Feels Like Christmas

 We got here around 5:15 yesterday afternoon. Pam had called Kaitlin over Thanksgiving suggesting that maybe all of them could stand a break from daycare for a week. Would she be ok with us coming down and keeping Silas for a week, cooking dinner for them and allowing him to fully recover from his cold before going back to daycare? It took her around five seconds to say, Yes please!

So, here we are. We hadn’t seen him in a month. He’s gotten so big and can do so many more things. At first his response to us was tentative, like maybe we looked familiar but he couldn’t quite place us. But it didn’t take long before he was smiling and being adorable. Last night I got to read him books right before he went to bed. I was sitting in the rocking chair in his room and Pam was kneeling down beside him. As I read he kept looking at Pam and then twisting his head around to look up at me as if to say, Lolli and Pops are both here reading to me! How great is this?

Kaitlin and Jon left for work around an hour ago. It’s just the three of us now. Pam is putting him down for his morning nap. Every time I look at him my heart feels like it’s going to burst. 

We will be here for a week. By the time we head home on Saturday we will both be worn out. But somehow having this whole week with him feels like Christmas. 

Missing The Little One

 We didn’t get to see him. But I wore everyone out showing them pictures of the boy. Christmas is coming and hopefully nobody will get sick and have to stay home in Columbia. Even though it was a wonderful day together with my big beautiful family, I missed him so much. And yes, of course I missed his Mom and Dad too. 

Preventative maintenance

 On the surface this Thanksgiving is a big disappointment. Pam and I had been looking forward to it for weeks, all of our kids would be here and it would be our first Thanksgiving as grandparents. I planned on spending most of my time playing with him, reading to him, watching him sleep etc etc..But then we got the news that Little Silas had gotten his first cold about the same time that his Mom and Dad came down with a stomach bug. The timing could not have been more sinister. So the whole first Thanksgiving thing isn’t going to happen.

But, life goes on and Thanksgiving is a time to celebrate the blessings of life and by any measure I have much to celebrate. Patrick and Sarah arrived this past Sunday evening and we have thoroughly enjoyed their company all week. Their Golden, Frisco, has been his customarily delightful self. Lucy has loved having guests. As I write this they are downstairs preparing three different varieties of baklava to bring to Linda’s house tomorrow where my side of the family will be together for the afternoon.

This is my first Thanksgiving Day as a retiree, which reminds me of yet another reason I have to be grateful. I was rehearsing all of my many blessings the other day on the drive to my doctor’s office for my annual check-up, its usually the way I hype myself up for what I have always considered a morbid exercise. “Hello Mr. Dunnevant. Hop up on that bed and let’s see how much damage you’ve managed to do to yourself since this time last year!

This was my first “Medicare Wellness Exam”. I was not prepared for all of the mental aquity questions—Can you recite the months of the year in reverse order? What year is it? Have you contemplated suicide in the past six months?

Me: No…but these questions are making me consider it.

Anyway, all was well except for the fact that my doctor was not impressed with my plan for living a long and healthy life in retirement—My plan is to stop going to doctors because thats where all the sick people are. Her reaction to this logic was very similar to Pam’s, and she proceeded to chastise me for neglecting things like dental appointments, colonoscopies and whatnot. She gave me a list of four different doctors I needed to schedule appointments with ASAP. Then she said something like…Mr. Dunnevant, are you listening to me? While you’re at it, maybe you should get a hearing test! My doctor is kinda badass which makes her a lot easier to tolerate.

So, I did as I was told and set all the required appointments. Pam was 100% on my doctor’s side, explaining that these appointments were the equivalent of normal upkeep on a house or a car. This is preventative maintenance, Honey. 

Of course it is. Makes total sense. Or…it might also be a sinister shakedown conspiracy hatched by a consortium of local physicians to boost their revenue so they can buy their sixth vacation home.

Just kidding about that last part…sorta

Last Words

 About two weeks ago I wrote a scene in the novel I’ve been working on since May that has stayed with me ever since. It involved a character who was dying and had the rare opportunity that few dying people have—to gather the kids around and pass along final thoughts. Ever since I wrote it I’ve thought about what on Earth I would say if I were afforded such a forum. What a daunting task, one final chance to give them something infinitely meaningful. For the rest of their lives they would say to each other, “You remember what Dad told us at the end?”

The hardest part of this project would be deciding which of the accumulated knowledge of a lifetime would be included. I’ve learned many things that while helpful to me weren’t exactly life changing. I wouldn’t want to waste my final words on inconsequential things. There are also things I’ve learned that my kids learned long before I ever did. Of course there’s always the chance that in the moment you might go on and on about something that you are convinced is beneficial but might end up being terrible advice. So, the whole bedside blessing thing is fraught with peril.

My character killed it, by the way…left them moved and inspired. I’m not sure I could do as well because…well, because I’m not a fictional character. Nevertheless I have spent quite a bit of time thinking about this and have distilled those thoughts down to just a few, unrelated thoughts as follows:

“I believe there are three types of people in the world, those who always think that they are capable of greater things than they actually are, those who always think they aren’t good enough to do great things, and those who never even think about great things.”

I would rather you be the first type of person, always attempting, always reaching for great things. But whatever you do, don’t be the person who never thinks about grand things. That’s an unexamined, unchallenged life.

Now, I know what some of you might be thinking..isn’t that setting them up for disappointment? After all, not everyone is great. My answer to that objection is simple. What’s so horrible about disappointment? Some of the best things I’ve ever accomplished in my life grew out of the soil of failure and disappointment. And, what is this “everyone isn’t great” balderdash? The trouble with that mindset is that it is based on a flawed concept of greatness. Its the Tom Brady, Elon Musk brand of greatest which is always measured with numbers.

How do I define greatness? Let me tell you by giving you some examples from my own life.

Even though I worked 30 hours a week for the four and a half years it took me to graduate from University of Richmond I still graduated with a debt that it took ten years to pay off which I did in full and on time. Does that qualify as great? I think so.

I married a woman who was much more than merely beautiful, she was raised right by parents who taught her about love, kindness and generosity. We have stayed married through good and bad for the past 41 years. Great? I think so.

We managed to bring two humans into this world, struggled mightily not only to provide for them but to protect them from harm while trying desperately to teach them right from wrong. They are now grown adults who have built beautiful lives for themselves and have never once embarrassed us. I believe this to be my greatest single achievement.

For me this is where the “greatness” ends. I’m not sure anything else qualifies. Yes, I built a business from scratch and had a reasonably successful career. That was good fortune, not greatness. Yes, I’ve written this reasonably entertaining blog for 14 years along with a bunch of other short stories and novels. That doesn’t qualify as “greatness”. That’s just a really fun and fulfilling hobby.

“Never stop learning. Always pursue improvement. Never wave off bad behavior in yourself as something you were born with. Bullshit. I was born with an aggressive, naturally occurring bluntness that morphed into rudeness by the time I was a working adult. I had to learn the kindness and thoughtfulness that seemed to come naturally to people like my wife. It took work and learning how to apologize. The fruits of the spirit in my faith are traits that have to be practiced and even if it is a lifelong project it will be worth the struggle.”

This one comes with a caveat. As a Christian I benefit from a liberal dose of grace in my pursuit of improvement.

“Finally, I would say…if there’s one passage of scripture that it would behoove you to memorize and apply to your life its this one found in Ephesians 4:32:

“Be kind one to another, tender hearted, forgiving one another, even as God, for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.”

I have nothing to add to this truth.

So, that’s what I’ve come up with over the last two weeks of pondering this “last words” thing. Unlike my character, whose blessing was beautifully rendered with grace and brevity, I would probably have expired halfway through this screed. 

Hopefully I’ll have many, many years to work on it.

Always, forever learning….

A Question For the Church

 About 25 years ago I was approached by a minister at my church who had a proposal for me to consider. He said that he thought I would make a great Sunday School teacher for a class of rambunctious 9th grade boys. I looked at him like he had two heads and tried not to laugh. To his credit he was honest with me about the challenges that this particular group of delinquents would present since they had run off their two previous teachers. I then offered what I believed to be a mic drop, conversation ender—Gary, you’ve got the wrong guy. I really don’t like teenagers.

Gary didn’t bat an eye. His response was…That’s ok. Would you at least take a couple days to pray about it? And if you don’t have any love for teenagers, just ask God to give you some.

I told him I would—with no intention of actually praying about it—because that’s what you do when a really nice guy asks you to. The problem was that after that conversation I couldn’t get the thing out of my mind. So, against my better judgment, I prayed about it.

To make a long and pretty cool story short, That conversation led to a ten year run of working with teenagers and another four years with college students at my church, one of the most gratifying experiences of my life. So, what’s the point of telling you all this? Its simple.

Be careful what you pray for.

I went from a guy who couldn’t stand humans in the 13-19 year old range to a guy who began to understand them, and have tremendous empathy for them…almost overnight. It was truly a miraculous thing. Now…to be transparent here, as soon as my 14 year run was over I kinda went back to not being crazy about them again, although at least now I don’t dislike them. It’s hard to explain.

But I’ve been thinking about this experience a lot lately because of something that’s been bothering me for the past five years or so. No matter how I try to word this, it will run the risk of landing poorly with many of the people who read this blog, but when I look around me these days I see a giant empty space in the church where love used to be.

I have always been in the habit of asking myself difficult questions. I always question my motives and attitudes about things, trying to find dishonesty and hypocrisy. When I do I often find plenty of both. I don’t make this admission glibly…it is a serious defect in my character that needs constant work.

So, one of the questions I wish the church would ask itself is this: What are we known for? In other words, when people outside the church think about us, what would they say is our defining characteristic?

Jesus gives us the answer in John chapter13 verses 34-35 when he says:

A new commandment I give unto you, That you love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another. By this shall all men know that you are my disciples, If you have love one to another.

Many of you are members of churches where love is often on display. My church is full of very loving people who demonstrate their love in countless ways. Are we perfect in this regard? Absolutely not. We all have weak spots, people who are difficult to love. But to belong to a church where people love you is a tremendous blessing.

But is this what the church is known for? Any fair minded person would have to admit that no, this is not the first word that pops into most people’s minds when the topic of church comes up. I would suggest that we are mostly known for:

- judgment

- politics

- scandal

- What we’re against

If one were to travel back in time, say 150 years or so, and ask this same question—What is the church known for—You might have gotten answers like these:

- founding universities 

- building hospitals 

- establishing the YMCA and the Salvation Army

This is not to say that the church in other eras was without serious issues. Many churches were staunch supporters of slavery, in other times many churches were more supportive of Bull Conner than Martin Luther King. The church, made up as it is of flawed human beings is never an accurate reflection of the teachings of our founder. Far from it, but I believe that today might be the farthest that we have strayed from the words of Jesus found in the Gospel of John.

This is also not some kind of milk toast call for watering down the clear commands of scripture when it comes to how we live our lives. Yes, there are things that the church needs to stand against and unapologetically so. But it is possible to love people even when you don’t love everything they do. Jesus loved us in spite of our rebellion and disobedience, despite our self centered pursuits. Surely, we can learn to love people who don’t agree with us, right? If a 42 year old man who couldn't stand teenagers could be given a deep and abiding love for them just because he asked God for it, anything is possible.

Right?

Putting on My Socks

 Yesterday morning I was getting dressed for church. Pam had just stepped in the shower. I sat down in a rocking chair in the bedroom where I discovered that I could not bend over far enough to put on my socks.

Yes friends, nothing quite says good morning, old man like the inability to dress yourself. I sat there for a minute trying different techniques for putting socks on but none of them worked. So…what to do? I could just sit there and wait for Pam to get out of the shower but that seemed too pathetic. I eventually decided that I would do some stretching and try to limber up my ailing back which had the effect of adding an extra inch to my bending over capability, just enough to allow me to successful complete my sock installation. The entire process took nearly five minutes.

When I told Pam of my sock experience she made the following bland assertion: “You know that this happens to you every fall, right?”

I was not, in fact, aware of any such thing. Of course I knew that this wasn’t the first time I haven’t been able to put my socks on, but I hadn’t connected the phenomenon to the calendar. But my wife has a knack for remembering important things, while my memory is limited almost exclusively to worthless trivia. She went on to explain that every Fall when I begin the weeks long job of getting up the leaves in my yard, my back begins its rebellion with a series of painful spasms. As soon as she says this I know that she is right. Over the past four or five days I have filled 24 forty-two gallon bags with leaves, the first installment of the over fifty such bags I will fill before the last of them are gone. 

She then made the perfectly reasonable suggestion that perhaps I should farm this job out to the professionals, by which she means—anyone but me.

She is right, of course. A bad back doesn’t mix well with leaf removal. 

The problem is that although I complain about it every year, the truth is I enjoy getting up the leaves. The weather has finally gotten cooler, its as beautiful outsides as it ever gets, and there is an enormous sense of accomplishment when you finish and see the beautiful green grass of your lawn and the impressive line of black bags lining the fence. It’s a marvelous feeling.

But then suddenly you can’t put on your socks. You limp around for several days afterwards tentatively, hoping and praying that your back doesn’t seize up and throw you on the ground.

Me: But Hon…look at that beautiful stack of black bags!! 

Pam: …..eyeroll….

My Conflicted Election Day

 The only good thing about Election Day is the blessed relief we will all now get from the relentless attack ads that have bombarded us from every communication medium for the past month. Whether you’re watching TV, listening to the radio or scrolling online, they’re everywhere warning me about the pending end of civilization if so and so gets elected. Of course, they’ve been warning me for the past forty years or so…and we are still here.

The past several election cycles I have faced a dilemma. I wake up each Election Day vowing to skip it, my patience with the process having been exhausted, my tolerance for accomplishment-free career strivers at an end. Why in the name of all that is holy should I reward any of these morons with the validation of a vote?

But then I will read a post by someone waxing poetic about democracy and the privilege we have that much of the world longs for. I hear reminders of the sacrifices made by prior generational heroes who fought and died for these first principles. Of course they are right. I consider voting but one of many civic duties, paying taxes, obeying the law and volunteering as the others. But our politicians and our current climate of buffoonery make voting so freaking difficult.

So…I will drag myself over to Short Pump Elementary School, make my way past the last minute campaign volunteers handing out sample ballots, marveling at their enthusiasm. I will waltz right in since there won’t be a line—it’s not just me, people. I will identify myself by handing my driver’s license to an elderly woman who will verify that I am who I say I am. How, on earth can this be controversial? Then I will enter the little semi-private half-booth where I will begin examining my meager choices. Do I vote for the crazy woman or the insufferably condescending one? Do I vote for the guy who wants to deny raped women abortions or the woman who wants to defund the police and can’t tell me what a woman is? These are just a few of the many horrifying accusations I have seen and heard leveled at the men and women on this ballot over the past 30 days…exactly the sort of thing that makes you want to fly the flag and thank God you live in America…right?

I will stand there in my befuddled state trying to make serious choices between ridiculous candidates. I don’t even know how many races are to be decided. I know the big three but there are others that I am not as familiar with. I will do my best to muster the internal fortitude required to cast a vote. I’m sure something will come to me. Probably won’t vote in all the races. There’s no law against being selective. I’m sure there will be at least one of those question votes in there somewhere—“Should the citizens of Henrico County fund a brand new Casino where Deep Run Park currently is located by selling bonds?”—or something like that.

Once I’m done, I’ll slip past the kind gentlemen handing out I VOTED stickers. I won’t take one. No point in bringing attention to such an embarrassment. The words of the late great P.J. O’Rourke come to mind, “Don’t Vote!! It only encourages the bastards.”

Please don’t misunderstand. I love America. I consider myself lucky to have been born here. I believe in our first principles and am proud of our history and all we have accomplished. But we are also a hot mess at the moment. Despite the great lengths our politicians go every election year to depress and dismay us, we still abide not because of them but in spite of them.

Game Seven

 There will be a game seven tonight and I am here for it. After 5 weeks of post-season baseball, it will come down to one game for all the marbles. Neither of my teams will be playing but it doesn’t matter. I’ve never been particularly fond of either the Dodgers or the Blue Jays. It doesn’t matter. I am 100% invested in this game because it is the ultimate example of the beauty and romance that is baseball. 

As far as a rooting interest goes I will be pulling hard for the Blue Jays for a variety of reasons. First of all, I kinda despise the Dodgers, not the actual players—many of whom are really good guys who are easy to like—but rather I dislike how they are run as a franchise. They buy up stars all over the place then rest them half the year so they will be ready for the post season. They are perfectly willing to pay a guy 30 million a year and let him rest half the season. Very few other teams could afford to do that. Plus there’s the whole celebrity-sightings at the game which make me want to vomit.

Then there are the Blue Jays who in ordinary times I would completely ignore. They have a handful of very good players, but mostly it’s a roster filled with unknowns. The fact that they have taken the mighty Dodgers to a game seven is quite remarkable. But the real reason I will be pulling for them is because…well, they’re Canadian. In normal times, this would be an insurmountable obstacle for me, Canadian teams always having seemed vaguely inappropriate. But this year, I figure we owe our friends north of the border something for the shitty way we have treated them lately, from punitive tariffs to bellicose nonsense about making them our 51st state. I mean what have these people ever done to us to deserve such disrespect? All they have ever been are great and peaceful neighbors, not to mention being a constant example to Americans of what proper manners looks like. So there’s that.

So, tonight I will be watching. I will be texting back and forth with my son, my sister and amazingly—my wife—who has shown an interest all the way from Columbia. I will have the privilege of watching the best baseball player I have ever seen—Shohei Ohtani, pitching against my personal favorite baseball player of all time—Max Scherzer. Ohtani is at the peak of his immense powers, Max is running on fumes at the end of his Hall of Fame career. Ohtani might be the nicest, most agreeable super star in the history of sport. Max is a bit crazy, with a mixture of talent and tenacity that feels combustible, volatile to the point of madness—which makes him imminently watchable.

There will be many potential heroes besides the two pitchers. Vladdy Guerrero is the Blue Jays best player and so much fun to watch. George Springer is playing on pure guts, every swing of his bat sending him grimacing in pain either around the bases or back to the dugout. But with the Blue Jays it might be one of their nobodies—Lukes, Varsho, Barger, Clement—all guys I had never even heard of before this post season. For the Dodgers and their 350 million dollar payroll of All-Stars, it could be any one of them. But as a lifelong baseball fan I would bet on the hero being someone off the bench, an afterthought member of the roster…because that’s the romance of baseball.

No matter the outcome of the game one thing is for sure…melancholy will follow.

Every year it’s the same thing. After the euphoria of the World Series dies down I am reminded that there will be no more baseball for four long months. I will be denied the daily box score, the way the slow pace of the season helps me calibrate my life to its rhythm. I will lose the special connection that baseball gives me with my son. No matter how far away he is, baseball brings us together.

So after tonight I will begin counting the days until spring training. But tonight? Tonight is the most wonderful night of the year.

Game Seven of the World Series.

What I Have Learned in Retirement….so far.

 I’m ten months in to my retirement which is long enough to have learned some things about my new life. Since I know many people who will be joining me in retirement over the next few years I thought I might list a few of the most interesting things I’ve learned since January 1st…in no particular order.

* I now for the first time fully understand the famous quip from Violet Crawley in Downton Abbey—What is a weekend?? Weekends no longer carry the cache they used to, and this is a very good thing because it has had the effect of rendering every day equally capable of enchantment, wonder and discovery. Of course, this has always been so, it’s just that now I finally recognize this truth. When I was working, days like Tuesday and Thursday got pigeonholed by the calendar as days to endure rather than celebrate. Now, Tuesday might wind up being as delightful as any other. What a gift.

* I now no longer feel compelled to shave every day. When you run an investment business it won’t do to show up to a meeting with a client with a five day growth. The thing is I have always hated shaving. It was something that I resented being forced to do. But now shaving is always a game time decision. I shave when the mood strikes me, which feels like an unexpected bonus.

* I had no idea how much I crave routine until I retired. When I worked each day, each week and each month was at least partially scripted. There were things that I needed to check off my list, things that had to be done by a certain time. To suddenly be released from this script was a bit troubling. So…I improvised. I quickly established new daily habits—exercises, a walking regimen, and morning visits to Hope Cafe (my new unofficial office). This structure has helped form new routines, a new rhythm.

* I must confess that I’ve never been a big prayer guy. I know this might sound odd coming from a Christian but it’s the truth. Yes, I pray, but it’s never been a huge priority and I’ve never gotten in to any sort of specific “prayer closet” thing. Most of my prayers come in one or two sentences as I’m out walking when someone or something comes to mind. But now, with my new freedom I feel more inclined to pray for people. Maybe it’s because I feel so incredibly blessed and lucky at this stage of my life that praying for others, especially those who are struggling seems like a necessity rather than some guilt-ridden obligation.

That’s all I’ve got so far, but I’m sure I will learn more as time goes by. After all, when you stop learning you might as well stop living.

The Greatest Gift

 I freely admit that I have lost all objectivity where my grandson is concerned. It has gotten to the point where I am unable to think dispassionately about him, having completely lost perspective and the ability to think critically. This is no doubt a result of him being my first grandchild, and just having spent an entire week with him, observing him at every point in his day and watching him dominate every room he enters.

But this little boy is the greatest gift I’ve ever received. Although his parents still think they have no idea what they’re doing, what I see is a boy who is healthy, happy, safe, and loved…and so stinkin’ adorable I can hardly stand it…

The Violence in Columbia, SC is off the Charts

 As many of you know, I’m what some people would call manically committed to my workout routines. I have to get my five mile walks in at least 4 days a week, no matter where I happen to be. So while I’m in Columbia, this means heading out each morning through some mildly sketchy neighborhoods. I must say, I have been taken aback at the level of crime that is running rampant through this city.

Just a couple of days ago I was out for a walk when out of nowhere I was set upon with a violin, a clarinet, and a French Horn—in what was clearly an orchestrated attack!

But that’s not the half of it. Yesterday came news that thieves had broken in to the police station in Earlwood—just up the road from us, and stolen both of their toilets! On the news tonight I heard that they are searching for clues but right now they have…nothing to go on.

If that’s not enough, there was a breaking news report just a few minutes ago that the police headquarters of all of Columbia was hit by thieves overnight who jacked up all the police cruisers in the parking lot, stole all the wheels and left the cruisers on cinderblocks. The police are working…tirelessly…to catch whoever was responsible but are distracted by the Vick’s Vapor Rub truck which overturned on Interstate 20 between Columbia and Darlington. Although the Police first announced that there would be…no congestion… for at least eight hours, that time has passed.

Alright, its getting crazy now—-literally as I was typing that last paragraph, we heard another report of a man over in Five Points who was shot with a starter’s pistol, then beaten half to death with a relay baton. Police think it may have been…race related.

So, the lesson for all of you—stay away from Columbia!!

Team Silas

 We are back in Columbia for the second half of our October grand parenting assignment—to take care of Silas while Kaitlin is back at work. So far, so good.

Yesterday I was tasked with getting him to take a one and a half to two hour nap. It started off great when he fell asleep after one book and a couple of songs I sang while he nodded off. An hour and forty-five minutes later he woke up abruptly, took a brief look around and immediately began to communicate his grave disappointment in this new reality. Either he had a bad dream or was upset that I wasn’t Lolli. Either way, he cried and cried—real tears and everything! But soon all was well after I took him outside for a walk around his neighborhood. He loved the flowers and the feel of the wind and the sun on his face. Then he destroyed his bottle like a champ and was good as gold for the rest of the day. While he was asleep for his nap I was able to take a couple of pictures…

It is quite remarkable how much my life has changed since I retired and this little boy was born. Spending two hours nap-trapped was not exactly how I pictured what retirement would be like but here we are. 

When Kaitlin told us she was on her way home Pam had us all gather out on the front porch to greet her. When she pulled up in the driveway she looked so happy. She whipped out her cell phone and snapped this picture…

That’s right. Behold TEAM SILAS!

The Purpose of the Internet

 I have come to the conclusion that the highest and most useful purpose of the internet is the curation and distribution of dad jokes. All other uses of the internet are a net negative and do nothing to promote human flourishing…

I saw an old man in the Publix parking lot collecting shopping carts.

He must have been pushing 70.

I recently got fired from the gym because I couldn’t bench press thirty pounds.

I had to put in my too weak notice.

My wife saw me buy two handguns from a T-Rex and said, “What the hell was that??”

I said, “He’s my small arms dealer.”

I paid $300 to rent a limo only to discover that it didn’t include the driver.

All that money and nothing to chauffeur it.

English Man: Are you two ladies from England?

Ladies: Wales!

English Man: Are you two whales from England?

Two windmills standing next to each other on a wind farm strike up a conversation. One of them asks the other, “So, what’s your favorite kind of music?”

The other says, “I’m a big metal fan.”

Morning Rain

 I love rainy mornings. There’s something soothing about waking up to the sound of rain on the roof. It slows you down. You see that it’s a rainy day and you think, what’s the rush? You walk downstairs and stand at the back door watching it fall on the deck. The grass is greener. The trees are darker, their leaves slick and glossy. You make your coffee then stand at the window drinking it. It tastes better this morning. You think of that old Bible verse about how the rain falls on the just and unjust alike and you’re glad it works that way. Even Lucy notices. She pauses at the top of the deck steps, lifts her nose high in the air and breathes deeply, in no particular hurry, just like me.

It occurs to me that I had nothing to do with the rainfall’s arrival and I will have no say on when it stops. This is out of my hands. More powerful forces are at play here. Human beings might take credit for a great many things, but we don’t conjure rain from the skies. And yet, if it suddenly stopped falling every single great civilizational advance made in the last 4000 years would turn to dust.

So when I wake up to the sound of raindrops on my roof I am thankful for the life-giving provision it brings. I’m grateful that it falls on me whether I’ve been good or bad.

I let Lucy back in. She knows the drill. She walks around in circles on the towel I have placed on the floor at the back door to dry her feet. There is a brightness in her eyes. She knows that rain is a good thing somehow. For her it means that Mom and Dad will be calmer today, less hurried. It will be a good day.

My DA…and a sermon

 Pam has been in Columbia taking care of Silas since September 30th. I was with her for the first five days, then I drove back to Short Pump. I’ve been taking care of Miss Lucy ever since and doing basic adult things like buying groceries, cooking meals, and cleaning house. I’ve discovered that I much prefer it when Pam serves as my designated adult. Actually the best part of being married for me has always been the fact that Pam has always been an excellent DA. First of all, she knows how to do stuff around the house. I only kinda know how to do these things. I almost called her the other night for a refresher course on how to run the dish-washer, but at the last minute I figured it out. Pretty soon I will have to ask her for a reminder of the correct procedure for doing the laundry. Wouldn’t want to run the risk of ruining a basket full of perfectly good clothes.

Ok, I know what some of you are thinking—“how can a man be 67 years old and not know how to run a washing machine?” I do not have a ready answer to this question. All I know is that for all of my life I have had reliable DA’s who did this sort of thing for me—my Mom, my sisters and now Pam. There has never been a compelling reason to learn these skills. But, having said this, I feel obligated to point out that Pam woudn’t know the first thing about the intricacies of lawn care, not to mention the fact that she would be lost if asked how to properly diversify a portfolio, let alone name the starting lineup of the 1969 New York Mets. We both have our strengths and weaknesses.

However, even though I am indeed an old dog, I have been able to learn a few new tricks. Pam has been slowly bringing me along in the kitchen to the point where I am able to turn this—-

…into this…

Lest you think that I am a one-trick pony in the kitchen, behold this…

So, I have a reasonable set of skills thanks to my wife’s patience and guidance. 

Pam sends me Marco Polo videos of her and Silas engaged in adorable activities. I watch them over and over. Then when I head over to the Cafe I make everyone else watch them with me..yeah, I’m THAT grandparent.

The plan was for Pam to come home next week since Kaitlin will be on Fall break for the first three days of next week and then Jon was going to take the last two days off to take care of Silas. But, that was before the government shutdown furloughed him. Now, if the shutdown is resolved sometime over the next few days, he will not be able to take those days off. The best laid plans held hostage by leadership incompetence. Either way, I will head down the third week of October to give Pam some help. Turns out that taking care of babies is very much a young person’s game.

A parting sermon, if you will allow me.

Politicians love to do a lot of talking about being pro-life or how much they support the family. Ok…so why is it practically impossible for a young couple to afford to have children unless both of them work, and even then the cost of daycare is insanely expensive? I hear people say, “well, why doesn't one of the parents stay home and be a full-time parent? That way they wouldn’t have to pay for daycare.” Ok. That’s exactly what Pam and I did when Patrick was born. However, there were some big differences in our situation. I was in a profession where I had control over my income. Although nothing was guaranteed, I could make more money by working harder. Today, most jobs don’t come with limitless upside potential and even if they did, not everyone is suited for that type of risk-taking and lifestyle. 

I know several young couples where both of them work and are doing quite well. But neither of them makes enough alone to allow the other to stay home for several years to raise a child. I don’t know how we got here but if we are serious about being “pro-family” we need to find a way to make it affordable for people who aren’t wealthy to have children. The only tool government has to help is the tax code. Government has no money of its own, it only serves as a distributor of everyone else’s tax dollars for the alledged common good. So why not expand the child tax credit to a meaningful enough level to make it a game changer? What’s more beneficial to human flourishing, tax policy that favors and encourages growing families or the pass through deductions and stock option deductions that allow profitable companies and people making over a million a year to avoid taxes? I’m not trying to suggest that those deductions have NO benefit. What I am saying is that governing is about making priority decisions. No government scheme can help everyone at the same time. Someone has to make a judgement on what is most important for the greatest number of its citizens. I submit to you that supporting young families trying to raise children in today’s world is as important as it gets. Start there.

Nap Time and a Battle of Wills

 Tomorrow morning, October the first, Kaitlin goes back to work for the first time since Silas was born. Her daycare provider isn’t available until November the first. Lucky for her she has two recently retired parents who are thrilled to step in for the next 30 days. 

Usually my main job as a “caregiver” is running errands for the real caregiver—Pam. I have managed to add, “guitar player” to my resume of skills since it seems to distract him from various fits of fractiousness. I am also quite adept at laying on the floor and playing with him, making him laugh and sharing advice on proper pooping technique. But yesterday I was given a real caregiver task—putting him down for a nap.

Technically, the “putting him down” part isn’t accurate. Around here we prefer what is referred to in modern baby care parlance as contact napping, ie we hold him as he sleeps instead of putting him in a crib. At this point I should mention how little your opinions on the advisability of contact napping mean to me. I can practically hear some of you muttering—he’s going to spoil that boy. My response to this is—mind your own business. If any of you had a grandson this beautiful you wouldn’t plop him in a crib either.

So, yesterday my big moment came around 11:50 when Pam handed Silas to me and left me alone in his nursery with these instructions, “He needs to sleep for about and hour and forty-five minutes. He will want to wake up every thirty minutes or so, but don’t let him. Good luck!”

For the first ten minutes, Silas had no interest whatsoever in sleeping, despite the fact that he was very tired. He squirmed. He cried. He squirmed while crying. He got red in the face from squirming and crying. I soldiered on, determined to triumph. I whispered. I soothed. I patted his bottom. I stroked his nose…all the tricks Kaitlin had taught me. At the end of this ten minute battle of wills, Silas’ eyes finally drifted shut and he fell asleep in my arms. I sat down in the rocking/rotating chair by the window of the nursery and watched him sleeping. This is one of the few things I recall from when my own children were this age. I remember how soothing it was—for me—to watch them sleep. Nothing has changed.

As predictable as the tides, at the thirty minute mark his eyes popped wide open. He looked up at me and a huge smile ran across his face. My heart melted…but I wasn’t about to go for this head fake. I had been warned that every thirty minutes he would want to wake up and I had been given specific instructions NOT to let this happen. So, once he started again with the whole squirming and crying bit, I stood up and tried the old walk while bouncing up and down thing. As most of you know, this parenting technique has been employed by every parent since the Bronze Age and for good reason—it works. The down side of the bounce/walk strategy is that it doesn’t agree with my 67 year old back. After a minute or so I could feel the beginnings of a spasm coming on, so I abruptly abandoned the bounce/walk for the trusty 180 degree spin move, whereby you twist at the waste from side to side in a slow rhythmic motion. As soon as I began doing this his little eyelids began to flutter. I had hit on a winning strategy. All I had to do was continue this for another couple of minutes and he would be out like a light!

But..there was a problem.

I am 67.

To my great embarrassment and frustration, I discovered that the 180 degree spin move was making me dizzy. There was the very real possibility that I might eventually pass out—which I don’t have to tell you all would NOT be optimum. So, I improvised. I decided to try widening my stance. Luckily for me I was in a dark room and there were no other people there to see my performance. Try to imagine how awkward and dorky a man would look if he was holding a baby while spinning 180 degrees at the waist with his feet now three feet apart and his legs bent slightly at the knees! I probably looked like a Yoga Pose gone terribly wrong. However, the good news is, the dizziness went away and soon Silas was once again sound asleep.

An hour and forty-five minutes after I started, the little guy started to wake up, my mission successfully completed. I handed him to his mother, feeling pretty good about myself. Then I attempted to rise up out of the rocking/rotating chair…

There is a price to be paid for this contact napping business when you’re my age. On the one hand there’s the pure joy you feel watching this beautiful, tiny human being sleeping in your arms. All the problems of this world melt away. But…when it’s over and you stand up your back feels like you’ve just finished walking ten miles carrying a 25 pound backpack.

Small price to pay for this…

Coming Apart at the Seams

 In the last couple of weeks in my country, these things have happened:

An ex-marine veteran of the 2003 Iraq war drove his pickup truck into a church building and started firing, then set fire to the place, killing two and injuring 8 others.

Another ex-marine veteran of the 2003 Iraq war drove his boat up to the dock of a waterside restaurant on the coast of North Carolina and started firing, killing three and injuring 7 others.

An illegal immigrant working at a Dallas hotel attacked his boss with a machete, decapitating him in front of members of his family, then kicked his head like a soccer ball across the parking lot.

Closer to home a man was killed on interstate 288 in a road rage incident, where a shooting caused the truck the victim was driving to burst into flames.

In a separate road rage incident, a young man was shot at nine times on Midlothian Turnpike by another driver, one of the bullets going through his knee. The victim in this case was the boyfriend of my niece. The shooter was sent into this unhinged rage because he got cut off.

At the Ryder Cup, the MC of the event introducing one of the competitors for the European team led the assembled crowd in a rousing chant of F**K YOU, RORY!!! The “comedian” who the event hired to handle the player introductions was dismissed from her job and forced to apologize to Rory McElroy and the entire European team, but not before she embarrassed herself and every decent American unlucky enough to hear her epic display of rudeness.

Yes, I know that these incidents are not equally egregious. But all of them seem emblematic of what my country is becoming—a place where people are losing their minds. If you’re keeping score at home, we’ve now had 324 mass shootings this year alone. Road rage is becoming so prevalent, it has actually changed the way I drive on the interstates. My son recently told me that when he gets on an interstate in Nashville he starts from the assumption that every vehicle on the highway is driven by someone with a firearm and a hair trigger. Instead of paranoia, this sounds like a perfectly reasonable strategy.

It doesn’t take a genius to see that our society is coming apart at the seams. Our Lord tells us to not be overcome by evil but overcome evil with good. 

But, how???

Loving Parenthood

 I was reminded of something about myself today by someone who is very dear to me—I loved being a parent. I use the past tense incorrectly since I am still a parent and will never stop being one, but you know what I mean. My kids are all grown up so my parenting duties are much curtailed, but back when we were in the midst of it, Pam and I loved everything about being parents and having kids…and still do.

Was it demanding, frustrating and overwhelming at times? Yes, yes and yes. Did the responsibility of it all seem burdensome? Of course. Did we struggle with feelings of inadequacy most of the time? Probably. But the magical part of it was that with the passage of time, those moments of frustration fade from your memory. What is left is a treasure trove of wonderful moments.

Being a Grandparent is like being a regular parent, but without the demands and frustrations, and with none of the responsibility! It’s the greatest gig in the world.

But the more I think about this the more it occurs to me that what I really enjoy is supporting and encouraging younger people. My own kids were young, new to everything, largely helpless. It was up to Pam and I to provide for them and teach them the best we could about the world, about what being a human being was all about. If we had thought more about what a huge job that was we might have been paralyzed by fear of failure. As it was, we were so exhausted most of the time we didn’t have the energy to waste on too much navel gazing. We just prayed and trusted them to God’s care…and made sure they were wearing clothes whenever they left the house!

Now that they are grown up we still feel that our job is to support and encourage them as they struggle through the same challenges that we overcame and some that we never encountered all those years ago. When a grandchild comes along our job is exactly the job that our parents performed for us back when our kids were babies. How can we help? What can we do?

But beyond being a parent and a grandparent, there’s also the privilege I have as a retiree with lots of time on his hands. I get to look around me at church and in my neighborhood and see young men and women, many of them with small children of their own and ask myself, How can I encourage them? I know what they are going through. I remember how hard it was some days. So, I bide my time and wait until I catch them doing something really smart and that’s when I take them aside and say, Dude, you are killing it right now. What an amazing job you’re doing! I remember every single time when an older adult did that for me when I was younger and just trying to figure it out. It made me feel like a million bucks that someone had noticed that I wasn’t a complete screwup. Now that it’s my turn to do the encouraging I’m finding that it’s a target rich environment out there if you’re paying attention. There are lots of young people out there killing it. Take the time to notice, come along side them and let them know that you see them.

Writing Checks

 I have big plans for today. It’s Saturday, which has always been my yard working day. But today is special. Not only will I be mowing the yard, but there are two trays of flowers to plant around the mailbox, and a boatload of bushes to trim. By the time I’m done I’ll be dripping with sweat, by arms caked with dirt and grime all the way up to my elbows…and I will love every minute of it.

I blame my Dad for this. When I was 12 years old he turned over all yard work at the old parsonage of Winn’s Baptist Church to me. In addition, that same year he enlisted me to involuntary servitude as his unpaid assistant in the garden. This was no plant box knockoff of a garden, this was the real thing—rows and rows of potatoes, string beans, corn, and hill after hill of squash and cucumbers, pole after pole of butter beans. At first I hated it, resented his usurping of my weekends and his gross disregard for every child labor law then on the books. But in time I grew to love everything about it, the tilling, the planting, the weeding. I loved the smells of the fertilizer, that strange aroma of upturned soil. I even enjoyed getting so dirty through the days spent in that field that my Mom made me spray myself off with a hose before she would let me back in the house. So…it’s all Dad’s fault.

The problem with today is going to be simple. I’ll probably be finished about one o’clock, at which point, I’ll try to get away with going for my walk. I’m due for a 5 mile walk this afternoon—it’s on the schedule. Pam will be vehemently opposed to the idea, claiming that it’s idiotic and that I won’t be able to get out of bed tomorrow morning. So…I’ve got that to look forward to.

But, to be honest, what’s probably gonna happen is that once I’m done with all the yard work my body will tell me I’ve had enough. At my age I’m finding that more and more my mind keeps writing checks that my body can’t cash. Sometimes, I listen to my body, most of the time I don’t. 

But today might be one of those days when I listen.

Rest In Peace

 I saw the news yesterday where Robert Redford passed. For many of my generation, he was our first movie star. All the girls were in love with him, all the guys wished we looked like him.

The first movie of his that I saw was Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I saw it at the Westhampton Theatre back in the day when everyone went to the movies. There on that giant screen was Paul Newman and Robert Redford, larger than life, staring down at me eating my popcorn. I was mesmerized. Coolest two guys ever. 

Then came Jeremiah Johnson, at about the same time that I was getting into hiking and camping on the Skyline Drive.

Then he went downhill with that horrible The Way We Were nonsense. But mostly every time we saw the name Robert Redford on the marquee we were all in.

A young friend of mine sent me a text yesterday: Ok, which Redford film should I watch this week? That’s like asking a father, “which of your children do you love the most?” The first thing that popped into my head was The Natural. The picture below is from the last scene in the film. I don’t know if it’s his best movie. But for me it’s one of the top five of all time because it’s about baseball, and it is so beautifully photographed. If you’ve never seen it, do yourself a favor. There goes Roy Hobbs, the best there ever was.

It’s been probably a couple years since I paid money for a ticket, stood in line for popcorn and watched a movie in a theatre. Why bother, when I can see everything from the comfort of my sofa without putting up with rude people and sticky floors? But even if I could tolerate all that there isn’t anything I want to see. Everything is super heroes, comic book characters and the 16th sequel to Fast and Furious.

But this guy…

Rest in Peace

A Gift From God

 Last week I wrote of despair. This week I write of comfort and hope.

Last night Pam and I had just finished eating dinner and were both collapsed on the sofa resting when suddenly the door bell rang, sending Lucy into a barking frenzy. So much for our after dinner snooze. At the door I was greeted by Kennedy and Sully, the two girls from next door, ages 11 and 9, both of them grinning from ear to ear. They presented us with a fresh out of the oven treat that Kennedy made from scratch…

There was no special occasion. I had done nothing special to warrant this. Kennedy just showed up on my doorstep to give us something she had made. In case you’re wondering—it was delicious.

Those kids mean the world to us. We have known them since the day they were born. We have watched them grow, along with their big brother Cash. It’s one of the advantages to staying put, putting down roots, living in the same house in the same neighborhood for 30 years. You become part of a community. You learn to care for people and you find that they care for you in return.

There’s a lot wrong with our country right now. Our society is sick. But we are far better than our worst moments. Kindness still lives in our hearts, and when you’re on the receiving end of kindness from your beautiful young neighbors it feels like a gift from God.

A Day For Despair

 Every emotion has its day. Yesterday it was despair. I will get over it, I always do. But yesterday was a despair field day.

I watched the video, saw the gush of blood and the people fleeing in panic.

This is the second time I’ve lived through a season such as this. The first one was the mid to late 1960’s when I was just a boy. Back then the nation was divided over the Vietnam War, and the generations were at each other’s throats. The rhetoric was hot, emotions ran even hotter and in one summer three voices were silenced by assassin fire. If I had been old enough I would have despaired. Instead, I watched it all on an RCA Victor black and white television screen and asked my parents what was happening. They didn’t know. They just held me close.

This time the nation is divided over…everything. The political parties are at each other’s throats. The rhetoric is once again hot, but this time amplified by a million podcasts, social media memes and 24/7 news channels. And over the past year and a half there have been a couple assassination attempts on the President. An Arizona Democratic Party office was shot up, while a Republican Party office in New Mexico was set ablaze. A couple of Democratic lawmakers from Minnesota have been murdered. And now a conservative activist is shot dead. I’m probably missing some, politically motivated killings have become almost commonplace these days. But it’s not just political violence that’s exploded. There’s the horrifying video of that Ukrainian immigrant slashed to death for no apparent reason by a man who had been arrested on a laundry list of crimes 14 times and 14 times released again into the wild. Yes…despair is the word.

I haven’t studied crime statistics recently. Maybe it’s always been this bad, we just didn’t know it because there was no such thing as the internet. But when anyone can watch a video a man getting assassinated ten minutes after he’s shot, it magnifies the horror and elicits an immediate visceral reaction. It also numbs us. This is 2025, the average adult has seen a million violent killings play out on the screens in front of us in the shows we watch, the video games we play, the news we consume. Killing has become almost expected, an ordinary consequence of daily life in America.

Yesterday I despaired for my country. I despaired for Charlie Kirk’s wife and two children. Back last year I despaired that someone had tried to kill President Trump, even though I’ve never voted for him. I suppose I’m old fashioned enough to feel a sense of loss when anyone gets murdered.

But today is a new day. I will go about living my life. I will exorcise feelings of despair by filling my mind with thoughts of the beautiful…my grandson, God’s marvelous creation, the kindness in Lucy’s dark brown eyes, and the many good and great people I know out there doing the hard work of holding our communities together.

Thoughts From a Walk

 I’ve been doing a lot of walking since I retired. At the beginning of 2025 I set a goal to walk 750 miles during the year. I’ll probably hit the goal. Recently I’ve started a couple of 6 miles treks around Short Pump. Those walks take me around an hour and a half, sometimes less, sometimes more. Regardless of how fast or slow I walk…that’s a lot of time to be alone with your thoughts.

Along the way I see other walkers with EarPods perched in each ear. They are either listening to music, somebody’s podcast or an audiobook, but some of them pass me in the middle of a spirited conversation with someone. Its amazing how much you can learn about someone in the four of five seconds of their public exchanges with invisible friends as they race by…

“F**king hell man, I lost a thousand bucks when that c**ksu**ing Ravens kicker missed that 30 yard field goal last night!”

“I’m thinking of going no contact with my parents. I’ve had enough of their complaining.”

“Honestly, I think that Trump is the reason my cholesterol is out of control!”

The trouble with the EarPod thing with me is that I have never found any that will fit in my ear. My ear shape must be abnormal. Pam can wear them with no trouble at all, but when I try them they fall out after like three steps. So, I’m left with an hour and a half of random thoughts drifting in and out of my mind as I walk.

The majority of those thoughts center around whatever it is I happen to be writing. Lately it’s the new novel. Ideas for where the story will go next, what the characters will do or not do, that sort of thing. Sometimes I think about random memories from thirty or forty years ago that come to me out of nowhere. Other times I actually manage to think about absolutely nothing. I just look at the trees and the clouds in the sky.

But yesterday I thought about my kids. Images of them kept popping in my head from when they were both toddlers, how beautiful they both were, how hard it was when they were little, how overwhelmed I felt. Then images came from when they got married and the emotions that came with those days, how confusing it felt entering a new phase of life as their parents. I prayed that they had chosen the right person but back then I had no way of knowing for sure.

But then, as I began the long uphill stretch of North Gayton road that leads up to Pump, I thought of how blessed I have been to be their father. Although we have had our share of disagreements, neither of them have ever disrespected us, never given Pam or me reason to sit up all night worrying about them. They have never asked me for a dime since they became adults. They are hard workers who married hard workers. They have honored their parents well. Although I’m sure I have embarrassed them a thousand times over the years I can honestly say that neither of them have ever embarrassed me.

When I got back home from yesterday’s walk, my daughter sent me this picture of my grandson as a three month old…

Yeah…having kids was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

Knowing Your Home Well

 I watched a short one minute video today that brought tears to my eyes. No…it had nothing to do with my grandson, it was just a random video that popped up on Instagram. If I were more tech savvy I could have posted it here on this blog, but I’ll have to rely on my writing skills to tell you about it and you can recreate the picture in your mind.

Someone is standing at the front door of his house. He opens the door and lets his beautiful Golden Retriever out the front door, then films him walking down the steps alone, away from the camera. The front yard of the house is beautifully manicured. There’s a lush lawn and a lovely curving aggregate walkway that curves around into the large driveway which leads down to the asphalt street. The Golden makes his way down the curved walkway then down the wide empty driveway all the way to where the driveway meets the street. Then the dog lowers its head and begins sniffing the ground, walking back and forth in a circular motion until he finds the morning newspaper in a clear plastic bag. He immediately picks up the newspaper in his soft mouth, lifts his head playfully and begins jogging back up the driveway, turning left at the winding walkway until he finally reaches the steps of the porch where his human is still filming this cute but quite ordinary scene.

Then the dog starts up the steps, but you notice that he is headed straight for a big potted plant on the edge of the top step. The very good dog stops, then moves slightly to the side and for the first time you see it…two empty sockets where eyes used to be. This Golden Retriever was blind. 

This gorgeous creature had lost his sight at some point of its life, but knew its home so well, so completely, he knew the way to the street and back from memory. He also had a family that didn’t consider him somehow less than because he couldn’t see, but chose to love and care for him anyway.

The video ends and I am undone.

I thought of many things. I thought of the many dogs who are abandoned and abused by human beings every day. I thought of how people with disabilities are so often marginalized by this world. And, I thought of that beautiful little grandson of mine and hope and pray that he will always know his home so well, that not only will he know his own home, but the home of his grandparents— so well that he could find his way around by memory.

So, to whoever posted that amazing video I say, thank you for loving that very good boy, and reminding the rest of us of the importance of…home.

Whirlwind Weekend

 It’s been an amazing weekend. Kaitlin and Jon left Columbia, SC Friday morning with Silas in his car seat for his first extended road trip, heading to Short Pump…normally a six hour drive. Despite having to manage his feeding and napping, the little guy was a champ. They made it here in a bit over 8 hours and he was as cheerful as he could be. Once they got him down that first evening for bed, he slept for 8 hours through the night, his longest night time sleep on record.

The purpose of this trip was to give his extended family a chance to do a meet and greet. First off would be my people on Saturday morning for brunch at Paula and Ron’s house. Thirteen of the “Dunnevant” side showed up, even my brother and his wife who drove all the way from Maryland just to meet him. Paula made a delicious brunch and Silas again was a real trooper, letting everyone have a chance at holding him and delighted us all with smiles and coos.

On Sunday after church we took him over to see his only great grandparents—Russ and Vi. Even though the “White” side of the family would be coming over for a picnic on Labor Day, we thought that the Great Grand Parents should get some special time with Silas. They loved every minute of it.

Then today, the White’s came over—nine in all—for the meet and greet. The weather was so perfect we ate outside in the back yard with a delightful breeze blowing through the trees. The wear and tear of such an ambitious weekend calendar finally impacted the little guy. He was a little fussy at times from not enough naps but still succeeded in charming everyone to pieces.

Everyone has come and gone now and tomorrow morning they will pack up and head back home to South Carolina. We miss him already and he hasn’t even left yet.

Mention should be made of Miss Lucy’s reaction to her first baby experience. She was enchanted. She sniffed him up one side and down the other. He always wanted to be in whatever room Silas was in. In the evening he would lay in front of the rocking chair in Kaitlin’s room whenever someone was trying to rock him to sleep. Then when it was time for bed, she didn’t want to leave their room. Jon had to physically assist Lucy in exciting the room. We ended up having to put a gate up to keep Lucy out of their end of the upstairs or she would have been there the entire weekend. It was so sweet watching her gentleness whenever she was around him.

Anyone reading this who already has grand children will understand what Pam and I are experiencing at this moment. We love this little boy with all of our hearts and would move heaven and earth to protect him.