Air Force?

When I was 19, I went to the Air Force Academy in Colorado. My grandfather had retired from an Army career as a Colonel. My uncle was a Lieutenant Colonel in the Army. And I swelled with pride knowing the service they had given to our country.

I had considered Army, but after spending time in the Civil Air Patrol, the Air Force was the legitimate next step. After visiting the campus, and hearing recruiters talk about the wonderful perks I could expect after joining, I thought I was ready.

One signature. All I had to do was sign my name, and I would have become an Airman. I'm not really sure why I didn't sign it. I don't think I was scared of anything. I'm sure the thought of four years seemed like an eternity at the time.

Now, at 46, I could have spent 20 years in the service, and retired with full benefits. I could have entered the public world, and worked the last 8 years earning a living that would have supplemented my military retirement. After 20 years working in the civilian world, I could have two retirements.

NOT joining the military has been the greatest regret of my life.

Now my son is 19, and has said he is interested in the Air Force.

I haven't been 100% convinced that he seriously wants to join, but he says he is.

I have talked to him about how much I wish I had joined, and what a difference it could have made in my life. He is just like me at that age, and I have tried to express the difference it could make in his life. He could have all of the confidence, leadership and discipline that neither of us have. College assistance, job security, and awesome training all handed to him.

I was talking to someone about it last week. He will have to work somewhere. Either get a job making $10 an hour, at a place you don't like, and hope you can find another job when that one ends. Spend the rest of your life hoping to stay employed so you can pay your bills.

Choose a career in the Air Force, and you will always have a job, making decent money, unbelievable benefits, and retire early enough to enjoy life. Work as a civilian after retiring, and live very comfortably for the rest of your life. Or spend six years to get training, and college assistance, plus the discipline, leadership and confidence to get out and make something of your life.

I can only hope Chase truly sees what an opportunity this is for him. If God stepped in front of me, and offered me the chance to change just ONE thing about my life, I would grab that opportunity and never let go.

The Wedding

So July 20th, 2012, my daughter and her fiancé were wed at Ashton Gardens in Corinth, TX.

It was a beautiful ceremony, and the ceremony and reception seemed to go without a hitch. Getting there, however, was not quite as smooth.

There were the usual preparations, such as getting favors put together. My wife and I put together 150 small favors for guests. My wife ordered koozies with Brad and Sasha's names and the date on them, and 900 little stickers that she put on the bottom of 900 Hershey's Kisses. Five or six of those went into little bride and groom boxes that slid down into the koozies. These were put around the table for guests at the reception. It was quite a bit of work for her, but they turned out very well.

Dawn bought a dress for the wedding, and one for the rehearsal, and I bought a suit for the wedding. Two pairs of shoes for each of us, and we were ready to go.

Dawn's parents flew in on Wednesday, and the time officially began to fly. The rehearsal was Thursday at the chapel in Corinth, with dinner afterward in Carrollton. With the exception of a couple of people having trouble finding the restaurant, everything went well for the rehearsal and dinner.

Friday was a blur. We had planned to leave North Richland Hills at around two in order to get to Corinth by 3:30 or 4:00. The fact that EVERY highway in the Dallas/Fort Worth area is currently under construction doesn't help trying to get anywhere without some issues.

But we made it up there, and checked into the Best Western so we could begin to get ready. The wedding wasn't until 9:30. I know...that was my initial reaction as well. Dawn went to Sasha's room to get her makeup done. Pleased I didn't have to worry about such things, I got to just relax in the room for a little while.

Dawn came back down, and we sat around for a few minutes before she decided she wanted to go down to the lounge. I decided to get dressed and would join them after a few minutes. We would have an hour or so before we needed to leave, so I began to get dressed. Dress shirt? Check. Slacks? Check. Suit jacket? Check. Shoes? Shoes?

WHERE ARE MY SHOES?!?!?

I pride myself on being pretty thorough. I normally walk through the house (or hotel) wherever I am to make sure I have everything, and that nothing is being left behind. I pack twice as much as I will need just in case. I remember taking the shoes out of the box, instead of putting the entire box in my overnight bag. I just knew they had to be there somewhere. After a quick search, I knew I was sunk.

How could this possibly have happened? I don't forget things. Dawn had been stressed because she was going to get her hair done, and her hairdresser was running late. Since we weren't having the wedding at our church (10 minutes away), but in Corinth, over an hour away, this presented a problem. So she decided to forgo the hair so she could get her makeup done. I was trying to help her deal with the stress she was under, and honestly didn't think I was stressed at all. I was obviously wrong.

And since we were over an hour from home, getting my shoes was out of the question. Thankfully, there was a mall right across the street. And Macy's was the store closest to the entrance I would be flying...I mean driving into. I bought my two pair of shoes at Macy's and really liked them. I would just buy another of the same ones, and it would be fine.

Except they didn't have the same shoe in brown. So I found one I didn't like as well, and it was almost twice as much. But with time running out, this was an emergency. I bought the shoes, and flew back to the hotel. Twenty minutes later, I was downstairs with everyone else. I got to relax for almost ten minutes before we needed to leave.

The rest of the evening flew by, with the reception going until 2:00 AM. Brad and Sasha were catching a 6:30 flight to their honeymoon, and we decided to leave at 3:30 to get them there in plenty of time. Back at the hotel a little after 5:00, we tried to wind down a little so we could catch a couple of hours of sleep before getting up to pack.

All in all, it was a wonderful wedding. And after all is said and done, I'm a father-in-law, and Dawn is a mother-in-law.

Putting together a slideshow presentation for the reception, I was putting together pictures of Sasha through her life. I met Dawn when Sasha was 10. I can't believe the time has flown the way it has. So to all of the fathers out there with young daughters, I say, "Hang on." Cherish every moment you have. Before you know it, your little girl will be getting married, and you'll be knee-deep in preparations, and the craziness of a wedding.

Just make sure you pack your shoes.

Memories

Lake Powell

I remember summers with my dad and brother, visiting Lake Powell on the Arizona/Utah border. It is one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen.

If you've never been there, or seen pictures, it's a little like the Grand Canyon, half-filled with water. Etched in my memories are the unbelievable hues of red rock, in cliffs rising hundreds of feet from the deep blue water.

Our first visit there was with my grandparents for an evening dinner cruise. It was enough to make us want more.

So the following year, we went for three days and nights, renting a houseboat (which is the way to do it). Actually, if you have the money, it would help to also have a smaller boat to go ahead to scout for good beaches to dock the boat overnight. Cruising the lake in the day, anchoring in the evenings in a canyon, and just enjoying all the beauty Lake Powell has to offer, remains my favorite vacations of all time.

I was sixteen on the first trip, and Dad took us there for Stuart's graduation present. It was awesome. But it was our second trip, for my graduation present that I remember the most.

My brother has always been an inspiration to me. Without him, I would have been fat and lazy, and never wanted to do anything. In fact, I probably would have just enjoyed the lake from the deck of our boat. Instead, Stuart "dragged me along" on some adventures. On a couple of occasions we went hiking up the sandstone hills in one of the canyons we overnighted in.

On one of the hikes, as we began the climb, we found a brand new, unopened package of nylon rope. Obviously someone had dropped it, so we left it there, thinking someone might come back looking for it. I'm not sure how high we had climbed, but Stu (being the more adventurous one), went into an area I wasn't sure I wanted to try. I saw him climb over a steep area, and just sat, enjoying the view. Maybe two hundred feet below us, our houseboat looked like a toy. I'm sure dad was inside, enjoying some peace and quiet, which would be lost a little later. But more on that in a bit.

After a few minutes, Stuart called me, telling me he thought he was stuck. Not much I could do about it from where I was. If he had gotten stuck, there was no way I could have helped him out. He said below him was a 150 drop, and ahead of him was more than a 90 degree slope, with no way to climb. Somehow, he had made his way into a little bowl of sorts, and couldn't get out.

Thank you, God, for leaving a brand new package of rope for us to use. I climbed back down, found the rope, and headed back up. It's a miracle of sorts that I found him, also. The hills were red sandstone, and very little difference between one spot and the next. I marked nothing on the way down, and my ability to find my way around wasn't the keenest in the world. But I managed to get close enough for us to yell to each other as a way of finding out where he was, and where I needed to be.

I found a spot above him, and found a little alcove where I could tie the rope around my waist, and wedge myself in as an anchor. Tossing the other end of the rope blindly down the hill, it came close enough for him to grab. After a few moments of minor rope burn, he had climbed his way out, and we were ready to head back to the houseboat for dinner. Without the miracle rope, there's no telling what would have happened.

"Wow...what a coincidence."

I think not.

On our way back down to the boat, we discovered what had been a minor nuisance was now a major issue. A huge yacht came down the channel, causing quite a large wake. Our cute little houseboat, which we had anchored to rock, was being slammed against the rocks with the waves. From what had to be close to 100 feet up, we could hear dad yelling inside the houseboat.

I've never tried to fix a spaghetti dinner on a storm in the high seas, but that's what it must have felt like to Dad. By the time we got there, most of it was cleaned up, and the steam coming off his angry forehead was beginning to subside. (Hence the suggestion of having another boat along to scout for better overnight areas).

The next night, Stu suggested we (he and I, not Dad), sleep up on the top of the houseboat. What an awesome idea! So we grabbed our sleeping bags, and went up top at dusk. We were 200 feet or so below the top of one of the cliffs, and at one point, Stuart thought he saw something. He always had excellent eyesight, and I knew I didn't, but after a few times of, "Right there," I thought I saw something, too.

"Maybe it's a mountain lion," he offered.

Okay, because that's not going to make me worry at all. Unfounded? Maybe. But it was enough for me to think about an hungry cougar, deciding we were an easy meal. And here we both were, lying on top of the houseboat, with nothing between us and the angry cat but our sleeping bags.

After a few more minutes, something swooped by Stu's head. It was getting fairly dark, but we knew it had to be birds, coming for the bugs that were flying around. But it was coming within a foot or so. We wrapped ourselves in our bags, with just our faces sticking out so we could talk to each other.  Soon there were two of the small birds..then three..four...

As I peeked out from my sleeping bag, I caught the silhouette of one in the moonlight, and discovered they weren't birds at all. So I calmly informed my brother of my discovery.

"THOSE ARE BATS!!"

We decided it might be a better idea if we slept inside for the night.

I was always thankful for Stuart's leadership and protection. As long as he was with me, I felt safe. I knew he would protect me. So in his wonderful, protective leadership, he looked at me.

"You first."

So I reasoned that bats use their echolocation to avoid running into obstacles. It made sense that if I just jumped up, and made a bunch of racket, they wouldn't bother me. So that's exactly what I did.

I'm not sure if you heard it or not, but I'm guessing campers in canyons miles away heard what happened next.

I jumped up, and began waving my arms, making as much movement and noise as I possibly could. Stu did likewise.

From inside the houseboat, Dad, whose nerves had already been tested that evening, gave a war cry that no doubt sent shivers down the remains of Attila’s spine.

"SHUT UP! I'M TRYING TO SLEEP!!"

We calmly replied, "WE'RE BEING ATTACKED BY BATS!!"

I'm not sure how he answered, but I'm don't think he quite understand the gravity of the situation. Then again, we weren't thinking of what it might sound like to have two teenage boys jumping on the aluminum ceiling right above where you're trying to sleep.

I've never been kicked out of a lake before, but I would bet if there were park officials around, we would have been escorted off the premises.

That's the last time I've been there. I would love to have a "for old time's sake" trip with Dad and Stu, but I'm not sure Dad's up for it again. I always said I would go back with my son. I've often told my wife I want to take her there so she can appreciate it. But maybe it's just that...memories to look back on.

The first time I saw the Grand Canyon in person, I was actually disappointed. I had heard so much about it, I don't think there is any way it could have lived up to the expectation.

If I never see it again, Powell will forever live with me, and remind me of wonderful times, set in one of the most beautiful places on Earth, spent with two people who could never be replaced. Thank you, Nana and Daddad, for introducing us to Lake Powell. Thank you, Dad for putting up so much money to give us memories that will never die. Thank you, Stuart, for helping make the memories extra special.

Father's Day 2012

So this is Father's Day weekend.

And once again, this year finds me without a card to send to my dad. Not because I don't love him or appreciate all he did for me through the years. June is one of our busiest months at work, and I'm just not good at thinking of those kinds of things. Thank you to my wife who normally remembers things like that for me. But with our daughter getting married in July, things have been hectic in her mind as well.

Sorry, Dad. I'll call you on Sunday...if I remember. :-)

So I've been thinking about my dad a lot more in the recent years than I used to. He's had the short end of the stick most of my life. His birthday is December 16th (or maybe the 17th). And before you roll your eyes at me, (if I remember the facts correctly), he was born on the 17th, but chooses the 16th...or vice-versa. But as it was always two weeks before Christmas, his birthday has never really been celebrated. Since he now lives in Sanderson (9 hours away), we only see him two, maybe three times a year. So his birthday gets "celebrated" at Christmas.

I remember a lot of things from growing up with Dad. Being 46 now, I know he always had a lot of things going on. But I remember asking him to throw the ball with me in the backyard. There were probably times when he told me no, but I don't remember any.

I remember when the first Star Wars came out, he took my brother and I to the movies to see it. I was 11 at the time. The theater was sold out, so he let me sit in his lap. I've never been a big person, but I can't imagine it was comfortable for him.

I remember playing with matches in the laundry room with a girl named Sloan. Dad caught us, and picked me up with one hand, while swatting my bottom with the other. I was (maybe) five at the time? It was a valuable lesson. Never play with matches in the laundry room.

I remember countless air shows he took me too. Granted, that was as much for him as it was for us, but it was always fun.

I remember the old Southwest Airport that used to sit on the land at 360 and 183 in Arlington. It's now American Airlines headquarters, and warehouses. He used to take us there occasionally. There was a B-36 sitting out there that we got to climb in. It was a blast. It has since been moved to the Southwest Aerospace Museum, which isn't there anymore, and who knows where from there.

I remember several trips to Pate Museum of Transportation. You can read about that in another of my blogs. It's closed now, which is really sad. Again, that was as much for him as it was for us, but there's no way he had as much fun as my brother and I. Several tanks you could climb in, a hangar full of old cars and planes, and several sitting out on the grounds outside. It was great.

I remember collecting aluminum cans for money. Dad would take us out to the country (what is now South Arlington), and we would sit on the fenders as Dad drove us down country roads. We hopped off to grab cans and hopped back on. GASP!! I heard you..."How incredibly dangerous!" I know...and we didn't wear seatbelts back then. And we rode our bikes without helmets. Dad has always loved to drive, so I'm sure it was a peaceful afternoon for him. That in itself was something of a rarity, so he probably enjoyed it. Again, no way he enjoyed it as much as we did. After a few times of collecting cans, he would take us to turn in our trash bags full to get maybe $17 dollars for our several hours of "hard work". Kids, make a note of that.

I remember him taking us to Chuck-E-Cheese for lunch or dinner. I seriously doubt he enjoyed any of that. It wasn't as noisy as it is now, but still not much of a place I think he would enjoy. But he never complained.

I remember a lesson he taught me without really even trying. He went to Safeway (a grocery store for those of you who weren't around back then...), and bought a few things. He got back home, and discovered he had a potato in his coat pocket. WAY back in those days, the potato probably wasn't more than $.25 or so. And it's not like they were ever going to miss it. But he drove all the way back up there to pay for it. I couldn't have been that old, and I vaguely remember asking why he was going to go back up there. "Because I didn't pay for it, and it would be wrong." I still remember that vividly.

I remember vacations during the summer. Stuart, Dad and I would take two weeks to drive all over the west. We spent some time visiting relatives, but most of the time, it was just the three of us. National Parks, monuments, and Lake Powell a few times. Some of the best memories I ever had were from those trips. I know he enjoyed them. But I also think about the hassles of motel reservations, restaurants, gas stations, blah, blah, blah.

There were times Dad got mad at me (lighting matches in the laundry room...). There were times he spanked me so hard, I thought I'd never sit again. But in all the years, of all my shenanigans, and all the lessons he had to teach me, I NEVER worried that he didn't love me.

Stuart came up with the grand idea of making a clubhouse in the backyard when we were teenagers. It was going to be awesome. We would dig a hole, ten feet by ten feet, and four feet deep. We would make bricks from the mud and grass we dug up, and make walls around the top with that. It was a great plan, except that I grew tired of digging when I realized we weren't going to be able to finish it in a weekend. Stu eventually gave up trying to get me to do my part, and we were left with a ten foot by ten foot, two to three foot deep natural swimming pool (a.k.a. mud puddle) in the middle of the back yard. I'm sure Dad didn't appreciate it much, but I don't remember him complaining about that, either.

That's another lesson he taught me that I never really felt I was learning. Not a lot really bothers me. I get aggravated and frustrated by things. But overall, I tend to just accept that it's all going to work out somehow.

As I grow older, I realize I'm a lot more like my dad than I ever thought I would be. And the older I get, the more I realize, I could have turned out a lot worse.

So thank you, Dad. Thank you for the time you spent, letting me hurl my out of control fastball at you when you probably would rather have stayed in the air conditioning, watching television.

Thank you for the lessons you taught me.

Thank you for the countless hours spent driving us around so we could earn a little money to blow on baseball cards and candy bars.

Thank you for the wonderful vacations when you probably had counted the cost, and wondered how you were going to do it.

Thank you for teaching me that there really aren't a lot of things worth getting bent out of shape for.

Thank you for always being there; for loving us; for helping us through some pretty tough times.

Thank you for being Dad.

I love you.

Flashlights and Reality

Where do people on TV and in movies get their flashlights?  (And why are people on television, but in the movies?  Nevermind; that's another rant for another day.)

I've been using flashlights since somewhere around 1970.  I'm guessing I've used hundreds of different types, and NEVER used one like they have.  Mine always had the main beam that lit up a spot, but the rest of the room was also illuminated fairly well. 

The first time I noticed the difference was on scary movies.  They turn a flashlight on in a dark room, and the only thing you can see is the one-foot circle where the main beam hits.  Really?  Why can't I ever find a flashlight that works that way?  I think it could be useful in some situations, like...

No...can't think of a single one. 

And why, when they're looking for a serial killer, do only the two main characters enter the building?  I'm sorry, but if I'm on the trail of a person who is armed and dangerous, there will also be some of the fifty police officers outside the scene that are going in with me. 

And when they enter the building, why are they using flashlights anyway?  We now have really great things to aid us in nighttime vision.  They're called light switches.  They are usually on the wall, just inside the door.  You hit the switch, and it turns on some lights so you can see without using your messed up flashlights. 

I used to love the CSI shows.  But I've quit watching them because they were always too far fetched.  On a crime scene, they are trying to find clues.  After a few moments, someone notices something.  It is a single human hair...in the carpet.....all the way across the room.  Really?

There is a meme that highlights the ridiculousness of that here:  http://www.moronail.net/img/2010_see_if_you_can_enhance_that_license_plate

Maybe I'm just getting more cynical in my old(er) age.  But if you are going to try to make fiction believable, at least try to make it believable. 

These are the things my brain chooses to occupy its time with.

Mattress Squirm

My daughter and her fiancé bid on a house, and soon, she will be taking her mattress. So a replacement is in order. It was President's Day weekend, and several places were having mattress sales, including Mattress Firm. We found a decent queen mattress at for $400 at the Mattress Firm in North Richland Hills. Since it was for the guest bedroom, it was comfortable enough.

They didn't have it in stock, so I made arrangements to pick it up. I went Monday morning. The same salesman helped me, and told me to pull around back and he would load it up for me. After pulling around the back, I saw he was having trouble locating the mattress. It's a decent-sized store certainly, but it's not like it's the size of a Wal-Mart. How can it be that difficult to find a queen-sized mattress in a mattress store?

Because it's not there, that's why.

He looked it up, and found it had come in. He walked around again, looking for it.

"Someone must have bought it," he said.

Seriously?

Most of the times we've been searching for mattresses, there are a few with "SOLD" signs on them. That indicates to me (and others, I assume), that someone has already paid for that particular mattress, and, as a result, it is no longer for sale.

I understand mistakes happen, and if they were busy, they may have forgotten to put a sold sign on it.

Okay.

So he informs me that they will deliver for free.

Excellent.

"We can deliver it tonight between 6 and 9," he says.

We were going out for dinner for my birthday that evening, so he arranges for it to be delivered the next morning between 9 and 12.

So I get to sit on the couch on my birthday, waiting for a delivery. Not that I had much planned for today. I had done my chores the day before so I could just relax on my birthday.

Am I relaxing? Not much. Granted, there isn't a lot of physical activity going on. But for some reason, I get stressed when I spend $400, and have nothing to show for it. And, while they have my cell phone, I have had no phone call to let me know why they are late, when they are coming, or if they are coming at all.

So I called them.

"What?  They haven't been there yet?  Let me call you back as soon as I find out what is going on."

So twenty minutes later, he calls back, telling me something happened, and that he should be there within the hour.  Great.

Two hours later, I call back.

"What?  They haven't been there yet?  Let me call you back as soon as I find out what is going on."

Deja vu....

Again, I understand issues, and the fact that sometimes, things happen.  But surely I'm not the only one who has them happen.  It seems like it happens a lot, and if this kind of thing happened to more people, stores would not be able to stay in business.  So maybe it IS just me.

After a while, he calls back, telling me he has no idea what happened, how sorry he is, and that he will do whatever he can do to make it up to me.  He'll even through in a free mattress pad. 

Wow.  My time is worth a mattress pad?

After three calls to corporate headquarters, complaining about what happened, they cancelled the sale (after also offering me a free frame or mattress pad).

$400 is a LOT of money to me. I would like to think it's worth something to a company to keep its customers happy.

Then I have to remember one of my first posts about customer service, and how it's virtually non-existent now.

I guess I would never make it in business. Maybe it's just not possible to provide good customer service, and still make money.

What a shame.

My First 5k

When people ask me what I did Saturday morning, it seems natural to say I ran a 5k. 

It's not entirely untrue, but to say I ran 5k doesn't indicate what actually happened. 

"I jogged/walked/crawled/laid face down/curled up in a fetal position in the street crying like a little baby in the Hot Chocolate 5k in Dallas." 

Yeah, that takes too long, and garners strange looks. 

It was the second 5k I had signed up for, but the first I actually competed in.

There I go again.  Did I really compete? 

I guess that depends on your definition of competition.  I guess I competed against myself.  I really only had two goals for the race:

1. To NOT finish last
2. To at least be upright when I crossed the finish line

I didn't finish last.  Granted, I had to push over the little old lady with the walker to finish ahead of her, but I wasn't last. 

And I was upright when I crossed the finish line.  I was dizzy and hallucinating, but I was upright.

I got out of bed in North Richland Hills  in time to be in Fair Park for the 7:30 AM start.  It is February, but most of the week, it had been 70 degrees.  Saturday morning, it was 29 degrees, with a wind chill of 11 to 15 degrees.  Who decides to have a race that early on a Saturday morning, anyway?  Those early hours are for runners who are competing in marathons.  Everyone knows they're just crazy anyway. 

So we approached the starting point with a few thousand other people, and began the "race".  I wasn't alone.  My wife was with me, and our daughter and her friend met us there.  As soon as the race started, our daughter and her friend left us behind.  Three blocks in, my wife left me behind.  I'm not really sure why.  It seemed perfectly natural to be crying.  I had already been jogging for close to a minute.  Apparently no one else wanted to talk to the crying 45-year old, either.  That's okay.  Even if I had been able to talk, it wouldn't have been much of a conversation.

Them: "Morning, how you doing?"
Me: "Ahwhoog.  Umgblug..."

I had read several forum postings about how to prep for a race.  What to eat the days leading up, how much water to drink, what to eat or not eat on the morning of the race, etc.  I thought I knew what to expect.  I had even looked up this route online.  But as I rounded a corner, my heart stopped. Less than a quarter of a mile ahead was something no one had warned me about. 

There, ahead of me, were hundreds of people running the up-side of a bridge.  Seriously?  Who planned this route?  There are hundreds of roads in Dallas...surely there could have been a route planned that didn't involve hills.  I'll be 46-years old in two weeks.  I should have been sleeping in, and enjoying a nice morning of bacon and pancakes. I should have been watching television in bed in my robe.  But there I was, "running" early in the morning on a Saturday, in frigid temperatures, and there are hills?  What was I thinking?

I jogged some, and even ran a little.  I walked most of it.  42 minutes and 25 seconds after starting, I was crossing the finish line. 

Not impressive by any means to anyone.  But as I crossed the finish line, I only had enough oxygen to muster one thought:

"I actually did it."

Plumber

I was at work when my wife sent me an email with the title, "Water Leak?".

Not the kind of title I want to see. But she's at work also; maybe it's in her building.

No. It's at my house. Apparently my neighbor left a note on our door that there was a leak at the curb, and they shut off our water. I left work at 3, and headed home. The leak was where the PVC pipe went into the water meter.

"Easy enough," I thought.

All I need to do is cut the pipe back a little, and I can replace it. I dig out the pipe a little, and it may be harder than I think. And my fear is I'll cut it back, and break the pipe, and end up costing a lot of money. I call one company that I have given a lot of business to, and have been pretty impressed. But they can't get out until the next morning. No water all night? No. So I call another company.

They send someone as soon as they are done with a job. In less than an hour, someone shows up, looks at it, and writes up an estimate.

$520.

Excuse me? It's PVC pipe.

"I can do this," I think (again).

So I start back to work. I cut the pipe off, and part of it broke off in the fitting in the meter. I headed to Lowe's to get the fittings, and an extractor to get the piece out. After several minutes, I find some pieces that should work. Back at the house, I start digging back. I couldn't get the piece out of the meter fitting. The pipe comes out of the the meter, and immediately goes into the sprinkler system, which we don't have anymore. Then it went straight down. Okay, so this is going to be a lot more involved than I thought.

I called a friend who does his own construction work, and found out he doesn't do plumbing. His uncle does all of his work. So I called him at 6:00.

"Do you want me to come over now, or can it wait until the morning?" he asked.

"Well, I have no water, so if you could come over now, that would be great."

He was there in twenty minutes. Within an hour, he was done, and the yard was put back together. We had water, and no leak.

"How much do I owe you?" I asked.

"Seventy Five."

I wrote him a check for one hundred and twenty five.

Here's a guy who dropped what he was doing to come get me out of my problem. He may have been finishing dinner, or just sitting down to relax. He worked in the 100+ degree heat to fix it. The job was done right, and he barely charged enough to make it worth his time.

Anyone who needs plumbing work done, his name is Ben Stevenson, owner of Stevenson Services. He does excellent work, and more reasonably than just about anyone else.

Batman...Really?

Sitting down in front of the TV for the Cowboys vs. Bengals, I was more than ready to get the season started.

Before the game started, Andrea Kremer was talking to Terrell Owens and Chad Ochocinco. Cincinnati isn't the best team in the league, but Ochocinco has proven to be a pretty decent receiver. Owens was signed to a one-year, two million dollar deal. To most of us, two million dollars is nothing to scoff at. To someone who thinks he's the greatest receiver ever, that's chump change.

And yet, in the pre-game interview, Andrea asked how having too great receivers was going to work. Owens stuck his face out, and said, "I'm Batman..." He was obviously waiting for Ochocinco to follow up with, "I'm Robin." He did, and I couldn't help but think, "You get signed to a team that already has a good receiver, and you start out by telling the world that you are the number one receiver there? That the other guy is your sidekick?"

Wow. Nice to see Owens hasn't let the fact that almost no one wanted to sign him take away his...umm....confidence? No, let's just call it what it is. Arrogance.

Owens has moments of greatness. But he has one job. And when you are making millions of dollars a year to do one thing, you'd better be the best. Last night, I watched him do a simple post, and the ball hit him in the hands. Even when you're making a paltry two million a year, you can't drop passes like that.

It's also nice to see he hasn't lost his abilities.

Don't get me wrong. I don't hate Owens. But I got tired of watching him rant against the quarterback because he wasn't given a pass here and there. Then, he would drop two or three that hit him right in the chest.

And what ever happened to being thankful to be playing? Watching some of the speeches from the Hall-of-Fame inductees was refreshing. Here were people who played because they loved the game. One had waited thirty years to be inducted. And there was no (apparent) bitterness. He was thankful to be there. Most of those I saw gave credit to their teammates and coaches for the opportunities.

Emmett Smith cried when he thanked Daryl Johnston for blocking for him so many years, allowing him to make the runs he made. Now there's a class act.

Bible Belt Coming Unbuckled

Her name is Jennifer Keeton.  She is a graduate student at Augusta State University in Georgia.  She wants to be a counselor when she graduates, "helping strengthen and prepare young people for the challenges they will face."

She has been told by the campus, that she will not be allowed to graduate unless she changes her beliefs.  She has been ordered to undergo a re-education program that will force her to attend diversity and sensitivity training, including attending gay-pride marches, and writing papers, telling how she felt after the event.

We've been told we are no longer allowed to pray before football games.  We've been told if you have a Bible on your desk, you can be fired for it.  Now, public colleges are threatening to expel students if they do not agree with whatever the college decides they want you to believe.

Private companies and even private colleges have the right to choose who they would like to serve.  A public college is not guaranteed that right.

If a homosexual had been turned away from Augusta State because he was gay, there would be national uproar.  What happened to equal treatment?  Why is it okay to punish one person because they believe "A", and not punish another because they believe "B"?

We in America have freedom of religion.  That means the government does not have the right to force any religion on its people.  It does not mean that no one is allowed to practice their religion if it could possibly offend anyone anywhere. 

You choose to believe what you want.  I accept that.  I may not agree with you, but I support your right to have your belief.  I can even have wonderful discussions with you about our beliefs, and why we believe that way.  But if you have the right to believe in evolution, that homosexuality is right, or that we all are nothing but lumps of organic matter, then I have a right to believe in Creation, that there is right and wrong, and that God loved me enough to die on a cross for me.

Augusta State University does not have the right to take your money, and then decide you can't graduate because you don't believe the way they want you to believe.  Neither do they have the right to force that upon Jennifer Keeton.

Where are the equal rights?

Need Your CHL?

Last Saturday, I took my CHL class from Mike at K&K Firearms. I would highly recommend him to anyone.

There are a few things that (I think) set him above others, based on what I’ve read or heard.

1. Class Comfort. He teaches the class at his house, so instead of sitting in a straight-back chair in a musty conference room, you get to sit on a comfortable sofa, up close and personal.

2. Class Size. Since he is fairly new, his class doesn't have two dozen people. This allows a more personal interaction, and a nicer setting. Being new to concealed carry laws, I had a lot of questions that I might not have asked in a room full of people.

3. K&K Firearms. Not only is Mike a CHL Instructor, he is a licensed firearms dealer, so he can get just about anything you might be looking for. He is also a certified gunsmith, so if you need work done, or just want a good cleaning, he can take care of you.

4. Prices. His class was cheaper than others in the area. His charge to clean a gun is $30, and that means breaking it down completely...not just the barrel area.

5. Personal Help. At the range, Mike pointed out things that would help. He gave excellent tips and pointers that not only helped me pass the test, but will help from now on.

6. Monkey Bread. Yes, you read that correctly. During break, we enjoyed some wonderful monkey bread made by his wife. Sure beats some stale, cruddy snack from a vending machine.

If you are in the DFW area, and need a CHL, gun cleaning, or a gun, give Mike a shout at http://www.kkfirearms.com/.

And tell him Laron sent you.  That won't get you any kind of discount or anything, but he'll get a kick out of how you mispronounce my name.  :-)

"Unconstitutionally vague"

Picture this:

You're sitting on the couch with your 5 and 7 year old kids.  It's embarrassing enough to have to explain what incontinence means, or why someone would need to use Levitra.  Suddenly, someone says something that makes your face begin to burn.

With perfect innocence, your five-year old looks at you and asks, "What does that mean?"

Now you have to explain what a four letter word means that you would wash their mouth out for using. 

Today, a three-member panel has overturned the FCC's indecency policy, stating it is "unconstitutionally vague."

So in essence, three people have decided that it is no longer illegal for a network to broadcast obscene or indecent material.  And it doesn't matter if you agree or not.  It doesn't matter that the majority of Americans were in favor of the ban, and fines for networks that allowed inappropriate material.  And it doesn't matter that even the Supreme Court was in favor of the policy.  They didn't like it. 

It seems to me that calling something "unconstitutionally vague" goes back to the proverbial pot and kettle. 

Panel: "I don't agree with this."
You: "Why not?"
Panel: "Because...that's why."

As if the media hasn't been stretching the envelope for years anyway, they now have no fear of retribution for broadcasting anything and everything, at any time of the day.

God help us.

Illegal Immigration

Just watched a video of Jim Brosser.

In Reno, Nevada, there was a business that was flying the Mexican flag ABOVE the American flag. It was in front of a business that was obviously trying to make a point.

Point taken. But maybe I can remind you of a couple of things...

First off, it's illegal to fly any flag above the American flag. Period.

Second, you are here because you wanted a better way of life. If you think you would have a better life in Mexico, feel free to go.

I understand you are standing in opposition to Arizona's Immigration Law. One of the things that makes America great is our rights. You have the right to speak your mind...if you are a citizen. Thousands have fought and died to give you that right.

This country was founded by immigrants. Immigrants have helped shape this country into what it is today. Anyone who wants a better life, and the rights we have as Americans are welcome with open arms. But there is a procedure to follow. Go through the steps, and become a legal citizen, and you will be given the same rights any of us have. Move next door to me, and you will be my neighbor. I'll chat with you in the evenings, and consider you a friend. Cross the border without your documents, and you are illegal.

You don't agree with the policies? You want to voice your disapproval? Go on the radio, post a blog, send a letter to your congressman or senator. Whatever you choose to do, make it legal. Which brings me to another point. You are showing support for the millions of illegal immigrants living in America.

Today, people prefer we call them undocumented workers. We don't want to offend anyone, do we? But we don't call drug dealers unlicensed pharmacists. There is legal, and there is illegal.

What part of illegal do you not understand?

You show your support of illegal immigrants by illegally flying the Mexican flag above the American flag. And you want us to sympathize? Sorry. It doesn't work that way.

According to the National Human Rights Commission,

• In 2008, Mexico softened the punishment for illegal immigrants, from a maximum 10 years in prison to a maximum fine of $461.

• In one six-month period from September 2008 through February 2009, at least 9,758 migrants were kidnapped and held for ransom in Mexico — 91 of them with the direct participation of Mexican police.

Mexico has a single, streamlined law that ensures that foreign visitors and immigrants are:

• in the country legally;

• have the means to sustain themselves economically;

• not destined to be burdens on society;

• of economic and social benefit to society;

• of good character and have no criminal records; and

• contributors to the general well-being of the nation.

The law also ensures that:

• immigration authorities have a record of each foreign visitor;

• foreign visitors do not violate their visa status;

• foreign visitors are banned from interfering in the country’s internal politics;

• foreign visitors who enter under false pretenses are imprisoned or deported;

• foreign visitors violating the terms of their entry are imprisoned or deported;

• those who aid in illegal immigration will be sent to prison.

So if I decided to just move to Mexico without any documentation, and showing I didn't care anything about their laws, what would happen to me? I could be deported, but I could also be imprisoned. What if I moved there, demanded they support me and my children, give me free schooling, give me free healthcare, and demanded they accept me just as I am?

What do you suppose would happen if I were to move to Mexico, and fly the American flag above the Mexican flag?

You want to come to America? I don't blame you. You want to live here, and enjoy the benefits and rights we have? That's great.

Do it legally. The more you trample America, the more we will begin to fight back.

Jim Brosser walked away with the American flag, saying if they wanted their flag back, they would have to fight him for it. And that he wasn't going to "see this done to my country".

Good for you, Jim. May more Americans stand up for our rights before they are gone.

Our Youth

So this past Saturday, I was part of the Bill Glass Prison Ministry team that went into several youth facilities in the DFW area.

There were four campuses that were visited in Dallas County. These ranged from non-fenced centers designed to help troubled youth get their lives straightened out, to facilities holding sentenced youth before they are sent to an actual prison. A youth convicted of a crime will not be sent to prison until he is at least seventeen. Until they reach that age, they are kept at one of the youth facilities.

So we were spent the day with kids from broken homes, many of whom had been involved in gangs. Sitting across from a kid with gang tattoos up and down his arms breaks something inside. Somehow, you go from looking at a kid like this as a punk, to seeing someone facing a life of consequences due to his choices.

They earn points through the day to gain privileges. If they don't have enough points, they don't even get to have a visitor. When they get to a certain level, their family can come visit with them on a Saturday afternoon. Another level lets them go home to visit on a Saturday. Eventually, they can work up to a 48-hour release to live at home during the weekend.

One kid earned that privilege, and went home at 6 PM on Friday, only to be dropped off early Saturday morning because his mother had to work all weekend. He played it tough, like he didn't care a lot, but you know it had to hurt him. But mom doesn't have a choice. Most of these kids come from single-parent homes...or worse.

They know they need to turn their lives around, but when one chooses to open up, and admit he needs help, he is often ridiculed or persecuted by the others. Show compassion, or weakness, and you are called "friendly." I never thought that was a bad thing until I heard one of them discuss it. He said he was trying to pray, and read his Bible, but the others picked on him a lot. At least he was trying.

Most of the kids have no hope for themselves. We can come in and talk to them for a day about how we care about them, and they can have a better life for themselves when they get out. But as you talk, you see their eyes, looking around the room in total apathy. They will tell you what they think you want to hear. In their voices, you hear no concern, no hope, and no desire for anything other than to get this over with.

Some decisions were made. In our unit, there were 14 who accepted the Gospel. Out of those, I only personally spoke with two. Only God truly knows, but they seemed to only be going through the motions because they thought they were supposed to. Out of the fourteen, I hope there were at least a couple who were sincere. If nothing else, they were given Bible studies, and will be followed up with by the Chaplain of the unit.

Without the hope, and a changed life, these kids will be more statistics in a database. They get out, only to come back. And the crimes may go from stealing or drugs to much worse as they grow. They will go back to the same homes, in the same neighborhoods, surrounded by the same kids. And they will likely slip back into the same life they had before.

My part was easy. Spend one Saturday, offering hope and an answer to those who need it most. Driving home, I wasn't able to feel I had "done my part". Leaving a campus of youth, most of whom have no hope for tomorrow.

The one day I spent left images and discussions that broke through, and showed me what "life" is really like for some.

God help them. And help us, as Your people, to not turn our backs on them. Never let us write them off as untouchable. Give us the courage to share the grace you have given to us. And help us to remember we are no more deserving of Your grace than they are.

Why get a CHL?

So I'm getting my CHL (Concealed Handgun License).  And I've had a couple of people ask me why.

1.) On July 18, 1984, at McDonald's in San Diego, California, James Oliver Huberty killed 21, and injured another 19.  Among those killed that afternoon were a 74 year old man, and an 8 month old infant.  Finally, 77 minutes after the attack began, he was shot and killed by a SWAT sniper.

2.) On June 18, 1990, at the GMAC office in Jacksonville, Florida, James Edward Pough killed 9 employees and customers, and then killed himself.

3.)  On October 16, 1991, at the Luby's cafeteria in Killeen, Texas, George Hennard drove his truck through the front window, and began shooting.  No rhyme or reason, other than to kill as many people as he could.  He succeeded in killing 23, and wounding another 20 before taking his own life. 

4.) On January 8, 1993, at Brown's Chicken and Pasta in Palatine, Illinois, two gunmen murdered seven employees.  The motive was originally robbery, although less than $2,000 was taken.

5.) On April 20,  1999, at Columbine High School in Littleton, Colorado, 12 students and one teacher were killed before the Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold committed suicide.

6.) On April 16, 2007 at Virginia Tech in Blacksburg, Virginia, Seung-Hui Cho killed 5 faculty members, and 27 students before committing suicide.

7.) On November 5, 2009, at Fort Hood in Killeen, Texas, Nidal Milak Hasan, opened fire, killing 12 soldiers, one of whom was pregnant, and one civilian.  He wounded 30 others before being shot by an officer.

It is a hot topic, and one that brings out a lot of emotions.  One side says that we need stronger gun laws to keep these things from happening.  But the one common factor in all of these shootings is that the perpetrator was the only one at the scene with a gun.  In the Fort Hood shootings, Hasan began in the Soldier Readiness Center.  There were no firearms allowed there.  But he was there to kill.  He cared nothing about the law. 

If we outlaw guns, and the carrying of them, we insure that the only people who will have guns are the criminals. 

During the Luby's shootings, Hennard approached Suzanna Gratia Hupp and her parents. Hupp had actually brought a handgun to the Luby's Cafeteria that day but left it in her vehicle because laws in force at the time forbade citizens from carrying firearms. According to her later testimony, after she realized that her firearm was not in her purse but "a hundred feet away in her car," her father charged at Hennard in an attempt to subdue him but was gunned down; a short time later, Hupp's mother was also shot and killed. Hupp later expressed regret for abiding by the law in question by leaving her firearm in her car rather than keeping it on her person.

What would have happened if Hennard drove through a Luby's window today?  There is at least a chance that someone there would be able to stop him before he killed 23 people. 

Making the decision to carry a handgun is not an easy decision to make.  And I pray I will never have a reason to pull my gun on anyone.  But if I'm at a restaurant, and someone comes in with the intention of killing my family, I will do everything in my power to stop them.  Unarmed, I might be able to throw a chair at him.  Armed, I have a chance to defend myself, my family, and other innocent people.

With law-abiding citizens allowed to carry handguns, criminals just might think twice before going on a rampage.