I’m on a plane. I paid for the WiFi. I’m taking advantage of it and writing another installment. I think we left off with a priest showing up through a priest hole in my closet, like Narnia but in reverse. And without the goat-man.
We emerged into the dining room to find a folding table set up against the front window of the house. Our house faces north of that means anything. I never did tell you Fr.‘s name. And I cannot remember it now. We’ll call him Fr. Chad. Upon Fr.’s request my wife produced alter linens ala table cloths. But linens alone do not an altar make. “Fr.,” I asked, “I’m no expert but I sort of am but don’t you need like a chalice or some other things for mass?” At this moment Sister walked past me with a crate of “mass supplies”, set them down, and silently returned to a chair at the back of the room.
“I gotch-u, baby,” said Fr. with all the air and confidence of a 1970’s street pimp.
Yes, it was at this precise moment that I gave up and decided simply to go along with all that almighty God had planned for me. Clearly I have no clue.
“Introibo ad altare Dei.” *”I will go unto the altar of God.”
With these words, Fr. began the holy sacrifice of the mass. As he continued on through the Confiteor, I glanced beyond him and out the large picture window over the “altar”. The snow was now coming down heavily. It really was a beautiful sight. Reminded me so much of my childhood growing up in New Jersey. the only difference here is that elm and split leaf maples are swapped with crepe myrtles. But the fresh-fallen powder on the barren branches is still magnificent.I
I have always loved the snow. I think it has something to do with the peacefulness of it all. Even the noises of the atmosphere are dampened by a blanket of snow. Everything is almost silent when it falls. People can’t venture far past their streets. Families “huddle” together. And then there’s the child-like sense of wonder in me. As a kid, I loved seeing something fall from the sky that was so beautiful. As a man, I can’t help but think back to my boyhood and the true happiness I felt when we’d get a significant snowfall. Imagine if you will the combination of a picturesque scene out the window and the eternal, super-beautiful reality taking place just below it.
“Ite, missa est.” *”Go, the mass is over.”
We prayed the Leonine prayers, took a few moments to offer our thanks to God, and headed to the kitchen for lunch. Even Sister looked pious while kneeling to pray.
By now (after our meal) it was getting to be later in the afternoon. I stepped onto the porch to see how much had fallen. It was 12 degrees. I know this is Texas and the weather is schizophrenic but this is truly crazy. I noticed about six inches on the ground. The little kid in me got real giddy. I can’t help it. I’ve been in Texas almost a decade. We never see this. I went back inside to find that Fr. had vanished. I asked him to use the door but I think he went back through the priest hole. In fact I know he did due to the presence of a draft in my house. The re-pointing of hose bricks won’t be cheap. But Sister was at least still with us. And she had set up a board game at our kitchen counter.
We rounded out our afternoon in the typical fashion. We played Yahtzee and I shotgunned a gin and tonic. Sister played the oboe (did I neglect that detail?) and the children danced. It was “Flight of the Bumblebees”. Stupendous.
Home altar. Take that, Notre Dame!”
We all drifted off to sleep this peaceful night with no clue of what lie/lay/lain ahead of us. Yeah, I couldn’t figure the correct form. Whatevs, shuge.
In our next installment we enter the darkness. Hope you’re ready.
I kind of did as well. I just checked and it seems that my last entry on this blog was posted March 1st, 2020. That’s “pre-COVID” if you hadn’t figured it out. I guess, like a lot of people, I was just focused on other things for the past few months. It’s the height of irony for someone who loves to document life. Think about it. The most bizarre year of any of our lifetimes comes along and I can’t bring myself to write a solitary word about any of it.
I believe in the silence, we sometimes find answers to the big questions in life.
These past five months have been a blessing for me. They have been filled with many wonderful memories – memories that, for now, will remain untold on these pages and bound up only in the collective mind of my family. You all know by now that this blog has been a way to document the life of my family as my kids have been growing up. Don’t worry, they’re not quite grown yet. There are many more stories to record and to share.
But I think these times God gives us – times like a national lockdown – force us to confront the question of what is most important in our lives. For me it has always been God. It MUST be God. He is at the center of all that I hope to do and be – “my first beginning and last end,” to quote the daily missal. To love is to sacrifice, to give oneself to God, whole and entire. We do this in giving ourselves to our spouses, our children, the Church, society. I have always harbored a desire to be loved. It is a desire with which I have struggled in many ways. And yet I know that it is far greater to love. I hope that my love for my wife and kids has shown through in the hundreds of thousands of words I’ve committed to this space over the years. But to love them means to sacrifice myself for them. Now I am preparing to embark, for them, on what is perhaps my greatest task in life fully realized. Let me tell you.
Christ, the Great Teacher. “Suffer the little children to come unto Me.” (stained glass, Our Lady of Good Counsel Catholic church, Newark, NJ)
Two things in particular have happened in the past few months to spur this realization. First, there were the hours and days and weeks spent with the kids. My wife works from home in a cozy office off the back of the house. We try not to disturb her during the work day. But yours truly is a school administrator/teacher. We got shut down. Just like every other parent in America I found myself suddenly teaching my own kids. My situation was a bit different. For starters, I had always wanted to teach my kids in a formal setting. It’s why I went to work at the school were I did – so the kids would be with me and one day I would have them in class. I know, I’m that dad. Although they say they think that’s a “cool” idea now, I’m not sure how they’d feel in high school. And I have even reached “Master Dad Joke” level within the International Society of Dad Humorists so I was just waiting to lay puns and set snares with an intellectual bent that would make anyone’s head explode. Yet here we were, unexpectedly getting that chance; while I was simultaneously teaching other kids online and helping to run a K-12 school.
Three months. We did this for three months. We got creative and got plenty of exercise walking around the neighborhood or riding our bikes. We laughed. We cried. We struggled. But it was sooooo worth it.
Another thing happened recently. This one affected me more than the kids. Two weeks ago one of my older brothers committed suicide. He had a wife of 27 years and two grown kids. I will never understand why he did such a thing. Please pray for his soul and for his family. Something shook me about this. Did the lockdown mess with him? He was one of the most social creatures I’ve ever known? There’s no sense trying to find an answer, though. It is over. It is final. Pray for him. When I say something shook me, I mean that the fragility of life came to the fore of my own life once again. We’ve lost so many over the years. We cannot go forward as though all is doom and gloom. Yet at the same time we have to use these moments to focus on what is truly important, just like we might see good in the lockdown if we understand that we got more time together as a family. Don’t get me wrong. I think the lockdowns were useless and politically motivated and you can call me a nut but the curve was flattened a long time ago. Nonetheless, it gave me time and his death gave me pause to reflect.
I have one solemn charge in life and that is to get my wife and kids to heaven. I need to teach them their faith and about the world around them. I need to pray with them every day, go to mass with them every day like my dad taught me. I need to give them everything I have. And I’m the one to do it. Just look at me! Every moment of my life prepared me for this. And right now you’re asking what I’m talking about…
Wait for it…
After fifteen years in education as a teacher and administrator, after more than a decade of documentary blogging, after years of working in broadcast media, having served varied school communities, television networks, and a brief stint driving live lab mice to the airport; I am leaving it all behind. Starting in a few weeks, I will be the principal of my home. Since I was only ever vice principal, I guess I just gave myself a promotion. My two kids will be getting up with me every morning to do what is most important – praise God and live out our family life together – while I teach them the “Three R’s” and try to keep them away from Mommy’s office. I’m excited beyond belief. I know I can do this. I hope they’ll be cooperative when the going gets tough. And you my dear readers, both of you, already know that there’s no way I’m starting this new chapter in my life without chronicling all the gory details. Look for a new blog to start soon (either right here or under a new domain). And if you have any friends (like the million or so Americans who are also crazy enough to try this same stunt) who want to follow and read along, send them my way. The adventures of a now-former vice principal who quits his job to be a homeschooling dad might just be anybody’s cup of tea in these insane times.
I entered the year with high hopes of getting back to the hobby I love – writing. Well, God saw fit to stick me on a plane with a laptop and not much else to do. So here we are.
I am returning from a convention in the nation’s capital. I had tons of fun. I met many people that (at least) I consider famous – mostly YouTube celebs but some other true, famous folks. The reason I want to write is because my son wants me to write. Remember how I told you that I had been reading old posts to him? Well, after several months of this I’m almost running out of posts! So he admonished me to write more. Coming right up, son.
A nice treat for an aviation buff like me… American Airlines has painted several of their planes in the liveries of airlines they’ve acquired or merged with over the years. This one is an old Allegheny jet on the tarmac at DCA.
But the question is, as the title says, what do I write about?
I could write about coronavirus.
Wow, great going Harvey. Stoke the panic. In reality, I do not know what this is all about. I am sure that when I read my grandchildren these posts years from now; we will scratch our heads and say, “What’s coronavirus, Grandpappy?” I have determined they will call me ‘grandpappy’ because it sounds fun. I will say that my flight is half-full which is odd for a Saturday afternoon direct flight. Nothing more to write about on this Wuhan one.
I could write about how much I love and miss my kids.
The past few days I’ve been away I have enjoyed visiting with the good friends I’ve missed seeing in this part of the country. I’ve loved hearing talks by people I admire. I’ve really been thrilled by the availability of the speakers in the hotel lobby and their down-to-earth-ness. But nothing to me will ever come close to being with my kids. They’re growing up too fast. Every minute passes too quickly. And three days away from them is an eternity. I’m really looking forward to walking in the door and shouting “Daddy’s home!” and being greeted by silence because they’re fixated on anything else. Perhaps they missed me too?
I could write about the kid kicking the back of my seat.
Nope. I’m sure my children did the same once upon a time and it’s a hardship I will lovingly endure.
I could write about this… I’m watching live TV in-flight. This service carries the New York local stations and I’m watching my old favorite, WNBC. When I was a kid, the production value, the talent, just everything about this local station drew me in and made me want to be a news anchor. We know how that turned out. But the weird thing is that in the few years I’ve been gone from the New York area things have changed. The studio is smaller, the music isn’t as driving, and the male anchors… I almost can’t bring myself to say it… they have no ties. This is disturbing to me on so many levels. A man presenting the news on television should always have a tie neatly tied around his neck. I can’t say any more about this; but I will. It is truly sad. I do not want casual. I want you to let me know you care about me. And it wasn’t just the main anchor. It was the sports and weather guy too. Shout out to Al Roker and Len Berman who used to fill these roles waaaaay back in the day. And you KNOW that my favorite broadcasters ever – Chuck Scarborough and Sue Simmons – would never let this happen. Perhaps it’s an appeal to millennials? No, that’s not right. Not everyone born between certain years lacks intelligence. Although… Two nights ago I stood outside a public house in Washington as a young woman approached me to borrow a cigarette. My lighter had been absconded at a security checkpoint so I offered her a small book of matches. She actually said to me “Um, I don’t… I just don’t know how to use those; or even what they are…” Matches, sister, matches. Close cover, strike. It’s not that complicated.
I think they’re trying to land the plane now so I kind of have to go. Shame I never came up with a topic or four about which to write.
Last night my wife, the kids, and I decided a family game night was in order. It’s been a while. Most of the time when we can agree to play a game we never seem to come to any consensus of which game to play. You see, Daddy (that’s me) would love to play his favorite game, Trivial Pursuit, but everyone else in this equation always claims to be stupid and so Daddy is outvoted 3-1 and never gets to play his favorite game. It’s not his fault that he has a fantastic memory and can whoop your fannies with his stellar knowledge skilz. Then there’s son’s favorite game, Monopoly or as he calls it “Capitalism 101”. The problem with this one is that it takes forever to play. It especially takes forever to play when an 11 year-old boy and his 10 year-old sister decided to take every opportunity to make “deals” with each other and Mommy and Daddy. No, son, I will not sell you Boardwalk for $50. Sorry, that’s life. Daddy grew up in Jersey and he knows exactly how much those properties in Atlantic City are worth. My daughter really couldn’t care less as most of the time she gets bored and walks away. And my wife? Well, she’s the most adventurous among us. She usually “researches” games online before buying them. Most of the time her choices are spot on. Sometimes it’s a miss; like the time she made us play something called “5 Minute Rule”. That’s a game where each contestant is asked to name one thing in five minutes. It’s infernal.
For Christmas my wife gave me a new boardgame – from the online researched division – called “New York 1901”. The object of this game is to acquire land, build skyscrapers, and then demolish and build more skyscrapers. Take a look at the pictures below…
Look carefully and you can see my drink. It helped me through the instructions.
As you can see, the box is beautiful. Artwork is phenomenal. The game pieces – little Empire State Buildings – exhibit exceptional craftsmanship. The cards… Ah, you noticed that. Yes, there seem to be 800 playing cards broken into 30 different categories. Well, it is a real estate game. I suppose it’s not supposed to be “easy”. I mean, building New York City into the metropolis it is didn’t happen overnight. I was assigned a character named Robert Fletcher. I like his mustache. I even gave him a backstory. He was rich, shredded, loved by all. It’s good to assign qualities of oneself to a fictional character every now and then. But those cards…
I spent the first thirty minutes reading and then decoding the instructions. Then I dealt the cards. No joke, there were at least six different piles in front of each player. After a rough start where we came to realize that the colors of our game tokens did not and would not necessarily match the colors of our initial properties we seemed to get the hang of it. Good thing my wife is part German or we never would have figured out how to keep our tracts of land at right angles straight. In fact, my daughter actually played for a good half-hour before storming away angry that she just did not understand this “nonsense”. Fortunately, she continued to mix cocktails for her old man so he didn’t have to get up.
The rest of us, however, got the hang of it and enjoyed playing this game for the hour or so it took us to build up the lower end of the island of Manhattan.
Bottom line: if you’ve got patience, a sense of history, a fascination with architecture, and depth perception then a career in archeology is in your future. If you simply have patience and are looking for a good time with your family then take a stab at this game. If nothing else, you’ll become familiar with the street grid of Manhattan south of Pearl Street. Also, if you have a ten year-old daughter you might want to pop a movie on in the other room for her because she’s not going to have any of this “nonsense”.
My son won last night’s game. Obviously we had to have a rematch this morning. This time, Daddy snagged the Metropolitan Life Building and won. I will always be victorious… until I’m not. And when that day comes I think I will suddenly lose interest in boardgames.
Tonight my wife and I head out for our first date night of the new decade. We’re going to see a movie called A Hidden Life about the anti-Nazi martyr Blessed Franz Jagerstatter. If you’re wondering who that is you clearly don’t remember when yours truly dressed as Bl. Franz for a Halloween party five years ago…
Happy New Year, dear friends and followers (both of you)!
Once again the calendar has turned over and I find myself taking stock, making new plans, and thanking God for this wonderful life. One year ago I wrote a post explaining the new turn I was taking with this blog. It was 9 years ago – January 1, 2011 – when I began writing this blog under its current form. I still feel that the best is yet to come. Let’s take a look at an excerpt from my post on that day…
“I will begin by relaying a story about my son. He’s recently taken to watching a BBC claymation series called Shaun the Sheep. I know BBC and “kids’ programming” don’t normally seem like a natural partnership. Just go with it. Tonight he was being such an angel that I allowed him to watch just one more episode before bed. Sidenote: must figure out BBC claymation control lock on Netflix. When Shaun went over I informed him it was time for bed. Up the stairs we went. Lest you think he’s only a couch potato he loves to have stories read to him at night. He also now likes to hold his own book and “pretend” to read. I haven’t the heart to tell him that every word in The Cat in the Hat is NOT “cat” so again, we simply go with it. Tonight’s selection? “Daddy? Sheep book?” Oh that’s right. There’s a book on his shelf called Good Night Sheep or Bedtime Sheep or Go to Bed You Damn Sheep or something and he rather likes the pictures of all the animals in it. Figuring on how tired he must have been — it was getting late for him — I pulled a fast one. I flipped the light off and, laying him down on the bed, said: “It’s OK, son, Daddy can read in the dark.” How hard could it be. Here’s what transpired next. “The stars are out. It’s bedtime. Night night, sheep. The stars are out. It’s bedtime. Night night, lion. The stars are out…” “ZZZZZ” It worked. I made up a half-decent kids’ story on the spot and my son was out like a light. Brilliant. What? You doubt the brilliance of my children’s book? See if I care! My kids’ book is better than any kids’ book you’ve ever written. Ha! Oh, I see… YOU’VE NEVER WRITTEN A KIDS’ BOOK! So there! I win!!!”
Not bad for a first go-round… What’s truly funny is that I can actually remember that night vividly. You know who else “remembers” that night? My son. Somewhere in the middle of 2019 he discovered that his old man had been keeping this strange journal of our life together for just about as long as he’s been alive. Intrigued, he asked me to read him some selections. I haven’t read to him every night but on the nights I have, I’ve read multiple posts. Believe it or not, we haven’t nearly covered all of it. Prolific much? I’ll say. The best part is that he is spellbound. It would seem I write better posts than children’s books.
That brings us to my traditional New Years Day post. For the past few years I have made a solid effort to post something meaningful every year on this day. It sort of started way back with that first post in 2011. At that time the good folks at WordPress were running a feature called “Postaday”. It was a challenge. I like challenges. The goal was to post every day of the year. The eventual outcome and my success or lack thereof is not that important. What is significant is that it got me posting something every January 1st, hence this very post. Last year I used the New Years post as an opportunity to completely re-tool my blog. I changed the header image, changed my focus almost entirely toward writing thankful posts about my life with the kids, and archived over 1500 posts – making them private except to me. You could say I turned a new leaf. I also purchased my domain name finally.
My first post of 2019 was a story about the virtue rocks. On December 31, 2017 my wife passed a bag of gardening stones around the table and invited the kids, me, and our guests to take one. On the rocks were painted the names of virtues. This stemmed from an unfulfilled project I had been working on at a job I had just quit. It was a virtues-training program for our school children. My wife had simply re-purposed these rocks and put them to better use. The virtue painted on the rock that each participant took would be the virtue he would focus on improving in his life in the upcoming year. Mine was gratitude. That was tough. I wasn’t happy with where my career had gone and found it hard to be grateful for too many things. But as I said, I love a challenge. I focused on practicing gratitude in thought, word, and deed for the next 12 months and I think I actually got quite good at it. More importantly, I came to recognize the joy in my life again.
Last year I pulled “generosity”. I’d like to think this wasn’t a virtue I’d have a hard time with. As anyone who knows me will tell you, I’m the guy who gets up at 4:30 to drive you to the airport without hesitation. As anyone who knows me will also tell you, that’s because I’m obsessed with airports. OK, so there’s always room for improvement.
This year I reached into the virtue rock bag and pulled… HUMILITY. Looking at the shiny potato stone in my hand I pondered a moment before saying, “Honey? How in the hell am I supposed to practice humility when I’m so damned perfect?!” I wish I could have pulled something useful like “shredded” or “published”. And then I remembered that I am far from perfect. And that’s the point of this exercise – to grow by the daily practice of virtue. Ben Franklin once engaged in a similar project. He (incorrectly) identified something like ten virtues that were most helpful in living a good life. He further figured he could “master” each virtue in a week. He kept a journal of his progress. If I were to do the same it might read like a comical collection of stories written by a demented dad about his kids and their strange life together.
Franklin’s Virtue Journal (found on Reddit, not sure who to credit).
This year should be fun. By this time next year I’m sure to be the most humble person you’ve ever met!
And if I fail? I can probably throw the rock at someone.
My life has been so chock full of the bizarre lately I’m truly grateful to have found ten minutes on a Friday night to write about it. Trust me, it’s that good.
It all started late last week when the local health department notified our school of a confirmed case of pertussis. What’s pertussis, you ask? Whooping cough (pronounced hoop-ing). “But I thought no one got that anymore because… vaccines and stuff.” Well yes and no. It doesn’t spread like wildfire like it used to and it’s usually not as severe as it could have been. But, as I found out this week, even the vaccinated can get it (albeit usually in milder form) and apparently booster shots are recommended and quite often for the inoculated. One learns something new every day.
In a small school such as the one where I am vice principal (I still like saying that) a highly infectious disease can certainly make the rounds rapidly. To make a long story short… We’ve had a few more confirmed cases since the first. I haven’t heard of serious complications. I think we’ve helped maintain a sense of calm. We closed the school early on Thursday. I have personally been in close proximity to every single student and in every single classroom as have numerous faculty. Everything will be OK.
And… we’re taking precautions. My daughter had developed a cough over the past two weeks that is probably NOT pertussis but after all of this one cannot be too cautious. Today I brought her into her doctor along with my son who was also coughing. To make matters murkier there are also strains of strep and influenza going around our larger community. We haven’t seen the actual doctor in a number of years; it’s only ever his physicians assistant. I don’t mind. Although, she is always pushing flu tests on us even absent any symptoms. Today I walked in, told her the whole story, and then said, “The good news is you’ll get to do one of those swabby tests you seem to love so much.” I didn’t think of those words in terms of a “shot fired”. But I should have. The PA stared at me with a wry smile and declared, “Actually, I think the kids are probably fine in terms of whooping cough based on what you’re telling me. It’s you I’m worried about. I mean, you’re standing here obviously tired, haggard, you know. I can tell you’re run down.”
“Haggard?”
This is me staring down the physician’s assistant. (courtesy: Wikimedia)
Before we’d left the office the kids had been tested for every airborne illness known to man. Yours truly? I dragged my “tired and haggard” parts out of there with my head hung low. On my way to the car I passed a raccoon digging through a dumpster. I took a good look to see if the dark circles under his eyes looked better than mine before Googling whether my insurance would cover botox injections.
Consumption
I came home and returned to my lovely and unexpected Friday off. Lately I’ve been watching a few things here and there. There are the Youtube videos about aviation, engineering, and all the many JFK conspiracies. And then there’s Netflix. I decided to do a one-month trial in order to watch the third season of The Crown. I can’t help it. If it’s about the Royals I’ll probably watch. If it’s written well I’ll definitely watch. Maybe it’s my British ancestry coming through and manifesting itself in my TV viewing habits; but I simply cannot turn away from the train wreck that is the House of Hanover Windsor.
In particular I have have been fascinated to learn more about the life of the late Princess Margaret, the only sibling of Queen Elizabeth. Brilliantly portrayed by Helena Bonham Carter, Margaret is a troubled figure. Denied the opportunity to marry her first love, Peter Townsend, she ultimately found solace in photographer Antony Armstrong-Jones. For the moment, overlook the fact that Townsend was already married. Oops, forgot that detail while trying to make her a sympathetic character. Never mind the fact that she admits she thought Armstrong-Jones was gay when she first met him. Never mind the fact that she forgot about her own vows when cavorting around the world with a man half her age. I mean, come on you pesky moralist… The point is that HRH Princess Margaret was a chain-smoking gin fiend. And in this I can relate.
The Margo Starter Pack
It is not just Netflix and Youtube that have captured my interest lately, though. Tonight my wife asked if I would accompany her to the movies. I’m not usually big on the big screen (the commercials and previews are cumbersome to me) but I do enjoy spending time with my wife. Tonight our kids rounded out the group. The flick? We saw the new Tom Hanks feature about the life of the legendary Fred Rogers. Mr. Rogers is, undoubtedly, an American icon. I must admit that as a kid I didn’t care much for Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. I found it kind of slow and boring and Rogers’ hyper-gentle personality to be a drag. In fact, the only times I enjoyed watching his show was when he left his studio and went on location. I still remember vividly the time he went to the Crayola factory. Then again, those episodes played out more like a Youtube video on engineering.
But as I grew I came to understand the value in what he was doing, even if it wasn’t quite my speed. As a teacher I can appreciate his work with children. As I came to learn more about his personal life I really came to sense that he was a genuine man who loved what he did and, more importantly, he was a man of prayer. The movie we saw tonight brought into focus the fact that he was a man who worked every day on trying to do what he saw as God’s work, laboring – sometimes with great difficulty – on the virtues of patience, humility, and gentleness. In many ways I can relate. In my own life and career as a teacher and vice principal I try to exemplify these same virtues. It seems odd sometimes. One tends to think of the vice principal of a school as the stern disciplinarian, something I definitely am not. Forgetting the fact that “vice” is right in the title, I see my job as someone called to help young men and women find and then stay on the path of virtue. If that comes in the form of reminding them of our dress code or making sure they are in class then I need to do that without personal animosity. Look, I will be me. I will let God work His discipline through the personality He gave me. I’ve never been an ogre and I’m not going to start now. Learning from Mr. Rogers I will focus more on prayer for specific people every day and continue to help my students in kindness and humility.
Character
Lately I have been contemplating who I am. I don’t mean in the “existential crisis” sort of way. But I’ll be turning older soon. It’s only natural to take stock of one’s life when one reaches 30. Having done that many years ago I decided to take stock once again. God has bestowed many blessings on me. Whether I realize it or not; whether I like it or not, He made me who I am. I am soft-spoken and somehow I command the attention of dozens of teenagers. I get no sleep and yet somehow I’ve remained immune to most diseases. I doubt myself all the time and yet somehow I’ve been able to help my students find confidence in God’s Will for them.
As we came home from the theater my children fought with each other, almost coming to blows over some silly squabble. Calmly and with the gentlest tone I diffused the tension. I saw them off to bed, poured myself a gin and tonic, stepped out onto my porch and lit a Marlboro. I listened to the sounds of my kids coughing themselves to sleep. I yawned. And I thought of how wonderful God is and how wonderfully He made me…
…a cross between Princess Margaret, Fred Rogers, and a raccoon.
Folks, I got off all that social media nonsense a while ago. Sorry but I'm not on Twitbook, Facepalm, YouHu, WingWang or any of the others. Maybe an event will happen to make me change my mind like Peter and Paul coming down with flaming swords and commanding it be so. Until then, read the blog and if you feel a comment is in order or you feel like sharing a tip or suggestion for a topic, email me at harvey@harveymillican.com.
Harvey is a funny, witty and interesting read. Want to know what's going on in the world of Harvey? Then make a point to subscribe to his blog! You just never know when those pesky Weebles will show up. Hmmm, speaking of Weebles - haven't heard from them in a while (wink). Seriously, you just never know what to expect and whatever you find, it never disappoints! -- Debbi Robertson @ Photos and Facets
Harvey Millican's Blog: Musings of a Trad Dad 