Nala

My wife and I were surprised and a little concerned when, in the spring of 2003,  our daughter Lindsay adopted a small, brown,  six week old puppy.  She named her Nala, after the young lioness in the movie The Lion King.  Lindsay was living in St. Paul and attending Law School at the time so we didn’t think it was a real good idea for her to have the added expense of a dog to care for. However it wasn’t just worry over expenses that had us concerned. It was that the puppy was a pit bull!  I don’t remember how old Nala would have been when Lindsay first told us that she was a pit bull. I do know that I had some serious pangs of doubt and trepidation when she told us.  After all, I had heard the horror stories just like everyone else.  I guess I had been programmed by the media and the rumor mill to believe that pit bulls are mean and vicious dogs who will attack people randomly and without provocation.  No one is safe around a pit bull, least of all children, seemed to be the prevailing assumption.  How in the world could Lindsay use such bad judgment?

It was months before Lindsay brought Nala home to meet us.  Over that first summer Lindsay came home several times but always had Nala stay back in St. Paul with a friend.  She knew that Mom & Dad weren’t too thrilled about the idea of having a dog messing up the house over a weekend so Nala would get left behind.  Obviously we were going to have to give in and let her bring the dog along eventually, but it wasn’t until Nala was about a year old and grown to her adult size before Lindsay brought her home to meet “Grandpa and Grandma” for the first time.

I came home from work late that afternoon and saw that Lindsay’s car was parked in the driveway which meant, ready or not,  I was about to have my first encounter with this ferocious beast.  As I drove into the garage I remember wondering just how long Lindsay and the dog had been there and what kind of damage might already have been done inside.  I opened the door slowly and stepped into the foyer. Almost instantly from the family room downstairs came a series of booming woofs and barks that, at once, brought images of “the Beast” from the movie Sandlot racing through my mind.  Before I took another breath I heard a “snort” and glimpsed a large brown streak bounding up the steps heading straight for me.  For a second I was like an African kudu, frozen in fear with the king of the jungle bearing down upon it.  Unable to run or even scream, I braced myself while my life began to flash before me.  The “beast” leaped toward me with enough force to knock me back against the door, which I had stupidly closed behind me.  Pinned against the door, all I could do was accept my fate, and my fate was to be treated with wet slobbery kiss after wet slobbery kiss.   Nala certainly was happy to finally be meeting her “Grandpa”!  Grandpa was just happy to still have all of his limbs intact.

I had to admit that the initial meeting between this pit bull and me had gone better than I had hoped for, but that didn’t mean that I was over being wary around her.  So, it unnerved me more than just a little when Lindsay said that she would like to go out for awhile to meet some friends that evening.  She wouldn’t be able to take Nala with her so would we be willing to dog sit?   Though we both were pretty apprehensive about this, we agreed to give it our best shot. 

Nala whined a bit when Lindsay walked out the door and then she sadly walked over and laid down on the rug in front of the kitchen stove.  She looked and acted just like a small child would when left for an evening by her parent in a strange house with two strange babysitters.  It was at that moment that I realized that Nala was just as leery of us as we were of her.  “Grandma” must have sensed this too, because she went to the refrigerator and retrieved a few scraps of meat.  Nala perked up almost instantly as she wolfed down the meat and then began following Grandma around the house.  This seemed to make Grandma a bit uneasy, so I decided to look for one of the doggie toys that Lindsay had brought along.  

I found Nala’s tug of war rope, a large, sturdy rope with a huge knot tied on each end.  Seeing me with the rope made Nala instantly excited and she starting barking and growling with a fervor that had me thinking that this might not have been such a great idea.   Nala grabbed a hold of one end of the rope with determination and I held tightly to mine while she jerked and pulled me all around the room.  There was no way that she was letting go.  After a few minutes of this I relaxed a bit too much and she yanked the rope from my grip,   snorting with pride at her accomplishment.  She had a triumphant look on her face that was both amusing and irresistible. 

We played tug of war until “Grandpa” got tired and then we tried a game of fetch.  Eventually I tired of that too and I took a seat on the couch.  Nala sat on the floor at my feet and chewed on her ball, glancing up every so often to give me a look that clearly meant “come on, old man, let’s play some more”.  At last she realized that I’d completely run out of gas so she jumped on the couch beside me and climbed over on to my lap.  Here I was with this rather large dog, a pit bull, that just hours before had made me feel so uncomfortable, sitting on my lap, gazing into my eyes.  What was she thinking?  I stroked her head and back for a minute or two and then she rolled over on to her back.  Not knowing what else to do I began rubbing her stomach and, before long, she fell asleep.  For a long time she slept there in my lap and by the time Lindsay returned home Nala and I had bonded completely.  In those few hours I had grown to love this dog.  This scourge of the canine family, this pit bull.

Over the next few years we looked forward to Lindsay’s visits home as before, but now with the extra anticipation of Nala coming along with her.  With each visit we gained more comfort and familiarity with Nala, and she with us.  She had become a part of the family.

I had been around dogs most of my life.  Growing up on a farm we had numerous farm dogs.  Some I liked, some not so much.  None came close, however,  to matching the charm and personality of this exuberant and affectionate pit bull.  I have never known a smarter, more fun-loving, more engaging dog.  She’s been a loyal and faithful friend and companion to Lindsay for eleven years now.  Lindsay feels safer at night with a pit bull there to protect her and who, after a hard, stressful day at work, could ever provide as much unconditional love and support for her as Nala can.  Nala has had two cancer scares in recent years.  Most of her tail was amputated a few years ago due to a cancerous tumor and then this past summer another tumor was found in her thigh.  Another surgery removed that and so far it hasn’t returned.  Lindsay, of course, was there for her throughout both ordeals, nursing her along with boundless love. They are committed to each other and they take care of each other.

Lindsay and Nala moved to Arizona about seven years ago so we don’t see Nala as much these days.  Lindsay flies home for holidays and special occasions but she isn’t able to bring Nala along on those flights.  We fly down to Arizona for a few days each winter, however, and when we get to Lindsay’s condo, there’s Nala greeting us at the door with that familiar snort, wagging her stumpy tail, beside herself with the excitement at having “Grandpa and Grandma” come to visit.  Before long she’ll go and sit in front of the refrigerator, with her eyes glued on Grandma, knowing that once Grandma sees her there she’s going to get a treat. When I sit down to rest after supper, it’s a sure thing that soon Nala will climb onto my lap for a tummy rub and a short siesta.  She never forgets us and, most assuredly,  we will never forget her.

Read the following for more information regarding pit bulls:

A well-bred, well-socialized and well-trained pit bull is one of the most delightful, intelligent and gentle dogs imaginable. It is truly a shame that the media continues to portray such a warped image of this beautiful, loyal and affectionate breed. Pit bulls once enjoyed a wonderful reputation. Some of the most famous dogs in American history were pit bulls. A pit bull named Stubby, a decorated hero during World War One, earned several medals and was even honored at the White House. During duty, he warned soldiers of gas attacks, found wounded men in need of help and listened for oncoming artillery rounds. Pit bulls have been featured in well-known advertising campaigns for companies such as Levis, Buster Brown Shoes and Wells Fargo. The image of a pit bull, which was considered a symbol of unflagging bravery and reliability, represented the United States on recruiting and propaganda posters during World War One. Many famous figures, including Helen Keller, President Theodore Roosevelt, General George Patton, President Woodrow Wilson, Fred Astaire and Humphrey Bogart, shared their lives and homes with pit bulls.  ~ ASPCA 

The American Pit Bull Terrier (APBT) has a strong desire to please. The APBT has evoked more human emotional, rational and irrational response than any other breed that exists today. By no means are these dogs people-haters or people-eaters. Their natural aggressive tendencies are toward other dogs and animals, not people. However if they are properly socialized by a firm, but calm, confident owner, they will not even be aggressive with them. The American Pit Bull Terrier is a good-natured, amusing, extremely loyal and affectionate family pet that is good with children and adults. Almost always obedient, it is always eager to please its master. It is an extremely courageous and intelligent guard dog that is very full of vitality. It is usually very friendly, but has an uncanny ability to know when it needs to protect and when everything is okay. Excellent with children in the family, they have a high pain tolerance and will happily put up with rough child play.  ~ Dog Breed Info Center 

Curmudgeonly Cogitations

“Did you ever get the feeling that the world was a tuxedo and you were a pair of brown shoes?.” ~ George Gobel

That quote from old lonesome George pretty much sums up how old curmudgeons like me feel most of the time. Don’t get me wrong, there are lots of days that I feel pretty normal. I mean, for the most part, I don’t even feel like I’m the old codger that I’ve turned out to be. On the outside my age is showing, but on the inside I still feel like I could go out and run five miles, dribble deftly down the basketball floor against a full court press, or drive a baseball into the right center field gap, round second and head into third standing up, all of which I could do in my younger days. That’s how I feel most of the time, but then I open the door and leave my house. Once I’m out in the world I soon realize that this isn’t quite the same world that I used to know, and it doesn’t take long before that old brown shoe feeling sets in.

There are so many things out there now that are peculiar and unsettling to an old grouser like me that I couldn’t possibly mention them all in this blog post. I’m pretty sure the list is so long that to compile it and type it here would sap the energy that I have left to get me through the day. So, in the interest of brevity and stamina preservation I’m going to limit this discussion to one topic only….tattoos.
In the 1890s, American socialite Ward McAllister said about tattoos: "It is certainly the most vulgar and barbarous habit the eccentric mind of fashion ever invented. It may do for an illiterate seaman, but hardly for an aristocrat." This man was ahead of his time! I couldn’t have said it better myself.

To me it’s another example of the “dumbing down” of America. It’s right there with other stupid ideas, like the one about it being cool and fashionable to show your dirty undies while wearing your pants hanging on the ground, or the revolting idea that TV sitcoms aren’t funny unless they’re about sex or bodily functions, or the silliness that texting is a better way to communicate than actually using a phone to “talk” to someone. I think I know what this guy would say about those flaky ideas.



I don’t really want to be accused of being a “Bible Thumper” so I won’t quote any scripture here, although there are references in the Bible about the evils of tattooing. I’m convinced that God didn’t intend for the human body to be an artist’s canvass. Heck, if he intended that then why in the world do we have artists canvasses anyway?

Suffice it to say that I have never seen a tattoo that I liked. I know people who have gotten tattoos to commemorate something significant or meaningful to them and, I suppose, I can tolerate that so long as it’s just one little tattoo in a reasonably inconspicuous location. What I really hate are tattoos that cover an entire body part or, in some hideous cases, a whole body. Here’s a sad example.

Back in those early days of my youth, the days I mentioned before when I could still run, jump, shoot baskets and hit baseballs, our high school athletic teams always dressed properly. We took pride in our appearance on and off the playing field because we knew we were representing our school, our community and our families.  However, many of todays athletes, especially on the professional level, have become something of a side show.  The National Basketball Association is full people who have bad cases of OCTD (Obsessive Compulsive Tattoo Disorder) and it makes the NBA almost unwatchable for me. In the last few years this compulsion has shown up in the NFL and Major League Baseball too.

What will I do when there are no more sports that I can watch?  I already can’t watch TV sitcoms for the aforementioned reasons. Perhaps I should just stay at home, page through my old high school  and college yearbooks, and remember the good old days when good judgment and common sense prevailed and a pair of brown shoes was just the right fit.













　

What Would Jesus Do?

You know, I don't believe that the kind of thinking depicted in the picture above ever was in His mind or heart, but it sure seems to be in the hearts and minds of many who call themselves Christians today. It's just one of those things that make me wonder......

I spent 40 years working in public schools and I spent about 15 years working part time in grocery stores. I've had plenty of exposure to people who abused the system, whose priorities were booze, cigs, cable TV, gambling, etc over taking care of their basic needs and the needs of their children. It bothered me a great deal. Made me angry and calloused toward them. The danger in that, however, is that when you start to feel that way you start to judge people (what did Jesus say about judging others?) and you develop the erroneous tendency to lump all poor people together and assume that all of them are like that. Not all poor people in America are free loaders, nor do they want to be. Because some are it seems to me that many of the people on the "Christian Right" make the judgment that all impoverished people in the United States are free loaders. So they persecute all of America's poor by not supporting funding for Government programs designed to feed them, clothe them, provide them with medical care and all of their basic needs. They do this while sanctimoniously puffing out their chests and feeling very pious as they donate a few dollars to feed the people in Africa or South America. These are the same people who have absolutely no aversion to voting for tax cuts for the most wealthy and powerful among us. In fact they think that's a good idea.  What would Jesus say about that?

You see in matters like this I always ask myself, what would HE do and then I come to one conclusion. He would not judge them, He would provide for them their basic needs of food, clothing, shelter and medical care, , and He would NEVER favor the rich over the poor.

Many on the right side of the political spectrum were angry when a federal court ordered that the Ten Commandments be removed from the rotunda of Alabama’s state judicial building in 2011. They are now equally incensed, and rightly so, by the push from some radical groups on the left flank to remove “under God” from the pledge of allegiance.

But if they really want the Ten Commandments to be a guide for our government officials, and if they really believe that it is important for us to pledge our loyalty to this nation “under God”, then why would they want our government to go against the most basic and fundamental teachings of Christ Jesus?

We NEED both parties to work together to make our government programs designed to assist the poor, the sick and the infirmed, more efficient and effective. We need them to work together to clean up the abuses. We need them to jointly develop work incentive programs for those who have become dependant on government taking care of them (and I'm sure there are many of those, but it's not up to you or me to decide or judge them). As I’ve stated in another blog post recently, Republicans must stop constantly saying "cut, cut, cut" and the Democrats have to stop just saying, "fund, fund, fund." Both parties need to look beyond the tunnel vision of their ideologies, stop trying to score political points, and take a serious look at what's happening in the real world of everyday American people. They need to get together, realize there is a serious problem in America with the rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer and collectively start to "fix, fix, fix", a system that is currently broken.

　

"For there will never cease to be poor in the land. Therefore I command you, ‘You shall open wide your hand to your brother, to the needy and to the poor, in your land.’ " ~ Deuteronomy 15:11

　

　

Baseball! A Love Story.

Baseball season is just around the corner. Catchers and pitchers are reporting this week to spring training sites scattered throughout Florida and Arizona. This is important because we’ve all been through a tough winter and the only thing that’s going to make us feel better is the warmth and sunshine of the coming spring. For many of us the crack of bat meeting ball, the slap of ball meeting leather, the beauty of the green expanse of the outfield grass and well manicured infield, and the smell of hotdogs and beer are the harbingers of spring. I love baseball.

I didn’t always feel this way. Growing up in the 1950’s in rural Minnesota basketball and football were the sports that I first came to know and appreciate. My father’s interest in sports was boundless and, like all young boys are prone to do, we followed his lead and became interested too. I remember vividly each Saturday in the fall listening to Golden Gopher football games on the radio and, in the cold winter months sitting around the kitchen table at night listening to broadcasts of the Minneapolis Lakers or the basketball Gophers. These were the big three of Minnesota Sports at the time. In the 1950’s there were no Minnesota Vikings and Gopher football reined supreme in the fall. The Laker’s wouldn’t move to Los Angeles until 1960 and, as the sole professional sports franchise in the state, they were a very big deal down in southwest Minnesota. In our house, at least, the basketball Golden Gophers were just as highly esteemed, if not more so. 

As essential as following the exploits of the Gophers and Lakers were for me and my dad and brothers in those days, still nothing could come close to the anticipation and excitement of the State High School Basketball Tournament in late March. We followed the reports of the regional tournaments and poured over the Minneapolis Tribune sports section during the week leading up to the tourney, familiarizing ourselves with the names of the teams, players and coaches that would make up the eight elite teams that would play on the raised court of Williams Arena on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights. For us this was the ultimate sporting event and for three nights each March everything was put on hold while we listened to the broadcast of the State Tournament. 

It was during these years that I began to dream the dreams of all boys. To be the star! To some day play in the state tournament and then, later, run wild on the thick grass of the old brick house, Memorial Stadium, scoring touchdowns for the Gophers or dazzling the basketball crowd at Williams Arena while wearing the Maroon and Gold.

Never, during those years, did I ever dream of playing baseball. Baseball was a minor, very insignificant, sport, I thought. My older brother and I did have a baseball or two, and a bat. He had a catchers mitt and I a glove (for you Dodger fans, it was a Carl Furillo model) and we would play catch sometimes. I didn’t really enjoy it. The ball hitting that glove stung my hand and if the throw was low and you didn’t catch it on the bounce you were liable to end up with a bloody lip, or worse. No, baseball wasn’t for me.

Lot’s of kids at school always seemed to be interested in the World Series in the fall, but I only had a moderate interest. I knew the names of the Major League teams and who a few of the players were but the fall was for football not some silly game played with a bat and ball.

One day in October of 1960 I opened the pages of the Tribune sports section to read the latest Gopher football news and there on the front page was a headline story about the Washington Senators moving their franchise to Minnesota. My reaction? Hmph, why is the Gopher football news on page two?

The newly named Minnesota Twins opened the 1961 season in New York and defeated the vaunted Yankees 6 to 0. I was mildly interested. After all, this was a Minnesota team. My loyalty to the state of Minnesota required that I at least show some interest, even if this was baseball. I had read about the team prior to the start of the season trying to familiarize myself with the names of the players and trying to get inspired enough to care, and I did care enough to think that it was nice that the team had won their opening day game against the Yankees. “Nice” is word that perhaps adequately sums up the mildness of my “passion” for this new sports diversion that had come to our state in the spring of 1961.

It has been said that people's lives can be changed in an instant. Something of major significance can, out of the blue, just happen and when it happens your life is changed forever. For me it happened on an April Sunday afternoon in 1961. April 16 to be exact. The Twins, who had won two and lost one in their first three games of that first season, were in Baltimore to play a double header against the Orioles. We had all gone to church that morning and after dinner my dad sat down in his recliner to watch the baseball game. I decided that I would try to watch the game too. The state basketball tournament had been played a few weeks before and with no basketball or football to watch I was going to be bored anyway….might as well be bored watching a baseball game.

Being the visiting team, the Twins came to bat first. The Oriole pitcher that day was having a hard time throwing strikes and he walked the Twins young shortstop, Zoilo Versalles to start the game. That was followed by another walk to center fielder Lenny Green. I’m pretty sure that about then I yawned and thought how boring this game of baseball is. Watching the pitcher and the catcher playing catch just didn‘t compare to the exciting action of a basketbal or football game. I was not impressed. How can people watch this stuff? When the third batter, Don Mincher, also drew a walk I was ready to go outside and watch the dandelions grow, and then up to the plate stepped this big guy named Bob Allison who the announcer said had been a star fullback at the University of Kansas in his collegiate days. I remember thinking that if this guy had been a football player then I’d better stay and  watch until his at bat was over. A football guy at least should be worth watching. Good decision. I don’t remember what the count was on Allison when it happened, but all of a sudden the big guy put a swing on the ball that sent it soaring high and deep into the left field stands! The announcer, probably the legendary Ray Scott, proclaimed “A Grand Slam Home Run for Allison and the Twins lead 4 to 0!” And back home in our living room on a farm in southwest Minnesota, a fan was born. To solidify the deal, Allison hit another homer, a solo, in the 6^th inning and the Twins won 10 to 5.….and I was hooked. To this day I still believe that the most exciting thing in any sport is a grand slam home run!

I’ve been a huge fan of the Minnesota Twins ever since. Bob Allison was my first baseball hero and he soon was followed by a young left handed pitcher named Jim Kaat. Over the years the list of the names of my favorites has gotten quite long. There was Killebrew, of course, and Oliva, Carew, and Versalles from those early years. I predicted back in 1981 that the core of young players coming up through the farm system were going to be great, maybe even World Series great, and in 1987 Hrbek, Gaetti, Puckett, Viola and others proved me right. I’ve experienced the joy and satisfaction of the winning seasons and the misery and bitter disappointment of the losing ones. But I’ve been loyal to the cause since that glorious day in April of 1961.

In Florida today the sun must be shining. The sky is blue and the grass is green at the Lee County Complex in Fort Myers where the Twins will gather for spring training. Next week a passerby will, no doubt, hear the sounds of a bat on a ball and of a ball being smacked into a leather mitt, and feelings of happiness and hope are sure to fill his heart. The 2014 baseball season is just around the corner. Life is good. Play Ball!

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My Friend and Super Bowl Hero, George Sauer

Seeing Joe Namath conduct the coin flip before Super Bowl XLVIII this past Sunday brought back memories of my good friend George Sauer.  George Sauer was Joe Namath's favorite target back on January 12, 1969 in Super Bowl III.  George caught 8 passes for 133 total yards in that famous game in which the New York Jets upset the vaunted Baltimore Colts 16 to 7.  Almost thirty years later, while working at my summer job at the Sunshine Food Store on the east side of Sioux Falls I met George Sauer and over the next five years George and I become very good friends.  George left Sioux Falls in 2002 and we eventually lost touch.  Upon learning of his death this past May, I wrote the following tribute:

 

There was sad news in my morning paper today.   My friend George Sauer has died in Ohio.

 It was in August of 2002 that George Sauer quit his job at Sunshine Foods and moved back to Texas. We exchanged a number of letters over the next two or three years and several phone calls. He once called me late at night to tell me that he was watching National Lampoon's Vacation on TV and he was wondering if I was watching. That was his favorite movie. He loved the "Cousin Eddie" character and he often made references to "Cousin Eddie" during the time that we worked together at Sunshine. In the movie Cousin Eddie would refer to his home,  a ramshackle trailer,  as "paradise". George would often refer to the back room at Sunshine as "paradise" and he once posted a sign inside the door saying "Welcome to Paradise".

 A great sense of humor was one of the many "talents" that George had. He was, without a doubt, the most intelligent and talented man I've ever known. He knew and understood things from medicine and nuclear physics to classical and popular music to Saturday morning cartoons and 50's and 60's TV sitcoms.  He was curious George in the flesh. Anything new that he read about or heard about he would research thoroughly until he understood it completely, and in George’s case that usually didn't take long. He was a quick study and once he learned something he would remember it.  I was fascinated by his ability to quote lines from prose and poetry that he had read and then stored in his mind for future reference.

 George slept in a sleeping bag on the floor of his small apartment because his back bothered him (an old football injury). His bed and bedroom floor were covered with books and newspapers, all with little yellow sticky notes referencing something of interest that he planned to eventually research, but just hadn't gotten to yet.

 One of the most enjoyable times I ever spent with George was the evening that we invited him for dinner and he brought along his guitar. We sat in the family room after eating and listened for two hours while George played and sang rock and country songs from the "60's & 70's. I was fascinated.  Here was another example of the diverse assortment of his talents.

 But, aside from being extremely smart and talented, he was by far, the most tormented person I've ever known. We would often meet for lunch at the Pizza Inn and I would listen while he talked about the demons that lurked in the dark corners of his soul. He would lament the fact that he never, in his whole life, had ever really finished anything. His marriages didn't last, he had unfinished novels that he had written, he never was able to stay very long in one job, he had moved on too quickly and too often. The one regret that he seemed to not make much of was his short career as an NFL player. He had a six year career before he called it quits. The experts will tell you, that with his talent and the numbers that he put up during his peak years as an NFL wide receiver, that had he had stayed and played out a full career he would be in the NFL Hall of Fame today.

But, most of all, George wanted to be a writer. It's the one thing that I think, if he would have received acclaim for, he might have embraced.

George Sauer was the most interesting guy I've ever known. It always amazed me that, though I had gotten to be such a friend to a Super Bowl hero, I was never awestruck by it. I think that was because of the depth of the man.  The more I came to know him, the more I realized how much more there was to him than just a former football star.   He was an incredible man who could never overcome his demons. His is a sad story about a man who, I think,  wanted to achieve greatness and, at the same time, was scared to death of the greatness that he wanted to achieve.

When George moved away in 2002, my son Eric and I helped him pack up a U Haul truck with his meager belongings. When it was time for him to go he shook my hand and with teary eyes said, "Thank you my friend". I just said something about writing and staying in touch.

We exchange a number of letters and a few phone calls those first two years after his move to Texas, but eventually the letter writing slowed and then stopped. Then one November day a few years back I tried to call him to wish him a happy birthday and to see how he was doing, but the number was no longer in service. Eventually I tried to locate him via the internet and found his mother's obituary on-line. The obituary listed George and his sister, Dana, as survivors and through a “people search” I was able to locate her phone number. When I called she told me that George was now living in Ohio and was in a nursing home suffering from Alzheimer’s. She said she knew who I was because George had spoken of me often before his disease had become too severe. I sent a letter to George, through her, and some pictures of me and my family but, evidently, George didn't recognize us. That was a blow, but I understood.

Now, George is gone and, with tears in my eyes,  I say “goodbye old friend”.

For more on George Sauer and Super Bowl III see the following links.  http://www.newyorkjets.com/videos/videos/From-The-Vault-George-Sauer/86976c0d-618b-40d9-9a8d-27f5189c6e1c

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Super_Bowl_III

Twisted Thinking

This from a Public Religion Research Institute poll.

Just ahead of the 2014 Super Bowl, half of sports fans see some aspect of the supernatural at play in sports, meaning they either pray to God to help their team, have thought their team was cursed at some point in time, or believe that God plays a role in determining the outcome of sporting events.

This doesn't surprise me. Heck, at least 50% of America believes God wants them to oppress the poor, keep their minimum wage well below poverty level, and deny them health care while propping up the billionaires with tax cuts, etc., all the while professing to be Christian! We live in strange times.

A Poem To My Grown Up Son (and Daughter)

Since I'm on the subject of childhood today I thought I'd like to share a poem that meant a lot to me as my two kids were growing up.  I discovered this poem when my daughter was about 3 years old and my son was just one.  I remember publishing it in a Counseling Department newsletter about that time.  Periodically during my kids younger years I would take it out and read it silently to myself and each time I would get tears in my eyes thinking about the day when they would both be grown up and gone away.   They are happy, and incredibly successfull adults now and I couldn't be prouder than I am of both.  I hadn't thought about this poem in years, but I found it again a few weeks ago, read it silently, and the tears came back.   For all of you parents of young children, heed my warning.  Time flies.  Make the most of it. Build the memories now, because you're going to cherish everyone of them later.

I hope young parents will find as much meaning in this poem as I did then, and still do now.

"To My Grown-Up Son"

by Alice E. Chase

 

My hands were busy through the day,
I didn't have much time to play
The little games you asked me to,
I didn't have much time for you.

I'd wash your clothes; I'd sew and cook,
But when you'd bring your picture book
And ask me, please, to share your fun,
I'd say, "A little later, son."

I'd tuck you in all safe at night,
And hear your prayers, turn out the light,
Then tiptoe softly to the door,
I wish I'd stayed a minute more.

For life is short, and years rush past,
A little boy grows up so fast,
No longer is he at your side,
His precious secrets to confide.

The picture books are put away,
There are no children's games to play,
No goodnight kiss, no prayers to hear,
That all belongs to yesteryear.

My hands once busy, now lie still,
The days are long and hard to fill,
I wish I might go back and do,
The little things you asked me to.