This has been a horrible week for my daughter!
We were there for Christmas to insure safety and protection--he was there to haunt and threaten.
Monday afternoon he came stomping in and commanded we leave for a while so he could be with his sons. It was about 2:00 when we left with commands from him that we not return until 5:00. My wife called our daughter and she planned to be home about 5:00 as well.
We came home and started fixing supper. He showed up in a rage. My daughter called the Nash County Sheriff's Department dispatcher while standing outside. He raged at my wife inside the house so loud you could hear him outside. She was not moving an inch!
Shortly 3 Deputies raced up without lights or sirens and they yelled at him not to go inside the house. He went on in and "hit the ceiling" with raging inside. The officers stood close by. They were a calming effect for us--a source of rage for him. Shortly he was 2" from my face raging at me to the point the officers stepped forward with one snapping the Taser in addition to the others telling him to control it or he would be arrested. Everyone but him kept their cool.
He went back around into the den telling them to just shoot him and get it over! Then he hit the floor so hard it shook the house and began to beat his head, fists, and feet on the floor like a 5 year old. Finally they escorted him outside while we threw a few things together, turned off the stove on supper, and gave the boys a little to eat.
Within 30 minutes his car returned and raced across the yard leaving deep tracks. There he was raging from outside the car with its headlights shining on the front door. My daughter was calling her lawyer for advice. I was calling the Deputies back. They were there in about 5 minutes.
My daughter's lawyer was advising her to stay in the house lest she be accused of abandoning it and he could say he owned it. She was to the point I have never seen a woman--dazed and confused, trying to think, screaming at anyone trying to comfort or give advice. Finally she collapsed into my wife's arms and sobbed on her shoulders.
We left the house after the Deputy looked my daughter in the eye and said, "For your own safety, just leave and go somewhere safe. We will vouch that you left this house for your safety and did not abandon it."
My daughter heard that kind officer clearly. When none of us could convince her she should leave along with the boys and us, his words penetrated the confusion.
We exited with him sitting in his car as the (5 now) Deputies stood around his car. As the boys left he was saying, "Bye, boys, I love you." They did not know what to make of it all. They were all in tears and so were we. After going to the hospital parking lot where my wife works, we met again and decided the Bayview Cottage 1.5 hours away was a better place--and the dog could be there too. My daughter was driving so fast down the 4-lane with her children that I got in front and slowed down so we would not get a ticket. We were safer, but we were not yet to safety of the cottage. There, if he followed us, he would be trespassing if he set his foot on my property. We have an equally efficient Sheriff's Department where we live.
The next day our daughter had to go back to her work as Manager of a big store. It was "exchange and return items" time at the store.
Within a few hours our daughter was calling: he had baracaided himself in the house and his parents had had him taken by the Deputies to our local Emergency Room where they quickly transferred him to one of our State Mental Hospitals. The parents wanted our daughter to meet with them and decide what to do. According to them, he had "destroyed" the inside of the house, broken several bones in his hands, and was found sitting on the couch with a knife by his side and a 5 gallon gas can by his side.
My daughter decided, wisely, not to meet with them. She had been unable to do anything with him for 15 years. They had had him for 20+ years and created this monster who does not know how to love--starting with himself. It was their turn to deal with it alone and not blame her for what happened.
Again, my daughter was in emotional turmoil. She had a court time for a Judge to decide on a protective order and possible immediate divorce with no right for her husband except to pay in a timely fashion what was decided for alimony, child support, and what to do with a "destroyed" house.
At 3:00 my daughter, accompanied by 4 friends and Deputy, went to the house. Fortunately they did not find much more damage than had already been done to slammed, broken, and fist beaten doors. So, if he had broken fingers and was bleeding, as described by the parents, why was there no blood everywhere? There was no gas can or knife left behind. Was it another momma-made-up story or what? A later phone call from parents to my daughter got the confession from them that they had moved evidence and put the knife and gas can back where they belonged. Were they lying about him being committed?
A phone call to the hospital and Sheriff's Office gave her assurance he was behind locked doors at the mental facility and hour's drive away. Would he con doctors and nurses to get out again? He had committed himself a few weeks ago and was out in 3 days with supposed medication and an appointment to come in for further discussions with a Doctor.
My daughter is taking no more chances. The Judge has signed the protective order which will be served to him at the hospital with plenty of Staff around should he choose to go crazy again. No parents will be there to tell it otherwise. It will be in the hands of each teacher for each boy at school. It will be in the hands of after school providers. Already the Deputies have proven they can be to the place of trouble, and none is more than 5 minutes from a Sheriff's car and several very dedicated and trained officers.
They begged her to get everything leagal, because in Nash County we take protection and peacemaking of citizens very seriously! Thanks to all who have helped my daughter in recent days: good Lawyer / Deputies / Judge / and, I hope, good parents.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Christmas Day at Daughter's house
I am back home enjoying a lovely, sunny, warmer day at Bayview Cottage. I got home in time to feed the dogs and see what new bills I can't pay had arrived. At least there were no hidden surprises!
As I rode home last night by myself I reflected on what had taken place from Christmas Eve to the time I left about 5:00.
Christmas Eve:
Daddy arrived to bring all kinds of toys and try to, once again, bribe his boys and wife. The boys were thrilled. My daughter was further turned off. He had thought he would lure her to the marital bed once more. Lonya and I had already blown up the air mattress beside our daughter's bed. That should have been a first sign that the room was off limits. Shortly after we retired early our daughter came in. Fully clothed she hit the sack with a huff and sigh of relief--she had made it through Christmas Eve and left him putting out Santa and deciding where he would sleep.
The Separation Papers were in Wednesday and he had insisted in coming over to review them with her. He left in a huff saying he would sign nothing. Sara told us he had done just what she expected, but she figured he would come around. All things not initiated by him get a huffy retort first. After blowing off, he usually did what she wanted him to do. We will see.
Next, before daybreak, was the running and squealing excitement of the 5 year old twins. We went to the den to find more things than any 5 children might get if only there were one. In this case about $2,000 worth of "stuff" was all over the den and quickly opened. He had left to get batteries--you would think after all these years, this man would learn how important batteries are, but he learns nothing!
Soon most of the presents were opened. After a struggle with all those things Oriental, we were, once again, reminded of how the Oriental toy makers are getting even with American parents these days--the Atom bomb with all its "fail safes" has no more steps to launch than any parent does to unwrap, un-twisted tie, remove holding screws to packages, put in batteries so that an excited child can finally use that 1 toy brought by Santa. Oh My God, there were only 10 more for each grandson to agitate over.
As the boys were playing, one of the twins ran over and grabbed the middle child's toy. Old Jack launched his attack and put the little guy to the floor sliding about 5' while Daddy did nothing. I hollered, "Woah!" and Daddy launched his anger at me: "Don't you EVER YELL AT ONE OF MY BOYS!!!!!!" All suddenly fell silent as he glared at me.
I simply walked to the edge of the kitchen and said, "Sorry about that, bud."
At the same time Lonya gave him her "laser cutting steel with flaming green eyes" look. God help the soul of anyone getting "THAT LOOK!" She didn't let it drop for one second as he made his way to the door to leave in a huff. On the way out he told my daughter he was angry and was sorry he said what he did. The gutless wonder should have said it to me, but does not have enough manhood to look the one he wronged in the eye--ever.
"That's OK," I assured my wife. "I would rather he took it out on me than any of the children, their mother, or you. I could tell by his look and sauntering ways that someone was going to get it sooner of later. Heck, a tree could really kill me and words are nothing--especially out of him." The agonies of Christmas day were over and he would have the privilege of taking 4 sugar candy / cookie (yeah, we let them eat all they wanted) boys to his mother's house. He didn't even have the guts to come back and pick them up--momma came instead--claiming his medicine had kicked in and he wasn't feeling so well.
My God, his momma is ugly these days! I watched her from the carport as I smoked my pipe. I had cracked a blind so I could take a good look at the pickup. Actually, she has cut her gray hair short for the last year. She always has a mean expression on her face and her nose is sharp and pointy to a fault. If they ever remake the "Wizard of Oz" they can hire her as the Wicked Witch of the West. All they have to do is give her a pointy hat, broom, and coat of green spray dye to make the character come to life. Unfortunately, my son-in-law has lived with her all his life--hence his lack of love for himself. It was hard for my daughter not to yell out the door: "Good luck with his boys carrying out his attitude with sugar hyped energy!"
He has an official diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder. This is our latest PC way of describing people who are mean and explosive after appearing to be somewhat nice: if you were a SOB 20 years ago, you are now Bipolar!!! Doesn't that sound nice.
Over all, our few days together were more nice than naughty. The boys are noticeably more well-behaved. Now we only hear about 2 obscene words a day rather than 2 per hour! Also a brother fight breaks out about once a day instead of every hour. We are making progress!
Only thing needed now is a signature on that Separation Document, properly notarized, and--as her lawyer says--she will be in charge (wicked grin on lawyer's face)!!!
As I rode home last night by myself I reflected on what had taken place from Christmas Eve to the time I left about 5:00.
Christmas Eve:
Daddy arrived to bring all kinds of toys and try to, once again, bribe his boys and wife. The boys were thrilled. My daughter was further turned off. He had thought he would lure her to the marital bed once more. Lonya and I had already blown up the air mattress beside our daughter's bed. That should have been a first sign that the room was off limits. Shortly after we retired early our daughter came in. Fully clothed she hit the sack with a huff and sigh of relief--she had made it through Christmas Eve and left him putting out Santa and deciding where he would sleep.
The Separation Papers were in Wednesday and he had insisted in coming over to review them with her. He left in a huff saying he would sign nothing. Sara told us he had done just what she expected, but she figured he would come around. All things not initiated by him get a huffy retort first. After blowing off, he usually did what she wanted him to do. We will see.
Next, before daybreak, was the running and squealing excitement of the 5 year old twins. We went to the den to find more things than any 5 children might get if only there were one. In this case about $2,000 worth of "stuff" was all over the den and quickly opened. He had left to get batteries--you would think after all these years, this man would learn how important batteries are, but he learns nothing!
Soon most of the presents were opened. After a struggle with all those things Oriental, we were, once again, reminded of how the Oriental toy makers are getting even with American parents these days--the Atom bomb with all its "fail safes" has no more steps to launch than any parent does to unwrap, un-twisted tie, remove holding screws to packages, put in batteries so that an excited child can finally use that 1 toy brought by Santa. Oh My God, there were only 10 more for each grandson to agitate over.
As the boys were playing, one of the twins ran over and grabbed the middle child's toy. Old Jack launched his attack and put the little guy to the floor sliding about 5' while Daddy did nothing. I hollered, "Woah!" and Daddy launched his anger at me: "Don't you EVER YELL AT ONE OF MY BOYS!!!!!!" All suddenly fell silent as he glared at me.
I simply walked to the edge of the kitchen and said, "Sorry about that, bud."
At the same time Lonya gave him her "laser cutting steel with flaming green eyes" look. God help the soul of anyone getting "THAT LOOK!" She didn't let it drop for one second as he made his way to the door to leave in a huff. On the way out he told my daughter he was angry and was sorry he said what he did. The gutless wonder should have said it to me, but does not have enough manhood to look the one he wronged in the eye--ever.
"That's OK," I assured my wife. "I would rather he took it out on me than any of the children, their mother, or you. I could tell by his look and sauntering ways that someone was going to get it sooner of later. Heck, a tree could really kill me and words are nothing--especially out of him." The agonies of Christmas day were over and he would have the privilege of taking 4 sugar candy / cookie (yeah, we let them eat all they wanted) boys to his mother's house. He didn't even have the guts to come back and pick them up--momma came instead--claiming his medicine had kicked in and he wasn't feeling so well.
My God, his momma is ugly these days! I watched her from the carport as I smoked my pipe. I had cracked a blind so I could take a good look at the pickup. Actually, she has cut her gray hair short for the last year. She always has a mean expression on her face and her nose is sharp and pointy to a fault. If they ever remake the "Wizard of Oz" they can hire her as the Wicked Witch of the West. All they have to do is give her a pointy hat, broom, and coat of green spray dye to make the character come to life. Unfortunately, my son-in-law has lived with her all his life--hence his lack of love for himself. It was hard for my daughter not to yell out the door: "Good luck with his boys carrying out his attitude with sugar hyped energy!"
He has an official diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder. This is our latest PC way of describing people who are mean and explosive after appearing to be somewhat nice: if you were a SOB 20 years ago, you are now Bipolar!!! Doesn't that sound nice.
Over all, our few days together were more nice than naughty. The boys are noticeably more well-behaved. Now we only hear about 2 obscene words a day rather than 2 per hour! Also a brother fight breaks out about once a day instead of every hour. We are making progress!
Only thing needed now is a signature on that Separation Document, properly notarized, and--as her lawyer says--she will be in charge (wicked grin on lawyer's face)!!!
Saturday, December 26, 2009
What IS Christmas all about???
It is hard to find anything new to say about Christmas---BUT, this old time story tells it all--especially in hard economic times:
This is what Christmas is all about...
Better bundle up - the goose bumps will freeze you!! I think I need to read this every year at Christmas.
Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from receiving.
It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to buy me the rifle that I'd wanted for Christmas. We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible.
After supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood to read Scriptures. But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up again and went outside. I couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I didn't worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity. Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out tonight." I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see. We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like this. But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what..
Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell. We never hitched up this sled unless we were going to haul a big load. Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy. When I was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high side boards on.
After we had exchanged the sideboards, Pa went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of wood - the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down from the mountain, and then all Fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?" You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight. Sure, I'd been by, but so what?
Yeah," I said, "Why?"
"I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt." That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for another armload of wood. I followed him. We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it. Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait. When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his r ight shoulder and a smaller sack of something in his left hand. "What's in the little sack?" I asked. Shoes, they're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning. I got the children a little candy too. It just wouldn't be Christmas without a little candy."
We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried to think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly standards. Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so we could spare that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and candy? Really, why was he doing any of this? Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us; it shouldn't have been our concern.
We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, "Who is it?" "Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt, could we come in for a bit?"
Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at all. Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp.
"We brought you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time. There was a pair for her and one for each of the children - sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last. I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it wouldn't come out.
"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said. He turned to me and said, "Matt, go bring in enough to last awhile. Let's get that fire up to size and heat this place up." I wasn't the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and as much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too. In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks with so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak.
My heart swelled within me and a joy that I'd never known before, filled my soul. I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much difference. I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people.
I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for a long time. She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the Lord has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send one of his angels to spare us."
In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.
Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get. Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord would make sure he got the right sizes.
Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up to leave. Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug. They clung to him and didn't want us to go. I could see that they missed their Pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.
At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to get you about eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt, here, hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the youngest. My two brothers and two sisters had all married and had moved away.
Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Brother Miles. I don't have to say, May the Lord bless you, I know for certain that He will." Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn't have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square. Your ma and me were real excited, thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning to do just that,but on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do. Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand."
I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Now the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given me the look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children.
For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.
This is what Christmas is all about...
Better bundle up - the goose bumps will freeze you!! I think I need to read this every year at Christmas.
Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from receiving.
It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to buy me the rifle that I'd wanted for Christmas. We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible.
After supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood to read Scriptures. But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up again and went outside. I couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I didn't worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity. Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out tonight." I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see. We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like this. But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what..
Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell. We never hitched up this sled unless we were going to haul a big load. Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy. When I was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high side boards on.
After we had exchanged the sideboards, Pa went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of wood - the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down from the mountain, and then all Fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?" You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight. Sure, I'd been by, but so what?
Yeah," I said, "Why?"
"I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt." That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for another armload of wood. I followed him. We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it. Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait. When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his r ight shoulder and a smaller sack of something in his left hand. "What's in the little sack?" I asked. Shoes, they're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning. I got the children a little candy too. It just wouldn't be Christmas without a little candy."
We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried to think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly standards. Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so we could spare that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and candy? Really, why was he doing any of this? Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us; it shouldn't have been our concern.
We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, "Who is it?" "Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt, could we come in for a bit?"
Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at all. Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp.
"We brought you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time. There was a pair for her and one for each of the children - sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last. I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it wouldn't come out.
"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said. He turned to me and said, "Matt, go bring in enough to last awhile. Let's get that fire up to size and heat this place up." I wasn't the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and as much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too. In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks with so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak.
My heart swelled within me and a joy that I'd never known before, filled my soul. I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much difference. I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people.
I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for a long time. She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the Lord has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send one of his angels to spare us."
In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.
Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get. Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord would make sure he got the right sizes.
Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up to leave. Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug. They clung to him and didn't want us to go. I could see that they missed their Pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.
At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to get you about eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt, here, hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the youngest. My two brothers and two sisters had all married and had moved away.
Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Brother Miles. I don't have to say, May the Lord bless you, I know for certain that He will." Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn't have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square. Your ma and me were real excited, thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning to do just that,but on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do. Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand."
I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Now the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given me the look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children.
For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Christmas--a tough time to be a closet gay
Probably Christmas is one of the most difficult times of the year when most seek family times, if that family member happens to be Gay. It is made even more difficult in the sunny South where we still pretend such does not exist. Churches and preachers rage, but one of the requirements of being a good Southern town is to have a few gays around!! Just read William Faulkner, if you doubt me. Quentin Compson, III, is the classic hidden gay (The Sound and the Fury).
They are publicly derided. Movies like "Midnight in The Garden of Good and Evil," a reality based Savannah story, tell it like it is. The prominent wealthy businessman who mixes with the high and mighty has a secret! My own Senior Minister ended up at Charleston in similar circumstances. Rocky Mount, NC, where I work is the same story. We even had a former Director of Mission picked up at the riverside park--cops say he was a part / he claims it was a mistake. Who really knows anything other than we have Preachers and churches yelling---while some are raging to cover up their inner demons!
Can you imagine a greater Hell on earth than to have to pretend something you are not because family is so arrogant and judgmental you dare not be honest with them? As more and more children are raised by mother because daddy refused to do his part of parenting, we will have more and more. Every boy needs a role model. It is best if it is dad. However, good relatives can help, and should, if daddy is not doing the job.
Those who have read about my daughter and boys know I will have to now be a "father figure." It is no problem for me because I had a father who was the best. I knew from day 1 he loved me. My earliest childhood memories are of him coming in, smelling of hospital, to kiss me and make sure I was ready for sleep. He was tired. He could have gone to his home office, but, instead, he came to my little bed to kiss me on the cheek. My saddest day so far in this life was when he went to "higher ground."
He had liver cancer which had come from a missed colon cancer. Despite him complaining for months of mid-section pain, it was attributed to gall stones. By the time they did exploratory surgery, it was too late and there is nothing yet to stop liver cancer. Instead of taking treatments that would make life hell, daddy wisely decided to love his family, enjoy what he had left, and "go gently into the night." He did!! He had only about 2 weeks of serious discomfort, which is a miracle in itself. He had been faithful to his family and God in his ministry and God took royal care of him in a, sometimes, awful and painful kind of cancer. Amazingly, it was at Easter!
I am who I am as a man partly because I knew a man's man in my father. I was born with normal brain and glands which developed to maturity in a normal fashion. I went from the "girl-haters" club to the stupid adolescent club drooling over what miracle happened to the girls between grade 6 and grade 7. I was fortunate. Many young males are not, especially in the last 30 years .
Please read below an article I was given permission to print from one of the finest sex educators in Canada, Sue Johanson (2005) these days:
Homosexuality: Did you know that most people, male and female, have some homosexual (same sex) fantasies?
This is common and does not indicate you are homosexual. It is a fantasy, safe and harmless. Most females simply accept their fantasies, but males, who may be homophobic, react with fear or get into "gay bashing" to prove they are "hetero". Females are generally more comfortable with homosexuality.
Homosexuality just "is".
Being homosexual is NOT a choice. Guys, think back - at what stage of your life did you consciously decide, "Well I think I will like girls?" You didn't. You just knew, you got horny just thinking about the opposite sex - it was not a choice, you just knew. There is NO cure for homosexuality because it is not a disease and most homosexuals do not want to be "cured". They simply want what everybody else wants, the THREE BIG "A's" - Acceptance, Approval and Appreciation.
Current research indicates that people are born homosexual. Parents may deny it, try to control kids behavior, their choice of toys or friends. Kids at about age 7 know they are different; by age 10, they are aware that they fantasize about people of the same sex; by age 14, although most are not ready to "come out of the closet", they are aware that they are homosexual. Gay males like females as "best friends" and straight females really enjoy socializing with gay males. This does not go over well with straight Macho males.
Lesbians may identify as homosexual at a young age, but many, many more get into heterosexual relationships, maybe have kids, and then accept that they are lesbian at a later age.
Here's some typical MYTHS ABOUT HOMOSEXUALITY:
Gay males are promiscuous.
Gay males have a higher than normal sex drive. HIV/AIDS is a Gay disease.
Gay males assault little boys.
If a male has a same sex experience, he must be Gay.
Lesbians just have not found the right man.
Lesbians are "butch".
No, some are very feminine and call themselves "lipstick dykes".
Females who socialize with Gay males are "Fag Hags".
Most religions regard homosexuality as a sin. Here's a great book I recommend for anyone having trouble dealing with homosexuality - "IS IT A CHOICE?" by Eric Marcus. You can check our book list on this site for many other books dealing with the topic.
Randy, who granted permission for my use of this article further says this, " Frankly, it's a pretty scant article and you could find far better if you
looked around. Try the PFLAG site."
They are publicly derided. Movies like "Midnight in The Garden of Good and Evil," a reality based Savannah story, tell it like it is. The prominent wealthy businessman who mixes with the high and mighty has a secret! My own Senior Minister ended up at Charleston in similar circumstances. Rocky Mount, NC, where I work is the same story. We even had a former Director of Mission picked up at the riverside park--cops say he was a part / he claims it was a mistake. Who really knows anything other than we have Preachers and churches yelling---while some are raging to cover up their inner demons!
Can you imagine a greater Hell on earth than to have to pretend something you are not because family is so arrogant and judgmental you dare not be honest with them? As more and more children are raised by mother because daddy refused to do his part of parenting, we will have more and more. Every boy needs a role model. It is best if it is dad. However, good relatives can help, and should, if daddy is not doing the job.
Those who have read about my daughter and boys know I will have to now be a "father figure." It is no problem for me because I had a father who was the best. I knew from day 1 he loved me. My earliest childhood memories are of him coming in, smelling of hospital, to kiss me and make sure I was ready for sleep. He was tired. He could have gone to his home office, but, instead, he came to my little bed to kiss me on the cheek. My saddest day so far in this life was when he went to "higher ground."
He had liver cancer which had come from a missed colon cancer. Despite him complaining for months of mid-section pain, it was attributed to gall stones. By the time they did exploratory surgery, it was too late and there is nothing yet to stop liver cancer. Instead of taking treatments that would make life hell, daddy wisely decided to love his family, enjoy what he had left, and "go gently into the night." He did!! He had only about 2 weeks of serious discomfort, which is a miracle in itself. He had been faithful to his family and God in his ministry and God took royal care of him in a, sometimes, awful and painful kind of cancer. Amazingly, it was at Easter!
I am who I am as a man partly because I knew a man's man in my father. I was born with normal brain and glands which developed to maturity in a normal fashion. I went from the "girl-haters" club to the stupid adolescent club drooling over what miracle happened to the girls between grade 6 and grade 7. I was fortunate. Many young males are not, especially in the last 30 years .
Please read below an article I was given permission to print from one of the finest sex educators in Canada, Sue Johanson (2005) these days:
Homosexuality: Did you know that most people, male and female, have some homosexual (same sex) fantasies?
This is common and does not indicate you are homosexual. It is a fantasy, safe and harmless. Most females simply accept their fantasies, but males, who may be homophobic, react with fear or get into "gay bashing" to prove they are "hetero". Females are generally more comfortable with homosexuality.
Homosexuality just "is".
Being homosexual is NOT a choice. Guys, think back - at what stage of your life did you consciously decide, "Well I think I will like girls?" You didn't. You just knew, you got horny just thinking about the opposite sex - it was not a choice, you just knew. There is NO cure for homosexuality because it is not a disease and most homosexuals do not want to be "cured". They simply want what everybody else wants, the THREE BIG "A's" - Acceptance, Approval and Appreciation.
Current research indicates that people are born homosexual. Parents may deny it, try to control kids behavior, their choice of toys or friends. Kids at about age 7 know they are different; by age 10, they are aware that they fantasize about people of the same sex; by age 14, although most are not ready to "come out of the closet", they are aware that they are homosexual. Gay males like females as "best friends" and straight females really enjoy socializing with gay males. This does not go over well with straight Macho males.
Lesbians may identify as homosexual at a young age, but many, many more get into heterosexual relationships, maybe have kids, and then accept that they are lesbian at a later age.
Here's some typical MYTHS ABOUT HOMOSEXUALITY:
Gay males are promiscuous.
Gay males have a higher than normal sex drive. HIV/AIDS is a Gay disease.
Gay males assault little boys.
If a male has a same sex experience, he must be Gay.
Lesbians just have not found the right man.
Lesbians are "butch".
No, some are very feminine and call themselves "lipstick dykes".
Females who socialize with Gay males are "Fag Hags".
Most religions regard homosexuality as a sin. Here's a great book I recommend for anyone having trouble dealing with homosexuality - "IS IT A CHOICE?" by Eric Marcus. You can check our book list on this site for many other books dealing with the topic.
Randy, who granted permission for my use of this article further says this, " Frankly, it's a pretty scant article and you could find far better if you
looked around. Try the PFLAG site."
Should anyone have a child come home this year and say, "I need to talk about something serious with you." I encourage you as a parent to listen and love as you never have before. It is the most important gift, the gift of acceptance, that you can give this year!
God bless you all as I go to be with my wife, daughter, and grandsons this afternoon for a Christmas without abuse lurking in the corner of the room!
Monday, December 21, 2009
Oral Roberts being buried Today
Oral Roberts / Jerry Falwell / Joe McCarthey / William Jennings Bryan / Jim Bakker / Elmer Gantry --All described better than I in the book / movie "Elmer Gantry."
Or Carl Sandburg's Poem, "To a Contemporary Bunkshooter:"
You come along. . . tearing your shirt. . . yelling aboutJesus.Where do you get that stuff?
What do you know about Jesus?
Jesus had a way of talking soft and outside of a few
bankers and higher-ups among the con men of Jerusalem
everybody liked to have this Jesus around because
he never made any fake passes and everything
he said went and he helped the sick and gave the
people hope.
You come along squirting words at us, shaking your fist
and calling us all damn fools so fierce the froth slobbers
over your lips. . . always blabbing we're all
going to hell straight off and you know all about it.
I've read Jesus' words. I know what he said. You don't
throw any scare into me. I've got your number. I
know how much you know about Jesus.
He never came near clean people or dirty people but
they felt cleaner because he came along. It was your
crowd of bankers and business men and lawyers
hired the sluggers and murderers who put Jesus out
of the running.
I say the same bunch backing you nailed the nails into
the hands of this Jesus of Nazareth. He had lined
up against him the same crooks and strong-arm men
now lined up with you paying your way.
This Jesus was good to look at, smelled good, listened
good. He threw out something fresh and beautiful
from the skin of his body and the touch of his hands
wherever he passed along.
You slimy bunkshooter, you put a smut on every human
blossom in reach of your rotten breath belching
about hell-fire and hiccupping about this Man who
lived a clean life in Galilee.When are you going to quit making the carpenters build
emergency hospitals for women and girls driven
crazy with wrecked nerves from your gibberish about
Jesus--I put it to you again: Where do you get that
stuff; what do you know about Jesus?
Go ahead and bust all the chairs you want to. Smash
a whole wagon load of furniture at every performance.
Turn sixty somersaults and stand on your
nutty head. If it wasn't for the way you scare the
women and kids I'd feel sorry for you and pass the hat.
I like to watch a good four-flusher work, but not when
he starts people puking and calling for the doctors.
I like a man that's got nerve and can pull off a great
original performance, but you--you're only a bug-house peddler of second-hand gospel--you're only shoving out a phoney imitation of the goods this
Jesus wanted free as air and sunlight.
You tell people living in shanties Jesus is going to fix it
up all right with them by giving them mansions in
the skies after they're dead and the worms have
eaten 'em.
You tell $6 a week department store girls all they need
is Jesus; you take a steel trust wop, dead without
having lived, gray and shrunken at forty years of
age, and you tell him to look at Jesus on the cross
and he'll be all right.
You tell poor people they don't need any more money
on pay day and even if it's fierce to be out of a job,
Jesus'll fix that up all right, all right--all they gotta
do is take Jesus the way you say.
I'm telling you Jesus wouldn't stand for the stuff you're handing out.
Jesus played it different. The bankers
and lawyers of Jerusalem got their sluggers and
murderers to go after Jesus just because Jesus
wouldn't play their game. He didn't sit in with
the big thieves.
I don't want a lot of gab from a bunkshooter in my religion.
I won't take my religion from any man who never works
except with his mouth and never cherishes any memory
except the face of the woman on the American
silver dollar.
I ask you to come through and show me where you're
pouring out the blood of your life.
I've been to this suburb of Jerusalem they call Golgotha,
where they nailed Him, and I know if the story is
straight it was real blood ran from His hands and
the nail-holes, and it was real blood spurted in red
drops where the spear of the Roman soldier rammed
in between the ribs of this Jesus of Nazareth.
Brother Carl, you sat on a mountainside near Hendersonville, NC. You looked out over God's creation. You knew your Bible. You listened to the radio preachers and those on the 3 TV stations you could just receive in those hills. My Grandaddy had the same problem reception just below you near Greenville!
I was a little boy. You were an aged man, but you said it so well, I could never say it better!
THANKS, Carl, I love you and can't wait to meet you on "higher ground."
Or Carl Sandburg's Poem, "To a Contemporary Bunkshooter:"
You come along. . . tearing your shirt. . . yelling aboutJesus.Where do you get that stuff?
What do you know about Jesus?
Jesus had a way of talking soft and outside of a few
bankers and higher-ups among the con men of Jerusalem
everybody liked to have this Jesus around because
he never made any fake passes and everything
he said went and he helped the sick and gave the
people hope.
You come along squirting words at us, shaking your fist
and calling us all damn fools so fierce the froth slobbers
over your lips. . . always blabbing we're all
going to hell straight off and you know all about it.
I've read Jesus' words. I know what he said. You don't
throw any scare into me. I've got your number. I
know how much you know about Jesus.
He never came near clean people or dirty people but
they felt cleaner because he came along. It was your
crowd of bankers and business men and lawyers
hired the sluggers and murderers who put Jesus out
of the running.
I say the same bunch backing you nailed the nails into
the hands of this Jesus of Nazareth. He had lined
up against him the same crooks and strong-arm men
now lined up with you paying your way.
This Jesus was good to look at, smelled good, listened
good. He threw out something fresh and beautiful
from the skin of his body and the touch of his hands
wherever he passed along.
You slimy bunkshooter, you put a smut on every human
blossom in reach of your rotten breath belching
about hell-fire and hiccupping about this Man who
lived a clean life in Galilee.When are you going to quit making the carpenters build
emergency hospitals for women and girls driven
crazy with wrecked nerves from your gibberish about
Jesus--I put it to you again: Where do you get that
stuff; what do you know about Jesus?
Go ahead and bust all the chairs you want to. Smash
a whole wagon load of furniture at every performance.
Turn sixty somersaults and stand on your
nutty head. If it wasn't for the way you scare the
women and kids I'd feel sorry for you and pass the hat.
I like to watch a good four-flusher work, but not when
he starts people puking and calling for the doctors.
I like a man that's got nerve and can pull off a great
original performance, but you--you're only a bug-house peddler of second-hand gospel--you're only shoving out a phoney imitation of the goods this
Jesus wanted free as air and sunlight.
You tell people living in shanties Jesus is going to fix it
up all right with them by giving them mansions in
the skies after they're dead and the worms have
eaten 'em.
You tell $6 a week department store girls all they need
is Jesus; you take a steel trust wop, dead without
having lived, gray and shrunken at forty years of
age, and you tell him to look at Jesus on the cross
and he'll be all right.
You tell poor people they don't need any more money
on pay day and even if it's fierce to be out of a job,
Jesus'll fix that up all right, all right--all they gotta
do is take Jesus the way you say.
I'm telling you Jesus wouldn't stand for the stuff you're handing out.
Jesus played it different. The bankers
and lawyers of Jerusalem got their sluggers and
murderers to go after Jesus just because Jesus
wouldn't play their game. He didn't sit in with
the big thieves.
I don't want a lot of gab from a bunkshooter in my religion.
I won't take my religion from any man who never works
except with his mouth and never cherishes any memory
except the face of the woman on the American
silver dollar.
I ask you to come through and show me where you're
pouring out the blood of your life.
I've been to this suburb of Jerusalem they call Golgotha,
where they nailed Him, and I know if the story is
straight it was real blood ran from His hands and
the nail-holes, and it was real blood spurted in red
drops where the spear of the Roman soldier rammed
in between the ribs of this Jesus of Nazareth.
Brother Carl, you sat on a mountainside near Hendersonville, NC. You looked out over God's creation. You knew your Bible. You listened to the radio preachers and those on the 3 TV stations you could just receive in those hills. My Grandaddy had the same problem reception just below you near Greenville!
I was a little boy. You were an aged man, but you said it so well, I could never say it better!
THANKS, Carl, I love you and can't wait to meet you on "higher ground."
Sunday, December 20, 2009
My VERY STRANGE early Santa Beliefs!
By now, some or you have realized I take a "road not taken," as Frost put it, to some important issues of life. Actually, despite most people obsessing to be part of the gang, my daddy always made the mistake of reminding me to "Think for Yourself!"
This could not be more true of my views of Christmas Eve and Santa Clause!
I grew up in Atlanta--more specifically, Clarkston, about 20 minutes (before urban sprawl) east of Five Points--which happens to have the Southeast regional Sears & Roebuck store. It was big and it was THE most important place once December came for my brother and me. The first big event was the arrival of the Sears Christmas Catalogue! We had to control our tempers as to who would get to look at it first. Christmas is no time for a brother fight.
We knew that the budget was tight and we could only get so much. Momma and Daddy would tell us the amount as soon as we rushed to them with all kinds of things we wanted because we had turned down the page.
That was an early lesson in money management: pick out what you wanted (always at lest 10 items lusted over) / begin to narrow it down to what counts most / say your prayers it was inside the money limit / if it was a little over try to put on a good "beg face" so you stood a chance / you would never know for sure if you would get it. Therefore, prepare to be disappointed which sometimes happened.
I got to thinking about that "Santa Clause and Raindeer pulling sleigh stuff" and figured it had to be a good story, but there was no way a fat little man in one sleigh could do the job required all over the world. The more I thought about it, the more the real story started coming to me.
It was true that Christmas morning would have toys under the tree. It was true that someone had to get them there. It was not true that parents would mess with something as important as this. There just had to be an explaination better than that stupid story all the other children were telling. It made no sense to me----so quietly I discovered the truth.
The Truth: The Sears Man brings my toys from the downtown store with a big tractor trailer truck!!!!!
Yep, the other children and even my stupid little brother could believe that stuff about raindeer and sleighs, but I went to bed on Christmas Eve watching the walls for bigger lights than a car turning the corners and--if it had a diesel engine sound--the Sears Men had taken care of me!!!
There was only one problem: We were in eyesight of Stone Mountain and, at the time, it had a bright white/red beacon turning on top to direct airplanes to the Atlanta Airport--hub of the Southeast. That "set of headlights" came around about every 30 seconds so don't be fooled. The real deal would have the deep sound of a diesel engine accompanying it! Don't be fooled.
I never made it long enough into the evening, despite all the excitement, to see and hear that combo of diesel and lights, but I knew it happened before I got up the next day because the stuff under the tree and in the room was just like we saw for real on that special night daddy and momma took us downtown to muse through the whole floor of toys--only seen before in the catalogue.
Believe in Santa if you want. I stick by my modern day theory---It's really the Sears Man!
PLEASE don't ever go out of business! Betcha won't now that you've combined with K-Mart! Still the K-Mart Man doesn't have the ring of the Sears Man, my hero!
This could not be more true of my views of Christmas Eve and Santa Clause!
I grew up in Atlanta--more specifically, Clarkston, about 20 minutes (before urban sprawl) east of Five Points--which happens to have the Southeast regional Sears & Roebuck store. It was big and it was THE most important place once December came for my brother and me. The first big event was the arrival of the Sears Christmas Catalogue! We had to control our tempers as to who would get to look at it first. Christmas is no time for a brother fight.
We knew that the budget was tight and we could only get so much. Momma and Daddy would tell us the amount as soon as we rushed to them with all kinds of things we wanted because we had turned down the page.
That was an early lesson in money management: pick out what you wanted (always at lest 10 items lusted over) / begin to narrow it down to what counts most / say your prayers it was inside the money limit / if it was a little over try to put on a good "beg face" so you stood a chance / you would never know for sure if you would get it. Therefore, prepare to be disappointed which sometimes happened.
I got to thinking about that "Santa Clause and Raindeer pulling sleigh stuff" and figured it had to be a good story, but there was no way a fat little man in one sleigh could do the job required all over the world. The more I thought about it, the more the real story started coming to me.
It was true that Christmas morning would have toys under the tree. It was true that someone had to get them there. It was not true that parents would mess with something as important as this. There just had to be an explaination better than that stupid story all the other children were telling. It made no sense to me----so quietly I discovered the truth.
The Truth: The Sears Man brings my toys from the downtown store with a big tractor trailer truck!!!!!
Yep, the other children and even my stupid little brother could believe that stuff about raindeer and sleighs, but I went to bed on Christmas Eve watching the walls for bigger lights than a car turning the corners and--if it had a diesel engine sound--the Sears Men had taken care of me!!!
There was only one problem: We were in eyesight of Stone Mountain and, at the time, it had a bright white/red beacon turning on top to direct airplanes to the Atlanta Airport--hub of the Southeast. That "set of headlights" came around about every 30 seconds so don't be fooled. The real deal would have the deep sound of a diesel engine accompanying it! Don't be fooled.
I never made it long enough into the evening, despite all the excitement, to see and hear that combo of diesel and lights, but I knew it happened before I got up the next day because the stuff under the tree and in the room was just like we saw for real on that special night daddy and momma took us downtown to muse through the whole floor of toys--only seen before in the catalogue.
Believe in Santa if you want. I stick by my modern day theory---It's really the Sears Man!
PLEASE don't ever go out of business! Betcha won't now that you've combined with K-Mart! Still the K-Mart Man doesn't have the ring of the Sears Man, my hero!
The Separation wait continues--the S-I-L still chucks & jives
Yesterday was interesting in daughter land. They had planned for the boys to spend the day with Dad, but a call came in at 9:00. He had just wrecked his car pulling out in front of a lady--it was her fault for being on the cell phone and not swerving! (another projection)
According to him, it totaled his fancy late model Mustang he had just equipped with new glass pack mufflers, leaving the almost new originals sitting under the carport with the rest of his disorganized clutter. At least $5,000 worth of tools, weight bench, riding lawn mower--all of which don't work for small reasons. You would think a guy who repairs nuclear scanners might just figure repairs out, if he cared to.
So now, the boys are disappointed they won't have a day with Dad. 2-3 regrettable spankings later in the afternoon my wife calls with mis-behaviour raging in the background. On that rainy cold day, even a step-to-the-side discussion did not bring results.
The 12-year-old is muttering under his breath and driving his younger brother to tantrum screams. He is a master at twisting the emotional knife just like his dad. Hopefully, it is not too far gone to correct. I have promised him that my son's last spanking took place at 12-13 and it was one he never forgot! If necessary, Pa Pa will be the tyrant that young man needs before a police officer, judge, or drill sergeant takes on the responsibility.
The 9 year old screamer is being attacked on all sides (according to him). His twin brothers are split--1 is the "young attacker" the other could care less. In Jackson's eyes everyone is out to get him (good learning of projection from dad). A comfort and assurance talk does some good, but by afternoon he got the tail-burning he deserved.
The twin 5-year-olds are just being 5--translated that means, fight for a while, throw toys for a while, look at TV quietly long enough to get the energy back. My daughter's house has a 2-story cathedral ceiling which echos better than Bat Cave or the Mormon Tabernacle. It is loud and would serve as the perfect echo chamber should my daughter get a starter pistol to get their attention----humm, now I know what to get my daughter for Christmas!!!!
All this action is the result of expected activities being totally changed. Meanwhile, my daughter is wondering, "What if he had pulled out in front of an 18-wheeler? Would I have to deal with this trauma anymore? Would I be able to shed any tears at the funeral--or have to fake it?"
His story was that he had to go to the Emergency Room, the car is likely totaled, he is lucky to be alive! Interestingly, it is told as he came over later in the afternoon to pick up the 12-year-old to go to the gym without going through their mother. Now, ask a question here: If "he was almost killed and went to the Emergency Room," how is it possible to go lift weights later in that afternoon with your son?????
H-m-m-m-m!! We wouldn't dramatize and con our way back into the irate wife's world, would we????
My daughter and wife aren't stupid! Their projection for making a bet is a car hardly dented. Did he even go to the ER and how did he get out quickly enough to continue his day by noon? At the least there was not enough damage to keep him long--or it might be a total lie to get sympathy.
It's not possible to restore the marriage now, but I thought you might like another story of "chuck-and-jive" during Separation Paper waiting time!
According to him, it totaled his fancy late model Mustang he had just equipped with new glass pack mufflers, leaving the almost new originals sitting under the carport with the rest of his disorganized clutter. At least $5,000 worth of tools, weight bench, riding lawn mower--all of which don't work for small reasons. You would think a guy who repairs nuclear scanners might just figure repairs out, if he cared to.
So now, the boys are disappointed they won't have a day with Dad. 2-3 regrettable spankings later in the afternoon my wife calls with mis-behaviour raging in the background. On that rainy cold day, even a step-to-the-side discussion did not bring results.
The 12-year-old is muttering under his breath and driving his younger brother to tantrum screams. He is a master at twisting the emotional knife just like his dad. Hopefully, it is not too far gone to correct. I have promised him that my son's last spanking took place at 12-13 and it was one he never forgot! If necessary, Pa Pa will be the tyrant that young man needs before a police officer, judge, or drill sergeant takes on the responsibility.
The 9 year old screamer is being attacked on all sides (according to him). His twin brothers are split--1 is the "young attacker" the other could care less. In Jackson's eyes everyone is out to get him (good learning of projection from dad). A comfort and assurance talk does some good, but by afternoon he got the tail-burning he deserved.
The twin 5-year-olds are just being 5--translated that means, fight for a while, throw toys for a while, look at TV quietly long enough to get the energy back. My daughter's house has a 2-story cathedral ceiling which echos better than Bat Cave or the Mormon Tabernacle. It is loud and would serve as the perfect echo chamber should my daughter get a starter pistol to get their attention----humm, now I know what to get my daughter for Christmas!!!!
All this action is the result of expected activities being totally changed. Meanwhile, my daughter is wondering, "What if he had pulled out in front of an 18-wheeler? Would I have to deal with this trauma anymore? Would I be able to shed any tears at the funeral--or have to fake it?"
His story was that he had to go to the Emergency Room, the car is likely totaled, he is lucky to be alive! Interestingly, it is told as he came over later in the afternoon to pick up the 12-year-old to go to the gym without going through their mother. Now, ask a question here: If "he was almost killed and went to the Emergency Room," how is it possible to go lift weights later in that afternoon with your son?????
H-m-m-m-m!! We wouldn't dramatize and con our way back into the irate wife's world, would we????
My daughter and wife aren't stupid! Their projection for making a bet is a car hardly dented. Did he even go to the ER and how did he get out quickly enough to continue his day by noon? At the least there was not enough damage to keep him long--or it might be a total lie to get sympathy.
It's not possible to restore the marriage now, but I thought you might like another story of "chuck-and-jive" during Separation Paper waiting time!
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