My Daughter’s Birthday

Today is my daughter’s birthday. The very first time her birthday rolled around after I started this blog was in 2011, nine years ago. That’s when I wrote what follows. I have attempted other birthday tributes, but none have ever been able to improve on my first attempt. I read it at her wedding as well, because when I was trying to decide what to say at that momentous occasion, I found that I kept coming back to...this.

Kaitlin Elizabeth Dunnevant. I’ve always liked the way her name rolled off the tongue. Lots of letters and syllables coming together to make a pretty sound. On her birthday I will take a minute to make a partial list of the many things that come together to make her so wonderful.

* She is the lump in my throat every time I watch Father of the Bride.

* She is the unexpected catch in my voice whenever I brag about her at work.

* In a life of mistakes she is evidence that I got something right.

* She is the smile on my face every time I see a blonde curly-haired two year old in a yellow dress.

* She was the pit in my stomach whenever teenage boys with bad intentions came around, and they all had bad intentions.

* When her softball team lost a thrilling game in the bottom of the last inning she was the only one with tears coming down her cheeks. She may be the most competitive Dunnevant of them all. It’s a glorious thing.

* On the five minute drive to school in second grade I could always make her smile at least once no matter how miserable she was and no matter how hard she tried not to.

* I marvel at the level of discipline she has developed.

* She is the pride I feel when I see her curled up on the sofa reading yet another book. My gift to her.

* When I see her fierce loyalty to friends, her tender heart to the less fortunate, her love and devotion to all things family I realize how amazing my grandchildren will be to behold.

* She is the shame I feel still that I spent the first 24 hours of her life disappointed that she wasn’t a son.

Happy birthday to my brave, talented, and beautiful girl with the beautiful name...even though her and I both know that her real name is  Kato Tomato.

Lucy’s Complaint

I try hard not to be drama queen. Hard when I live in booby-trapped house with my humans. Every day find new horror. It not enough that humans not concerned with out of control ceiling fan, trash can, peoples walking just outside of house with small doggers. They not see ghosts that live in corners of every room in house! Every day they walk down scary stairs without caution and expect me to follow them! Not in million years...I must first inspect condition of stair, check light and condition of wind like any self respect dogger. Well, this morning come latest crazy...

I come down for breakfast and not believe what I see. I stop short even though I hungry. I think...is this joke? Human think weird things funny sometime. I look around but nobody laughing. I take closer look. What fresh cat hell is this? Human has put kibble in...water bowl!! I make closer inspect. No two ways about...they have put kibble in water bowl and expect me to eat it. To make matter worst they compound foolish by putting water in kibble bowl!! Chip in very wrong place. Make it impossible to eat without grave worry. Do they not see problem?? I so hungry I could eat cat, but make no difference. Too much danger. Human plead with me to eat. Easy for her to say. Her not eating food out of wrong bowl!

Eventually, I summon courage of ancestors to endure wrong bowl fiasco. Human try very hard...but honestly!!

The Murder of Ahmaud Arbery

My son has taken up running of late. He wants to train to run in a 10 K. Back before the Coronavirus, he would run in a neighborhood adjacent to his office during his lunch hour. Suppose that one day during one of his runs he was gunned down by a couple of vigilantes who wrongly suspected him of a burglary in that neighborhood. Then imagine that the two vigilantes were a black father and son. Cops arrive at the scene and quickly determine that they have probable cause to arrest the two killers but when they present their evidence to the district attorney, who is also black, she refuses to do so because one of the killers used to work for her. The killers go free for two months, my son’s murder in cold blood is ignored and there is no justice for him. How would any of you expect me to react to such injustice? 

But Doug, you might say, wouldn’t this story be just as tragic without mentioning the race of the people involved? Sure it would. But that’s exactly the point. Try to imagine this happening where the victim is white, the assailants and the district attorneys are black and no arrest is made until a video surfaces two months later? You can’t. Because it never would happen. That is the tragedy of what has happened to Ahmaud Arbery in Brunswick, Georgia. It took three district attorneys to finally summon the gumption to arrest Gregory and Travis McMichael for the brutal murder and it took a leaked video splashed all over social media to accomplish that. 

I have written many times in this space about the two separate but unequal systems of justice in this country, one for the rich, powerful and well-connected, and a second for everybody else. This is not a distinctly American problem. It is as old as justice itself. But too often in this country, the people most victimized by the injustices of the system are either black or brown. It can’t be denied by any reasonable person. It is a stain on us and should make all of us angry. I cannot speak for this young man’s family. I can’t begin to understand what they are going through right now. But, there’s one thing I do know. If the victim were my son, I would become the Glynn County Police Department’s worst nightmare.

The attorney for the victim’s family said it best, “They did not arrest the killers of Ahmaud Arbery because they saw the video, they arrested the killers of Ahmaud Arbery because we saw the video.”

Shameful.

Mother’s Day and a Wedding

So, last night we had the fourth different couple over for dinner on our deck over the past three weeks. This time it was my in-laws, Russ and Vi White. Pam wanted to celebrate Mother’s Day a little early since the forecast for Sunday isn’t great. We ordered a meal from Taziki’s which was delicious. Then Pam served up strawberry shortcake for dessert. After dinner we sat around a fire like we have done at least a thousand times up at Dummer’s Beach in Maine. Lucy entertained us with her frisbee-catching skills. It was a lovely evening.

This woman is the only Mother I have left, my Mom having passed away eight years ago. Vi White has been just about the best mother-in-law anyone could ask for in our 36 years of marriage. Whenever we have needed her for anything, she has dropped everything to help. Never once has she interfered in our lives. She has loved and doted on our kids and their spouses. She has even tolerated the constant succession of golden retrievers running around our house all these years, quite the accomplishment for an unrepentant cat person. So, on this Mother’s Day weekend, I salute her.

Tomorrow, we will be attending a socially distant wedding at a drive-in theatre in Christiansburg, Virginia and we are so psyched. We will get in our car and drive three hours, pull into our spot, watch the proceedings from inside our car, then drive three hours back home. I’m thinking about wearing a dress shirt, tie and suit coat along with pajama bottoms and tennis shoes! It’s supposed to be 48 degrees in Christiansburg tomorrow. I’m worried the poor bride is going to freeze to death, but...what price, love?

My Protest Beard

It’s been two weeks since I last shaved. How does it look? Suffice it it to say that I look like an extra in a Zombie apocalypse movie, or for my older readers, I very much resemble Humphrey Bogart in the African Queen. I haven’t had a haircut since the 3rd of March which only adds to the stranded on a deserted island look. I could allow Pam a turn at giving me a trim, and, I could shave. But I choose this version of myself for the moment. Why? Because frankly, it feels right. Call it my protest beard.

Don’t misunderstand. I’m not “protesting” against government overreach or bureaucratic incompetence. I’m kinda over that. I’m not even protesting the orgy of corporate greed on display as publicly traded companies with full access to capital markets gobble up stimulus money designed for small, closely held businesses...greed being an ancient vice, nothing new under the sun and all that. No, I’m just protesting the giant, unmitigated disaster that 2020 has become. I figure if this entire year is going to slouch along in such an unkempt, disheveled, thoroughly unbuttoned fashion, why shouldn’t I??

But, I am supposed to be a professional man. Consequently, I feel a twang of guilt when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, enough to make me question the whole no shaving thing but not enough to make me change my behavior. So, like all emotionally conflicted people, I have constructed a compromise...just for today. Wednesday’s agenda does not include any FaceTime appointments. Today is full of case planning, bill paying, and an online continuing education course, all of which could be done in my underwear. Instead, I have decided to get dressed up today. For the first time in over two months, I am going to put on dress pants, a dress shirt, real shoes and socks and see if I have forgotten how to tie a tie. Yes my friends, I am going to dress like I used to dress for a face to face appointment with human beings back before the Coronavirus. I can only hope that I don’t get pulled over by a cop on my way to work:

Me: Yes, Officer? I feel certain that I was going the posted speed limit.

Cop: What? Are you some sort of wise guy? Where do you think you’re going dressed like that?

Me: Like...what?

Cop: What’s that thing around your neck?!

Me: It’s a silk tie.

Cop: So, you going to a funeral or something? You expect me to believe you’re headed to church??

Me: No no...I’m going into the office. It’s just around the corner.

Cop: Out of the car please!! And keep those hands where I can see ‘em!  Wait...you’re wearing dress shoes, with SOCKS? That’s it buddy. I’ll have to take you in for questioning.

Me: But I’m not...

Cop: Save it for the judge, fancy pants!!

About Those Annoying Commercials...

I don’t watch a lot of television. When I do it’s usually Netflix or some other service which doesn’t have commercials. But, during this shutdown I have watched more TV than usual. As a result I have been exposed to my share of these insidious new commercials which have sprouted up like mushrooms after three days of rain. For lack of a better term, I will refer to them as the...We’re all in this together advertisements, or W.A.I.T.

You’ve all seen them, these WAIT ads. They all feature a soft piano followed by swelling orchestration. There are beautiful children on the screen, looking back at the camera as they run in slow motion through fields of grain. An announcer begins his heartfelt message:

During this time of great challenge we are all rediscovering the importance of family, the simple beauty of a sunset, the hopeful smile of a child. We here at Subaru have known all along that we aren’t in the car business, we’re in the people business.

Subaru. Here for you.

I don’t know about you, but before COVID-19, I had no earthly idea how many corporations were in fact not in the automobile, household cleaner, health and beauty aids, real estate, computer, insurance businesses, but rather in the people business. It has been quite a revelation to learn that the real business of Coors Brewing is not to sell me watered down lite beer that taste like horse urine but instead to come along side our neighbors in their hour of need. Seriously? What can Coors possibly offer my neighbors struggling through the isolation and lost revenue of a two months and counting economic shutdown that doesn’t involve a cold six pack of their product? Regardless, I suppose it is comforting to know that Cadillac is there for me if ever I might...need them. I’m trying hard to imagine what I might ask of them. I mean, they have promised to be there for me. Maybe I can call the local dealership and see if they wouldn't mind running over to Publix and doing Pam’s grocery shopping later this week. 

But, its not just big companies killing us with kindness. Even local concerns are jumping on the WAIT bandwagon. I’m telling you, Short Pump is suddenly awash in exemplary corporate citizens, all lining up to assure us that they too are in the people business. Never in my lifetime have the people become such an integral component of the business plans of every thing from Alcoa to Zenith...

(Swelling music slowly building in intensity as design engineer works diligently at a drafting table)

Narrator: When I came to work here at Lexus, I knew that my job wasn’t just to design cars. No, at Lexus my job is about serving humanity for the greater good, which is why we are all now designing the finest personal protective gear that money can buy, which we are offering to all Lexus customers at our cost...

It’s this type of public-mindedness that makes me want to rush right out and buy one of their $60,000 cars.

Listen, I get it. Madison Avenue is a powerful voice and the nature of public relations is to get out in front of things to help shape the narrative. But, merciful fathers, enough already. Here’s a better suggestion. Try honesty:

Look folks, here at Acme Equipment, we are holding on for dear life. Our working capital is almost gone, we’ve had to let half of our employees go and we’re not sure how long we will be able to last if this shutdown stays in effect much longer. So, if we are still here when it ends, we sure would appreciate your business. Until then, please check out the GoFundMe link on our website.

Can I Make a Suggestion To My Church?

Zoomed with my kids yesterday. They are all healthy and handsome. We don’t zoom with them every five minutes, just once every ten days or so. It’s always such a relief to see their faces, to be reassured that they are well. For this I am thankful. But video-chats are a poor substitute for hugs.

What’s today...Monday? Yes, Monday. We had church on the deck yesterday morning when we watched Wes Peterson bring the message via Pam’s iPhone while eating breakfast...so yesterday was Sunday...making today Monday. This is how I keep up with the days of the week now.

Yes...that breakfast was amazing. Pam has been finding recipes all over the place during this...thing...and the results have been stellar. This particular offering was sausage wrapped in a croissant stuffed with cheese, somehow moist and flaky at the same time. Poor Wes didn’t have a chance. It’s hard to concentrate on a sermon when eating such a thing. He spoke about Elisha, I do remember that much. I’m about done with virtual church. It’s been eight weeks since I’ve been in a congregation at my church. I’m missing it more and more with each passing week. I have a half-baked plan in my head of how we should reopen, and since every other response to the Coronavirus has been half-baked, this one should fit right in.

My church normally has four services on Sunday. Our main auditorium seats roughly 700 people. We have an overflow room which seats probably another 100, and we have a separate building down the hill a ways called The Lodge which seats another 100 or so. In normal times each of these services are full or nearly full. In the auditorium the seats are crammed together very closely, too closely I have always thought. Here is my half-baked plan. Let’s say Pam and I wanted to attend the 9:30 service next Sunday. We would have to go to our website and make a reservation...first come, first served. As soon as a pre-determined number make such reservations (say 250), that service would be sold out. We would then be instructed to download a ticket to present when we arrive. Meanwhile, the chairs inside the building would be vastly reconfigured, providing for the proper social distancing requirements. Two chairs together for husbands and wives, space, space, space, then some single seats, space, space space then another couple of seats together etc.. No offering would be taken up, no communion served. This plan would only provide roughly a thousand people to attend on a given Sunday over those four services, far lower than the twenty five hundred that currently attend. But, as the weeks go by, the number allowed in would rise from 250 to 350 etc. No coffee would be served. None of those delicious cookies. (I TOLD you this was half-baked). I have no idea what to do about the kids wing. That’s beyond my pay grade. 

I offer this plan as a starting point. I’m sure that the very bright people on our church leadership team have already discussed similar plans for re-opening, but so far have shared none of their ideas with us. If I could offer any suggestion to them it would be to share their vision of how we will re-open. Their silence on this subject isn’t helpful or hopeful.

Ok, enough of that. How do you all feel about blond jokes? I have to be careful in this day and age. For one thing, I am married to a blond. For another thing, in my experience people either think that blond jokes are hysterical or they think that they are a misogynistic tool of the patriarchy. Such are the treacherous waters of the comedy ocean. But, I will take the risk and the heat for what follows:

An old, blind cowboy wanders into an all-girl biker bar by mistake. He finds his way to a bar stool and orders a shot of Jack Daniels. After sitting there for a while, he yells to the bartender, "Hey, you wanna hear a blonde joke?" The bar immediately falls absolutely silent.....

...in a very deep, husky voice, the woman next to him says,

"Before you tell that joke, Cowboy, I think it is only fair, given that you are blind, that you should know five things:

The bartender is a blonde girl with a baseball bat.

The bouncer is a blonde girl.

I'm a 6-foot tall, 175-pound blonde woman with a black belt in karate.

The woman sitting next to me is blonde and a professional weight lifter.

The lady to your right is blonde and a professional wrestler.

Now, think about it seriously, Cowboy. Do you still wanna tell that blonde joke?"

The blind cowboy thinks for a second, shakes his head and mutters, "No, not if I'm gonna have to explain it five times."