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.