Along with the laughter from the other customers nearby, I heard a woman remark, “That’s what’s wrong with this country. Kids today don’t even know how to pray. Asking God for ice-cream! Why, I never!”

Hearing this, my son burst into tears and asked me, “Did I do it wrong? is God mad at me?” As I held him and assured him that he had done a terrific job and God was certainly not mad at him, an elderly gentleman approached the table. He winked at my son and said, “I happen to know that God thought that was a great prayer.” “Really?” my son asked. “Cross my heart.”

Then in theatrical whisper he added (indicating the woman whose remark had started this whole thing), “Too bad she never asks God for ice cream. A little ice cream is good for the soul sometimes.”

Naturally, I bought my kids ice cream at the end of the meal. My son stared at his for a moment and then did something I will remember the rest of my life. He picked up his sundae and without a word walked over and placed it in front of the woman. With a big smile he told her, “Here, this is for you. Ice cream is good for the soul sometimes and my soul is good already.”

Technorati Tags: Family, Inspiring, Parenting

Technorati Tags: Christmas, Family, Love

Technorati Tags: Family, Mother

Most of you know that both my dad and my father in law died in the same week this past July. Since then my wife and I have been busy literally selling the farm my parents lived on and disposing of all the farm equipment and 75 years accumulation of business, farm and personal stuff. Just going through it is a long process, not to mention disposing of it.

I found a few really neat things I had not seen since I was a kid right away. I decided then and there that there would not be any wholesale removal of anything. The memories those things brought back were just too valuable.

After many hours, days and weeks of blood, sweat and tears literally, on the top shelf of my Dad’s workshop covered with dirt daubers and spider webs was a Gerber baby food jar. Inside it was a key ring. On the key ring was a Nickel alloy almost round magnet the size of a dine and about 4 mm thick.

My dad was a radiator repairman and welder. One of the problems right after WWII was radiators had a lot of iron parts on them that caused repair problems. Dad needed a handy magnet to sort out these parts. His uncle was a metallurgist at a local refinery and made that magnet for him. As a kid I always remember it on his key ring. About 10 years ago I asked what happened to it and he told me he did not know.

He obviously put it in a safe place. I found it.

Dad, it is on my key ring just like it was on yours.

The torch is passed.

When it came time to do the same thing at my father in law’s house my brother in law “I just can’t do it” is what he told me. Too sensitive of a guy. My dad took that sensitivity out of me with a little strip of leather and the admonition to “suck it up and take it like a man”.

My Dad’s parents were both killed when he was 16 in 1932 in the midst of the depression. Dad knew what “suck it up and take it like a man” meant. He had been there, done that. I often thought of him telling me that and it got me through many a dismal hour in my youth, the U S Army, at Philmont and all along life’s path.

I even passed it along to my daughters. My 23 year old is often heard telling her whining friends to “suck it up and take it like a man” and they do!

Anyway, the time came to clean out my father in law’s attic. He notoriously saved EVERYTHING, packaged it in an appropriate box or bag, tied it with string and labeled it. This was brought to my attention when my wife and I had our first child (the 23 year old) and she was ready to start coloring with Crayolas.

Grandpa fetched my wife’s coloring books and Crayolas from the attic where he put them some 35 year earlier.

OK, I approached my brother in law about cleaning out the attic. He told me he just couldn’t put his mind to it that it was too painful and anyway almost everything up there was mine. He told his sister she could have anything that was up there.

True my wife had put a lot of baby stuff in her dad’s attic as ours is not very big so we got after it.

Yesterday we started working on the attic. Besides five computers that belonged to her brother and three degrees worth of engineering notes and texts stored there we also found his Cub Scout uniform from 50 years ago.

She also found a silver tray and coffee and tea service that she had never seen before. The note in the box told that it was her great grandmothers. We had it appraised today at $500.00. It is not the monetary value, but the fact that it is a family heirloom she had never seen or heard about.

Today I found her brother’s A. C. Gilbert No 6-1/2 Erector Set complete with instruction booklet and the electric motor and gear box. Mine gave up the ghost long ago and what is left of the “customized” parts is in some landfill. If you have never built things with an Erector Set, you just have never lived.

I don’t think the gear box on the motor drive would pass OSHA standards today but back then kids didn’t go sticking their fingers into gears to see what it would do. We knew without trying.

Since he told me the stuff was all mine I am enjoying playing with MY Erector Set even though his name is written on the box. I just got off the phone from telling him how much fun it was to play with it again after a 50 year hiatus.

I told him that when I got through playing with MY new toy, he could borrow it someday so long as he returned it the same day. No overnight loans. I did not want him to become attached to it.

In reality, I’ll clean it up and give it to him for a Christmas present. In the meantime, I’m gonna make him sweat. I’ll throw in his Cub Scout uniform for good measure. He doesn’t even know I found it.

His daddy always put the things into the attic and Gene and Susan had no idea where or what was there. The attic was their dad’s sanctum sanctuary.

Now I am the custodian of the attic.

And again, the torch is passed.

Technorati Tags: Family, John LeBlanc, Parenting, Passing the Torch

Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-round
Or listened to the rain slapping on the ground?

Ever followed a butterfly’s erratic flight
Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?

You better slow down
Don’t dance so fast
Time is short
The music won’t last

Do you run through each day on the fly
When you ask “How are you?” do you hear the reply?
When the day is done, do you lie in your bed
With the next hundred chores running through your head?

You’d better slow down
Don’t dance so fast
Time is short
The music won’t last

Ever told your child, We’ll do it tomorrow
And in your haste, not see his sorrow?

Ever lost touch, Let a good friendship die
‘Cause you never had time to call and say “Hi”?

You’d better slow down
Don’t dance so fast
Time is short
The music won’t last

When you run so fast to get somewhere
You miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day,
It is like an unopened gift….
Thrown away…

Life is not a race.
Do take it slower
Hear the music
Before the song is over.

Technorati Tags: Abraham Lincoln, Family, Happiness, Life, Slow Dance

Like every golfer, I can’t wait for the start of the golf season. But I have a special reason: my new playing partner, my 8-year-old daughter, known affectionately as “the Terrorist.”

When she was only 2, her mother and I bought the little rascal a child-sized seven iron. It was way too big for her, but she dragged it around the house. About the time she was 5, she started accompanying her daddy to the driving range and putting green.

She and I chipped around in the back yard until she started to hit the ball with some authority. One day, she put a Titleist through the bathroom window, which resulted in a torrent of tears After that, we confine golfing to the driving range.

Then last spring, I said to the Terrorist, “What do you say we play ‘real’ golf on a ‘real’ golf course?

“Yeah! Daddy!” came the enthusiastic response.

So the following Saturday morning, we drove to a nine-hole, par three course. It is a family-friendly course with slow greens, a driving range and a putting green on which to warm up. One rarely has to wait at the first tee.

After a torrential rain, water collects along the left side of the first fairway. And a ditch lies along the second fairway. Otherwise, it is hard to get into trouble on a course with virtually no rough. Just the place for an 8-year-old, and her daddy.

And so Daddy and the Terrorist played their first round of golf together. Golf is, a wonderful game to teach life’s little messages to little girls.

“First of all, you have to count all the strokes, even if you accidentally bump the ball, and it rolls an inch,” I instructed.

The Terrorist caught on fast and insisted on keeping score. “So you got a 5 on that hole?” I asked. “No, Daddy, I accidentally hit the ball on the hill, and it moved, so I got a 6.” And she dutifully recorded the 6. I could be wrong but I think we have the making of an honest child here.

“Daddy, the ball is behind a bush, can I move it?”

“No, sweetheart, you have to play the ball where it lies, no fair moving it.” Another of life’s little messages.

On each tee, I dutifully filled my divot sand, then filled at least one more. “Always leave the golf course in better shape than you found it.” I advised.

Since then, she has methodically attempted to rebuild every tee by filling every divot.

There is something about sand and kids. When the Terrorist knocked her ball into a sand trap, she would have spent the next hour making sure it was absolutely smooth. “No,” I admonished, “there are people waiting on the tee, and we can’t hold them up.” That led to a simple lesson on slow play and about others around you and how your actions have an impact on them.

Once, when we were two holes ahead of the some behind us, we stopped to fix some extra marks on a green and to practice chipping. For 10 minutes, she chipped the ball at the hole, and I putted it back to her, another of life’s little lessons: Practice makes perfect.

For now, golf simply is fun. Hit the ball hard, go find it, and who cares what the score is. We spend little time on the driving range with very elementary instruction, but nothing serious. In another two years, if she still enjoys the game, we will see about some lessons. But for now, it is just a game.

On a short, 60-yard hole, the Terrorist drove the green and landed her ball considerably inside her dad’s shot. That was a momentous accomplishment, which later was recounted in great detail to her mother.

Two hours after we teed off, the Terrorist and I returned to the clubhouse to drink lemonade, eat candy bars and (at her insistence) add up the score.

She leaned back in her chair, pushed back her golf visor, looked at me with her child’s eyes and, and said, “Daddy, that was a lot of fun! Let’s do this again!”

And we did, all summer long.

Technorati Tags: Family, Golf, Parenting

“While I was out playing and Dad was on a call,
T.J. took his crayons and wrote on the wall!
It’s on the new paper you just hung in the den.
I told him you’d be mad at having to do it again.”

She let out a moan and furrowed her brow,
“Where is your little brother right now?”
She emptied her arms and with a purposeful stride,
She marched to his closet where he had gone to hide.

She called his full name as she entered his room.
He trembled with fear–he knew that meant doom!
For the next ten minutes, she ranted and raved
About the expensive wallpaper and how she had saved.

Lamenting all the work it would take to repair,
She condemned his actions and total lack of care.
The more she scolded, the madder she got,
Then stomped from his room, totally distraught!

She headed for the den to confirm her fears.
When she saw the wall, her eyes flooded with tears.
The message she read pierced her soul with a dart.
It said, “I love Mommy,” surrounded by a heart.

Well, the wallpaper remained, just as she found it,
With an empty picture frame hung to surround it.
A reminder to her, and indeed to all,
Take time to read the handwriting on the wall

Technorati Tags: Family, Mother

He said, “Please, excuse me too,
Wasn’t even watching for you.”

We were very polite, this stranger and I.
We went on our way and we said good-bye.

But at home a different story is told,
How we treat our loved ones, young and old.

Later that day, cooking the evening meal,
My daughter stood beside me very still.

When I turned, I nearly knocked her down.
“Move out of the way,” I said with a frown.

She walked away, her little heart broken
at how harshly I had spoken.

While I lay awake in bed,
God’s still small voice came to me and said,

“While dealing with a stranger, common courtesy you use,
But the children you love, you seem to abuse.

Look on the kitchen floor,
You’ll find some flowers there by the door.

Those are the flowers she brought for you.
She picked them herself, pink, yellow and blue.

She stood quietly not to spoil the surprise,
And you never saw the tears in her eyes.

“By this time, I felt very small,
and now my tears began to fall.

I quietly went and knelt by her bed;
“Wake up, little girl, wake up,” I said.

“Are these the flowers you picked for me?”
She smiled, “I found ‘em, out by the tree.

I picked ‘em, because they’re pretty like you.
I knew you’d like’em, especially the blue.

I said, “Daughter, I’m sorry for the way I acted today;
I shouldn’t have yelled at you that way.”

She said, “Oh, Mom, that’s okay.
I love you anyway.”

I said, “Daughter, I love you too,
And I do like the flowers, especially the blue.”

Technorati Tags: A Stranger Passed By, Family

That’s why I always ask Him to always bless you and your family,
Keep you away from any jeopardy and lighten your adversity.
From everyday works He guide you always,
And make your life the best of days.

I know He must have heard my prayer,
Coz He lengthen your life keep you away from all sorts of danger.
He gave you a family that we’re paragon of sweetness and virtue,
A family that really loves you.

Technorati Tags: Family, God is Good, Happy