A Late Father's Day Entry

I am making this late Father’s Day entry because I have not had much time to sit down and write. I ran across this photo of my kids on my wife’s camera yesterday and just started typing a few thoughts.

I heard a Father’s Day sermon this year that was probably one of my favorites. My favorite quote was when the speaker said something like this:

“If you have little children or no children and you want to give advice on how to raise kids please SHUT UP!” I paraphrased a little bit. You can hear the actual sermon here www.rbvincent.com/audio.htm(Check out the June 18 audio)

If you have the urge to give your two cents worth on parenting heed his advise. Until your kids are grown, married and independent you don’t get an opinion worth listening to. I try to keep my mouth shut when it comes to parental advice. Truth be said – there is no one formula for every kid. That’s the beauty of raising kids. Believe me when I say Dee and I are not experts at the parenting thing.
Today I want to introduce my kids. Kristina is 17 and will be a senior this year at Grace Christian. Corey is 16 and will be a junior. Both are energetic, smart and both have a great sense of humor.

Kristina is strong willed to say the least. She will make a great lawyer if she decides to head in that direction. She doesn’t even need to peel an orange – because she can debate the skin right off! I enjoy taking the opposite view from her on issues just to hear her argue her side. A few weeks ago we spoke at a church and she sang a song. After the service the kids swarmed around her like she was a rock star. Simply put she has charisma. I always tell her she has the whole package – brains, beauty, a heart that seeks God, and an unstoppable drive to succeed at all she does. I know it is the “parent thing” to say, “You can do anything with your life!” But I believe she truly can and will. Her strength is in her confidence.

Corey is my little boy. At 6’2” he’s not really that little. He gets a kick out of standing next to his mom and kissing the top of her head. Corey has a smile that will melt your heart. No matter what kind of trouble he gets into he just whips out that smile like a “Get out of jail free” card in a Monopoly game. He has a heart to match the smile. I remember him telling me about a mission trip he did in Mexico City where they worked with the street kids. I remember Corey’s sad eyes as he described the young street boys that fought off hunger pains by huffing paint thinner out of a paper bag. The world around him touches Corey and that is where his true strength lies.

Don’t get me wrong. Kristina and Corey have many challenges ahead of them and they struggle just like all teens do. But they have the stuff inside them that will get them through it all.

God, be with Kristina and Corey daily. Help them to know
you – truly know you. Keep them safe and healthy. Challenge
them. Guide them. Keep them close. Amen.

Goldilocks Lane

There are two statements that I can make and get an easy chuckle out of my two teenagers. The first is, “When I was a kid I lived on Goldilocks Lane…” and the second is, “When I worked at Gaylords…..” The latter was a department store that I believe is now defunct but my kids say it sounds like a gay motorcycle gang. Actually the Gaylords building where I worked is now the Student Center for the New Orleans Baptist Seminary.
I did live on Goldilocks Lane back in the 70’s. Located in Jacksonville, Florida on the west side of the city it was a middle class, blue-collar neighborhood. We lived at the top of the hill in the green and white house. The Rhudys, our best friends, lived in the house on our right and a rent house, with many occupants over the years, was on the left. Just a few doors down stood the Three Bears Nursery and Daycare.

I spent summers playing like I was John Wayne in Sands of Iwo Jima or an astronaut stranded on the Planet of the Apes. In the evenings my brothers, our friends and me would ride our bikes up and down the road. They were fast and had the infamous banana seats. Our bikes were decorated with an orange fluorescent flag waving above our heads and the sound of click, click, click echoing through the neighborhood from the baseball cards we had attached to the rims to make it sound like on engine.

We, the proud residents of Goldilocks lane, had our own little subculture. Or at least the kids did. There were the popular kids, the fat kids, the bullies and yes, even girls. But at that age we didn’t care much about the girls. I remember actually holding elections for Mayor of Goldilocks Lane. I lost the election because I could not swing my little brother’s vote in my direction. Probably gave him one too many wedgies!

We played a unique brand of football in those days – you know in time before moms and dads stopped letting kids be kids and actually have fun regardless of the physical threats of injury. Tag in the road and tackle in the grass but mostly tackle all over followed by an occasional “that’s gotta hurt.” Big John Rhudy was the one you wanted on your team. He was our version of Larry Czonka and could carry 4 kids on his back across the goal line. He looked a lot like Hoss from Gun Smoke. Johnny, not Big John but an older guy that lived across the street, taught us to play football and actually organized a game or two between Goldilocks Lane and the guys over on Miss Muffet Lane and Jack Horner Lane. Don’t remember much about the win-loss column but the games were full of action and mayhem. Our practices were made up of a little game Johnny called “smear the queer with the ball.” I can tell you it was not much fun being the ball carrier.

One year we had a bully on the block that would not let any of us ride our bikes to the 7-Eleven on Lanes Ave. He would make us stop and turn around and since he was older and could whip any of our butts individually, we obeyed. One day we came up with a simple plan to rid Goldilocks Lane of this resident evil and let freedom once again ring free….OK I am getting a little carried away. But our plan was simple and went like clock work . We had the youngest of our group stand in the front yard and challenge the Bully to a fight. The little one taunted him until the bully could take no more and proceeded into the yard to kick a little disrespectful tail. Then, like a scene straight out of Braveheart, the rest of us left our hiding places screaming and cursing and running directly at the bully. We hit him high. We hit him low. I grabbed onto a leg and didn’t let go (poetry not intended there). Once we had him under our control we beat the holy crap out of him. Our frustration level was high because of this boy-devil and our fury irrupted with every punch we threw. For most of that summer he had keep us from our beloved 7-Eleven and the awe inspiring Slurpees and the inevitable brain freezes they caused. Not anymore! At the end of the battle I had the biggest shiner and I wore it like a badge of honor. And the bully never bothered us again. We held our Slurpies high that day in celebration!

There will be more stories from the archives of Goldilocks Lane and yes my kids can still laugh at me when I bring them up. But at least I did not live two blocks over on the dreaded Tinker Bell Lane! We had our standards you know.

Hilarious!

Take a look at this King of the Hill Episode. Sad to say but so much of this is so true and a statement about folks and "God sending them to another church." Whether it's the music (hymns vs. praise), the pastor's tone or the 100 year old oak they cut down to make room for new parking - people get their shorts in a wad and move churches and then blame it all on God.

I actually have dealt with a few mega churches in the past (planning events). Actually rode in a parking lot tram to the sanctuary! One group I worked with called their pastor the "executive" is hushed tones. This pastor actually had an entourage! Oh well. We Christians (American especially) have a long way to go.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QtI2pa2m5cg

Life In The Witness Protection Program

OK. The title is a little misleading. I use to fantasize about living in the witness protection program. My parents were always very secretive about their past. My three brothers and I along with my parents were all the family we ever knew. No uncles, aunts or grandparents. There simply was no past for my parents. Their life before us was never mentioned. And to top it off my birth certificate had been forged!
When I was younger I never asked my parents why. After my father’s death I did begin to ask my mother questions. But my mother, to this day, will not volunteer any information to me. I have been able to peel back a few layers of the mystery for so much secrecy (mostly theories at this time) and have actually begun to locate other family members.
My first success came on July 4, 1996 when I begin searching for my mother’s twin sister. I had, over time, picked up tidbits of information by listening to my parents tell ambiguous stories of their past to others. No real details. There were only pieces of stories and sometimes outright fabrications. However, I remembered my mother telling someone she had a twin sister and I knew my mom was born in Tomah, Wisconsin. So I thought I could start with that piece of information and see where it led me.
My father-in-law had purchased a CD with the entire US phone book on it. So I started searching for my aunt. Within 15 minutes I had found her and with great excitement I called. David, my newfound cousin answered the phone. I explained that I was Glenda’s son and was looking for her twin sister Gloria. He said I had the right place but that she was at a 4th of July picnic at Lake Tomah. I assumed it would take her a few days to get back to me.
Within an hour David had found his mom and she returned my call. She was happy to hear from me and glad to know her sister was still alive. They had not spoken in almost 35 years!
After speaking with my Aunt Gloria I planned a trip to Pensacola to let my mom know that I found her and hopefully she, my mother, would open up and fill me in on the great mystery. When I arrived I asked my mom to use her phone and I called Aunt Gloria. When I had my Aunt on hold I turned to my mother and handed her a picture of her sister (Gloria had sent me a few photos of her family). “Do you know this lady?” I asked her. She looked for a minute, smiled and said, “Nope.” She had no clue. I was about to blow her little world up and get her to finally crack and give me the juicy details. I handed her the phone and told her, “It’s your twin sister Gloria. She’s on the phone and wants to say hello.” My mom was somewhat puzzled, confused and she looked a little scared. She took the phone and almost in a whisper said, “Hello.” She left the room and they talked for hours.
It’s been almost 10 years since that day. My mother and her sister have got closer and have visited each other several times. As a matter of fact I just traveled to Tomah for my Aunt’s 50th wedding anniversary and celebrated my mom and aunt’s 70th birthday while there.To this day why my mom and dad left their life and families behind is still a mystery to me. My mom has not shed any new light on these questions. Short of Chinese water torture and few pulled fingernails I doubt she will ever fess up.
The Witness Protection Program fantasy did not pan out for sure. But I still look for family and to unchain the mysteries of my heritage. All I have is theories at this time. However, since opening this one door to my family’s past, I have found two half sisters and several cousins (all on my mom’s side). Nothing on my dad’s side yet…. But I plan to keep looking. Maybe there is still hope that he was a crime boss on the run.

May 17, 1990

Today is special day for me. Early one morning in 1990 on this very day I was blessed with a son. He is growing up to be a fine young man. He has a great heart, a mean ping-pong backhand and all the potential in the world. He has been a gift to me and his mother. He is 16 today and I know the next few years will be a challenge for the both of us. But I look forward to every day with him and to his adult years when we move from father son to best friends. Happy Birthday!

P.S. He still can’t beat me at ping-pong.

Death by Oleander

Last week I was helping a young lady and her little girl select plants for their garden from our nursery selection. The little girl seemed to be around 9 or 10 and a typical bored kid on an outing with mom. There were no video game or mindless DVD to entertain her gray matter. Just bored with an occasional sigh, "When are we leaving mommy?"

As we made our way through the aisles of plants we approached the White Oleanders. The mother read the sign and yelled to her child, "Don't touch these oleanders! They can kill you!."

The little girl stopped in her tracks. Her mom continued down the aisle unaware that the little one was not in tow. The girl looked at the row of plants with absolute fear. She arched her back and with eyes wide open she passed by the Oleander display slowly, not taking the plant out of her sight, as if the plant would jump to life, grab her and devour her on the spot. She passed through the nursery and I watched as she moved through the rows. She continually looked over her shoulder at the spot where the deadly Oleanders sat in wait for an unsuspecting child to pass by.

She was no longer bored. Danger had entered her day. Possibly an adventure that would highlight her story to a sibling or friend about what her day was like.

Now the truth is that Oleanders are poisonous; as are 75% of all houseplants. In fact you would have to be able to get past the very bitter taste and swallow and large amount. Children as well as pets could be at risk due to body size. From boy scouts dying from a dose of oleander bark to an urban legend dating back as far as 1886 www.snopes.com/horrors/poison/oleanders.htm the Oleander has suffered a bad reputation.

One thing is for sure. That little girl will never have one in her garden and will one day exclaim to her kiddies, "DON'T TOUCH THE OLEANDER! YOU WILL DIE!"

Day 1: Here we go.......

I have wanted to start this blog for a while but have not been able to find the time. Sad but true, I have actually started one or two others and can't remember where I set them up or how to get back to them. I assume they are stuck in blogland with probably millions of other similar one shot blog entries.

My goal with this is to write more. Period. No political agenda. No religious mission. Simply to write and hopefully meet a few friends along the way and maybe reconnect with some from the past. I will write about politics and religion....I do have opinions. But at 43 I have learned that dialog is more challenging than debate.

I struggled with the idea of using my real name or some covert, slick sounding anonymous personality. Decided on my name. Keep it honest from the get go.

Now let me figure out how to get this blog site up and running......