through pretty well.

So take heart.  You will love being a grandparent.  Enjoy making those wonderful mistakes all over again.

 

 

 

As a young boy I have vivid memories of going to the mall with Mom and Dad.  Mom would weave in and out of stores for hours.  But after poking through the sporting goods place for a few minutes, Dad and I would park ourselves on a centrally located bench or sofa and prepare to engage in his favorite pastime…..people watching.

We would wile away the time observing the various types, shapes and sizes of the hundreds of human beings who would walk by.  Dad would play a little game, trying to guess various things about some random person, just based on appearances.  How old are they?  (“all that make-up must mean she’s at least 50”.) What is their ethnicity? (“His blonde hair looks natural.  He must be Swedish”.)  What is their income level?  (“Check out that necklace.  She must be loaded!”)

In just seconds the person would pass on by into oblivion and a new subject would arrive and a new set of evaluations would begin.  You could call it the ultimate form of profiling.   Making judgements based purely on appearances.  But since our thoughts were completely personal, and we never actually had any interaction with any of these people, we deemed it harmless and had a great deal of fun with it.  It was some of the best bonding time I remember with my Dad.

He’s been gone since 1990, but I carry on the tradition.  I love to relax in public places and watch folks go by.  The beach is my favorite.  Oh, the things you can imagine you know about someone just by observing them in a bathing suit!  She must work out.  He drinks too much beer.  Oh dear, is she pregnant and smoking?  He doesn’t have control of his kids.  They must be newlyweds.  They’ve been married too long!  She is dressed, or not dressed, to attract attention (wait, stop looking at her).

That has to be a toupee.  She is red as a beet.  Gonna be a long night for her.

It’s especially fun to observe the mating dance….how the trio of young guys plot to draw the attention of the girls three umbrellas over.  The strategy of choice is usually the old play catch with the football routine.  Oh…did that throw just accidentally get past me and land in front of your beach chair?  So sorry. Hey, My name is Justin.  Didn’t I see you at Red Lobster last night?

I always find myself rooting for the guys to get shut down.  Not sure why.

Then there’s the walk of the middle-aged avenger.  This is the fifty-something guy who is divorced and has spent countless hours in the gym bulking up, using steroids, hitting the tanning bed, and somehow crafting his body to look like Schwarzenegger, circa 1975.  He wears huge sunglasses to hide the tell-tale wrinkles around the eyes.  He walks slowly along the shoreline, staring straight ahead.  He’s worked hard for this moment and he wants everyone to appreciate it.  I scan the women around me to see if they are taking notice.  Most are buried in their phones or a good book or sound asleep.  All that effort, I think, wasted.  He would have been better off watching football and eating cheeseburgers like me.

I suspect I am not alone in this pursuit.  I’m willing to bet you’ve done a little people watching in your time.  Admit it.  It’s so much fun, even if you feel a little guilty about some of your conclusions.  It’s pretty harmless…. unless you do something stupid….like posting them on a blog.

 

Dear God,

Greetings from Earth…you know, that little planet You created in the corner of the Milky Way Galaxy, the one you get all the complaints from.  Thanks for all of Your incredible blessings.  We don’t say that often enough.  But me and some of my readers have compiled a list of questions for you.

I know you’re real busy.  Just dealing with politicians must be a full time job.  But when you have a sec, could you provide answers?  Some of the questions are deep, and some might seem a little silly, but you know what they say…..there’s no such thing as a stupid question.

By the way, is that really true?  I guess that’s the first question.  Here are some others:

Why do multi-million dollar show business celebrities think we care about their political opinions?  Nobody could be more out of touch with the common people.

Why does my auto correct think it is smarter than I am?

Is my auto correct smarter than I am?

Why do people push elevator buttons that have clearly already been pushed?

What exactly was your thought process when you created cockroaches?

Is there a good way to tell if someone is actually talking to me or is just on the phone with one of those ear clip devices?

Why do some drivers on the freeway, after passing a sign that says “left lane closed ahead”, deliberately drive all the way down the left lane to the merge point, and then expect someone to let them in?

Why won’t anyone let me in when I drive all the way down the left lane after passing a sign that says “left lane closed ahead”?

Why does the losing party on “Judge Judy” pretend to be mad when the decision doesn’t go their way, since both parties make money anyway for being on the show?

Broccoli?

Why won’t the automated answering service listen to me when I tell her that I really don’t care that the list of options has changed?  I still want to speak to an agent, just like always.

Why do people drive hundreds of miles to watch their favorite football team on Saturday, but won’t drive 2 or 3 miles to go to church on Sunday?

How did hate get invented?  Was it because love had to have an opposite?  And why is hate so much easier?

Why do bad things happen to good people?  I know you get that one a lot.  I guess it’s because the answers we’ve tried to figure out don’t make us feel better.

Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton?  Really?  This is what happens when You give us free will.

Would you consider going back and giving Adam and Eve another chance?  I’m sure they would make a better decision this time.

Now that so many men are letting their facial hair grow, is it okay for women to stop shaving their legs?  (I would like to suggest a big “no” on this one.)

When we look in the mirror, is that really what we look like?  Or are You playing a really cruel joke on us?

Why did you create guns?  I don’t see the upside.

Why do we run a fever when we have a cold?  Shouldn’t it be called a “hot”?

Why is our culture becoming so sexually explicit and immoral?  What is it we are searching for?

Why does my little dog chase and bark at a squirrel as though it is an evil threat, but when a stranger appears at my door, the dog rolls over on his back and waits for a tummy scratch?

Why won’t people give You credit for the incredible miracles you perform every day?  Are they afraid of You?

Some of my readers may comment with more questions.  Please be patient with us.  We’re all just trying to figure this stuff out.  Thanks for listening.

Your humble servant,

Ken

P.S.  Thanks for banana pudding and football.  They are two of your best things.

 

Like many of you, I love football.  I have been known to slink down into my basement man cave on Saturday morning and fritter away an entire weekend watching games, cracking the upstairs door open Monday morning and squinting at the daylight, wondering if the world outside of football still exists.

Grass needs to be mowed?  Trash to be taken out?  Garage is on fire?  Kids missing?  Whatever.  It can wait.  Nowhere State is about to kick off against Applefart Tech and I must watch.

There is just one downside to watching football.  It is the only time that I lose control of my language.  It happens when I watch my team, the Green Bay Packers.  Don’t get me wrong, I abhor profanity.  Aside from the obvious spiritual violation (taking God’s name in vain), it also displays a basic lack of discipline, class and maturity.  Which is why I am so disappointed in myself when these things come out of my mouth when things are not going well for my team.

So this is the year.  I’m going to do it.  I’m going to stop swearing at football.  Whatever it takes.  I’m putting a jar next to the TV, and every time something profane comes out of my mouth, I’m putting a dollar bill into the jar…..no….a five dollar bill…..aw, let’s make it really hurt…a ten!  At the end of the year, any money will either be donated to my church or my beach trip.  (We’ll see how the season goes.)

But wait a minute……before I commit to this, I need your help to establish the ground rules.  What exactly is a swear word?  If I spit out substitute words like Bullfeathers!  Cockroach!  God Bless America!  Fussbucket!  Is that still swearing?  Is it the intent that counts or the actual words?

When my running back fumbles the ball on the one yard line just before going in for the winning score, can I spring off my sofa and scream “You good-for-nothing worthless piece of bloated protoplasm”?

Nothing wrong with those words,  but part of me feels I would still be guilty of Profanity in the second degree.  Intent to swear.   Like those tabloid TV programs where they bleep out the bad word but you can clearly read their lips and know what they were saying.

There’s not much time.  Football season is almost upon us.  So help me out here.  Leave a comment and tell me if you think substitute words take me off the hook.

What the heck are you waiting for?

September of 1989 was an exciting time for us.  We moved into our new house.  It’s the first time we lived in a brand new place.  First time we could afford luxuries like a two car garage, screened in back porch, full basement.

But my favorite part was the wide open, half-acre backyard.   I’m a big backyard guy.  I don’t get young people today who want to move in to those tightly bunched houses on tiny lots.  The ones where you can reach out your kitchen window and help your neighbor dry her dishes.  I don’t want to trim my front yard with a hand scissors.  The neighborhoods where the guy next door fires up his grill and sets off your smoke alarm.

I’m one of those freaks who actually enjoys mowing the lawn in a big yard…….ah, the smell of freshly cut grass, the symmetry of  well-manicured turf, the breeze caressing your face, the funny clanking sound as you run over that rock you keep forgetting to move, and the way you giggle at yourself when you realize your mower is no longer mowing because the blade is lying on the ground back by that rock.

But I digress….

Yes, our new house had everything…..everything except a tree.  You see, the property used to be a cow pasture…..at least, that’s what the realtor told us (so it must be true).  I could envision a herd lazily basking in the hot Alabama sun, chewing on tall stalks and answering the call of nature anywhere they pleased.  (Made mental note:  Check yard for call of nature answers.)  But Southern summers being what they were, I knew we would need at least some shade in our little corner of the earth.

So I bought me a little oak tree.  It was about as tall as me.  I had always admired the beautiful, spreading oaks at the local cemetery.  What a wonderful place to be put to rest, I thought…..under that stately canopy.  (Please don’t kill the sentiment by pointing out the obvious…that I would be dead and it wouldn’t matter.)   I could imagine such glory in my own backyard one day.

So I planted, nursed, watered, fertilized, trimmed and generally loved my oak tree.  Through the next 27 years, my life took a roller coaster ride of ups and downs, euphoria and heartbreak, and all the while, my oak tree went through it with me….always there as a comforting constant as I sat staring at it from my porch.  As I grew in the experiences of life, my oak tree grew as well….and grew….and grew…and grew.

Which brings me to my current dilemma.  Like a child that has lived in the basement for too long, my tree has worn out its welcome.  I don’t know why I just assumed it would stop growing at some point, like people do.  But it has morphed into this monstrous skyscraper of lumber that now threatens my house and shades out most all the grass.  Now when I mow the backyard I churn up a dust storm that has the neighbors checking their weather radios for tornado watches.  Nothing can live under this tree, except for fire ants.   Occasionally, huge branches will sever during a high wind and plummet to the ground, causing me to haul out my chain saw….which, considering my lack of tool skills, is even more terrifying to the neighbors.

And so I face what is, for me, a difficult decision….live with the inconveniences, or ponder getting rid of my old friend.  I tried to have “the talk” with it the other day, but it was non-responsive.  In my soul, I know eventually it will have to come down…. and when that happens, I will feel like I am losing an old companion.

Oh well….maybe the cows will come back to fill the void.

 

 

My wife Sharon and I lead an intensely exciting life.  Most of our evenings are spent watching marathon reruns of “Everybody Loves Raymond”, “The Middle”, and Andy Griffith, our favorite shows.  We’ve seen the episodes so many times, we’ve become competitive to see who can recite the next line of dialogue first.

But every once in awhile, when we really want to live on the edge, I challenge her to a game of Scrabble.  I’m talking about the traditional board game, not that sissy, online “Words With Friends” impostor.

She just plays for fun but I take it seriously.  I think it goes back to all the times my mother cleaned my clock at this game, even after she got into her 90’s.  She’s still going at 99 but her vision is no longer sharp enough to play, no doubt sparing me the humiliation of being defeated by a near centenarian.

I have learned a lot about my marriage playing against Sharon.  The other night was a perfect example.  She had built the word “zone” horizontally.  She was way ahead on the score sheet and I desperately needed a big counter.  So I made the word “bogo” vertically, with the final “o” landing directly in front of “zone” to create the word “ozone”.  It was a double word score both ways, a huge point total.  I was back in it!!!

Now here’s the thing….in my heart of hearts, I knew “bogo” was not a real word.  It’s an acronym (buy one get one) and therefore against the rules.  But I figured maybe the term has become so comm0n that she would think it was a word and I’d get away with it.  It’s not cheating really.   I prefer to think of it as creative gamesmanship.  Kind of like a football player faking an injury to stop the clock at the end of a game.

Anyway, Sharon stared at the word for a few seconds, then glanced up at me with a wry little smile that said “Yes dear, I know that word is bogus, but I also understand what a ridiculous child you are when it comes to games, so I’m just going to ignore this blatant flouting of the rules and go on with the game”.

And that, my friends, is true love!  I’m not sure what filled me with more euphoria at that point…..the knowledge that my awesome wife loves me so unconditionally that she overlooks my obvious faults, or the fact that I zoomed ahead of her on the score sheet.  Let’s call it a draw.

Just as I began to rehearse in my mind what humble remark I was going to make after I won the game (“Aw shoot, dear, you played a great game.  It could have gone either way.”), she promptly used six of her seven letters to build the word “leakers” into a triple word score.

“Leakers”, I thought?  “Leakers?  What is leakers?  Is that a word?”  My mind was racing.  How should I react?  After all, she let me slide out of pure, unselfish love.  The least I can do is return the sentiment, right?  So I did what any husband would do.

“What the heck is ‘leakers'”?  I heard myself shouting.  “I dare you to use it in a sentence”!

“You know, leakers.  One who leaks is a leaker.  More than one would be leakers”, she said as she counted up her enormous score.  Hmmmm….same wry smile.

She wound up winning the game.  And after throwing around a few seat cushions and kicking the dog, I was fine with it…I really was.

After all, how many guys can say they are married to a woman who loves him so much that she unselfishly beats him at Scrabble to keep his ego grounded.

………Yeah, let’s go with that.