His First Big Trip

Just a few weeks ago Paul went on his first big trip without mom and dad.  His class from school made a multi-day trip to the Pali Institute, in California.  As other parents before me have no-doubt experienced, this involved a wide variety of feelings for me. The excitement of seeing him go somewhere for two nights without us.  And the nervousness of seeing him go somewhere for two nights without us.

I was in 4th grade when I made my first big trip like this, and still remember it vividly as our class got onto a bus and drove for about seven hours from Colorado Springs down to Mesa Verde National Park.  We spent two nights away from home, and learned about the people who lived there and built the amazing cliff dwellings.  I remember feeling grown up on that trip, and didn’t feel any uncertainly or worry that mom and dad weren’t right with me.  Talking to my son after his trip, it seemed he was the same, with his entire focus on the adventure and not being away from home.  I’d like to think that reflects on having done a sufficient job preparing him for being away from us at that point, but there was still all the nervousness in me as a parent, having him that far away.  Here’s how it all played out in my simple, fatherly mind.

Excitement!

As mentioned, the trip to Mesa Verde was exciting for me, and based on Paul’s stories when he came home, Pali was just the same for him.  It seems everything about the trip was fun:  the adventure of the bus ride, being with his classmates outside of school, everything he learned about and did, etc.  He even raved about the food and ate things there that we normally have to push him to eat at home.  We were excited as parents because he never showed any fear or reservation about being that far away for several nights.  I have to believe that a big part of what prepped him for this was that he’s spend more than that many nights away from home.  They just weren’t out of town.  If anything ever went wrong or he decided he wanted to come home in the middle of the night, we could have just gone and picked him up—no problem.  Whether Paul has stayed at a friend’s house, or with his grandparents, he’s never asked to come home early for any reason. 

And nerves!

But this trip took Paul away from the local area without us.  If he got sick, had a horrible time, or anything else went wrong, it would have been a drive to another state to get him.  Not a crisis of course, but this was the farthest away from us he’d been.  Steph and I had been away from him longer than two nights before, but when that happened he was always with his grandparents.  This time he had no family nearby and it honestly made me nervous.  I know that doesn’t make me special or unique, but I had finally hit that point in the parenting timeline when those nerves came into play.  I managed this by focusing on the excitement and adventure he was experiencing, and by openly admitting to my wife (probably too many times), that I missed him and was nervous.  I also knew he was with two teachers—both of whom we obviously trust a great deal.

In the end, dad and lad both came through just fine.  I was reassured by all the stories he had ready for us when he returned home, and by the fact that nothing went wrong.  To add to easing my mind, his teacher periodically texted all the parents photos of what the kids were doing—something that my parents never could have benefitted from when I was in elementary school.  Frankly, short of a phone call, there was no word about the progress of my young trip to Mesa Verde.  But thanks to today’s technology, we could get amazing updates for Paul and his classmates as the trip unfolded.

So with that hurdle cleared, I know the next one will be easier.  Right?  Riiiiiight?  (Okay, I’m a big enough man to admit in advance, I’ll probably still be a little bit of a wreck…)

It’s great to be a dad!

A Family Achievement

You’ve seen the earlier posts:  just about four years ago Paul began his journey to earn a Black Belt.  Within a month, I joined him on the mat and a month or so later, Stephanie joined us both.  Paul’s journey became a family journey.  

Here’s what’s happened since my last post (over two years ago, please forgive me!) when we passed our Blue Belt tests.  This past June we all passed our tests for our First Degree Black Belts!  Like all of life, the challenge of testing didn’t come without a few hiccups, but in the end we celebrated as a family.

Right on track with his goals, last year Paul competed for a full year to include at the ATA Spring Nationals 2017, became the 2017 Nevada State Champion (Color Belt, 9-10 year old boys), and was the Silver Medalist at the ATA 2017 Districts Tournament (Nevada, Arizona and California).  

And suddenly it was time for Black Belt testing!  We all tested on the same day.  Paul went first and we cheered for him, then Steph and I tested together with the adults and Paul cheered for us.  We felt it was the perfect culmination of a three year journey.  After working so hard to test for each belt, we faced the toughest test yet.  All the work that led to that point was to allow us to take the toughest test so far rather than to just be awarded the belt.  In spite of all the prep, a 10 session set of dedicated classes for the folks testing for their decided rank, when the day came, we were all confident but nervous, and the test seemed harder than it probably was.  It was also definitely more exciting as the head of Victory Martial Arts nation-wide sat in front of us and judged our performance as it related to the standards.  When it was all over, we had passed.  

We celebrated the end of the beginning that evening in a candlelight ceremony where we we shared in the significance of the Black Belt, and entered into the small community of those who’ve earned the privilege of wearing one.  And we celebrated the opportunity to look forward to the beginning of a new journey.  As I’ve been told and read in the context of the Black Belt across several martial arts styles, the Black Belt represents the mastery…of the basics.  I think it’s true.  After all the work, memorization, struggles, nerves, failures, injuries, and incredible successes, it’s at that time you realize just how little you really know or are truly proficient at.  And so we found ourselves at the beginning of a journey once again—now to begin to hone the body as a weapon, to move beyond the basics.  Learning the basics was difficult.  Building on that foundation is more difficult, but we’re on to learning the 1st Degree Black Belt form called Shim Jun.  With 81 moves and more difficult techniques, it’s the longest, most complex and challenging form we’ve had to learn so far.  Make no mistake though:  it’s fun!

Paul and I have also learned the traditional Black Belt sword form called Gumdo, associated with the Korean equivalent of the well-recognized Japanese katana.  With the sword as his weapon, now he has to perform this traditional form each time he competes in order for his XMA sword form to count for points.  While Gumdo is relatively short, it’s a highly technical form.  It’s performed very deliberately and slowly compared to most other weapons forms, making even the smallest mistakes very apparent.  The precision and accuracy required to do the form well is a very real challenge.

For Paul, we couldn’t be prouder:  the competition in his ring as a new Black Belt this year has been amazing.  These kids are all incredible martial artists who bring their A-Game every single tournament.  Each one of these young athletes has my respect for being a part of the circle of friends that continue to motivate my son to always do his best.  Because of the time it took to learn these new forms, he didn’t have a shot at making State Champion this year, but he’ll finish in the top 10 and qualify to compete at the District Championships!

There are many people that deserve significant thanks, but I have to recognize two people in particular at this point in our family adventure:  

First, Mr. Guerrero, our Chief Instructor.  He has been Paul’s instructor from his first day Paul started as a White Belt.  He’s also the gentleman responsible for challenging Paul to start competing several years ago during a slump in his journey to Black Belt.  Mr. Guerrero has continued to instruct, mentor, correct, encourage and champion Paul’s efforts.  Without you, sir, I don’t know how this journey would have happened.  We’re a part of your Victory Summerlin family, but you’re definitely a part of our family too.  I can’t imagine our experience, and especially Paul’s, could have been any better without you.  

Second, Miss Noonen, who came alongside us this past year and has changed the way Paul approaches how he performs XMA.  She’s been a picture of honesty and grace, and taken time out of her schedule to teach and coach Paul specifically in the context of competition with a sword.  Ma’am, your timing was perfect as Paul moved into the significant challenge of competition as a Black Belt.  I can’t imagine anyone else who could come alongside our regular instructor and form such a perfect team to move Paul forward in his journey.

You both encourage, inspire and compel our son to exceed his own expectations, to set new and high goals, and then to realize they’re achievable.  And both of you have warmed his heart with a phone call, a hug, or a hero shot during those times when the goal isn’t met.  We can’t thank you both enough.

One final thought:  How many parents get to legitimately tell their kids to go play with a sword?  We are those lucky parents!

It’s great to be a dad!

Busy with Belts

October through December were fun and full months for Paul and I!  Paul competed in his first tournament and both of us tested twice to advance to our next belts:  Paul went from orange to yellow and then cammo (recommended), and I went from white to orange, then to yellow.

The Las Vegas Inter-school Tournament

All four Victory Martial Arts schools in the Las Vegas valley came together for a city-wide tournament on October 18th.  With approximately 300 participants and four rings, it was a crowded blast!  Right after the tournament was announced, we asked Paul if he wanted to participate and with his nod of approval, we signed him up for two events:  traditional forms and traditional weapons, knowing these were two events he could perform well in, even if he was nervous.  The goal was for him to do something new, and build his confidence and self-esteem while having fun.  The morning of the tournament Paul went through an anticipated round of nerves, and we had to remind him we expected him to do what he committed to do.  Once he realized he wasn’t allowed to just back out, he began to relax.  Then after a few of his friends arrived, he shook off the nerves, found his confidence and was ready to compete.

Since this was his first tournament, everything about it was new.  Paul had to line up with the other beginner kids he was grouped to compete with (and without Steph and I).  This refueled a few nerves but by that point his enthusiasm and confidence was in control.  As his line walked in, they announced them and directed them to their ring.  Steph, her parents and I had seats at Paul’s ring and the competition began.

He performed his empty handed form as well as he’s ever done it, and made us proud. He did a great job entering and leaving the mat, and showed all the proper respect to the judges.  After completing his form, he sat and cheered for his friends, then prepared to do his traditional weapons form with the Jahng Bong (Bo Staff).  Even though it wasn’t the weapon he was currently training with, Paul chose to use it because he was already comfortable with the form and most other competitors would probably be using the current weapon (the baton-like Bahng Mahng Ee), allowing him to stand out a bit.  As it turned out, he was the only one in his group using the Jahng Bong and he stood out in a good way.

The first real surprise came when the first in his group was called up to perform with her weapon.  Like Paul, she was prepared to perform a trained set of moves (a traditional form).  When she was ready, the center judge told her, “you have 30 seconds…begin!”  She completed her form comfortably in 10-15 seconds and waited at the end for the next command from the judge, only to hear him say, “you still have 15 seconds…keep going!”  It was clear at this point that whatever the kids were going to do, they had to fill the time (or the remaining time) with a creative weapons performance.  It was a surprise for parents and kids alike, but  she didn't miss a beat and finished strong.  I looked at Paul to see if the change was going to trouble him, but he remained excited and confident—I honestly wasn’t sure if he didn’t realize there was a change, or was confident enough not to be bothered by it.  Steph and I had no idea what he would do once he took the mat.  He could perform his traditional form a couple times, traditional form once, then some creative moves, or just wing the whole thing and perform creatively for 30 second.  He did the latter and it looked like it was his plan all along, and his score for this was higher than his empty-handed form!

At this point, he was done with his events and could relax, continue to cheer for his friends and enjoy the rest of the day.  The next event that followed was board breaking and before we knew it, Paul was signaling us and silently mouthing, “I want to break boards!”  So much for the earlier nerves and a lack of confidence!  Since we didn’t register him for board breaking, he wasn’t able to perform, but I suspect he will during the next tournament!  Sometime about mid afternoon, we headed home and that evening he slept like a rock.

Belt Testing and Ceremonies

On October 21st I tested for the opportunity to move from white to orange.  It was an exciting time for me after training for two months.  As mentioned in an earlier post, resuming martial arts training after over 30 years is exciting and quite a challenge.  The mind remembers, but a 50 year old body doesn’t behave quite like the mind may want it to.  The training is challenging and fun and this is a deliberate first step in my own journey toward black belt—a chance to finish what I started so long ago.  I passed my test and what made it most special was having Steph and Paul there cheering me on, and Paul holding up a totally cool sign he made to motivate me.

Two days later it was Paul’s turn.  Steph, her parents and I were there to cheer him on.  With a sign we made for him, and a cowbell to make some noise, we watched our young man approach the challenge as a totally different guy than two months prior when he tested for his orange belt.  With several more months of training under his belt, being selected for the Leadership Program, and being bolstered by the experience of the tournament, he was completely confident.  (When he tested for orange belt, it was quite an effort to keep him calm and cut through his worry.)  He tested very well and passed without any issues.  We’re definitely proud that he’s continuing to advance and enjoy martial arts, but we’re most proud of him for the incredible amount of confidence he’s gained since he began.

The Belting Ceremony (Graduation) was fun and well done as always.  With the school decorated and students in clean, white uniforms, Paul and I were called up at the appropriate times to receive our belts.  Then family members were allowed to join the students on the floor to help remove the old belts and tie on the new.  Stephanie joined Paul and I and with our new belts loosely tied around our waists, Paul and I held one end of each other’s belts and Steph held the other two ends.  When the time came, we all pulled and tightened the new belts!  With the ceremony over, the celebration continued with food and music.

Then in December after another training period it came time to test again.  Paul worked hard toward his cammo belt and I did the same to advance to yellow and we both passed again!  Due to travel I was unable to test with the group I was supposed to , but consistent with our school’s emphasis on family, I was able to test with Paul the evening I returned from my trip.  It made an already special event even more special for the both of us.  Earning cammo, is significant for Paul as it moves him from beginner ranks to advanced.  At this point the learning, rigor and expectations increase for him individually as well as his involvement as a leadership student ratchets up as he starts helping the school’s instructors with the kids’ beginners class.  As for me, I continue to remind him I’m racing him to black belt!

Steph and I owe genuine thanks to our martial arts instructors, Mr. DeSmith, Mr. Guerrero and Mr. Daos.  These three men and our fantastic Program Directors (Mrs. Garretson along with Miss Bivins— both also black belts!) do a great job, as does the rest of the Victory Summerlin team of leadership students and black belts who are always there helping the beginners.  It’s a gift to be able to push kids and adults to their limits in a way that provides an important part of what they need for success in martial arts and in life, while keeping it fun at the same time.  As a footnote, we learned that Mr. Daos was selected to travel and perform with the Marvel Universe Live.  (Now we can say we know Spiderman!)  We’re sad to see him leave so soon, but in his place we gained another awesome instructor, Mr. Scott.  As a family we’ve all already benefitted from his expertise as he moved right in and started instructing as if he’d been there all along.

Steph and I look forward to watching our son continue to grow in the best of ways physically, mentally and emotionally.  Adding martial arts, and specifically the Victory Martial Arts’ program under the American Taekwondo Association, into his life alongside his academic education is truly preparing him for the years to come.  And speaking of Steph, she’s joined us in our journey and is training now as well.  We all test for our next belts in February: came (decided) for Paul, came for me, and orange for Steph.  Victory Martial Arts has truly become a family affair for us!

It’s great to be a dad!

Realizing Your Mortality

Readers:  this post covers a heavier issue than usual.  I hope it’s useful to you now or at some point regarding how you may address the issue of mortality with your kid(s) or young people that you might have the opportunity to mentor.  

Early this month my son woke up crying in the middle of the night.  When Steph and I went to his room, he said he dreamt he was “buried in the ground under dirt before it was his time to die.”  He went on to say through his tears, “I don’t want to grow up and die.”  It’s important here to point out this wasn’t a horror movie kind of dream.  He wasn’t buried alive or anything like that.  He said he saw himself as if he was buried after he had died and clearly knew what had happened.

My son turns seven in February.  When I was a child, not much older than he is now, I also became aware of my own mortality.  I can’t recall anything in particular that could have triggered this realization, but I remember there were two related things that struck me heavily at that point in my young life.

First, I realized I was growing older, and as that continued, I would lose interest in the things that I liked to play with and do as a child.  It was obvious to me because I never saw any adults (my parents included) playing with anything I liked to play with or frankly doing anything I thought was fun at that young age.  That made me sad because from my young perspective I had some cool stuff and did some pretty fun things!  Everything about life was an adventure and I never wanted it to end.  But I could see movement toward a time when I wouldn’t enjoy these things.

I think the second revelation was a result of the first. I realized someday I would grow old enough that life as I understood it would end:  I would die.  I think it’s important to say I don’t remember knowing anyone who had died, or even being aware of anyone actually dying, but the simple logic of my young mind allowed me to put the pieces together.  This had a real impact on my life for several years to follow, as I wrestled with what it all meant.  Honestly, outwardly I was a regular kid, but inside I was distracted by my own mortality.

I don’t talk about it often in this blog, but it’s not something I hide either: I’m a Christian and as a result, I hold to the hope hope that when life in this body ends, I don’t simply cease to exist.  I wasn’t brought up this way though, nor did I experience anything akin to a conversion at that young age when I wrestled with the concept of death.  I mention this because as a child in what was practically an unchurched family, my parents didn’t have anything to offer me in the form of an explanation or context—not from a Christian point of view, or any other.  Life was just life.  Apparently you live, and then you die.  End of story.  

I remember at the point the frailty of life gelled in my mind, I was sick with a cold—a cold and nothing more.  But I was sick and as a result, a bit miserable.  In the middle of the night (like my son), and not directly related to being sick, I became aware enough of mortality that I sought the comfort of my parents.  I went into their room and as they comforted me I expressed to them my realization that I would die someday.  Looking back it was a bit of a funny moment, but when I told my mom I knew I was going to die and that it was disturbing me, she responded in an attempt to comfort me by saying, “you’re okay, you’re not going to die, you only have a cold.”  She didn’t understand that I wasn’t talking about having a cold, nor was I worried I’d die from it.  I can’t be critical.  What parent comforting a young child with a cold would ever think the issue at hand was actually the realization that death is a part of life.  I didn’t try to explain my struggle any further, they ultimately calmed me down, and sleep visited me again thanks to a soft back rub and the tiredness associated with the middle of the night.

Thoughts of the reality of my own mortality burdened me though for several years to follow, stealing some of the enjoyment from many of the things that were a part of my life.  It was a nagging preoccupation.  That brings me back to my son.  I remember struggling with the same thing and have worked to encourage his concerns by offering hope that there’s more to life than just life in the bodies he sees.

My son’s struggle with this issue does differ from mine in an important way :  he’s definitely aware of two deaths.  I blogged about losing my dad in August 2012.  My son was old enough to be very aware of what was happening as we visited my dad when he passed away, then during the memorial service in the days to follow, and finally when we interred him at Arlington National Cemetery a few months later in December.  Much less significant, but every bit as much real, we had to put our cat down just before we traveled to Arlington.  My son loved the cat and I’m sure he’ll always consider him his first pet.  

Although these things happened over a year ago, Paul has continued to talk about it regularly.  Not in a bad way, but it’s clear he’s continued to wrestle with mortality, and it seemed to come together in some way when he had his dream.  Since then I’ve worked to encourage him based on my own beliefs, and he seems to be handling it well.  One of the recurring discussions we have when he makes me aware he’s thinking about these things is that while we believe life goes on after our bodies die, it’s okay to be sad when we lose someone here.  It’s okay that we’re sad because we can’t see them like we used to any longer.  It’s also okay that we remember those we love who have preceded us in death.  And as a Christian, we can take comfort in the hope we’ll see our loved ones and friends again some day.  For those reading this who hold an orthodox or reformed Christian view, I’m sure you’re wondering how I’m dealing with the teaching that in death, everyone doesn’t go to Heaven.  I’m doing my best to be careful not to say (or imply) that everyone goes, but I’m also being careful not to lead my son down the path where I shatter any hope.  He’s not ready to have that larger and much more heady discussion just yet.  For now and for him:  all the hope I can offer a child with the stage set for the deeper discussion later.

We often hear the word “closure” associated with the passing of a loved one.  A year later, with all the understanding I can muster after losing dad, I think I’m mostly there.  Not completely, but mostly.  A way I describe where I am in the healing process: the open wound is closed and a scar is forming, but it’s still very tender.  Some days I think my son is farther along than I am; other days I’m convinced he’s not.  I do my best to understand all of this from his young perspective, not to make too much or too little of it all, keep it in perspective, and just be his loving (and living) dad.  My own childhood struggle with the matter of mortality certainly helps me with this.  I know this though:  it’s a privilege to be my son’s dad, and to be by his side as he continues to wrestle with it all.  There aren’t words to explain how special it is to be the man he turns to for explanation and comfort, to share what he’s thinking, and to cry and laugh with about anything and everything.  I get to watch him grow!

It’s great to be a dad!

Losing Dad

This may be the most difficult thing I’ve ever written.  Just a few weeks ago my son surprised my wife and I when he suddenly looked sad and said, “Dad, when I’m big like you and I have a son like you do, I’m going to miss you.”  I asked him, “Why will you miss me?”  He explained that when he’s big I’ll “be in my skel” and he won’t be able to see me anymore.  When he says something is a skel, he’s referring to it being a skeleton--being dead.  My young son was now somehow aware of death and the loss it brings.

On the 18th of August my wife, son and I boarded a plane in some haste and flew to Madison, Mississippi to be with my dad.  His was in the hospital and his health was failing quickly.  We were all able to see him.  I spent all day on the 19th sitting and talking with him, and to the best of my ability, comforting him as he was in and out of sleep.  Just a few days later, he passed away.  My mom and I were with him and it was the most heartbreaking and tender of moments.  We had both shared our thoughts and words of encouragement with him, ensuring he knew we were there and okay, and that we loved him.  Mom was sitting by his side holding his hand and I was standing over him from the other side.  I had just finished quietly speaking into his ear, I kissed his forehead, and he left us.  His departure was quiet and graceful.  It was honorable and dignified.

What made that moment most special to me as his son were those final words I shared with him.  They weren’t private or new to his ears, and were words I’ve said to him and to others about him before.  I quietly and humbly told my father this:

“Dad, I’m proud of you and all that you’ve done in life.  I’m so proud that you’re my dad and I’m your son.  I love you.”

Just seconds after I said these words, he died with my hand on his shoulder and his hand in mom’s.

As we made the trip to Mississippi, we told our son his grandpa (who he called “G”) was very sick.  Once we were there, I took time on several occasions to help him understand that he wouldn’t get to see G again, including one brief but significant father and son walk.  Steph and I didn’t want to hide this from him, nor did we want to make death some sort of fiction, and we struggled with how to best do this, knowing there isn’t a “right way.”  We were confident that our son was mature enough to see his grandfather as sick as he was, to grasp the basic truth of the reality of death (especially after his earlier statement), and to learn that the death of the body is as much a part of life as birth and everything in between.  He was with us during the visitation and memorial service, handled everything very well, and touched our hearts dearly when he solemnly snuggled Steph and told her sadly, “I’m going to miss G.”

As a son having just lost his dad, I was able to draw very real strength from having my son with me through it all.  It was special that we could share it, with me carrying the heaviest emotional weight of the loss for him, and as a dad experiencing the very real love and tangible support from my own son.  I also had the privilege of giving the eulogy at dad’s memorial service--truly the hardest thing I have ever had to do.  I can’t imagine anyone else having done it and while it felt like I was speaking without any oxygen in the air, it was also medicine for my own soul.  In the end, during the trip my son was able to see his grandfather purposefully for a last time, see the sorrow in my heart at the loss of my father, and hear the words I offered in a meager attempt to honor him--his grandfather--in front of his gathered friends and family.

We will bury dad at Arlington National Cemetery sometime later this year, and we will be there with him--father and son--to give dad one final goodbye as our country lays him to rest with full military honors.  I know I’m biased, but I think it’s the best thing my grateful family can do for this amazing and quiet man who gave everything he had to us, to his country, and to his community.  He served us all well, with honor, integrity and humility, and it showed to anyone who looked.  I certainly learned from his example and trust my son has too.  Among everything else, my job now as a father is to do my best to ensure my son continues to learn the same lessons of honor, integrity, humility and service, hopefully through my words and deeds.  It’s not easy, but what an awesome task.  And there’s no better way I can think of to continue to honor my father than by raising my son--his grandson--well.

It’s great to be a dad!

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Here are the links to my father's official military biography and his obituary.  His obituary captures his career after his retirement from the military.

My Dad

My dad is one of my heroes.  This Father’s Day I want to honor him by explaining to a limited extend what he’s contributed to my being the man and father I am today.

Here’s his story:

Dad was born in Salt Lake City, Utah in 1937, the son of a salesman for what was the American Chicle Company.  One of his earliest memories was from when he was a little guy (probably only two or three years old).  The family lived on the third floor at the time and dad would often play in or near the window when he couldn’t be outside.  The window washers had come by but failed to put the screen back tightly.  When dad climbed up to play, he fell out the window.  His grandmother (called “Nan”) jumped out the same window after him and as Dad recalls, somehow she seemed to get to the ground before him or at nearly the same time in order to try to protect him from the fall.  Fortunately he fell into a clump of bushes below the window and wasn’t harmed.

In 1941 when he was about four, the family moved to Dallas, Texas where my grandfather was promoted from salesman to District Manager.  At that time, as the US entered World War 2, my grandfather volunteered for and was inducted into the Navy and attended Officers Candidate School.  Around that same time, my dad’s grandmother back in Salt Lake City was going blind.  As a result, the Navy sent my grandmother, dad and uncle back to Salt Lake to be with her.  The Navy paid for the travel and sent them on a troop train; that was my dad’s first exposure to the military, riding the train with the troops who were making their way to the war.  Shortly after arrival, it was clear Nan was completely blind.  At that time, my grandfather was the head of household and the sole provider for the family.  as a result, the Navy exempted him from service and the family (including Nan) moved back to Dallas.

When dad was first in grade school, his older brother Neil was supposed to walk him home.  Neil just walked home alone and left dad at the school.  Dad found his way home alone, even though he doesn’t remember how he found the house.  Neil took a beating.

As a boy and young man, dad always had chores to do.  One particular chore that still sticks vividly in his mind was mowing the grass.  My dad and uncle were both young, dad wasn’t tall enough to reach the lawn mower’s handle, but my uncle was.  As a result, my uncle Neil was allowed to push the mower.  There was also a rope tied to the mower that my dad used to walk in front of the mower, pulling it along like a plow horse.  When the grass didn’t need mowing, there were always other chores to do: painting the house, mending a fence, etc.  It was clear to my dad (as unenjoyable as it was when he was a child) that he was expected to put the family first and that everyone in the family was expected to contribute for the greater good.

His first real job was as a paper boy in Dallas when he was 9 years old.  As was normal for the day, he would go door-to-door to collect directly from the customers once a month.  From that money, he would pay for the newspapers, with his profit coming from any additional money or tips collected.  From what profit he made, my grandmother allowed him to keep $5 a month; the rest went into the house fund to cover other family needs.

The family moved from Dallas to Cleveland, Ohio in 1951 where my grandfather was promoted again, now to Division Manager.  This was early in the Korean War and dad has vivid memories of lots of radio chatter about our military and the war.  Cleveland became home for the rest of his youth and it was there that he completed 8th through 12th grades. 

When he was 13 years old he took an all-summer job washing dishes at the Centerville YMCA Camp in Ohio.  His first summer there he was still short enough that he had to stand on two Coke-a-Cola crates to be tall enough to wash the dishes.  His work ethic impressed his manager there and as a result, he was able to work other jobs too, including in the craft shop and eventually as a life guard, all under the oversight of the same manager.  His experiences at camp were good ones, it earned him some money, and it got him out of a full summer of chores at home.  He continued working for the next five summers, through graduation from High School.

As was typical of the time, since he didn’t have a car he hitchhiked to get to and from camp, even to return home in the middle of the summer when he had a few days off.  His last summer there, the summer after he graduated from HS, his brother Neil had joined the AF and dad wanted to have his brother’s Buick.  Grandpa wouldn’t give it to him and instead said he could have it if he bought it.  Dad paid $100 and bought his first car.  What was noteworthy about that final year Dad had accelerated through HS and completed school in February.  As a result, he worked for my grandfather from February until the summer.  That summer before college started, probably to avoid more chores around the house for no pay, he went back to the YMCA camp.

He graduated from John Marshall High School, having lettered in track all four years, and applied to attend Miami University of Ohio.  Miami was co-ed university and known for its business school.  It was a feeder school for Harvard’s Business School, and as such was the only state school in Ohio that required prospective students to take entrance exams.  Dad was accepted and also decided to enroll in ROTC.

As a freshman, he pledged for ΣAE and was accepted into the fraternity.  That year though, he and his group couldn’t be inducted because the fraternity was in trouble and on probation with the National Chapter.  Dad and about 30 other classmates decided to wait the probationary period out and join when they could.  (Other students apparently didn’t wait and went on to other fraternities.)

At that same time, his brother was studying to get into medical school and due to his circumstances, needed to pursue a masters degree first to prove himself.  As a result, most of the available money in the family went to pay for his college bills rather than my dad’s.  My grandfather paid for dad’s first year, but that was it.  Dad wanted to continue college and ended up working four jobs to pay his room, board and tuition: as a waiter in  one of the women’s dorms, as a burger cook and waiter at the fraternity house, and as a salesman at a local clothing store.  He finally worked his way through to graduation in June 1959, received a business degree and a commission in the US Air Force.  His dad congratulated him for working his way through college and asked him what he wanted.  Dad said he wanted a car, preferably a convertible.  Grandpa asked him if he’s like one of those new Impala convertibles, dad said yes.  Grandpa picked the car up and dad thanked him for such a nice gift.  Grandpa then told him it might not be such a good deal and to look in the glovebox.  In the glove box, dad found the payment book for the car.  It wasn’t intended, but dad had just bought his second car, thinking it was a graduation gift.

As I mentioned, dad was in ROTC all four years of college.  He wanted to join the AF to be a pilot, figuring he could serve his country for several years, then shift into the commercial aviation world as an airline pilot.  He took the exam to see if he qualified to compete for a pilot training slot and earned his private pilot’s license, at the time a requirement to gain a pilot training slot with the AF.  He scored well and with a private pilot’s license in hand was selected to attend pilot training after commissioning.

In December 1959 he reported to Lackland AFB for what was called officer preflight training.  After successfully completing preflight, he continued to Malden AB (Malden, MO) for primary flight training where he flew the T-28 and was in the last class to fly this reciprocating engine aircraft for primary (pictured above), then at Laredo AFB, TX where he flew the T-33 to complete pilot training in a jet aircraft (pictured below).  After graduation and with survival and passing through the Technical Training Unit, he began flying C-133’s as an airlift pilot.  Throughout his career he flew C-130s, C-141s and C-5s as well as other assorted aircraft.

During the early part of his career, he was also selected along with 125 pilots from across the AF to screen for the astronaut program.  He passed the grueling 9 day physical, but ultimately wasn’t selected to complete the training since he didn’t have an engineering degree.  His name was kept on the books as eligible, but he was never called upon to enter the program.

He served in combat in Viet Nam, commanded at the squadron, group, wing and twice at the air division level, and also served as the Technical Training Center Commander at Keesler AFB, where he retired in 1991.  One of the Air Divisions he commanded, the 76th Military Airlift Division at Andrews AFB, MD, included three subordinate wings, one of which was the 89th Military Airlift Wing responsible for presidential and congressional airlift, including the US’s most famous jet: Air Force 1.

His original plan to move to the airlines after a few short years flying for the military was overcome by his love for military aviation and those few short years became a 32 year career.  Along the way, while working a full-time career in the Air Force, he also earned an MBA on his own time.  He retired from active duty as a major general and transitioned to civilian life.

Shortly after retirement, he was hired to tech MBA studies at William Carey College in Hattiesburg, MS.  Around that same time he also ran for Congress against the incumbent for the 5th Congressional District in Mississippi.  The incumbent won but the visibility and desire to continue in public service was noted.  As a result the State of Mississippi asked him to become the first executive director of the newly formed Mississippi Gaming Commission in September 1993--the year the State Senate voted to legalize and regulate casino-style gaming in the state.  He accepted and ran the State’s gaming compliance arm for almost six years until sometime in 1998.

Shortly afterwards, he was offered the position of President and CEO of a financially struggling Signature Works (the largest company in the world employing visually impaired workers).  He served with them for two years, moved the company back into the black, then handed a healthy company to new leadership.  Never content to sit still, he then started a company with two other men to store cars for military members stationed overseas or deployed.  That same year he also started his own company, PDH Associates, to assist individuals and companies who desire to enter into the gaming industry.  Since then he’s taken a number of corporate governance positions within the gaming industry, including a position on the Board of Directors for the Riviera in 2001, and as the President and CEO of Pearl River Resorts, working directly for the Meko (Chief) of the Mississippi Band of Choctaw Indians.  He still lives in Mississippi today and actively continues with his own company, as well as with Pearl River Resorts and the Riviera.

Dad, I want you and others to know what you taught me: the things I can say you’re responsible for teaching me and that have made me the man, and the father that I am.

• Serving others and your country is more important than serving yourself
• Work hard and provide for your family
• Be a team player but don’t expect others to carry your load
• Be generous with what you have and help others when you can
• Education is important--get as much as you can
• Discipline will get you through most everything in life
• Priorities matter--commit to and finish what you start
• Have a sense of humor--don’t lose it and don’t forget to laugh
• Don’t forget where you came from--it matters because it makes you who you are

There are so many more things I could say, but these are the big ones.  You didn’t just tell me these things, you taught me through your words and deeds across my entire life.  You also commissioned me as a second lieutenant in the US Air Force, officiated all of my promotions, greeted me when I returned from my first combat deployment, and my son is named after you.  Thank you for being my dad and my hero.  If I’m ever even half the man that you are, I can count my life a success.  Happy Father’s Day, dad.  It’s truly great to be your son, and as always,

It’s great to be a dad!

Father's Day Guest Post: For Dad

This post was submitted by Kristina, a military officer and colleague of mine, in honor of her dad.  He recently passed away.  She penned these words on September 24th, 2009 and shared them at his funeral.  It seems appropriate to post her words, unedited, for Fathers Day.  Read on as she honors her dad:

I just wanted to start off by saying that Dad asked me to do this a couple of weeks ago. I knew it would be hard, but how could I say no? Dad also asked me to talk about what he meant as a naval officer. Unfortunately, I didn’t really know him when he was a naval officer, so I’d like to defer to (my Dad’s friend), who’ll be following me.

I don’t think Dad would have asked me to do this ten years ago. When I was about 16/17, we weren’t exactly on speaking terms. Before and after that rough patch, however, is a different story. I remember he was an assistant softball coach on Melissa’s and my team; he was an enthusiastic homework tutor, a motivator, and a supreme public embarrasser; in fact, when we went food shopping, he loved to dance in the middle of the supermarket just to see me turn multiple shades of red and hear me squeal, “Da-ad! You’re embarrassing me!”

Melissa, my sister, was a Daddy’s girl. Once, when Melissa was three years old, Dad was shoveling snow outside. Melissa put on Dad’s Navy uniform jacket and cover (aka his hat), walked outside to the front stoop, and exclaimed, “Daddy! I’m just like you! I’m in the Navy, too!” Laughing, Dad swooped Melissa up, and Mom took pictures.

I know Melissa will agree that we enjoyed being world travelers together. We lived in and traveled all over Europe and the US. Dad loved to show us great sites and teach us the way things worked – the cable cars in the Swiss Alps, for example.

Dad and I would have long conversations. I could always count on Dad for deep conversations on religion, science, and the meaning of life, among other topics. We concluded that there must indeed be life on other planets, and that Moses really did part the Red Sea. In fact, our last real conversation was on death as a journey, which I’ll get into later.

Last month, I wrote a prayer for my family in my journal, and read it to Dad when he was in the hospital. He loved it. I thought I would share it:

Written Aug 20, 2009:

"My dad has Stage 4 cancer. He hasn’t had a job in over two years…

[I also spelled out a few details about my other family members]

Please, God, help my family. Don’t worry about me – I’m fine – I’m doing great actually. Please cure my dad’s cancer. I know he’s been a smoker for 34 years, and he shouldn’t have done that – but could you spare him anyway? [More about other family members]

God, I know this is an extremely tall order, and I know I’ve said this before, but if you grant me these things, I’ll never ask for anything again – I mean it this time…

I’ve never written down a prayer before."

Dad was crying after I read him this prayer on the phone. And it’s kind of funny, in the weeks after that prayer, I found myself sometimes slipping and asking God for something, and immediately afterwards I would say, “Just kidding, God! I take it back! I’m not asking for anything else like I promised I wouldn’t!”

I read parts of the Bible several times during his last weeks with us. His favorites were Psalm 23 and Corinthians. My favorite is Corinthians. I also prayed with him. He really liked that.

I also thought I would talk about my last real conversation with Dad; it was on the 15th of Sep. Dad was in good spirits, eating some of the dark Swiss chocolate I had gotten him. Dad started saying he wasn’t sure what death was going to be like. I asked him, “Are you afraid?” 

“No, I’m not afraid” he said. “I just don’t know what to expect…I’m curious.” He said that he felt like he would get to heaven and then ask, “Now what?” He said that all of his faiths led him to believe in an afterlife. I told him a story where a friend of mine had seen his grandfather attend his own funeral. “Oh yeah?” Dad asked – I think he liked hearing that.

I finally gave him the book on death that the hospice nurse had given me a few days before. (I had been hiding it from him.) The name of the booklet was “Gone From My Sight.”

“What a bad title for a book!” Dad joked, “Although, I guess there aren’t too many other names you could give it anyway.” We looked up the names of other similar books in the back of “Gone From My Sight” and we laughed about those too.

I also pointed out something else I had noticed about the booklet, “Well, the book says that your pulse will raise to [so many] beats per minute…or it says, it might lower…well, which one is it? Will it raise or lower?? That’s some CYA if you ask me!!” For those of you that don’t know what CYA means, it stands for Cover Your Ass. Dad heartily agreed with me and we laughed pretty loud about it.

I also showed him the part where the booklet says that a lot of sleeping takes place weeks beforehand, but actually, “very important work” is being done by that individual who is sleeping. I got real serious, furrowed my eyebrows, and sternly asked, “Dad, are you doing important work while you’re sleeping?” 

“No” he replied, and we burst into laughter again.

I also pointed out in the booklet where it said that individuals sometimes see loved ones who have already passed on. I asked Dad if he had seen any loved ones. He said no. We sort of shrugged together.

This “Gone From My Sight” booklet was only a flimsy 14 pages stapled together. Dad was looking in the back, where it had a price listing. He was telling me about the prices. I think the cost was $2.00 per copy, unless you wanted to buy more than 2000 copies or something like that. Then Dad joked that “you could get a deal at $1.40 a copy” or something like that. “Oh yeah, that’s real savings” Dad chuckled. “And who’s making these books anyway??” he asked. “So when you order some, it’s like they tell Grandma in the basement…’Yo Grandma! We need more copies!!’” And we were back into hysteria again. Theresa (Dad's wife) even walked into the room because we had been laughing so much.

The book also said that sometimes individuals have a last energy surge before they pass on. Dad and Theresa both said that they thought that that would be the case with Dad, that he would have a really great day… As they were talking, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was Dad’s last surge, but I dared not say anything.

Dad told us he felt as though there was so much left he wanted to do. I asked him if he could write it all in a list (and maybe I could finish them for him), but he said he didn’t think he could write out a list. Theresa told me he had said he wanted to go to Guardian Angel training. I think that’s where he might be now.

The very last conversation I had with Dad – the day before he died, his words weren’t very clear, but I could tell what he was saying most of the time. I told him I loved him, and he told me he loved me. I asked him if he was in pain. He said no. I asked him if he was okay. He said “Yeah....really…truth.” I also prayed with him. I said an Our Father and a Hail Mary, and read Psalm 23 to him, as I had done a few times before – he liked that too. Mom had told me that Dad needed permission from Melissa and me to move on. I told him it was okay for him to sleep forever, and that if he saw a bright light to go after it. Dad also responded to me later that day – as I was leaving for the night, I kissed him on the cheek and told him I loved him. His eyes opened immediately. I told him I loved him again. He said “I love you.” Even though it wasn’t very clear, again, I knew exactly what he was saying.

He also responded with smiles when his pastor came and prayed with him, and when his siblings called him and we held the phone up to his ear.

The night Dad died, I was writing in my journal. I was jotting down as much of our last conversations as I could remember, and I had written another prayer for him. I thought I would share it:

Written Sep 21 2009:

Lord, I pray Dad has a painless and speedy transition into heaven, and that he becomes a Guardian Angel like he said he wants to become. Of course, my first choice is that Dad be cured and wake up just fine. My second choice is to put my Dad’s soul at rest and to end his suffering.

Now, Dad liked big parties, fancy dinners, and flying first class. He asked me to toast him. Dad would want us to make a big deal out of this, in a good way. So let’s make a big deal out of it. I think a lot of “I remember when’s” followed by laughter are in order. God be with you all.