Early in this blog I have some “don’t tell mom” stories where I engaged my kids in some kind of escapade that my wife (Jean) either wouldn’t approve of in advance, or because of the resulting near catastrophe, definitely wouldn’t approve of after the fact. Men are built with a self-preservation instinct. Mom can’t kill me for nearly killing our kids if she doesn’t know that I nearly killed our kids. I learned this truism from my father.
My dad used to tell a story about how he and Uncle Do (Nelson) took my two older brothers, Al and Bill, and my cousin Ron, out in the woods to learn how to shoot. The story Dad told occurred in the woods near Lake Como, Wisconsin. My family used to vacation there during the summers. Actually, my grandparents Ray and Fern rented the lake house for a month, and we were invited for one week plus the weekends. Can I diverge from the real story, or what?
Dad and Uncle Do had been soldiers in WW II. Somehow my dad came home from the war still in possession of the 45 caliber semi-automatic side arm he’d been issued by the Army. I doubt that this was due to any shenanigans. A little research on the internet indicates that thousands of soldiers brought their side arms home. It was a different time.
Dad said that they had included all of the relevant safety issues as a part of their instruction before handing the gun to Ron. When they were done with their instructions they carefully handed the gun to Ron, and pointed out the direction he was to shoot. Ron took aim and carefully pulled the trigger.
The “oops” portion of the story was Dad’s favorite part. He and Uncle Do had covered everything in their safety instructions except what to do with the gun after it was fired. After absorbing the kick of the gun Ron dropped his gun hand to his side with the muzzle pointed toward his foot. Dad and Uncle Do’s hearts stopped. The semi-automatic had done what it was meant to do. It had ejected the used brass case, chambered a fresh round, cocked the hammer, and was ready to fire again. If Ron gently touched the trigger he would blow his leg or foot off.
Without alarming the three boys my Dad and Uncle Do gently and carefully retrieved the gun from Ron. Ron’s leg remained intact and they sighed with relief. They made the gun safe and immediately announced the gun lesson was over. Al and Bill never got a chance to fire the gun. All three boys had to promise not to tell their moms about the outing with the gun. Dad and Uncle Do vowed not to repeat the lesson until the boys were older.
Years later when Dad told this story he said that he and Uncle Do had been scared to death for Ron’s safety AND for what their wives would do to them if Ron had shot his foot off.
--
The state legislature passes laws indicating how and when things should be done, but my dad came from a different day and age. Dad was born in 1916. He was an independent thinker and did not feel constrained by every dictate of a distant group of politicians. He was DAD, spelled with capital letters, and he would decide what his young sons should be taught, and when they should learn it.
I was in my mid-teens when Dad decided it was time that I learned how to shoot the 45. My memory is foggy about how it came to pass. He may have told me in advance where we were going that day and what we were going to do. Those details have been lost. I do remember driving about 10 miles to Palisades – Kepler State Park and parking the car near the dam. We headed east on the trails into the woods.
When we got to the furthest reaches of the park Dad chose a safe site for the lesson and pulled the gun out of his coat pocket. After pointing out various features and describing their function he retold Ron’s story to point out the danger of the enterprise. I was proud to be trusted in such a dangerous undertaking at such a young age, but I was justifiably cautious. Since shooting a gun seemed like an adult activity I thought I should show some responsibility and asked Dad about the legality. “Is this legal? Do we need a permit or license or something? Aren’t hunting and firearms usually banned in state parks?”
Dad said he wasn’t sure whether or not it was legal, but we weren’t doing anyone any harm, and I wasn’t of legal age anyway. If anyone was going to get into trouble it would be him. He said I should let him worry about legalities and that I should instead worry about the gun.
I did as I was told. I held the 45 with two hands, sighted along the barrel, and slowly squeezed the trigger. The gun fired with a roar and had a monstrous kick. It sounded like a cannon had fired, literally. We were down in the bottom of the Cedar River valley with cliffs on both sides of the river. The blast from the gun echoed repeatedly against the cliffs on both sides of the valley. It was clear that the sound would be heard for miles up and down the river. There was no way we could continue without drawing attention. One shot was all I got.
Dad had a shocked look on his face. It was likely that we would soon have more attention than he wanted. He took the gun, made it safe, put it in his pocket, and we started walking quickly for the car. We were almost to the car when a park ranger came rushing down the trail. Under his breath Dad said, “Let me do the talking”. The ranger asked Dad, “Did you hear gunfire?” Pointing back down the trail Dad said, “Yeah, down that way. That’s why we are headed this way.” and Dad then pointed toward the car.
I love lawyers with quick wits. What Dad had said was technically true. The gunfire had come from down that way, and that was the reason we were headed the other way. Fortunately, the ranger didn’t ask Dad if we were the source of the gunfire. I don’t know if the ranger suspected us or not. He may have decided that he did not want to confront what might be an armed man; or he may have decided that if we were the perpetrators and we were leaving, then that was just as well. Whatever his reasoning was, the ranger rushed down the trail on his mission, and Dad and I rushed the opposite direction toward the car and home.
We hopped in the car and headed for home without being stopped again. Dad drove the speed limit leaving the park, which is something Dad never did. If you’ve been reading this blog regularly you already know what happened next.
Dad turned to me and said, “Don’t’ tell Mom.”
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Something’s Missing
I've been running since the fall of 1967, that’s 42 years, and I had to stop the last two months due to an injury. It was a scary two months thinking my running career might be over. I was lost.
During my two months away from running there were several rehabilitation attempts that ended in re-injuries. I’d rest for a week, try to run, and I’d be reinjured after a mile. I rested another week, tried to run, and reinjured myself again. I tried two weeks of rest before running with the same end result. At that point any fitness I had was completely lost. There was no reason to hurry back to training, so I decided to rest for four weeks before attempting to run again.
It was after the third period of rest that I really started to get anxious. I thought my lifetime of running was over. I felt as if a close family member had died. It felt like something in me had died. Something important was missing. It was something deep and heartfelt. Yard work and long walks weren’t filling the void. Obviously I missed running, but what is it about running that I was missing?
The camaraderie of the running group was a part of what I missed. I missed my training partners and the discussions on bizarre topics that occur during group runs. This aspect was fun and entertaining.
I also missed the serious aches that let me know I’ve run a good workout. The walks I was doing caused some soreness, and so did the yard work, but neither replaces a run. The general feeling of good health and a fit body were missing.
Perhaps the thing I missed most was the sense of being alive during a run. My chest laboring with heavy breathing, my heart pounding in my chest, my legs hurting going up a hill; in such a moment I’ve never been more aware of how alive I am. It’s the converse of “the pain lets you know you’re not dead yet!” (G.I. Jane) The pain lets me know how alive I am. It is a proud moment too, if pride isn’t too ghastly a sin, to know that I am capable of that kind of exertion that few seek out, and fewer still are capable of performing.
There is something visceral and natural in running. It feels good to move. All the parts of the body are doing what they are meant to do, especially when they are doing it well. It feels like my body was meant to do this. At least it feels good when I get back in shape. Right now it feels like hell, but that too is good. I’ve been through this misery many times over the years and it is okay, because I know where it leads. It leads to competence, then proficiency, and maybe some degree of excellence. Somewhere in there is competition, which is yet another form of fun.
--
All is well. I’ve been able to run 8 out of 10 days now, and the two days off were by choice, not by necessity. It was slow, but it fit the technical definition of running. It will be fun to be competitive again. I am working as hard as I dare during every run. Life is good again.
Darth Dad
April 19, 2010
During my two months away from running there were several rehabilitation attempts that ended in re-injuries. I’d rest for a week, try to run, and I’d be reinjured after a mile. I rested another week, tried to run, and reinjured myself again. I tried two weeks of rest before running with the same end result. At that point any fitness I had was completely lost. There was no reason to hurry back to training, so I decided to rest for four weeks before attempting to run again.
It was after the third period of rest that I really started to get anxious. I thought my lifetime of running was over. I felt as if a close family member had died. It felt like something in me had died. Something important was missing. It was something deep and heartfelt. Yard work and long walks weren’t filling the void. Obviously I missed running, but what is it about running that I was missing?
The camaraderie of the running group was a part of what I missed. I missed my training partners and the discussions on bizarre topics that occur during group runs. This aspect was fun and entertaining.
I also missed the serious aches that let me know I’ve run a good workout. The walks I was doing caused some soreness, and so did the yard work, but neither replaces a run. The general feeling of good health and a fit body were missing.
Perhaps the thing I missed most was the sense of being alive during a run. My chest laboring with heavy breathing, my heart pounding in my chest, my legs hurting going up a hill; in such a moment I’ve never been more aware of how alive I am. It’s the converse of “the pain lets you know you’re not dead yet!” (G.I. Jane) The pain lets me know how alive I am. It is a proud moment too, if pride isn’t too ghastly a sin, to know that I am capable of that kind of exertion that few seek out, and fewer still are capable of performing.
There is something visceral and natural in running. It feels good to move. All the parts of the body are doing what they are meant to do, especially when they are doing it well. It feels like my body was meant to do this. At least it feels good when I get back in shape. Right now it feels like hell, but that too is good. I’ve been through this misery many times over the years and it is okay, because I know where it leads. It leads to competence, then proficiency, and maybe some degree of excellence. Somewhere in there is competition, which is yet another form of fun.
--
All is well. I’ve been able to run 8 out of 10 days now, and the two days off were by choice, not by necessity. It was slow, but it fit the technical definition of running. It will be fun to be competitive again. I am working as hard as I dare during every run. Life is good again.
Darth Dad
April 19, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Ten Cannots
This is one of those posts where I list somebody else’s wisdom because I am too lazy to write something of my own. I am running short on prepared pieces to post each week, so instead you get this:
In 2005 Jean and I visited our daughter Ann and son-in-law Scott in Killeen, Texas and ended up touring the Dr. Pepper museum in Waco. The third floor of the museum housed an exhibit sponsored by the Free Enterprise Institute that displayed the following statements titled “The Ten Cannots” and attributed them to Abraham Lincoln. I absolutely loved the 10 statements and was surprised I had not heard of them during my schooldays. They were just too good for me not to have remembered them.
When we got back to Atlanta I did a Google search and found on the Wikipedia site
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_J._H._Boetcker
that these statements actually belong to William John Henry Boetcker (1873-1962). The brief write-up in Wikipedia is interesting and I recommend it to you.
I wish that our government would abide by these principles.
My liberal friends will disagree with some of these. (You know who you are!) (Smile)
The Ten Cannots by William John Henry Boetcker (1873-1962)
• You cannot bring about prosperity by discouraging thrift.
• You cannot strengthen the weak by weakening the strong.
• You cannot help little men by tearing down big men.
• You cannot lift the wage earner by pulling down the wage payer.
• You cannot help the poor by destroying the rich.
• You cannot establish sound security on borrowed money.
• You cannot further the brotherhood of man by inciting class hatred.
• You cannot keep out of trouble by spending more than you earn.
• You cannot build character and courage by destroying men's initiative and independence.
• And you cannot help men permanently by doing for them what they can and should do for themselves.
In 2005 Jean and I visited our daughter Ann and son-in-law Scott in Killeen, Texas and ended up touring the Dr. Pepper museum in Waco. The third floor of the museum housed an exhibit sponsored by the Free Enterprise Institute that displayed the following statements titled “The Ten Cannots” and attributed them to Abraham Lincoln. I absolutely loved the 10 statements and was surprised I had not heard of them during my schooldays. They were just too good for me not to have remembered them.
When we got back to Atlanta I did a Google search and found on the Wikipedia site
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_J._H._Boetcker
that these statements actually belong to William John Henry Boetcker (1873-1962). The brief write-up in Wikipedia is interesting and I recommend it to you.
I wish that our government would abide by these principles.
My liberal friends will disagree with some of these. (You know who you are!) (Smile)
The Ten Cannots by William John Henry Boetcker (1873-1962)
• You cannot bring about prosperity by discouraging thrift.
• You cannot strengthen the weak by weakening the strong.
• You cannot help little men by tearing down big men.
• You cannot lift the wage earner by pulling down the wage payer.
• You cannot help the poor by destroying the rich.
• You cannot establish sound security on borrowed money.
• You cannot further the brotherhood of man by inciting class hatred.
• You cannot keep out of trouble by spending more than you earn.
• You cannot build character and courage by destroying men's initiative and independence.
• And you cannot help men permanently by doing for them what they can and should do for themselves.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Forgiveness
Here are a few quick thoughts about forgiveness that I am not going to bother putting in sensible order –
Michael Vick, a professional football player, was arrested for dog fighting in 2007. He was charged, tried, found guilty, sentenced, and has served his sentence. What Michael Vick did was despicable, but my 1960’s junior high school civics class says that’s the end of it.
We have a criminal justice system because it is superior to mob justice, which is what society wants in the case of Michael Vick. The man is essentially serving a lifetime sentence because the public will pursue him for the rest of his days. I don’t believe in mob justice, and I don’t believe his crime justifies a lifetime sentence. I won't watch his reality TV show, his football games, or read articles about him, but I don't see the need to pursue him endlessly. Shun him, perhaps, but hound him, no.
Our news media takes great glee when they catch politicians, government officials, celebrities, and most anyone else doing something wrong. (Politician John Edwards) The media are all too willing to run the story for days until their audience becomes bored by the sensational coverage. (SC Governor Mark Sandford) News coverage resembles ancient Rome feeding Christians to the lions in the coliseum for the public’s amusement. (Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich)
We see so many cases of wrongdoing, and so regularly, that our hearts have become hardened. (Televangelist Jim Bakker) The latest person who screws-up isn’t guilty of just his own offenses; we also heap on our cumulative frustration from all the previous screw-ups who were guilty of similar offenses. (Golfer Tiger Woods)
America demands perfection of its public figures and never forgives them when they are proved to be imperfect, even after they’ve been punished for their crimes. We have long memories and we are a hard and unforgiving culture. We’ve been taught to forgive, but we don’t do it. We fear that if we are forgiving and compassionate, it will appear as if we are approving of the bad behavior. We forget that it is possible to be forgiving and compassionate without condoning the evil.
Hate the sin, love the sinner.
Mahatma Gandhi 1869-1948
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone . . .
John 8:7
Michael Vick, a professional football player, was arrested for dog fighting in 2007. He was charged, tried, found guilty, sentenced, and has served his sentence. What Michael Vick did was despicable, but my 1960’s junior high school civics class says that’s the end of it.
We have a criminal justice system because it is superior to mob justice, which is what society wants in the case of Michael Vick. The man is essentially serving a lifetime sentence because the public will pursue him for the rest of his days. I don’t believe in mob justice, and I don’t believe his crime justifies a lifetime sentence. I won't watch his reality TV show, his football games, or read articles about him, but I don't see the need to pursue him endlessly. Shun him, perhaps, but hound him, no.
Our news media takes great glee when they catch politicians, government officials, celebrities, and most anyone else doing something wrong. (Politician John Edwards) The media are all too willing to run the story for days until their audience becomes bored by the sensational coverage. (SC Governor Mark Sandford) News coverage resembles ancient Rome feeding Christians to the lions in the coliseum for the public’s amusement. (Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich)
We see so many cases of wrongdoing, and so regularly, that our hearts have become hardened. (Televangelist Jim Bakker) The latest person who screws-up isn’t guilty of just his own offenses; we also heap on our cumulative frustration from all the previous screw-ups who were guilty of similar offenses. (Golfer Tiger Woods)
America demands perfection of its public figures and never forgives them when they are proved to be imperfect, even after they’ve been punished for their crimes. We have long memories and we are a hard and unforgiving culture. We’ve been taught to forgive, but we don’t do it. We fear that if we are forgiving and compassionate, it will appear as if we are approving of the bad behavior. We forget that it is possible to be forgiving and compassionate without condoning the evil.
Hate the sin, love the sinner.
Mahatma Gandhi 1869-1948
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone . . .
John 8:7
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