I Don't Care What They Say, I Am Not Getting Rid Of My Truck

Is there anyone else out there, that no matter what it is, it never turns out right the first time? No matter how much you call yourself preparing. Getting all the necessary information. Making sure you have all the details that can possibly be provided so that NOTHING GOES WRONG. Well HELLO, I am that person.

I am alone this week at work. And if there is ever a time, when weird things happen, it will be, when the new girl is left alone. I get a call from my boss that a deposit needs to be made. Well alright, that sounds simple enough. That would have been the first time I would be wrong that afternoon.

My company currently banks with an establishment that no longer has a location in Quincy. To make this deposit I must go to Tallahassee. I must be there by four o'clock, because that is when they close. I leave at three o'clock to make sure I have plenty of time.

I miraculously find the bank. I say this because I am known to get lost in a paper bag. Now, for people who are not from around here, a lot of our roads are a tad "hilly". But the thing is, when you are riding down Monroe Street you don't realize you are on top of this hill situation. It's only when you turn right off of Monroe into a business establishment that you become aware. Aware of the CLIFF that you fall into, halfway into every parking lot on that side of the road.

I pull into the bank parking lot, drive down the hill and into the Commercial line of the drive thru window. I wait patiently in line for ten minutes. It's now my turn. I pull up to the window, put my deposit into the drawer, the girl pulls it towards her and I wait. Not for long though, because she comes right back to the window and says I must go inside. She is not authorized to take more than $25k per check. Really?? In the Commercial line?

So I pull out of the line, only to find there are no parking spaces on that side of the building. They are all full. So I keep moving forward, thinking I will just circle around. I remember seeing empty spaces on the other side when I drove in. Well now, you can't just "circle round'", oh no....you have to get back out on Monroe. One of the busiest four lane roads in Tallahassee. And you guessed it, I HAVE TO TURN LEFT.

I make it out and back in without mayhem occurring, and I cruise down, trying to find an empty space. I see one and I swing in. I have put my truck in park, when I hear this loud honking. I'm looking around and I don't see anything. But the honking continues. I am getting out of my truck when I hear a guy bellowing from the right side of my vehicle that I am blocking him in. He can't get out of his car.

Well, I certainly was..blocking him. I mean a 40 pound child could not have squeezed out of that door in that space. I get back in my truck and begin to back out. Now I will not lie, I was REALLY, REALLY flustered by now and I was truly REALLY, REALLY close to his vehicle. I began to back out and I swear I could smell the inside of his car from my side of the vehicle. I was THAT CLOSE. He keeps sticking his head out, watching me, while I am sweating, because now not only do I have to avoid scraping up the side of his car I have to worry about whacking his blasted head off in the process as well.

I get about half way out of the space, and someone begins honking. Again. I look around. I can't see anyone. Then I start backing up again. And there goes the honking again. Suddenly I see it origin, it's UP the HILL behind me, which I could not initially see, because I am parked down in the CLIFF. I slam on the brakes, let them pass me, talking loudly to myself and everyone who cannot hear me and then I begin to back up. Again.

Now I was not stupid enough to try and nail that same space again. I spot three empty spaces further down the cliff. I figure I can straddle one or two of those, nobody will park near me, and I will be able to get back out without a problem.

Once  I parked, because of  how the parking lot took a dive, and it was even further down, it felt like my truck wanted to tip over sideways. On top of that, directly in front of me, there was another cliff that made my truck feel like the nose of it was just going to start rolling and never stop. So like the smart driver that I am, I remember to apply my emergency parking brake. I get out of my truck, begin walking towards the bank to go inside and FINALLY make this deposit.

It is now 3:45. And I am standing in line behind about ten people. Little by little everything goes along, people move along, the deposit gets made, and I am walking outside headed towards my truck.

I get in, and believe it or not, I DO remember that my parking brake is on. My husband also owns a Chevrolet truck and you release his brake by just tapping it. I never use mine. I don't know if that's how mine works or not. But I try it. I tap. Nothing. I push harder. Nothing happens.. Other than I'm jamming it tighter down. I start leaning down, fiddling with  my hands, trying to find it by feel. I can't. My mind is screaming "THIS IS UNBELIEVABLE",  as I am getting back OUT of the truck to look. My big behind is bent over and jacked up for all who pass by to see, so I can ram my head underneath my dash to find the release. Finally, I think I see it.

Now because I have jammed the brake VERY tightly with all this "extra" pushing trying to get it released, when I pull that release handle it sort of makes a loud POP! noise and takes a deep lunge forward all at the same time. Now my mind screams " MY VEHICLE IS ROLLING OFF THE CLIFF", when in actuality, it just lunged largely and popped from the pressure. However, since I don't know this in that instant, I jump my big behind back in the vehicle, slamming both feet on the brake as my body is shaking from head to toe. I sit there for about five minutes trying to calm myself. I crank up my truck and begin to back out of my totally isolated parking space.

I promise you, a horn begins to blow. Again. As I am even further down into the cliff, I cannot see worse  than I could not see before. I again, let the guy pass, except this time I have had enough and I lost it. I was flipping him off, flipping my truck off and flipping off the cliff in front of me. I get that out of my system, I drive out of the parking lot and head back to the exit that will take me back onto Monroe Street.

Finally, what seemed like 24 hours ago now, I had promised Zach I would stop and get him Chick Filet sandwich on the way home. It was only about two businesses down from where I was now. All I have to say, is that boy had better be dang glad I had turn right on Monroe. Because after all of that, a need to turn left would have gotten him PB&J for supper.

Midnight Is For Sleeping

Down here in the South, it’s hot. It’s like suffocating; take your breath away, hot. The last thing you want to do is anything that will possibly increase the heat level that is already a given. Nobody wants to run a 10 yard dash in milliseconds. Nobody wants to do push-ups with their faces pressed into the hot, steaming dirt. Nobody wants another human being slamming into them with such force that it boggles the mind and the body for minutes after it’s over. And nobody wants to be awake at midnight doing any of these things.

But that’s how we roll here in Florida. We wait until everyone is asleep and then, by the light of the moon, we begin. Well, except for the parents. The parents aren’t exactly asleep either. They’re sitting in their cars, nodding in and out, until it’s all finally over, awakened now and again by the bellowing of one of the leaders. But for the most part, they are just trying to catch some sleep because they have work tomorrow.

Two a days are here. Football season is here. And these boys know it’s about to get real. Scuffling and tackling each other in the dirt, trying to get a foothold with their cleats that no one can budge.  Sweat pouring from every orifice of their bodies, every single muscle burning as if lit on fire.  And still, there is a Coach in the background, hollering for more. Hollering for faster, harder, quicker, and more.  Hollering for perfection, guts and glory.  Hollering for boys to become men and men to become leaders. 

Because that’s what this game of Football is really all about. It’s about the courage to continue going when nothing is going right. The courage to keep going when you’re tired and beat down, and the courage to know you gave it everything you had. Left no cleat unturned and the field soaked with the sweat and soul of determination.

The game of football holds the secrets of real life. It teaches solidarity, trust, teamwork, pride and united we stand, divided we fall. It’s a brotherhood that will never be the same for the game they played.

So welcome to the season of High School Football 2013. Nap away Mom’s and Dad’s. While you sleep, your boys are making memories. While you sleep your boys are giving it all they’ve got. While you are sleeping, your boys are turning into men.

And The First Day Of School Tradition Continues...SMILE!

As I said all the year of 2012, it was going to be a long year for a lot of new first's. The year 2013 is going to be no different for me.
Last year was about a lot of endings. This year will be about not only how those new endings are affecting me now, but how the new beginnings that came after, are developing.

As I signed onto Face Book this morning I was over taken by the amount of pictures flooding my news feed. Not Happy Friday postings, or TGIF postings, or what are you doing this weekend postings, but picture postings. More specifically, the first day of school picture postings.

This will be the first time in 22 years I have not had a child standing in my doorway or on my sidewalk taking a first day of school picture. Standing there all smiles, or not, depending on the age of course. Ages five through twelve, you can pretty much count on a smile of some sort. Thirteen through eighteen, the growls begin. The frowns, the scowls, and the shoulders bowed, arms crossed stance. For boys anyway. Girls I have found are ALWAYS ready for a picture to be taken. Boys, not so much.

The new school year is about to begin. For the beginners it will be a year of learning to share, that you are not always first, how to be a part of maintaining order, to pick up what you got out, that circle/story time is a time for listening, and that nap times are for real in kindergarten. Some of these things may have already been learned at home or prior day cares by some, but not by all, and adjustments will be new and sometimes difficult at first.

For everyone else, it's about who your new teachers are, will you like them, how cool your book bag is, picking out your newest best outfit for the first day, finding your classes, remembering your locker combination, will all your old  friends still be at your school, who the new kids will be and will everybody like me. Am I pretty enough, funny enough, and smart enough.

For parents, it's another year of memories about to unfold. So many unknowns that are about to happen. For some, the endless homework assignments begin the first day. In this respect, it's back to school for Mom and Dad as well. The lists of school supplies comes home and the rush to Wal-Mart and Target begins. The enforcing ritual of homework and supper first, television last begins again. And the bedtime curfew rears it's ugly, argumentative head once more as well.

But all of this also brings structure back to everyone's lives. Now don't get me wrong, every single school year I was SO ready for summer. I was tried of fussing about homework, studying, projects and deadlines. Tired of finding out about everything at the last minute and racing to the nearest place in town to get a poster board and markers for a project due in 24 hours. But every Fall, I was also ready for school to return to our lives. The roaming at will stopped. Supper was at a regular hour for everyone to sit down together again. And once more everything seemed to have a schedule of sorts. And for the most part, even children like structure and are ready to get back to it. They carry on and whine a bit about it, but they're just as ready to get back to the business of life as we are, after all, school is sort of their 'job' if you will, until real life comes along.

So Happy First Days Of School to one and all. May it be the very best it can be for the all the children, and may the stories they bring home to their parents be bright and full of life and excitement for all there is to come. And for goodness sake, share your pictures and stories if you will, after all, I'm living through you now.

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.