Blame The Economy

That's what we're doing. No Christmas cards are going out this year. Not because we're lazy, forgetful, or procrastinators. Nope, it's the economy. Yah, that's the ticket.

The wife wonders why we lose touch with our friends so much. We both love our friends and love to be included in things, but I don't think she grasps the idea that things should be reciprocal. And I'm tired of being the girl and nagging her to get things like this done.

I know that sounds bad, but it is usually me that gets these things out every year. And no one says it's the wife's job to do. I just feel bad that we're not.

I had a stack of free cards to send from people like American Cancer Society, Feed the Children, the Little Lighthouse, and other charity groups asking for my donation in exchange for these cards all ready to go too!

Hey, I didn't say they were going to be special or personalized!

It's the thought that counts, so get off my back! Blame the Economy!

Merry Christmas! (I'll be in the dog house probably until New Year's if you're trying to reach me)

Bragging and Bitching

I'm not one to write one of those Christmas letters to tell all my friends and family about the last year and how great everything is and how perfect my children are and why you should be jealous because my life is perfect and yours sucks, but I am going to bitch a second about my oldest son while in the process of bragging about him.

Brag: We don't like to use the term, but our child is considered "gifted" and goes to a school for the gifted. Bitch #1: It's not even close to cheap.

Brag: His teachers tell us that he is even extremely intelligent when compared to his peers in his class. He loves to read, loves math, a very good academic kid. The only time he gets in trouble is 'free time', when he's not being challenged he gets bored and hence gets in trouble. Bitch #2: This is a problem, because if he gets bored and not always challenged at a school for the gifted, can you imagine how much trouble he'd get into if he went to a 'regular' school (that would be a whole lot cheaper)!!?

So lots of thoughts through my head now.

1. Is this really just what the teachers at expensive schools tell all the parents so we'll keep paying the outrageous tuition?
   
2. Do I want a son that is smarter than me already…and he's only in kindergarten? (Don't get me started on his questions concerning the election.)
   
3. Do I need the pressure? The economy is not good. Do I sacrifice our standard of living just to pay for his school and consider it an investment?
   
4. He has a little brother. I want him to be in the same school, preferably the gifted school, or do I? Did I mention it was expensive?
   

One thing's for sure, my parents never had to struggle with this dilemma!!

What I SHOULD have said was...

You know those moments when you're busted by someone, or shocked by someone, or enraged by someone, and you just can't find the words at that moment but you dwell on them constantly to the point you wake up in the middle of the night or have dreams about what you SHOULD have said? I hate those. And in case I ever need to quickly come up with this quote that I love from the movie Billy Madison, I'm putting here so I can come get it to read aloud or copy and paste in just such an occasion:

Mr. Madison,
What you just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I've ever heard. At no point in your rambling incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought.
Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul.

Exposed Butt

Sorry no pics.

Just found out my "gifted" kid has been so smart he's been out-smarting his parents, until now.
It seems he's been changing his "color" on the traffic light warning system at school from reds to yellows and greens, knowing reds will get him in trouble at home and at school.
Until now we've been told that he's really not that bad, that he's just social, and gets in trouble a lot for disrupting by talking. I can live with that.
But today we found out he's been lying about his color, hiding notes from the teacher that were meant for us, and just today decided to moon a girl on the playground.
(Please no chip off the old block comments yet).
I can see why some parents find it easier just to be 'friends' with their kids and not discipline, and I could surely use a manual, but looks like we've got yet another 'phase' approaching and fast. Guess I'm in for more parenting OJT (on-the-job-training) tonight. Fun Fun

Did I mention we haven't got him out of the phase of sleeping on our bedroom floor yet? There should at least be a law that they can only be in one phase at a time!!

It’s the Great Pumpkin, Darth Vader?

We've brought the "Force" to Charlie Brown's old classic. I've NEVER carved a pumpkin before, but I let the oldest son choose a design for me to attempt this year. While I pushed for the simple "Bat signal" he went to the Dark Side and chose Darth Vader.

The Choices:

He knows Batman and Darth Vader are my favorites, so it was sweet he was thinking of me, and I'm really glad he didn't choose his favorite, Darth Maul.
Anyway, I documented the process, and without patting myself on the back too hard, I'm very pleased with the results and can't wait to fulfill his request for next year: The Dark Knight on the front, with the Bat signal shining up and out from the back like a spotlight. Awwwwwweesommmmmme!

Selection Process:

Section I dreaded:

And Finally, I wish I could type the words so you could hear the Darth Vader-like breathing at the same time, so just imagine with me...choooooo chahhhhh Happy choooo Hallo-chaaaaa ween!

Hug Your Kids

On the way to work yesterday I heard on the radio about a fatal car accident.
When I got to work, I got an email from my boss (and friend of 13 years who I've now worked with at 3 different companies) with a subject that said "Daughter in car wreck" and body that simply read: "Sam in car wreck - not good - I wont be in today"

I didn't put the 2 together until I was updating other co-workers and one said they hoped it wasn't the wreck that was all over the news, the same one I heard on the radio.
I, along with everyone else, quickly hit the local news websites. The crash was close to his house.
The fatality was the same age as his daughter - 14 years old. Coincidence I hope.

Then one site updated their information. The girl was headed to ice skating class.
Shit. It's his daughter. His only child.

Then some good news. They were able to bring her back to life, but her heart had stopped for 25 minutes, and stopped again during surgery while trying to repair her 2 punctured lungs. She had mutliple injuries, a fractured skull with a swelling brain, severed optic nerve, broken bones, etc. But there was hope.

But now, the next morning, literally as I write this, I just got an update that a brain scan done this morning was negative, no activity. They have decided to donate her organs and let her go to God.

Take some time, I know it's hard. Just yesterday I was having my daily morning argument with my oldest about him being slow getting ready and making me 15 minutes late to work.
What my boss wouldn't give for 15 more minutes with his daughter.

Take the time. Hug your kids, your family, your friends, your pets.
Life is shorter than you think.

While dad's away

Most of what we have talked about in the blog is interesting, fascinating, worth noting stories we want our boys to remember. I will make a run down of the week my husband was in Florida on business...yes business.

Day 1: My oldest son Dylan and I decided the baby, Dalton, was ready to move out of the crib and into his toddler bed. This was a big move for mom, not because he is the baby, but he is also the destructive, no fear-having, encourages spankings, little man at the small age of 2. I had just finished redecorating his room in a surfer theme, so I figured this is the time; he is ready and so am I.

Nights 1-4, smooth sailing, Dalton was actually telling me he was tired and ready for bed. He isn't my cuddler, so we read a book, he jumps in and we are good to go. I had plugged the monitor back in, for the just in case moments....

Thursday 5:30 AM, I hear him crying, I meet him in the hall and tell him it is still night night time. He is telling me, "mommy...nose, mommy nose" I hug him and tell him we are going back to bed, he says it to me again. I look at his face, he is covered in blood from the bridge of his nose to his belly button. I run to the bathroom, as I try to clean him up I see myself in the mirror, where I had hugged him and him running his little hands down my arms...yes, blood everywhere. Best guess, he busts his nose when he rolls out of his bed.

Friday 12:45 AM, I hear him crying again, I am thinking good grief!!! I meet him in the hall and then the smell hits me. He has thrown up all over his bed, down the hall...on the carpets I had cleaned the night before. I had to give him a bath, get him changed, I changed my shirt, stripped the beds and did a load of laundry. Yes, I had to clean the carpets again. I was up until 2:30. My oldest walked in to see why we were all up..I told him if he wanted to clean-up puke he could...he went back to bed.

I am bleary eyed at the end of the week. I hadn't talked to my husband since Monday night with the exception of one quick call. This should give him all the details....

I am seeking paybacks BIG TIME.

My son is HOT...WHAT?!!?

Over the Labor Day holiday my sister in laws family had a cookout. We were among friends and family to enjoy the last meaningful days of the summer...did I mention in OKC they had high winds, lighting and torrential downpours??? Anywho...

I was walking inside the front door when we first arrived, I was holding hands with Dylan, we passed two 'tween girls one from the wedding and her friend. I heard the friend say, "huh, uh". I asked, "what"? The friend replied, "she said that Dylan was their boyfriend from the wedding"....he's 5!!! I laughed and went on my way. After about 3 steps, I hear..."he's HOT"

I told my husband about the girls whispering about Dylan...we thought, this can't be true; can't we wait for the next 10 years, NO, make that 15 years before we talk about my son being HOT??

Giving Props...

Okay, I gotta at least give some props to Dylan, at least he gets out there and without the liquid encouragement his Dad requires...

Dancing Skills must come from Mom

So a buddy and co-worker of mine was telling me today about his step-son and how he's become a pretty cool kid. He's starting the 5^th grade and enjoys listening to the music we like. So obviously since we're cool, liking what we like makes you cool too. But I digress. He said his son likes listening to AC/DC. To which I asked "Bon Scott or Brian Johnson?" "Bon Scott" he replies. "Damn, he is cool."

He goes on to tell me that he went into his room the other day and his son was doing his homework and listening to the radio. "What are you listening to?" "Smokehouse Blues on KMOD."
That is Awwwwwwesommme.

So of course not to be outdone I had to tell him about my cool son, though it turns out 'cool' is relative. Try to picture this, the 2 year old has a microphone that plays some techno-tronic version of Mary Had a Little Lamb that he is playing at full volume while singing into it the 'lyrics' as loud as he can. And here comes his 5 year old brother, standing in front of the TV for all to see, in just his underwear, and he begins to dance. His dance of choice, from all I can gather and not sure where he got it, was "Poppin and Lockin" or maybe it was the "Robot". For those that need further illustration, here is the definition: http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=poppin%20n%20lockin

and here is a visual of what my skinny white son in his underwear I believe was attempting (I wish I had the actual footage, so use your imagination and imagine how hard it was to let him know I was not laughing AT him, but WITH him and crush his ego):

Big Boys Cry

Okay, in the interest of doing more catch-up, this is something I wrote down "old-school like" in a journal I was attempting to start with actual pen and paper. It was about 1 ½ years ago while I was recovering from back surgery. Dylan was 4 ½ and Dalton was 10 months old:

Recovering from back surgery I was unable to bend over or kneel down to share my nightly kiss & hug with the boys at bedtime. Dylan and I began a new tradition by kissing our own hands and then putting them together like a soft 'high 5' while saying I love you. When we couldn't hug, Dylan would touch his heart and I would touch mine to signify our hug. (Dylan's idea)

Can't get much sweeter, right? Wrong.

On this night, after exchanging our kiss 'high 5' and hand-to-heart hug, Dylan went to Dalton's room and then came back into mine. He told me since I couldn't go into Dalton's room and reach him to give hugs, he went in there instead. Dylan then kissed his own fingers, touched them to his heart, and then touched Dalton and told me he took some of the love that I had given him and gave it to Dalton, and kept the rest for himself.

True, I was on some good painkillers at the time, but you can't pull on the ol' heartstrings much better than that.

And you are?....

So I've never claimed to be good at names. In fact, I'm awful. I know faces. Even if I tend to stare at them trying to think of the name while I'm sure the person is thinking I'm some kind of freak and wondering why Donny is looking at them this way.

In college while at Eskimo Joe's, many times if I somehow got a girl to approach me that already knew me (they wouldn't approach otherwise obviously) my buddy would be whispering to me asking if I knew her name. Thankfully he'd bail me out and tell me before she got within hearing distance and I could salvage my coolness by using her name in conversation. Unfortunately at my high school reunion recently, I had no such wingman to bail me out when these awkward moments presented themselves.

The first of which wasn't even a chick, but a dude I've known since I moved to Oklahoma in 4^th grade! One of my best friends ever. He walks up, feeling confident I say 'What's up Jay C.?' To which Brad F. replies, "It's Brad, you spent the night at my house somewhere over 1000 times since 4^th grade". Son of a …!!! How did I not recognize Brad!!??? I finally stir up the confidence to throw a name out and I totally blow it. Oh well, he's a dude, better him then some babe girl from high school.

So the next night of the reunion, I'm on my guard. I'm not falling for that again. I stepped out on the ledge already and sure enough fell. I'm going back to my shy, play stupid routine that has worked for 37 years.

I'm standing at the bar, shocker, I know. And here's a drunk former classmate calling me by my full name. Daring me to say her name. Somehow despite her condition she has sensed my phobia with names like a Jedi. "What's my name Donny H*******, huh?" I think I know too. But I'm not stepping out on that ledge again. I spent the night at her house something less than 1000 times since 4^th grade. When she looks away for a second another former classmate, Brina, plays wingman for me and whispers her name to me. "Candy". I knew it! I was right this time but didn't have the cajones to say it! So Candy asks again, "What's my name Donny H*******?" I say "Candy". Then Brina, obviously in her first role as a wingman breaks a cardinal rule and fesses up to Candy that she told me. But I adamantly say that I knew it, but was afraid to say it. Candy asks why. And because I'm the smooth talker I am, I tell her "Because if I was wrong, you'd ask why I thought she was a stripper with a name like Candy." Yep. Smooooooth. Did I mention I was standing at the bar? And it wasn't my first visit of the night?

Unfortunately it wasn't Candy's first trip either, though for a while she kept it lighthearted and just gave me a hard time for the next hour or so. And even more unfortunately it ended with Candy giving my wife a "should've had a V-8" slap to the forehead while asking "Why would you marry Donny H*******?"

I'm pretty sure in there somewhere you've figured out how I was able to stay single for so long, and you've felt like asking my wife the same question. Hopefully without the V-8 slap.

Why So Serious?

Yah, another Dark Knight reference. So sue me. I loved the movie and am a Batman freak. Anyway…

Act 1, Scene 1: Dad picks up his oldest son at daycare and sees this:

Dad: What happened?

Son: The balance beam hit me.

Dad: The balance beam? Oh you mean you fell off of it and landed on your face?

Son: No, the other kids were on it and didn't see me when I was walking up and it hit me.

Dad: Sooooo, they were using the balance beam as a teeter-totter and one end came up and hit you.

Son: Yah.

Dad: (Proud of himself that he got all the details and straight answers this time) Okay, well accidents happen, let's go home.

Act 1, Scene 2: Mom gets home and sees the damage on son's face.

Dad: He got hit with a balance beam they were using as a teeter-totter in the playground. (All the explanation needed he assumes)

Mom: They don't have a balance beam in the playground.

Dad:

Son: Yah, we don't.

Dad: Why does the 5 year old have such an easy time making me look stupid? (That's a rhetorical question, though I'm sure Mom had multiple answers stored up and ready)

Oh, and back to Batman. Doesn't his injury sort of remind you of Heath Ledger's Joker?

Pretty cool, huh? Mom didn't think so.

I’ve still got it.

'Nancy' from my previous post and dream? I just found out through the grapevine she is getting divorced. So? You ask.

My wife solved it. The dead rabbit in the dream. Remember the movie Fatal Attraction?

Yah, so the rabbit wasn't being boiled in my dream, but I'll give you 3 guesses why 'Nancy' is getting divorced.

I guess I'm still kinda sorta psychic. J

Sorry if I ruined the movie for anyone that hasn't seen it yet. I figured 21 years was long enough to wait.

I wanna be great like Elvis without the tassels

I'm gonna trade this life for fortune and fame
I'd even cut my hair and change my name

Okay, well I did eventually cut my hair, but I didn't change my name. I guess I'm not as great as Elvis except for in my mind. (Though I'm huge in Belgium.)

But I digress, tonight starts the 20 year high school reunion festivities. I can't wait.

I've been listening to my wife and her friends discussing their big hair of the 80's and who may or may not still have 'big hair', but not to be left out, I thought I'd share some hair of my own.

Chicks dig long hair and guys that rock!

They can play this song a million times on the radio and never gets old for me. Nickelback nailed my high school dreams in this song, but reminiscing about those dreams this weekend will be fun too.

Analyze This!

Dreams are crazy. I used to have dreams all the time about stuff that ultimately came true, as if I was psychic. Like when I dreamt my parents were getting divorced and they assured me they were not, only to use my dream later in their explanation of how they were getting "separated". But that's for another therapy session. This one was just out of the blue weird, and I didn't even go to sleep drunk!

It started with myself, a girl I used to work with but haven't spoken to or seen in probably 2 years (we'll call her 'Nancy'), her husband, and someone else-I'm not sure who, just one of those cool-I can't see them-but know I know them-this is a weird dream-type people. Anyway, we're all eating and drinking at some bar. I was going to head home and Nancy and her husband convince me to go to some outside place to hang out where I was suppose to distract the dogs in the woods while her husband ran around with a dead rabbit in his hand trying to attract one certain dog. Weird enough yet?

Then all of a sudden he got the 'right' dog and yells RUN! So we all took off to some parking lot. I have no idea what's going on, but of course at the time it all made sense.

I decided to go home from there and walked through another wooded area to get to the parking lot where my Expedition was parked. When I got there, I found about 5 people loading their luggage in it. They didn't believe me it was my car even though I could lock and unlock the doors with my remote.

Eventually they all took their luggage out but were pissed at me for some reason and still didn't believe it was mine.

Then all of a sudden this long-haired blonde girl decided she was going to take the car anyway trying to be funny. I jumped on the running board and was hanging on by pulling her long pony tail as she sped away. She was hauling butt screaming at me to let go and I was dialing 911 on my cell phone in one hand while hanging on to her pony-tail with the other telling her I was calling the cops. She just laughed and sped up more while telling me to let go of her F****** hair!

We passed a cop and he just kept on driving. Then another came so I made her side-swipe into him. THEN he followed us and she decided to stop.

The cop told me they see this all the time so they don't usually stop!??

I got my car back and I assume they arrested her. I went home and then of course woke up thinking, WTF? I haven't see Nancy in years, I should email her.

I did recently see The Dark Knight on IMAX, so that might explain the hanging on the car chase scene, but good luck breaking down the rest!

Proud Moment as MOM

My oldest son recently made his debut wearing a tuxedo. He was in my brother-in-laws wedding; he was the ring bearer. From the time he was asked to be in the wedding he absolutely could not wait for this day to come. He is 5 and as his mother, I too was very excited to see him all dressed to the nines. One of his grandmother's was so upset at missing this debut, she told me to take alot of pictures....uhm, tell my why I wouldn't have known to do this myself!?

Anywhoo, he tried on the tux right when we came in town, he had on the pink tie and his little tighty whitey's...I had a flash of my future....note to self, "make sure that doesn't happen again", but the outcome was great....see for yourself.

My little boy looked so grown up and I was truly proud of this day.

I guess I didn't get the memo.

A couple weeks ago, at 4 o'clock on a Friday, I was told I needed to be in Washington D.C. on Monday morning for business. Nothing like making last minute travel arrangements, but hey, it wasn't my dime.

Besides, I'd never been to D.C. and always wanted to go. I was staying in a hotel within walking distance of the White House, so while inconvenient to come up at the last minute, I'm a go-with-the-flow kind of guy and this will be fun.

Yah, they call it a 'business trip', but we all know how these are right?

Do a little work. Eat well for free. Have an adult beverage or 7 while "networking" with your bosses and co-workers. Call the spouse and tell them you've been working your ass off and would rather be at home with him/her and the kids who you can hear screaming and fighting in the background.

Well imagine my surprise when I literally had to work until all hours of the night on this trip. Not even getting a dinner outside of the hotel. This is how close I got to the Washington Monument the one night I tried to hussle out and be a tourist before being called to come back to the hotel and work on an "update" we just received:

So who's bright idea was it to change business trips into actual working trips!!?? The nerve!

BTW, this is what the Jefferson Memorial looks like from a cab on the way back to the airport:

And I think this is the Capital in the distance from the airport:

Not exactly the vacation, errrr, business trip I was hoping for.

Ketchup!

And now, back to our regularly scheduled program.

My 20 year High School reunion is coming up as well as my wife's. We won't be attending the wife's and maybe I'll get into that whole can of worms later. But mine, we can't wait for.

I've seen other blogs written about some not-so-fun times or anticipation of the event. One that really crushed me was from a girl in my high school that said she didn't have many friends during high school, so she didn't think she'd remember anyone or they'd remember her so she probably won't be attending. What!?? Did the 2 weeks we dated mean NOTHING to her!!??

Oh well, since we're catching up, let's go back to my 10 year reunion first. What a blast. Yes, I went right back to my old routines with my buddies acting like I was 17 again and I'm not ashamed. Cheryl and I were only dating then, but she went with me and saw why I speak highly of my high school years and friends and why I can still feel close to them even if we haven't talked in years.

Some from my high school that claim they knew me, however, I don't think really did. When we sent in our packet to say we would be attending, the coordinators asked for an update on what we had been doing the last 10 years. Well, I knew my friend Amy was one of the coordinators, so I thought she was just being nosey and wanted to know this information for herself. Little did I know that this was actually for our reunion directory. So while most people talked about finding God, their great family and careers, and all the wonderful things in their life that should make us all jealous, I went another direction. I was told most updates were edited into a few short sentences but that they just couldn't find it in themselves to edit mine.

So it spread across 2 pages word for word.

The sad part is, someone who didn't attend the reunion but got a directory called me one night and asked me if what I wrote was for real.

This is what I wrote:

After being released from a Federal Prison in Washington, D.C. in 1993, details of which I am not at liberty to discuss per my plea bargaining agreement between the government agencies involved and myself, I moved to the Virgin Islands. This is where I began my lucrative corporation, We'll Do It, Inc. It became the #1 leader in the importation of illegal aliens into the continental U.S. for low-wage labor. I take pride in the fact that without my help, Nike, Reebok, and Kathy Lee Gifford would not be where they are today. However, the business became mundane for me and I soon let the company go public and now only hold a minor percentage of common stock in the company. That is when I made my return to the States.

Upon my return to the States, the government once again wanted to talk to me concerning my work in the Islands, once again reaching an agreement this time that included my cooperation to assist in the overthrowing of a militia that I am not allowed to expand upon.

I married in 1996 to Shanequah Williams and had 3 lovely children. Lee Roy, who is now 7, Biakabatukah, 3, and our baby, Julie, who is now 18 months. In 1997, Shanequah and I divorced and she was awarded custody of all 3 children and all $20 million of my assets. That is when I moved to Vegas, turned to alcohol to solve my problems, and began to sell my body (to women only) to support my gambling and drinking habits.

The beginning of 1998, I made my New Year's resolution to turn my life around and just last week landed a job with the Pizza Hut Corporation as a Transported Nutrients Engineer (I deliver pizzas). Soon I hope to be promoted to cook or dishwasher, I'm told that is where the real money is.

In summary, life is just what I expected. Ahhh, the American Dream!

OK, last comment on Father's Day

I'll get more into the entertainment portion of this blog eventually I swear, but need to wrap up this years Father's Day.

I briefly mentioned in an earlier post that this was my first Father's Day without my Dad.

Honestly, I've had a lot of Father's Days without my dad. No one's fault really. I'm bad about remembering Holidays so he, as well as most of my family, are use to getting cards in the mail from me many days after a holiday, birthday, anniversary, etc.

Of course, now that I'm a Dad, I was getting much better at remembering this one.
Unfortunately, only a few years after I became a Dad, I started losing mine.
My Dad wasn't around a lot physically while I was growing up. Parents were divorced when I was 10 I think and he traveled a lot before that.
But I'm not going to sit here and complain about being raised a poor black child with no father figure growing up on the hard streets of Someplace, USA. Partly because I'm not black and I grew up in a nice neighborhood. Okay, so mostly because of that. But my Dad was always just a phone call away and just knowing that was enough for me to feel close.

But after years of drinking heavy and more the result of being a heavy smoker, Dad was no longer getting enough oxygen to his brain and dementia set in. So our conversations no longer flowed logically and eventually I couldn't even get him on the phone.
He died February 28th.
I didn't see him his last 2 years on earth and talked to him maybe twice.

Because of that, I always told myself that he was basically already gone and felt like I had dealt with losing him on some level already.
But when you get the call from your sister who was able to be with him as he passed, that he was going to die any moment, the finality of it all is like Mike Tyson punching you in the stomach.
I know I'm 37 and supposed to be a responsible adult with my own family that I need to take care of, but my ultimate safety net is gone. I never really called on him to catch me, but knowing he would was all I needed. Now my net is gone.

I cried harder than I ever expected. Over and Over.

My oldest son who is 5 did his best to console me and tell me that my Dad was in heaven so I didn't need to cry. My youngest son who is 2 never got to meet my Dad and that makes me cry every time I think about it. My niece put together a video to be played at his funeral. Near the end is a part where my Dad is looking at a picture of my youngest son my sister showed him. I'm crying as I type, this is where I always feel Tyson's punch again.

Dylan, my oldest told me after Church on Father's Day that in Sunday school he learned when you pray you could talk to people in Heaven. So if I missed my Dad all I had to do was pray, and I wouldn't have to cry anymore. Dylan has no idea what he does for me and how much he means to me. He has no idea how much better his words make me feel. Saying "I Love You" was not a common thing between my Dad and I growing up. But thankfully, I made it a part of every conversation with him the last few years and I make sure it is said often between Dylan and myself and now Dalton as well.

So Father's Day is over, but I prayed and talked to Dad. And I told him I still love him.

This is the video from the funeral (and yes we corrected the spelling of February before showing it)

And now, the Results...

Here are the results of my Greatest Father's Day gift ever...worth a thousand words:

Mr. Derrick Brooks

Eddie Sutton

Kurt Budke

Bill Self

Barry Hinson and Al Jergins

Pat Jones and John Phillips

Father's Day recap

Ok, I planned on catching you up, but first I have to tell you about My Father's Day.

I have been given the greatest Father's Day gift I could have imagined!!

So indulge me as I explain.

I am an Oklahoma State University fan and alum. Some of you might know who Mr. Iba is. (Henry "Hank" Iba) Mr. Iba coached OSU basketball in the 40's and took OSU (then Oklahoma A&M) to become the first ever NCAA back-to-back national champions. He also coached the USA Olympic team in a gold medal match against the Russians. Probably the most controversial game in Olympic history as the Americans were completely robbed of their gold medal as well as Mr. Iba's wallet that was stolen from his pocket during the aftermath on the court.
Historic Gallagher-IBA Arena is where OSU plays basketball and defends their wrestling legacy every year and has been voted the nation's #1 arena many years running.
Anyway, here in Oklahoma, a few years ago in honor of the man Mr. Iba was on and off the field, the Henry P. Iba Citizen Athlete Award was established. Warrick Dunn was the male recipient in 2003. This year, it's Derrick Brooks. And this year, my wife surprised me with tickets, that in my terms are not cheap, to the event.
My world's come together as a legend from OSU is part of honoring a legend from the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. There are only 2 Bucs I've ever wanted autographs from. Lee Roy Selmon and Derrick Brooks. I got Lee Roy's a couple years after he got in the Hall of Fame on an old Bucco Bruce helmet. I wanted to get the new helmet with Derrick's autograph but unfortunately this is a black tie affair and only autographs on the program are allowed. I am so excited I can't hardly stand it.
Somehow I have to find the line of reaction at the event.
Choice One is to stand back shyly in awe too scared to approach Mr. Brooks and just be happy I was in his presence much like my technique at singles bars was before I met my wife. How I got a wife with that type of awesomeness I'll never now.
Choice 2 is completely embarrass myself and wife by gushing all over Derrick and rambling at a speed no human would understand about how I love him, the Bucs, his person, etc.
All in the most manly of terms of course.

Anyway, just had to tell someone about what a great Father's Day this has become. It's my first without my Dad who passed in February in Lake City, FL. But this gift means so much to me, I have to think he had a hand in it and is as excited for me as I am.

Lettuce Begin

Oh man, can't believe I'm getting into this. Everyone's blogging and my wife thinks I write well and has convinced me to start a blog myself.

Problem is, most of my good stories are told over adult beverages with just the right amount of animation versus dry humor. I've got myself in trouble more than once when my tone of voice doesn't come across in an email or other written word. So this little experiment may blow up in my face as well.

Plus, I don't know where to begin. Do I make this a freaking diary? Do I start with my day today and just go forward, or do I give you some history and slowly catch up to current day?

One of our friends has a great blog, but mixes in cooking recipes to keep a theme and keep us coming back. (http://thecrockstar.blogspot.com/)

I don't cook.

What do I do? Good question. Oh freak, fine! A History it is.

So let the diary begin.

Hopefully I get better at this, so hang in there with me and let's see if I'm entertaining at all.

But beware, sometimes I get deep or at least emotional (for a guy), I'm not always P.C., and I may have to come back and delete something because I'm afraid I might give a little TMI.