A Day for Linking

Just wanted to share some recent posts from other folks with y'all.

I love Debby's writing, whether she's relating her battle with breast cancer, or hurting her hip while dancing at a wedding.
Life's Funny Like That

My friend and former coworker Bob has a sense of "voice" in his writing that I envy. He's a kind and compassionate guy, but he doesn't really care if you think so. He lives in Florida, but he still has a good bit of the vinegary New Yorker in him. I liked this post because it reveals a bit about the life of a helicopter pilot who lives by the seasons, and how we sometimes don't realize how we've changed until well after the fact.
Helicopter Pilot

Inspiration needn't come from a grand source. It can come from the heart and the guts of a six year-old girl struggling to master the monkey bars. Read Andrew Heffernan's account of his daughter's triumph.
Male Pattern Fitness

Return

I was away in Louisiana for longer than usual last time. Annual recurrent training, with long, intense days in the classroom and the simulator.

It always has an affect on Dylan when I'm away for longer than usual, and this time was no different. Rhonda went to bed early, and Dylan asked me to sit next to him while we watched "Iron Man."

I thought about how long it had been since we snuggled up together to watch a movie. He's a big kid now; he'll be ten this summer. It was a tighter fit in the easy chair than last time, but we wedged in there together. We made it half way through the movie before he feel asleep against my shoulder.

Geez, I remember being in my twenties and thirties and feeling envious of women friends because they could cry. "It must feel so good," I would think, knowing how difficult it was for me to find that kind of emotional release.

Wow, things sure changed after I became a dad. I think I cried more in the first three years of Dylan's life than I had in my entire adulthood. Mostly, I weeped out of joy, but as most parents know, that joy is infused with a beautiful sadness, a sadness that comes from knowing that our times with little ones will be too short, and that one day they will fly away.

Few parents really want the kids to stay forever. We know that taking wing is evidence of a successful upbringing. We don't want them lounging on the sofa, thirty and jobless, mad because all of the potato chips are gone. And yet, some of us still dread that day when our kids leave us to make lives for themselves.

I thought about that as I looked at my son's hairy little sleeping head resting on my shoulder. But really, his head isn't so little anymore, and that's one more reminder that one day he'll fly away.

Good God, I hope I'll be ready.

Gotta go. Damn sinuses.

One Nation, with No Damned Sense of Humor

Thom G. and Bob Barbanes wrote about the JFK controller who let his nine year-old twins clear a few aircraft for takeoff.

Thom wrote, "Jebus but we've lost out way in this country. We're an angry nation. We've got everyone yelling at anyone." He continues, "There's a lot of people in this country that have lost their sense of humor. They're angry, ugly and unfunny."

I pretty much echo his sentiments. Okay, perhaps the dad suffered from a lapse in judgment. Sure. I don't know all the details of the incident, but I surmise that he let his kids play air traffic controllers during non-peak times. He told them what to say, and he was right there to correct them or take over. It wasn't as if the kids were on approach control, guiding multiple aircraft into the airport with minimum separation. The kids were clearing aircraft located on the ground for takeoff. C'mon.

We've become a country that celebrates punishing people. If the press makes a big deal out of someone's mistake, a big chunk of the public goes along with the implied we need to get that bastard sentiment.

I think the authorities should slap that air traffic controller's wrist, tell him not to do it again, and put him back to work. I think we should all hold on to a sense of humor, lest we begin to lose hold on our own sense of humanity.

I hope the controller goes back to work, and I hope his kids can quit worrying that they could have cost daddy his job.

I'm doubtful that will happen. I think too many people will want his head, because dammit, that's how we do things around here. "Forgive and forget" ain't so much in fashion nowadays.

And that's freakin' sad.

Little Man

My son Dylan is nine and a half now. Like most parents, I wonder where the time has gone. He's a healthy little dude: He weighs a bit over 100 pounds, and he's a half inch shy of five feet tall.

He was a remarkably happy baby, and he's always been a good kid. He can be trying at times, yep. I tell friends that he's a lot like his mom, which is to say that he's sweet, but hard-headed.

Lately, I find that I've been raising my voice with him more often. He's been testing his limits, and pushing the envelope with regularity. I've had to more often fight against exasperation, and I've more often reminded myself to take a couple of breaths before saying anything.

One day last week, I walked into the school grounds to pick Dylan up at the end of the day. Dylan ran up to give me a hug, followed closely by one of his schoolmates. Dylan's little friend had a silly grin on his face, and he shouted, "Mr. Johnson, Dylan gave me five dollars!" I looked at Dylan, waiting for an explanation, but he said nothing.

Driving home, I reminded Dylan that he'd been given the five bucks to pay for a couple of days of school lunches. He said, "I know, Dad. But he's been talking about a toy he wants to buy, and he never has any money."

"So you went without lunch?" I asked.
"Well, not really."
"What do you mean, 'not really'?"
He paused. "One of the other kids gave me some crackers."

Dylan's little buddy comes from a broken home. Money is tight, I gather.

I was torn. Dylan gave that money away without permission. He'd intentionally disregarded our instructions to use it to pay for school lunches.

I rehearsed it in my mind. I'd praise him for being so selfless, for going without lunch so a little friend could buy a toy he'd wanted for weeks. But then, I'd gently scold him for failing to follow instructions. I'd remind him that the money was not his to give away. I'd give him a little lecture about responsibility.

We came to a stop light. I looked in the rear-view mirror, and met his eyes. His expression told me that he knew something was coming.

"Dylan?"
A little hesitation on his part. "Yeah, Dad?"
"You want to stop and get something to eat?"

What can I say? I went with my heart. I hope my heart was right.