Thursday, October 29, 2009

17 Accidents Part 3 (#12-#17)

#12 I had just parallel parked along Stone Avenue in front of a long time client. I unlatched my door and turned to pick up two boxes off of the passenger seat. A large semi-truck came by; the vacuum created by its passing pulled the door, the rear tires of the trailer caught the edge of my door pulling it forward so that it was now stuck open pointed in the wrong direction. I got out and made my delivery.
Returning to my car I was unable to bring the door around the correct direction let alone close it. I walked to a nearby hardware store, bought a wrench, removed the door, slid the door into the hatchback and drove home without a door. I got a few crazy looks – hey I was wearing a white shirt and a tie, what were they looking at? It wasn’t as if I was driving around with my shirt off, showing the world my great physique. People are so weird.
#13 Driving in snow to grandmas, three children all in their seat belts. While in our cul-de-sac, the idea came, ‘how far exactly is it to grandma’s house?’ The odometer was a mere 3/10 of a mile from being at an even 100. WHAT AN OPPORTUNITY? Easy solution with snow and ice, spin the tires really fast and 3/10 of a mile would be gone lickity split and we could start our trip on even zeros. If one would consider a plan longer than a millisecond before implementing said plans, things might go better for him. The decision had been made - the gas pedal floored, engine screaming, tires ripping ice into dust and the speedometer was reading a good sixty miles an hour while my car was doing a mere 10 miles an hour. Everything was going exactly as planned. While busy watching and waiting for the zeros to appear I failed to calculate my rate of increasing speed. A corner was coming up and a small hill with a stop sign at the bottom. I realized to late my spinning tires had increase the velocity of my vehicle beyond its ability to stop at the stop sign. Another decision was made. Take the turn wide and go into the neighbor’s yard. I missed the yard but nailed his mail box square and oh yeah, there was a ditch after the mail box that stopped my car after it had turned up on its side. My son was whining about his seat belt cutting into his side as he hung from mid air – at least he wasn’t crying. My oldest daughter was just rolling her eyes as if – dad is being dad again and how are we going to get out of this car. She pipes in, “How you going to explain this one to mom?”
All and all it wasn’t so bad, except the tow truck driver called the police and I was given a ticket for driving too fast under conditions – Jerk! But, even with the ticket the experienced could have been remembered as another great adventure, but the neighbors had to ruin it. Did all of them really need to come for a look see? That kind of hurt my pride. Oh, there was also explaining to my wife how I put her children in danger, she wasn’t very understanding.
#14 On the way to church, rainy conditions, a driver in the oncoming lane is stopped. Being the typical Seattleite nicey - nice, he waved a driver from a driveway allowing her to go in front of him. She pulled out from behind a van trying to cross my lane and did not see me charging down on her. I smacked her good. The police asked all my kids if they were wearing their seat belts, which they were. Thankfully he didn’t ask me. I hate lying in front of my kids.
#15 At a stop light I had stopped on the cross walk. To remedy the situation I decided to back up. My radio volume must have blotted out the horn. I didn’t see or hear the guy behind me. Well you get the picture.
#16 Un-marked intersection police said if we needed him he would be happy to write a ticket to the one at fault. We both agreed we didn’t need the policeman’s help. Just so you know I was there first. It was clear as can be; after all he hit me.
#17 I backed into a light pole at the book store – this might not have been #17 but I just cannot seem to recall the real #17.
#18 When I said 17 accidents I either forgot about this one or it came after the count. I fell off my motorcycle and broke my arm. My friend says I can’t really count this one as an accident. He says, for it to qualify as an accident the motorcycle has to be traveling in excess of 2 miles per hour. Hey, I think it should qualify I went over a cliff and fell 10 -12 feet onto river rock. I broke my arm and it was my only accident that put me in the hospital. My friend also told me a cruiser is meant for cruising not trail riding which I told him, "I know that! DUH! I don’t think trying to slip by a washed out road on a narrow foot path should qualify as trail riding. Besides since when can a trail run parallel with a road? That just doesn’t seem logical.
Bonus material – Taking my kids to their bus stop; yes, a little late. Upon arriving I saw the door of the bus beginning to close. I pulled sideways in front of the bus so the driver could not leave. My kids are sometimes really unreasonable – they refused to get out of the car, something about being embarrassed. After much yelling and threats they did leave the safety of the car and embarked onto their bus. My one daughter still insists it was an embarrassing moment

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

17 Accidents Part 2 (#5 - #11)

Link to 17 Accidents Part 1

#5 & 6 Is it possible to get into two accidents in one night? Of course it is - All you need is an old Pinto with microscopic tail lights, Seattle rain, and one Grayquill with low blood sugar.
The evening started as I headed down Main Street looking for a place to eat. The car in front of me slows and stops. I stop behind him, he is trying to take a left hand turn across traffic into his drive way. Yip, the car behind me runs right into my back side. I am hungry, tired and driving a car that is hardly worth the cost of a new tail light. The right rear lens is now broken, but the bulb still works. NO real damage so, I got rid of the guy and proceeded on down the road. I take a left, and then another left. Still unable to make a decision of where and what to eat I am now heading south.
What’s that? A fire engine coming my way on a side street. Being the good law abiding citizen that I am, I stop in the right hand lane at a green light. Yip you guessed it the guy behind me couldn’t understand why I would be stopped at a green light. Being the intolerant driver that he was I guess he felt the need to smack me. Now my other tail light is broken. I send him on his way not wanting to fill out accident reports. Giving up and beginning to fear for my life, I decide to skip dinner and just go straight home.
#7 Driving down an arterial in Seattle drinking my morning coffee and minding my own business. A man attempting a left hand turn pulls out from a side street and hits the rear quarter panel of my little pickup. My truck does a complete 360 spin and stops in my correct lane. My little truck is pointed in the original direction. Hey – I get a bonus…I didn’t even spill a drop of my coffee - no lid; bet I can’t do that twice. The other driver tried and tried to say it was my fault. It took a top quality Seattle police office to write him a ticket explaining the rules of how stop signs are intended to work. Duh!
#8 It’s early, around 6:00 am, overcast but dry, going west on 80th Avenue a man fails to yield, turns left in front of me. I t-bone him good, both my knees are crunched a bit but I can walk with a small limp. The tow truck driver takes my pickup to the body shop. Another Seattle bonus – The Seattle police officer drives me to work – who said all cops are evil? NOw you know there is at least one decent one out there.
#9 Sitting at a stop light; a young man in a hurry, his first day on the job as a delivery courier; probably trying to impress his boss on how fast he is. Does he even see me or the red light? I guess no - D'OH!; The fella rear ends me, knocking me and my Maxima through the intersection up onto the sidewalk. The tow truck driver takes the Nissan directly to the junk yard. The young man? …I’m guessing he came up short impressing his boss at least in a positive light.
#10 Now comes a bit of problem – I was driving down the road minding my own business, a kid takes a left hand turn in front of me. I slam on my brakes but hit his rear passenger side door knocking him into a third car. A young woman in the third car was real sick; she was in the midst of chemotherapy treatment. She had to hang around for the police and I felt real bad for her. You could tell all she wanted to do was go home and climb into her bed. I sure hope she got better and survived her treatments; I have thought about her many times since that day.
#11 Driving my kids to school. Being the excellent father I am and one who never procrastinates; I figured it was a good time to help my daughter with your home work. While I was reading her story problem; the guy in front of me decides to turn into a parking lot. What was he thinking stopping? All he had to do was turn into the parking lot, how hard is that? My son yelled, I threw on the binders and helped the dough head out. I knocked him into the parking lot where he should have been in the first place; serves him right

DO we have a lesson here? Of course we do - Rear end Grayquill when he is hungry and he will send you on your way with no police, no insurance claim, and no ticket.

Saturday, October 24, 2009

Myra Brooks Walsh

The story goes - at a religious convention a poem that had gained some notoriety was read. The poem was signed - author unknown.
From the crowd a young man stood and said, I know who wrote that poem and it is about time the world knows the author also; it was written by my mother – Myra Brooks Welsh.

It is said that Myra wrote the poem in 30 minutes in 1921 after hearing an inspiring speaker. She submitted the poem as ‘Author Unknown’. Her conviction was that it was given to her from God and she either did not want or did not need her name on it.
Soon her name and poems became known around the world.
I offer you this poem by Myra Brooks Welsh – I am sure it is not new to you but is worth the reminder of the message it contains. Many have been encouraged by the words – I hope they will encourage you.

"Touch of the Master’s Hand," by Myra Welsh

T’was battered and scarred, and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But held it up with a smile.
"What am I bidden, good folks," he cried,
"Who’ll start the bidding for me?"
"A dollar, a dollar," then, two! Only two?
"Two dollars, and who’ll make it three?

"Three dollars, once; three dollars, twice;
Going for three . . . "But no,
From the room, far back, a grey haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then, wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening the loose strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet
As a caroling angel sings.

The music ceased, and the auctioneer,
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said: "What am I bid for the old violin?"
And he held it up with the bow.
"A thousand dollars, and who’ll make it two?
Two thousand! And who’ll make it three?
Three thousand, once; three thousand, twice;
And going and gone," said he.

The people cheered, but some of them cried,
"We do not quite understand
What changed its worth?" Swift came the reply:
"The touch of a master’s hand."
And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd,
Much like the old violin.

A "mess of potage," a glass of wine;
A game, and he travels on.
He is "going" once, and "going" twice,
He’s "going" and almost "gone."
But the Master comes and the foolish crowd
Never can quite understand
The worth of a soul and the change that’s wrought
By the touch of the Master’s hand.

The scriptures are full of examples of people who were battered and scared; then came Jesus, and he touched them - my own life he also touched, and I am incredibly grateful.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Poodle Dos

Have I told you the poodle do yarn? It was really my wife’s dog and I cared nothing about it. In fact I pretty much came close to hating the mutt.
Between the crapping, peeing and attacking me every time I wanted any physical affection… NO! - Not from the dog, Duh! From my wife! I pretty much wanted to kill the pesky animal.
I could go on and on about how this dog continually notched up high marks on my grief scale but for now we will focus on grooming. Back in the early 70’s it was $45.00 to get the rat-ish animal groomed. The long and the short of the story is money got tight and the dog got matted and began looking more pathetic than normal.
I decided to clip the beast myself. I only had a scissors. . .
Arkansas Patti is probably gonna track me down and kill me after she reads this . . . . . Out of self preservation we will minimize things a bit and say I nicked the poor creature a few times. Yes, a bit of blood was shed but it wasn’t bad no stitches were required. I finally did give up and stopped the massacre, worrying the sad little living thing would soon be a sad little dead thing.
The next day at the office, the phone rings. “Hello”
“Mr. Grayquill?”
“Yes, this is Grayquill.”
“My name is Mrs. Anderson from the Animal Protection Division of the Seattle Police department. Do you have a dog named Barkley?”
“Uhh… No, my wife does though.”
“Yes, cough... has Barkley been injured lately?”
“Uhh…” It is amazing the number of thoughts that can pass through ones mind in a millisecond. 'The scabbed up poodle flashed across the big TV screen in my brain.' 'What does this lady know?' 'Who ratted me out?' 'Yikes, I could be in some real trouble here.'
“…Uhh, no not injured - not really. Why do you ask?” Lying almost never works-why do us humans fall into it so quickly. Who taught me to do that anyway?
The lady began confirming all the information about where I lived, what the dogs name was, and wanted to setup an appointment to inspect the animal.
About the time I was becoming contrite the lady on the phone broke into laughter – it was my sister in law – Pathetic! Real funny – Ha Ha Ha… Now thirty years later she still laughs at how she got me. Can you believe it? She really thinks she had me all worried and scared. I of course keep telling her the truth, how I knew it was her the whole time and I was just playing along with her. Wouldn’t you think by now she would believe me? After all it’s me, Grayquill.
Just so you know the dog healed and my dog grooming career ended (mostly).
“Grayquill - step away from the scissors.”
“Who is that? – Is that you
Arkansas Patti?”

Sunday, October 18, 2009

17 Accidents

These memories are not necessarily in proper order as some are more indelibly stuck into my brain cells then others.
#1 – When 16 years old turning into a parking space I creased the fender of a VW bug.
#2 – At 17 I lied to my dad and told him I needed to drive to a school event – it was a rain filled stormy night and a tree had fallen across the country road. No street lights, my inexperience and driving too fast under conditions along with over steering and braking put me in a deep ditch with the car sitting on its side. Gas dripped out of the gas tank. No fire – bonus!
#3) – at 19 creeping down a hill in the snow with bald tires on the front and new tires on the back; I learned that an automatic transmission allows ones front brakes to be locked up while the rear tires are still turning under power driving the car forward. This accident took the longest of all my accidents. It was a helpless feeling as I slid down the hill crashing into the car at bottom. What made this bad was, yeah my car ended up with a dent in the fender, but my wife to be saw my ineptness in snow driving. D’OH!
#4) – At a stop light with the beginnings of a zit on my nose I was checking it out in the rear view mirror. I looked up to check the light and it turned green, the car in front of me started forward. I let my foot off the brake as I took one last look at the blemish. Yip you guessed it the guy in front of me stopped – the impact used my forehead to break off the mirror from the windshield and now I had a pimple on my nose and a nice crease across my forehead. D’OH!
#5 - #17 will have to wait as this is beginning to bore me. And, if it’s boring me you probably have already left the building – sorry.
Lesson? Of course we have a lesson why wouldn’t we? Here it is - some wisdom for the ages. ‘Only have pimples in your teen years.’

Thursday, October 15, 2009

My Neighbor Jerry

What was that? Wiping the sleep from my eyes; the clock reflected 3:10 am.
Honk – Honk
Peering out my bedroom window, there not ten feet away on my front lawn was Jerry honking his horn. I flew out of bed, threw on my jeans and hurried out to see what could be the trouble.
Jerry was my next door neighbor and also paralyzed. He was a big man over 300lbs and normally very self-sufficient but when he was in trouble he depended on me.
Hurrying up to his car “What’s wrong Jerry?”
“I need your help – I stopped to help a lady who broke down on the freeway and she has a flat tire; you can come change it!”
I am still to this day a pretty selfish individual, you can scoff, but I have improved. Therefore, maybe you can imagine the feelings accompanying my grumble, “Jerry, its 3:00 in the morning… why are you stopping to help someone in the first place? You shouldn’t be doing that?” Giving Jerry a lecture on not helping was motivated not so much by my concern for Jerry’s well being – I just wanted to go back to bed.
“God told me too help her. Can we go? The lady is waiting. You were only sleeping.”
Hmmm…is that what I was doing? “Let me get my shoes,” – what could I do? - his car was sitting on my front lawn with his head lights on, it wasn’t like he was going to go away.
Jerry was always doing this, stopping and helping people. He used to tell me that God talked to him and God would often tell him to slow down because around the next corner someone would need his help. And, sure enough inevitably there was someone who had run out of gas or had some other need. Jerry always kept a couple of gallons of gas in his trunk just so he was prepared when God sent him on an errand. Sometimes it took a bit of convincing the person in need it was safe to approach his car, take his car keys and get the gasoline out of his trunk. Even today I am baffled by the whole scenario.
Well, I loaded my jack, a few tools and followed him down in my truck. Some might wonder why I drove – I could have ridden with Jerry I guess but under the guise of needing my own tools I avoided being stuck with him in his car. Jerry at times didn’t smell too good. More than once I came to help him because his catheter had leaked urine all over his pant leg and carpet. I know, I know – I ‘m not all that proud about those feelings and motives either, but it’s just the truth.
There it was just as he described an older Oldsmobile – a massive boat of a car and the rear tire on the passenger side flat as you please. I was beginning to wake up now and my mood had improved considerably. While I changed the tire – I am pretty sure Jerry was telling the lady about Jesus.
Over the years I listened to many stories of Jerry helping people stranded alongside the freeway.
About fifteen years ago I went by to visit Jerry. I had move 5 years earlier and I wondered how he was doing. A lady answered the door. She told me Jerry had died. As we talked it came clear she was one of those Jerry had helped. She had come to stay with him when she needed a place to stay. In his passing Jerry had willed his house to her.
The lesson - Maybe it is this: We can help someone even though others are more capable. All the cars that streaked past those stranded could of stopped and helped but it was a man in a wheel chair who stopped. Lesson #2 - Maybe to help, our schedules need to be a bit less important.

Monday, October 12, 2009

Always Tie Two

When tying your own flies, rule number one is always tie two, preferably three.
Saturday morning - sitting drinking my coffee the sun was up and mid morning had crested. ‘What am I doing here I could be fishing.’ A half hour later I was packed and headed for the ferry. Across Puget Sound to Whidbey Island, drive 8 miles to Bayview Drive, take a right onto Anderson Avenue and you are almost there. This is a selective fisheries lake, so don’t be bringing any bait. It is single barbless hooks, catch and release only – at least preferred.
Having started out late my expectations were not all that high – but this lake has never skunked me. Well, there was that one time, I only caught a small bass but that’s the closest to leaving the lake without ripping a lip or two.
Fly fisherman that tie their own flies seem to be unable to keep themselves from adapting a pattern just so they can call it their own. If they are asked what they are using they can just revert back to the original and call out, “Woolly Bugger, black, number 8.”
My hand wraps around the cork grip as I begin stripping out line. A backward flick of the wrist starts the line into action 12:00 and then 10:00, slow and easy, each rotation sending the fly further, the fly sings its song as it sails over head and then out over the glassy sheen it sails. A small ripple can be seen where it makes its entrance for act one. My fins move the pontoon boat back just a bit as more line is released. Focusing on the line and motionless for a full slow ten count I let the weighted line do its work. Then strip- wait, strip - wait, repeating the action, the fly begins to make its way back up from the bottom. Twenty more feet, strip, wait, strip, and abruptly the rod tip dips down hard into the wet, a flip of the wrist for the set and the fish is now stripping out line. Keeping even pressure on the line and rod tip, the stripped line flies through the eyelets from whence it came. In less than a few seconds the line is still stripping out but now from the reel. I can see the backing coming up fast.
This is repeated over and over until when removing the fly from this last 18 inch rainbow I notice the gold tinsel had broken loose and unraveled. I clipped it off and cast it out again, nothing. Now the saddle hackle had unraveled; I clipped it off and sent it back out for act three. Apparent it was time to change flies. It was my only brown so I switched to black. That gave me nothing. Not discouraged I switched to green, hmmm still nothing. The next two hours was spent trying different flies but my work yielded nothing. See, that is why you always tie two! D’OH!
Just so you know I now have four tied up and ready for my next trip – A bit late Grayquill!

Sunday, October 11, 2009


Have you ever had those times when you are some place alone – you know those times when that function we humans do called thinking spouts its nasty head? Thinking can get us into real trouble and the lengths Grayquill will go, to not think is a bit troubling.
Grayquill has lived 56 years and in that amount of time just imagine all the embarrassing and stupid things that have piled up like cord wood in his memory banks. On top of these memories are all of the mistakes, the selfishness, the weaknesses that have gone sideways on him, and then of course there is the sin. So, when he has downtime it can be a real wicked experience. I think his most horrible times are when he is driving. He is a pretty good driver so he pretty much drives on automatic most of the time. Oh…you want to bring up his 17 accidents, NOW? Sorry, we just don’t have time.
Grayquill driving on automatic often gives over to thinking and then the pain begins. All it takes for him is a smell, a song on the radio, a person who looks like that certain person and the memory he wants to forget comes flooding back. He never swears in public but he losses all control when alone and the language that has been known to spew from his lips is really quite shocking.
I am writing this because Grayquill is just to chicken – it is probably a pride thing. You know separate a little from the deed and that way avoid full responsibility. You might be expecting at this juncture some horrific embarrassing moment in Grayquill’s history. That is not to happen today. I have always felt it a good practice to not gossip.

I just wanted to warn you to be on the lookout for mature drivers who are thinking and cursing as they cruise around town on automatic. You might be part of accident number 18. Besides, Grayquill is not alone out there.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

The Very Bad Scary News

The Very Bad Scary News…you are going to die...
You don’t really want to think about that do you?
Our life starts out pretty good for the first nine months or so. We are nestled in a warm safe place, no worries, no responsibilities, we haven’t embarrassed ourselves yet, no peer pressure, no bullies in our world, the rent is free, things are pretty gosh darn good. Then one day, the pressure starts, we are squeezed, pushed, and finally pooped out into a room of bright lights. We had never seen light before and it hurts our eyes – actually I don’t really remember that part. Oh, and, what is that terrible feeling? It blasts our tender skin, it is AIR touching us for the first time and we are all wet – Brrrrrr. Think about it, had we ever experienced cold before? I guess it’s possible if mom ate way too much ice cream, then we might have experienced cold. Considering all we went through in those first few minutes it is really no wonder we cried… well, me and Chuck Norris didn’t cry – but the rest of you did.
There are 7 billion people on the earth – who is the weirdo that did all that counting? In the next 70 years and at the outside realm up to 100 years (for all you exception sticklers) all seven billion of us will be dead. Did I kind of sneak that in without warning? Sorry. Now that you are awake, take a guess how many of us have to die each and every day just to make that happen? 191,780 per day, but probably more like 273,972 people per day. That is a bunch, 11,415 per hour, 190 per minute, 3.1 per second. The 3.1 per second doesn’t sound so bad does it? Unless of course it is your second then it’s a very bad second.
People dying will be as common as changing light bulbs. If I could live longer than the rest of you – I might start up a funeral home. I think I might do okay too except I will be kicking the bucket sooner than most, that is if the law of averages really does work. What a nice reflection – Grayquill.
I just thought I would share these happy thoughts with you, seeing how Halloween is coming. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock…creeee-py…creeee-py…creeeepy.
Let the words bless your soul.

Sunday, October 4, 2009


“Hey, B you want an M&M?” That got me nothing as I eyed her in the rear view mirror. “How about a piece of gum?” again nothing except her pudgy little hand that stretched forward toward the front seat. By the time my oldest daughter turned four she had me figured out. I had bet her she could not make it all the way home without speaking. B was talkative to say the least; her endless questions could rattle on for hours.
“Daddy, can we work on my play house tomorrow?”
“No, not tomorrow I have to work.”
“Because it’s a work day and I have to make money?”
“Because if I don’t go to work we won’t have any money to buy supplies for your play house.”
“Because that’s how I earn money.”
“Because I choose to work rather than steal from banks.”
“Because stealing is wrong.”
Because it hurts others when you steal”
“I don’t know maybe that’s the way God wanted it to be.”
“Because, He’s God and He gets to decide how it will be”
“Because he is God”
“You will have to ask God”
“Because your dad doesn’t know all the why’s.”
So, as you can see with little B in the car a husband and wife having a conversation was laughable. Her little voice dominated the airwaves.
My wife had come up with a coping method called quiet time. This method had limited value but usually gave at least some relief. She would tell B when the verbal onslaught peeked demanding peace, ‘Okay, B it’s quite time until we get home.’ I knew B would never be able to make it without tapping into her competitive spirit. Thus the challenge from Dad, she couldn’t go the distance without talking. (Isn’t Grayquill’s motives honorable?)
The plight of being mother of B and husband of Grayquill left her as the lone adult in the car. To think peace was attainable was foolish at best. Thus Grayquill began badgering B trying to break her silence. “B, when we get home instead of taking a nap would you like me to push you on the swing?” After the M&M and gum failure I was sure the swinging was random enough to break her concentration. The instant response I got was a whack from my sweet wife who had turned into mother bear protecting her cub.
Still hoping B would break, I checked the rear view mirror. Staring back at me were those sterling blue eyes along with a determination that said I will win and you will lose. D’OH!
The whack from mother bear kind of ruined the game for Grayquill but it was fun while it lasted.
B won that day.

Saturday, October 3, 2009

I only have so many stories - rerun

My children have chided me for retelling my stories. I always have the same response and frankly it is a pretty good one. “Now kids - a man has only so many stories and some are worth only telling once but there are those others that are worth telling over and over, so be quite and listen.”My kids were shaking their heads as I retold them the story of how their mother put the hustle on me before we were even dating. They rolled their eyes – ‘there goes dad again. Does he not get it that he has told us this story before?’
You see. I was a catch. I mean it has to be true or why would she put the moves on me? I mean, that is just plain logical.” My son blabbered out. “Dad! We know the story and we are not going to believe it this time either. There is no way mom put any moves on you. I mean look at mom and look at you, does that make any sense at all?”
My oldest daughter pipes in, “Yeah dad, you just said be logical, oh my goodness! And, besides mom would never do that.” Perception is reality as they say.
Do you remember the days when your kids believed you? When they ran to meet you at the door, screaming daddy, daddy, hugging your neck? You could tell them anything and they would believe it. Those were the days.
Continuing on with my story - “Excuse me? You just ask your mother, she will totally agree with me. So, do you mind if I continue?” She shook her head like I was crazy and began laughing. My son had put his head down ignoring me and began to work on his grill cheese sandwich. My oldest and son have many of the same thinking patterns. But my sweet, wonderful youngest daughter, she was also smiling but her smile was different, kind of dreamy like. “Dad, tell the story! I love it!” See how sweet she is?
If truth be told I believe all my children love hearing this story. What child does not want to hear the love story of their parents? Of course they do!
Well, I bet you are all dying to hear this story too. But a blog has to be kept short and I just don’t have the space.
You can catch the story at:
Lightning Flashed and Thunder Rolled