Thursday, September 29, 2016

From A Wooden Block to Greatness

As Cub Scouts in the 1980s, my brother and I had the opportunities to showcase our woodworking skills during the Pinewood Derby. Actually, we didn’t – we would find a Hot Wheel or a car from one of the dreams posters in our shared bedroom, point it to our dad, and he would carve those wooden blocks into something light and aerodynamic for us to do well in the actual races. However, we did paint, sand, and test the cars before race day! Beyond the random funny cars, we had what were possibly two of the lightest and most successful cars for the majority of the races we entered. In Alan’s very first derby, he nearly won but quit racing his concept Corvette when he saw the other boys playing among themselves! To him, it seemed like they were having more fun than the then first-grader and he didn’t want to be left out. 

 This is not just a story of a man, his two sons, and wooden blocks that became exotic cars. 

 God does the same thing with us. How? 

 He looks at the rough wooden blocks (us) and whittles us down to the Christ-like man or woman we are destined to become beneath that blunt surface. As with the cars having too much weight and being lightened for maximum performance and efficiency, He uses the C-clamp to keep us grounded while He works the hand saw, sanding pads, and the occasional weight aid (the wing on my maroon Lamborghini Countach, for example) one part at a time to mold us into the best we can become. Eventually, those Pinewood Derby cars would receive one or two applications of paint, dry overnight, and in our cases, go through a test run before the races at our elementary school or the Armory across town. 

 Sometimes the process is wonderful; sometimes it is a painful journey. In the end, all of God’s tools have us conformed to the “image of His own likeness.” 

 Are we trying to be more like God or more like ourselves? If we are desirous of a transformation, we must allow ourselves to be transformed from wooden blocks to greatness in His hands. 

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Wednesday, September 14, 2016

For America! Lessons the First Amendment Teaches All of Us


I can go all week talking about the First Amendment but many of you would simply parse through the parts you want to hear and remain butt hurt over the rest.
The First Amendment as adopted in 1791 reads as follows:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.
 

You just read that the First Amendment allows for the freedoms of religion, speech, the press, the ability to peacefully assemble, and petitioning for a governmental redress of grievances. Those are the basic rights we all inherit as Americans even if said freedoms have trickled down the spigots of equality like water dripping from our faucets in the dead of winter. It was adopted on December 15, 1791 as one of the ten amendments that constitute the Bill of Rights originally applying to laws enacted by Congress, and many of its provisions were interpreted more narrowly than they are today. Beginning with Gitlow v. New York (1925), the Supreme Court applied the First Amendment to state issues – a process known as incorporation – through the Due Process Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment.

So what does that really cover in our times? More than you think. Read the five points below to understand its reach and limitations:

Establishment of religion

The United States of America is not solely a Christian nation. Although three out of four of us proclaim the title (living it is an entirely different beast, which I’ll delve into some other time), neither the individual states nor the Federal government can set up a church or pass laws that benefit one religion over another. For example, private schools such as Pulaski Academy and Episcopal cannot use public funds from the Little Rock School District to pay for transportation (read: busing) while its charters limit the student type or necessitate a financial need greater than necessary. Understand that the real reason why Puritans came over from England was to escape having to live under the state-led Church of England so they could practice their religion freely; taxation came later. This portion of the First Amendment was intended by President Jefferson as a “wall between church and state” that must be kept high and impenetrable, not allowing for even the slightest breach.

Ask how that is going for the Republican-led state Legislatures in Oklahoma and Arkansas as both groups attempt to place religious monuments on federal lands.

Freedom of religion

This also allows for Peter Griffin to establish the Church of the Fonz as he did in this Family Guy episode.

The freedom of religion allows for the freedom to hold an opinion or belief, but not to take action in violation of social duties or subversive to good order; however, it does not permit an anything goes approach such as human sacrifice. Ruling otherwise would mean that the profession of our faiths is greater than the law of the land and in effect permit every citizen to become a law unto himself meaning government would exist in name only. While the right to have religious beliefs is absolute, the freedom to act on such beliefs is not absolute. It also brings the blue laws into question – for the unaware, blue laws restrict the sales of intoxicating liquors on Sundays in many states to only restaurants and even then, only by the drink. They – and the religious leaders/lobbyists - are also the reason why the liquor and beer stores are closed on the first day of the calendar week.

Freedom of speech and of the press

This is where we are today:  dissecting these seven words and in some cases, twisting them around to fit our narratives. Even if we disagree with the comments and manner of expression, it is within our basic fundamental rights as American citizens to freely share how we feel. Saying or doing whatever we want does not necessarily exempt us from criticism nor does it excuse us from being idiots. For example, yelling “Fire!” or “Gun!” in a movie theater is a really stupid thing to do and is a very dangerous exclamation in a crowded room with one, two (or more, depending on the theater) exits due to the fact that someone could be trampled on the way out. What if it a false alarm? The First Amendment does not cover its protection as it was used to incite a violent reaction.

In the case of San Francisco 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick sitting through the national anthem due to the mistreatment of black people by law enforcement and other institutions, he is acting according to the letter of the amendment. The people who take issue with that are the same ones who often advocate for a limited government as in justice for Just Us; the so-called overtaxed who unwittingly do not realize the top taxation rates today are a fraction of what they were when (to rose-colored glasses wearing conservatives, 1957) America was its greatest before the Civil Rights Movement, Vietnam, etc.; war hawks who manufacture conflict in strange places and within our own cities and suburbs to line their pockets with profits bought by the lives of our young men and women who are paying with their lives. Let us not forget there are pockets of people who still think black people should only count as three-fifths of a person and the best place for women is at home seen and not heard.


Welcome to an America where an elderly black man is still called “boy” and an actual teenager is a “man” on the football field as he stiff-arms defenders en route to the end zone or eludes sacks for a first down.

Welcome to an America where Donald Trump can tell people that America is not great to cheers but when Colin Kaepernick makes a similar sentiment the boo birds fly in to poop on him.


Welcome to an America where Black Lives Matter is considered a terrorist group yet the Klan still exists in our schools, police departments, businesses, city council and school board meetings, hospitals, and churches without people batting an eye.
Welcome to an America where my goddaughter is considered an adult at age ten (to some people) and thirty-year-old Ryan Lochte is still a kid to the same folks.

I ain’t done yet. As a matter of fact, I’m just getting started.

Freedom of speech also covers political speech even as the state of Arkansas has historically tampered with the NAACP suppressing its members identifying them publicly despite the White Citizens Council roster of the day remaining anonymous. It also covers campaign finance (Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission, 2010); flag desecration; falsifying military awards; commercial speech; school speech (antiwar protests at Kent State); obscenity (2 Live Crew); libel and slander; memoirs of convicted criminals; and private action.

Freedom of the press

The free speech and free press clauses have been interpreted to include writers and speakers except for wireless broadcasting which had been given less constitutional protection. The Free Press Clause protects the right of individuals to freely express themselves through publication and dissemination of information, ideas, and opinions without interference, constraint or prosecution by the government. This right has been extended to the media including newspapers, video games, books, plays and movies; as for bloggers (me) and other social media journalists, we do not have the same protection yet our words are equally protected by the Free Speech Clause and the Free Press Clause because both clauses do not distinguish between media business and nonprofessional speakers. This is further shown by the Supreme Court consistently refusing to recognize the First Amendment as providing greater protections to the established media than to other speakers:  in other words, journalists are being held more accountable for their words and locations than ever.

 Freedom to petition and assemble peacefully

The Petition Clause protects the right “to petition the government for a redress of grievances”. People do have the right to communicate with government officials via lobbying and petitioning the courts by filing lawsuits with a legal basis. It is also one of those freedoms the privileged tend to have a problem with particularly when the disaffected is clamoring for a right (women’s suffrage, black equality, the LGBTQ movement) such as the rights to vote and marry whomever they choose simply because being fair is seen as discriminatory to them. The right of access to the courts is extended to all three branches of the government – Congress, the executive, and the judiciary – as well as states through incorporation. In addition, the Supreme Court construes “redress of grievances” broadly:  not solely for the public to tie up the courts in non-frivolous lawsuits but also to protect private interests seeking personal gain. Pay-to-play litigation is the name of the game at this level.

On a more localized level, we are protected by this clause to express our interests, hopes, and desires to our leaders in order for them to be heard publicly hence the town halls.

As Americans, we also have the right to assemble peacefully although for many of my ancestors and contemporaries that has not always been the case. Not too long ago, the general perception of seeing three or more brothers in the South standing around in conversation was they were troublemakers planning a revolt or assaulting someone. Just because someone is an endorser of Black Lives Matter does not mean that he or she wishes that to become public information as the membership, involvement or support is an essential part of his or her freedom.

The First Amendment affords us a categorized list of inalienable freedoms protected for all Americans to express ourselves without retribution in theory; in practice, this country does have a mixed record of that at best. When speaking out or standing up to protest an injustice, it covers our best intentions to make our nation a greater place to live every day by addressing and rectifying discrepancies. However, it does not give us the okay to be idiots regarding the way we resolve our disagreements – in this day of social media and the quick sound bite, we are prone to the worst of our thoughts, minds, and keystrokes. 
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86% Grind, Still Not Much Sleep Years Later

Years ago, Houston rapper-turned-pimp Mike Jones bragged on his record about how much he worked in between moments when he wasn’t repeating his name in every few bars (Who? Mike Jones!). Truthfully, he really wasn’t that great of a rapper but he was an amazing promoter by virtue of how he built the buzz for that 2005 album Who Is Mike Jones? to go platinum and for a brief moment, he put the city of Houston and the chopped and screwed sound on the national radar. I know DJ Screw is the originator and Lil’ Flip spit some pretty hot bars a few years earlier, but combined with Swishahouse icon Michael Watts, Paul Wall, Chamillionaire, Slim Thug, Magno, Archie Lee, and others, Jones found his way into cars that otherwise would have kept a different style in their CD players.

Keep in mind this is 2005:  Rick Ross and Young Jeezy were working on debut albums, T.I. had reached his mainstream peak, G-Unit moved south to Nashville with Young Buck’s Straight Outta Cashville, Kanye West was talking about gold diggers before marrying one and introducing us to the ways John Legend got lifted, and Game was telling us about his dreams. Bulky CD cases were strewn all over the back seats – and for the fortunate, XM or Sirius satellite radio was a $35 subscription away.

Other than his name, one thing that Jones frequently repeated said that oddly sticks so many years later is “90% Grind, 10% Sleep”. If he worked every day as he proclaimed, then sleep was quite the afterthought as in he likely averaged 151 awake hours per week. Clearly that was quite the overstatement – a man would wear out very quickly if he tried to sustain a pace that only allowed for 2.5 hours   of sleep. Trust me:  I did that for a nearly five-year period. While all of that working (and saving, don’t forget) paid off two cars, a wedding, my student loan, and even a nice down payment on our house, I honestly wouldn’t do it again because I missed out on so much of my twenties and early thirties.

Enter the summer of 2016. I’ve been grinding 86% of the week – and I’m not talking about anything else away from the job. I didn’t expect to still be working six nights per week at this point in my life, but here we are punching the clock and getting assaulted by Uncle Sam with help from Chase and Toyota among other creditors every other Friday. I’m more tired and perhaps a bit more wary of my own time; with a precocious nineteen-month-old, the last thing I want to do is waste time by being counterproductive. It also means I should have learned how to monetize my time – HUGE difference from managing my time. During the course of a given day other than Mondays, I can micromanage my day from start to finish to the minute all in the names of efficiency and maximum productivity including my 5.5 hour nap. This lifestyle isn’t exactly healthy, yet it is the one I lead today. As for Mondays, I’m sleeping as the rest of the world does battle in rush hour and office politics jousting for position in drive-thru windows and simultaneously hating their lives.


The sleep part comes in the morning and I doubt there will be much of it before more fires have to be put out. I need to shake the hands of the people who invented darkened curtains and offer the central heat and air technician a couple of burgers and beers for their hard work in aiding my day of rest. 
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The Power of Prayer

Over the past four years at my job, I begin my shifts by praying for the crews I am working with each night for their safety, productivity, communication, and that the machines they operate run smoothly without any breakdowns. From the control room, I normally manage several monitors spread out throughout the production and receiving floors and a rolling progress report of everything run and/or received yet I still take a quick moment to petition God for the other twenty men and women on the night crew’s health and awareness of what surrounds them. Most of the time we survive our shifts (who really wants to work the night shift?), but for those myriad times when enough things go haywire, that power of praying for others has protected us from the worst of circumstances.

In ancient Judah, Abijah doesn’t stand out as one of the great kings because his heart wasn’t “fully devoted to the Lord his God” (1 Kings 15:3). But as Judah prepared for war against an Israel army that outnumbered it 2-to-1, Abijah knew what time it was:  Prayer time. Faithful people in his kingdom of Judah had continued worshipping God even as the ten tribes of Israel had driven out the priests of God and begun worshiping pagan gods such as Baal. Because of them, Abijah confidently turned to the one true God in his hour of need. As a result, Judah trounced Israel in war “because they relied on the Lord, the God of their ancestors” (2 Chronicles 13:8-9).

We are largely the same way:  run to God when we are in trouble, live on autopilot otherwise. If you don’t believe me, wait for a fire too big for us to put out such as bad news with our health or ending up a day late and a few dollars short on a utility bill necessitating a shut-off notice. Then we start praying for deliverance from the ailment or any sort of assistance to avoid losing vital services at home.

Our God welcomes anyone who comes and relies on Him.


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What Happens In the Dark Comes To Light

What we try do in the dark eventually will see the light – and the consequences are often far-reaching in scope for generations to come. As leaders, we are to be doubly aware that our private lives are often intertwined with the public personas we have carefully cultivated particularly those of us with higher callings or larger platforms to impact change. In the age of social media, we also have discovered how unforgiving the masses can be until the next calamity occurs and it affects them [examples:  anarchists until floods or tornadoes destroy their homes, the religious among us who put more faith in inanimate symbols such as the American flag or dollar bill than a living God who provides all we need as well as some of our wants; stars caught up in extramarital affairs until an unexpected pregnancy or sexually transmitted disease enter the picture; etc.]

Samson was such a man whose private life failed to align with his public persona.

We all remember him in Judges 13-16 as the muscleman who was to deliver Israel from the Philistines. His outsized physical strength was a specific gift meant to set him apart from the crowd and serve the Lord; however, this came with certain conditions. He could not ever cut his hair, drink alcohol, or do anything unclean to lessen his significance among the Israelites. Samson may have been a hairy dude and not what we would consider today our modern-day hero. Nevertheless, he was a leader of men.

Did he lead a pure life?

No.

Do you?

I thought so. Keep reading to find out what else comes out in the light.

Samson got drunk, ate honey from dead lions and ravished other unclean spaces, threw tantrums, chased sluts, and eventually fell for the wrong woman. In other words, he was a man. Each time he stepped out of God’s covenant, he was reminded of his purpose to lead Israel to freedom. In other words, he did most of the same things the average man has done in his life before – and sometimes after – acknowledging his life’s work. Yet, his twenty years of service to the Israelites were more than sufficient for what they gave him in return. Samson was bad-to-the-bone but his personal life had a sneaky way of derailing his awesomeness.

Understand not all women can be classified as deceiving, but in Delilah’s case, the shoe fits. If Prada or Christian Louboutin had a shoe store back then, she would be the one wearing the red bottom pumps over a sleeping Samson who was unknowingly weakened after the enemy cut his hair.

But before the fatal haircut…Delilah plotted with the Philistine leaders to avenge Samson’s killings of at least thirty-two people and the destruction of their wheat fields. Have him tell you where his strength comes from, they implored Delilah. Do whatever it takes for him to tell you then we’ll capture him and present the captive to Dagon. Delilah used the same beauty that attracted the hero to her guile by wining and dining, doing those freaky things to him that probably made his toes curl up like Ramen noodles, and otherwise played up to his sympathies in an attempt for him to spill the beans on where his strength lies. Over time, he was worn down from breaking ropes and chains as if they were sheets of paper Mache dolls and finally revealed to her his hair had never been cut. Once his mane was shorn of its locks, Samson was reduced to a mere mortal just as the Philistines had conspired to do in the first place.

Samson did not know that the Lord had left him. – Judges 16:20

With a considerably weakened body and gouged eyes, Samson was escorted to a banquet in Gaza where he was jeered and mocked by the same Philistines he broke bread and laid down with as they praised their god Dagon for his capture. A young man who was leading him by the hand was asked to take him to the middle columns that are holding up the roof which he was compliant. In one last gust of glory, God provides Samson with one more burst of strength to topple the temple killing everyone inside including himself!

We all need to pay close attention to our own private lives even as many of them parallel Samson making sure that God is at the center of those in addition to the public lives.


The things that happen in the dark do come out in the light. 
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Work Is a Means to Something Else, Not Something to Live For

Remember in our early working experiences when having a job meant responsibilities and the means which we paid for our toys? I do too. As most of you who knew me twenty years ago could recall, I spent roughly four nights per week hanging out of the Taco Bell drive-thru window swapping cash or check for a bag of hot tacos, burritos, nachos, and of course, Choco Tacos. While I was working each night, I had a constant reminder that the Bell would not be where the train stops by simply looking and interacting with my older coworkers. They were generally good people who somehow lost the joy in their lives, and for this particular season they were relegated to standing next to a bunch of pimply faced teenagers who only wanted some new shoes or a t-shirt or needed a way to make our monthly car insurance payments. As they worried about getting their hours cut, I saw firsthand that a hand-to-mouth existence was not worth it.

Fast forward to today and I now understand their frets as they had to provide for their families on minimum wage. I am also fortunate to get this life lesson early despite not applying said instructions until fairly recently.

What do I mean?

Graduating high school meant going to college.

Graduating from college meant getting that first grown-up job AND the swift kick in the behind to leave childhood behind once and for all.

Earning those first few paychecks meant so much since that was the most money we had ever made to date, and that typically included an increase in living standards [ex. a new car, an apartment, or both] to coincide with our evolving stations. For some of us, that also included a significant other – or in my case, partying on a higher level. I wasn’t smoking or snorting, but Heaven’s Hill gave way to Smirnoff and instead of guzzling E & J, I matured to Blackjacks (Jack Daniels w/vanilla Coke on ice). I still had to be competent at work and dress like the professional I aspired to become meaning my wardrobe became an equal mix of chambray shirts and khaki Dockers, and Polo shirts with cleanly pressed jeans. Unfortunately, that climb up the ladder stopped one Monday morning when I was asked to clean my desk and turn in my badges due to budget cuts. At twenty-four, I didn’t think anything of it; after all, this is the first break I’ve had in my life from being enslaved to an alarm clock and sadistic bosses. I’ll bounce back soon and look at this situation as a mere bump in the road. Besides, I could really use a break to chill out and find myself.

Wrong. I was unemployed for four months.

No one would bite on the resumes I sent out daily as I had lost my job just before the Christmas holiday season, and if there was a taker, I only made eight bucks per hour in that day-only temporary role.  

What happened to my friends? F**k ‘em, those users all scattered like cockroaches in the light.

I had always thought that because I was so book smart (and educated) with a ridiculous work ethic, I would always easily find good-paying work yet those four months proved otherwise. Words like “overqualified” and “inexperienced” outweighed my need to take care of myself, and as the job search dragged, I started drinking heavily. My car was breaking down seemingly each week and as my savings dwindled, I found myself turning to my parents for the first time in several years for help.

I was lost and didn’t even know it.

If that isn’t humble pie, then I don’t know what is.

Sleeping on the same twin-size bunk bed I had as a seven-year-old child really put a damper on my emerging adulthood but I kept drinking. Somehow, I didn’t have money to pay my cell phone bill but I always had a 30-pack of Budweiser. I was rocking new sweaters and jeans from Old Navy – and hiding out in the public library reading entire novels and magazines instead of facing the world head-on.

In the midst of another pity party and a brief period of sobriety, I went to the gym one morning for a run and ran into one of my childhood friends. She was finishing up nursing school and as we caught up from years lost, she made the comment that money isn’t everything but it is a means to the next thing. I had gotten so caught up in my former title at work (scheduler) and the dollars that came with it that I had lost myself!

Work is a means to something else. You work to live, not live to work.

Several years passed until I heard the saying again. Although I drink occasionally today, I crawled my way back to Jesus, largely sobered up and earned my teaching certificate; however, I was working upwards of eighty-five hours per week with one day to sleep and the other to grade homework after church.

I’m still a workaholic. I may always be one, but I hope not.

Matter of fact, I proudly wore the badge of dishonor until three months ago when I finally had enough of my current job…and this is where the journey had taken me. I cannot quit cold turkey for our expenses do not terminate themselves, and as much as I’d like to walk away from it all, that becomes a particularly irresponsible decision especially with a wife and toddler daughter who need me to provide for them.

When I say work is a means to something else, I mean it is a step to the next role in our lives. Because I have always worked, I implicitly understood that annual evaluations were the best way to gauge my performance relative to the crowd and earn a raise until I landed a job that does neither. As I look back over the years, work has taken many forms for me:  a place to escape home for six to eight hours; the way my rent and books were taken care of; how I would be able to pay for a car, apartment, and afford to “live” like a normal twentysomething; a sort of paradise where I could freely express myself for the first time without repercussions or a second look; the end that would get me noticed as someone who is making moves; and of course, pay for things.

Work is a means to something else. I work to live, not live to work.

What I should’ve been living by all of these years makes more sense today than ever.


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Since the Last Time

Since the last time I wrote anything from the Dad Chronicles…well, it’s been a while. The summer of 2016 has been one of the most overworked periods of my life if not the most time I’ve spent at my job – and although I’ve made a few bucks to pay down various debts and honey-do projects, I have been perpetually tired with empty pockets and an emotionally starved family needing its fearless leader. I don’t like working 72 hours every week, but I still have to provide for my two in more than just a couple of pesos and the occasional play date. Maybe my employer (who picked up the tab on the little ca’s hospital bills) could help me out a little more with a departmental transfer and bumping my hourly pay to what I’ve gotten lately with the epic overtime permanently; sadly, I’m nearly indispensable simply for working the graveyard shift and doing a halfway decent job while toiling six nights per week.


Don’t get it twisted:  the money is cool, but I’m looking for money and the opportunity to be more valuable than just some random peon.

I have a dream, y’all, and that dream includes a life change that more than benefits the three of us greatly. Just so everyone knows, we’re not leaving Bryant anytime soon. 

So what’s been up lately?

Caeli graduated from the High-Risk newborns program at Arkansas Children’s Hospital a few weeks ago and is doing remarkably well with her therapies thanks to prayers, her fighting nature, and mastery of nearly every skill babies of her age must be able to do. Am I still signing her up for MMA on her fourth birthday? Possibly, but what we want for her is to be able to play and share with other children without beating them into next week. Her fighting nature comes from her feisty mother along with being born at 24 weeks and spending those 146 days battling for her life last year in the NICU. What we do not need to do is leave an open plate within her reach as the food will find its way onto the floor!

Even as parents of a super heroine toddler, sleep is an elusive target.  When Caeli lays down, Chastity and I had better find a few moments to catch a quick nap!
Life before we lost sleep

With all of the things that are working out, one project still looms:  the storage building. I probably should have paid someone to finish it out by now, and after two-and-a-half months of letting materials sit in the backyard taking hit after hit of every weather phenomenon possible, I just hope the plywood and 2 x 4s are salvageable so we can get the thing up once and for all, and I can move on to the next project on the ever expanding honey-do list.

Here's the before:
Now, the after:
We still run from one fire to another, meeting after meeting, doctors’ appointments, therapy sessions, and to places where we are considered to be simply bodies until we’re critically needed (again, this summer at work. Prior to our fifth wedding anniversary August 6, I’ve only had six days off since June 2 and am admittedly burned-out to the point that any day can be my last day at the job. Thanks to saving on the run and planning conservatively for the next few months even when it could be easier to simply go out and purchase a brand new pickup as a visual display of hard work paying off. I remembered what it was like to sit back and choose the role versus being forced into anything that marginally paid the bills several years ago). 

Since the last time I posted anything from the Dad Chronicles, I must have finally reached my breaking point and instead of doing something really stupid that causes detriment to the surname or negatively impacts how I provide for the family, I found a different venue to combat it.

What?

Laughter.

At my age, fisticuffs are certainly not the answer and picking up that game-changer will guarantee me serious jail time. There are better ways of managing conflict even though I am better known for simply ignoring the hot air. Why not laugh it off, then? Besides, I thoroughly enjoy matching wits and calmly shredding contrary point-of-views with a few well-placed statements in debate:  You just cannot defeat a professional wordsmith who knows the word surrender is not an option with juvenile insults.

I can laugh when it’s all over and more now because it frustrates the ignorant among us.

When even watching ESPN no longer matters, I will have Chastity and Caeli.
When I smoke that final rack of ribs and pass on the Oklahoma Joe, God will still continue to order my steps.

If I ever get to retire from work, I’ll still be daddy. I’ve said I expect to get out of the workforce around 75 years old, but that’s assuming I mainly use that muscle between my ears and delegate better to those whose expertise shines more than my own instead of repeated manual labor that makes an insane profit off my blood, sweat, and tears for someone else.

After I finally close the Dad Chronicles for good and cease life as the creator/one-man band for AD&AD, it will still serve as an ebenezer of what the past nine years of consulting, blogging, and technical discipline have been about. You know, the internet never really dies; it’s possible that someone could find my original Angelfire website to see what was important to me nearly twenty years ago and what web design in the ‘90s looked like rife with complex hexagonal HTML codes for every color and symbol under the sun. I still have the books in my storage facility back home if you don’t believe me. While a lot of people used Dreamweaver to create their own pages, I learned the old-fashioned way of what happens when one bad line of code mucks up hours of hard work writing and testing on every available platform possible.
Working Girl

I’m tired of missing out on so many things in life; what was the purpose of working an average of eighty-five hours per week throughout my twenties and early thirties if I am still doing it as I near age 40?






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