...maybe it was that.

First, the good news. I've got a couple of great kids. Getting to see them both over the last five days was tremendous fun. Seeing what kind of lives they are building for themselves made me quite proud. Although I still harbor a tinge of bitterness that they both settled so far from home, I have no right to complain. They are both accomplished, happy adults. What parent wouldn't want that?

Now, for the bad news. From the time I pried my stiff carcass out of the car upon arrival in Nashville, until that same stiff carcass rattled up the steps of my house a few hours ago, I have been in a death match with a three-day allergy attack. There were many contributing factors to my miserable condition. I will let the reader decide which was the actual culprit.

1. The weather in Nashville on Saturday and Sunday was probably the nicest two days that city has enjoyed in years; delightful breezes, crisp air, stunning blue skies. We arrived at Patrick's retiring house to see the van he had rented already in place and half loaded. There were only some large furniture pieces and neatly packed boxes left to load. We would be completely done with the loading and unloading by 12:30. However,....and life is always about the howevers, there was one problem. See, Patrick had shared this rental house for the past couple of years with two other bachelors, and a dog. A white dog. It was rumored that the house had a working vacuum cleaner, but no evidence of any kind that it had ever been deployed. Consequently, fluffy dog hair balls the size of large rodents drifted out from under every piece of furniture like roaches scattering in the kitchen when someone turns on the lights in the middle of the night. Maybe it was that.

2. Once we unloaded everything at his new place, I took a load of trash to the dumpster which was at the bottom of a small hill in a cul de sac just down the street from the apartment. When I turned around to walk back up the hill, I looked up and saw the bright sunshine illuminating a wall of pollen streaming down from the trees like an invading army of ants. A thick sludge of tree junk had been raining down all around me and I had only just now seen the evidence, thanks to the angle of the sun. This stuff made Short Pump pollen look positively polite by comparison. Maybe it was that.

3. Saturday night, high on Benydril, I attended a Nashville Sounds baseball game in the glorious dying sunset of a Chamber of Commerce day. We sat outside for the better part of two hours, all the while the invisible sludge was painting the inside of my respiratory system a lovely shade of lemon. Maybe it was that.

4. On Sunday morning, we went to Patrick's church, a glorious old stone building, with grand cathedral archways and stained glass windows a hundred feet above your head. The second I stepped into this beautiful building, I remarked to Pam how strange it is that all old churches, no matter their denomination, smell exactly the same...like polished wooden pews, candle wax and moldy curtains. Maybe it was that.

Somehow, despite this perfect storm of allergens, I was able by sheer force of will to stave off a full fledged meltdown. I took Allegra, and popped Benydril, which kept me in a slow motion stupor for much of the time, but I was somehow able to fight off the big one, that embarrassing, fifty sneeze extravaganza that leaves your eyes swollen shut and two boxes of spent Kleenex at your feet. I was just not going to allow anything to ruin my time with my kids. Now that I'm at home, I feel like I just ran a marathon carrying a fifty pound backpack.

Finally, a word about my son. This month he will turn 27. I watched him very carefully all weekend. The kid is...happy. He likes his job. He still pours himself into his music and is continuing to grow as a composer. We watched him during a rehearsal for a choir he is in and nobody on the stage seemed to be having as much fun as Patrick. He's also happy with Sarah. They fit each other so well. And now, he has his own place. The sky is the limit.

Now, if he can only learn how to run that brand new vacuum cleaner I bought him.

...She's one of THEM!

Yesterday we hit the road for Nashville a little after 9 in the morning. We were flying along making great time( a euphemism for 80 mph and no traffic ). Then, just west of Knoxville, interstate 40 became a parking lot. There were repairs on a bridge somewhere ahead. It took us an hour and ten minutes to go 4 miles. As you can imagine, I took this developement with measured grace and tranquility, never once losing my temper or my good humor...........

After we got unpacked in our hotel, we made the two minute drive to Sarah's apartment, where we were to meet up with Patrick. When she pulled a plate of cheese, fruit and home made cucumber sandwiches out of the fridge, I rolled my eyes and thought, Good Lord, she's one of them! That move was right out of the Dunnevant Women's Hospitality Handbook, Volume III. Lemonade was soon to follow. Pam was thrilled. In our tribe, hospitality is the coin of the realm. The women in this family are known far and wide for their outrageous feats of daring-do in the kitchen where guests are involved. It started with my Mom, who would disappear into the kitchen after unexpected guests arrived, and ten minutes later miraculously appear holding a twenty pound turkey with all the fixins! My sisters, Linda and Paula are just as bad. They can throw parties like nobody's business. And my wife might just be the worst of all of them, having been trained during my ten years in the Grove Avenue Baptist youth ministry. Thirty teenagers suddenly show up at the house at 9:00 on a Friday night? Before you could say, "Holy Crap, look at that gaggle of...", two platters of nachos would come flying out of the oven. And now, my son is dating a girl who goes to the trouble of making cucumber sandwiches? Mercy.

We had dinner last night with Sarah's folks out in Smyrna, Tn. The meal was wonderful, and they were delightful company. They made us feel welcomed and relaxed. We all kinda fell for their 13 year old beagle, Libby. Adorable! Gotta love dog people.

Today, we move the boy into his new digs. Pam will insist on a trip to several stores to buy him, ALL THE THINGS! Then we will take in a minor league baseball game in upper seventies weather, the Nashville Sounds, possibly the best named baseball franchise in history. There will be hot dogs, Cotten candy and beer. Can't wait!

A Great Night!

BRAG ALERT!!! If it annoys you to hear parents go on and on about the accomplishments of their kids, this probably isn't the blog post for you. So, save yourself the aggravation and go read about the latest Donald Trump ass-hattery.

Last night, Pam and I got to attend the teacher of the year banquet for the Richland II school district in Columbia, SC. Forty of that district's schools were represented by their winners. Among them were the five finalists for the district TOTY, my daughter being one of those five. There were many reasons to believe that she stood no chance of winning, not the least of which were the incredible accomplishments of the other four finalists. Kaitlin, as a third year teacher, was in her first year of eligibility, not to mention the fact that the outgoing TOTY was also from Muller Road Middle School. And yet, there she was standing at the microphone in front of over a hundred educators giving the most composed, articulate, heartfelt acceptance speech you've ever heard...with no notes. 

I was standing in the back of the ball room holding my cell phone up, live-streaming it on Periscope. They gave her a standing ovation. It occurred to me that my girl is a phenom. Three years ago, in her first year of teaching, she won New Teacher of the Year at her school in Henrico County, then became one of three finalists for that honor for the entire County. During the interview process, she informed them that she would be moving to Columbia, SC with her new husband at the end of the school year and would not be returning to teach in Henrico. Had she not mentioned this, she would have won. Now, in her first year of eligibility, she wins TOTY in her new school, new district, new state. The kid has a gift. 

Standing in the back of that room watching her was a moment, one I won't soon forget. I'm thinking...Pam and I must have done something right. But so did a lot of other great people in her life. Sure, she was gifted by God, but he gifts lots of people who turn out to be bums. What has made it work for Kaitlin is the relentless hard work, the striving to be the best, to make a difference. She has never been a place holder, someone who merely punches a clock. She is a passionate educator who lives to make a difference in the lives of her students. That doesn't happen without an awful lot of long nights, meticulous planning, and lots of love and care.

Now, it's on to Nashville to move my youngest into his first solo apartment. I'll try not to make the next few blog posts a gloat-a-thon, but I'm not making any promises.

Winning...

This morning felt like waking up from a weird dream where you were trapped in a really horrible comedy club where the punch line to every joke was Donald Trump.

All the wise guys told us back in June that he was a joke with no chance. They said he was just in it to sell hotel rooms. They assured us that he was just bored and decided to run for kicks. Nothing to concern ourselves with. This morning, the joke is the presumptive nominee of the Republican Party. Hoosier Daddy, indeed!

The media no longer has Ted Cruz to kick around. Last night he was like...eh, screw it! Maybe he was just being practical. Or maybe after Trump actually suggested that the elder Cruz might have had something to do with JFK's assassination, Ted just thought, alright, that's enough.

Now, the only guy left standing is John Kasich, winner of exactly one contest and still with less delegates than Marco Rubio who left the race two years ago. What kind of ego must one have to remain in a race in which you have elevated the art of losing to such Olympian heights? Is he angling for the VP spot?

Speaking of the VP, at some point soon attention will be paid to potential Trump running mates. I asked a rhetorical question on Facebook last night about Carly Fiorina's availability. Since the guy who picked her first is now gone, is she now a free agent, or once betrothed is she now off the market? No matter, finding a running mate for The Donald is not going to be easy. Most of the likliest candidates have been called every vile name in the book by the presumptive nominee, so the opposition ads practically write themselves. Here's some ideas:

Trump/Gingrich.....these two guys know a thing or two about dumping exes

Trump/Jeb.....no chance that Mr. Low Energy could every upstage the boss.

Trump/Bill Clinton....why the hell not? They do have a lot in common.

Trump/Condoleeza Rice....might help him with women and "the blacks"

Trump/Gilmore.....Jim was the only Republican candidate who Trump hasn't called a liar

Trump/Tom Brady....might help him with women

Trump/Christie....this might work, but Chris is going to have to work on his facial expressions

Here We Go America!

Here we go America! After tonight the Trumptrain will be leaving the station. His candidacy, which was once considered merely a vanity project, will take on the mantle of inevitability after yet another landslide victory in Indiana. Ted Cruz has made a valiant effort, and yesterday's confrontation with a handful of Trump supporters was stout-hearted stuff, but it's all over. Republicans are about to nominate the first Presidential candidate in the history of the world with his own line of cologne.

But, the man has all the right enemies. Every time there's a riot at one of his events, cable television beams images of angry, violent people carrying the flag of a foreign country into living rooms all over America. Forget nuance, forget the subtleties of the immigration debate...the guy with the Budweiser in his hand who worries everyday that his employer might outsource his job to Mexico sees Mexican flags flapping in the breeze in the background of a riot and thinks..."whoever those bastards are against, I'm for!!"

Trump has run a masterful campaign, masterful in its nearly flawless manipulation of the media. He has been so bombastic, so outrageous, they simply cannot look away. Every ounce of oxygen belongs to the Donald. He is about to prove true that old adage that says...there is no such thing as bad publicity. The fact that most of the media despise him only helps him, because the only people who Americans hate more than politicians are journalists!

So, the 2016 Presidential election will be a contest between a man who the media hates, and a woman who they support ideologically, but are rightly suspicious of. No doubt, they will hold their noses and at least try to circle the wagons around her. Trump will run an "us against the world" campaign. If it works, we're screwed. If it doesn't, Hillary Clinton will assume office as the most despised woman in America, having received more lesser of two evils votes than any candidate in history. But at least she's a woman, so we can check that box off of our national to-do list.

Christmas in May

This week is like Christmas in May. For Pam and me, the real Christmas initiates a four month spell where we don't get to see our kids. We might spend a day or two in Columbia to visit Kaitlin and Jon, but we never see Patrick during those four months. I use that time to concentrate on my business and curse all the horrible winter weather, then the hellacious pollen, and generally complain a lot about being abandoned by my children. But this week...all is forgiven.

We will pack up the car, turn the house keys over to our house/dog sitter and make the six hour drive  to Columbia, SC on Thursday to see Kaitlin. There is a teacher of the year banquet, where all of the winners in the district are recognized, and the district winner is announced. Despite being in her first year of eligibility, Kaitlin is one of the five finalists for the top prize. Since her husband is in the Grand Canyon for his annual park ranger training, she would be attending this soirée alone. Not gonna happen! If she dosn't win I intend to make quite a fuss at the injustice of it all. (Just kidding, Kaitlin. Let not your heart be troubled.) Afterwards, we will take her someplace to celebrate, then spend the night at her place with Jackson, the wonder dog. 

Friday morning, we will set out for Nashville, a seven and a half hour trip across the Blue Ridge mountains. Upon meeting up with Patrick and his girlfriend Sarah, we will drive to Smyrna, Tn. to have dinner with and meet her family. The real reason for our trip however, is to help our son move into his first solo apartment. Since leaving home for college eight years ago, he has always shared quarters with others in an assortment of dorm rooms, apartments and houses. Now, he has the resources to strike out on his own. So we will spend most of Saturday helping him move in and set up the new digs. I am led to believe that a minor league baseball game is in the works( the Nashville Sounds )and some special Mother's Day event. We will attend church with him on Sunday, get his pantry good and stocked, then head home on Monday, which will feature many tears being shed by my wife for the first 30 miles of the drive on interstate 40 with Nashville in the rear view mirror. Eight years ago, she didn't stop sobbing until we reached Knoxville! This time she will demonstrate much more composure, since July in Maine will be right around the corner.

Words Have Meaning

I just watched some footage of a riot that happened outside the venue of a Donald Trump event in California. There were hundreds of Mexican flags in the air, police cruisers rocking back and forth, and wild eyed young men perched on the top of street lights. A man wearing a Donald Trump t-shirt had a face covered in blood.

 

 Oddly, the term "riot" was nowhere to be found in the LATimes story. No, these were demonstrators, and what I was looking at was a protest. Later, on Twitter I found a photograph of the same intersection, hours later after everything was over, not a soul in sight. A reporter from the LATimes made this comment..."Looks like the Donald Trump storm has passed."

If at some point in the long, hot summer which we are facing, a picture emerges of a woman wearing a Hillary Clinton t-shirt with blood all over her face, I will be watching carefully for the word demonstrators, and the description of events as a protest. What I am much more likely to see are the words violence, and the more apt descriptor, riot.

See, I'm a word guy. Language has power, and the words chosen in a news story mean everything. When largely white college students celebrating their football team winning the Sugar Bowl destroy public property, they will most likely be described as revelers. But if the unhinged crowd is mostly black, the word thug will probably find its way into the story. On the other hand, if a young black man murders a white kid, the New York Times will go to great links not to mention either's race...if they report the story at all. But, if the victim is black and the shooter white, every reporter in the building is scrambling to trumpet the headline, because there's a Pulitzer to be won. 

When it comes to political protests, it matters very much who's ox is being gored. Let's not kid ourselves, the number of members of the mainstream media in this country who would ever be caught dead voting for a Republican are about the same as the number of Episcopalians who attend monster truck shows! For the media, covering a protest at a Donald Trump event is the journalistic equivalent of nirvana...something close to heaven. But something tells me that later this summer, when the temperatures and the rhetoric have both gotten much hotter, the media's objectivity, or lack thereof will be sorely tested. I'll be paying close attention to their language. You should too.