This Is What The End Looks Like

The speed level seemed to be changing. When did I take my foot off the gas? When did I stop paying attention to where I was and how fast I was going, enough to take my foot off the pedal without knowing it? Swinging my head from side to side, I'm trying to take in my surroundings and wondering how did I get two blocks from Lowe Street and not know it.

The minute I cranked up my truck and began to pull out, the wave of loneliness swept over me. I left the back parking lot and rounded the corner and there they all were, all the guys from the shop. Standing in a huddle. Looking as if they couldn't decide when they wanted to take that first step. The walk to their own vehicles and the unknown. I quickly looked away. I had already had enough of that today. Hugs and tears. And loneliness.

The company put on a lunch for everyone. Charles Colston, our Grill Master, did his always mighty fine job of smoking a gazillion leg quarters, and Piggly Wiggly was our caterer for the rest of the meal that consisted of baked beans, cole slaw, potato salad and a cake. As I walked in the break room, I saw some of the girls, behind the tables, ready to serve, including our Plant Superintendent's wife Lari Davis.I could feel the unsteadiness in my legs begin.

Now let me take a minute to tell you a little bit about this cake. It was made by an employee of Piggly Wiggly here in Quincy. We have all of our worker lunches done by their Deli/Bakery Department as well as all of our cakes. But this particular cake was not made by just any employee.

When I started to work at Quincy Joist in 1993 there was a man named Dan Laracuda. Dan the Man they called him. Dan worked with us forever it seemed, even into partial retirement. He would work each year until he had used all the hours available in accordance with his Social Security benefits. Dan passed away several years ago, but his memory has remained hard-fast and strong for many. Today his granddaughter Jackie, who works at Piggly Wiggly, made the final cake for the final workers lunch at Quincy Joist Company. How fitting was that I ask you?

Before we ate our meal, our Plant Superintendent Phil Davis, addressed his workers, his teammates with a few words of thanks and inspiration. There was already someone waiting in the wings to give our prayer, but someone else interrupted to address Phil with an acknowledgment of his own. Acknowledgement for his kindness, his loyalty, his caring for their group, even given the short time he has been with us. Phil Davis did not arrive until late Fall of 2012, but he immediately took those guys under his wing, incorporated long overdue training, brought the influences of a higher power in his daily talks, and whatever he pledged, he delivered. It had been a long time, if ever, since those fella's received that kind of one on one treatment and today Phil was told just how much they appreciated him as well.

I cried during Phil's speech, cried during the speech for him given by Kevin Jones, and I cried during the prayer done as eloquently as any I have ever heard, by William Shiver.  My eyes were full of water for several minutes afterward, Phil and Lari's grandchildren sitting in front of me were a blur, and people were already gathering to get in line for food, while I was still sitting at the table dabbing my eyes.

Some office employees during this last week had brought their children in with them to spend the day.  Today was no different. One of our Engineers, Marlon Hill, brought his son to work with him, bringing a little joy and life back to the building.

But even he at the end of the day, had already had all he could take. And as I came around the corner and saw him napping, in one of the most conventional ways possible given we had no beds for him to lie on, I thought to myself, this is what the last few moments of "everything is really over" looks like. Devon Hill exemplified what the last day looked like without speaking or saying a word.

Home-Sick, Life-Sick, Breath-Less ....It All Feels The Same

          
 Sometimes I want to go back. To the summers of sliding down hills on the tops of pieces of cardboard, cut from moving boxes. When you live in apartments, someone is always moving in or moving out. To learning to ride a bike. With one foot propped on the concrete curb, the other foot sitting unsteadily on the bike peddle. To Barbie Doll birthday parties in the apartment complex game room. To moving into our newly built home when I was seven years old and unknowingly about to spend all of my growing up years at the best place in the whole world.        

                                                                                   

Right after I got married the first time, before I had my first child,  I wanted to go back home. Back to my beautiful girl room. Where the walls were painted a very pale yellow, the homemade orange and yellow quilt that covered my bed made by my mother and the butterflies that adorned my walls.  I called it homesick back then. Maybe that wasn't it at all. Because this feels like the same thing. But I am home. As home as I have ever been. Then and now. Maybe I was simply life sick.

Major life changes bring uncertainty. They bring intimidation, can take away confidence, and breed anxiousness. The minute they announced the closing of where my husband and myself work, I could feel my life spiraling out of control. Down into darkness. It's hard to explain how those words feel. It's almost like receiving news of a death. That may sound exaggerated to some, but I have spent twenty years of my life going to the same place, down the same roads and doing the same thing.

What will I do with myself now? I'll be fifty years old this November and I thought I was through proving myself, my value, and my worth. It seems like you have to spend the whole first half of your adulthood doing all those things and I'm tired. I don't want to do it again.

I suppose I could get just a "regular" job. Where I'm told what to do every day, do it, and go home. But I think we all know, that I am not one to be "told" what to do. I like being a Manager, I like guiding and teaching people, and I like the freedom. But with that freedom comes massive responsibility and quite frankly, I'm also tired of being in charge or responsible for the outcome of everything that passes my way.

Here within lies my problem. What in the world am I to do. Live freely, but on a budget much tighter than I am comfortable with, or live responsibly with too many calls and emails after I get home and not enough time to enjoy my extra earnings or my family.

Once more, I'm life sick. I want things to be like they were before. I want to get up and go to work facing problems, but at least they are familiar problems. I want to see the same faces everyday that I have seen for twenty years and I want to go home at the end of the day bitching about one thing or another, but loving what I do just the same. I want every day to end knowing what the next one will bring. I wanted to end my life of working simply, with the people I have grown to love, their families, their children and grandchildren. Not starting over with strangers.

I despise change. And yet change must happen all through our lives in order for us to grow. I miss tee-ball Saturday's something fierce too, but if we never got past those, or high school and college, how would I ever see grandchildren?  As I sit back and consider these things, my mind says, I'm not not the only one life sick right now.

My husband is about to turn sixty one years old, and he too will have to prove himself again. His plans of retiring at sixty two may be put on hold, he's tired, he's angry and I don't blame him.

I have one son trying to burst into the writers world just as hard as he can, slinging words and thoughts in every direction hoping something sticks and his dream will come true.  But in the meantime, he must have a job, so he too is subjecting his soul to strangers every single day hoping someone sees his value.

And I have another son who is about to embark on his college career, leaving a part of his childhood behind, wondering if the same laughter and joy will follow, and anxious because so many people still expect something of him, and wondering when that will ever end.

Life sickness. It probably never stops. Through jobs, marriages, divorces, children, grandchildren, aging parents, nursing homes and death. Life sickness, someone is always experiencing it. It's not letting it drag you down into it, that's the secret. It's keeping your head above the water, paddling as hard and fast as you can, and reaching for the lifeline that is being thrown your way. And it's looking for the rainbow full of life, color and miracles instead of dreading every new step you take and believing it's quick sand.

I don't know what I will decide to do. It's a fight to stay positive, a fight not to lay down and cry, and a fight to remember I have others who depend on me. But I'm tough. My Daddy likes to tell the story that when I was a little girl he would tickle me and tickle me, telling me that as soon as I hollered out  "Please Boss Man" he would stop. Story goes, I would turn blue and stop breathing first, because that would have been giving in. Even at the age of four years old, I knew that to do what he said, just because he said so, to make something easier, was not the right way.


Don't look for me to be giving in any time soon....even if my face turns blue.

I NEVER KNEW PEOPLE DID THAT FOR MONEY.COM

Nothing is like it used to be. Years ago you could walk into a place of business, ask for one, and they would give it to you. You would sit there in their lobby, fill it out, and hand it back. Smile all nice and friendly for the receptionist, because you are friendly, of course, they tell you they'll let you know something in a few weeks, and you leave. You go to another place of business and do it all over again.

A week later, someone calls you on a land line telephone, asks you to come in for an interview, and if you smile pretty enough and say all the right things, you might get the job.

There is not one single thing about applying for a job that works like THAT anymore. You walk into a place of business and ask for an application, they look at you like you're a nut case recently escaped from a time capsule somewhere. And if you happen to get a young person (younger than 35) to assist you, they have to ask someone else more mature what is an application, why is the stranger in the lobby asking for one, and what should they say to you because you are obviously from another country. Once the mature person tells them what they should do with you, they come back to the lobby and tell you to apply for a job ON LINE.

Okaaaayyyyyy....ON LINE....what? Like on the computer? How in the heck am I supposed to find a job on the computer.  I mean I know I have learned to order my clothes "on line". And I have learned to listen to music AND stalk my Face book "on line". But look for a job? How impersonal is that I ask you?!

So my fate decided, I set about to find out where to go on line to look for A JOB. Turns out, there are special sites for job hunting. 236 sites to be exact. 

It was overwhelming to say the least. Too many Jobs.Com for this ole' girl. So I talked to some of my friends and they explained to me that the first thing I needed to do was update my resume.

Well my last resume was done in 1993. Twenty years ago. One baby boy, 100 pounds and 12 clothes sizes ago. I didn't plan on ever needing a resume again, so NO, bunches of smartie britches friends, I hadn't updated it lately. I have to tell you, I felt very old and intimidated trying to get it done. For one thing, I had nothing to say about anything but the job I have had for the last forever. I felt so outdated and dormant. But it was all I had, so I wrote the words down and dared anyone to question where I had been the last quarter of a century.

Next step. I attempted to go to these 236 sites and download my resume. That was about 3 weeks ago. As of last Saturday, I had heard nothing to date, I am talking to my oldest son, frustrated, angry, and hurt, because no one has called or emailed me. We set a date for Sunday, to communicate via telephone and figure out what I may or may not be doing wrong.

We were on the phone for two solid hours. Ask me how many applications I was able to get done in that period of time. ONE. ONE APPLICATION. Because now there are three applications for every one job. One is for the site that you are asking to be a part of and receive information from, one is like a personnel file and one is the actual application. We had 90 minutes to complete it. Josh was helping me with my verbiage towards the end, and I was sweating it to the finish line!

Anyway, we got that one done, and now I was registered on the site. My son asked me how many other sites had my resume. I told him one in particular, that I done three weeks ago that was called Indeed.Com. He said  "well, lets check it, maybe something isn't right since you haven't heard anything". I give him my password, he checks it out, it's there, and he begins to read off all these job updates. I'm carrying on now, wanting to know why they haven't called me or emailed me. He's laughing, and through my rant, I'm beginning to laugh at him laughing at me. He said as gently as my sweet son could, "Mom, YOU HAVE TO CHECK THE SITE".

And there went the next ten minute rant / laugh fest. I was like REALLY? I have to do all that and STILL check with them? What are they doing for gosh sakes? Doesn't everybody have a job to do in this process? I give them my stuff....I fill out all these applications and THEY FIND ME A JOB...and CALL ME. That's how it should work. Right? I was cursing and carrying on about all these LIFE changes, how much I hated it, shouldn't just myself and my worth stand for something? Out and out uncontrolled laughter went on for a solid five minutes or more.

Looking for a job is HARD WORK people. It's selling yourself. And I gotta tell you, I was a lot more marketable product when I was twenty nine and pretty dang fine. I'm tired and worn out and I have Menopause issues. My rose colored glasses have long been tainted with real life. And to say that I have limited patience anymore is a vast understatement. I require soft soled shoes on my feet that hurt all the time, and my work area has to have an A/C that can pump out the cool like a AK47 machine gun. So you tell me how well these interviews are really gonna go ... if I ever get one.

But low and behold, IF I can't find a job in the 'new' conventional way, on the new conventional job sites, I can always fall back on sites that are more familiar and comfortable for me such as :

IF I DRIVE THE GET AWAY CAR WHAT'S MY CUT.COM
I CAN STILL PUT MY FOOT BEHIND MY HEAD FOR A DOLLAR.COM
DO YOU THINK THEY'LL AIR THAT EPISODE OF COPS IN GEORGIA.COM
I WILL PERFORM BABY'S GOT BACK ON THE COURTHOUSE STEPS.COM
HOW OLD IS YOUR GRANDPA THAT NEEDS A DATE.COM
CAT FOOD REALLY DOES TASTE LIKE TUNA.COM
IT AIN'T PRETTY BUT I CAN STILL BELLY DANCE.COM
IF YOU CLOSE YOUR EYES REALLY TIGHT MY BUTT FEELS LIKE BEYONCE'S.COM
EVERYBODY SAYS NO AT FIRST.COM
PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME LIVE WITH MY PARENTS AGAIN.COM
I'll DO ANYTHING BUT THAT FOR A DOLLAR.COM
I'VE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING THAT SMALL BUT I'LL TRY.COM
I WOULD HAVE ALREADY MOVED TO COLORADO IF I HAD KNOWN.COM
I OWN A SHOVEL AND I CAN BE DISCREET.COM
I CAN GO FASTER BUT IT'LL COST MORE.COM

With a little bit of luck, and a whole lot of humor...I think I got this...don't you?

Roger That...Over.......And OUT.

I walked down the hallway on Sunday and as I passed by his room, I glanced in out of habit. Every single place my eyes rested, there was not a single inch of space that didn't have something on it. It looked like his entire room had been picked up, shook up, and dumped upside down.  I didn't say a word, I just kept walking. Three hours later, I walked back by again, and if it could even be imagined, it was worse. This time, I had to ask. What in the living heck was he doing? He stood there, smack in the middle of the menagerie of junk and looking a little overwhelmed himself said, "It was just time to clean up".

Six hours later when he was done, he had eleven, completely full garbage bags, the big heavy duty ones, full of who knows what. He said he had thrown away stuff that had been in his closets since the fourth grade. But on the right side of his bed were his awards, trophies and all of his framed certificates just stacked in a section of their own. I looked at him, then I looked back at that stack and I was too afraid to ask, so I didn't.

Since Zach was a mite of a little boy he has always been able to compartmentalize his life. Things are done when he says they are done. They are over when he says they are over. Always.

I took his bicycle away from him when he was four years old. He had been caught playing with matches, and fibbing about playing with those same matches. So I told him he couldn't ride his bicycle for about a week. I told him to put it on the back porch and latch the screen door. Instead, he took the bike himself, put a chain around the bike and the banister on the front porch and locked it down with a combination lock. He would decide where and how it would be locked up. This "stand" of his was not lost on me, but the bike was put up so I let it go.

Now that bike was Zach's best friend. If we were home, and there was daylight, he was on that bike.

One afternoon maybe into the second or third day of his restriction Mims came to the house and Zach was outside playing on his swing set. That was an odd sight for all the reasons already stated, so Mims asked hm why he wasn't riding his bike. Was something wrong with it? Zach's answer was, "No, he was just tired of riding it for awhile".

Even when he got his bike back the next week, he waited a whole day after he got it back to ride it. Again, because he was in control of that situation. I didn't take his bike, he gave it up and he would decide when he was ready to ride again.

I won't lie. I have been worried about football Spring Training 2013 since two a days Summer of 2012.  Last Spring as I watched some of the Senior boy's who were about to graduate, standing on the  sidelines, hands shoved deep into their front pockets, looking at the future and feeling left out and left behind, it broke my heart. And as I sat there looking out my windshield at the scene before me, my mind drifted to the not so far away future that would be here sooner than we could imagine. For both Zach and myself. Soon it would be his turn. And even as I thought those things to myself, I wondered if he was thinking about all of that as well.

I can't tell you that he's said much about it.  But I can tell you he doesn't hang around long after school these days. He's not standing on the sidelines when the last bell rings, watching the players warming up, running laps, or talking about new plays. He's in his truck and at the house in record time, slinging on his work clothes and throwing himself into someones yard work and bush trimming.

That same Sunday after a final trip to his room, I noticed all the trophies and certificates were gone. Out of sight. I did ask him that time where they were and he said he had boxed them up. That those days, those times were over. I said, the accomplishments were still there, the hard work was still there. He said "no, it's not Mama. That part of my life is over and it's time to move on." His tone was dismissive and I respected it enough to take it as that and left it alone.

So, he's had his Senior Trip, his last Spring Break, and the last in school Prom for him, is next. From there, everything else will be a blur. Baccalaureate, Class Night, then Graduation. Clean up the next day. And it's over. Just that quick.

As I walk through these last days with him, I watch his strong shoulders and firmly set chin and wonder where did all that strength come from, and find myself wishing that I had just a teeny bit of it myself.

He's already preparing for his own shut down. Shut down of the memories, the sadness and the emotion. He is compartmentalizing all of his thoughts from then and his thoughts about what is to come. He will not let the past take him down. He will not let the emotion control him or restrict him. He runs this show. He always has.

Capture Cupid With Coupons

Can you put your finger on the first time you began to notice? Can you remember when everything went fade to black. Can you actually name a date when you said to yourself, "Ok, here it is, it's happening".  I mean, it begins so gradually, don't you think? Just little things as first. Little things that nonchalantly begin to disappear.  You're pretty sure it just started. Surely you would have already noticed. Right? Seen the signs of it coming. There is no way it got this far and you never saw it coming. Right? You didn't just wake up one day and everything was different. Did you?

So one day, there you are, to stop the griping when you announce that it's overflowing and will he please come and take the trash out, you do it yourself. You're not only cooking all the meals, but you are cleaning the dishes and everything else that goes with preparing a meal, all by yourself. You are washing, drying, folding and putting all the clothes away, all by yourself as he sits in his recliner with his feet jacked up watching Westerns.

You come home for work, the day from hell, only to see everyone sitting on their behinds, watching TV, and the only reason they glance up is to ask, "What's for supper?" Or to ask, if you remembered to stop and pick up his prescription from the drugstore. The same drugstore he himself passed on the way home. Or to ask who drank all the water out of the refrigerator and didn't fill it back up? When you know he takes two bottles to work himself everyday and to have noticed it was empty and he chose not to refill it, but only gripe about it to make his point first? Or to walk into the kitchen to find the food bowls from their take to work lunches in the sink, instead of making the next natural step to the dishwasher.

They stop telling you how much they enjoyed dinner, breakfast, and supper. You don't remember the last time he opened a door for you. They no longer notice anything, because for them too, everything has just come to be expected. To have clean clothes, a clean home, food on the table, medicine ready to swallow, and all of their appointments made with reminders from you to show up.

All of that was said to say this, we don't need you to stand in CVS the eve of Valentine's trying to find us a card, weeding through a bunch of picked over mess, because you waited too late. We don't need you to run by Winn Dixie and grab some leftover half wilted flowers because you forgot AGAIN that you have to order from a real florist much earlier for certain holidays. Or worse, because you refuse to use your imagination, you spend close to $100 on flowers that are only going to die. And we don't need some crappy bath salts pre-made gift package from Wal-Mart that was a very apparent afterthought because you should know by we are allergic to flowerdy scented junk, it makes our skin break out in hives and an emergency trip to Urgent Care is not our idea of a thoughtful gift.

How about this lovely idea instead:

Present us with a coupon book. In this coupon book, good for 365 days, it will have the following:
A. 30 Coupons for dishwashing/cleaning the kitchen..
B. 30 Coupons for doing all the grocery shopping..
C. 30 Coupons for wash/dry/fold/put up all the clothes.
D. 30 Coupons for taking out the trash without being asked.
E. 30 Coupons for picking up his own shoes and clothes out of the floor.
F. 5 Coupons for FIVE movies WE want to go see..with NO WHINING from you.
G. 10 Coupons for you to seat on the Glider with us at night and carry on a real conversation without the TV being on.

H. And finally 5 Coupons for the month of December....for no griping about helping with the Christmas decorations. going up...OR coming down. AT ALL.


I just don't think thirty times, ten times or five times a year is so much to ask. We don't need flowers, clothes, cheesy gifts or diamonds. We need you to be partners with us. Just like in the beginning. When it really was just you and me. No kids, no grandchildren. Just us. When we were the only thing you thought about getting home to, and a hug was the first thing that passed between us when you walked in the door instead of demands and questions about menus and medicine errands. We want you most all of the time, and we just want you to want us. We want you to be interested in how our day went, the good ones and the bad ones. And we would really like it if for just one night of every month, we acted like our television didn't work.

Happy Valentine's Day to all my grown lady friends, for they are really the only ones who will understand anything that I have had to say. Because all the young gals are still being bombarded with every gift imaginable, mostly because the poor guys are still interested in trying to get it right. Trying to achieve the highest level of pleasure, the warmest smile and the tightest hug for their reward of accomplishment. They still care enough, to think enough, to try enough. The older guys, well, I guess we can hope they're just tired, and that they really think they just can't out do anything they have already done, so why try. We can hope that's how they think, but I'm kinda doubting it.

Eighteen Equals.....

Isn't it silly? That we wait half of our teenage lives to become eighteen years old. We stand by, transfixed on that magical number as if it holds some secret of great things to come. We talk and talk of "when I turn 18 this", and "when I'm 18 that", so much so that almost everyone around us will be so glad when it finally happens. And then, just as it's about to finally be that day, the count down is on. One month, two weeks, three days. We are so anxious one would expect us to burst into flames at most any give time.

Then it's here. That day is finally here. Some have parties. Some don't. Some have build ups so mighty as if to replicate the first man walking on the moon. Reincarnations of  Fourth Of July's gone by. Coming out parties filled with wine, beer and booze, all of which they are still too young for, and certainly not legally ready.

And then, it's the same. Maybe not that day. That night. But the next day, it is exactly the same. The world didn't change overnight. There are still rules. There are still curfews. And for some, still high school English in fourth period the next day.

Only it's not the same. Not really.  With that age comes a modicum of difference. And those differences should be recognized and acknowledged. As the adults 'in charge', we should respectfully announce that we are aware that there is a difference and discuss just what the limits for those differences will be.

My oldest son moved out of our family home when he was 18 years + 3 months old. I was no longer 'in charge' of him, what he did, who he spent his time with, how late he stayed out, or if he even came home. All choices and decisions were his to make. Right or wrong.

And now in March my youngest son will be eighteen years old. He of course will still be high school. And he will still be living at home. After graduation, his plans are to go to college locally and still live at home for a period of time.  The combination of all those things change the rules somewhat. How much you ask? Well, that right there was a hard thing to decide.

There is a lot to think about. A lot of what ifs. What's fair to everyone involved. What works for everyone involved. And yes, all of those things matter. It is up to us as parents to decide what is fair for everyone, discuss it with and without our child, and then maybe re-group and discuss it again. After all, if he didn't live here, I would have no say so at all. And since he does, I think/believe the decisions should be made together.

So curfews have been altered, with guidelines that will alter them again upon graduation. Firm but fair stipulations set in place for each instance I thought needed discussing. All with the promise of "you do your part, and I will comply with mine".

I never cared for my parents using the "this is our house, not yours, we just let you live here" statements. So I refused to go that route. My statement stands as this : "This is the house of everyone who lives here at any given time. That being said, everyone will participate in it's upkeep and what it takes to keep a home running. And that simply means, if this is still where you live when you are twenty five years old, you will still be taking out the trash and making your bed."

There are few smooth roads to complete adulthood, if there even is any such thing. But I hope to have as many as possible and I especially hope that by loosening the rope, I give leeway for my son to make good, smart, and healthy choices. Because everybody knows; bad choices and foolish choices always result in repercussions, whether those repercussions are dealt by me, or life itself.

Off we go, into the wild blue yonder. Down roads yet untraveled, filled with pot holes and land mines. Roads just lying in wait for inexperienced travelers and new adults blinded by the light of "I'm eighteen now and invisible". Go forward, step lightly, tread gingerly, and think often and hard about every decision you make. Act with faith, hope and courage, using your heart as your compass, and your head and guts as your leader. You will need all three of those things for the rest of your natural born lives. Use them wisely and they will serve you well.

Mirror Mirror On The Wall, Who Will Be The Next To Fall?

Will there ever be anyone else we can believe in? Will there ever be anyone else who is really special? Whose talents are real? Whose efforts are honest? Whose best is really the best? Every single week that goes by anymore, someone falls. Someone fails to deliver, and someone has lied. Lied to the largest of proportions. Created stories with enough words and logic to fill a book. And they travel with these stories for months on end. And in some cases, for years and years and years. Long enough that they begin to believe in those stories and lies themselves. They are truly living the lie.

Do we allow ourselves to believe the super dynamic feats they say they can pull off? Without drugs and made up girlfriends? Do they all need a gimmick to perform?  Can none of them rely on their own strengths and God given talents?

And more importantly, who do we allow our children to look up to? Who do we allow them to plaster their walls with posters of? And who do we encourage them to follow the examples of, but not too close, just in case they fall? And how do we explain to them when for the first time in history, no one was chosen for the Baseball Hall of Fame, because the voters are just too disappointed in people in general to try and make a choice?

I say, we find our children and grandchildren new Hero's. Hero's that really exist. People they may even know. Not some strangers on television who could be ready to disappoint at any given minute.

How about the high school Football Coach who guides them in all the right directions, teaching them morals and life lessons as they go. Coaches who go above and beyond AFTER school to keep the interests of their athletes clean and good.

Or the English teacher who teaches a classroom full of boys that Shakespeare can be fun and interesting.

Or the Custodial Manager aka SO MUCH MORE.. who has taught more life lessons and preached more righteous sermons right on the back of a golf cart or sweeping a broom.

Or the Math teacher who never lets any of them down, shows up at every school function, every football, baseball, volleyball, softball and basketball game and loves all those kids as if they were his own.

Or the Music teacher who regardless of his own health issues, leads them with dignity and teaches them the lesson to preserver above all else.

Or the lady who helps them open up their first checking account at the bank, and guides them gently into adulthood by teaching them about money, responsibility and business.

Or the Pastor, who takes the Bible and it's truths and changes them into a language that attracts the minds and hearts of all ages, young and old. Because after all, isn't it the children we need to lead into a life of believing, a life of prayer, and a life of goodness. I would hope that by now, we as adults, are already there. 


Or here's a novel idea, what about us? Why can't we be their Hero's? We should still be the ones teaching all of life's lessons, morals, rights, wrongs, and the reality's of love, pain and hurt. Teach them that hard work gets you through life, problems and love. That the truth will always set you free, guide you in the right direction, and result in victory. That drugs and alcohol will never enhance your sports career or your life. And repeat, repeat, repeat, that old adage, a cheater never wins and a winner never cheats. Convince them of it, preach it, and mean it, like our lives depended upon it. Why would we ever turn those responsibilities over to less than perfect strangers?


It's time for us to take control of our children's dreams and help steer them in the right direction again. Stop the rage of rising disappointments and failures in people they don't even know. Let them find success around them instead of looking into a television screen for things that don't exist. I'm not saying there will never be Hero's of that kind anymore, but I am telling you that my faith has been diminished to the point, that somebody needs to show me something. Quick.