Archives For Family

I’m still in the process of getting used to a new job, new city and new life. So my blogging life has slowed considerably. But I expect to be able to pick it up in earnest soon. I have so much to be thankful for and my gratitude is primarily directed toward God. As well as some folks who are in my prayers.

A friend of mine shared a letter with me that no doubt represents the concerns of many fathers. I’d like to share parts of it. His anguish is real and heartfelt but very well articulated. He’s clearly identified one of America’s many problems that are emblematic of our decline.

He wrote the letter to the president of USC.

I am a Trojan (BS Business ’86), a self-made entrepreneur, father of four children and a freedom loving American who employs 50 people in California and Arizona, who earned his way through USC on the way to earning an MBA from the Wharton School of the University of Pennsylvania. In our polarized world of real-time politics streaming from every digital means, I could not help but to read the news story (see weblink below) concerning political science Professor Sragow from my alma mater. On a busy day at the office where we are struggling to find productive investments in a slow growth economy in the least competitive State in the United States in order to provide opportunity for our teammates and positive returns for ourselves and our investors, I wish I had not read and heard what I did but I encourage you to do the same. My love of liberty, freedom of thought and expression and my heartfelt desire for my children to have the opportunity that I did to get a phenomenal education and become great citizens and independent thinkers motivates me to write to you today. What I heard from the mouth of a professor and a military veteran (for which I have great respect) was nothing short of stupefying and endemic of our no-holds-barred world of unchecked temerity, devoid of intellectual curiosity.

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The Heroes Among Us

February 6, 2013 — 1 Comment

reedThursday.

Great Mexican food, three darling little girls crawling over me like I was their favorite uncle, Chuck’s beautiful wife pulling out the stops to make me feel welcome–the unexpected benefits of being the new guy in the squadron. It was a memorable family night and I loved being included. I also wondered whether I would ever be so fortunate to find such happiness.

Chuck was Capt. Charles G. Reed and he and I were going to take two Harriers on a cross-country trip over the weekend. Standard fare, we’d log some instrument time, maybe play a bit over the desert–aerial combat maneuvering–and since we didn’t have to pay for gas, there was absolutely no downside.

Friday.

Chuck and I left Marine Corps Air Station Yuma, Arizona, mid-afternoon. Destination? Miramar Naval Air Station Officer’s Club—the best Happy Hour on the planet. Beautiful San Diego. My request, by the way. Tom Cruise would eventually memorialize a typical Friday night in Top Gun. He got it mostly right but I never remember singing anything—too busy whispering ridiculous nothings to the famously abundant ladies. It was a target rich environment in the vernacular of fighter pilots.

Since we were going to depart Saturday morning for Las Vegas and then Seattle, we respectfully declined to drink to excess and just enjoyed ourselves as Marine pilots always do among a sea of star-struck Navy jocks.

Saturday.

We stopped at Nellis AFB in Nevada for gas and then headed for the environs of Seattle. Chuck had been a football player at the University of Washington and wanted to attend some big game. I had other designs. I had met a girl on an earlier trip and well, I was a heterosexual in my prime and my Cro-Magnon self had not yet succumbed to the mercy and love of our Lord.

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The Walk for Life is this weekend in San Francisco. In thinking about the holocaust of babies, I came across a picture of four doctors posing together at the 2013 Sundance Film Festival; Doctors LeRoy Carhart, Warren Hern, Susan Robinson and Shelley Sella.

unbornThree out of the four seem to be having a nice time. They were the subjects of the documentary After Tiller. (Dr. George Tiller, a late-term abortion provider, was murdered in 2009.) The doctors were most likely standing on a red carpet, a place of honor. Dubious distinction I would suggest.

They are the only four physicians in the U.S. who perform third-trimester abortions.

Please take a moment and look at the faces in the picture. If you’re like me, a flood of thoughts and emotions will pour over mind and body. Clearly, they are dedicated. They know the personal risks. Is care or even love for their pregnant patient their overriding concern? Or something else? I don’t know these people but I would like to—so that we could talk. Individually would be best. I would listen with as much compassion as I could muster then I’d pray that the Holy Spirit guide me. So that I could convince them to stop.

Dr. Robinson, who worked with Dr. Tiller, said, “We learned at his knee. Kindness, courtesy, justice, love and respect are the hallmarks of a good doctor-patient relationship.”

The irony of that statement doesn’t need my amplification.

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At the outset, foryourmarriage.org is an initiative of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops. The website discusses dating, marriage, parenting and much more. The dating information, in particular, reminds me of how misguided my romantic modus operandi used to be. Need evidence? Think of the following as a Public Service Announcement on the folly of superficial romance.

DatingValentine’s Day will be here in a few weeks so I should probably start planning my annual no-date. It will take six seconds. Since I’m not taking myself to dinner or giving myself expensive gifts or writing myself a poem to be memorialized in the Cupidic hall of fame, not much to do.

You see, at the present time I’m flying solo. Apparently, I’ve been given some cooling off time in the romantic fridge. It also seems that I’m living in a figurative desert. Since I’m not being rained upon by romantic possibilities, an umbrella is the last thing I need. God, is all this your doing? Was I really that bad at love? Can I assume this respite won’t last forty years?

Where do I begin?

I’ve loved six women in my life (fortunately, it wasn’t at the same time). Ultimately, I was not the man they wanted me to be so we quietly parted ways. My life was privileged having known them but I was too stupid to know it.

Any one of them would have been a great wife and mother (although I will say that religion was rarely part of the conversation since I was an atheist). They were smart, giving, beautiful and fun. Some of the relationships lasted a short time but one lasted for more than a decade. Nevertheless, when the time came to commit, I couldn’t do it.

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Approximately 150 meters above the meandering Ardeche river in France sits an uncharacteristically large limestone cave. Inside, two torches are illuminating a space seventy-five feet from the cave entrance. On the soft clay-like floor, a young woman is cooking meat over a fire, seasoning it with native herbs from the grasslands nearby.

Chauvet Cave

Finely made tools, neatly arranged, rest near a couple of animal figurines. She’s humming and adoringly watching the two men in her life scrape the adjacent cave wall clear of debris and concretions. The wall is becoming noticeably lighter and smoother.

The task almost complete, the little one––a boy no older than 7––hands his father a short stick whose end has been roughly carved into a point. On the earthen floor sits a number of bowls containing pigments derived from ochre, hematite, manganese oxide and charcoal.

The father takes the stick––a smile and glance to the mother of his child as well––and dips its end into the ochre-like substance. He begins to smear an outline of a spotted hyena on a slight wall protuberance, his son watching every move. The mother comes over, puts her arm around the boy’s shoulder and kisses his head. She says something to the father who nods in agreement.

The beauty of creation, God’s work, is being portrayed by skilled hands on a wall in a cave––and reverently observed by a family united in love.

The flickering flame from the nearest torch also lights up the adjoining wall which angles in at thirty degrees and connects to their current “canvas.” It is this area where one sees paintings of horses, mammoths, panthers and bison––even hand prints. It’s a veritable “museum exhibit” of prehistoric art.

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A Child

December 14, 2012 — Leave a comment

As man is the pinnacle of God’s creation, God became man and walked among us to redeem the world. But before He suffered and died for our sins, He was first a child. He cried in His mother’s arms––crawled to His father’s embrace––flourished in love––toddled in the beauty of creation––laughed at lessons learned––and joyfully engaged with His new world. Then He walked. As we all do in our shared humanness. As those beautiful Newton children did but can no longer.

Charlotte––Daniel––Olivia––Josephine––Ana––Dylan––Madeleine––Catherine––Chase––Jesse––James––Grace––Emilie––Jack––Noah––Caroline––Jessica––Avielle––Benjamin––Allison.

With His perfect humanity, He demonstrated the ways of a perfect life. And with His perfect divine love, He saved us.

In memory of the children killed in Newton, Connecticut. May you find comfort in God’s gentle hands and peace in His eternal love.

A friend of mine, Tim, just told me that his mother was diagnosed with terminal liver cancer. Her name is Odile. Tim considers his mom a saint-in-waiting and she doesn’t have much time left. Odile and Tim’s father, Mel, are now in Maine waiting for the rest of the family to arrive for her final days.

I would ask that whoever reads this post, please say a prayer for Odile and Mel and the rest of their family. In Jesus’ name.

Odile, God bless you!

Mothers and Fathers

My father, Bud, died of a heart attack at age forty-nine, when I was fifteen. He fought in three wars, World War II, Korea and Vietnam, and was a decorated career Marine officer and pilot. I subsequently talked to some of the Marines that served under him, and without exception he was respected and adored. He was a talented leader, larger than life and a great influence on me.

It’s funny how, in reflection, I tend to recall the somewhat awkward parts of my life. I know I loved my father dearly and despite his imperfections, he tried to be a good family man. Nevertheless, he was unconventional. He drank too much but I never thought of him as an alcoholic. Although he never went to college, he was more like a partying frat kid that never grew up. He married my mother, Grace, when he was twenty-two and she was seventeen. After he died, my mother never stopped longing for him; suitors never had a shot.

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