On rare occasions, I wait to share news. Please know that I’ve been carrying a heavy heart for September and am asking you to consider praying for God’s grace and mercy for my Father-In-Law (85) who had back surgery a few weeks ago. Barely able to walk before it, and now were not convinced he’ll have the will to relearn.
Tag: Dad
Paradox
The joy of having two Guest bloggers this week pales in comparison to the pain of the Haiti earthquake victims.
Last night, after my son and I walked Carter, we hurriedly returned to our house.
Told our son we needed to watch the evening news at 6:30PM.
Our lifestyle doesn’t make much time to watch TV. And this week has been exceptionally busy (see today’s Lane 8 challenge).
We watched Diane Sawyer on ABC Evening news describe the tragedy in Haiti. I wanted our son to understand the magnitude.
Yes, he’s only nine. But he’s smart. He’s compassionate. He has a caring heart.
It’s my sacred responsibility to teach him Life’s Big Four.
And it was the day prior to yesterday that he became my first Guest Blogger.
Paradox?
What’s Your Favorite Song?
What’s your favorite Christmas song of all time?
I mean, if you could only pick one, what would it be?
My wife’s Grammy, who died in my arms at age 93, always said Little Drummer Boy was her favorite. She went to Heaven in September 1989.
It never occurred to me back then to ask her why. Why would it have occurred to me?
Well, all these years later, “Why?” is a fun and purposeful question.
Why do you enjoy your favorite Christmas song? For no reason? Or, for some special or purposeful reason.
Hey, I realize some of you may say, “Jeff, not everything has to have a purpose.”
Right. And this is the fundamental difference between those that drift through life and those that make a difference.
I enjoy listening to “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer” as much as anyone. It’s funny, unexpected, and way not serious.
But Little Drummer Boy is not only Grammy’s favorite, but mine as well. Why? because I Look for little ways to help our son understand his family’s history.
His Grandfather, Jack (not the bear), my Dad, was a drummer. He started playing drums from the moment he could hold drumsticks in his hands.
He hitch-hiked 100 miles to Philadelphia, from his row-home in Spring Grove, Pennsylvania, just so he could take drum lessons from a particularly talented drummer.
He played drums in the Army band while stationed in Japan, during the Korean War.
He taught 30-minute drum lessons Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, 4:00pm – 8:00pm, year round.
He played gigs on Friday and Saturday nights, year round.
As a young man, he had business cards printed. His title – “Drummer”.
From one stupid little Christmas song, a piece of our son’s family history is told, year after year.
But only if I put some thought into it.
And at Christmas, as it is all year round, it’s the thought that counts.
I Don’t Remember….
I don’t remember my grandfather ever talking to me. Ever.
At 60, he died of a heart attack. He was in the hospital for a while (week?) before he died. I was 13.
I never went to see him. I sort of felt guilty about that.
All these years later, it dawned on me that there’s a chance I didn’t go because I may have thought:
- He’ll be coming home as soon as he’s well enough
- What would we talk about?
Or maybe I just didn’t understand love enough to know how this may have been very important to him.
Or maybe, just maybe, I was following his lead.