Twenty-One

Daughter of mine.

Recently, the calendar showed me that you had crossed this all-important threshold of age.

Which means, according to certain statutes set in place by this land, that now you can claim sole ownership of your person, mind, and opinions.

I suppose what I say next I should have said a long time ago.

Perhaps I did, maybe just not out loud.

And, I’m sure if I told you what I was going to say next, you would tell me, with your newfound independence, that you know what you know already and you don’t need my help on the matter.

That’s okay.

I’ll give you my thoughts regardless.

Because I know you’ll read this, if nothing else.

*****

I wonder how you would answer if I asked you what kind of marriage material you were looking for in guys.

And, I wonder what you think is necessary for yourself, should some guy look your way with marriage on his mind.

If you want someone who is worth their salt, look for whether they are kind to animals. 

And, I’m not talking the showy kind of kindness that they do just so the young ladies see them. 

Look for someone who the animals are comfortable around, or, even better, someone who the animals go sit by of their own accord.

Take note of who spends a little time visiting with your parents when you have your friends over for the evening.  He’ll be more likely to spend time with you later on, even when he has other things to do.

Don’t go for the guy with the most money, because, a) He may be living a sham to impress and really doesn’t have it, or, b) remember money is transitory, and may not be there later in life. 

It’s nice when the guys play with the little ones at your gathering, but it’s not a deal breaker if they don’t.  Some guys will play with the little ones just to try to impress. 

But.

If you see a young man who can kindly tell one of those littles to move along when they are being a pest, (because, trust me, they can be) mark him down as someone worth getting to know a little better.

Don’t scorn the fellas if they show off a little bit in front of you girls.  Take it as a compliment to your likableness; they deem you worthy of extra effort.  (I suppose if I am completely honest with myself, I show off a bit in front of you and your mother at times myself, for the same reasons. But then, you knew that already, didn’t you.)

Let the guys pay for your meal; don’t fight them for it, even if you are suspicious they may be paying for it with money they don’t have.

And then, put the amount that your meal cost into a savings account.  Do this every time someone pays for your meal.  You’ll never know how much your mother’s savings meant to me when we got married.

The money was more than necessary, with the way we started out, but her commitment to marriage, and that long before she met me, impressed me deeply. 

Oh.  And that meal you just let the guys pay for?  They notice what you order.  At least I did.  It’s okay to splurge once in a while, but expensive meals all the time can’t be maintained once you’re married.  Most guys know this all too well, even though they pay for your meal now without complaining about it. 

Don’t think you’ll impress the guys with 31 dresses and 27 pairs of shoes. 

Yes, I know they accent your beauty.  And yes, I know it makes you feel nice when you wear them.  Both are valid reasons to pay attention to how you dress. 

But overdone, and the guys are going to view you as a collateral hazard rather than a soul mate. 

You might try to use the argument that you won’t have to spend on clothing for a long time after you are married to justify how much you spend on clothes now, but I’ll ask you this.

Is this spending on clothing a one-time deal, or is it a pattern of the last few years?  And, may I ask, (discreetly of course) do you plan to stay the same size you are now for the next 5, or even 3, years? 

There are plenty of girls who run to help the hostess put on the meal or whatever is being served.  It’s fashionable to do so.

But your guy will watch to see who stays around to help clean up, when all the rest are off gallivanting around the ball court, lake, or wherever.

It may look like the guys are impressed with the girls who give them a good time at the drop of a hat, but your guy will want you around for the long haul, and he’ll for sure need you to share the bad times with him.

Finally, have fun, and enjoy your 21^st year.

Happy Birthday.  I miss you.

Close

I am sitting outside on the back porch in the shade, with a cup of coffee.

I hear the occasional truck on its way to some delivery on the highway, three miles from here.

The cool air rustles through the green leaves over my head, and I realize that the season is fast approaching when those beautiful leaves will turn to an even more beautiful yellow and will make a carpet for me to walk on.

Evidently, the neighbors, over to the south about a mile and a half have a new dog.  I hear it yapping away incessantly.  It would drive me crazy if I lived on the same yard, but it’s far enough away that it doesn’t bother me.

I smell the fall scents.  Milo ripening, damp grass, crisp clean air, and the sun just ready to burst over the rooftop.

Bryce’s dog, Jaxx, on loan to us while they are in India, makes his way over and sits down nearby me.

He is a smart dog, and full of springy strength that always amazes me with his quick, darting moves. 

We sit quietly together, and it’s not long before I feel warmth on my leg nearest him.

I look down and see he is sitting at least four inches away from me, but I feel his warmth nonetheless.

And I think of something I read a long time ago about two being better than one, because with two, one can help the other up, or warm them when they are cold. 

And I thought of my good wife, and each of my children. 

I thought of those of you who have stood by me when the going hasn’t been easy, and how each of your presence has warmed me with courage and new sight.

Quiet, gentle warmth. 

And the only way to feel it is to be close enough.

Tucked Away

I happened upon it by accident. 

If I hadn’t missed my turn, I probably never would have seen it.

It was tucked away on a little grassy hill, behind what looked like used to be industrial buildings now sitting idle.

I slowed my pace as I walked by and read the dates. 

1840-1860’s.

Much of the writing was too worn away to read much more than a name or a date.

I suppose there weren’t any more than 30 graves resting there, beside the alley in that small Pennsylvania town.

I thought of the graves then, and the graves today. 

I seriously doubted the embalming process preserved as well as it does today.

And, I also highly doubted that they had the heavy, concrete vaults that the watertight caskets are placed in today.

I imagined more of a pine box, simple and unadorned with its missive of grief inside.

Surrounding dirt and moisture having done its work, I guessed the pine box probably wasn’t there anymore.

And what of its contents?

Likely, pieces remained, either of clothing or of the human that once was.

But what would have been discovered, should the tombstones have been removed, and some unknowing residential renovator moved in with large backhoe and trucks tasked with leveling that particular hill?

Would anything have caught their eye?

Maybe.

But then again, for the sake of my train of thought, maybe not.

I wondered, as I walked on towards the Mexican restaurant that google maps pointed me towards, what purpose we have today in preservation of these earthly remains.

I pondered why God made us to decay so soon.

Sure, I have no problem honoring the lives of those we lay away.

But it seemed fitting, standing there by the hillock, to think that there was nothing left.

Except a seed.

And that seed only figurative at best.

But a seed, tucked away, that one day will spring forth out of the ground, bearing in its plant that which it was planted with, either that which flowers, or that which is something to be cast away.  

Because a seed can’t grow up into a different plant than it was planted as.

Chuck

After a nice breakfast of frosted flakes, topped off with Mama J’s granola and brown sugar, I made my way out back to where I had Bryce’s pickup parked.

I fired it up, and immediately regretted taking the pains I had when I charged his A/C this summer.  It blasted such cold air I was tempted to start the heater. 

I backed up to the gooseneck cattle trailer, hooked up, and pulled around to the back drive.

I went inside and mixed up a half bottle of milk and hollered at Chuck.

He came on the run and I opened his gate while he got started drinking.  Next, I eased him out and to the back of the trailer where I had the gate open. 

He was so interested in his bottle he hardly noticed the first step up; but his back legs didn’t like the jump, and that is where he stayed parked, front legs in, back on the ground. 

I called Mama J over to close the gate behind him and put pressure on him.  It didn’t work.  So, I grabbed his ears and hauled back for all I was worth. 

After he was loaded, I went to the north pasture, where I saw the rest of the group about a half mile out.

I eased in there to them, and Bozar met me at the back of the trailer, hollering and tossing his huge head around and generally blowing at anything and everyone. 

I tried a quick pat on his forehead, but saw it was no way this morning. 

Chuck unloaded, and suddenly swelled to half again his size when he saw the rest of the group.  He was important.  It showed all over as he went strutting up to each one and sniffed an acquaintance.

The group ran along behind me as I made my way back out, and for now, everyone seems to be getting along.

One hundred seventy five pounds of milk replacer, seventy five pounds of grain, and over one hundred and fifty trips later out to feed him, he now stands as a strapping 3 weight bull, minus his tail.  

Time will tell if he makes it, on his own out there, but for now, we know we did what we could for him.

6,7,8 in SD

Hello there.

I wonder if it is as hot there today as it is here.   Our forecast calls for 101 yet and then it looks like we might get a break from the 100’s, at least for a little while.  Never can tell about this time of the year though.

I think I saw most of you, but now if I came back, I would be hard pressed to figure out who you are.  That’s the way it goes when you get older, or else I just wasn’t there long enough to let things soak in.

I would recognize your teacher, though, and if I were there, I’d probably take her to Sioux Falls, to a neat coffee shop we visited.  I think I’d order the affogato again, and this time, I’d probably take my computer in there and tap away on it.  I really liked their chairs in there.

Hey.  Maybe if we came back out there, we could sneak you all out of school and go to the shop together?

Anyways, if you haven’t caught on yet, I’m your teacher’s crusty old Dad.  I’m crusty on my ears, I know for sure, cause the last time I was in the Dr’s office he told me I needed to start wearing an old man hat to keep the sun off my ears or I might get skin cancer on the crusty spots. 

But I don’t like wearing caps, or hats, at all.  Do you?

I was nicely impressed with the place you live, and the folks you call your parents.  And I think the way your teacher has your room fixed up is rather nice also.  But I am a little biased towards her, seeing’s as she is one of my three daughters, and all of them are my favorite.

I have to tell you.  I got mad at Bozar the Bull today.  If you happen to thumb back one post, you’ll see what happened the last time I was out to pet him.

Today, he gets up and stares at me.  I couldn’t tell if it was a dare or not.  But he did have some cockleburs caught in his face, so I went over to him and started working them out.  I could tell it hurt him some, but he stood just as nice as you please the whole time, never once thinking about charging me like the other evening. 

All I can figure out, is the other evening I had your teacher along with me, and he felt like he had to show off in front of her.  I hope if you ever feel like you need to show off in front of her that you’ll do it in a nice way that you won’t be embarrassed about later on.

And.

We have this new puppy over here.  Okay, okay, I know your teacher is going to go on and on about how good Alaskan Malamutes are.  They are nice dogs, for sure her Taz is. 

But this new puppy is the only way to go with dogs.  She’s an English Mastiff. 

We’ve had two of them already.  Yes, they drool a lot, and yes, they sometimes get really big and weigh up to 200 pounds, and yes, they think they can be a lap dog and just plop themselves right down on your lap, making you grunt and squirm under all that weight.  I still say they are the way to go.

We got this one for your teacher’s mom’s birthday.  Her name is Bailey. She can’t seem to get house trained quite soon enough though, and keeps making messes in the most inopportune places, like right on top of the air conditioning vent.

I won’t bore you with anymore stuff.  Sounds like your classroom is getting right ready for you all to join it and have good times in it. 

And.

Be good to your teacher, cause I like her quite a lot.

From,

You know who

Memorable Evening

It had every potential to be a memorable evening.

Sure, it was the sweet daughter’s last evening at home, before she departed to the eastern part of South Dakota for the coming school year. 

Everyone seemed to be in a good mood.

Yes, my back had a terrible strain in it, and I could hardly walk, but no matter.

The boys were tossing their dry humor up and around, and their nice ladies dutifully rolled their eyes and groaned at the appropriate places.

Mama Jan outdid herself with chicken baked in cream, gourmet potatoes, bread and green beans.

And, if I do admit it, the homemade ice cream that yours truly made seemed par for the course.

The evening was young, and I decided I should probably go check the calves and, pet Bozar the bull, should he deign to permit it.

The sweet daughter put the gold in the evening when she saw me getting onto the four-wheeler and came running out to join me.   

We idled back along the field road, past the tail water pit, and then onto the lane that I had mowed earlier that wends it’s way past some cottonwoods and through towering eight foot tall sunflowers on either side.  The air cooled noticeably when we dipped into the dry drainage ditch.

I spotted the group a little off to the right of where we let the gate down and eased over towards them. 

When I was still a several hundred feet away from them, I started talking quietly to Bozar.  Cattle don’t have very good vision, but they have extremely good smell and hearing. 

“Hey stupid.”  He kicked his head up.

“Hey stupid.  You gonna let me pet you tonight?”  He swung around and looked in our direction, clearly hearing us.

“He stupid, I don’t want you charging me like you did the last time, you hear?”  He threw his head back and lashed out at some flies on his back.

By then, we were 20 feet away from him.  I shut the four wheeler off, and we sat looking at each other.

He blew at us and tossed his head straight up, eyes joking back at us.

I stood up to dismount the four-wheeler.  I noticed the grass where we were parked was at least two feet tall and all grown together.  I told myself to take it easy, my shoes weren’t tied, the grass being so tall, and with my back aching like it was, I wouldn’t have much get away speed if need be.

I walked up to Bozar.  “He stupid, how you doin’?” 

Two pats on his forehead were all I had time for before he lowered his head, and in one single motion, lunged and lifted his head, all in my direction.

I spun around, and in a vain attempt of speed scuffled myself out of there. 

I got to the other side of the four wheeler and looked back to see Bozar laughing fit to kill. 

In fact, I’m not so sure he ended up spitting his cud out, his mouth was gapping so wide.  He had traveled two feet and stopped; his bluff worked like a charm on me.

And, upon a second glance around, I saw the sweet daughter doubled over, completely helpless in the throes of mirth. 

Okay.  I admit it. 

I had to look somewhat strange as I tried to get myself to safety, high stepping over my shoestrings, alternately taking baby steps and leaps as I endeavored to clear the tall grass.  And the little bit of fear I felt didn’t lend grace to my actions, rather making it a herky jerky commotion of too much supper, ice cream and chocolate sauce that needed away from 1,600 black pounds headed in my direction.

But even if it did look that funny, I still don’t think I deserved the rippling, shimmering merriment that I saw dancing in those pretty brown eyes of the sweet daughter as we sat with the family for the rest of the evening.

Insight

Come along about this time of the year, I used to start making some pretty rash and crude statements to myself.

And, if you would have asked me then what I thought of my statements, I might not have told you out loud, but I would have said quietly to myself, that what I thought was insightful, maybe even something others could live by if they wanted to.

Because, about this time of the year is when everything that was normal up to this point starts shaking loose. 

It still does.

And I cynically chuckled at it. 

Because it seemed so needless.

One, or several girls would suddenly be packing like mad, making lesson plans in nothing short of a panic, and generally loading house and home into the car.

After which, they trundled off into the unknown, to strange places and unfamiliar faces.

Once arrived they sequestered themselves in newly painted classrooms and began the laborious process of hanging words (previously cut out of colored paper in the mad rush at home) on the wall, and setting plants and string lights here and there.

The plants and string lights, having been unable to fit into the car of the girl so recently quitting home, made the journey in the parent’s vehicle.  Said parents, of course being the supportive parents that they are, never complained about the upset in plans and life.

And then, once all had arrived in the new place, with the unfamiliar faces, word started floating up to us from home that the new teachers were arriving back home.

Word had it, that they arrived in cars so loaded down that the rearview mirror was scarcely and option.  And, from what I gathered, their own parents trailed in behind them with the leftover plants and string lights that didn’t fit into the first vehicle. 

And, upon more information gathering, I found that the girls arriving were very similar in age and temperament as those who so recently had uprooted themselves from home and family.

So. 

If you would have asked me, some years ago, as to my insightful meditations, I would have been quick to supply you with what I felt was the lacking piece in the puzzle.

I would have told you it all could have worked just fine without the fruit basket upset.

I would have said that, then.

But I wouldn’t say that, today.

Today, I would advocate for the fruit basket upset.

Even though it tears at this crusty old dad.

Even though it means the sweet daughter won’t be there in the evenings to have squirt water bottle fights with.  Or, if Mama J isn’t watching, a towel snap or two.

Even though it means that Mama J and I uproot ourselves and transport string lights and plants to foreign sounding places.

Because I see the value in it today. 

I see that life can be so much better lived, when one has more inputs to go by.

I see that folks, generally, are kindhearted and gentle, just like the folks are back at home, and I know the sweet daughter will be safe with them.

I know that if she needs it, she can find a dad and mom to fill in for the time being, even if they don’t have squirt water bottles. 

And while I know that the house will be a bit quieter; I also know when the daughter comes home, she’ll be that much the better for having found her place among these rolling corn fields and friendly South Dakota folk and the even friendlier South Dakota flies.

I also know that I need to get back home; because there are some new folks who just moved in who just may need a Dad and Mom to hang around with and help with the extra plants and string lights.

Same Person

She was standing at the passenger side of Mama Jan’s car, asking for any cash she could spare to help her get to her stepfather’s funeral tomorrow in Texas.

I had been in Walmart purchasing a few things and, as I rounded the corner of Mama Jan’s car, incidentally on the same side she was on, she looked up at me.

Leaving her hand extended to Mama Jan for whatever cash she was about to hand over, she began to tell me the same thing and started to ask me for cash.

But then she stopped, mid-sentence, and her gaze flicked between Mama Jan and me.

“Oh,” she said, “You are the same person.”

And I really liked that description of us.

Unfair Advantage

The rodeo is in full motion this evening in Dodge City.

Lights that haven’t shone all year are blindingly bright.

Bleachers, empty and dusty, have been dusted off and are filled to overflowing.

There is a sign, on a side street, that indicates parking for V.I.P.’s and contestants in the direction it points.  I see at least a hundred horse trailers and camper vans back there.

In the normal parking space, there are hundreds upon hundreds parked. 

Folks who don’t normally wear a Stetson have one perched proudly on their head. 

Guys and Gals, mostly on horses, some on four-wheeler’s, all dressed up in their glad rags, are regulating traffic and parking spots.

I hear the announcer’s voice booming out over the hot, humid air through my closed car window.

And I know what’s going on down at the bottom. 

Cowboys are waiting their turn to ride a nasty bull, or, in ones or as a team, to rope a panicked little calf that runs bawling out into the open, glaring light.

I know what rodeo’s stand for; they symbolize the old west and all this country used to be.  I’m not at all against keeping history alive, because without it, we lose a very necessary teacher.

And I’m not an animal rights activist, as far as I know; I think the Good Word says something about subduing the earth, and I take that to mean the animals, as needed, for the purpose of mankind.  And I don’t have a problem at all with the treatment those animals get, being much the same as the rodeo, out on the ranch for what it really is intended for.

But I get a little catch in my chest when I think about those animals there tonight, their fright and survival instinct on full display, and all so a few men can take home some glory. 

It seems like an unfair advantage and oppression with little regard for the animal.

I dunno.  Maybe I’m getting soft in my old age.

You

I was two thirds the way through my pulled pork, (leaning rather heavily into the spicy sauce) haystack onion straws, sweet beans, and dinner roll at an OKC Swadley’s when I chanced to glance up and saw you restocking the salad bar.

At first, I paid you very little mind; I had a flight to catch, and my time was limited.  They said this airport could be bad about time through security and I had never flown through it; I needed to be there soon.

I was nearing the end of my meal when I glanced up again, in your direction.  I took in how deftly you arranged the salad bar.  I had never seen someone take the pain and care you were taking to organize the meat into an attractive display and fluff up the lettuce so that it looked just as fresh as that morning.

Maybe it was the lights on the salad bar display that did it; maybe it was something else.  My eyes were drawn to your arms and hands as you worked. 

At first, I didn’t see what I was seeing.

But then, in a flash, I did.

I saw the compression dressing on your right arm first and thought maybe you were getting over a bout of tennis elbow, although it seemed the dressing was a little too far down your arm for that particular injury.

Next, I saw your left arm and my mind began to coalesce the facts in a sort of abstract way; I was still more concerned about catching my flight.

But then, it all suddenly made sense.

The skin on your left arm wasn’t the right color, and it wasn’t the lighting doing it either.

I looked closer, and saw your left arm wasn’t the right shape either. 

It was knobby and thin in places where it should have been filled out.

I saw the graft marks where the new skin had been stretched over the burned areas.  I saw the square imprint of skin more tanned than the scar tissue beneath it.

I looked back over to your right arm, and the compression dressing made complete sense now.  It was in the same area on your right arm as the new skin grafting was on your left.

I saw how nimbly you moved among the dishes and realized you had spent hundreds of hours, in excruciating pain, in physical therapy to get to where you are today.

*****

My meal was almost done, and I needed to be on my way.

You were still there at the salad bar, and I planned to walk by you on my way out.

But then, I realized my exit didn’t go by you.

And I was in a hurry by that time, and I knew the words I wanted to say couldn’t be hurried.

But if I could have stopped by and chatted a bit, I would have told you this.

I would have told you I thought you were amazingly brave.

I would have told you I respected you immensely.

I would have told you that some folks say not to let your scars define you, but I would have thanked you for letting them define who you are.

Because if you don’t let them define you, then who are you, and will you get the help you really need?

And your scars have made you into the new person you are. 

You will never be the person you were before, and the rest of us need to give you space and respect you for it and all you have done in the time sense.

Kudos to you, young lady.  I’m sorry I didn’t have the chance to visit with you. 

It would have been my privilege to do so.