Normally I don't promote authors or books on my Monday blog. Although tempted, I never promoted my own books on this site save for the widgets you see flashing on the right of the page. But today I'm going to make an exception.
C.J. Lyons, a New York Times Best Seller, has declared Monday, July 14, as DIGITAL BOOK DAY! C.J has gathered notable authors from around the world to contribute their writings for free as a way of giving back to the millions of supporters who value good literature. I find her efforts to be extremely generous. The time she's spent in creating and promoting this event, the glitches she's had to overcome, and the continued advice she's given to neophytes like myself are to be highly commended.
C.J. Lyons is a selfless woman who is interested in showing society that reading is essential to both the young and the old and everybody in between. Children who first begin to read are elated; their feelings of accomplishment, independence, and creativity soar to highs they've never before experienced.
The elderly gravitate to books, magazines, and newspapers as a way of staying in touch with the ever-changing world. I know many seniors who have or who are about to lose their eyesight, and the first thing they express sorrow over is that they can't or won't be able to read. Luckily there are volunteers who faithfully visit these folks to do just that for them. Audio books are the best innovations since sliced bread as far as they're concerned.
As for the in-betweeners, so many are caught up in the zillions of modern technological gadgets that they overlook the value of a good book. Hopefully through the efforts of dedicated people like C.J. Lyons, they'll realize the error of their ways and return to that which replenishes the mind and excites the soul.
www.digitalbookday.com is the place to go today. Again, all offerings are #FREE. This site was experiencing overload earlier because of the number of people trying to gain access. I understand that the problem is currently being investigated and should be resolved shortly. Keep on trying. Your rewards far outweigh any bumps you might have to endure for the time being.
Hats off to C.J. Lyons. Tons of authors and readers are forever in your debt, C.J. myself being one of them!
Monday, July 14, 2014
Monday, July 7, 2014
My Heart Cries Out, But My Resolve Grows Stronger!
Last week it was reported that a twenty-two month old toddler was left strapped in the back seat of his father's car for over eight hours. No one knows exactly when the baby succumbed to the heat, but I'm sure he suffered immeasurably for quite a while before suffocating. Perhaps the most heartbreaking part of this gut-wrenching tragedy was that he died alone.
The father says he thought he'd dropped his son off at daycare but doesn't remember doing it. The man had so much on his mind regarding work that he simply forgot. However upon investigation, the police discovered he'd been downloading pornography and emailing pictures of his privates for a good part of the day. With such stressful responsibilities resting on his shoulders, it's understandable he'd overlook something so insignificant as his two-year-old stuck in the sweltering heat with no water to drink or air to breathe.
At one point according to the press, this father actually returned to his car to fetch a forgotten item. Unfortunately that forgotten item wasn't his son.
While inspecting the man's computer, experts found he'd been searching the web on how long it would take for a child to die if left in a car on a hot day.
Yesterday, in a follow-up story, it was reported that the mother of this innocent victim had also been doing similar research. And her very first statement that she made to her husband shortly after his arrest was, "I hope you didn't say too much!" Oh the pain of a grieving mother couldn't be more evident in those seven sorrowful words!
Who does this? Two thirty-something narcissists whose only purpose in life is to satisfy their own wants. They care not for others. Once whatever prompted them to give birth was fulfilled, and the hard work of parenting set in, their young son became disposable. Finding a method to execute their plan was of utmost importance, neither one giving any thought to the pain and suffering they were about to inflict upon their helpless baby.
I've been a child advocate for most of my life. In my opinion, anybody responsible for the murder of a child to sate their own purposes should be subjected to the same kind of inhumane torture. I don't care what reasons they might offer for doing such a despicable act. I don't give a damn if they're mentally unstable, or were insane in that precise moment when they took a promising life. Bullshit to their excuse of doing it because the little one's incessant crying pushed them over the edge. And as far as the voices inside their heads made them do it, my comeback would most certainly be, JUST SAY NO, you asshole!
In this case, I would happily lock the two of them up in an overheated car myself and throw the key away. I would stand watching them suffer while drinking an ice-cold Pepsi. And I would hold up a picture of their twenty-two month old baby boy so his face would be the last thing they saw before their lights went out.
Unfortunately reports of this kind are becoming more and more common. I believe drastic consequences must be formulated and enforced in order to lessen such crimes. My heart cries out for this child, but my resolve to eradicate this type of evil is stronger than ever. To me, 'an eye for an eye' is the only justice acceptable for such selfish disregard for precious lives.
The father says he thought he'd dropped his son off at daycare but doesn't remember doing it. The man had so much on his mind regarding work that he simply forgot. However upon investigation, the police discovered he'd been downloading pornography and emailing pictures of his privates for a good part of the day. With such stressful responsibilities resting on his shoulders, it's understandable he'd overlook something so insignificant as his two-year-old stuck in the sweltering heat with no water to drink or air to breathe.
At one point according to the press, this father actually returned to his car to fetch a forgotten item. Unfortunately that forgotten item wasn't his son.
While inspecting the man's computer, experts found he'd been searching the web on how long it would take for a child to die if left in a car on a hot day.
Yesterday, in a follow-up story, it was reported that the mother of this innocent victim had also been doing similar research. And her very first statement that she made to her husband shortly after his arrest was, "I hope you didn't say too much!" Oh the pain of a grieving mother couldn't be more evident in those seven sorrowful words!
Who does this? Two thirty-something narcissists whose only purpose in life is to satisfy their own wants. They care not for others. Once whatever prompted them to give birth was fulfilled, and the hard work of parenting set in, their young son became disposable. Finding a method to execute their plan was of utmost importance, neither one giving any thought to the pain and suffering they were about to inflict upon their helpless baby.
I've been a child advocate for most of my life. In my opinion, anybody responsible for the murder of a child to sate their own purposes should be subjected to the same kind of inhumane torture. I don't care what reasons they might offer for doing such a despicable act. I don't give a damn if they're mentally unstable, or were insane in that precise moment when they took a promising life. Bullshit to their excuse of doing it because the little one's incessant crying pushed them over the edge. And as far as the voices inside their heads made them do it, my comeback would most certainly be, JUST SAY NO, you asshole!
In this case, I would happily lock the two of them up in an overheated car myself and throw the key away. I would stand watching them suffer while drinking an ice-cold Pepsi. And I would hold up a picture of their twenty-two month old baby boy so his face would be the last thing they saw before their lights went out.
Unfortunately reports of this kind are becoming more and more common. I believe drastic consequences must be formulated and enforced in order to lessen such crimes. My heart cries out for this child, but my resolve to eradicate this type of evil is stronger than ever. To me, 'an eye for an eye' is the only justice acceptable for such selfish disregard for precious lives.
Monday, June 30, 2014
We're In This Life Together
I try to walk our dog, Shadow, every day around the neighborhood. Granted, the weather dictates just how far and how long, but we usually pass by the same houses. I know most of the people on our route by name, and Shadow knows most of the dogs by smell.
Quite a number of these folks are elderly, so I always make it a point to greet them with a smile and a friendly hello. When invited, occasionally I'll sit down and chit chat for ten minutes or so. One couple in particular seems to look forward to my little visits. Mike and Doris are both in their eighties, both fraile, but although the husband is not very talkative, both are of sound mind and actually very witty.
Last summer I spied a 'for sale' sign in the back window of Mike's newly-purchased automobile. I was confused since I knew he'd purchased it only a few weeks prior. On the way back from our walk, I saw Mike outside, approached him and asked why he was selling it. He told me he could no longer drive because of his eyesight and didn't know what he was going to do in regards to shopping, doctor's appointment, etc.
I asked him for a piece of paper and a pen, jotted down both mine and my husband's name, and included our telephone number. I encouraged Mike to call us anytime, and if we were available, we'd be happy to drive him and Doris wherever they had to go. We're both retired and can afford to help out neighbors in need.
Several days later when visiting, I asked Doris if Mike had given her our information. She readily said that he had, but they just couldn't take advantage of us. They didn't want to burden others with their problems. Again I assured her they wouldn't be an inconvenience and to please let us be of assistance. She said if they really were stuck, Mike would give us a call. He never did.
Yesterday I stopped to visit for a minute. Doris was sitting on their concrete wall, Mike on the steps leading to the front door. Both looked extremely uncomfortable. I asked what happened to the outdoor bench they've always sat on under the front awning to keep cool. Doris told me it was in the garage, but too heavy for them to pull out. When I offered to get it, Doris emphatically stated that she'd rather I didn't. The dear old woman was afraid if I got hurt, I'd sue them. I assured her that if it was indeed too heavy, I'd summon my hubby to help me. I asked if I could at least go in and check it out. Reluctantly she agreed. A few minutes later, I was rolling the bench out on a dolly and had it positioned in their favorite spot in no time.
Tearfully Doris thanked me and handed me a tiny box with an Italian candy inside. I remember eating those when I was a kid. As I accepted her gift, I thanked her profusely for giving me the opportunity to be of service. Of course she said they were the ones who should be thanking me.
I'm not sure that Mike and Doris understand that they were gifting me much more by accepting my service than what I had actually done for them. As we grow older, we need to realize that we can still do for others by permitting others to do for us.
The one lesson we all need to learn is that being in need at anytime and asking for help is not a sign of weakness, but rather a chance to teach others what they can do to better themselves.
We're all in this life together, so together let's make life better for everyone!
Quite a number of these folks are elderly, so I always make it a point to greet them with a smile and a friendly hello. When invited, occasionally I'll sit down and chit chat for ten minutes or so. One couple in particular seems to look forward to my little visits. Mike and Doris are both in their eighties, both fraile, but although the husband is not very talkative, both are of sound mind and actually very witty.
Last summer I spied a 'for sale' sign in the back window of Mike's newly-purchased automobile. I was confused since I knew he'd purchased it only a few weeks prior. On the way back from our walk, I saw Mike outside, approached him and asked why he was selling it. He told me he could no longer drive because of his eyesight and didn't know what he was going to do in regards to shopping, doctor's appointment, etc.
I asked him for a piece of paper and a pen, jotted down both mine and my husband's name, and included our telephone number. I encouraged Mike to call us anytime, and if we were available, we'd be happy to drive him and Doris wherever they had to go. We're both retired and can afford to help out neighbors in need.
Several days later when visiting, I asked Doris if Mike had given her our information. She readily said that he had, but they just couldn't take advantage of us. They didn't want to burden others with their problems. Again I assured her they wouldn't be an inconvenience and to please let us be of assistance. She said if they really were stuck, Mike would give us a call. He never did.
Yesterday I stopped to visit for a minute. Doris was sitting on their concrete wall, Mike on the steps leading to the front door. Both looked extremely uncomfortable. I asked what happened to the outdoor bench they've always sat on under the front awning to keep cool. Doris told me it was in the garage, but too heavy for them to pull out. When I offered to get it, Doris emphatically stated that she'd rather I didn't. The dear old woman was afraid if I got hurt, I'd sue them. I assured her that if it was indeed too heavy, I'd summon my hubby to help me. I asked if I could at least go in and check it out. Reluctantly she agreed. A few minutes later, I was rolling the bench out on a dolly and had it positioned in their favorite spot in no time.
Tearfully Doris thanked me and handed me a tiny box with an Italian candy inside. I remember eating those when I was a kid. As I accepted her gift, I thanked her profusely for giving me the opportunity to be of service. Of course she said they were the ones who should be thanking me.
I'm not sure that Mike and Doris understand that they were gifting me much more by accepting my service than what I had actually done for them. As we grow older, we need to realize that we can still do for others by permitting others to do for us.
The one lesson we all need to learn is that being in need at anytime and asking for help is not a sign of weakness, but rather a chance to teach others what they can do to better themselves.
We're all in this life together, so together let's make life better for everyone!
Monday, June 23, 2014
16,790 Days!
16,790 days, give or take a few, refers to the number of 24 hour periods I've spent married to my hubby. Yesterday we celebrated our 46th wedding anniversary, and we're both still in it for the long haul. To say that every single minute of every single day has been gloriously happy would be a downright lie! To say that every single minute of every single day has been a living hell would also be grossly untrue! But, to say that every single minute of every single day has been worth it, is an extreme understatement because our life together has been exactly that, WORTH IT!
We were so young in 1968 and hadn't a clue what marriage entailed. We're, let's say, much older now, and I must confess at times still don't get it. Yet we keep trying because of our commitment to each other hasn't waivered one iota. When we spoke our vows to have, to hold, and to love, we meant it. When we agreed that for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness or in health until death, we meant it.
We became parents to our beautiful daughter, Joy, seven months after we said "I do." Thirteen months later, our son, Barry, came along. Needless to say, with my hubby working eight hours to pay the bills, and me caring full time for two babies and holding down the fort, we had little time for each other. On most days, hellos, good-byes, and good nights comprised the totality of our conversations. Since we were only engaged four months after we met, and then married seven months later, we knew squat, one about the other. Heck, I didn't know what foods he hated which turned out to be that he loved everything except pigs feet and he didn't even know my full name, Florence Frances Agnes Kolton Barnett! I didn't know he wasn't a fan of the beach, and he certainly didn't know I would be a beach bum for the rest of my life without complaint. We both were guilty of not knowing one another's favorite color! Imagine?
But over the years we slowly realized that all of who we were and what we wanted out of life would reveal itself eventually. All we needed to do was pay attention. Sometimes when we did just that, our lives were blissfully happy. However when our observations diminished or were totally nonexistent, our lives were taken over by resentment and hurt. Arguments ensued and days of silence took over our household. Not only did we suffer, but our children did as well. Even though they were quite young, they felt the tension and disconnect. Seperately we tried to attend to the needs of our daughter and son, but know that their lives were negatively changed. How could they not be!
After decades of practicing to understand one another and make compromises for the good of our family, did our marriage improve immensely. Today we know pretty much everything about each other and accept the foibles and quirks the are part of our beings the we had a difficult time tolerating way back when. We laugh at how silly we were in trying to be right instead of being happy.
Oh, I would be remiss if I didn't mention out third child, Kristy, who was born eight years after her brother. Although I was highly upset at first, over time we both realized that she was the best thing that could have happened to us. We were older and had been there, done that already, but we were wiser, too. We not only had quality time with only one baby to care for, but we definitely made sure to be there for each other.
16,790 days seems like a long time, but actually it isn't. We still have a lot to learn about each other, and hopefully we'll have the time to do it. Our life together has been fruitful, we have seven amazing grandchildren to dote on. Have there been bumps along the road? Definitely!
But on day, 16,791, give or take a few, we're still commitment and it's 100% with out a doubt, WORTH IT!
We were so young in 1968 and hadn't a clue what marriage entailed. We're, let's say, much older now, and I must confess at times still don't get it. Yet we keep trying because of our commitment to each other hasn't waivered one iota. When we spoke our vows to have, to hold, and to love, we meant it. When we agreed that for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness or in health until death, we meant it.
We became parents to our beautiful daughter, Joy, seven months after we said "I do." Thirteen months later, our son, Barry, came along. Needless to say, with my hubby working eight hours to pay the bills, and me caring full time for two babies and holding down the fort, we had little time for each other. On most days, hellos, good-byes, and good nights comprised the totality of our conversations. Since we were only engaged four months after we met, and then married seven months later, we knew squat, one about the other. Heck, I didn't know what foods he hated which turned out to be that he loved everything except pigs feet and he didn't even know my full name, Florence Frances Agnes Kolton Barnett! I didn't know he wasn't a fan of the beach, and he certainly didn't know I would be a beach bum for the rest of my life without complaint. We both were guilty of not knowing one another's favorite color! Imagine?
But over the years we slowly realized that all of who we were and what we wanted out of life would reveal itself eventually. All we needed to do was pay attention. Sometimes when we did just that, our lives were blissfully happy. However when our observations diminished or were totally nonexistent, our lives were taken over by resentment and hurt. Arguments ensued and days of silence took over our household. Not only did we suffer, but our children did as well. Even though they were quite young, they felt the tension and disconnect. Seperately we tried to attend to the needs of our daughter and son, but know that their lives were negatively changed. How could they not be!
After decades of practicing to understand one another and make compromises for the good of our family, did our marriage improve immensely. Today we know pretty much everything about each other and accept the foibles and quirks the are part of our beings the we had a difficult time tolerating way back when. We laugh at how silly we were in trying to be right instead of being happy.
Oh, I would be remiss if I didn't mention out third child, Kristy, who was born eight years after her brother. Although I was highly upset at first, over time we both realized that she was the best thing that could have happened to us. We were older and had been there, done that already, but we were wiser, too. We not only had quality time with only one baby to care for, but we definitely made sure to be there for each other.
16,790 days seems like a long time, but actually it isn't. We still have a lot to learn about each other, and hopefully we'll have the time to do it. Our life together has been fruitful, we have seven amazing grandchildren to dote on. Have there been bumps along the road? Definitely!
But on day, 16,791, give or take a few, we're still commitment and it's 100% with out a doubt, WORTH IT!
Monday, June 2, 2014
Why the Need to Defame?
Why is it that no matter what a person does, what extraordinary feat a person accomplishes, what horrific experiences a person endures, is it always necessary to spotlight something negative about him or her? Perhaps in finding fault, the person who does nothing, accomplishes little, and never suffers extreme pain or loss, can boast that their actions have never warranted criticism. What they fail to realize is that they've done nothing!
A soldier returns home from Afghanistan after being abducted and held captive for five years. This young man has undoubtedly been deprived of food, water, and most importantly his freedom. Assuredly he's been subjected to physical and mental torture by the Taliban. He has little to no contact with the outside world especially his family. His health is terribly compromised.
Then one day his country comes to his rescue and negotiates his release in exchange for five known terrorists. Although some may think such a bargain too high, what exactly is the right price for a man's life?
In our local paper, the headlines revealed that Sgt. Bowe Bergdahl from Iowa was most likely AWOL on June 30, 2009 at the time of his capture. Bummer, right? All of our elation and admiration for a twenty-three year old who went through such a terrible ordeal for five years has certainly been misplaced. The only thing such a coward deserves is our ridicule and disdain. Right?
After all, Sgt. Bergdahl admittedly criticized the military for lacking in leadership, caring little for the plight of the Afghan people, even going so far as to bully both soldiers and townsfolk for no reason. He says the U.S. Army is a joke. What kind of soldier rebukes his superiors and fellow servicemen in such a vile manner? Perhaps five years in Taliban captivity is exactly what this ingrate deserved. Right?
Wrong, and wrong! On the night in question, Bowe completed his surveillance duties and then asked if it would be a problem if he took his rifle and gear when he walked away from the outpost. Of course he was told that indeed it would be a problem.
At age twenty-three, Sgt. Bergdahl became disillusioned with the military he had once committed himself to much like becoming aware of an unfaithful wife who cared little for him and the dreams they'd once shared.
About 50% of the marriages in the U.S. end in divorce without societal rebuke.
Does the town newspaper headline the couple's split, highlighting her failure to keep the house clean, or his propensity to spend money on fast cars? Is their dirty laundry plastered across the front page so that we now view these two as unworthy of our sympathy? If jailed for their misconduct, would we rail against their release? I highly doubt it.
Certainly going AWOL was a serious mistake in judgement. But in this case, I believe Sgt. Bowe Bergdahl has paid a high price for his misconduct. Five years held by terrorists, tortured and abused, deprived of his very freedom was cruel and unusual punishment for his offense. He's finally home now, and deserves our understanding and compassion, not our ridicule and disdain. Let's rally around this soldier and his family and try to give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, he enlisted to serve his country, to bring peace to a war-torn, God-forsaken land even though it meant putting himself in harm's way.
This person did something, accomplished much, and endured pain and loss. Right? Why the need to defame?
A soldier returns home from Afghanistan after being abducted and held captive for five years. This young man has undoubtedly been deprived of food, water, and most importantly his freedom. Assuredly he's been subjected to physical and mental torture by the Taliban. He has little to no contact with the outside world especially his family. His health is terribly compromised.
Then one day his country comes to his rescue and negotiates his release in exchange for five known terrorists. Although some may think such a bargain too high, what exactly is the right price for a man's life?
In our local paper, the headlines revealed that Sgt. Bowe Bergdahl from Iowa was most likely AWOL on June 30, 2009 at the time of his capture. Bummer, right? All of our elation and admiration for a twenty-three year old who went through such a terrible ordeal for five years has certainly been misplaced. The only thing such a coward deserves is our ridicule and disdain. Right?
After all, Sgt. Bergdahl admittedly criticized the military for lacking in leadership, caring little for the plight of the Afghan people, even going so far as to bully both soldiers and townsfolk for no reason. He says the U.S. Army is a joke. What kind of soldier rebukes his superiors and fellow servicemen in such a vile manner? Perhaps five years in Taliban captivity is exactly what this ingrate deserved. Right?
Wrong, and wrong! On the night in question, Bowe completed his surveillance duties and then asked if it would be a problem if he took his rifle and gear when he walked away from the outpost. Of course he was told that indeed it would be a problem.
At age twenty-three, Sgt. Bergdahl became disillusioned with the military he had once committed himself to much like becoming aware of an unfaithful wife who cared little for him and the dreams they'd once shared.
About 50% of the marriages in the U.S. end in divorce without societal rebuke.
Does the town newspaper headline the couple's split, highlighting her failure to keep the house clean, or his propensity to spend money on fast cars? Is their dirty laundry plastered across the front page so that we now view these two as unworthy of our sympathy? If jailed for their misconduct, would we rail against their release? I highly doubt it.
Certainly going AWOL was a serious mistake in judgement. But in this case, I believe Sgt. Bowe Bergdahl has paid a high price for his misconduct. Five years held by terrorists, tortured and abused, deprived of his very freedom was cruel and unusual punishment for his offense. He's finally home now, and deserves our understanding and compassion, not our ridicule and disdain. Let's rally around this soldier and his family and try to give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, he enlisted to serve his country, to bring peace to a war-torn, God-forsaken land even though it meant putting himself in harm's way.
This person did something, accomplished much, and endured pain and loss. Right? Why the need to defame?
Monday, May 26, 2014
Immensely Proud and Profoundly Saddened
If you happened to catch the PBS broadcast of the 25th anniversary of the National Memorial Day Concert last night, hosted by Gary Sinise and Joe Montegna, you are no doubt feeling immensely proud and profoundly saddened this morning. The line-up of orchestrational expertise, notable vocalists and performers, and military dignitaries was impressive, but what was perhaps even more striking to me was the solemn demeanor of the massive crowd gathered in front of the Capitol in Washington, D.C. Thousands sat in respectful silence as patriotic songs were rendered, actual war film viewed, and a number of heartfelt speeches delivered to pay tribute to our fallen soldiers. Of course, those serving today were honored with applause and appreciative words as well.
In that crowd were many of the young men and women who've returned from duty forever broken. Those in wheelchairs, those who have suffered loss of limbs, those who can no longer remember, and those who remember and wish to God that they didn't, sat with tears streaming down their faces. As I questioned the "why" of it all, the answer became crystal clear. These people believe that freedom is worth fighting for, even dying for. However we who live in America and enjoy that freedom and take it for granted don't possess anything remotely akin to the passion of the soldiers who are consciously willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. We barely give freedom a second thought except maybe on holidays designated specifically to remind us of how lucky we are to live in this great country of ours.
One of the honorees, John Peck, a young man who at the age of 25 lost both arms and both legs in Afghanistan, truly touched my heart. As I listened to his story, and watched the tears flow, I couldn't help but join him in his emotional release. I felt extremely guilty that this man will never walk again, never hold anyone in his arms, never be whole. I, on the other hand, having done nothing to preserve our freedom, not only can walk, but skip, jump, climb, and run. Having done nothing to preserve our freedom, I can not only hold someone, but use my hands in countless activities that give me great pleasure. And, I am whole without ever lifting a finger to preserve our freedom. John Peck is my hero and I am humbled by his greatness.
Another upcoming holiday, June 6, 1944 is known as D-Day. During World War II, our troops landed on the beaches of Normandy and were mowed down by the Germans even before they had a chance to defend themselves. I suppose this day of remembrance is extremely special to me because I was born only three months after over 6,000 Americans lost their lives that day. I somehow believe that one of their spirits wandering over the earth entered my soul and still lives within me even now. He keeps reminding me that I enjoy my freedom because he was willing to forego his own.
Please remember all those who have served and continue to serve not only on Memorial Day or D-Day, but throughout the year. Whatever you can do, deem it an honor and do it with the same passion that those in our military faithfully exhibit for you. Maybe this can help a little to assuage the guilt we all must bear.
In that crowd were many of the young men and women who've returned from duty forever broken. Those in wheelchairs, those who have suffered loss of limbs, those who can no longer remember, and those who remember and wish to God that they didn't, sat with tears streaming down their faces. As I questioned the "why" of it all, the answer became crystal clear. These people believe that freedom is worth fighting for, even dying for. However we who live in America and enjoy that freedom and take it for granted don't possess anything remotely akin to the passion of the soldiers who are consciously willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. We barely give freedom a second thought except maybe on holidays designated specifically to remind us of how lucky we are to live in this great country of ours.
One of the honorees, John Peck, a young man who at the age of 25 lost both arms and both legs in Afghanistan, truly touched my heart. As I listened to his story, and watched the tears flow, I couldn't help but join him in his emotional release. I felt extremely guilty that this man will never walk again, never hold anyone in his arms, never be whole. I, on the other hand, having done nothing to preserve our freedom, not only can walk, but skip, jump, climb, and run. Having done nothing to preserve our freedom, I can not only hold someone, but use my hands in countless activities that give me great pleasure. And, I am whole without ever lifting a finger to preserve our freedom. John Peck is my hero and I am humbled by his greatness.
Another upcoming holiday, June 6, 1944 is known as D-Day. During World War II, our troops landed on the beaches of Normandy and were mowed down by the Germans even before they had a chance to defend themselves. I suppose this day of remembrance is extremely special to me because I was born only three months after over 6,000 Americans lost their lives that day. I somehow believe that one of their spirits wandering over the earth entered my soul and still lives within me even now. He keeps reminding me that I enjoy my freedom because he was willing to forego his own.
Please remember all those who have served and continue to serve not only on Memorial Day or D-Day, but throughout the year. Whatever you can do, deem it an honor and do it with the same passion that those in our military faithfully exhibit for you. Maybe this can help a little to assuage the guilt we all must bear.
Monday, May 19, 2014
Sixty-Six Years of Wishing
For the past sixty-six years, I've wished that my dad hadn't passed away so soon. I was only three, and my brother, Dan, five when Dad died on May 19, 1948, at the age of 38. He was inspecting a steel furnace door, when it suddenly became unhinged and fell, crushing him from the waist down. His accident happened on the seventeenth of May and he died two days later.
I documented this horrible tragedy in my first chapter book, Playing Hooky (When We Were Kids, Book 1) so that my children and grandchildren will know who he was, a talented and funny person who loved his wife, son and daughter to no end, and enjoyed every moment of his short life to the fullest.
On every death anniversary, I think about what my life would have been like had he lived. I know I would have been a "daddy's girl" because we had a special bond even before I was born. Dad told my mom that if their second child was a girl, he wanted her name to be Florence Frances. Florence because it meant "flowers" and Frances because his mentally-impaired younger sister's name was Frances and since she would never have the chance to have her own children, he wanted his daughter to carry her name. He had a heart of gold, my dad.
I have only a few pictures of him and just one of him, my brother, and I all holding hands, taken in Baba's backyard. But the images in my mind are many. I see Dad coming home from the mill, picking me up and swinging me around the room, him smiling from ear to ear, and me giggling excitedly. I hear him telling mom about his day as he lovingly embraces her. He asks what's for dinner and promises ice cream if we eat all our vegetables. Afterwards Dad reads the daily paper from cover to cover. When he gets to the comic strips, he howls out loud. My brother and I can't imagine what he finds so funny, but we join him nonetheless. He sings every nursery rhyme he can think of and then graces us with "Danny Boy" the Irish ditty he became famous for in our hometown. Although his given name was Frank, everybody called him Dan because whenever he had the opportunity, he sang that song. I see Dad helping me get ready for bed and telling me stories of his own childhood. He kisses my forehead, lets me know how much he loves me, and wishes me sweet dreams.
One morning just like every other one, Dad fixes me a bowl of cereal, picks up his lunch box and heads to work. When I hear the four o'clock mill whistle, since we live directly across from the gate, I run out on the front porch to meet him. But on this particular day, he doesn't come home. He's in the hospital fighting for his life, a battle he eventually loses.
Yet I still see him proudly watching me make my First Communion, graduate high school, secure my first teaching job, get married, have three beautiful children, become a successful educator, be blessed with seven energetic grandchildren, start a second career as an author at the ripe old age of sixty-eight, and live every moment of my life to the fullest exactly like he did.
My Dad has always been here with me though I didn't realize that until just a few years ago. However, having come to that conclusion no matter how late in life, I now have a beautiful sense of peace that was missing for so long. And every time I read the comic strips in our local paper, I hear him howling.
Love you, Dad, always and forever.
I documented this horrible tragedy in my first chapter book, Playing Hooky (When We Were Kids, Book 1) so that my children and grandchildren will know who he was, a talented and funny person who loved his wife, son and daughter to no end, and enjoyed every moment of his short life to the fullest.
On every death anniversary, I think about what my life would have been like had he lived. I know I would have been a "daddy's girl" because we had a special bond even before I was born. Dad told my mom that if their second child was a girl, he wanted her name to be Florence Frances. Florence because it meant "flowers" and Frances because his mentally-impaired younger sister's name was Frances and since she would never have the chance to have her own children, he wanted his daughter to carry her name. He had a heart of gold, my dad.
I have only a few pictures of him and just one of him, my brother, and I all holding hands, taken in Baba's backyard. But the images in my mind are many. I see Dad coming home from the mill, picking me up and swinging me around the room, him smiling from ear to ear, and me giggling excitedly. I hear him telling mom about his day as he lovingly embraces her. He asks what's for dinner and promises ice cream if we eat all our vegetables. Afterwards Dad reads the daily paper from cover to cover. When he gets to the comic strips, he howls out loud. My brother and I can't imagine what he finds so funny, but we join him nonetheless. He sings every nursery rhyme he can think of and then graces us with "Danny Boy" the Irish ditty he became famous for in our hometown. Although his given name was Frank, everybody called him Dan because whenever he had the opportunity, he sang that song. I see Dad helping me get ready for bed and telling me stories of his own childhood. He kisses my forehead, lets me know how much he loves me, and wishes me sweet dreams.
One morning just like every other one, Dad fixes me a bowl of cereal, picks up his lunch box and heads to work. When I hear the four o'clock mill whistle, since we live directly across from the gate, I run out on the front porch to meet him. But on this particular day, he doesn't come home. He's in the hospital fighting for his life, a battle he eventually loses.
Yet I still see him proudly watching me make my First Communion, graduate high school, secure my first teaching job, get married, have three beautiful children, become a successful educator, be blessed with seven energetic grandchildren, start a second career as an author at the ripe old age of sixty-eight, and live every moment of my life to the fullest exactly like he did.
My Dad has always been here with me though I didn't realize that until just a few years ago. However, having come to that conclusion no matter how late in life, I now have a beautiful sense of peace that was missing for so long. And every time I read the comic strips in our local paper, I hear him howling.
Love you, Dad, always and forever.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)