Monday, June 29, 2015

Black Skin, Blue Water: What Is the Problem?

Before we get started with the events from Saturday morning, take a good look at the picture and accompanying quote from New Jersey Senator Cory Booker:


Now that we have THAT out of the way, allow me to proceed to tell the story. If you've read the shared posting via Facebook, then you have some idea of what happened. If not, this comes from the church's page.

 Saturday morning, the Mount Zion Baptist Church family took the youth to the Arkadelphia Aquatics Park for Fun Day as a reward for their attendance and behavior throughout Vacation Bible School week. Upon our arrival, the man working at the gate - I failed to catch his name, he wore no ID badge - began to argue with our coordinator regarding the admission policies. Certainly 74 orderly PAYING African-American customers would not have been an issue, yet for him it was a problem. After all, the contract was agreed upon, signatures and deposits made, so why the kerfuffle? We were not a band of thugs nor a group of hooligans ready to tear stuff up although we were treated as such. Each child had a permission slip signed and returned in order for them to go on this excursion. In addition, we (the church) also reserved the pavilion several weeks ahead when we booked the date. 

 What was promised and agreed upon failed to be delivered. Included are the hours of operation and the rules:



Where do the inconsistencies begin? In order to enter the park, we had to be family. Come on, the church consists of families. What says family more than the church? Regardless if you come from Third Street Baptist Church, the mosque around the way, or St. Andrew's Catholic Church, we are all considered family. We had mothers, grandmothers, fathers, guardians, cousins, and church leaders ALL with permission slips. Those permission slips are legally binding documents PROVING the children indeed were with us in the event something catastrophic (i.e. accident) occurred. The man working also told us that he had to know that the children belonged to the adult entering the park, which they did. One adult = three children. We get that. Of the 74 people, the ratio worked out to a near-perfect 2:1. We were in compliance with Rule 1 - if you cannot read it, I am sorry. Hopefully you can magnify the rules and regulations to an easier-to-read format, but you get the point. It still does not mean make up rules as we move along to support your short-term view.  

 "I don't want them to enter the water and disturb the other families' fun." - Arkadelphia Aquatics Park director

 The demeaning tone itself was implied as one of superiority. Using the us-versus-them mentality divides and separates people; what, was he afraid that the children would have had fun together? Also, are we supposed to carry around blood samples of DNA and birth certificates to prove we had permission to travel, a la American slavery? 

 Another inconsistency stemmed from the various families who entered the pool and were simply waved in. We stepped over to let them pass peacefully, and as they walked in, I noticed that no identification cards nor pool passes were being checked. Could race have played a factor? All of these families who passed through the gates freely were white. Whatever policy is stated for one MUST be observed for ALL. To our young people, that double standard presented itself that the rules do not apply to everyone. For example, if Johnny and Jamal go to the park together, both should show some form of identification. In this case, Johnny got a free pass and Jamal was held at the gate. Both boys have the money, are cognizant of the rules, and yet Jamal was denied entry. Why single Jamal out? 

 Later, we requested a refund for the pavilion deposit and were refused. We were even accused of using that pavilion! How could that happen if we only arrived to the park moments ago and walked to the gate in an orderly fashion? Our pastor called for an officer to settle the dispute, and I noticed that Officer Sparks was defending the city employee's decisions to deny our entry!

 In a final blow, he said he would allow us in under the same restrictions without attempting to improvise his unwritten limitations on our group. We still had to group our children into three or fewer family groups and somehow prove lineage to gain access. The rules were unchanged yet he expected/demanded us to comply to his revolving doctrines, many of which were made up on the fly. In addition, he also explicitly pointed at our coordinator in anger stating that she would not be allowed to enter with us. The unidentified employee's reason:  I don't like her attitude. Racist, much? How about communicating with us like adults? No one likes to be screamed at, so what happened to honoring our contractual obligations? This is after he insulted our youth leaders' intelligence. You just don't do that. It's the cardinal principle of working with the general public. Maybe a career change is in order for him. 

 Understand we did not choose to leave after his failed effort at problem solving. That was not an appropriate solution; rather, it is one that has created a larger issue and rehashed a classic pox. Our youth still would have been classified into three or fewer family groups and forced to prove lineage along with being watched more stringently than the white children already enjoying the park.

Matter of fact, what is so bad about black people using public swimming pools that are taxpayer-funded? 

 History has shown us that the swimming pool has been one of the final places of true equality in this nation - and that is sad. Read the link to understand the struggle.

 As McKinney and Fairfield have reminded us recently, the local swimming pool is the last battle of equality. If it happened to Sammy Davis, Jr., then what makes us think we have overcome in that arena? 
How can a city-owned facility make up rules as it moves along? The last time I checked, city property was considered public property. Private entities have the right to accept or turn away as long as they are identified as private clubs. 
 We had made prior arrangements and patronized the business since the park opened a few years ago, but the hurt I saw on our youths' faces signified that we will no longer return. I have experienced racism in nearly every way possible save the brute violence, but for our children to taste that bitter fruit is unacceptable - and sadly, one that will always be there. 

 I know that the majority of Arkadelphia residents are God-fearing, fair citizens from my days at HSU and the local Wal-Mart, yet Saturday morning reminded us of how far we have to embark for true equality. My desire is that we can come up with an appropriate solution to our treatment; the images of parents walking in could have been seared into their children's minds of us as "the bad people" when that is further from the truth. 


at 6 comments:

Friday, June 19, 2015

My First Father's Day

Yeah. I know this font is Comic Sans. Deal with it and keep reading.

People want to know what my first Father’s Day will be like. I really don’t know. It will be bittersweet – and possibly – a quiet Sunday before work. I am still scheduled to sit for another twelve hours at Rineco and Caeli is still in ACH. As tough as it is to parent from the neonatal intensive care unit, I do get the joy of hearing my little girl coo in the phone as my wife places it near her ear. I’m told she smiles, opens her eyes, and is generally excited when she hears daddy and even starts looking around for me.

I’m not gonna lie:  Every day since February 13 has been Father’s Day.

My world, which was limitless as recently as late January, has shrunk to a dimension of twenty minutes from home in any direction. What that means is that even after an hour of driving (to Gould or Hot Springs), I need a nap. I haven’t seen the city of Conway this year despite being only 45 minutes away from Bryant!

Parenting over the phone from the NICU sure is difficult.

My first Father’s Day means the road will prayerfully be long and fruitful even if that piece of slab is gravelly at times. I have my dad to look up to; in his upcoming retirement, I’m sure he’ll have unlimited advice in raising Caeli as he watches my hair turn gray over time. As she grows up, I aim to be the father she needs:  fair, providing all of the needs (and some wants), and simply being daddy.

I don’t need the third Sunday in June to remind me that Father’s Day is the day I get honored; my baby has done that for eighteen weeks and counting.


Thanks for all of the well-wishes.  
at No comments:

Buck Up, Cowboy

Life is settling into a “new normal” – whatever normal was in the first place. It’s been four months since we’ve been thrust into life in the neonatal intensive care unit and no one has died from the experience. Are we perpetually tired? Yep. I have a hard time staying awake but that’s nothing new; that has been the case since early 2001 due to lifestyle choices and the unpredictable nature of the NICU. Eventually, we have to buck up, remember that this is a season, and normalcy will come back in due time.

One major note from the Dad Chronicles that everyone should acknowledge is regardless of your past goodness and upright lifestyle, storms are a part of life. It may be a thundershower, a tornado, or hurricane with F-5 winds – it doesn’t really matter, a storm is a storm. More often than not, the scariest parts of storms are the random thunder claps and lightning strikes and torrential downpours. Consider this:  as children, we knew that stormy weather automatically equaled indoor play. Board games and 7-Up! replaced outdoor kickball and chase – back in the ‘80s, Sony only delved in high-end electronics, Microsoft was in its infancy, and Nissan actually made good cars that people wanted with normal transmissions. Another thing from those childish days was that you can tell that the kids who usually misbehaved in school are silent during the severe weather! Those moments during which may seem like the storm might not ever let up are the ones which ultimately make us stronger, as they imply we are in the eye – sunny days and a rainbow in the sky are imminent.

What is the “new normal” that I write about? Why am I telling myself to buck up, cowboy?




The “new normal” is parenthood. Caeli has needs far greater than my own wishes, and I have to buck up and be the father God has commissioned me to become; ditto for being Chastity’s husband, beyond that “dude payin’ bills around here” rant and purveyor of a good time. It’s okay to feel sad, overwhelmed, and perhaps even a bit angry; however, I eventually have to find my way back to normal. For example, I have not volunteered at the food ministry in town nor completed the logistics for the church’s own food pantry since February. I’ve used leave as an excuse not to resume life as I knew it previously, but it is time to come back. Would it be believable if I told you that I am a board member of CJOHN (Churches Joint on Human Needs) or a deacon-in-training at Mount Zion if you never saw me? I need to show up and play an active role that others may see the living testimony called being Caeli’s daddy and all of the other titles and descriptions used to befit me.

During the rodeo, the cowboys who ride bulls do so always knowing the risks involved. For every time one can stay on the bull for eight seconds without being bucked, numerous cowboys suffer broken bones, concussions, lost teeth, punctured lungs, and even death stemming from their injuries. Does that stop them from climbing onto the saddle? No. Until a forced retirement happens – Father Time is still undefeated – they keep climbing on the Brahma bull and keep riding. Even after broken bones sideline them for months, professional bull riders yearn to go back to work, for it provides an adrenaline rush.


Similarly, Hezekiah had to buck up late in his life. The king led an upright life which resulted in many of Israel’s successes although his reign was bookended by his evil father Ahaz and son Manasseh. Upon contracting a potentially fatal illness, he turned to the wall and prayed. Hezekiah had every opportunity to wave the white flag, yet his unwavering belief and deeply authentic prayer to God are what cured him. Of course, he had to follow other instructions to receive the full blessing given to him:  an extra fifteen years to live. In an earlier post, I mentioned time is the one commodity we cannot control, only manage; God gave Hezekiah additional time.

What are you doing with the extra time allotted to you daily?


at No comments:

Amazing Grace

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found
Was blind, but now I see.
Can I get an amen?
The above stanza is the introductory verse to “Amazing Grace” written by slaveholder turned minister John Newton in 1779 as a part of the Olney Hymns signifying his hometown. In most churches I have attended and/or visited over the years, we typically stop after the second verse (there are six in total); in black churches nationwide, “Praise God!” is harmonized ad lib as the speaker of the hour - normally the pastor – prepares to begin preaching his or her sermon.


Nearly two months ago, our daughter Caeli was transferred to ACH for retinopathy of prematurity from UAMS. ROP is a potentially blinding eye disorder that primarily affects premature babies weighing less than 2 ¾ lbs. or born before 31 weeks of gestation. In other words, the smaller the baby, the more likely she is to develop ROP. Caeli was a micro-preemie:  born at 24 ½ weeks, weighing 1 lb. 8 oz., and only twelve inches long. To put in perspective, she was slightly longer than a footlong sandwich at Subway, and depending on how your sub was made, she could weigh less than that Dagwood Bumstead monstrosity. With most babies, ROP improves and leaves no permanent damage in the milder cases. In fact, 90% of babies with ROP are in the milder categories and do not need treatment.

Below are five stages of ROP, ranging from mild (Stage I) to severe (Stage V).

Stage I — Mildly abnormal blood vessel growth. Many children who develop stage I improve with no treatment and eventually develop normal vision. The disease resolves on its own without further progression.
Stage II — Moderately abnormal blood vessel growth. Many children who develop stage II improve with no treatment and eventually develop normal vision. The disease resolves on its own without further progression.
Stage III — Severely abnormal blood vessel growth. The abnormal blood vessels grow toward the center of the eye instead of following their normal growth pattern along the surface of the retina. Some infants who develop stage III improve with no treatment and eventually develop normal vision. However, when infants have a certain degree of Stage III and “plus disease” develops, treatment is considered. “Plus disease” means that the blood vessels of the retina have become enlarged and twisted, indicating a worsening of the disease. Treatment at this point has a good chance of preventing retinal detachment.
Stage IV — Partially detached retina. Traction from the scar produced by bleeding, abnormal vessels pulls the retina away from the wall of the eye.
Stage V — Completely detached retina and the end stage of the disease. If the eye is left alone at this stage, the baby can have severe visual impairment and even blindness.
Most babies who develop ROP have stages I or II. However, in a small number of babies, ROP worsens, sometimes very rapidly. Untreated ROP threatens to destroy vision.

The Lord gives sight to the blind, the Lord lifts up those who are bowed down, the Lord loves the righteous. -Psalm 146:8

Throughout the journey from conception to an abbreviated pregnancy and the extended stay in the NICU, God’s grace has proven itself amazing. Even as a professional wordsmith, I sometimes cannot find the superlatives to describe God’s goodness through each of Caeli’s victories. A Tiger Woods fist pump and primitive yell would have to suffice – in the car, not in the hospital (ACH has over one hundred babies in the NICU, many of whom are still sensitive to sound). Through many dangers, toils, and snares we have overcome, it is grace that has carried us safely to this day and will surely lead us home.







I was blind. Now I see. 
at 1 comment:

Back To Black

As if we were anything but black.

Wednesday’s events in Charleston, South Carolina are not solely a hate crime:  it was an act of terrorism. For those of you who have forgotten the actual meaning of the word, terrorism is defined as a deliberate act of violence against civilians by individuals or organizations for political purposes. Labeling this a hate crime alone will probably get the offender a few years behind bars to sharpen his or her bias, a relative pittance of a fine, and in parts of the South, a handshake for a job well done. Sad, but true; in the years since President Obama swore on that Bible in 2009, racial tensions have clearly magnified to levels unseen in my lifetime.


Notice the parallels in the 1963 bombing at Birmingham’s Sixteenth Street Baptist Church and Wednesday night at Emmanuel AME Church. You would think that in 2015, we would have evolved past such vile hatred and violence.


Yet we ricochet from one tragedy to the next. Once the scab nearly heals over from one incident, it is ripped off again and again to be further exposed to a potential infection. I’m tired of the pain. Actually, fuck that pain; this is anger.

Why am I angry?

If I need to spell it out any further, I would have entered the adults’ spelling bee. I am furious that in 2015, my skin and baritone voice are both enough to “intimidate” – rather, induce animosity toward me. I’m hated for my skin; denigrated by both sides for the education and articulate thoughts; harassed for driving nice cars; followed to the outskirts of town by the bigots in blue; accused of driving down the property values in the subdivision we reside; seeing former white girlfriends disowned by their families as a result of their relationship with me; being shadowed in clothing stores; and a litany of other issues. Whoever said being black in America is easy clearly is clueless about the black experience.

I am angry because I don’t have another cheek to turn. The laws in this state and nation [read:  Stand Your Ground when used by George Zimmerman and Marissa Alexander, and the open carry gun laws those zealous Second Amendment cowboys worship]. Watch the double standard of race that American gun laws maintain. Even in California – supposedly the most socially liberal state in the union – passed the Mulford Act with help from the NRA and a racist Gov. Ronald Reagan. Shortly after the Civil War, Arkansas passed a series of laws preventing gun ownership by freed blacks. If ever a time to exact revenge, that was it. That fear – well, and their wives and daughters taking black penis - must be what keep racist white men awake at night.
If Congress couldn’t pass legislation for gun control measures after Sandy Hook, you damn sure know nothing will happen now that nine Americans were slaughtered in a black church.

As if we were anything but black.

I have to do it. You rape our women and take our country. And you have to go. - Dylann Roof

Sound familiar? I personally equate the Tea Party with the Klan because of its “take back our country” quips; days like these show no distinguishing difference between the two groups. I know there are black Tea Partiers, but keep in mind there were Jews in the German concentration camps exterminating their fellow countrymen. Crimes such as these are not so much to punish the victims as a drive-by shooting would, but to send a strong message to “their kind” generally. That is genetic attribution:  compare this with Ferguson or Baltimore.

This is the world I am afraid to leave behind for my four-month-old daughter.

The one which when she enters puberty is automatically labeled a troublemaking adult whereas her white classmates can enjoy the privilege of being children. The kind of place that won’t let her fish or swim freely at Hurricane Lake Estates even with her friends who live there. The world that makes mockery of her blackness and calls her slanderous names. Or hearing the “affirmative action” tag (ex. oh, you’re the affirmative action hire/AP student/Ivy Leaguer/etc.) as if she isn’t able to succeed on her own merits. The world we live in still treats black Americans like second-class citizens fifty years after the Civil Rights Act was signed by President Johnson.

One hundred fifty years ago today, the last slaves gained their freedom in Galveston, Texas. Today, many of us do not know the true taste of freedom. We’ve given up so much, been foisted a bill of goods by the government and greedy landowners, psychologically damaged to the point of being undesirables, emaciated at will, and our hard work – and rightful property – stolen like a thief in the night. This nation cheered on Arab Spring last year, yet America is terrified of a Black Spring.


As if we were anything but black. 
at No comments:

Tuesday, June 9, 2015

Finding a Haz-Mat Suit For The Toxic Employee

You know the motherf**ker when you see him.




Even if you physically are ambivalent to his conduct, something inside of you cringes at the sight or sound of the office bully. He may play favorites, lob personal insults at disagreeing personnel, or outright damns any semblance of moral turpitude in the name of results and short-term profits. What is he? This individual described is a toxic employee - a worker so motivated by personal gain that nothing else matters - manipulates, annoys, harasses, and intimidates co-workers into keeping silent in fear of reprisal as whistle blowers. He does not recognize the damage done to the organization in business practices and brand reputation until it is too late. By pitting work relationships with co-workers not by organizational structure rather through colleagues they favor and those they do not like or trust, workplaces are harmed to the extent that if or when the doors do close, few people are upset. 

While an incompetent employee can be spotted a country mile away, the same cannot be said for a toxic associate. When untreated, their bad germs become hazardous for the entire company.

Several signs do exist to strap down the infected team member into a Haz-Mat suit. They are:

1. Leading the meeting after the meeting.
All issues are discussed, concerns raised, and decisions are made. Every attendee leaves on equal footing - or at least with the satisfaction of being made aware of events - until people hit the door for that informal follow-up meeting which inevitably becomes a gripe session. That ringleader needs to work somewhere else because he cannot be trusted.

2. "That's not my job."
Everyone in a small-to-medium organization wears multiple hats and it is critically important that they are able to think on their feet, as not every situation is detailed in the training manual. For example, the guy in the control room may assist the floor supervisors with paperwork because he has the time and uncanny knack for efficiency. The phrase "that's not my job" implies "I only care about me" since it instantly shreds any hope of a cohesive team effort into a band of dysfunctional individuals. Remember, super team members jump into a task without being asked since they are already proactive to the problem.

3. I've paid my dues.
What in the f**k do you mean you've paid your dues? NBC personality and former New York Giants running back Tiki Barber told us that every day is disguised as a challenge, so why make the asinine assumption of paying dues like we're in a country club or union organization? Are you really saying that you do not have anything to offer or learn? If so, hit the door. You're unwilling to enter 2015 and I won't drag you along.

4. Experience in tangible.
The time spent in a role pales to the skills developed and lessons learned during that time. Being experienced as a knot on a log is a waste of time and talent better utilized elsewhere - like the unemployment office. 

5. There is peer pressure to be mediocre.
Remember being the new guy? You worked hard, asked questions, dove headfirst into (every) ethical opportunity, and were simply gung-ho about the organization? As targets are met and expectations exceeded, something happens along the way:  jealousy.

Being mediocre - and proud - means any new ideas, initiatives, and objectives are destined to be shot down. It's not an envy that you're winning; it is certain co-workers are trying not to lose. Soon enough, that new worker transforms into a stagnant person thanks to being bullied down to the shiftless teammate's level.

6. Narcissistic f**ks rush to glory and run from shame.
Well, maybe he went elbows, toes, and butt holes all year long on a major project to finish on time. The team would've fallen apart without his dedication and devotion. 

It didn't.

The team did it.

In the NBA playoffs, the team hoists the Larry O'Brien Trophy upon the conclusion of the NBA Finals. While stars such as Michael Jordan, Kobe Bryant, LeBron James, and Tim Duncan are brightly shining megastars in their own right, none of them would have reached a title ceremony without teammates like Scottie Pippen, Derek Fisher, Udonis Haslem, or Steve Kerr each playing a critical role during the season with a key rebound, clutch trey, or season-saving block. Good employees share the load and defer the shine to the group; saying "I did all of the work" is akin to shouting "the world revolves around me" and is looked upon as an Eff You to the unit.

Sometimes, s**t hits the fan. People get their feelings hurt. Priorities are mismanaged. No matter what, it ain't my fault.

Whoa. Don't be Silkk the Shocker. 

Some people willingly take the hits, cussings, and verbal reprimands because they can handle it - and the person who actually did it may not like the heaping of crow lumped onto his plate. Laying on the grenade is one of the most selfless things an employee can do while throwing everyone under the bus to cover himself cements selfishness ESPECIALLY when it was your fault. Anyone who is above the team needs to take his destructive talents somewhere else and impede that brand - he is no longer vital.

7. Golden child status.
Management chooses one subordinate to praise and promote at the expense of certain departments if not the collective organization. That one individual ends up wielding too much power - in some cases, the owner has been afraid to terminate him despite knowledge of the bullying. Instead, thank the entire team. It can be done without tossing piles of money (although I would appreciate the cash); just show a genuine appreciation of combined effort. Otherwise, that golden child can single-handedly destroy the company.

8. The s**t starter.
Also known as the office gossip, every job seems to have at least one s**t starter. If yours cannot identify the mouth, then it may be the one you see in the mirror. They are often the ones who post judgmental comments on social media (#SalineCoProblems, anyone?) or as the instigator, they sit back and enjoy the dissent. Cut 'em loose. 

9. Renegades and Mavericks.
In politics, onetime presidential candidate John McCain (R-AZ) has likened himself to a maverick willing to turn left when the band marches rightward. For Arizonans and the Republican Party in the latter stages of campaign season, being able to go it alone is a good thing to accomplish victory.

Not at work.

Renegades (and mavericks - not the professional basketball players in Dallas) flaunt conventional rules and policies placing the organization at risk. Whether it's not wearing a respirator in a waste management facility or making decisions without permission, the fallout can be fatal to not only the organization but also magnifies an already hazardous environment. Worse, once others find out they can get away with breaking some rules, you may have more renegades and mavericks. Lay down the law or set 'em free. 

While we all wish that we worked, lived, and played in a perfect world, sadly this is not always the case. Even after the best interviews, exceptional attendance and work ethic during the probationary period, some people are simply too toxic to devote our time and energy to and must be cured or eradicated of their ailments. Perhaps a simple redirect will suffice along with a reminder of the company's mission statement. Follow your employer's chain of command, and if that does not help, ask a trusted superior not in your area of responsibility for a meeting to voice concerns. Twenty-nine states have enacted some version of the Healthy Workplace Bill to curb the need for Haz-Mat suits to identify the truly toxic workers, so check that bill to see if it applies to your state - fortunately, Arkansas is one of those states. Do it before the brain drain stems any progress and future successes anticipated. 





at No comments:

Monday, June 8, 2015

Time Comes, Time Goes

Four months.
Wednesday marked a pair of ginormous milestones:  one is Caeli’s predicted due date from the OB/GYN, and four months since Chastity and I began our roller coaster ride in the NICU. Though the uncertainties and stresses of becoming new parents to our preemie girl have been life-altering to say the least, one lesson we’ve both picked up is that time comes as surely as it goes. It waits for no man even as we count the days (126 at this posting – Caeli is 116 days old) of shuttling to UAMS and Children’s Hospital from the house to our jobs before she gets to come home. Time has lessened some burdens yet it has magnified other concerns. Most of the babies born during the wee hours of February 13 have gone home, so why is Caeli still here in the NICU?
Mommy loves me!

Where has the time gone?
If you’ve read the past fifteen posts from the Dad Chronicles, then you’ve seen the gamut of emotions – and why I’ve taken breaks from blogging about it. Unfortunately, writing is not a full-time career yet, so I must keep my nightly grind and improve my craft until I get a call to the big leagues of literature. That could be today, tomorrow, in five years, or the day after never – I don’t know, I’m just putting thoughts to paper and mentally visualizing the rest.
Story time
Where has the time gone?
On our knees praying to God for a full recovery and that we do not have an epic breakdown that would require an extended hospital stay. Caeli needs healthy parents to keep up with her as well as love her, so rest enters the equation. Some nights have been spent preparing her bedroom, while there were others which sleep ruled the night.
Of course, not all changes pertaining to time have been positive. For example, both of us have experienced a distancing of some friends – and relatives – throughout the journey. Apparently they didn’t get the memo that our daughter is our primary concern and neither of us can jump into a car and point it at Interstate 30 whenever we feel like it anymore. In other words, I won’t fool with you because you’re not cool with me. Even if I were able to spread myself thin by a band of takers, why should I?
In the same vein Rineco plays a large role in how I spend my days off, Chastity and Caeli are drivers in those other hours of the week. I guess it’s all a byproduct of trading the slab soldier moniker for family man – and another reason why I am appreciative of play time, which I define as that period of life between graduating from college to the moment you settle down. In my case, play time lasted for several years:  travelling, partying, and at times, working a second job to fund said adventures. That way, I wouldn’t feel robbed of life. Children (and hopefully I’ll be here for them, grandchildren) will enjoy my regaling them with tales of wild weeks in Vegas and New York; game days at War Memorial and Fenway; going muddin’ and duck hunting; numerous festivals; and so forth. No one wants to hear about punching the clock daily and the bitter feelings from working all the way through life without fun moments.

Time comes and time goes.


The past four months are part of the dash called life that is often a placeholder and not an indicator of how life is lived. We’ve definitely become more grateful of time and hours we can control as Caeli continues to show true grit surviving and thriving in the NICU. One hundred sixteen days in the hospital is tough on anyone, especially new parents anxiously awaiting the day to bring that precious bundle of joy home. In God’s time, she will be in Springhill Manor running, jumping on trampolines, chasing the ice cream truck, riding a bicycle, and flying from the swing set.
at 1 comment:

When Your Good Ain't Good Enough

Mediocrity was never accepted in the Armstrong household as my brother and I were growing up. Not putting forth our best effort was synonymous with not trying, and as harsh as that may sound, it was certainly a way to build character. This does not mean slink to lowered expectations because everyone else did; rather, being great meant stepping out and making the behind-the-scenes sacrifices that no one else saw. I was a pretty lousy athlete and an average (at best) musician, but I studied intelligently (even in the ‘90s, there was a difference in studying hard and studying smart) and put that ridiculous work ethic to use in order to become the man I am today. Am I perfect? I think it is pretty obvious that I have made mistakes and err from time to time, yet I try to learn from those flaws and push continuously to be better daily.
In Genesis 4:1-7, brothers Cain and Abel were the first sons of Adam and Eve. One worked the ground (Cain), and the other (Abel) tended to the animals. Over the course of time – and good parenting from Adam and Eve – the brothers began to offer the fruits of their labor to God. With each offering, God respected the boys’ efforts. One day, Cain brought his customary gift to the altar while Abel gave the Lord a young goat with its untrimmed fat as his sacrifice. We pit masters all know that when fat renders over a flame, the meat will eventually taste better in the end. Hence “the food of the offering made by fire for a sweet savor:  all the fat is the Lord’s.” (Leviticus 3:16) It was through Abel’s faith that God rewarded his offering over that which Cain presented because it was his best.
Naturally, Cain was upset after seeing that his offering was not good enough. When he should have done better and taken the lesson to always bring his A game to God, Cain instead chose to wallow around in anger and jealousy. You know what happened next? In verse 8, as he and Abel talked in the field, he committed the first homicide by killing his brother!
God does reward our best efforts. Strive for the true Number One and not what we think is good enough.
at No comments: