The Middle Diamond

Well, I was thinking about the family I knew as a teenager the other day. You know what I mean - folks your parents helped you keep in touch with - and unless you are very fortunate, you no longer keep in touch with as much.

Anyway, I remembered a story that made such an indelible impression on my young self that I still get goosebumps when I tell it.

So get ready . . .

One of my favorite cousins worked for the Army for years. Part of that time she was assigned to a job at the Pentagon (well before 9/11, so that's not where this is going). Unlike when she was stationed overseas, she would sometimes travel home for holidays and such.

This one particular time she was coming home for the Christmas holidays. As was her custom, before she set out, she prayed for angels to guard each wheel of her car to help her safely reach home. This trip was during a particularly cold Christmas and as such the highways had taken a beating, with potholes dotting the roads and bridges. It was very late at night and she was growing sleepy. As she approached a bridge up ahead she noticed an unusually large number of cars and trucks pulled off to the side of the road. She realized too late that all the sidelined cars were inflicted with multiple flat tires. Too late I say, because before her sleepy mind could react, her car slammed into a series of very large and deep potholes on the bridge. (Large enough that she reported that she could see through to the ground below.)

Jolted fully awake she strained to listen for the telltale sounds of a flattening tire. But no such sounds came. Also absent were any vibrations or other telltale signs . . . so she continued on home.

The next day my mother took my brother and I to my aunt's to visit my cousin from the east cost. As we parked and walked up the driveway, It was obvious that my cousin's car had experienced some seriously large potholes. Both tires on the driver's side were flat, both wheels dented so heavily that they could no longer maintain a seal around the tire bead.

Yet she had driven almost two hours after the holey bridge had done it's damage.

I believe in angels. . . .

Diamond 1 has a job!

Well, our son - recently driving solo you may recall - now also has a job! He's a swimmer so it follows naturally that he would want to work as a life guard. Indeed, he went to the requisite classes through the Red Cross, and then the necessary training requested by the pool and so now is a fully trained, responsible lifeguard.

It was not that long ago that all he cared about doing was playing video games. Now he's out there earning money - To pay his share of the auto insurance and gas, and - Oh yeah! To buy more video games!

Well, I guess things don't change that much.

Funeral or Family Reunion?

This past weekend we traveled to a family reunion on my wife's side. On the way my brother called with news that one of our aunts was dying of pneumonia and would probably not make it through the day. Indeed, she died only a few hours after that phone call.

The family reunion was a riot! (You wish you could have as much fun with your in-laws!) I was not preoccupied with the sad news of my aunt's passing, and in fact, other than making arrangements to attend visiting hours once we got back home, I thought little about it.

My mom, one of her sisters, my dad, and now four of his siblings have all passed on. Due to the number I've attended, I must say that I've come to view funerals differently now than the way I did just a decade ago. I find that while I'm saddened by the death of a loved one, I'm happy to see the many (many!) relatives that I otherwise don't have time to keep up with.

In particular, this funeral is likely to draw some of my favorite cousins. Well, first cousins once removed actually - being at the extreme young end of the spectrum of cousins, many of my cousins have children that are my age. So it is in this case. . . Anyway, they were always some of my favorite playmates at family gatherings until they moved several thousand miles away.

Since then, I may have seen them once in 25 - 30 years . . and I think that was at a funeral too.

So is it any wonder that I've started to view funerals as family reunions? (Albeit with a less than happy pretense . . . )

I'll have to remember to not seem too happy.

One of those Dad things

The other day I picked up our daughter (Diamond 3) from our neighborhood YMCA. She had just been dropped off there after spending the day at a Y day camp called Teen Extreme. I noticed immediately that, along with the rosiness in her cheeks undoubtedly due to the summer sun, she sported a scrape under her left eye. She didn't mention it so I didn't bring it up, just helped her by carrying her backpack to the car.

Later, after we got settled a bit at home, I asked her how camp had been. She gave me an enthusiastic thumbs up sign and big grin. So, again I didn't question the scrape on her face.

A few hours pass and my wife comes home. I'm upstairs taking care of business and changing clothes when I hear a very upset sounding Mom Voice from downstairs. I hurry down there and discover that our darling daughter was written up for fighting. Seems another girl, larger of course, had been playing a little too aggressively at whatever game they were playing, and got in our daughter's face. So she pushed this other girl, who promptly punched her in the face.

(Note to self - check backpacks for notes when we get home.)

Being a dad in this case brings two very strong, very distinct feelings:

1. Disappointment in our daughter for becoming physical with another child
2. Pride in that she stood up for herself against a larger foe

Of course we made sure she understood our disappointment with her. Using this as a teaching moment, we reiterated the importance of avoiding physical confrontations with other children - Especially when there are responsible adults there (well, young adult camp counselors in this case) to settle disagreements in a non-violent way.

But I'm still proud of her - in a dad sort of way.

Unease Returns

Well, our son has been a fully licensed driver for a couple weeks or so now and has had several opportunities to drive on his own. He's been humoring us and calls when he arrives at his destination, and if he is going to be late returning home. He's even agreed to shuttle his sister when we've asked. And get this - he's volunteered to drive her even when it meant an inconvenience to himself!

Now, let me explain "inconvenience" because it still blows my mind that he volunteered to do this: He said he would drive his sister to the YMCA to catch the 8:00 AM bus to her day camp.

OK. If you have teenagers, you may already be thinking that I've lost my mind - After all, It's summer: No sixteen year old boy with no school, no scheduled activities, no job (yet), and a penchant for staying up late playing video games could be pried out of their beds before noon. To drive his little sister. Not our boy. He wanted to do it. And because it meant a big inconvenience to either of us, we were happy to let him do it. He did a good job and got her there in plenty of time too. He even told us that evening that he was glad that he had gotten up early, because he was able to enjoy more of the day watching TV and playing games.

Pretty wise for a sixteen year old, I'm thinking. . .

Pretty wise, and . . . pretty eager too, if I think about it. Uh, wait a second! It would seem that our son is starting to enjoy this driving thing a bit more. He says it was cool because he had more waking hours in the day. But maybe the freedom from being tied down by the schedule of two very busy parents is starting to go to his head. Maybe he's out there right now blasting down the road on some wild adventure! Look Out! Be Carefull! Slow DOWN! AHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Ahem. Mmm. Sorry. It's the Unease coming back.

Such is the lot of a father of a new driver . . .

How's that again?

My wife and I were working the CTS at a swim meet recently, and had an interesting conversation with one of the other parents about our son. She is the mother of one of the female swimmers on our children's team. She was going on and on about how polite our boy was:

I saw your son at practice the other day. I asked him were his parents were because I needed to talk to one of you. He said that neither of you were here, and that he drove himself and his sister to practice.

Now at this point, she paused and commented how surprised she was that we trusted him to not only drive himself to practice, but to drive his sister too - Since he had just received his license.

We explained that we had good reason to be comfortable with him driving his sister because he's been driving at least one of us around for more than nine months, and we were very comfortable with his skill at this point. (See The Absence of Unease)

She must have been satisfied with our explanation, as she continued:

Well, anyway he was so polite about getting his license. I've seen so many new drivers waving their new licenses under their younger friend's noses, and bragging about being able to go where they want to by themselves, but not your son. He really didn't treat it like it was a big deal.

Oh, and he's so good looking too! I keep telling my daughter that she should get to know him, cause he's so nice and so handsome!

Well, I had to make a conscious effort not to burst out laughing in this poor woman's face! I was certain she was talking about someone else's kid at this point. But I soon realized that there probably was some truth in what she said. Hadn't we spent 16 whole years of our lives trying to teach him to be polite, to not brag, to be humble? So why wouldn't I believe that time had been well spent?

Why? Well, I'll tell you. He lives with us. . .

Thought for today

Ever notice how easy it is to complain about something someone did that hurt us in some way, no matter how minor, and how many people we share that complaint with?

Ever notice how easy it is to do the same thing when someone does a good job for us, and how we feel much better when we share good news with others?

Ever notice how often we do the first, and how rarely we do the second?


Hmmm. . . .