I Remember Daddy.... Part 4

This is forth in a series of friends’ fond memories of their dads and the lessons that they learned from them. I hope that you have enjoyed them as much as i have enjoyed collecting them...(see Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.  Happy Father's Day.  bd

JED reminisced, “Several memories come to mind.  As far as I know, dad never played organized sports of any kind and yet he would throw the baseball with me when I played Little League.  Looking back, I realize that you don’t have to be good at something, or even like it, to take an interest in what your kids are doing.  I guess that’s why I try to go hunting with my son as much as possible even though he’s way more excited about it than I am."

  

"I also remember a time when dad went in half on a boat with me.  It was more like 30/70 because I paid $250 for the motor and dad paid $600 for the boat.  He was not an avid fisherman, but I can remember many fun-filled trips to Lake Juliette, even though we didn’t catch very many fish.  Lastly, I remember one fishing trip when I told dad I knew a short cut off Hwy 96 down a dirt roads.  I got turned around and the next thing I know, dad got the old 78 Toyota truck stuck in a mud hole.  We tried everything we could to get that truck out, to no avail.  I never once saw my dad get angry nor did he blame me for getting him lost.  We simply walked until we found some loggers who were kind enough to drive back to our truck and pull us out with a skidder.”

MBR remembered, “When I think back on my childhood the memories that stand out for me is when my Dad was saved. The complete transformation from a drunk and a chain smoker to a man who went to every service he could find and he prayed all the time. He never drank or smoked again after that week. I knew without a doubt then that there was indeed power in the blood of Jesus. Then I remember my grandpa and grandma always prayed for my dad. When I doubt what God can do in my situations I have proof of the power of prayer and of what mighty things God is willing to do for me!”

“We would go by for a visit and we could not carry on a normal conversation, but when someone began to talk about church or the Lord, his eyes would light up and he would raise his voice.  I could understand him then.  The tears flowing from his eyes let me know what he was feeling in his heart.”

JMH said, “Wow! I have so many memories of my Daddy. We were very close. One special memory is of just the two of us getting up before dawn on Saturday mornings. I would “help” him hitch up his fishing boat, load up our gear, and pack stuff for lunch. (Always sardines and white bread just in case we didn’t catch anything big enough to eat.)”

“We’d sit in that boat for hours on end. He’d try to pull up close to a shoreline under some trees whenever possible – after he rattled the branches with the oar to be sure no snakes were napping on them.”

“About noon we would pull into shore. He would build a fire, take out his trusty iron skillet, jar of cornmeal mix and a jar of cooking oil. He’d clean the fish and fry them and hush puppies over the open fire. I can remember watching them fry with anticipation (and hunger). Those fish always tasted better than fish we fried at home somehow.”

“I learned soooo much from my Daddy. Integrity for sure: keep your word no matter what, always tell the truth, always be honest in dealing with other people, do your duty, make hard choices based on right and wrong – not emotions, take care of your family, trust and obey God even when it is hard.”

BTL told me, “I feel that the greatest thing that my dad did for me was to teach me about Jesus. I remember going back to the area where he grew up as a child and experiencing swimming in the springs that he swam in as a child.  I cherish having gone with my dad to visit and pray for the sick, as a very small child. My dad taught me to give my tithe to the Lord, be honest, treat others the way I would want to be treated, and to work hard to provide for my family.  I learned how to fish, change a tire, and yard work from him.” 

“My dad was a very humble person.  He was a great pastor, and he was my best friend”

Until this morning, I had intended to not add my own thoughts since my father died when I was two.  I don't really remember my  Dad.  This morning I am reminded of two things about my Dad.  When his mother died, he spent many years paying off the family debts.  He did this not just because he would inherit the family farm by doing so, but to protect the family name.  The second thing is that he made preparations for his wife and sons in case anything ever happened to him, they would all be protected. 

I hope you have a wonderful Father's Day.  If you still have him, give him a call or go see him.  Feel free to post a fond memory of your dad in the comments 

I Remember Daddy....... Part 3

This is third in a series of friends’ fond memories of their dads and the lessons that they learned from them. Past 1, Part 2   Bill

EPM wrote, “When I think of my daddy, I really don't have one vivid story to recall that sums up in a nutshell the person he is.  Daddy is not known for his dynamic personality or his way with words.  He's always been a man of few words who loved his family, the outdoors and his church.  Two words that he always uses to describe me became my official title whenever he saw me. I am his "sweet baby".  Since I was a little girl, that is what he called me and he still refers to me that way.” 

“I must admit, as an elementary aged child I would sometimes get embarrassed when he would call me that In front of my friends.  On one particular occasion when I was in the second grade, mama told me she was coming to get me early because we were going out of town.  When I realized daddy was also going, I asked if he could come to my class to get me so all my friends could see my daddy.  All the children knew mama because she was always a grade mother, but not everyone knew my daddy and I wanted them to see how wonderful he was!  Well, in those days parents could just come to the classroom to get their children and it just so happened that my teacher was our neighbor, so she welcomed daddy in and introduced him to the entire class.  It was at that point that those two words came out of his mouth, right there in front of about twenty or so of my classmates when he said, "Well, thank you Mrs. Meadows (my teacher).  Come on Sweet Baby, we better get going." 

“My classmates giggled and I was mortified......mama said she could tell as we walked down the sidewalk toward the car, that something was wrong by the way my ponytail was swinging from side to side as I stomped towards her.  I told her what had happened and she assured me that everyone's daddy called them something like that and no harm had been done.  I wasn't so sure, though......I do believe I remember a couple of those pesky little boys in my class calling me that a time or two after the incident.”

“Today nothing has changed.  That sweet, sweet daddy of mine still greets me the same way, although I do believe now some precious grandchildren of his might hold their own title in his heart.  Sweet Baby; it is a title I adore now. Funny how wisdom comes with age.”

LCH wrote, “When I was in grammar school, I had never been to a summer camp and, living in Allentown, there was NOTHING to do in the summertime.  I was a school bus Safety Patrol on my daddy's school bus so one Summer I went to Safety Patrol Camp at Lake Blackshear in Cordele. I was so very homesick and wanted to go home every day, but every day I'd tell myself, I'll call my parents tomorrow, and that's how I got through the week! When we got back to Dublin at the pickup point for parents, my daddy and mama were there, but my daddy just hugged me and was patting me on the back so hard!! At that moment, I realized that he had missed me as much as I had missed them! I can see all that in my mind's eye! I hope that vivid memory never goes away!”

SWM remembered, “My Grandfather was a Christian man, but he was tongue-tied and could not speak very plainly.  He did not know how to show his love or emotions very well, but when I would hug him goodbye, I knew that he loved me.”

To be continued….

I Remember Daddy.... Part 2

This is second in a series of friends’ fond memories of their dads and the lessons that they learned from them. Part 1 Bill

BG told me, “What I remember about my Daddy is that he never raised his voice or his hand toward his children.  He took us to Daytona Beach every year, as he really enjoyed the dog races.  I enjoyed watching the Braves on TV with him.  He was about 48 years old when I was born, so we did not actually do a lot of stuff together.  He would take my mother and me to our favorite fishing spot, then sit and watch until dark when mamma would finally be ready to go.   Finally, I remember being in the hospital room with him while doctors explained to him the operation to remove a brain cancer and seeing tears roll down his face.”

CBG wrote, “My daddy passed away when I was 18 years old and I always think about how much more I would have liked to have known him after my crazy teenage years were over.  What I value and remember most about him was what a hard worker he was and his strength of character.  He was a man of few words but when he did speak, you listened.  A couple of things I believe I learned from him that stands out the most are, you have to keep your word and punctuality.  He always had to be early for an event or appointment, not just on time but a good 30 minutes to an hour ahead of time, never late.  One more thing that comes to mind; he smiled most when children were around.  As I look back after all these years, I remember those were the times I heard him laugh.  I sure do miss him.”

This is what JSM had to say about his dad: “My dad was one of those people that was short with word and did not tell people how much he loved them. One day when he was getting on up in age he and I was sitting around chatting and he told me how he love me. He often put his arms around me but the word love was seldom said.

“I learned from him to be straight up with people and be honest. I love my Dad.  He was a good man.”

To be continued……

I Remember Daddy.......

Several weeks ago, my Friend, Ben, told me about something his daughter said many years ago.  She crawled up in his lap and said, "Daddy, I Love you"!

Understandably, I am sure that his heart just swelled because of the smile on his face as he told it.

She went on to say, "I love you because you take out the trash and kill all the roaches".

I thought that this was a touching story and it made me think that we don't really know what our children think, nor how what we do and say to them affects their thoughts; their lives.  I decided that during this year's bible school at church, I would ask several children about their fathers and see what kind of response I would get.  I ended up asking adults about their fathers instead.  I asked two questions:

                What is the most vivid memory of your dad, especially when you were small?

                What did you learn from your dad?

I got more answers than I expected and I will share at least some responses here over the next few days.  I will only use their initials, since I did not ask them about publishing their names.

One friend, SWM, said, "When I was a little girl, we didn't have a car.  My daddy was going to walk to the store, which seemed like it was two miles away, (it probably wasn't that far, but it really seemed like a long way to me).   I wanted to go too, so he let me walk with him.  Daddy was a fast walker and I couldn't keep up with him, so I grabbed his back pocket so that I could stay close to him.  I surely must have been thinking, 'daddy, don't walk so fast', but I knew that he was not going to leave me behind."

“My Daddy was a hard-working man.  He only had a 2nd grade education and could only write his name, but not very well.  He never had many earthly possessions, but he was always willing to share what he had, and was always willing to help someone.  He was one of the hardest working men I have ever known, but he didn't really need a lot of money to make him content.  He let my mother pick up his paycheck and would never even ask to see it.  He would let her pay the bills and use the money as she saw fit.  I never remember hearing my daddy ask for anything.”

 

SB said, “My Dad was my best friend.  I could talk with him anytime about anything and always felt much better, even though he might not always agree with me. He was a very humble man and very dedicated to the ministry.  He taught me the value of a Christian home and the importance of family time.  He loved God first and then his family.  I loved him very much.”

To be continued………….

The Duke and the Great Communicator

Ronald Reagan died 5 June 2004, ten years ago.  I wrote this the week that he died.  I thought the tenth anniversary of his death would be an appropriate time to post it here.  bd

When Ronald Reagan was elected President, Lewis Grizzard wrote, “If America was going to elect an actor as President, they should have done it before John Wayne died.”  

I certainly was not the only one that felt the same way at the time, especially among Georgians. I was not happy that some old actor, from California no less, had beat Jimmy Carter for President and had sent him packing back to Georgia.  Of course, I wasn't happy with how a lot of people treated President Carter.  The press, Washington, Californians made fun of my President.  Even Dan Rather who claims to be from Texas didn't act right by Jimmy Carter to me.

What I really didn't like about Reagan was the fact that he grew on you.  He could “aw shucks” with the best of them.  Many in the media did not like him and tried to make him look bad, but he was an actor.  He knew their game and played it better than they did.  When he didn't want to answer their questions, he could feign deafness and just walk on.  For heaven’s sake, he was 69 years old when he was elected.  He was born on my birthday in the year that my mother was born (Feb. 6, 1911.)  

Ever since Reagan died, the news channels have been running Reagan quotes.  He was one of America’s most quotable presidents.  Many things that he said have stuck with me.  The most memorable to me was when he said, in front of the Berlin wall in 1987, “Mr. Gorbachev, open this gate! Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!”

The most touching quote that I personally remember was after the Challenger disaster in 1986, “The crew of the space shuttle Challenger honored us by the manner in which they lived their lives. We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them, this morning, as they prepared for their journey and waved good-bye and slipped the surly bonds of earth to touch the face of God.”

Looking back, he was a lot smarter that I, and many other people, thought he could possibly be.  He brought honor and a sense of strength and right that had been missing from the Presidency, some of which was lost during Vietnam and the rest during the Nixon administration.  The presidency got bigger during his watch and he filled the job in a manner that made it much harder for those that followed him.

He was the most optimistic President in my lifetime.  He looked for the good, even in America's enemies.  He insisted on America negotiating from a position of strength.  He understood and used humor to convey his message.  His experience in acting honed his skills in conveying a message.  His experience in broadcasting taught him to edit the message to its essence.  But I think the most important elements of Ronald Reagan were his faith in God; his love of Nancy; and his devotion to the success of the cause of freedom and the American way of life.  He governed from principle, not from what he thought would sell to the voters.  He did pick and choose his fights, but he never wavered from what he thought was right.  We all should learn from this.

He was even an optimist for this country when he told us ten years ago that he had Alzheimer’s disease.  He spoke of the future in positive terms.  There was no room for pity in his words.  Little did we know that he was leaving the world stage at that very moment.  Only this last week, we made that departure official.     

When Reagan left office, I said many times that history would be kinder to President Carter than most thought then and not as kind to Reagan as most thought then.  I was wrong about at least part of that.  I mean no disrespect to the memory of Mr. Grizzard, but the Duke couldn’t have possibly done any better than the Great Communicator, Ronald Wilson Reagan, whose grave marker reads:

“I know in my heart that man is good, that what is right will eventually triumph, and there is purpose and worth to each and every life.”

Memorial Day 2014

This is Memorial Day weekend.  Some people view Memorial Day as the official start of summer, but it is a lot more than that.  Sometime next Monday, the president or some dignitary standing in for him will lay a wreath at the tomb of the Unknown Soldier to honor the men and women of the military who have died for their country.  We will see pictures of the tombstones at Arlington and other national cemeteries.  Some of us will take time to reflect, but others will be out grilling or boating; just celebrating a three-day weekend. 

A fair amount has been written about the beginning of the tradition of placing flowers on the graves of soldiers.  Some say it was in Savannah or Columbus, GA. Some say it was in Mississippi, or Ohio, or somewhere else.  It does not really matter to me where it started, what we call it or even what day we observe it.  The fact that we take time to stop, reflect and honor those brave men and women who served this country is what really matters to me.

I visited Arlington as a member of a high school band.  I think that we were in Washington DC for a cherry blossom parade.  I do not remember anything about the parade.  What I do remember is seeing all those acres of graves at Arlington National Cemetery; rows and rows of white marble grave markers, each with a cross or star of David.

I also remember seeing the tomb of the Unknown Soldier.  I remember the precision of the Army guards of the 3rd Army Infantry Regiment as they silently follow their routine of guarding the tombs, just as they have done since 1937.   He marches down the mat behind the tomb 21 steps, turns east and pauses 21 seconds, turns north and pauses 21 seconds, and then marches 21 steps to the other end of the mat.  He does a similar set of maneuvers to get back to his starting point.   He does this continually until the next soldier relieves him. 

Each precise turn the guard makes is followed by a click of his heels.  I remember it being so quiet there, except for the click of the soldier’s heels; so solemn, so respectful, so American!

I went up to The Bleckley County courthouse and sat on the bench out front on Friday afternoon.   As I sat there, I thought of the Unknown Soldier’s grave.  Somehow, I am afraid that all of us think of Memorial Day as being for ever so many unknown soldiers.  I am so proud of the people that have decorated the grounds of the courthouse for the Memorial Day celebration in Cochran.  They have placed over 50 markers, each with the name of the fallen soldier and the war he fought.  Most of them were crosses.  One had the Star of David.

Each of those markers represents not just a nameless brave soldier, but someone's son, or brother, or father.  A few names are familiar.  There are just a couple that I knew personally, but I am sure that I know the families of many of them.  They are names that I might have known if their lives had not been cut short, but they gave themselves so the ones that they love could live free in the country that they held dear. 

I later found out that it is not the American Legion or the VFW that puts out the flags and the markers, but the people in the Bleckley county courthouse.  There is a nice black granite marker on the northwest quadrant of the courthouse grounds that has almost all of these names listed by which conflict that they died in.  Nevertheless, they went to the trouble to place the markers on the grass, each with a soldier's name and an American flag.  It is a special tribute to ensure that they are soldiers with names.

I have no idea if I will be at the courthouse on Monday morning when the special service is held to honor these, and others, that have died in service to their country.  Just in case I don't make it Monday, I went up there last night and called each one by name, thanked them, and said a pray of gratitude for their service and the sacrifice that they and their families made.  I also read the names of the almost 100 American soldiers that have died since Memorial Day of 2013. It is the least I can do.

(See http://projects.militarytimes.com/valor/)  

Simplicity!

We went to church today at Longstreet Methodist church.  It was homecoming.  It has really become an annual tradition for us. Sometimes we just go for lunch.  Sometimes, like today,  we get there in time for singing and the morning message.  To some, it may seem odd for us to go to homecoming at a church that we can't really call home.  Neither Deb nor I ever attended there regularly.  In fact, about the only time we have ever been there is for homecoming and other special occasions.  We go there because it is a place that is so special to many of our friends that mean a lot to us.  Friends that we truly love.

It is a 202 year old structure that has been added onto only once, as far as I can tell.  The two front doors are original to the structure.  They are kind of rough hewn.  The nails were probably handmade and the hinges certainly were.  It is a simple structure that was built back in the days when construction in the south, at least this part of the south, was really simple.  Life itself was simpler in those days too.

   

Danny Mathis was today's speaker.  It is not his "home" church either, but he spoke about how he spent a lot of time there as a young man in the seventies and how he got his bearings as a young Christian there.

Danny used this setting to talk about the simplicity of salvation. How easy it is to make our relationship with God overly complex. 

Of course, that is all true, but don't we sometimes,  (maybe most of the time,)  make our life, especially our relationships overly complex?  It is so easy to expect more of people that they can deliver.  It is also easy to put OUR expectations on other people; expectations that are our goals for them, and not theirs.  We do it to our friends.  We do it to our parents.  We do it to our children.  (Sometime we even do it to people beside us or in front of us in traffic.) We are responsible for our own disappointment in others because we EXPECT them to be what we want them to be, rather than what they are meant to be.

Danny talked about clutter.  I am sure he was mostly referring to clutter in our spiritual lives, but it could also apply to other clutter in our lives, our homes, our cars, and our minds.  I certainly am guilty of having so many thing on my mental list of "to dos" that I get so bogged down that I don't get any of it, or at least not much of it done.  He had a solution: simplify!  In fact he used the KISS phrase: "Keep it Simple Stupid."

I couldn't help but think about my dear bride, Deb.  Several years ago when she was thinking about retirement, she decided that she (we) had too much clutter in our lives.  She vowed to "Simplify" her, which really meant our, lives.  She has been on this quest for several years and even though I am a slow learner, I am beginning to get it.  (In some areas of my life, I am practically rehab slow...) 

In some areas of my life, I am so organized.  In other  (most) areas I am so cluttered and I really need to work on those areas.  I have a good friend who collects and saves.  He sometimes says that he is just a bag or two (of junk) short of being featured on "Hoarders."   He say things like, "...because one day I might really need those headlight rings for a 1964 Nash Rambler.  Who knows!"

I laugh when he says these things, but even though I may not collect car parts, there is so much clutter in my life.  I have books that I will never refer to or read again.  I have tools that I will probably never use.  I know that I have old salvage wood that will never find its way into a project.  But that is not all, I have attitudes that need to go.  I have expectations that I need to get rid of.  Fears? Prejudices?  Who know what else?

Lastly, I will mention one final point on simplicity.  Knowing that we were going to eat after Danny spoke and knowing that Danny was the guest speaker, some woman, (I didn't hear her name,) made Danny a German chocolate cake.  That is his favorite!  If you have slowed down enough to think about your friend's favorite cake and actually have the time to make it for him, you have pretty much mastered the simplicity sermon...

Hurry Up Springtime!

It has been an odd year for weather, so far; warming some days only to turn cold that night; cold for several days and again turning warmer.  Deborah said a few days ago, "I am tired of winter clothes and I am ready for spring."

Indeed!

We have had a changing of the guard at our bird feeders over the month of March.  Our adult orioles that have been with us since January have disappeared (although the juveniles are still here), and we have a fresh crop of brown-headed cowbirds and red-winged blackbirds.  

A couple of weeks ago we were riding somewhere and saw a whole grouping of white blossomed trees.  We knew that some of them were pear, of some variety but were unsure of the rest.  Dogwoods were not blooming yet, which led to the mystery. 

Last weekend they printed the Macon Telegraph on pink paper.  This bit of encouragement meant only one thing (in Middle Georgia): Cherry blossom time!  Nearby Macon has had an annual festival for over 40 years to celebrate the blooming of the more than 300,000 Yoshino cherry trees in the Macon-Bibb County area. 

We have an old blooming cherry tree in our backyard.  Although I am not sure if it is Yoshino or some relative, it certainly does not follow the official blooming period of the Cherry Blossom Festival in Macon.  It blooms on its own timetable.  Colonel Lucien Whipple planted it here more than 40 years ago.  Every year we wonder if its time has come to depart from the living, but it remains.

Every time the weather looks promising this spring, it seems to turn cold again.  This past weekend, especially Saturday was just gorgeous.  Then it was cooler Sunday and Monday.  Tuesday was rather nice and it was 28 degrees Wednesday morning.  My wife longs for different clothes to mark the beginning of spring and summer.  I do too, but even more, I’m ready for the end of cold feet and dry, itchy skin season.

To me there is something invigorating about the days getting longer.  I understand that the length of daylight is an ever-changing thing, but springtime is when it really hits me that the days are getting longer. 

I have lived my life within a ten-mile radius of Cochran, but I have visited northern cities.  Having spent time in the Chicago area, I wonder how people stand the short days of winter there.  With the sun not coming up until after 8 AM and setting somewhere around 4 PM, you only see sunshine during the weekends, and not a lot even then.  I am not prone to depression, but that would certainly wear on me.  At least I think that it would. 

I hope to have some lettuce and other edibles planted in the next few days.  Hopefully, the cold snap of below freezing Tuesday night is our last this season.  I am ready for some locally grown tomatoes, blueberries, strawberries and fresh okra that warmer days will bring.

Of course, I’ll probably have a different opinion in late August.

People are Funnier Than.........

Almost 30 years ago a coworker and friend I'll call Dwayne said, “people are funnier than anybody.”  My friend was right.

It has always amused me that people apparently think they are invisible when they get into their car.  Even when they are driving, women “adjust” and check out their makeup or their hair as if they can’t be seen.  Men clean their ears, primp, pick their teeth and even worse.  People reading a book, a map or a newspaper have passed me on the way to work. 

About ten years ago, the same woman passed me almost every morning as I drove to work.  Not that I mind being passed by a woman, but I was driving about 65 and she was applying eye makeup as she passed me, using the lighted mirror on the back of her sun visor.  Since it was before daybreak, I would watch as the glow of that lighted mirror would go over the distant hill in front of me each morning.

Men and women now use their commute time to talk on their cell phones.  Don’t get me wrong, I do it sometimes myself.  Other than the time you are dialing, I don’t think that the act of TALKING on a cell phone is any more dangerous than talking to someone in the car with you.  I have been surprised to see some pass me, holding their cell phone with one hand and gesturing with the other.  It made me wonder what kind of autopilot they had.

  

Cell phones certainly are a real asset for us to keep in touch with our family, loved ones as well as work.  It has finally moved from status symbol to a useful tool and finally just about a necessity.  However, I continue to be amazed by how some folks act as they use these things.  Some folks must believe that they become inaudible as soon as they hit the “send” button.  Either that or they completely lose their sense of where they are.  Once while traveling,  I overheard a woman talking on her cellphone, who was walking through the airport say, “Yes I’m here in Orlando and I just hate this airport.  It is the absolute worst!”  She was getting in line for ice cream on concourse B at the ATLANTA airport.

People that would look at you like you were CRAZY if you ask them their name think nothing of exposing their name, address, phone number, Social Security number, mothers maiden name and more while talking in public on their cell phone.  I have heard about hysterectomies, gall bladder surgeries and divorce, all in more detail than anyone would want to hear, while waiting for a table at Longhorn. 

When you travel, it seems as though it is even worse.  I have heard lawyers give advice, and threaten while in the privacy of the gate area with 200 other people waiting for a plane.  I have overheard enough business details in a series of cell calls that someone listening could have absolutely wrecked some pretty good deals.

I think that parking lots are probably the most unique place for people, though.  Like on the road, people must believe that they are invisible not only as they drive into the parking lot, but also must believe that they remain invisible for at least 10 feet as they leave their car.  Many people, particularly heavyset ones do an inordinate amount of adjusting and retrieving undergarments from areas of anatomy that I’d rather not discuss too much.  I can’t imagine that they would do that if they knew that we could actually see them. 

This 10-foot “invisibility buffer” obviously is only effective when you are leaving your car.  I say this because these same people bounce up like a Superball if they slip and fall when they are returning to their car.  They may break their hip or leg, but they jump up and look around to see if anyone actually SAW them fall.  If you ask them if they are OK, they will invariably say, “Sure, I’m fine.”  They’ll say this even if they have bones protruding and are bleeding profusely.  

Yes Dwayne, you were right 30 years ago and you are right now, people are just funnier than anybody.   

Father's Day! Call or Write.....

The basics of this post was written for Father's Day in 2005.  I have brought it up to date, but the core of my feelings from then hasn't really changed.

Not long ago someone asked me what I was going to say about Father’s Day.  Although they could remember several things I had written about Mother’s Day, they said that they couldn’t remember me ever writing about Father’s Day.  I don’t think I ever have. 

Since my dad died when I was just over two, Father’s Day was not a big deal at the Davis house as I was growing up.  It just wasn’t. 

Until I was in my late teens, I thought the concept of fatherhood was overrated.  I thought, “Hey, I’ve never had a father and I am just fine.”  I finally began to get into and understand the traditions of Father’s Day after I married, since Deborah’s father was very much alive.  (This will be her first Father's Day without him.) 

After the birth of our daughters, all of a sudden, fatherhood became a serious responsibility.  I didn’t think that I had a good point of reference for what a father should do, how a father should act, or how a father should “be,”  but I was, of course, wrong.  I had all kinds of models to look back on and learn from.

My brother, Jim is 13 years older than me.  He taught me how to shoot a gun, ride a bicycle, change gears with a straight stick and a thousand other things that daddies traditionally do.  He did this in spite of the fact that I ran around his car with a rake and melted the buttons on his car radio with the car cigarette lighter.   

Uncle Freddie, (my Mother’s brother,) gave me a love for the smell of fresh sawdust.  He taught me how to drive a nail without bending it and how to saw a straight line with a handsaw.  He built a wagon for my goat (Carol) to pull.  He built a downhill racer (Nellybell) that I rode down the old clay hill near my house for years. 

Jack Towns (daddy Jack,) a neighbor and friend of the family from church, tried to teach me how to milk a cow and goat.  He also demonstrated how to slaughter chickens and turkeys for food.  I never got the hang of any of this, but that wasn’t his fault because he tried. 

J. B. Hobbs taught me about planting corn, squash, beans and tomatoes.  He let me ride with him on his tractor and in the back of his truck occasionally.  He built the first homemade butterbean sheller on Chicken Road.  

Hilton Perdue and his wife, Alice took me fishing and taught me how to bait a hook and clean fish.  He also took me to his daddy’s house so I could see him make cane syrup.  It was amazing to a little boy like me.  His cane mill was powered by a belt wrapped around the back wheel of his 1928 or 29 model-A Ford truck. (I’m not that old.  It was a really old truck even then.)

Kannah Belflower was a physically imposing but soft-spoken man in my church.  He always asked me about what was going on in my life and he always seemed to know when I needed an encouraging word.  I learned from him that kind words are appreciated by practically everyone and we should take the time to give them.

When I began to think about it, a lot of men, particularly from my home church, stepped in and gave of their time to do fatherly things with me and other kids that needed it.   Half of these men are long gone and I never even thought to tell them thanks for all that they did for me when I was growing up.  I should have, but just never did.  

If your father is still around, by all means spend some time with him this weekend and let him know how much you love and appreciate him.  It would also be nice to call or send a note to those other men that have gone out of their way to do fatherly things with you or someone else who needed it.  It will do you good to say it and you don’t know how much they might need to hear it.

The World in a Book

A couple of months ago when I was out of town, Encyclopedia Britannica announced that it was ceasing publication of their print edition after 244 years. I couldn’t help but think back to when we got our first encyclopedia at home. They were a 1961, or so edition of the World Book Encyclopedia. I was in heaven.

I remember saying something at school about looking things up in the World Book. One of my more affluent friends kind of sneered that he had the Encyclopedia Britannica. I remember thinking that it couldn’t possibly be any better than the World Book. Several years later, I was in the library and looked through a volume of the Britannica thinking, “I am glad I had my old trusty World Books instead of this. I could have never written all those reports at Dodge Elementary if I had to use this as a reference.” It may have been more scholarly that my trusty World Book, but at least I understood what I read in mine. Besides, Britannica was LEATHER BOUND. No one in my house would have let me touch a leather bound book of any kind until I was old enough to drive.

One of my best friends growing up had a set of grocery store encyclopedia (I don’t remember the name.) His Mom was buying them one volume at a time when she had the money and there was a featured volume available that they didn’t have. I assume that this is why he knew so little about topics, beginning with the letters J-K, N-O, and V-Z. Apparently, these volumes were never featured when there was extra cash in their household.

I really don’t remember the traveling salesman that sold the books to my mom. In fact, for all I know, we may have had a used set. I have no idea what that set cost my mother in the early 60’s. I am quite sure it was a lot of money to her, but he was willing to sacrifice so that her child could learn. They would be available to me at home, every day, all year long. It worked. From the day we first got them until I was grown, I remember going to the bookshelf to look up something and end up reading article after article. I do essentially the same thing today when I look up something on-line. It was my Google, Wikipedia, and CIA world fact book all rolled up and bound in cream and green fake leather with gold embossing on the cover.

I’m sure that the print encyclopedia business will soon be a thing of the past and all be gone shortly. Even though I have moved on and it has been years since I picked one up, I can’t help but be a little sad to see them go.

Grannies in a blanket

A few weeks ago, the leader of our church’s senior adult group, “Senior Friends” asked me about helping with a hayride for the group. He said, “My wife told me to ask for your help because if you helped, it would be fun; if I planned it by myself, it would be boring.”

I suspect that she may have suggested that he ask for my help, but I really doubt that she said anything about him planning a boring trip without me. He is a retiree who rides a motorcycle, for heaven’s sake. How could he be boring?

In any case, I gave him my thoughts and told him that I hoped they had a good time; I wouldn’t be there for it though.

The weekend before the hayride, he again asked me a few questions. I answered as best I could, but again wished him well and told him that I couldn’t (wouldn’t) be there.

A couple of days before the event, my wife casually mentioned that she had signed us up to bring soup to the “after the hayride” festivities. You could have heard a hay bale drop…… “Honey, didn’t I mention that I couldn’t be there?”

Well, as you can imagine, the night of the event was a beautiful, full moon-lit night, with temperatures hovering around a crisp 32° F. That’s cold enough that those who were actually crazy enough to get on the trailer wouldn’t admit to having been there.

They had borrowed a nice trailer from “Gully Branch” that was actually built for that purpose. It had a nice John Deere paint scheme and plenty of bench seating. It was even equipped with a slide out, walker-wide ramp so that the infirm (both of mind and body) could get on and off.

The way I heard it, the ride started with a bang. The driver pulled out with a trailer full of seniors, wrapped up in light jackets and a smattering of gloves, hats and blankets.

Living in the Deep South, I am not all that familiar with, nor have I ever had the need to understand, a wind chill chart. As best I can tell, with an ambient temperature of 32°F and a truck pulling a trailer at 35 MPH, frostbite is not a serious threat, but you would have a hard time convincing about 30 of my senior friends that it was not possible.

“Hey, Hey, Hey, Are you late for some appointment somewhere?” they shouted.
When the driver finally stopped, he asked, “Are you cold back there? I was only going 30-35!”

“We could fly a kite back here, if the wind-chill didn’t freeze and break the string!”

A whole nest of Grannies were all wrapped up in one blanket, shaking their heads.

After that, he held the speed down to 18-20, so the wind chill was only about 20°F. This made the next 100 yards, or so, NOT TOO BAD.

One couple was completely under their own blanket by the time they got to the next stop sign.

“What are you doing under that blanket, David?”

“Leave me alone, I’m smooching with my wife.”

“David, are you sure that that is Jan under there with you?”

“It’s too cold to come out and check, right now.”

By the time they got to the next stop sign, riders were saying, “Great, we can turn around here, and maybe we won’t all have pneumonia.”

It didn’t happen.

By this time, several folks were beginning to express concern that the driver and his wife were really missing all the fun that was happening on the trailer. At least 10 men volunteered to drive so that the driver and his wife could ride in the back where the “fun” was.

“This whole trip was their idea and they are missing all the fun.”
Really, this was a trailer full of caring, selfless people. (If I had been there, I might have cried.)

When a car pulled up behind the trailer, someone said, “Don’t look right at them. They might recognize us. We don’t want them to think that our church if full of idiots that would be out on a hayride on a night like tonight.”

Indeed.

They made it a full six miles before the threat of violence appeared, “turn around, get us back to the church and get us hot chocolate and no one gets hurt…”
Even though they were headed back, several were still not convinced that the driver was not lost. “Is he still looking for a place to turn around?”

“These are my best gloves and I still can’t feel my fingers.”

“Don’t touch my ears, they might fall off.”

And my personal favorite, “I can’t tell, is my nose running?”

This was an over 50 crowd, a group that, as a whole, is technology averse. I suspect that they will all have a better understanding of weather forecasting and wind chill before they get on a “Gully Branch” trailer at night again. The way I heard it, there were more than 30 “Senior Friends” out that night, but none would admit to actually being on that hay ride. I know that if I had been there, I probably wouldn’t admit it either.

Thanksgiving wishes

From Veteran’s Day until sometime in January when sheets and towels go on sale, life is really a blur at the Davis house. Probably yours too! Between dealing with leaves on the ground, decorating, shopping for gifts for your friends and loved ones, practicing for Christmas plays, Thanksgiving, office luncheons, church dinners and parties, and POSSIBLY watching just part of a football game or two, there doesn’t seem to be enough time to stop and smell the pumpkin pie.

In the middle of this blur, I think that it is important for us to stop and take a few minutes to think about what and who is important to us. Even more important, take the time to tell those special people that they important to you and how you appreciate them. Sending flowers after they’re gone will not be enough, trust me. It is much better to tell them while you are both living.

A friend once told me about a long-time friend of hers who had lost her husband. She took it very hard. It was almost a year before the two friends were able to talk about the loss. My friend asked, “What was the hardest part of losing your husband unexpectedly?”

She replied, “What I regret the most is the fact that the last time I saw him was when he left for work that morning he died, I was in such a hurry that I did not tell him I loved him. We always said ‘I love you’ each morning before he left. But that morning we were just too busy. I would give anything to be able to tell him that I love him, just one more time.”

Well, chances are that you will be around the very people that mean the most to you in the next few days. My challenge to you is to take just a few minutes to chat with each one and tell them how they are special to you. And if you love them, tell them! If they are not where you are, PICK UP THE PHONE!

Life expectancy is the longest it has ever been. But life is still too short to not take the time to smell the pumpkin pie, and laugh with family, and let them know what they mean to you. Besides, it’s Thanksgiving.

God told me to ask you…..

Yesterday we had our office Thanksgiving luncheon. The company furnishes the meat and drinks and the employees bring covered dishes. We have a couple of great folks that always volunteer to coordinate everything and pull it all together. They do a great job and it is always a hit.

The Thanksgiving menu discussion is always fun, especially if you have folks from different parts of the country. Do we have stuffing or dressing? (One participant insists that it is all dressing unless you dig it out of a turkey carcass.) Is it cornbread or bread in the dressing/stuffing; sweet potato or pumpkin pie? PEE-can or pe-CON pie? Is the turkey roasted, smoked or fried? (We actually had all three.)

When they finally settled on the menu and sent it out so we could volunteer for dishes, I decided to wait and see what was left on the list that no one wanted to bring. This is sometimes dangerous, at least for me. I could have ended up with a complicated dish and I would be stuck. Luckily, I was assigned to bring Cool Whip. I kinda felt like I had wimped out because there is not much effort or creativity in bringing cool whip, but what can you do?

On my way from home to work yesterday, I stopped by the trusty Piggly Wiggly to pick up my cool Whip. It was early, so I got a close parking place and there wasn’t even a line to check out.

As I walked out to my Jeep, a woman was getting out of her car halfway across the parking lot. She hollered across the parking lot, “Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“Don’t you want to buy a sweet potato pie?’

“You have pies?”

“I sure do!” and she proceeded to open the back door of her car, so I got into my Jeep and drove over beside her. She pulled out a big tray of warm, homemade 4-5” sweet potato pies.

“I was just over at the convenience store on the bypass. Those men on the bench out front said I should bring the rest of these to town.”

“They look good! How much are they?”

“Just $2 apiece.”

“I’ll take two.” I told her. “And how did you know I just bought Cool Whip?”
“I didn’t. God just told me to ask you if you wanted a sweet potato pie. What’s yo name, honey?”

After exchanging pies, money, names and pleasantries, I noticed the embroidery on her apron. It said Heavenly Pies.

Indeed.

Looking back, I should have given her a container of Cool Whip. I had two.

Veterans Day 2011

In honor of Veterans Day we had several things happen in our church this past Sunday. We viewed a Veterans Day tribute video which went from Pearl Harbor through Korea, Viet Nam and September 11th right to today with our troops in Afghanistan and Iraq. It was very moving. Our pastor then recognized all the veterans in attendance. I looked around at all these men and women who have served our country. Some served in wartime and other during peaceful times. Some of them were young, others, not so much. Some served briefly, others an entire career. I was struck by the fact that these men and women that were standing are pillars of our church and our community.

Even though I have worked in and around a large military industrial complex most of my working life and feel like I have as good an understanding of the military way as an outsider can have, I am still an outsider. I believe that there is no possible way for me to truly understand the sacrifice that many veterans gave because I did not go there. I am an outsider.

There are more than 22 million veterans in America. There are over 1.5 million veteran women, probably more than any time in our history. There are 3.3 million veterans with service related disabilities. On any given night, there are over 107,000 homeless veterans in America.

We celebrate Veterans Day on November 11th each year, a tradition going all the way back to the end of WW I. It was then called Armistice Day in honor of the end of hostilities on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918. In his proclamation in 1919, President Woodrow Wilson said:

"To us in America, the reflections of Armistice Day will be filled with solemn pride in the heroism of those who died in the country's service and with gratitude for the victory, both because of the thing from which it has freed us and because of the opportunity it has given America to show her sympathy with peace and justice in the councils of the nations."

Please take a few minutes this Veterans Day to reflect on what the men and women who have served in our military have contributed to our security and freedom. Call or go see one just to say thanks for what they have done to make America the place where people still want to come. Most of us outsiders really have no idea what our freedom cost them.

Memorial Day

We lived life at a much slower pace when I was growing up on Chicken Road in rural north Dodge County. It was easy to tell where the Bleckley County line was on Chicken Road because the pavement ended when you got to Dodge County. It was really fun when it rained because you might get where you were going and you might not. Today, when people refer to getting in the ditch, it is a metaphor for something going wrong. Back then, it referred to driving on a slick rain-soaked road and quite literally, sliding in the ditch.

We didn’t eat out often and I really looked forward to going to Macon, maybe twice or three times a year. I remember one of the stores in downtown Macon had an elevator and there was an elevator operator that was always dressed up and operated the doors and the controls. It was probably Joseph N Neel’s, but I'm not sure. We’d always go to Sears, Newberry’s, Dannenberg’s, and I remember eating at Krystal or the lunch counter at Woolworth’s.

I remember going to Macon with my mama and her good friend Edna Scarborough. I must have been six or seven years old, I guess. We were in mama’s 1954 blue and white Ford. I remember this trip particularly because there was a parade while we were there. As the parade passed us, some of the entries threw candy. Ms Edna seemed to be getting more candy that the rest of us. She said several times, “Y’all don’t need to get any; I’ll have plenty to share.” She would pick up candy and put it in her pocket and as soon as she stood up, there would be more candy at her feet. As it turned out, we all got more candy than she because she was reaching through the pocket (of her all-weather coat,) and dropping the candy on the ground. She picked up the same 10 pieces of candy over and over.

In that parade were some military units, but there were also some old men dressed up in military uniforms that didn’t fit. They didn’t look like they could defend their rocking chair very well, much less America. Some of them were on crutches and some were missing arms. I asked Mama what those old men were doing in the parade. She explained that they were there to remind us of all the men and women who had made sacrifices to keep America free. I didn’t understand.

She said, “Billy, I’m talking about people like your uncle James.”

I understood. I never saw him in person because he died seven years before I was born. He was one of the first from Dodge County to Join the Navy after Pearl Harbor was attacked. One day this 22 year old was rolling in the floor, playing with his nephew and just a few days later he was a young man rolling in the mud at boot camp. One day he was a carefree brother trying to sort out what he will do with his life and just a few days later, he was a young man with purpose to fight and destroy a common enemy.

He didn’t die in combat, but he did give his life doing what men and women have done for more than 200 years. He was wearing the uniform with honor and a solemn promise to defend the United States of America.

I understood what those old men in the parade were trying to tell me. I had held the musty smelling, moth-eaten flag with 48 stars that draped James’s coffin when they brought him home and buried him at his parents’ feet in Bower’s Cemetery. I had read the letters that he sent his sister, and I had seen his pictures, both in and out of uniform. I saw what his loss did to his baby sister, my aunt Beck. She lived another 30 years, but started dying the day he did.

Uncle James didn’t make it to his 24th birthday. He never married, had children, found his first gray hair, or got to meet me. He gave all that up because he thought that the American way of life was threatened by those men far away and he needed to do his part to protect it.

He didn’t do anything that others before or since haven’t done. I just thought that this Memorial Day, I should introduce you to him by name. He and the thousands that he represents gave their all so that we could have the freedom that we enjoy every day. They deserve so much more.

Late Nights and Books on Texas

I wrote this over ten years ago during the week of Mother’s Day. I was a sick man and wasn’t sleeping well at the time. Reading through it today, I feel the same way as I did then. I hope that you have a wonderful Mother’s Day. bd

Last night as I was reading a pretty good book as everyone else in the house slept, I got to thinking about where my reading habit really began. I am sure that it was the fault of, or credit to my first grade teacher, Ms. Peacock. Now I know that I’m getting older and my memory is not what it used to be, but I remember her as a woman in her mid to late eighties and weighing at least three hundred pounds. She wore her hair in a knot, drank grapefruit juice out of those little cans through a straw (that always had lipstick on it.) She put on that really red lipstick using the back of her granddaddy’s pocket watch as a mirror. I remember someone asking her once why she drank that stuff, was it really that good? And she said that it helped her keep her weight down. We couldn’t imagine how big she must have been before she discovered this miracle juice.

At any rate, Ms. Peacock wrote on my report card at the end of the school year that my reading skills were weak and that my mama might want to work with me on it over the summer. Although Ms. Peacock may have started it mama followed through with a vengeance. You would have thought that I had been diagnosed with a serious, if not fatal disorder the way mama attacked the “problem.”

The bookmobile came to Empire once a week, Tuesday afternoons, I think. My mother and I were there to drop off and pick up a load of books every time it came. I remember it looking like a big pink and white bread truck. Before the summer was over we were visiting other libraries too. I became an authority on the Hardy boys and the Bobbsey Twins that summer. I also caught up on Samson and those poor wandering Jews that desperately needed a map. (I already knew about Kim, Wendy and their rowdy dog Tyke.)

Our routine was to sit on the front porch swing and I would read out loud and mama would shell butterbeans, or whatever hand work was needed, and just listen. I would read a while and then I could go play a while, and then read again. When I finished the book, I would close it and mama would have me tell her the story. Sometimes she would ask me questions. I climbed my Chinaberry tree and played in the creek that summer, but I read a lot of books too!

That was forty-odd years ago. I hadn’t really thought a lot about any of it until last night, as I reading about Texas. When mama sat there beside me shelling butterbeans and helping me with the hard words, I thought that I wasn’t going anywhere that summer. I was wrong. The journey that I started that summer has taken me many places and I hope it won’t end for a while….

This Sunday after a nice lunch I’d like to sit on that front porch swing and read a pretty good book to my mama, close my eyes and tell her the story that I just read, just one more time.

And what are YOU doing this Sunday?

Coupons

On a Saturday night a couple of years ago, my family and I went to a ball game in Macon, so I was out much later that usual. I had to get gas before coming home so I stopped by one of the fine convenience stores near downtown. I had just gotten out of my Jeep and this sad looking guy approached me before I could get the door opened to my gas tank.

“Panhandler,” I thought. “This is why I hate to be near downtown Macon at night.”

“Can you spare something so I can get something to eat? All I have is this penny that I just found.” He insisted on showing it to me.

“Let me get the gas going and I’ll check,” I said.

You know that I cannot pass one of those red kettles at Christmas, but this is different. I know that the kettle is legitimate. You just don’t know about these guys; dirty clothes, matted hair, ugly scars, smelly. Will they actually eat? Will they dull their cravings for drugs or alcohol? What do you do?

I remember the first guy like this I ever saw standing at a traffic light on an off-ramp in Atlanta. He had a sign that said something like, “will work for food.” It disturbed me deeply, but I was in the wrong lane and didn’t stop. When I got to my friend’s business, I told him about it.

He said, “Oh yeah, he’s been there over a month. I stopped and offered him a job the first morning I saw him. He declined. I stop about once a week and offer him a job or a trip to a nearby Waffle House for breakfast. He must be making pretty good money. He only works during morning rush hour as people come to work. I figure he’ll be gone when his donations drop off.”

I had no idea.

I am somewhere between a cynic and an old-fashioned softie. I don’t have a problem putting dollars into the big guitar at the Mexican restaurant for the mariachi to play “Besame Mucho” or “Rancho Grande’,” but that is different. I know that the Mariachi members are professionals that depend on tips to make a living. I don’t know if these guys are professionals or just victims of bad luck (or bad choices.)

I finally got the pump started and fumbled through my pockets to see if I had a couple of ones to give him. I could only find one. I was not about to reach for my wallet, certainly not late at night in downtown Macon, Georgia. I did find several coupons that had been handed out at the ball game: some from Chick-Fil-A and a couple for a free Big Mac. I gave him one of each and a dollar for a drink. He smiled, said thanks and almost broke out in a trot toward McDonalds.

I didn’t stand there and watch to see if he actually went in. That would probably have been rude, distrustful, or even prying. Did he turn away before he made it to the golden arches? Did he go to sleep with cheese on his breath, or something stronger? Did I do the right thing? I don’t know the answer to any of these. Would I do it again? Yes, I would, and I am now saving my coupons. I never know when I might need one or two.

Old Friends

Wanda and Layne have been friends of ours for a long time. They have had a place up on Lake Oconee for years and after both of them retired, they became full-time “Lakers.”

One morning not too long ago, Wanda made an early morning trip to Publix to beat the crowd. Right there in the produce department, she saw a woman that she recognized, but couldn’t for the life of her, remember the woman’s name. She ducked down the bread aisle while trying to remember…. Was she from Wilkinson or Laurens County from her youth? Was she from Warner Robins? She knew it was there, but the name just wouldn’t come…..

Since Wanda is not one easily defeated, she finally resolved to hit this memory problem head-on when she came face-to-face with this unnamed friend in front of the salad dressing on aisle five.

“My goodness, how long has it been,” Wanda began, as she hugged her friend and pecked her on the cheek.

The friend with no name just smiled, tentatively.

Wanda continued, “I haven’t seen you in ages. I know I haven’t seen you since my newest grandchild was born.”

She then began to show her friend the latest pictures. They spent quite some time looking at the whole album that Wanda just happened to have with her; beginning at birth, all the way up to the family cookout, just a few weeks ago.

As they closed the book, Wanda fished one last time for a hint of this friend’s connection. “Well, are you living here at the lake now?”

“Oh no, Ralph and I pulled into Lake Oconee Campground and RV Park last night. We will only be here for a few days.”

Ralph. Ralph! Ralph? Wanda thought. That is no help. She must have remarried or something. I can’t picture this woman with a Ralph.

She stalled more, “well you and Ralph must drop by to see Layne and me while you are here.”

The friend nodded.

Finally Wanda confessed, “Your face hasn’t changed a bit. I’d recognize you anywhere. I know that I should know it like my own, but for the life of me, I can’t remember your name or where our lives crossed.”

The friend thought for a bit, smiled and asked, “Don’t you drive a green Ford Expedition?”

Wanda confessed that she did.

The friend continued, “Well, my name is Kathryn and I am from a small town right outside Detroit. I have never spent any time in Georgia in my life. You probably recognize me because you almost ran over me in the parking lot as I was walking in here this morning.”

“Oh no, I’m so sorry! I can’t believe it. You probably don’t think much of the South now, especially Georgians. You’re probably ready to leave right now and never come back.”

“Quite the contrary,” Kathryn replied, “My husband spent some time in the South before we married. He always talked about how different life was here and I never believed him. Ralph left early this morning to try his hand at fishing so I came here to get a pound of coffee and some bagels. I have been hugged, kissed, shown baby pictures, and invited to your house, all before breakfast. How can I be mad about that?”

“Oh Kate, you haven’t had breakfast yet? I know this little place with the best breakfast. They’ve got a great breakfast casserole and baked French toast to die for. If you want a little less, they have fresh local berries, homemade muffins, cat head biscuits, cane syrup from south Georgia and blackberry jam.”

Off they went together, two newly acquainted old friends. They had a lot of catching up to do. Bless their hearts…..

Hometown Heroes

While my wife and I were on our way out of town for a few days of rest, we drove through several small towns. I always enjoy reading the signs as we pass through. In one town we saw signs in front of two different churches declaring “Today is Hoyt Smith Day!” This little town wasn’t half the size of my hometown, maybe a couple of thousand people, so getting his name on two church signs was quite an accomplishment, I thought.

It turns out that Hoyt was celebrating his 100th birthday. He had spent most of them in that same community. He had farmed, gotten married, and raised a family there. But he had also been an asset. He had been a scout leader, active in the community and his church.

This made me think about my community and the many people that give of their time and talent to make it a better place to live.

My next door neighbor is on our city council. If I were a betting man, I’d put money on the fact that he hears a thousand complaints for every pat on the back that he gets. I’ve never heard him complain about it. In fact, when he mentions his responsibilities at all, it is usually talking about something that we could do to make our town a better place to live.

Can you think of a single pastor that gets the respect, recognition, (and pay) that they truly deserve?

There is a church near my home that has a very well kept lawn. There is always a nice mix of blooming flowers throughout the warmer months. I just know that the elderly man that maintains them is a volunteer. I say that because I don’t think that they could afford to pay him for all the time he invests. Our church had one of those men. For years, Eddie Edwards made sure that the weeds were few, and the grass was green. I don’t ever remember telling him how much I appreciated that.

I have no idea who the scout leaders and recreation ball coaches in my community are. They give of their time to help mold the leaders of tomorrow.

The children’s choir and high school band may sound great in their spring concert, but some hardworking director has had to listen to hours of pretty awful, ear-bleeding stuff to get them to that point.

The list goes on. We have heroes all around us. There are school bus drivers, teachers, policemen; just a lot of people that do jobs that I couldn’t, or wouldn’t want to do. I’m glad that they are able, and willing to do those jobs. We should say something to let them know that we appreciate what they do.

Last weekend, they presented Mr. Smith with a proclamation that talked about his being a kind and generous man, who brings joy and happiness to his many friends, neighbors, and family members. It talked about the example he has made of his life. It said that he makes this world a better place in which to live. Of course, it had all the “whereas and therefore” words that proclamations always have.

I wasn’t there, but I suspect that Mr. Hoyt wondered what all the fuss was about and kinda wished that they hadn’t gone to all that trouble. Hometown heroes are just that way. I’m glad that they did. He deserved it, I’m sure, and it made me think about the hometown heroes right here in my little part of the world.