Daddy D's Story Time

A Quiet Afternoon

2012-01-26T10:48:00.004-05:00

(Makena, HI) – If you would like to pretend for a while that you are some kind of explorer who discovered a spectacular island somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, drop by Makena State Park.

To get there, you pass through Wailea, which features luxury accommodations, fine homes, upscale shops and several high-end golf courses. When you arrive, you find the largest undeveloped white sand beach on Maui.

We spent most of an afternoon there, walking the beach, sitting on some rocks and just staring out at the ocean. As the sun began to set, we found our way back to civilization. But this was a great little stop because for a few moments late in the day, it seemed like we had the world to ourselves for a few stolen moments.

What a Blowhard!

2012-01-26T10:07:00.011-05:00

(Nakalele Point, HI) – It started off as benign idea, something like “Hey, let’s drive up there to see the blowhole.” As so many have discovered on Maui, the destination isn’t always as significant as the journey. When I woke up, I didn’t imagine we’d be standing on the edge of a cliff looking out at this.

To get to this vantage point, we had to pass by this ominous warning.

Being the noted adventurists we are, there we stood on the edge of nowhere.

You had to be going somewhere, though, and we were determined to find that blowhole, more dire warnings be damned.

Nakalele Blowhole is the result of the ocean wearing away the shore below the lava shelf. With each wave, water is forced through a hole in the lava shelf resulting in the "eruption" of water similar to a geyser. You have to get a photo or two of that, don’t you?

The hike down to the blowhole requires a little exertion. Claire, inappropriately attired in a skirt and sandals, went about as far as she dared.

That’s her, the tiny blue speck sitting under a rock.

Despite a steep climb and the specter of mortal danger, We emerged from the blowhole a little sore,but safe and sound, smiling.

I Can't Break a Hundred, But I Can Break a Sweat

2012-01-26T02:38:00.006-05:00

(Kapalua, HI) – I could just hear all my sports buddies saying, “You went to Maui and didn’t go to Kapalua?” It’s arguably the most famous place on Maui, at least for sports fans, because that’s where the PGA Tour starts every year. So, yeah, I went to Kapalua and set foot on the Bay Course. Here’s proof.

I’m not much of a golfer and for me spending four or five hours hacking away at a golf ball, even in a spectacular setting, would be a tremendous frustration and a colossal waste of time. But, I hung around for a few minutes just to say I’ve been there, as well as to fend off incredulity and ridicule from my people.
Kapalua Bay is beautiful, so we lingered for a while.

We even walked out on the point…deep to the end of the lava rocks where I attempted, without success, to wield my awesome influence over nature to hold back the power of the Pacific.

Off in the distance, humpback whales were consistently breaking the surface of the water, creating quite a show for those assembled. This added a sense of exhiliration to an already eye-popping view.

Kapalua was peaceful, in remarkable contrast to the consistent hubbub where we’re staying. It must be all the golfers. You know, you can’t make any noise around those people because you might mess up their backswings.

A Great Day to Sit Still

2012-01-24T23:34:00.008-05:00

(Ka’anapali, HI) – Sometimes, the less you do the better it is. Our day was spent reclining by the Oceanside where most of the time, this is what we saw.

If we sat up, the view changed to this.

We occasionally were forced to sit up to sip a refreshing beverage.

When we got hungry, someone brought us a pineapple pizza, which we ate right where we sat.

Then, in the afternoon the sun got a little too hot. So, we went to the shady side of the property, had dinner (Coconut shrimp, Thai lettuce wraps and various sides for those of you who demand details) with this view.

Then, we went back to the west side to watch the sun set.

After a remarkably physical experience the day before, this was just what we needed.

They’re serving cognac and Bailey’s on the terrace. Aloha.

Chasing Waterfalls

2012-01-24T13:30:00.017-05:00

What happened to my sit around in the resort and take it easy vacation? A sightseeing day trip turned into quite an adventure. The road itself, Hana Highway, is like something out of an action movie with hairpin turns, narrow mountainside passages and one-lane bridges.

But the views from there are breathtaking, worth stopping for without question.

But here’s the thing. Some of the sights you want to see aren’t exactly on the highway. You have to stop, hike, climb, and even hurt yourself a little to see them.
There’s a place on the map called Twin Falls and it seemed like a popular attraction. For people like us who don’t know what they’re doing, the maps mean something. There were lots of people like us. We found ourselves on a trail where Claire was fascinated with the size of the plants. “Just look at those leaves. It’s like Jurassic Park!”

The goal was to find the waterfalls. You can hear them before you can see them, and you can’t really see them without making your way through mud, over a stream and over some rocks. This one seemed more like a water trickle; but that's just me.

This is Twin Falls, remember? That means there’s another one…even harder to get to. But we got there!

Our reward for making it there and back? Fresh pineapple and coconut milk from a nearby farm stand.

By now, we had a full-blown water fall fascination. After a few more miles of near-collisions along with spectacular views, we saw a much more dramatic waterfall off in the distance. We were determined to see it up close. It took a lot of work.

A slippery, soaking wet obstacle-strewn trek of about 300 yards during which each of us fell down at least once yielded a couple of nice photos.

As difficult as the hike to the falls was, it was just as tricky going back; but we made it and pressed on.

For some reason, this place on the Road to Hana that sells banana bread is famous. I think it’s because it’s one of the few places you can stop for refreshments along the way. Determined to maximize the experience, we stopped and bought banana bread.

We had dinner reservations nearby and were on the opposite side of the island from our hotel. Fortunately, we had planned for this and brought a change of clothes. We did this because we wanted to dress relatively well for dinner. It turned out to be an absolute necessity because we were covered in mud and a little bit of blood, at least from the waist down. We had to go to the restrooms at the restaurant and wipe ourselves down just to be presentable.

It was worth it. Mama’s Fish House is one of the most famous restaurants on Maui and we found out why.

After an elegant dinner, it took more than a hour to drive back to the hotel. We got back to basics: a hot shower and a comfortable bed.
Can I have just one more day where we sit around, watch the waves and simply avoid injury?

A Whale of a Boat Ride

2012-01-23T13:08:00.010-05:00

(The Pacific Ocean) – People kept talking about the whales. “You have to see the whales!” Before we left home, we were told to see the whales. As we arrived, while making final approach into the Maui airport, some people were looking out of the windows declaring that they had seen whales. So, we went to see the whales!

North Pacific humpbacks, to be specific, are here in the south for warm water and reproduction.
This leads to some pretty exciting whale watching.

We were on a catamaran during the hours before sunset. The boat ride, with the requisite mai-tais, was nice on its own with plenty of photo opportunities.

But close encounters with the whales: that was something special.

If you come here, you have to see the whales.

Aloha and Peace Be With You

2012-01-22T17:14:00.009-05:00

(Lahaina, HI)- “Oke aloha o ka Haku e mau ana me ‘ouku.”
The proper response is “And also with you.”

Holy Innocents Church provided a worship experience which was exceedingly familiar but in many ways completely different from any other I have had.

Praying in Hawaii's native tongue in concert with English was moving, and the setting was simultaneously soothing and uplifting. We congregated in open air with a gentle breeze lifting the scent of nearby flowering shrubs into the worship space.

There was an organist playing traditional hymns, but no choir. When he played the intro to the opening song, “I Danced in the Morning,” I tentatively sang the first few words; but the little church, which was about 2/3rds full, just exploded with sound. The people were singing, singing well, in full voice. I remember thinking “Wow. This congregation is really devoted to its music ministry. Who needs a choir?” The commitment to song continued throughout the service. It actually brought tears to my eyes.

Then at the offertory, the priest said “Normally, I would ask our visitors to stand and tell us we’re they’re from, but there are so many of you I think it would take too long.” He asked for a show of hands from people who hailed from the west coast, the Midwest, the South, and the east coast. I watched people raise their hands and did the math. There were only about ten people in the church who were members. I overheard one of them say, “Communion’s going to take a while.” It did. In fact, the organist added an unplanned hymn to fill time, “Let Us Break Bread Together.” The congregation took it on, without music or hymnals, in full voice. It was just so beautiful.
Another thing I noticed was father Bill Abinger’s footwear. Sandals, flip-flops maybe. Later, he would tell me “don’t call them flip-flops, for Heaven’s sake. They’re ‘slippahs.’” Okay. He takes his “slippahs” off when he’s at the altar to honor the Hawaiian tradition of removing your shoes in your home.

I wasn’t prepared to pray for King Kamehameah IV or Mother Maryanne of Moloka’I, either, in the spot where usually (depending on where you are) you mention Pope Benedict or the Archbishop of Canterbury. God bless the King (and Queen Emma, too).
Madonna and Child have a different look, too. The image was painted in 1940 by New York artist Delos Blackmar. A Lahaina mother and her infant daughter posed for the piece.

Panels on the altar portray the Hawaiian staffs of life and symbolize the body and blood of Christ.

Panels on the pulpit depict rare or extinct native birds, left to right: ‘apapane, ‘ou‘ou, ‘i‘iwi, mamo, and ‘o‘o. They symbolize God's word winging forth from the Christian pulpit.
The stained glass is much more traditional. The triptych portrays the baptism, crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
I was tingling as I realized that all of these people from disparate points on the mainland made a decision to come together in this lovely space to follow the command E ho ‘omaka’I aku kakou I kakou Haku Akua “Let us give thanks to the Lord Our God.” I’m so glad I went. And so, on Sunday from Maui, I’ll say it one more time: Oke aloha o ka Haku e mau ana me ‘ouku. May The Lord be with you.

Ending The Day With a Cliche

2012-01-22T02:20:00.009-05:00

(Lahaina, HI) – When you go to Hawaii, there are certain things you simply must do. You might say it’s touristy or cliché, but we’re tourists. I dare say a luau is in the top three must-have Hawaii experiences. So, to wrap up her birthday, my wife and I rolled to a seaside venue to do our duty. First up: a young guy with tattoos and not much else on giving her a mai tai and a necklace made of rocks.

We were led to our table and discovered quickly that at a luau the liquor will flow freely if you let it. Limiting ourselves to a celebratory portion of potion, we took in the sights.

When you get right down to it, a luau is dinner and a show in a spectacular setting. Ours did not disappoint.

There were hula dancers, drummers, a cantor and a colorful chorus, all choreographed to tell the story of Hawaii’s history…some of it factual, most of it mythological. But that’s okay; it’s part of the charm.

Speaking of charm, the dancers weren’t wearing a lot of clothes and neither were the waiters; so I guess it’s good for them that the weather is so nice.
The place was packed and they were turning people away; so while we may be dorky tourists, we had plenty of company.

The food was ample, too. Roast pork is a luau staple (Polynesian Cochon de lait, to tell you the truth), and certainly plenty was available. There was also steak, a couple of chicken dishes and a wide variety of seafood. Much like the liquor, you could have as much as you wanted. If you left hungry, you just weren't trying.

All of this was done under a spectacular canopy of stars.
It was a pleasant evening and we’re both glad we did it. I can’t think of a more appropriate way to end a day in Hawaii.

The World at Her Feet

2012-01-21T17:44:00.012-05:00

(Haleakala National Park) – Today is Claire’s day, the day she turns 50; and she was blessed with a spectacular start to it.

Those are clouds below that waxing moon. When the sun rose on the day my beautiful bride turned fifty, it took her breath away.

At that moment, we were at 9740 feet where the temperature was in the low 40’s, the wind was whipping up the side of the mountain in the high 30’s, but it just didn’t matter because this is what we were seeing.

To be in position to witness this, we arose at 3:00 am and drove about as far as you can drive on this island. Including the ascent, it took a couple of hours to get there from where we’re staying. It was worth it.

We had made it to 9740. If 10,000 feet was attainable, why not go for it? And so we did, hiking to the Pu’u’ula’ula Summit. We went all the way, as she put it “to the tippy-top,” which is 10,023 feet above sea level. From there, the Hawaiian Islands and the Pacific Ocean are at your feet, not to mention the cloud deck.

By the time we got to the top, the sun was warming the air, the wind began to calm and we were able to spend a little time just kind of horsing around.

The setting was so eye-popping we wanted to spend a little extra time there.

Of course, the drive up the mountain was made in darkness, but the journey back was something to remember on its own. A glance at the Garmin on the way down let us know what we were up against.

There’s still plenty to do; but it’s already safe to say Claire will never forget the day, and the way, she turned 50.

Happy Birthday!

Exotic Birds, Breakfast and Booze

2012-01-20T21:51:00.008-05:00

(Maui) – So far, Day One of the Great Hawaii Vacation has gone according to plan. Our accommodations are so spectacular; we simply couldn’t find a reason to leave. For instance, this is where we had breakfast.

This place featured sunshine, tropical plants, open-air dining and swans!

Not to mention penguins. Penguins? (!)

Great little moment for me this morning with my soon-to-be-50 bride, who is excited like a school girl. We were enjoying our fabulous breakfast when I compared what I was having to her selections. I casually said, “Hey, you didn’t get any papaya.” I mean, it’s not every day you see sliced papaya on the breakfast buffet. She said, “Papaya? I thought it was cantaloupe and they just didn’t cut off the rind.” We got some papaya for her.

After that, we executed Plan A, which was to find a place to park ourselves to watch the waves. So, we sat. And sat. There was a waiter named Justin who just kept bringing us stuff. Happy hour started at 11:00 a.m. We were happy.
Earlier in the day, however, we noted one tiny but not insignificant shortcoming here: It’s a Pepsi place and we’re Coke people. So, if you’re 49 years, 364 days old and you can’t get a Diet Coke, what do you do? Switch to a banana daiquiri, of course.

Under the influence of a variety of liquors, the birthday girl escaped the afternoon sun and found herself shopping at the mall inside The Fabulous Resort. She now has new dresses. Moments later, our wayward luggage arrived a day late, but apparently unharmed.
So, now we’re ready to go out to dinner. Be there. Aloha.

Aloha Means Happy Birthday

2012-01-20T14:18:00.006-05:00

(Maui) – To my way of thinking, if you spend twelve hours flying from the middle of the mainland to a tiny group of islands that are close to absolutely nothing else, you owe it to yourself to quickly become acquainted with the Pacific Ocean.

And so begins our great Hawaii vacation. Aloha from Maui, where the view from the balcony of our room does not disappoint. It's four hours earlier here than it is at home, so we were up before sunrise. Here's how it looked at first light.

We have plenty of time, so I think we’ll ease into this trip a little.
We’ve received lots of advice from friends about all the activities we must do, and maybe we will get to many of them. Day one, though, is set to be about acclimating, adjusting to the remarkable time difference and just relaxing. There may be a drink or two involved in our day.
Our options are limited for (hopefully) a short time because our bags haven’t actually arrived. This is not a surprise, because we had a tight turnaround in San Francisco: 25 minutes to change planes. We made it. The suitcases did not.
It doesn’t really matter; anything of real value we brought with us was in our carry-ons.
This trip is to celebrate my beautiful bride’s 50th birthday, which is January 21st. This is where she wanted to wake up on the day she turns 50. So far, she’s all smiles.

Now, if you’ll excuse me…there’s a fruity rum-based drink with my name on it around here somewhere.

Laughter, The Best Medicine

2012-01-13T11:50:00.007-05:00

When our youngest left for college and we were beset with empty nest angst, we heard several variations of “You’ll get to the point where the lights you’re happiest to see at Christmas are the tail lights of their cars as they leave.” I think it’s safe to say we’re not there yet. Maybe it’s because our daughter hasn’t spent a lot of time around the house since the end of the fall semester. She went skiing with some of her pals and had a great time; then she came home for a few days and turned right around and went back to Texas, spending a week in Austin. Then, it was home for a few more days before she joined LSU friends for a weekend in Baton Rouge and New Orleans.

The excuse for the trip was to hang around as the LSU football team played in the Superdome for the national championship. Sadly, the Tigers’ only loss of the season came in the last game and frankly it was never even close. So, that seems to have dampened the revelry significantly. Still, she came home with tales of great adventure and high hilarity involving her friends, most of whom we have known since they were little girls. Looking at the photos and seeing images of dancing, partying, laughing and goofy wigs gives us a small sense of the weekend.

I suppose that gets me back to that sense of quiet when they disappear for weeks or months at a time. We’ve been blessed by our kids’ friends. Many of them are just funny humans. The one in the purple wig, for instance, has the most infectious laugh I’ve ever heard. She and our daughter are known to just lie around, reminisce and literally giggle for hours on end.

Some of our son’s friends are the same way. While his sister was snaking her way through the French Quarter witnessing wonders she is reluctant to discuss with her parents, he got together on the patio of a legendary local eatery for a pregame party. I had a chance to stop by for a few minutes. I’ll tell you this: spend ten minutes in this company and you’ll find yourself snorty-laughing in no time.

These people are witty, whip-smart and irreverent. That’s a very attractive combination.

The grown-up offspring are out there on their own, and that’s a wonderful thing, but the personality of the family home dramatically changes when they’re not around, which is most of the time.

The best news, though, is my wife and I still like one another a whole lot and that really helps. People will ask her (in front of me!) what it’s like to live with such an eccentric (That’s my word. I think the phrase more often used is some form of “lovably unusual’). I will answer for her at times, saying “she’s either laughing or yelling, but she’s rarely bored.” Of course, anybody who knows her knows she rarely raises her voice. She just shakes her head at her own misfortune.

Her survival instincts are about to be tested once again as our daughter packs up her car to head back to school this weekend. At least we’ve grown accustomed to these departures, so tears are unlikely. We’ll instead spend the time concentrating on the laughing and yelling.

Who's That Lady in the Warmup Suit?

2012-01-06T15:55:00.005-05:00

I bumped into my sweet mother-in-law the other day and she was sweating. Don’t feel sorry for her, though; she was doing it intentionally. The woman is a beast. She’s 74 years old and goes to the gym three or four times a week. She does the elliptical contraption, walks briskly on the treadmill, does a little weight training for core strength and then dutifully works on her balance.
There’s a lady who works at the gym who watches mother-in-law in wide-eyed wonder. We were talking about it, and when I said she was 74, the gym lady audibly gasped. She said, “I had no idea. She attacks that elliptical like someone half her age.”

This isn’t anything new, but before I talked with her about it this week I hadn’t given my mother-in-law’s workout habits much thought. She said she started routine exercising in her late forties in hopes of “warding off horrible arthritis mother had.” I don’t know if it worked, but it certainly didn’t hurt. There’s no sign of arthritis, by the way.

She joined a fitness center for the first time in 1989 and has been a devoted gym rat ever since. She admits that her motivation has changed over the last quarter century. She said fear of arthritis coupled with a desire to lose weight got her started. Now, she admits “I get a sense of achievement. I feel mentally and emotionally great” because of her consistent physical activity. I asked her how she thought she might be different if she hadn’t been working out all this time. She said “I don’t know. I’d probably be heavier and sluggish.” Probably so; I mean, heavy and sluggish? That hits pretty close to home!

She says she doesn’t really push herself to do more, that she’s happy to be able to do as much as she could could five years ago.

A couple of months ago, we took her to an LSU game and one of our traveling companions expressed concern about the amount of walking necessary to get from our car and hotel to the stadium. He was worried she wouldn’t be able to make it. At the time, I told him he didn’t have to worry about her; he should be more concerned about himself (he’s kind of heavy and sluggish like me). Now, having watched her work out, I think about it and laugh.

I just hope five years from now, I’ll be able to keep up with HER.

Shivering in the Stadium

2011-12-26T21:23:00.005-05:00

The day after Christmas in Shreveport was grey and rainy, with occasional thunder. It was cold, too, with temperatures in the low 40’s. In other words, it was cold enough to be miserable but not cold enough for the rain to become snow…not even close. It was under those conditions that my sweet mother-in-law boldly strode into Independence Stadium to watch the Missouri Tigers play the North Carolina Tar Heels in the Independence Bowl.

Unfortunately, there were too few intrepid souls to make the stadium look presentable on TV. There were 30,000 or so people who had tickets to the game, but decided the weather was just too ridiculous to suffer it willingly.
The truth is, she knew she would have a roof over her head, so the rain wasn’t a factor. So, she bundled up and sat in the cold with her daughter for as long as she could take it.

That was, by the way, slightly more than three quarters of football. She said this was her first time to ever set foot in the stadium. As much time as I’ve spent there, that little piece of news shocks me just a little. I’ve seen rain, snow, ice, mud, slop and summer swelter there. The key is to dress appropriately.

It was a disappointing day for the Independence Bowl, there’s no getting around it. But I think it was a good day for my wife and her mother. Christmas is behind us. Ours was terrific. The kids came home and we all got together, along with my father, for a low-key but happy day. But everybody’s gone now, so the game was a welcome distraction. It got us out of the house. I just wish the weather had been a little better.

Taking Sides in a Frog-Dog Brawl

2011-12-20T11:52:00.008-05:00

The TCU students in our lives have scattered to many compass points for the holidays. Our daughter and a few of her friends, for instance, seem to have successfully avoided a blizzard that has been hammering the eastern half of Colorado. From their perch at Winter Park, it’s all sunshine and powder as they shush down the slopes.

The fate of their school’s football team seems to be of no consequence. A little less than a year ago, they spent New Year’s Eve in Hollywood and January 1st at The Rose Bowl, so it’s understandable that a pre-Christmas trip to the Poinsettia Bowl for a game against Louisiana Tech would not supersede their trip to the mountains.

So, when the local media started poking around for TCU fans, somehow our name came up. Next thing you know, a TV reporter showed up at our door wanting to talk to Horned Frog fans who are anticipating the game. We were happy to oblige and dutifully donned our purple gear and surrounded ourselves with Frog Stuff.

We showed up on two stations about an hour apart, looking like a couple from When Harry Met Sally. We played off one another in the tandem interview and talked about our conflicts of allegiance.

After all, as lifelong residents of northwest Louisiana, we’ve developed a great affection for Louisiana Tech. (You can watch the story here)
My wife borrowed her wisdom from a bumper sticker and correctly pointed out to the reporter that “our daughter and our money go to TCU,” so we had to make a conscious choice about which team to root for in the game.
The wife has vowed to wear purple all day. I’ll probably stay neutral.

I think a bowl victory would mean more to Louisiana Tech’s program, but a loss might hurt the Frogs in the 2012 preseason rankings. So, I could go either way. We’ll watch on TV and when our daughter gets back from her ski trip, we’ll let her know how it went.

She Forgot It Was Her Birthday?

2011-12-17T11:50:00.008-05:00

Twenty years ago today, we brought our beautiful baby girl home for the first time. Two decades later, she controls her own movements and has a travel trajectory that is leading her in exactly the opposite direction of our house. We can’t blame her, really. Let’s see…first free week after final exams: Shreveport or Winter Park, Colorado? How long do you figure she weighed that decision? She’ll be home for Christmas; at least that’s the working plan. It just won’t be for as long as we had hoped.

The emotional issue we faced was being separated from her on the day she turned 20. It was all lost on her because she was covered up with everything that goes into preparing for finals. She’s also working part time at a fancy clothing store and this is the holiday shopping season, so the boss needed her. Let’s just say she was kind of overwhelmed with duties and obligations.

So, we surprised her and, with cooperation from her roommates, sneaked into her apartment at TCU shortly after noon on her birthday. She had taken her last test earlier in the morning, and when we found her she was lost to the world, immersed in slumber while relieved of stress and responsibility for the first time in weeks. It was almost a shame to wake her. Her mother said, “Happy Birthday!” in her sweet Mommy way. Our daughter said “Mom?” and became obviously disoriented. She started looking around, assessing her location. She had no idea we were coming, so in those in-between moments as she was awakening, she thought she was in her room at home but naturally that made no sense. He mother said “its okay, honey. You’re still at school.” Finally, she figured it out and smiled.

She woke up and eagerly agreed to let us take her to lunch for her birthday. We had brought along a carload of presents from us and her grandparents. So, we spent part of the afternoon unwrapping, trying on and doing other gift-related activities. Happily, one of her closest hometown friends was also in town and we got to spend time with her, too. The roommates had thrown her a surprise party at midnight. By all accounts, it was a brief but memorable affair. It was designed by necessity as a study break. There were balloons, party favors, gifts and even a piñata.

I was just happy to get her out of the bed and spend a couple of hours with her.
We said so long and turned around for home because she had to pack her skiing gear and hit the westbound highway. It’s amazing how much life changes in twenty years. Two decades ago, she was crying. Today, despite being exhausted, I’m pretty sure she’s laughing all the way to the slopes. I’m confident she had a happy birthday and that’s really all you can ask for.

Close Call With Carolina

2011-12-09T15:54:00.008-05:00

There were some anxious moments for event organizers at the Independence Bowl’s team Announcement party. Sponsors and honored guests gathered to hear from the athletic directors and coaches from the participating schools, Missouri and North Carolina.

As well-wishers and bowl supporters merrily gathered in the Independence Stadium Club, the fine folks from Missouri mingled amongst them. It’s not clear how many people noticed the alarming absence of Carolina Blue. Tar Heel representatives were flying to Shreveport from Chapel Hill having spent the day hiring a new football coach. This caused them to be significantly behind schedule. So, as the designated master of ceremonies for the event urged people to continue enjoying themselves (hopefully, they did), the bowl’s chairman was nervously checking his iPhone as he tracked online the progress of the plane carrying the A.D. and an assistant coach. The formal program was scheduled to begin at 6:45; Flightaware.com was indicating the Carolina plane would land about 6:51. Eek.

An executive decision was made to start at 7:00, no matter what. So, the chairman and other high ranking bowl brass began to regale the assembled football fans with stories and expressions of gratitude for the sponsors and volunteers.

Then, there was a 2:00 video of Missouri game highlights, followed by remarks from the Coach and Athletic Director. In the background, there was an emergency huddle about what to do if the Carolina people were stuck in traffic or something. Before we started, the chairman asked “Are you sure about this? Once we start, we can’t really go back.” The answer was, “Sometimes you just have to have faith”: Faith in the proximity of the airport to the stadium, faith in flight tracking technology and faith in the famously light Shreveport evening interstate traffic.

Somewhere in the midst of Missouri remarks, the Carolina people strolled in as if on cue. Attendees, presumably concentrating on their drinks and dinner during the prelude to all this presentation drama, didn’t seem to notice much of a disruption; especially since it turned out to be only a fifteen minute delay. The Tar Heel highlight video ran on the monitors; then the affable, if tardy, A.D. Bubba Cunningham made his way to the mic and charmed everyone.

The Independence bowl caught a break with this year’s matchup, which seems to be reasonably attractive. With everybody breathing a little easier now, maybe folks can exhale, smile and just get ready for the football game. Maybe the chairman can keep his phone in his pocket for a couple of days.

(Thanks to Douglas Collier of the Shreveport Times for the party photos.)

Everybody Showed Up For Turkey

2011-11-24T17:19:00.011-05:00

The house has been full on Thanksgiving, and that’s a great thing. The children arrived or arose a little later than we would have liked, but hungry and happy. While the finishing touches were being put on a traditional meal, the kids caught their grandparents up on their lives.

It’s interesting how the room with the most well-worn furniture in the house is the place where everyone tends to congregate.
It’s also fascinating to observe the way stories are swapped. There are times, for instance, when it seems like my 85-year-old father isn’t tuned in at all. He has the demeanor of someone lost in his own thoughts, grateful to have the kids communicating with him but not really processing what they’re saying. As he sits there in the octogenarian zone, the storytellers press dutifully on, hoping something sticks. Just when all seems lost, he’ll respond with a question on point which demonstrates that he’s been paying attention all along. We’ve seen it a lot, but somehow it’s still disconcerting.
By contrast, my sweet mother-in-law has a tendency to ask a lot of questions, practicing active listening skills while pressing for details.
I’m convinced that somewhere along the way during her well-heeled upbringing, she was taught in some kind of charm school how to appear interested in whatever you have to say. She makes me laugh sometimes because she has an endearing tendency toward exclamations. During the course of an hour-long dinner, it’s not uncommon to hear her say “my word!” at least three times. Another one you can count on like the sunrise is “how wonderful!” This, of course, makes her extremely easy to like. Like I said, charm school.

There was also a rare appearance by my well-caffeinated older brother, who at times could be a case study for a sophomore level communications class.

You know how conversations, particularly those fueled by small talk, will kind of meander with stream of consciousness? He tends not to recognize that the subject has changed. He’ll contribute something, then two or three other people will speak and lead things down a completely different path, and then out of nowhere he’ll drop a comment related to something so five minutes ago. It can be a little intellectually jarring, as if for him time just froze. You can’t nail him down on a topic, either. For instance, he recently returned from a vacation in Hawaii. We were eager to hear all about it, but he wrapped it up in about three sentences, essentially saying, “The weather and the water were beautiful. I watched the tide roll in and roll out. The people were friendly.” And then he would go back to something he was talking about fifteen minutes ago.
He’s our kids’ only uncle, so they’re grateful for him and both said how good it was to see him.
He and my father have mastered the art of the exit. At almost any holiday, once they’re fed they seem to lose interest in the pleasantries. They’ll announce their departure, and no foolin’ around…they hit the pavement.

That’s okay, though; it gives the immediate family a chance to settle down back on the beat-up furniture and talk about friends and future plans. That quiet, sit-around-and-talk time is one of the things we do best as a family.

It’s been a great holiday so far. Several of our daughter’s hometown friends, also home from college, came over and spent a lot of time with us on Wednesday. It’s the kind of happy holiday reunion I have been hoping for since they took off for different schools. We had seen the girls recently during a football trip to Baton Rouge, but having them in the house takes things to a different level. I hope everybody comes back for leftovers.

A Microphone in Hand and Turf Under My Feet

2011-11-16T17:37:00.006-05:00

Who’s the guy in the cap on the sidelines of a football game with his head down all the time? What’s he doing? Praying? No. he’s updating Twitter!
Lately, fleeting glimpses of this mysterious figure have been seen on local TV stations as they run highlights of these games. Of course, almost no one else would notice; but if you happen to see yourself on a TV screen consistently looking crestfallen, it can be a little disconcerting.
There’s a reason to be on the sidelines, usually tied to a media outlet, so there’s an urgency to stay up to date on social media. Facebook friends and twitter followers demand it!
Having spent some time in the domain of fans this season, it’s become clear that as a guy who has a hard time sitting still anyway, I feel most comfortable on the sidelines. When you’re on the field, you must move around to have a good view of what’s going on and/ or to avoid being run over by football players. So, the freedom to roam around makes my heart glad.

For ten weeks during this football season, a radio show locked me into a studio and it became obvious that in that setting I felt constrained. It’s better to be at the games, not to be talking about them from a distance.
I was caught a little off guard at my own glee at returning to the sidelines for high school football broadcasts. After doing spot duty during the season when my studio responsibilities didn’t conflict, now I’m all in for the playoff run. The on-field post-game interview with the coach is just at a different level from one done on the phone. There’s something about looking a guy in the eye, even on an empty football field.

They team we’re covering is undefeated so far this season, so maybe there will be a few more Friday nights left to enjoy before we pack up the pigskin for the long, cold winter.

It's Never too Late to Be a Tiger

2011-11-14T14:07:00.013-05:00

Those of us who have spent decades of autumns prowling in and around Tiger Stadium might occasionally be guilty of taking the experience for granted. Over the weekend, I took in the LSU football experience with a fresh perspective. My sweet mother-in-law attended her first LSU game.

Her daughter was with her every step of the way, which means something because we walked all over the campus, soaking up game-day ambience.

We even took a detour to a popular restaurant/ sports bar where we had a little gumbo and watched day games.

The timing of this experience was critical. LSU is having such a great season that all of their conference home games this season have been played during the day at the behest of the TV networks. A homecoming date against a lesser opponent allowed for a “real” Tiger Stadium experience: Death Valley at night.

Moreover, it meant a reasonable hour for related activities like watching the team walk to the stadium down Victory Hill, and later Mike the Tiger, The Golden Band from Tigerland, the LSU cheerleaders and the Golden Girls.

Regardless of her septuagenarian status, mother-in-law was excited like a little girl, wide-eyed and smiling while declaring “it’s so neat to see all these things I’ve seen on TV so many times.”

I was fun for us, too. As we waited for the band, my wife and I talked about how long it had been since we had done all of this. Typically, we concentrate almost exclusively on the games themselves and don't take the time to soak in all the sideshows.

You can tell people about the crowds, the spirit and everything that goes along with it; but until you see it, feel it, touch it and smell it, you don’t really grasp it. Finally, she knows what Baton Rouge is like on a football Saturday. It’s something any true-blue Louisianan should know and it’s never too late to discover it.

During the course of the day and evening, it came up several times that mother-in-law hadn’t been to a game before.
Consistently upon hearing this, people would take a little pause, consider that for a moment, and get a little wide-eyed.
They were always gracious, though, and said something like “Well, you’re in for a treat.”

I think that’s the way it turned out, especially for my wife and me. College football has been such a significant part of our relationship, it’s nice that now maybe her mom is a little closer to understanding why.

Echoes of Delight in the Alabama Night

2011-11-07T19:28:00.015-04:00

Late Saturday night, while the echoes of more than 100,000 screaming voices were still ascending into the chilly Alabama night, an acquaintance from a Louisiana television station greeted me by saying, "Look, it’s big-game Darrell.” If a new nickname has been pinned upon me, I’ll wear it gratefully. Yes, it seems I have developed a knack for showing up for significant sporting events.
The most recent was a game between LSU and Alabama at Bryant-Denny Stadium. The Tigers were ranked #1 in the nation. The Crimson Tide was #2. It has been called the most important regular season game in Southeastern Conference history. LSU won in overtime and I got to see every play: the first three quarters and half of the fourth while essentially straddling the 50 yard line about half-way up the stadium; the final 7 minutes or so, I watched from the sidelines.
During the game, I received a text message from another long-time broadcasting buddy, who was back home in Louisiana. It said “Take a moment and thank God for allowing you the privilege of tonight.” That’s how significant this event was. I was there by the grace of God.

It helps to have great friends with fantastic connections.

It’s also good that I have a legitimate role to play and I can rely on what has become some kind of sportscaster emeritus status. I work for my access, trying to earn my keep as a per diem videographer/ journalist/ producer/ photographer…whatever it takes.

What a day it was! It was estimated that at its peak, the crowd in and around the stadium exceeded 160 thousand.
Fans wearing purple and gold were treading a little trepidatiously as they navigated their way through a crimson sea on University Boulevard.

That means there were half again as many people outside as there were in, as people just wanted to be a part of something special.

A South Louisiana chef fed thousands as he set up on campus and made the world’s biggest pot of gumbo. He sold it for five bucks a bowl, and all the money went to a relief fund to help the city of Tuscaloosa, which was devastated by a monster tornado early in the year.

We had a great time hanging out together, as we always do; but when night fell, it was all business. We were there to cover an event. It did not disappoint.

Neither team led by more than three points and no matter who you were pulling for, the outcome was in doubt until the final play, a game-winning overtime field goal. Or, as another friend watching on TV put it in yet another text message, referring to the tension he was experiencing: “It’s all I can do not to vomit continuously.”
I never felt like throwing up, but I am glad LSU won. It made the long overnight drive home a little easier to endure.
I don’t know where the next big game will be for me, but I thank God and my friends in advance for letting me tag along.

The High Notes From the Weekend

2011-11-01T11:56:00.012-04:00

I didn’t have a football trip planned for the most recent weekend, so I mentioned to my daughter that we might come visit her. She didn’t exactly hop up and down, clap her hands and say “goody!” It was a big weekend for her and her friends, especially with Halloween festivities mixed in. As has become their custom, they operated as a unit, dressing up as “minions,” characters from the 2010 movie “Despicable Me.” If you get the joke, it was pretty funny.

Their school’s football team had a nationally-televised game from Cowboys Stadium in Arlington.

Not being there, naturally I watched part of it on TV. During ESPN’s opening sequence, there was a group of familiar faces cheering and doing Horned Frog hand signs. Five Seconds of cable glory from a tailgate party!

With a rare free October Saturday night, somehow I was compelled to attend an opera. The production was “The Merry Widow,” which to my untrained ear seemed more like straight-up musical theater; but there were high notes sung by an ingénue.

As operas go, this one was light and entertaining and several people in the audience thought it was funny. It was performed in English, so it surprises me a little that I apparently missed some of the humor. There were times when people around me were laughing and I was thinking, “Wait. What? Why are we laughing?” Another part of me thinks “somebody told these people this was supposed to be funny, so they’re chuckling dutifully.” Or, maybe I just didn’t get it.

I want to emphasize that I found the performances to be first-rate and the production to be enjoyable. And, yes, there were a couple of times when I DID laugh, just not necessarily at the times when others did.

At some point, the curtain went down and the lights came up and I sad, “oh, halftime!” An opera patron to my left rolled her eyes and said “I believe it’s called intermission.” Really? Thanks for the opera primer. I guess you can’t make a sports joke at the opera.

Later (and I mean later. We had been strapped in for a couple of hours), the curtain went down and the lights came up again. The show clearly wasn’t over. My God, it was a second intermission! So, I said, “Oh, this is more like hockey, I guess.” The lady to my left was not amused.

When the bows were taken and the bravos were shouted, we were walking to a post-opera social as I checked my phone for scores. I had been out of touch with my football for three hours. There were several huge upsets while the widow was making merry, and I said to my wife “Wow, we missed a pretty eventful night of football while we were at the opera.” The men around me laughed. The ladies seemed to raise their noses skyward ever so slightly.

Oh, well, it was a growth experience for me, I guess. Although I would have been perfectly content to be in this company instead:

A Long Way from T-Pain to Mulberry Mountain

2011-10-20T16:18:00.007-04:00

At one moment last weekend, the four members of the immediate family were engaged in wildly divergent forms of entertainment. I was, of course, at a football game. My wife was at an Eagles tribute show with her mother. Our daughter went with some friends to a concert featuring prominent rap/ hip-hop artists Chris Brown and T-Pain.

And our son was on Mulberry Mountain in Arkansas for a bluegrass festival.

Bela Fleck and the Flecktones? Yonder Mountain String Band? Cornmeal? Railroad Earth?
Those were just a few of the featured groups at the Harvest Festival.

At least I’ve heard of Chris Brown and T-Pain. Mr. Bluegrass was the last to find his way home. He asked his parents to go to dinner so he could regale us with tales of his extended weekend in the Ozarks. Not only did he and his companions enjoy several days of music in a festival atmosphere, but they also went on a lengthy strenuous hike through the foothills that left them huffing and puffing, but smiling.

They stayed on the grounds, sleeping under the stars or in a tent. Apparently, there weren’t many showers involved. But there was plenty of music, all day and into the night.

He was wowed by these gizmos called sky lanterns, essentially small hot air balloons that were launched into the night, creating the appearance of new constellations, if not a fire hazard.

I think my favorite part of the story was their departure. They knew it was a six-hour drive and the festival grounds closed to cars at midnight. So, what time did they leave? 6:05. That’s superior planning and execution right there. When they arrived about 12:40, they were turned away; but everything worked out. They found a riverbank and slept beside it. A father likes hearing these things after the fact, because then he doesn’t have to worry about flash floods and that sort of thing.
They arrived safe and dry, just in time to settle in the back of this crowd for a session with one of the Groups I Never Heard Of.

I’m glad they had a good time. Maybe somehow we can homogenize our collective creative energy to find something we can all to together next time.

Living Large on Good Ol' Rocky Top

2011-10-16T14:56:00.009-04:00

“Are they a bathoom sumwhar up in thar?” When I heard that question, I knew I was in Tennessee.
For the record, they were a “bathoom” up in thar. And to be fair, that was the most extreme accent I heard during my first trip to Knoxville and the legendary Neyland Stadium at the University of Tennessee.

The traveling companions and I got to watch LSU dominate the Volunteers in front of more than 101,000 fans.

Best as I can recall, that’s the biggest football crowd I’ve seen. The people I know who are Volunteer fans expressed regret that I didn’t get the full Rocky Top experience because the fan base is engulfed in a cloud of gloom due to the current state of the athletic program there. They’re in a rough patch, let’s put it that way. But, still: more than 101,000 people showed up, and that tells you something.

It’s always fun to put eyeballs on things you’ve only seen in photos or on TV. We walked along the Tennessee River for a while and saw the Vol Navy, dedicated fans who liven things up with a water-based version of tailgating. Their yachts, skiffs, barges and speedboats lend an aristocratic air to the game day experience.

Along the way, we stumbled across a high-end steak place on the riverfront. The timing was convenient. It was the noon hour and kick-off for the game was scheduled for 3:30, so we had the time for a nice lunch. On a perfect October afternoon, we sat on the upper level of a two-tier terrace with a view of the river and ate like kings. The traveling companions rounded up a few friends and for an hour or so, we lived the high life. We agreed that the meal will be one of the things we remember most about the trip.

We also will not forget the trip home. We didn’t set out for this to be a high-roller adventure; but from the outside looking in, it must seem like it was.
Somehow, we found ourselves on a private plane. This was a real luxury, especially since we could do a same-day turnaround. We were feeling good about ourselves in the evening, on the plane ready for the flight home, taxiing to the runway. Then the plan began to shake…rattle, even. The one thing it couldn’t do well was roll. Trembling just a little, our pilot eased his way back to the terminal as our takeoff was aborted.
There was a problem with the nose gear, but happily it was repaired rather quickly. I have to admit, though; there was more than a little suspense on landing back in Louisiana. We made it home a little later than planned, but all in one piece. The equipment issue is just about the only thing that kept the trip from earning an A+ grade. Well, that and the fact that it got a little uncomfortable in the plane toward the end of the journey. We ate right before we took off, you see. The one drawback of flying on a small private plane is they ain’t no bathoom up in thar.

Oh, and one more bonus: My first Tennessee game meant a chance to add another mascot to the collection!

A Puppy, a Pumpkin and Various Weapons

2011-10-12T17:30:00.012-04:00

While all around town, college kids have come home for fall break, there has been no sign of our daughter. She chose to travel west during her free time to what was described as a ranch.
I don’t know much about it, but I have seen the pictures. A couple of her roommates, another constant companion or two and a few wild card group members posed well-armed for a photo in front of the, um, ranch house?

I know most of these young people and they don’t need high-end lodging to have a good time. They are perfectly comfortable to, as my daughter puts it “just love each other and play.” I guess the availability of various weapons helped. I’m kind of afraid to ask questions after seeing the arsenal at their disposal. A slingshot is scary enough, particularly at close range.

If that didn’t have enough destructive potential, there was always archery.

And, of course, what would a days-long symposium on weaponry be without an opportunity to brandish a shotgun? I can’t say I’m comfortable with all this. I’m just glad it’s coming to light for me after the fact. Of all the things that remain unclear and unsettling, the central question remains: what was she shooting at? Also, did she get a proper and thorough safety briefing? Did she wear hearing protection? Is everybody okay? There was some four-wheelin’, too, from what I can tell. And based on what I’ve seen, this involved mud ridin’. I guess there might have been a hootenanny down at the barn, but who knows?

Knowing this crew, there was an abundance of tomfoolery to go along with tree climbing.

And the tire swinging.

Also involved in the shenanigans, somehow, were a puppy and a pumpkin.

I guess it was a healthy escape, a good ol’ down and dirty old fashioned good time out on the Texas plains. I can only imagine what the food was like. They probably got some fatback from the chuck wagon. Maybe they rustled up some venison along the way. Or, antelope chili? All that was left of whatever animal it was were the antlers.

And I’m guessing they had to be careful what they consumed on Saturday night, because out there in lawless country, there was just one iron-clad rule, which was conspicuously posted.

The best news, for me at least, is that everybody made it back to school in one piece. And today presumably they showered and shed all the mud and gunpowder residue.
If you can't mess with Texas, it's pretty clear you can manage to make a pretty big mess in Texas if you have all the right tools.

The Gumbo That Made Me Cry

2011-10-09T15:21:00.010-04:00

Having spent a couple of years distracted by our recent infatuation with TCU football, my wife and I were thrilled to find our way back to Tiger Country. It felt like going home, even in ways that could not have been anticipated.

From a perch high in the west upper deck of Tiger Stadium, we saw LSU maul the Florida Gators. The seats were actually pretty good; and on a mild breezy day we had a great view of Baton Rouge.

As we walked toward the stadium, naturally we had to weave our way through several square miles of tailgate parties. We stopped for a few minutes at a friend’s low-key affair, which gave me a chance not only to eat and rest a few minutes, but also to reflect on the remarkable contrast in fan sensibilities we witnessed in just one week's time.

You just can’t explain to TCU people what LSU is like. Frog fans are pleased with their game-day experience, possible because it’s so understated in comparison to many SEC schools. As I navigated a profane, besotted sea of purple and gold, it hit me: Game day at TCU is like a James Taylor concert. At LSU, it’s like Bonnaroo: a giant festival that coalesces into a celebration of the senses. The sights, sounds, tastes, smells and feel of the place are just remarkable.

Because the game was played in the afternoon, we decided to drive home afterward. Lafayette is about an hour west of Baton Rouge, so we planned to have dinner there.
Shortly after nightfall, we stopped at Prejean’s just north of town.

We’ve eaten there several times, but for some reason this particular dinner seemed just about perfect. As I dived into a bowl of spectacular seafood gumbo and enthusiastically spooned potato salad, I found myself becoming surprisingly emotional.
I thought about it for a few minutes, and then I realized what was going on. I was so happy to have such an amiable and agreeable travel partner. My wife and I have been doing this kind of thing together for more than a quarter-century and we almost always have a good time. Moreover, every bite of food I took, every sip of iced tea, evoked memories of the meals that were routinely prepared by my mother and my aunts. They’ve all been gone for so long that I didn’t realize how much I miss them, especially their cooking.

I woke up the next morning and told my wife it might actually be worth it to me on a Sunday to drive back to Lafayette just to eat. She said she felt like the whole trip, driving south and then north across the state in a day, Tiger Stadium and dinner, relegitimized her as a Louisianan.

We’re really enjoying our association with new friends in Texas; but when you get right down to it, gumbo still has the edge over barbecue and Tex-Mex. See you at dinner, and forgive me if I’m crying just a little. They’re tears of happiness.

Early Afternoon in Arlington

2011-10-02T15:09:00.004-04:00

(Arlington, TX) – It’s kind of amazing how easy it is to make it to a noon kickoff for a Cowboys’ game when you’re already in town. So many times over the years, I’ve arrived at the stadium road weary after blowing west on I-20 to Irving or Arlington. Certainly, I’ve done my share of LSU-Saints weekends, but thanks to my recent allegiance to TCU, this is my first college-pro DFW two-day trip. It seems a lot easier. Geography, proximity, whatever you want to say…the Metroplex is just closer and easier to access from home than Baton Rouge and New Orleans are. And while I spent Saturday in the company of all of my female family members, Sunday is boys’ day out.

It consistently amazes me to look at the social networks while at these games and discover the number of people I know who announce their presence. I tracked down some young friends who live in Abilene. I hadn’t seen them in five years; but there they were, big as life in Cowboys Stadium.

Having been in this remarkable facility several times, I nonetheless still marvel at the spectacle on display. The national anthem, for instance, was impressive. Three Cowboys cheerleaders sang. I’m thinking pretty much everybody thought “okay, this is gonna be bad,” but their harmonies were spot on. They didn’t miss a note and looked lovely singing it.

The best news about a noon game: I’ll be home at a reasonable hour. Let’s hope there’s a decent game on in prime time. You can’t get enough football.

We Showed Up in the Same Place, At Least

2011-10-01T23:11:00.013-04:00

(Ft. Worth, TX) – We showed up in Ft. Worth with an SMU alum and I guess she brought her team some luck. With my sweet mother-in-law in the stands, appropriately attired to be true to her school, the upstart Mustangs survived a furious second-half rally by the Horned Frogs to win the game in overtime.

It’s been an unusual sort of homecoming for mother-in-law as she celebrates her birthday weekend with one of her daughters and one of her granddaughters. Not only did she step completely out of character by actually attending a college football game, but she went on a brief pilgrimage to her late husband’s boyhood home. My wife saw houses where her father and grandparents lived in Ft. Worth, so the family weekend theme certainly was extended.

I stayed in the stands for a while and actually caught a glimpse of my daughter the TCU student.

But my natural environment is the sidelines, so I worked part of the game with an old Shreveport media buddy, who now works in Dallas. He had his game face on.

It was fun for me. I had to enter the zone of neutrality once I draped the media pass around my neck, and I actually enjoyed conducting post-game interviews with ebullient SMU players and their head coach. Beating nationally-ranked TCU, a traditional rival, was a milestone moment for the program.

It’s a strange weekend, in a way. I’m traveling separately from my wife and her mother; but obviously our agendas intersect significantly. There are parallel agendas in play: it’s a football weekend for me. I’m going to the Cowboys game, too. For the ladies, it’s a weekend away so they can celebrate a birthday.

And of course it was terrific to see our daughter, who as far as we know has no plans to come back to the family home before the holidays.

So, I guess I need to plan another football weekend so I’ll have an excuse to see her. Maybe I’ll let one of the ladies tag along.

P.S.: For the first time in a year or so, I actually snagged a photo with a new mascot!

The Ft. Worth Four

2011-09-25T21:53:00.008-04:00

The immediate family assembled in Ft. Worth, but it wasn’t easy. Getting everyone together for Family Weekend at TCU had its share of logistical challenges, which were made all the more complicated because our daughter recently added a part time job to all of her other activities. As luck would have it, she got called in for an eight hour shift on Saturday, so my wife and I went to the afternoon football game without her.

It was scorching hot by any standards. The afternoon sun was brutalizing Texas as temperatures approached triple digits. The Horned Frogs won handily, so as the fourth quarter approached we took off for our hotel where a shower and a nap proved irresistible.
Our son arrived separately, just in time for dinner at a downtown Italian restaurant.

He was a little bit of a celebrity. Our daughter brought along five of her closest college friends and most of their families, none of whom had met her brother. He charmed them all, of course. Then, after dinner there were mandatory group photos.

I’m a little chagrined that I bothered to change into long pants for all this, but we were meeting several of the other parents for the first time, as well. You need to make a decent impression.
We found our way to campus after dinner, where we spent time in our daughter’s apartment. As the evening wore on, though; we got kind of sleepy.
Not our son, though.
The 21-year-old Captain of the Night went completely against character and went by himself to check out Billy Bob’s Texas, a legendary Ft. Worth honky-tonk. Surrounded by hundreds, possibly thousands, of people in Wranglers and cowboys hats he was conspicuously out of place. Always on yellow alert, worrying that “I might get my ass kicked just for being me” he seemed to have fun nonetheless.
As the four of us got together for Sunday lunch, he told us his Billy Bob’s stories. I think ultimately his sister convinced him that not everyone in the place was some kind of ranch hand; it’s just that most of them dress up that way because they know where they’re going. (It’s much easier not to worry about getting your ass kicked when you blend in).
But, guess what? She had to go to work at one o’clock. So, we said our good-byes. She took off for the high-end women's store and we drove three and a half hours east back to our decidedly non-Texan lives. Still, we all agreed the weekend was very much worth the effort. We have no idea when the four of us will be together again. Our son summed it up best when he hugged his sister good-by, saying “See you again sometime in the future.”

Clear Eyes and a Clear Head at Last

2011-09-17T16:02:00.007-04:00

Finally, I'm feeling almost normal for the first time in 48 hours. It's my own fault because I couldn't resist the allure of a midweek college football road trip with my buddies. On an otherwise normal Thursday morning, we rolled out of Shreveport and drove wide-eyed to the east to watch LSU play a prime time TV game against Mississippi State in Starkville.

The game was fantastic. LSU dominated defensively and won, which was impressive considering they were on the road in a deafening hostile atmosphere against another nationally-ranked team.

We enjoyed the game and had a lot of fun on the road, telling the old stories and providing fodder for new ones.

Remember, it was Thursday. I didn't want to burn two vacation days; plus my friends work in local sports media and they had to be back for Friday Night Football. So, we drove back through the night. I had the first shift. All I seem to recall from the drive home is an endless ribbon of inky black highway striping relentlessly through Nowhere, Mississippi. At 2:00 a.m., I was essentially alone with one traveling companion snoring and the other contentedly drooling on a pillow while he leaned against a car window. That's when I began to question the sanity of my plan.

I turned driving duties over to Drooler shortly after that and caught a couple of hours' shuteye in the car. I walked into my house at 6:40 a.m., shaved, showered, put on a suit and went to work. Company policy forbids me from blogging about activities there, but I guess I can say I had a couple of important meetings I didn't want to miss. I made it through; and a couple of colleagues who knew I had gone to the game were giving me awestruck attaboys for even being there.

I'll tell ya, though; by the time I wrapped up my Friday Night Scoreboard show on the radio at 11:00 p.m., I was a worn-out human. Now that I've had a full night's sleep, I declare the trip was worth the trouble. In fact, I may just jump in the shower and go to another game tonight. I have tickets; I might as well use them. I'll sleep in January.

How Did I Get So Busy?

2011-09-10T20:53:00.008-04:00

Football season is only two weeks old, and I think I already need some rest. It wasn’t that long ago I was complaining about being restless and bored. Two nights ago, I was pressed into duty as a public address announcer for two games at a local stadium. Then, the next night I was out until almost midnight hosting a local radio show.

Somehow, I was convinced to return to the airwaves for a Friday night scoreboard show. I thought I left sports broadcasting to get away from all that. (?)
It’s been fun, but I looked up and realized that if you combine the age of my broadcast partners, I’m still older than they are. Ouch. I guess it’s keeping me young.

Then, earlier today I was in the broadcast booth to call a game live on the radio. Let me think about this a little more. Didn’t I leave all this behind?

The real answer is, I guess not. This only happens during football season, and that’s how I like it.
It’s been a long day. I had to change clothes in a downtown parking lot in the middle of the afternoon in order to be appropriately dressed for the football game. I was up at the crack o’ dawn, hanging around the banks of the Red River as one of the announcer/ hosts for a dragon boat festival.

It was a spectacular late summer day, the festival was rollicking and the races were intensely competitive.

The best news: my beautiful bride volunteered to work in a booth near me for several hours, so at least we got to be together.

I’ve had fun, done a little community volunteer work and earned some walking-around money while immersing myself in sports. Who’s complaining? Not me, although I’m kind of sick of the sound of my own voice.
I need a nap.

No Cheering - Really

2011-09-03T22:18:00.003-04:00

(Arlington, TX) – At its core, this is a football game; but it’s also a cultural event. LSU’s season opener in Dallas-Ft. Worth is kind of “north Louisiana’s game,” because the drive is so easy for people who live along the I-20 Corridor. Conversely, a lot of the I-10 people chose not to make the drive because “it’s not Tiger Stadium.”
So, it’s a big event for the home area, and that has attracted a lot of local media who usually don’t work in and around sports. A high-profile local reporter, a long-time friend, wound up with a media pass. He's been doing feature stories about local fans in the days leading up to the game. It would be inaccurate and unfair to say he is an impartial observer, especially since he has a close personal relationship with an LSU player. He stuck around for a little while.

But he just couldn’t stand the constraints placed on him. (No cheering, no jeering, no loud proclamations of any kind). He had to leave. He actually preferred walking around the stadium without an assigned seat. He’s a football nomad, burning off energy and presumably cheering as loudly as he wants.
Decorum does not keep you from hanging out with your friends during halftime.

It’s been a close game through two quarters. Let’s hope all these old media pros can contain themselves.

Heat Up That Tiger

2011-09-03T19:12:00.006-04:00

(Arlington, TX) - It’s been a sweaty day for three-fourths of the family, as we anticipate the start of LSU’s football season. The game against Oregon in Cowboys Stadium has attracted Tiger fans from far and wide. My daughter has spent the day in the parking lot, selling sunglasses. I think business was brisk. It took my wife a long time to track her down, but finally she did…just moments before her cell phone’s battery died. That would have been a challenge.

It’s two high-level games in two days for our daughter, who was in Waco last night for TCU’s thrill-packed two-point loss to arch rival Baylor. She barely has a voice this evening. For her, it’s a cultural crossroads. A TCU student who grew up in Louisiana and has dozens of friends and acquaintances in school there, she can legitimately claim dual loyalty.

When we arrived at the stadium, the temperature was officially 104 degrees. I got into the air conditioning of the stadium while my wife was on her quest to find her daughter in the sweaty purple and gold sea. At one point, I got a text message that read “Can I tell you how much I’m sweating? OMG.” I can only imagine. So, when they finally reached their seats, they were flushed in the face, but all smiles.

The game matches up two top five teams. What a thrill to be here. It’s a fantastic way to start the season. Thank God football is finally here.

Daddy D's Tool Time

2011-08-29T10:59:00.005-04:00

It’s no secret that I am woefully lacking in any number of arguably essential “man skills,” such as handyman home repair sort of abilities. If you get much past hanging a picture or painting a wall, I’m pretty useless. People have tried to cure me of this malady over the years by giving me tools. Of course, I’d need to be self-taught for these instruments to be of any use to me. Why learn something when I can hire someone? Believe me; the job will be accomplished in a much more acceptable fashion if an expert is brought in. So, imagine my wife’s shock and awe when she discovered me standing on a ladder in the garage using tools.

My garage door has a little age on it, and several times it has developed gaps in the panels. This is unsightly, of course and I’m alert enough to realize that ultimately the loss of integrity will negatively impact function. Or, in other words, if it’s broken it will stop working. So, it needed to be fixed.

I got sick of looking at it, as well as fretting about the potential expense of replacing the door. So, given a quiet morning I started rooting around the shelves where all of these tools have accumulated. I found some gizmos and other goods that seemed to have potential to address my issues and went to work!
There was some banging and twisting. There was sweat and one blood blister; but in about forty-five minutes, I had the door reassembled, looking normal and working just fine.

I also found some WD-40 and Gorilla Glue. A spray here, a squeeze there and the garage doors are making much less noise while opening and closing than they had been. At the place where the most recent gap had developed (which was a reoccurrence, by the way), the bolts that held things in place had stripped. So, the glue and a “Look what I found!” C-clamp seem to be holding things together for now.

I have enough sense to know that won’t hold forever. Maybe there’s some duct tape on the shelf.
In the meantime, my wife got to pretend, for just one fleeting weekend morning, that she married a man’s man. Enjoy it while it lasts, Honey. If the door breaks again, I’m calling somebody.

Back From Exile in Westeros

2011-08-25T16:16:00.005-04:00

Most of my family has spent the summer on the mythical continent of Westeros. I can’t say I thoroughly enjoyed my time there, but it’s been an adventure. Among those of us on the journey, I’m the first to return to normal life. My wife and son are taking a later boat back to the mainland.
If you have no idea what I’m talking about, you’ve missed the geek pop culture phenomenon of the year, A Song of Ice and Fire. (More popularly known as A Game of Thrones).

For us, it started with a mini-series on HBO. My 21-year-old son and some of his buddies started watching it and got hooked. This led them to the book upon which the series was built, which was the first of five books currently in publication, with two more planned.

Each volume checks in at 1000 pages, give or take a few. So, you can see how dedicating ourselves to reading them all has dominated the past few weeks.

A Game of Thrones is the title of the first book. A Song of Ice and Fire is the name of the series. If you’re not into it, it means nothing to you. If you start reading, chances are you’ll find yourself looking for reasons to park yourself on the sofa and read for a couple of hours a night.

I find myself surrounded by people who are somewhere in the middle of this literary saga, set in medieval times. There’s lots of violence, lust, love, war and travel. There’s plenty of anguish. There’s not much positive going on, but somehow it’s all riveting. And, yes, I have to admit there are dragons. I think it would have been better without them

This is the most concentrated time I’ve ever dedicated to one set of characters and ideas, and frankly I’m happy to come up for air. I’m glad I read them, though. The next book in the series is probably years away, so I’ll probably forget the details of all the cliffhangers before it hits the e-reader. But, whenever that happens I expect I’ll dutifully read the next thousand pages.

I’m grateful for my son, who berated us until we acquiesced and started reading. There are several people around me still in the middle of things and I’ve enjoyed discussing it with them. I’m also grateful to author George R.R. Martin, who got me through the hottest summer on record and led me right up to football season.

It’s time to stick my nose where it belongs: into sports periodicals.

Shady Dealings in the Neighborhood

2011-08-24T14:21:00.005-04:00

It seems we have established a joint custody arrangement regarding the newest youngster at the family home. The little mimosa tree named Seymour has his first blooms and the neighbors are all atwitter about it.

Earlier this week, shortly after sunset, our doorbell rang. We weren’t expecting anyone, so my wife and I looked at one another quizzically as I flipped on the light that illuminates the front porch. Peering through the window, I saw our neighbor the doctor and his lovely wife standing there…beaming.

Of course, I invited them in, even before I realized they were bearing gifts. The doctor, having noted our struggles as we tried to get a mimosa tree to thrive in a section of our yard adjacent to his house, raised the little sapling for us in a pot and planted it in our yard himself. He noticed the new blooms; and like a proud god parent, he brought over a basket with champagne and orange juice (so we can make mimosas!) and a card proclaiming that we have “The Cutest Baby Ever.” Inside the card were photos he took of the blooms.

The four of us chatted for a good long while about the progress of our little project. I explained that the tree is thriving because my wife talks to it on a daily basis. The doctor said he has been carefully watering it, too. If it takes a village to raise a child, then it must take neighbors, three of whom are health care professionals, to grow a tree in historic drought conditions.

It is said that good fences make good neighbors, and maybe that’s true; working together toward a common goal helps, too. One day soon maybe we will share the benefit of shade from our little friend. In the meantime, we should probably set up lawn chairs in the driveway and drink champagne and orange juice. Mimosas for everybody!

What Are You Doing in Texas?

2011-08-13T23:38:00.006-04:00

About an hour after sunset, we were driving eastward on I-20 in Harrison County, Texas. The posted speed limit is 70 miles per hour during the day and 65 at night. I was driving about 64. The highway had been generously staffed by state troopers and sheriff’s deputies on a Saturday afternoon and evening, and who needed the hassle? I saw the rotating lights of a police car rushing up behind me and I thought, “Ha. He got somebody.” But he stayed behind me. What?! He’s pulling ME over? Yes, he is.
Dutifully, I found an exit ramp and a wide shoulder, stopped and awaited my fate. A state trooper creeped up to the passenger side of my car and freaked out my wife by tapping on her window.

He asked for “the license for the driver,” which I thought was an odd way to put it; but we quickly produced my license, plus the car registration and proof of insurance. The young trooper sized up the middle-aged couple he was detaining and quickly took on a friendly demeanor. He told me he pulled me over because I had changed lanes without using a turn signal.
Later, he admitted he was amused by “the look of shock” on my face. I told him as we laughed that I wasn’t shocked at why he pulled me over; I was shocked because this kind of thing had happened to me several times in Texas and I had never gotten a ticket.
I told him I understood what he was doing, but I just had to know what it is about a middle aged white guy in a black SUV that compels law enforcement officers of all levels in Texas to find a lame excuse to pull me over. He admitted I was driving “too carefully,” if you can believe that. I guess all the drug mules on the interstates and federal highways try really hard to follow the letter of the traffic laws. He also said he noticed out of state plates. This made no sense to me, since we were in a county contiguous to Louisiana, but okay.
We told the trooper we appreciated what he was doing as we wished him well and advised him to be careful. Then, he asked the question I’ve been asked by county cops, municipal officers, and now a state trooper: “What are you doing in Texas?” Here I must admit that part of my brain always wants to say, “It’s none of your business what I’m doing in Texas and as far as I know I can drive through any state in the U.S. without have to declare my intentions to law enforcement, a**hole.” But, obviously I wouldn’t do that. He was a very nice young guy just doing a job and I truly do wish him well. I want him to catch the bad guys. Still, part of me worries about the slippery slope of being asked that kind of question. I mean, I don’t think he was making small talk. As much as I travel in Texas, It’s a virtual certainty I will get pulled over again for some minor violation. When asked, I will state my business.
The answer, by the way, was “We were hauling supplies to our daughter at TCU.” We did the one-day turnaround to Ft. Worth with all the stuff that would not fit in her car last weekend.

We caught a real break, too. The long string of 100 degree days came to an end.
With an intermittent drizzle and a heavy cloud cover, the temperature did not rise above 85 degrees while we were unloading the suspicious SUV and moving various apartment furnishings into our daughter’s new digs.
She went with us to a great Tex-Mex restaurant where I enthusiastically overate. Later, I actually took a nap in her room while she and her mother did a little organizing. Then, after we had been there about five hours, she was ready for us to go.
The last words she said to me were “Go home, Dad.” This was after we had said our good-byes, but she shouted at me through her window when she spotted me taking photos.
That’s okay. We’ll be back in three weeks or so for the start of football season. We’ll have to drive over again on I-20. Maybe that time I won’t be so careful. I might drive 70!

The Suddenly Silent Saturday

2011-08-06T16:57:00.009-04:00

As expected, the house is disarmingly quiet this afternoon. Our daughter has hit the highway, bound for Dallas-Ft. Worth and another year at TCU. She did a kind of farewell tour, having dinner with her grandmother and her aunt among others on Thursday. Friday was packing day. Today, departure day, the circle got a little tighter. Her brother came over to wish her well.

Her mother, attentive to the last, said “remember the ‘very important box?’ You almost left without it.” The box is essential to her interests, because it contains various electronic devices and their chargers.

Also among those saying a final farewell was, of course, The Girl From Across the Street, who for many years has consistently been close by.
She’s still two weeks or so away from her own departure to Norman, Oklahoma. So at least we have her to look at for a few more days.
A fly-by for a couple of hometown friends was in the works, then it was off to the interstate.
While our daughter was in the shower making final preparations for her departure, my wife finally allowed herself a good, long cry. It’s never easy to witness that, although part of me thinks I might feel a little better if I could somehow make that happen for myself. Too much testosterone, I suppose, for it doesn’t seem to be in the cards.

The one who may miss her the most: The Best Dog Ever, who got to stay in the house all day every day while her friend was here. They also went running together almost every night. So, everybody's routine will be disrupted.

And I can assure you our daughter's 13-year-old cat will mope around in a funk for weeks. I've seen it happen.
The good news is, although her vehicle was packed like a sardine can, there’s still a lot of stuff left to be hauled west.

So, we get to go visit in a few days and check out her new apartment. She has three new roommates this year, hand-picked all. So, it’s shaping up to be a fun sophomore session.
Our low-key summer, which has been dominated by oppressive heat and intensive attention to the e-reader, is about to come to a close. Gas up the car, because we’ll be seeing a lot of Ft. Worth in the weeks ahead.

Does This Ever Get Easier?

2011-08-05T16:11:00.012-04:00

On a blindingly hot August day, our daughter’s summer comes to an end. She’s been busily packing her belongings into her car so she can return to TCU this weekend.
For her, moving day has approached at an achingly slow pace. Her glee at returning to school is scarcely contained. Who can blame her? A Shreveport swelter stands in stark contrast to all of her early summer activities. She spent June eye level with the clouds in a remote part of British Columbia, where she was surrounded by mountains, cold water and newfound friends.

This was following a week in Colorado with a different set of people, all of whom enjoyed a late spring snowstorm.

And there was the trip to Sharp Top in Georgia, where she worked for a week but also took a little time to frolic in the clover with one of her closest friends.

As she hop scotched the continent, she encountered at least two waterfalls.

And somewhere along the way, she made a couple of trips to the Texas hill country, where she spent time with some up and coming young filmmakers and also found her way onto the water.

We are told there was work to be done. She staffed a snack shop or two along the way at summer camps, but certainly found time to put up her feet.

Over the last five years, she has shown a remarkable ability to go solo into new circumstances in new places and make friends. Maybe that’s why her transition to college a year ago seemed to be smoother than most. Wherever she goes, she seems to find a way to surround herself with laughter. What could be better?

And so it has been with a sense of forlorn resignation that my wife and I have watched her hang around the house, knowing well that she is just itching to leave. I know the alternative is less desirable. She’s happy at TCU and that’s priceless. We also know she’s not running away from anything here, but she is in fact running to something there. That’s a wonderful thing.

But when she goes, she takes all that laughter with her and the house seems so quiet. We also realize this was her first college summer, which will probably be her last at home.

I guess we’ll close the door to her bedroom until Thanksgiving, when I think we all can hope the weather will be a little more reasonable.

See the Tree, How Big It's Grown

2011-08-01T11:32:00.004-04:00

When I was a little boy, there was a huge mimosa tree in our front yard.
When I was four or five, my mother started having what the doctor decided were allergy issues and a decision was made to saw down that tree. For some reason, it upset me so much that I still remember it vividly. So, I’ve always wanted a mimosa tree.
The landscaping people arrogantly refuse to plant one. I’ve been told more than once “It’s a trash tree.” Maybe so, but it’s my yard and if I want to pay tribute to my roots with a trash tree, so be it.
Twice over the years, we’ve planted mimosa saplings in a strategic spot in our yard. The first one was a gift from my late father-in-law, who knew of my mimosa quest. Sadly, both of them died. I think they were done in by the string trimmer the yard man uses, but that’s just a theory.
This has mystified me, because these trees grow like weeds (which, if you believe the landscape people, they are) all over town.
Unbeknownst to us, our next door neighbor the doctor has been watching our mimosa struggles. He met me at the mailbox one day over the winter and said he had been growing a small mimosa tree in a pot on his porch and that he would plant it for us whenever we were ready. He evened named the tree “Seymour” after the fast-growing, man-eating plant in “Little Shop of Horrors.”

Here we are, in the August blast furnace, and Seymour seems to be thriving. He’s defoliated a couple of times, but has bounced back strong. Now, it looks like he might make it. I think I know why.
My wife has taken to talking to him on an almost daily basis. She praises him for standing up straight (He does have a history of bending his young trunk).

She oohs and ahs over his new leaves and she tells him what a big, strong, shady tree he will be one day. It seems to be working. The third try is the charm, it appears. Seymour is getting a lot of attention.
We will keep watering, keep encouraging, keep watching him grow and keep hoping nobody develops any nasty allergies.

Eight and a Half Decades of Life

2011-07-29T22:12:00.004-04:00

My father turned 85 today, and celebrated by having a new garage door installed at a warehouse he owns in Bossier City. As odd as that may sound, few things make him happier than hanging around that old building which until thirty years ago housed his business.
The company has been shut down for thirty years and the Old Boss has been happily retired for that long, but he still rents the place and hangs around there whenever he can find an excuse for it.
When he’s there, he can be with his long lost brother, who was also his business partner. He can be with all the friends and rivals who made him who he is today. So, when I heard that’s where he was, I was happy.

I found this out when I called to wish him a happy birthday and to ask him if we could take him to dinner. He enthusiastically agreed, as you might imagine. The adventure began when I tried to nail him down about where he wanted to go. He said “That fish place by the waterfall.” I had no frame of reference for a waterfall and there are several “fish places” around town. So, I had to use my crack investigative journalism skills to discern the location. Fortunately, I had most of a day to accomplish this.
I called a couple of his friends and found out he likes a casual steak & catfish place across from a local water park, so I was confident we had it all figured out. I wasn’t 100% sure, though, until I had picked him up and we were well on our way.
From divergent compass points our little family gathering coalesced. Once gathered, we watched him slowly sip a couple of longneck beers to prepare himself for a methodical annihilation of a plate of catfish and French fries. I’ve never known anyone to stretch out a meal like my dad can; and by now everyone knows his tendency, so we just strap in for the long haul.

My wife and I sat across the table from the birthday boy and his two grandchildren. He dispensed advice and wisdom on a variety of topics, starting with the dangers of highway driving and going all the way through the state of the U.S. economy. You see, he was surprised we didn’t have to wait in a long line to get a table on a Friday night. He’s convinced people are simply spending less money these days because they have no confidence in the direction our country’s going. He may be onto something.

I read recently that old stories are like old friends. It’s nice to visit with them every once in a while. So, we heard refreshed accounts of some of his greatest tales and generally just relaxed while we ate and swapped stories.
It was my daughter’s kind of evening. She often speaks of “just hanging out and loving each other,” and that’s exactly what happened at the fish place by the waterfall.
On the ride back to his house, my father was uncharacteristically emotional, saying “I know you’re proud of your family. I am, too. I can’t tell you how much I love those grandkids. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my birthday.”
Neither can I.

Late Night Criminal Mischeif

2011-06-28T18:54:00.007-04:00

My daughter, freshly home following three weeks in the wilderness of western Canada (she calls it a “thin place’ because she says “the barrier between there and Heaven is so thin”), is clearly bored.
To cope with the mundaneness of home, she and a couple of her friends resorted to madcap mischief.

During a late-night trip to a local outlet of a national discount chain, they became fascinated with the photos in the low-cost frames.

Sometime in the dark hours of the morning, they snapped cell phone pictures of the frames, made their way back home, stealthily ascended the stairs and painstakingly replicated several of the photos using themselves as models.

Then, later still but well before sunrise, they boldly returned to the Great Discount Frontier and while no one was watching, placed their own photos on top of some of those in the frames, then placed them right back on the shelf.

As silly 19-year-old high jinks go, this one is pretty innocent (and I have to admit disarmingly hysterical), but I worry that they could get into trouble. I mean, after all, they did plant some pretty substantial evidence against themselves.

In this photo, one of the girls in the original image had some missing teeth, so our pranksters went to the trouble to black out a couple of their own with raisins. Details are very important.

As for the trouble: what is their crime? They didn’t steal anything. They might have impacted the value of a retail item. They could argue that the value actually increased, but that’s a dubious position.

The best part? Later in the day, my daughter got a text message from someone asking if she had modeled for the people who sell the frames. So, nobody at the store had noticed. The photos were still there....and one of her friends saw them!

Even though she and her buddies get the last laugh (at least for now), I think we need to find her something to do, like get a good night’s sleep.

Speed On The Bayou

2011-06-05T20:17:00.008-04:00

My afternoon was spent gliding through a little slice of North Louisiana I had not seen before. While it’s easily accessible, I suspect not many people have had this view of downtown Shreveport.

And when you turn around, this is what you see.

Cross Bayou runs into the Red River, and north of downtown it connects with Twelve Mile Bayou. My buddy Mr. Watercraft recently got two brand new Wave Runners, and he offered me a modern-day excursion into the wetlands.

Having spent an afternoon on these bucolic tributaries, I can see why people who know about this sort of thing say the waterways are woefully underappreciated and shamefully underutilized. What a treasure. We were committed to speed on this trip, which was easy to accomplish because the water in the bayous was like glass. But because we were hurtling along the surface at speeds approaching 60 miles per hour most of the time, photos were not so easy to come by. So, trust me when I say it was like being on a wildlife adventure. We saw herons, egrets, buzzards, turtles, water moccasins, catfish, gar, hawks and even a few cows. Flocks of birds flew along with us. For a moment or two, it seemed like a Spielberg movie. What a treat!

We roared all the way to Caddo Lake near Blanchard, and with the exception of a river cruise that went a few hundred yards into Cross Bayou, we only saw two other boats along the way. Truly, it was a spectacular Sunday afternoon.
We went so far so fast that we almost ran out of gas before we made it back to the boat launch. Fortunately, we were smart enough to pay close attention to our fuel gauges. When we emerged from the bayou into the river, we did take a little jaunt to the north and then turned back home. When we reached the casinos, I knew the adventure was quickly coming to a close.

I’m thrilled to have made the trip. Countless times, I’ve crossed over the bayous on highway overpasses and looked longingly at their tree-lined shores and wondered what it would be like to navigate their lengths. Now that I’ve done it, I can’t wait to do it again. Next time, I’ll go a little slower.

Daddy Jumped Out of an Airplane, Too.

2011-06-04T20:07:00.014-04:00

For a guy who didn’t have any specific plans for the weekend, my day took an exciting turn.

The children have gone skydiving over the last couple of weekends and people have been hammering me with “When are you going?” There was no answer to that question; but an unanticipated slot opened at Skydive Louisiana, and it was made available to me. I considered it for a couple of minutes, then thought, “Aw, chute! Why not?”

As word of this feat spread, I was called crazy, brave, “a bigger man than me,” that sort of thing; but to be honest, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal. Once I made the decision to go for it, I had a total sense of peace about it. I mean, I’ve watched my children fall out of the sky and land safely. What did I have to worry about? I think my wife has even grown accustomed to dealing with the stress of watching a loved one plummet to Earth from 10,000 feet.

The plane in which we all have flown is small and thoroughly no-frills. I think at some point I might have compared it to a tin can. The flight, which takes 20-30 minutes, was exceedingly pleasant, though. I enjoyed seeing the north Louisiana countryside from the air and was fascinated with the curves and currents of the Red River. I was also encouraged to see so much progress being made on the northern extension of Interstate 49.

When it came time to actually jump out of the plane, I wasn’t nervous or scared. It was a tandem jump, and I had the same guy strapped to my back that the kids had, so I had gotten to know him a little. He shouted a “ready, set, GO!” and we tumbled from the door, doing a full somersault in the process. It was quite a thrill. I really didn’t have a sense of falling. It felt more like sitting in the bow of a motorboat as it skids across the water full-tilt.

The skydiver taking photos hung in the air right beside us, at one point coming over to me for a high-five.

I remember letting out a “Woo-hoo” or two along with way. Then, my man Bill gave the signal that he was about to pull the cord to open the chute. That went without incident.

I was asked if I had a moment of trepidation right there. No, actually. I was noting the sudden change in rate of descent, as well as the quick shift of our bodies from horizontal to vertical. It must have taken 10-15 seconds before I thought to look over my shoulder at the chute. I did, and all was well.
From that moment on, it was simply a slow float to the ground. It was so peaceful that Bill and I carried on a conversation in normal voice tones as we practiced techniques for steering and landing. The harness that strapped me to him became uncomfortable after a while and solely because of that I was ready to get to the ground. That was the only unpleasant aspect of the whole experience.

My wife dutifully greeted me at the hangar, as she has done with all three of her immediate family members now. She insists she has no intention or desire to join the club.

I’m really glad I did it, and I’m also glad it was spur-of-the-moment. I suspect if I had anticipated it for days or weeks, I might not have had so much peace of mind. And I have to admit in the plane at about 8000 feet, I spent some quality time talking to Jesus.
On the way to the airstrip, I told my wife, "If I slam into the ground, you have my blessing to marry for money next time; but you have to wait an appropriate interval." She asked how long that would be. I said she wouldn't be allowed to become emotionally involved with anyone until after my birthday in 2012. That's seemed reasonable to her. I also said, "If that happens, know my last thought was how much I love you." I didn't go splat, thankfully. So, I have plenty of time to get right with the Lord and stay right with my bride.

Now, my fall from the sky is another great memory. And the photos are pretty cool, too.

There She Goes Again

2011-06-01T21:30:00.008-04:00

She likely wouldn't admit it, but I suspect for the past eight days or so our daughter has been bored. From a parent’s perspective, her brief downtime was good for her. She needed the rest that is associated with being in the family home for a week. We intentionally took a low-key approach to Memorial Day, actually planning absolutely nothing. We knew that soon she would pack her bags, hoist her passport and be off again.
This time, she’s bound for British Columbia with a two-day stop in Seattle.

Let’s recap: When she wrapped up her final exams at TCU, she did not come home. Instead, she joined a large group of Dallas-Ft. Worth friends who went to Frontier Ranch in Colorado to prepare a Young Life camp for the summer. There, they did their fair share of work, but also enjoyed an abundant May snowfall and generally cavorted in the Rocky Mountains.

She came home for one night.

Then, she joined a group of Shreveport-Bossier friends and headed east for a similar work week in Georgia at a camp called Sharp Top. There was no snow, but there were mountains, hiking and general cavorting around waterfalls and other wonders of nature.

On her first day back, she went skydiving.

Then, there was the weeklong sentence of resting. Surely, she enjoyed seeing some of her oldest and closest friends on home turf. They may all be college women now, but there is still common ground to be found in the sleepy hometown. She’s going so far away, about an hour north of Vancouver, that there will be no cell phone service. So, she will be off the grid for the month of June.
Despite absurd springtime heat that approached triple digits, she dressed in flannel for her trip. The friend meeting her in Seattle said when she arrives to expect rain and temperatures in the 50’s. In the mountains of British Columbia, she should expect to experience highs in the 70’s.

She’s on the summer staff of another Young Life camp, this one called Malibu. She has been assigned to the snack shop. Good work if you can get it.
Her grandparents have essentially given up on trying to keep up with her dizzying travel schedule. One of them will call and say, “Where is she now?” Whatever the most accurate answer is usually illicits a chuckle or some exclamation of wonder.
Who knows what’s next? There’s no way to know if she will be happy for a little more down time or if she will be crushed with boredom when she gets back. There’s only one thing of which we can be certain: after spending May and June in the mountains, July on the bayou will be a little sweaty.

A Gift of Faith and Courage

2011-05-22T13:20:00.009-04:00

A couple of days ago, I received in the mail a book sent to me by the author, Brady Boyd. He autographed it for me with the inscription, “Darrell, stay strong! Psalm 23:4 –Brady”
I sat down almost immediately and dived into the pages of Fear No Evil: A Test of Faith, a Courageous Church and an Unfailing God.

If not for a series of daily-life obligations, I might have devoured every word in one sitting.
The thing is, I’m not exactly sure why Brady, the senior pastor at New Life Church in Colorado Springs, sent me the book; but I’m honored and thrilled that he did.
As I get older, there seems to be an ongoing emphasis on this life lesson: You never know when someone with whom you were once in relationship will reemerge into your life. “Pastor Brady,” as he is known to his massive flock, is a glowing example of that.
It must have been almost 20 years ago when a journalism student from Louisiana Tech named Brady Boyd slaved as an intern at the television station where I was the sports director. I remember him as likable, reliable and eager. He got his grade of “A” for his internship and moved on. He showed up on my radar screen occasionally as a young up-and-coming broadcaster and a coach; but then, from my perspective, he slipped silently into the ephemera.

I ran across his name on Facebook and/or Twitter, and we passively reconnected. I sent him a message asking what he’s up to these days. He replied, matter-of-factly, “I’m senior pastor at New Life Church in Colorado Springs.” Embarrassingly in retrospect, that struck me as slightly interesting. I didn’t realize the deeper meaning of that until months later.
I didn’t even know he had gone into ministry. I figured he was working in media sales somewhere and calling ball games on the side for kicks.
I had no idea that my former intern had replaced disgraced pastor Ted Haggard at a megachurch. I was also blissfully ignorant that on Brady’s 100th day in his position, a gunman armed with an automatic weapon, diversionary grenades and a thousand rounds of ammunition strolled onto his church property on a Sunday morning and opened fire.
Two people died that day. A security guard, who said she was guided by The Holy Spirit, emerged as a life-saving hero. Brady became the centerpiece of a major national news event. I somehow missed it all. Three years later, Brady Boyd has published his story. He dutifully dispenses the details of that incomprehensibly harrowing day in the first chapter; but that simply sets up a riveting tale of courage, redemption, faith, perseverance and forgiveness.
Pastor Brady lays out so many life lessons, using his obviously unwavering faith in God, Jesus and The Holy Spirit as a granite base, that it often felt as if he had been speaking directly to me.
He admits there were dark times when he felt despair and depression, staring into the abyss of what seemed to be certain defeat. But he remembered the words of the 23rd psalm and realized he was in a valley of darkness. He knew that if he just stayed strong and kept moving, he would eventually climb the mountain and turn around. He has done it, and the faces of tens of thousands of faithful followers of Christ are looking to him with hope.

Brady’s congregation is evangelical, and as a lifelong devotee to liturgical denominations, the form of worship in his church is miles away from my comfort zone. From a safe distance, his story has moved and inspired me. It has offered practical life lessons as well as insight into the kind of Christian faith that I practice and strive for, but which seems to elude me. I want to make a pilgrimage to Colorado Springs and see if maybe somehow my former intern can carve out time for lunch.
I still don’t know why he sent his book to me, but I’m glad he did. He would no doubt advise me to intentionally and diligently pray about it. I think I just might do that.

Finding a Hole in the Sky to Jump Through

2011-05-21T19:51:00.011-04:00

My children seemed to be determined to become citizens of the sky.

Just about a month after a gentle but thrilling hot air balloon ride across the city, the daughter emulated her older brother’s breathtaking adventure of a week ago. Inspired by his derring-do and no doubt feeling a little competitive, she strapped on a flight suit and jumped out of an airplane at 10,000 feet.

Her first skydiving experience was a little dicier than his. The whole family rolled up to the airstrip north of town, where both of the kids planned to jump. The sky was threatening and the wind was alarmingly gusty, so the plane was grounded for most of the day.

At mid-afternoon, there seemed to be a sliver of an opportunity, so into the aircraft they climbed, determined to find their way out of it two miles high.

The cloud deck seemed to close quickly. From the ground we could hear the plane but could not see it. For a half-hour or so, the distinctive hum of the engine circled us from high above. We knew they were biding their time, hoping for an opening. We figured if we couldn’t see the plane, the people in it couldn’t see the ground and it would not be safe to jump. We were lamenting her seemingly certain disappointment.
We were told later that indeed a decision had been made to scrap the jump and the pilot was making preparations to land with a full load of passengers.

Meanwhile, back on the ground, there was a telltale change in engine sounds. We knew this to be a strong indication that the jumpers were away.

A week earlier, my wife had become just the slightest bit nauseous at the sight of a speck in the sky she knew to be her son plummeting to earth. Only when she saw the chute successfuly open did she feel better. This time, there was no speck; but bursting silently from the clouds emerged the reassuring image of a colorful chute with four feet dangling beneath it. Our daughter, jumping tandem, was taking her sweet, blustery time returning to earth.

She was thrilled and overcome with a sense of satisfaction at having checked another box on her life’s to-do list.

She also revealed how close they had come to returning without having jumped. They were on their way back when her jump partner alertly noticed an opening in the clouds. He saw the airstrip below and yelled, “There’s a hole!” Seizing the moment, they leapt right into it and away they went.

Her brother’s planned jump was postponed and the plane was secured in a hangar. Hers was the last jump of the day.
All the while, Mother endured this with a hint of agony on her face. When her son did all this, I pledged afterward to hunt down a doctor with a prescription pad to help her through. After her daughter took a turn, I think she has a few more fine lines on her face and the silver in her hair is a little more prominent. I’m thinking this time, I’ll treat to her a spa day.

Nobody Bounced and That's a Wonderful Thing

2011-05-15T21:31:00.009-04:00

“This is probably the greatest thing I’ve ever done” said my 21-year-old son moments after he dropped from the sky.

Don’t ask me how this happened, but he decided he wanted to go skydiving and he did it. With two of his buddies in tow, he made his way to a nondescript airfield north of the city, where he slipped into a tiny single-prop plane and jumped out of it 10,000 feet up in the air.

He was the third man in his group to get the opportunity, and he had seen his friends land breathlessly but safely, both of them with gleeful declarations about the amazing experience.

The day was almost picture-perfect with a temperature in the 70’s and a cloudless sky. The breeze was a little stiffer than everyone would have liked, but it certainly was not an impediment to a successful skydive. They all did tandem jumps, which means an experienced skydiver actually did all the work while he was strapped to the guys’ backs; but you have to start somewhere.

My wife was a surprisingly cool customer about all this. Initially, she said she wished she hadn’t known, that she would have preferred to hear about it after the fact. She planned to go to a movie during the jump, but I talked her into driving up there with me to witness it.

She later said she was fine almost the whole time. There was a moment when she saw a tiny speck in the sky which she knew to be her son falling from an airplane, before the parachute opened, when she felt a little sick.

It was fleeting, though, and she admitted she was glad she went. This was such a significant event; having shared it with our son was meaningful.
It was so great to see him so thrilled (and safe!) that I just had to hug him when he came trudging off the airstrip in his flight suit.

He was all smiles, high-fives and thumbs-up.

There are two little secrets to share, however:
1) One long-neck Budweiser was consumed about 45 minutes before his take-off.
2) The harness he had to wear (How can this be put delicately?) gave him trouble.

He’s going again next week, weather permitting, and taking his sister along. He said “She’s going to love it.” I’m not so sure about their mother. Longnecks may not be enough. I’ll try to find someone with a prescription pad.

Out of the Clear Blue Sky

2011-05-07T23:01:00.011-04:00

(Barksdale AFB) – I grew up just a couple of miles from a major Air Force base, so seeing giant warplanes in the sky is a daily fact of life for me.

Each spring, the base hosts an air show that attracts tens of thousands of awestruck attendees. I’ve made my way to the show a few times, but more often in my younger days, I would actually get on the roof of my house to see enough of the aerial acrobatics to hold my interest. From that vantage point, you didn’t have to fight the crowds or traffic and you had your own bathroom.

This year, though, my wife and I were offered “distinguished visitors” status. That meant a parking pass, free food and a front row seat. Feeling distinguished and somewhat special, we slathered on the sunscreen, donned protective headwear and hit the tarmac.

It was fun, kind of an ego boost, to rub elbows with other distinguished visitors and to have an unobstructed view of things you can’t see from a roof miles away; for instance, a jet-powered truck that we are told topped 300 miles per hour on its ear-splitting jaunt down the runway.

I was most looking forward to seeing the B-2 stealth bomber, and I was not disappointed.

As always, the base opened several aircraft for public tours.

We didn’t have any kind of VIP status for that, so we stood in a couple of long lines and walked through a cargo plane, orbited a B-52 and got an up-close look at some scary looking bombs.

We soon grew weary of mingling with the common folk and went to rejoin our distinguished company in the “President’s Club.” (I asked, “President of what?” and nobody seemed to know). As we enjoyed our lunch while watching various aircraft perform loops, twirls, tumbles and stalls; we chatted amiably with some other privileged people who joined us at the table. Our eyes appropriately locked on the sky, we heard a familiar voice from behind us say, “Mom? Dad?”

By the craziest coincidence, our 21-year-old son had mysteriously appeared among the distinguished visitors. There he was, in the flesh, with appropriate President’s Club credentials and a beer in his hand.
He didn’t expect to see us and we certainly didn’t expect to see him, so we all just kind of laughed as Mother’s day came early.

It turns out that the father of one of his closest friends owns a company that is a major air show sponsor. That can elevate one to “distinguished” status rather quickly. He admitted he wasn’t there so much for the airplanes as he was the bountiful free food and drink available to him.
So, we all ate together, feigned interest in yet another loopty-loo airplane and then left the base together once the show (and the buffet) had run its course.

Making the transition from parent-child to adult-adult can be a little jarring sometimes, particularly when your kid unexpectedly walks up to you out of nowhere and offers you a beer.
I think I need to go up on the roof and think about this for a while.

Living The Big Life in Texas

2011-05-03T15:26:00.004-04:00

We’re fresh from a trip to Ft. Worth, where we began in earnest the process of packing up the contents of our daughter’s dorm room. This is finals week, which means in mere hours her first year of college will be behind her.
For the moment, it’s all business. She has a grade point average to maintain so she can hang onto to her scholarship money, as well as her place in the Honors College. We certainly have no indication there’s trouble afoot, and so there’s plenty to be proud of.
This includes how she has thrown herself into university life outside the classroom. After casting aside a bid to a sorority, she has immersed herself in church-related activities. Several nights a week, it seems from our distant vantage point, she is engaged in some group activity that helps celebrate her faith.
She’s also running the roads seeking her share of secular fun. This included a midweek jaunt south to Austin, where the popular musical group Mumford and Sons was making a whistle-stop on their “Railroad Revival” tour as they made their way to New Orleans’ Jazzfest.

The band and the other two acts involved in the show actually arrived on a train and basically off-loaded in a field next to the tracks for the concert. There were less than 1000 tickets issued for the event, so it had kind of exclusive feel. This also meant pretty much everybody had a great festival-type view.

As we sat together at dinner before dorm-packing day, she was ebullient in her description of the experience. Even though she and her running buddies drove to Austin and back overnight so they wouldn’t miss class, they think it was worth the effort.

They had a great time, got back to Ft. Worth safely and presumably participated in some kind of academic pursuit the following day. I’m not so naïve as to presume they actually went to class.

But, hey, if the GPA is where it’s supposed to be, I can’t complain. She seems to be getting the most out of college, and that’s all a parent can really ask for.

Jed, Jethro and the Great Sleep Caper

2011-04-21T17:21:00.007-04:00

Several years ago, my son decided for whatever reason that he did not like his bed. So, over my strenuous objections, his mother indulged his whine and pleas party by buying a futon for him.
This decision will one day have a display case in the “Things Darrell Doesn’t Understand” Hall of Fame.
Stubborn as always, he’s been sleeping on that futon ever since.
Shockingly, he began recently to complain that he hasn’t been sleeping well in the Fabulous Bachelor Pad. Well, let me tell you something: Daddy isn’t buying him a new bed.
It has dawned on me that I may have been manipulated. See, my wife went to the furniture store and bought a new mattress for us and gave him our old one. Then, she went into the attic and dug out the headboard, footboard and slats from her old apartment bed.

As much as all this made me cross my eyes, I have to admit it led to some moments of hilarity. My son borrowed his grandfather’s truck and rounded up one of his friends to rearrange all of his sleeping accommodations.
The futon had to go to storage, because by God we will not give it away or throw it away.
Guys in Grateful dead tie-dye tee shirts may not be the most skillful movers, so there was concern that their cargo wasn’t particularly secure.

I suggested that his friend ride in the back of the truck on top of the mattress to make sure it doesn’t bounce out in transit. They looked at me like I was crazy. I said, “Well, that’s what I would do.”
Well, whaddaya know? They listened to me, even though I was asked if I’m sure it’s legal.
I’m not certain, but on a beautiful springtime evening, it surely looked comfortable.

To their credit, they easily laughed at themselves, the bed was successfully delivered and assembled. Better yet, nobody and nothing fell off the truck.
Maybe now, without having to dodge bumps and rough spots in the well-worn futon, a guy can get a good night’s sleep.

Invasion of the Pizza Roll Snatchers

2011-04-17T17:43:00.010-04:00

At times over the last three days, it seemed that almost every horizontal surface in our house was occupied by a college student. Eighteen of them spent two nights with us, an idea that caused many eyebrows to arch as we told friends and family how many were coming.

It was widely assumed that our daughter lured seventeen friends to town for some kind of party. The purpose of the trip, however, was quite the opposite. They were here on a mission, spending the weekend offering services to homeless people downtown. Most of the missionaries in our group were from TCU, with one from Louisiana Tech and another from Dallas Baptist University mixing in effortlessly. A contingent of LSU students also came to town. They converged with the goal of addressing a few basic needs of the people they encountered. This kind of thing goes on quietly but consistently thanks to an organization called The Hub Urban Ministries. On this particular weekend, The Hub and its volunteers, among many other activities, put together a springtime cookout. The folks from our house also spent time in “the basement,” The hub’s downtown day shelter.

The students were encouraged to be proactive in their outreach, which led them to see some of the ugly underbelly of the city; but when their days’ duties were behind them, they were aglow with a sense of accomplishment. There were varied stories about how their lives were touched and how they hoped that, if only for a moment, they may have made someone else’s life just a little better.

It was remarkable how low-key they were at the house. We had stocked provisions for them. They ate abundantly and gratefully. There was a big breakfast buffet featuring troughs of coffee, vats of fruit salad, silos of cereal, mounds of bacon and me dutifully manning the pancake grill. It was one of the happiest mornings I’ve had in months.

They were serious about their business, but they had their share of fun. Our daughter was the hostess and organizer. She was pleased to show her college friends her hometown, even if the downtown area seems a little sleepy on a Saturday and generally back on its heels. They walked around and goofed around, posing for photos along the way. I’m not sure what was going on, but some of the images look like potential album covers.

They stayed up late, of course and engaged in more of the kind of consumption you would expect from college kids. Sacks of pizza rolls evaporated. Chips and salsa were annihilated and the recycling bin shows evidence of gallons of guzzled soft drinks. But guess what: when they pulled out of the driveway, the kitchen was cleaned up, the rest of the house was in order and there was a thank-you note signed by all of them attached to a bouquet of purple flowers. I told them to come back when they can stay longer. I hope they do.

Keeping the Boss Happy

2011-04-10T19:11:00.008-04:00

It’s been thirty years since my father shuttered his business and went into retirement. Make no mistake about it, though; he’s still the boss.

Somehow, I got talked into “helping” him build a tin roof tool shed on some property he owns out in the woods. If you define “helping” as doing the work like a trained monkey while the boss calls the shots, then mission accomplished.

My wife and her mother tagged along for the fresh air and sunshine and tried to lend a hand a couple of times. But the boss is old school and this kind of heavy lifting isn’t women’s work. There were a few suggestions made along the way, but it was quickly determined that that was wasted breath.

You see, my father was a micromanager before anybody had ever heard the word. My brother and several of my friends worked for him at Rebouche Plumbing and Heating along the way. We learned very quickly that thinking for ourselves while under his dominion was, shall we say, frowned upon. He knew the best way to do things and there was no reason to discuss it, really. One of my cousins who earned a summer paycheck a couple of times says, “Darrell, he was just mean.” Maybe he was, especially if he had to put up with backtalk. “Backtalk” here can be defined as “mentioning there might be a different way to accomplish the job.” See, if you had ideas, you just weren’t thinking straight. If you committed this transgression, the boss would be forced to “talk hard to you.”

“Helping” with the shed brought back memories. Even when he tried to be complimentary by saying something like “you’re working real good today,” he said it with a tone of surprise. So it comes across as “I didn’t think you had it in you.” Hold on, am I exposing old scars?

All of this is actually true and only slightly exaggerated, if at all. It must be noted that almost everyone who recalls their days in the plumbing truck speaks of these things with love, admiration, respect and amusement. We all agree that the work experience we got thanks to his success in business has helped us in many ways. Do the math. He will be 85 years old this summer and he’s been retired for thirty years. That tells you something.
The exception is my older brother, the only one of us who stuck with him and worked at the company for years. Their “working relationship” remains largely unchanged to this day. My father calls, tells my brother he has to do something, and he does it. They come into silent conflict because my brother, a veteran plumber himself on the precipice of retirement at 64, has well-developed thoughts about the way things should be done. If his ideas (“notions” my father might call them) are rejected, as they often are; he carries on doing things the boss’s way, but complains about it under his breath to anyone who will listen. If no one will listen, he complains anyway.

At one moment during the shed construction, I looked at my wife and mother-in-law and said “this is why I went into TV news.”

This was just after a boss-imposed lunch break. I wanted to keep moving until I was finished, but the women had dutifully driven into town to grab something to eat. When the food arrived, lunchtime was declared. So, I left my tools on top of the ladder and stepped away. When I returned to the job, I failed to remember this important detail and moved the ladder. A pair of pliers, a crescent wrench and a claw hammer rained down upon me, banging me right on top of the head.
It must have knocked some sense into me because I worked with renewed vigor after that, following the boss’s instructions to the smallest detail as we wrapped things up.
It was a beautiful day and we all spent time together. A nice little shed was built. My father was happy because he got his structure erected his way. Since I knew exactly what to expect, it was all very pleasant. Nobody was mean. Now, I’ve got to do something about that knot on my head…..

Avert Your Gaze. I'm Hideous

2011-04-08T14:13:00.005-04:00

I have what I hope is a healthy awareness of the potential problems with skin cancer. I’ve noticed recently a couple of places on the aging skin that seem to be changing. So, I made an appointment with a physician of my acquaintance and asked him to look things over. When I got to his office, he put on some funny-looking glasses, checked things out and quickly went into “better safe than sorry” mode. Moments later, I was leaning back in a procedure room, covered in sterile draping as a variety of violations of my personal surface were committed. There was scraping, freezing, slicing and stitching. And now there are black sutures front and center on my face. Antibiotic ointment has been applied and band-aids have been affixed. It looks like I got into a fight.

My scalp long ago surrendered its grip on my once-legendary head of hair. This means my noggin isn’t protected from evil sun rays. So, guess what? The top of my head was assaulted, too. I’m not sure what it was that he applied to my crown, but as it approached there was some kind of steam being emitted from it.

Here’s a sentence I had hoped would never be spoken in reference to me, but was uttered by my loving wife a couple of hours after the procedures: “Your head is oozing.” I can wear a cap for a few days to cover up the ooze, but short of a wrestling mask there’s not much to do about the face except proudly don the fabric bandages.

People aren’t running in fear from me. A younger female co-worker said, “Places on your face? That’s your cover story for having work done?” Look, if I had had “work” (code for cosmetic surgery) done, It would be in different areas; you can take that to the bank.

I am a little concerned about the way I look, especially since I’m on the schedule at the church for Sunday. I will be a Eucharistic minister, and I have no desire to frighten people who come to the communion rail. I sent a text message to my kind, compassionate priest to let him know about the way things are. I even sent a photo. He said not to worry about it and added, pastorally, “See if you can work in a couple of neck bolts.” Everybody’s a comedian.

One person seems to be enjoying all this. My wife, a registered nurse by education but a high-level healthcare manager by position, seems to be reveling in the opportunity to provide intensive care to a patient. Trust me, she wants to clean the ooze and dress the incisions. This will be a happy weekend for her. She will be humming and doting, so who am I to complain?

I have to admit I struggled a little during all the injecting, incising and excising. I got light headed and broke out into a cold sweat. When it was all said and done, I told the doctor and the lady who assisted him that I considered it a great victory that there was no vomit. I don’t do well with needle sticks. Slicing and stitching? That’s a whole new level.

My wife stayed in the room the whole time. It was like a vacation for her or something. As I sat up, trying to towel off a little, she was giving me a good once-over. I said, “Stop looking at me clinically. You’re my wife, not my nurse.” But, she couldn’t help herself and that’s one of the countless things I admire about her.

I hadn’t looked in a mirror, but I had a sense of how ridiculous I must have looked, pre-Band-Aid with betadine smeared all over my cheeks and dripping down the back of my head. As she stared, I said “Oh, yeah. I’m getting sweet, sweet love tonight.” I guess that’s when the doctor and his people decided I was okay. They laughed and left the room. I will not go into seclusion, but I plan to lie low a little. But, who knows? If these things heal well, I might go back and have some work done.

The Ride of Their Lives

2011-03-19T18:36:00.017-05:00

When she was five years old, I took my daughter parasailing. As we floated in the sky supported by a colorful parachute and tethered to a ski boat in the Gulf of Mexico, she said in her little girl voice, “This is the best day of my whole life.” How must have she felt this morning?
One of her closest friends celebrated her 19th birthday with a hot air balloon ride over Shreveport and Bossier City. She brought two friends and her mom along. What a thrill.

The ladies had been looking forward to this event for weeks, and by all accounts it lived up to expectations. The morning was a little hazy, but the sky was clear and the wind was accommodating.

The balloon was, of course, driven by that gentle wind. It guided them south to north and allowed them to float along on the periphery of downtown while they got a spectacular view of the cities and the Red River.

I had a ground support role as the trip’s official documentarian. I quickly got in touch with the uncertain nature of balloon flight while not-so-simply following the chase vehicle as the driver meandered on highways, occasionally going off road while maintaining radio contact with the guys flying the balloon.

During one short pause in the proceedings, I had a chance to speak briefly with the driver and said, “This isn’t exactly a science, is it? It’s more of an art.” He laughed and said, “Yeah, a dark art.” The local hot air balloon community knows how to have fun, it seems.
As we continued on our uncertain, circuitous path to an undetermined landing spot miles away, the balloon riders coasted blissfully along enjoying the view.

At one point, we are told; their altitude and trajectory led more than one alarmed driver on an interstate highway to believe they may land on the road.

I recall losing sight of them for a few minutes mid-flight, which was slightly disconcerting. I mean, they’re supposed to be up in the sky and if I’m chasing them, in theory I should be able to see them.

Happily, they did not merge with interstate traffic and they rose above the trees safe and sound.
One of the friends admitted to being significantly scared as the flight began, but based on the laughing that was easily audible as they began their descent, fear was clearly supplanted by glee.
The landing, in a field across the river from downtown, might have been smoother. The basket bounced at least once as the strapping ground crew labored to keep the passengers grounded.

Even the post-flight process yielded a few shenanigans as the passengers dog-piled on the balloon in an effort to get all the air out so it could be packed away.

When it was all finished, there were smiles and hugs all around. There was a lot of love on that balloon, as well as a healthy dose of relief from a frightened flier grateful to find firm ground.

So, our daughter’s low-key, home-based spring break comes to a spectacular conclusion. For my wife and me, another memory is made as we say so long once again to our young friends. It’s back to school where they are learning moment by moment that despite their many adventures, the best days of their lives are still ahead.

Who's Feeling Ducky?

2011-03-18T22:07:00.005-05:00

On our daughter’s last night at home before returning to school, she stumbled upon a new meaning for “down time.” Horrible puns notwithstanding, her close encounter with ducklings is a fitting metaphor for her spring break. She spent her time in low-key pursuits such as getting a haircut, lying in the hammock in the back yard and goofing around with hometown friends who, like her, opted out of the seemingly obligatory ski trip or beach vacation.
We had a great Friday evening together. Her brother stopped by and hung around long enough to have dinner. The four of us sat around for several hours on the patio, just talking. As the sun set, my wife busied herself rounding up something for everyone to eat while the rest of us kept our heads down. We were all playing the Scrabble knock-off “Words With Friends” on our phones.

Lest you think technology divides us, let it be known that it was a hotly contested WWF game that brought us together. One of our son’s female friends claims to be unbeaten. Make that “claimed.” My son and another of his friends placed a bet on the outcome of a game between her and me. The game spread out over several days, and while it was nip and tuck until the end; I eked out a narrow victory. The bet was a six pack, and since I drove the victory train I demanded that it be shared with me. My son brought over the spoils of triumph and wound up hanging around until well after dark. That certainly pleased us, having the family together even for just one night.

Distance seems to be helping the kids’ relationship. Whenever they’re together they’re usually in catch up mode. As parents, it’s a joy to hear them tell one another stories; especially when they make each other laugh.
Our daughter is missing her college friends now, so she is ready to get back to Texas. Back at TCU, things are sure to be lively as the students prepare for the spring semester’s final weeks. I know she will welcome the activity and the company. After all, a little down time goes a long way.

Debutantes or Jesus? You Decide

2011-03-14T14:43:00.008-05:00

It’s spring break for Texas universities and our daughter is home for most of the week. This is fantastic news on several levels, the most significant being that we can spend a lot of time with her. The other consideration is money. She’s sitting at the house instead of on the beach or the ski slopes. That’s pretty easy on the bank account.

This is a real break, considering her plans for the summer, which were Topic A on her first evening back at the family home. We have to buy her a plane ticket to Seattle, where she will hop on a bus which will take her to a ferry which will transport her to somewhere in the wilderness north of Vancouver (Malibu,BC). The scenery should be spectacular.

So should the weather. She will spend the month of June on the idyllic shores of Princess Louisa Inlet. We are told that elevations near her destination reach 8000 feet. What a way to beat the southern heat!
I have a friend who has been to where she’s going, and she shared photos with us.

Our daughter is heavily involved in a non-denominational Christian organization which has a summer camp there in British Columbia, among many others. She has volunteered to work at these camps several years in a row, and by all accounts this particular facility is considered the plum placement. Just looking at photos from the area can help you understand why.

Apparently, competition for spots on the summer staff there is stiff. It’s somewhat telling that none of her friends or anyone else with whom she’s worked at other camps in the past drew this assignment. She heard from one fellow TCU student who will be there at the same time.

I hope it’s everything they expect it to be. Her experience tells her that the work is demanding and the hours are long, but the relationships she develops are meaningful and lasting. Now that she’s a college student, she has moved into a kind of mentor role for high school kids. I’ve had an opportunity to speak at length about all this with the local adult leader of the organization, who expresses pride in and admiration for our daughter. I don’t know, but I suspect she was chosen for this highly-sought after placement thanks in large measure to a recommendation written by the local lady.

By the way, my wife and I aren’t even blinking at the travel costs. Last summer, we were formally approached by a local high-society type organization which formally invited our daughter to be a debutante next summer. Having heard about this kind of thing all my life and despite being married to an actual debutante, I still don’t really understand what all that’s about. In some circles, to be included in these activities is considered quite an honor. At the time the invitation was offered, our daughter was indeed flattered. But, she was told the bulk of the activity would take place in June. She politely declined, saying it was too early to commit to such a thing. Plus, she had her eye on being on camp summer staff. She made a choice, pursued a goal and achieved it. What great life lessons to learn.

Oh, and when you factor in the cost of being a debutante: dresses, parties, various other summertime social activities….we’re getting off easy. I have to say I'm pleased with the way things are lining up. I least I understand the appeal of summer camp in the mountains near the Canadian west coast.

British Columbia, here she comes.

Drama, Debauchery, Basketball and Salsa

2011-03-06T21:16:00.008-05:00

“I thought she was going to break her in two.” The lady who lives across the street was in Norman, Oklahoma at Oklahoma University when her daughter and mine had an emotional reunion. Both are freshmen in college and the occasion was a theatrical production at OU for which our young neighbor was cast in the lead role. The young ladies have been close since they were little girls, and it’s a testimony to the depth of their friendship that our daughter rounded up a crew from TCU and DBU and hit the highway for OU.

The post-production hug seemed to affirm how meaningful the trip was to both of them. Also in tow: the girl from down the street, another TCU freshman. Three 19-year-olds whose home bases are five houses apart convened at a distant outpost to celebrate one’s early success in college.
It’s such a beautiful thing.
Somewhere between where they were and where they were going, there was a casino. In the middle of the night, the bright lights must have seemed like an oasis. Or, like a flame to a flock of moths, it shined in the Oklahoma night. They simply couldn’t resist.

On another highway headed in exactly the opposite direction, our son took the celebration of being 21 to arguably the highest possible level. He went to New Orleans for Mardi Gras weekend. Details from the trip are slow to emerge, but he did manage to disseminate exactly one image from Bourbon Street.

He was in a group of friends traveling in a caravan; and the few bits of information we have received indicate the experience lived up to expectations. If you know anything about Mardi Gras in New Orleans, that can be exciting and a little alarming at the same time.

While the offspring were living it up, my wife and I were staying out much later than we normally do.
We were invited to a surprise birthday event for a younger friend. As the youngsters have a tendency to do, they started late. We arrived at 10:00 p.m.! I told our friend that this was a true indication of our affection for him, because we’re normally in bed at that time of night. We were at a popular Mexican restaurant. There was a price to be paid for eating chips and salsa that late in the evening. Man, I’m old.
It was the end of a long day during which we also hit the road, bound at a 90 degree angle away from the traveling young adults.

We went to a basketball game at Louisiana Tech, where I represented the employer by ambling out to mid-court at halftime to receive a basketball autographed by the coach.

So far I have resisted the temptation to add up the miles accumulated by the family fleet this weekend. That would be a wet blanket on all the fun. I just hope everybody starts the week safe, awake and alert.

Glory, Glory Hairllelujah!

2011-02-22T20:55:00.005-05:00

I got a haircut today, which isn’t the least bit remarkable. What set the moment apart was the conversation I had with the lady who has been cutting my hair since back when I actually had some.

See, later in the day, my son had an appointment with her. She said she was looking forward to seeing him because it had been a long time. I said, “Yes. That’s true. The last time he had a haircut, you cut it.”

It had been three years.

He kept his appointment, and this is the first thing that happened.

Twelve inches of his self-described “magnificent mane” was bound in a rubber band, splayed forlornly on a table. Why today? Who knows? I don’t even think he does. He just said it’s time for a change.
It’s pretty dramatic. I have to admit I’m happy about it, even a little emotional.

I really didn’t expect him to get his hair cut that short. I would have been happy with shoulder length, to be honest with you. My whole thing with him has been “Look, it’s okay if you have long hair. Just get it styled or something so it looks like you’ve done it on purpose.” But with uncharacteristic dramatic flair, he had redefined himself with one clean cut.

What about the mane? It is bound for Pantene Beautiful Lengths, which ” encourages women and men to grow, cut, and donate their hair to make real hair wigs for women who have lost their hair due to cancer treatments.”
So, there’s something else to be proud and pleased about.

Um, hold on. Does this mean it will be three years before he gets another haircut?

My Family's Ever Expanding Universe

2011-02-20T20:45:00.011-05:00

For about an hour this weekend, the family was reunited. Our daughter made a quick dash home from college. I had plans with her brother to see an IMAX movie about the Hubble space telescope, so she and her mother jumped into the car and we all went together.

It was nice to sit quietly, the four of us together, to share an experience. There was a lot to think about as the film unfolded, and afterward we engaged in a brief discussion about our place in the universe. Then he went on his merry way, busy discovering a new world of his own now that he is 21 years old.
Our daughter is flush with excitement about her life at TCU. She is effusive in the expression of her contentment at the school. She might have come home a day earlier, but there was a high profile on-campus event she didn’t want to miss. The Horned Frog baseball team, ranked #1 in the nation in most preseason polls, opened its season with a weekend series against Kansas. She said, “Everybody was going. I couldn’t miss it.” From the looks of things, she was correct. The stadium was packed with a record crowd.

Even though it’s February, it was unquestionably a beautiful night for baseball.

While at home, she was determined to take advantage of a rare 24 hours of peace and quiet in order to get some serious studying done. She planned to spend some time alone in her room, free from the din of dormitory distractions and the ever-alluring siren song of fun with her college friends. We left her at home on Saturday evening, so we can’t say for sure if she studied. I suspect she spent some quality time with her cat and her TiVo.

Meantime, we parachuted into a local coffee house where we hoped to get a glimpse of our son’s secret life. Some of his friends were providing the evening’s entertainment and we stopped in for a listen.

The music was lively and well presented*, but the best part was meeting several people about whom we’ve heard stories. He’s running with a talented, attractive crowd and that’s encouraging.

We were thrilled when one of our daughter’s closest friends, home for the weekend from LSU, came to the house to spend Sunday morning with us. I grabbed the girls in an extended group hug and said, “I don’t want to hang onto you so long that it starts to seem creepy, but I never want to let you go.” We sat around for most of the morning and listened to them swap stories as only two close friends who are having concurrent but disparate young adult experiences can.

Then, shortly after lunchtime, our daughter was gone again, headed west into the Texas sun to reunite with the people who populate her new world.

I don’t know what the look on my face said, but my wife silently approached me and just hugged me for a long time without speaking.
It sure is quiet around here.

-----------------------------------------------------
It wasn't so quiet at the coffee shop. Here's some of the lively and well presented music:

February 15, 1990. 5:57 pm 9 Pounds, 3 ounces

2011-02-15T13:36:00.018-05:00

Today is my son’s 21st birthday; I suppose that means he’s a man. How do you weigh the truth of that notion? He exhibits many man-like qualities, but still has so much to discover about how to bear the weight of manhood.

There’s plenty to admire about this young adult my wife and I have nudged along. He’s fiercely loyal. He stuck with one girlfriend for more than four years, from ages 16 to 20. When he got a job in a downtown office building, he didn’t want to walk away from his pals at the pizza place where he had been delivering and making dough for a couple of years. So, he worked both jobs for a while, trying to squeeze college classes into the cracks in his schedule. He remains close to two neighborhood friends who have, in fact, moved into an apartment in the same complex where he currently hangs his hat.

He’s always had a stubborn streak. Recently, we watched a video of him as a toddler. He was still using a walker, but his verbal skills were well developed. He had something in his hand and in the video you can hear me ask him to throw it away. He said, “You do it, Daddy.”

To this day, he admits to being resistant to agreeing to certain things just because they’re somebody else’s idea.

He sticks to his principles, even if on occasion his parents think it might be to his detriment. He won’t cut his hair. He refuses to embrace organized religion. Currently single, he seems to have rigid romantic boundaries.

Conversely, he’s an academic wanderer. He’s presently pursuing an area of study that, in his father’s view, is best approached as an avocation and not a possible career. But, he’s 21 and claims to know what he wants. Who am I to argue with him? All I can do is continue to give advice, even if it’s not solicited. Maybe later it will resonate with him.

He’s highly intelligent and a deep thinker.

This works against him sometimes because he has a tendency to overanalyze things. At other times, he can be disquietingly impulsive; so a parent longs for him to find some firm middle ground. He went through a long brooding phase and, as a resolute rebel, seemed to grow fond of being misunderstood. As a father, I am duty-bound to urge him to get along; but not-so-secretly I celebrate his “go your own way” trajectory.

Recently, I encountered a group of his friends. In the course of discussing him, one of them said, “of all of our friends, he is the most upstanding.” I’ve been thinking about that assessment ever since. Isn’t that something to be proud of? He may be thrashing about in academic thickets. His grooming may not satisfy local mores, but he’s thought of as upstanding. His boss, a man my age, calls him a “Godsend.”

On a day like this, it’s easy to be awash in a torrent of memories. You look back at choices you’ve made as a parent: schools, sports, music lessons, camps, babysitters, church, cars, clothes, discipline, permissiveness…conception, pregnancy, delivery, cloth diapers, pets, security blankets , expanding and contracting freedom of choice and movements…and you wonder how you did.

You realize there’s more work to be done, even though he’s a man. You worry, you hope, you dream.

You call, you advise, you urge and occasionally plead. Consistently, I’ve said to him, “All I want is for you to be happy and successful.” I’m not sure how to define either of those words; I think he must do so for himself. He’s smart, funny, sensitive, loyal, hardworking and kind. He loves his sister, his cat and his parents. He has friends who keep him entertained. He’s getting to know himself a little better day by day.

We’re not sure where he’s going, and neither is he. But he’s 21 and on his way. He’s my son and he’s his own man.

Not Really Frozen, Just Kind of Slushy

2011-02-04T17:48:00.011-05:00

I would like to say that winter has paralyzed us with its icy grip, but that just wouldn’t be true. The family home is ensconced in ice and a little bit of snow, but my wife and I both worked a full day.

There was no relief from the day-to-day grind for our son, who also found his way to work and had an elevated view of the slick streets.

For the fourth member of our immediate family, things have been completely different. From her vantage point in frosty Ft. Worth, it’s been a weeklong party. With North Texas encased in some kind of ice prison, TCU has canceled classes all week.

From what we’ve been able to discern, she and her running buddies have made the most of their unexpected free time, particularly at night. She reports participating in "the most epic like two hour snowball war" that kept them up until 8:00 a.m.

They are nowhere near stir crazy. I guess with no classes, on-campus college life takes on a camp-like atmosphere. It wouldn't surprise me at all to learn s'mores have been made during the week. Who needs academics when you can engage in winter weather shenanigans?

While I’m actually relieved that the epic winter storm which is gripping much of the nation’s midsection has spared us any real misery, I admit to feeling a little left out. Aside from taking a little longer than usual to get to work and surrendering to the rare impulse to slip some long underwear under the sport coat and slacks, it’s been relatively routine around here.
My wife has spent the week battling a cough, sore throat and red eyes; so I’m keeping my distance from her.

Frankly, I’m a little bored. The roads are on the brink of being treacherous, so it would be borderline reckless to jump in the car to do something frivolous like go to a movie. So, until she feels better we will just exist like roommates sequestered in the mundane. I hope my daughter’s having fun.

Hello? Is There Anybody Out There?

2011-01-23T17:47:00.004-05:00

(Natchitoches, LA) – The latest opportunity to appear live on your television caused me to dust off the old TV reflexes. I accepted an assignment to host an extemporaneous program between games of a college basketball double-header at Northwestern State. The play by play man and the analyst needed a breather between games and I was thrilled to provide that for them.
The show was well-planned in advance by the veteran producer. We had a low-key production meeting with the director and the graphics coordinator before we went on the air. I had spent several hours studying for the broadcast, and even re-wrote my notes during the first game so the details would be fresh in my mind. That’s the way it goes when you’re involved in a regional broadcast with a full crew. Yep, a piece of cake.
Game One was a thriller. Northwestern won in overtime. The announcers took off their headsets and dove face-first into a plate of chicken while last-second preparations were being frenetically made for me to take over the air. The transition was rapid. In my ear, I heard “Stand by, Darrell. Here we go...five, four, three, two, one…You’re mic’s hot. Go.”
That’s the last moment when things actually went according to plan.
The guests scheduled for the first segment were not around. The graphics planned for segment two were ready, so we went with those. Something else happened, but I can’t really remember because I just kept talking. Hopefully, it made sense. Those hours of study came into play because I tried to start dropping knowledge. Finally, well before the planned time for break one, I was told to go to a commercial and we would re-set. No sweat.

I’ll spare us all the details, but that’s how the show went. The guests finally moseyed over and I think the interviews went well. The planned guest for segment three actually came when he was supposed to be there, but the guest for segment four wasn’t even in the building. At one point, I was supposed to talk back and forth with the announcers, but I glanced over to their broadcast position and they were still fully engaged with their chicken. Fortunately, I thought this was reassuringly amusing.
The great folks in the NSU Sports Information office hustled the women’s coach over for a completely unplanned interview. I don’t recall what I asked, but she answered and that counts for a lot.
Somehow, we filled the time. I was anxious to get home and see how it looked on the air. I had set the TiVo and everything. But, then I checked my phone and had several text messages telling me that the local station had dumped out of the coverage after the first game. We were on sixteen stations, I think, but I have no idea how many aired the between-games offering we muddled through.
I got an e-mail later in the day from the director saying I had done a good job and thanking me “for keeping us on the rails.” So I guess it wasn’t a complete disaster, although I’ll probably never get first-hand confirmation of that. I have to admit, if I truly didn’t embarrass myself or the network, rolling with the punches like that was a lot of fun. It’s good to know my broadcasting brain hasn’t gone into complete atrophy.

Purple Streak

2011-01-23T16:38:00.007-05:00

We have had brief glimpses of our daughter the TCU student each of last two weekends. She blew into town for less than twenty-four hours on Friday, just long enough to join us for dinner to celebrate her mother’s birthday.
She and her brother captivated us with tales of their youthful adventures, which on the surface seem disparate, but upon reflection reveal themselves to be remarkably similar.

She also accompanied her mother and me to a late-night movie. As cameo appearances go, this one was nice because it made her mom happy.
When you hear “guilt trip,” a certain kind of psychological pressure comes to mind; but the birthday visit may have given the phrase new meaning.

Less than a week earlier, my wife and I visited our daughter at college. The thing is, we didn’t see much of her, so I’m holding out the possibility that the unannounced home visit was a make-good.
We drove over on Saturday, but coincidentally one of her closest friends from home also came to visit her. So, we got kicked to the curb. That was okay with us, because we planned to spend all of Sunday with her. The morning passed and we were unable to reach her. Finally, just before noon, she answered her phone. We made our way to her dorm room, where we found her happy to see us, but bleary-eyed. It turns out she joined a well-dressed group of fellow students on an all-nighter to a casino in Oklahoma.

You won’t find any hint of moss on this rolling stone, and there’s probably a lot less rubber on her tires than there was a month ago. It’s okay with us. In fact, as long as her grade point average is sufficient to maintain her scholarship, we celebrate the lifestyle she seems to be enjoying. I guess we’ll hear all about it when she can find the time to talk to us.
Oh, and one little thing I've neglected to mention: She's sporting a new piercing these days. It's getting attention, I can say that for sure. Some of her friends thought her parents might freak out. Who? Us? We're just grateful it's not a tattoo.

Hey, That's an Exit; Not an Entrance

2011-01-14T22:49:00.004-05:00

One of the consequences of turning 50 is the necessity to endure a certain medical procedure which involves a part of your body you can only see if you are trying…I mean really trying. Let’s put this another way: The area in question is designed as an exit, but this procedure requires one to endure a kind of contraflow.

So I found myself, on an otherwise unremarkable Friday morning, wearing a loose fitting backless gown under a gossamer blanket preparing to surrender my dignity in the name of preventive healthcare. To make matters worse, I was exposing in all its glory what might be considered my “best side” to a man with whom I’ve had dinner. That’s one of the downsides of knowing all your doctors.

Looking back on it with twelve hours of, um, hindsight; I can say it wasn’t bad at all. In advance of the event, certain preparations were necessary. The stuff you are forced to drink and its inevitable result didn’t bother me a bit, although I had to hang around the house to have easy access to a particular room. The hardest part was being on a diet of clear liquids for more than 24 hours. I have to admit I got pretty hungry.

I don’t remember anything about the actual event. I recall being wheeled into the procedure room under the comforting protection of my little thin blankie. Then, there was some small talk with the nurse. The doctor moseyed in with a wisecrack and some last minute questions. Then the nurse said she was about to push drugs into my IV. I remember saying, “Wow. That works fast.”

One second later, it seemed, I was looking up at my wife and saying “I thought they wouldn’t let you in here.” She said it was all over and I was back in recovery. Apparently, we had already engaged in several conversations, including a dispute about whether or not I had on any underwear. She later said hospital personnel kept coming in to tell her we were free to go, but she couldn’t get me to wake up. I guess I would meander into consciousness long enough to say a sentence or two (or to put my underwear on) and then lapse back into la-la land.

As I was being wheeled out of the GI lab, the nurse who had been in the procedure room said, “Sorry, I didn’t write anything down.” I didn’t understand what she was talking about. She said, “You said if you said anything funny or weird to write it down so you could put in it your blog.” I think she’s probably just being discreet.

I made it home, obviously, but I don't remember leaving the hospital or getting into the car or the ride home. I have a vague memory of eating snack items (cheese and crackers, maybe?) and turning on the TV, thinking it was Saturday and a game would be on.
Otherwise, I slept the day away and don’t remember much about it. I think I've been asking my wife to tell me certain stories over and over again. The strangest thing is, I keep having this feeling like I should be sick. I was, after all, in the hospital today. I had an IV and drugs, along with a tube spraying oxygen into my nose. I was mostly naked, and comfortably so, in front of a bunch of co-workers. But I’m not sick and I fully expect to be perfectly normal after a good night’s sleep.
As for the results: clean as a whistle, I guess. I’m told they said to come back in ten years, although I don’t really remember that. I hope somebody wrote it down.

All in Our Places With Red Puffy Faces

2011-01-08T22:11:00.018-05:00

My wife will sleep better tonight than she has in a couple of weeks. All of her people are back in the proper places, safely delivered from the perils of road and sky, not to mention mountains.

Our daughter has safely arrived in the DFW Metroplex after what she describes as “an epic trip” during which she put 3894.3 miles on her car traveling through five states. She spent New Year’s Eve in Hollywood, New Year’s Day at the Rose Bowl and the days following that shushing on the slopes. It sounds epic to me.

Our son’s concurrent trip certainly had Odyssean qualities, emotionally if not operationally. He spent several days traveling alone in and around San Francisco. We had lunch with him and enjoyed a truncated version of his adventures. He may have grown as a person during his time alone, but his status as a reluctant raconteur remains firmly intact. We can only speculate about what he was thinking as he contemplated the vastness of the Pacific.

In the meantime, I squeezed one more great football trip out of the season, somehow conniving my way into the Cotton Bowl at Cowboys Stadium to see LSU crush Texas A&M.

At the Rose Bowl, my wife and I saw exactly six people we knew and one of them was our daughter. At the Cotton Bowl, I saw six people I knew within one minute of stepping out of the car.
Let’s start with my cousin, the Tiger fan who lives in suburban Dallas.

From the other side of the aisle, the lifelong best friend’s older brother, a Texas A&M booster.

It seemed as though I couldn’t take twenty steps without someone calling my name, like the guy I went to high school with who I see around town all the time…

And of course, once I got inside there were plenty of people from the local media, there to cover LSU.

Friends, acquaintances, co-workers, former colleagues, moment by moment there was a “buddy photo” opportunity.

I even ran across a fullback for the San Diego Chargers, who played at LSU. He was low-key hanging around with his family outside the stadium.

Even people I didn’t know were very engaging. A group of people sitting near the sidelines recognized me and kept offering me food. I have to admit I couldn’t resist a big plate of shrimp they put in front of me.

The Cotton Bowl does it right, no question about it. The event was as big-time as it gets. I drove over with a buddy who hadn’t been in the stadium and he was wide-eyed with childlike wonder at the spectacle of it all.

Earlier in the day, we got together with some other guys with local ties for lunch. So you could say it was a full day with an extremely high fun quotient.

And as much as I am enjoying my association with TCU, particularly since the Horned Frogs provided us the opportunity to go to the Rose Bowl, it was comforting to be surrounded with a more familiar shade of purple and the people who come along with it.

We’re all a little bleary-eyed but thrilled with our extended holiday. Now, it’s time to get some rest. I know my wife is really looking forward to that now that she can sleep easy.

The Great Western Adventures

2011-01-04T21:29:00.011-05:00

While we are home returning to our daily routines, the people we raised are still far away. Our daughter, thousands of miles racked up on her vehicle with thousands more to come, has found her way to Colorado where she appears to be frozen but happy.

Her band of intrepid travelers, who have driven from Dallas to Los Angeles and now to Wolf Creek, Colorado are spending a few days skiing. You can’t ski 24 hours a day, so it’s hard to say what else is going on. Whatever’s happening, there’s no doubt she has seen some remarkable things over her holiday break. She’s sticking close to friends and classmates, by all accounts having a blast and certainly creating memories.

Her brother chose to go his own way, which is certainly fitting if you know him. Instead of joining us for the Rose Bowl, he flew alone to San Francisco for a New Year’s Eve concert.

You have to admire his courage, because putting yourself out there like that could be a little scary. Everything we’re hearing, though, indicates he has thoroughly enjoyed himself. I told him before he left that traveling alone has its rewards. I’m not sure we will learn the whole truth about this trip, but every message we have received from him has been effusive.

Six weeks shy of his 21st birthday; he seems to be on some kind of journey of self discovery. It will be enlightening, no doubt, to hear about what he has found.
He has left the city and has joined friends somewhere near Trinidad Beach.

Our children are starting the new year far away from home. We certainly hope they are finding fulfillment, but we also hope they remember how to get back.

Remember, Frogs Are Amphibious

2011-01-02T20:15:00.015-05:00

(Santa Monica, CA) - The Rose Bowl trip has been great. The people we've been with are almost absurdly nice and TCU won the game as we enjoyed sunshine and clear skies. The ebulliant mood endures among the Horned Frog faithful. Several of us have marveled, though, at how things might have been dramatically different. Say, sadly, TCU had lost and the January 2nd weather had arrived 24 hours earlier.

It is legitimately cold and persistently raining; but people have been quick to point out that Horned Frogs are amphibious, so the fans lingering around southern California are determined to make the most of their time here. My wife, as always, has been a huge trooper, donning rain gear and gloves and hitting the soaked streets of Santa Monica. We're still crossed up, operating here in the Pacific time zone. We had breakfast at 10:30 a.m., which by our central time stomachs should have been lunch. We wanted to have dinner at a normal time. So, I just grabbed a slice of pizza somewhere along the way. (Hey, the slice was really good, but the truth is my little between-meals snack gave me a chance to sit under an overhang near a heater.)

Warmed and well-fed, we were determined to see the Pacific Ocean one more time, so we walked toward the famous Santa Monica pier.

The closer we got, the harder it rained. The harder it rained, the wetter we got. The wetter we got, the colder we felt. We were out there, though, so we took a moment to look longingly at the sand and the sea...until a breeze kicked up and we got rain in our eyes.

We are all in a positive frame of mind, of course; so this took on the air of a funny adventure...something to tell stories about. After all, we certainly remember the way things were 24 hours earlier (much better!) and why we're all here.

I can be cold and wet at home, so I guess it's time to head that way.....
--------------------------
Songs always come to mind, it seems. Most people I've run across have found themsleves humming some version of Sheryl Crow's "All I Wanna Do..." because of the line "All I wanna do is have some fun until the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard."
But, for me....I just can't get away from 1972 and Albert Hammond:

Purple Pademonium in Pasadena

2011-01-02T00:30:00.013-05:00

(Pasadena, CA) – It’s all smiles for the Frog faithful as TCU’s football team completed a perfect season with a stirring two-point victory over Wisconsin in the Rose Bowl. We were on hand to support our daughter, a TCU freshman, and the remarkable run of her school's football team.

The biggest news, on a personal level, to come from this day is the fact that we actually saw our daughter. Although we had the same destination, we traveled separately. We had been here for a couple of days and had heard rumors that she was nearby, but our first glimpse of her came at 3:50 a.m. on New Year’s Day. With four friends in tow, she gained unauthorized entry into her parents’ hotel room following an evening of revelry. They promptly piled into the bed and crashed.

All of this was made possible by our pre-dawn departure to the Tournament of Roses Parade. We’re glad we saw it, but there was a significant misery quotient. When we arrived at our assigned parade viewing seats, the temperature was in the 30’s. Since we arrived before sunup, the temperature continued to fall. We were incredibly cold; especially if you consider that we’re in southern California.

The parade, a New Year’s Day tradition, loses a little something when it’s not on TV. You can admire all the obvious work that went into the floatsand other parade preparations. This is primarily a football trip, so naturally I enjoyed seeing the entries from the particiating teams.

It’s one of those things that you’re really glad you did, but if the opportunity presents itself again, you’d probably rather stay in bed.

From there, it was onto the Rose Bowl, where we tailgated TCU style. This is in stark contrast to a tailgate event at LSU, where everything is loud and intense. A TCU tailgate is laid-back and exceedingly pleasant, and the setting for this one certainly set it apart.

Meanwhile, the sleeping beauties back at the hotel arose from their slumber in time to make it to the stadium,but we didn’t see our daughter until we got to our seats. It’s good we were sitting together; otherwise we may not have spent any time with her at all on this trip.

The game was thrilling, coming down to the final minute. Wisconsin was a failed two-point conversion away from sending it into overtime. But when the potential tying pass was batted down, the purple people produced pandemonium. When the Horned Frogs recovered an on-side kick and ran out the clock, the party was on.

Not for us, though. We had been up since 3:50 a.m. We went back to the refreshingly empty hotel room and ordered a pizza. We’re thrilled for all the Frogs, though. Happy New Year!