A Life of Gratitude

No Time To Spare For a Thank You

I recently wrote about my old high school football coach and the fact that he was Knute Rockne’s grandson. A few times over the last couple of years I’ve attempted to search for him on the internet in hopes of finding out what had become of him, but I was never successful. I thought I might slip him a thank you note one day out of the blue. I get notes like that myself now and then from kids I’ve worked with over the years and there is nothing more rewarding. I had no idea I touched many of those kids.

I managed to locate coach this week. I ran across an article in an online newspaper announcing the death of John “Jack” Rockne, Knute Rockne’s last living child. He died of cancer at the age of 82. In the article it listed four of his children who had preceded him in death. My old coach was on that list. When I went back to the internet and plugged his name into the search engine, this time adding the word “obituary” to the end of it, I found him.

He died of cancer back in 2001. He was 52. I never knew until reading the obituary that he had served 2 tours in Vietnam. It’s a good bet that’s where he met up with his fatal disease. I also discovered that he had lost 3 of his brothers at young ages. One of them, Paul Michael Rockne, died in the Edmond, Oklahoma postal shooting back in the 80’s that took the lives of 14 people. I don’t know how the other two died, but they died young.

I felt bad for the father. He lost his dad when he was a mere child. He then buried 4 sons. I can’t help but picture three generations of Rocknes watching Notre Dame’s opener against San Diego State this year. If we have high definition on earth, I can’t imagine the kind of picture heaven’s televisions deliver.

I figure the next time I think about sending someone a thank you note - I’ll just do it.

The Last Lecture

I finished reading a good book this weekend. I knew it was going to be difficult to read, but I couldn’t allow myself to get away with not reading it. The book was the Last Lecture. By now, many of you have probably heard the story of the Carnegie Melon professor, Randy Pausch, who gave a lecture on achieving your childhood dreams. It was one of a series of lectures in which university professors share words of wisdom on subjects dear to their hearts. The speakers are asked to speak as if this were their last chance to impart the words of wisdom they choose to share. In most cases, these talks are only hypothetically last lectures. In the case of Pausch, his lecture was delivered during what he and the audience knew were the last few months of his life. He was dying of pancreatic cancer.

The video of this lecture ended up on the internet. He had taped it so his 3 young children could one day watch it. As of today, over 3 million others have viewed it. The professor has become a pop culture hero. He told his story on the Oprah Winfrey show and did interviews with Diane Sawyer. There wasn’t a media outlet in existence that didn’t want to be a part of his story.

And what exactly was the story? A 47 year old father of three staring into the eyes of death with a big grin on his face. In his words, “I don’t know how not to have fun.” The world seemed awed and inspired by his attitude. I’ve always said that happiness is a decision, but this is evidence, that although I am hopeful, I’m not overly confident I could live up to.

I won’t go into all the details about his lecture and book. You can read up on his story and watch the video of his lecture at this link.THE LAST LECTURE

I will tell you that in the book, he revealed that the lecture and book were never intended as an inspiration for others. He is thankful they have been, but his desire was to leave something for his three young kids. "I knew what I was doing that day. Under the ruse of giving an academic lecture, I was trying to put myself in a bottle that would one day wash up on the beach for my children." Understanding that before I read the book made it very difficult to read.

When I was done reading the book, I’m not ashamed to say there was a tear or two. While reading it I was aware that Randy Pausch died on July 25. I took two things away from the book. One – we decide each day if we want to be happy. If I ever want to debate that, I will re-read the book. Two – Pausch said he felt fortunate to have the opportunity to know he was dying, allowing him to create purposeful memories and lessons to leave behind for his kids. If a dying dad has that much commitment to his kids, there really isn’t much excuse for this living one. I am thankful for each additional moment God allows me to be a dad.

And Then There Were Two

Elliott and I had an interesting walk yesterday. We were nearing the section of our route where we turn away from the railroad tracks and begin our journey back home. It was shortly after 6:15 and right on cue, we could see the bright light of an oncoming train, undoubtedly the Amtrak that whistles past us each morning somewhere near this section.

As the train approached us, I noticed it looked bigger than usual. By the time it was upon us I could tell that it wasn’t the normal 6:15, but instead the auto train that runs between northern Virginia and Orlando. The train carries you and your vehicle up and down the southeastern seaboard. Elliott must have recognized the colors of the train or the unique shape of the engine because as it passed, he was saying “Amtrak, Amtrak.” That was the first time I had heard him differentiate between the cargo and passenger trains.

His chant was suddenly interrupted when something unusual appeared on the track. Out of nowhere the much shorter and quicker 6:15 train rolled up along side the auto train. I don’t think either of us saw it coming and it startled us. It was an amazing scene. I had never seen two trains running together in the same direction. I guess I had always assumed with only two sets of tracks running parallel to each other, if a train was running to the north on one set of the tracks the other track was left open for southbound traffic and visa versa. We watched them race away together until the smaller train stopped just ahead in town to pick up awaiting passengers.

It is fun walking with Elliott because I can ask the odd questions that pop in my mind without receiving odd looks in return that the questions probably deserve. Like when the passengers on those two trains looked out their windows and saw faces looking back and at least momentarily riding along with them only inches away, did they even consider the possibility that a train was coming from the other direction. I guess I had never thought it through, but somewhere sitting in a room full of computer screens and radar images is a tired train traffic controller. Did he happen to see two blips on a screen run side by side at the same time Elliott and I were standing there watching? And if so, did he at least scan ahead to make sure the coast was clear.

The trains continued on and were soon out of sight. We followed suit and made our turn for home. Elliott quickly turned his focus from trains to a deflated dog balloon that has been hanging from a mailbox for over a week now. The shape of the balloon lost all of its identity when the air escaped, but Elliott still says “Dog” when we pass it. Me on the other hand, I spent the rest of the walk marveling about the complexity of our world and thankful for each snapshot God chooses to share with me.

All In A Day's Walk

Elliott and I have been pretty consistent taking our morning walks. This week has been a challenge. We've managed to beat the sun out of bed most mornings, but I'm not sure the humidity has slept this week. Fifteen minutes into our walk I'm soaked. Elliott on the other hand works up little sweat riding in his chariot waving good bye to the fire trucks (actually town maintenance trucks with flashing yellow lights on top).

We've been at our walks long enough now that we start to see some of the same people every day. Ashland at that early hour is like a separate community. It's like 8AM comes and they clear the stage of all the characters for the next scene of a long play. Only the next scene transitions into an intense fast paced drama - like real life.

We've seen enough 6:15 boardings of the Amtrak train to Washington D.C. that we're even starting to recognize familiar faces. But even these faces are relaxed and in no real hurry. You know they're not because they're taking the train. The 6:15 can be counted on to show up anytime between 6:00 and 6:45. We spend a little time each morning taking guesses at what each of these people might do. Of course politics is an easy guess given the destination. It's also an easy profession to rule out for many of the passengers. It is highly unlikely the tall thin man with long hair and a greasy ball cap is headed to lobby an energy bill, but the man in the suit that pulled up in the Cadillac Escapade might be. I wonder how many of them are doing what I'm going to do one of these mornings, ride up to the nation's capital and back just to say I did it.

We pass the man who asks if I have to wake Elliott up to go on the walk or if he is already up. Are there really parents out there who wake their toddlers up at 5:30AM just to have company on a walk? An if I woke Elliott out of a dead sleep at 5:30AM only to keep me company on my walk, would Katie render me legless and unable to take another step this side of heaven?

Then we pass the lady who has obviously had kids of her own. "Looks like somebody won't sleep this morning," making the obvious assumption that I'm walking Elliott through the middle of town in hopes he'll fall back asleep. She must of had kids before they discovered the backseat of a car works much better and is a completely air conditioned method of sleep induction.

There is an older man that sits on the porch of a corner house shortly before we get home. He reads his newspaper each morning and sips on a cup of coffee. Elliott is not a quiet walker so it's seldom we sneak up on anybody. When the gentleman hears us coming he lowers his paper and offers me the same advice each day - "enjoy your baby (a pause) - I sure miss my babies." I wonder some mornings if God hasn't placed that man and his reminder right there for me and me only. If I'm wrong, I thank him anyways. Each morning I leave behind the echo of his words and I do enjoy my baby just a bit more than I thought possible.

Elliott's walk highlight was the fire truck (the town maintenance truck) that stopped in the middle of the road to talk to us. A middle aged gentleman stuck his head out the window and let Elliott know he looked like he was getting the good end of the walking deal. Elliott’s confirming smile said tell me something I don’t know. He then told me that he was getting ready to be a grandpa and that he couldn't wait. I told him if his grandchild was half as fond of him as my boy was of his grandpas, he was in for a treat.

It was long after we arrived home from that particular conversation that I had to wonder - did that gentleman think he was sharing a story with me - one grandpa to the other. If so, it's definitely time to clear the stage and get on with the next scene.

Goodbye Yankee Stadium

I'm getting ready to watch the last baseball all-star game to be played in the 85 year old Yankee Stadium. In the event I fall asleep before it's over, or in all likelihood before it starts, I feel like I watched one of the stadium's most memorable moments last night, at least in my catalogue of memories.

It was the annual night before the all-star game homerun derby. It's an event that has lost a lot of its luster the last few years. The homerun derby and steroids once made a wonderful couple. When Major League Baseball decided otherwise and decided to break up the marriage, as right as the decision was for all concerned, those of us who love to watch balls disappear into the night sky have been left to remember the good ole days.

But last night, for a few brief moments, baseballs took flight once again. Josh Hamilton hit 28 homeruns in one round of the contest. He hit thirteen of them in a row. As awe inspiring as this was, it really wasn't even the story. This is a guy who was once rated by many scouts as the best high school player to ever play the game. He was drafted as a teenager and signed to a contract that included a 4 million dollar signing bonus. He used the money to fall in love with cocaine and alcohol, habits that would eventually take him out of the game for 3 years while he was in and out of rehab 8 different times. I encourage you to read this guy's remarkable story. Click to read story

It is an amazing story of faith, family, friends and commitment. I thought it was very telling when you discovered who Josh had pitch for him last night (each participant gets to pick who they want to pitch to them). He had his 71 year old former youth league coach from his home in North Carolina.

When you read this story you'll be able to feel the struggles this guy goes through every day, and the steps he takes to avoid the disaster that waits around every corner. I'm glad that he is so willing to share his story with others who may receive just the inspiration they need to overcome their own hardships.

The County Fair

My sister Kara sent me this photo of my nephew Josh showing his steer at the county fair. As you can see by the trophy, one almost as large as the Wimbledon trophy Raphael Nadal paraded around London yesterday, he did quite well for his first time. In fact, his showmanship efforts have already garnered him far greater awards than I ever received during the many years I showed sheep as a youngster.

In a way I'm grateful for that. Too many trophies would have surely meant another box of goodies to unload, repack and haul to the attic this past weekend. There's no doubt however it would have been amongst the few boxes of "keepers" I have left. Although I was never a champion showman like Josh, those fair days are definitely etched in my memory, which is what makes them important long after you forget where the trophies are.

I don't remember ever particularly liking the sheep I showed. I actually recall disliking them more than I ever liked them. But I remember how much I enjoyed it being a family project. My great-grandfather always helped me pick out the best lamb, if there really was such a thing. My mom and dad spent countless hours making sure I could get to 4-H meetings and to the county fair when the time came, often a couple of trips a day. When it came time to show the lamb, my whole family would be gathered to watch. I'm sure now that they were enjoying that experience far more than I. Probably most important, my grandfather spent the weeks leading up to the fair lobbying his coffee buddies to bid on my prized piece of mutton when sale time came, which usually resulted in an inflated sale price. I do remember enjoying the part about cashing that auction check.

I'm certain my parents supported and encouraged all of our interests because they knew they would all somehow influence who we would turn out to be. I guess I probably learned something about responsibility and the orginins of wool clothing by showing sheep, but more importantly, I learned the value of purposefully creating memories for your children. I'm certain I won't always get it right with our boys, but I do intend to continue the tradition of having good family memories.

Speaking of our boys. A dear friend of mine from North Carolina is not sold on this whole it's a boy thing. She has gone so far as to protest the current poll we're running to solicit input naming our boy. She insists there is sizable room for error in these ultrasound results. Seems all such results when she was a mere infant in the womb indicated she was going to be a he, and well.. she ended up being a she. I guess this entitles her to be a bit skeptical, but she didn't see the pictures and she didn't hear the ultrasound technician when she said "you've got a boy." The girl stopped just shy of handing us Pop Warner football applications and a Redskins jersey for the road.

Susan insisted that I add a girl's name to the poll, which I'm not going to do. I saw the pictures. I did tell her in the spirit of compromise that I would add a whole poll of girls' names when it comes time to pick Elliott's wife, which is fortunately a couple of years away.

We encourage you to sound off on your choice of names for Elliott's brother in the poll on the left side of this page.

Its A.......

First.. All praise goes to God that the ultrasound today provided every indication that our baby is healthy at this stage of the pregnancy. It's actually very stressful to watch the monitor screen as the magic wand glides over mama's belly delivering pictures of our unborn child. Even as the pictures appear, I'm dependent on the technician to declare the images as healthy signs. Until she says the heart looks good, I'm left to wonder if I'm looking at a foot or an ear. At this stage they all look the same to me. It's much like watching a foreign film. The captions help explain the complete unknown, but even then, you're left to wonder at least a little if the interpretation is accurate.

But everything was present and accounted for. Two arms, two legs, two little feet with all their toes. I couldn't help but recall the doctor pointing out Elliott's "perfect little feet" when he had a similar ultrasound. The heart was there as I said, and with the push of a button you could see the blood flowing in many different lighted colors, only I don't recall any of them being red, which seems odd. We saw the big face, the same one Elliott had that initially made me think there was indeed life on Mars and it was fully prepared to join our family.

And then we saw it. It didn't need captions. It didn't need technician translations. It was the universal symbol for "I'm a boy". I'm sure I smiled. The picture of Elliott running around the house with a little brother appeared instantly. So did a picture of me trying to keep up with both of them, but I somehow managed to keep smiling. Of course I wondered what everyone else has asked when I've told them it's a boy - is Katie alright with this? I guess we all assume a mother wants a daughter.

When I looked at her, the smile was as big as mine. I know if the nurse had said it's a girl, I would have had an equally big smile. We both realize the joy of Elliott is not in being a boy, but rather in his innocent daily discoveries that he so proudly shares with us, often with a grin that would seem to last forever.

So now it's on to preparing for little brother. First, we'll have to come up with a name a bit simpler than little brother. I tried to talk Katie into letting the blog readers pick a name and be committed to go with the most popular choice. She was not keen on the idea. I guess she doesn't trust the taste of our family and friends. I'm sure she would be open to suggestions, so feel free to give them - you never know.

Please continue to pray for Katie and the baby. Up to this point they have both been champs. They will need all of God's provided strength as we countdown the arrival of ??.

Be Careful What You Ask For

I wondered out loud the other day in my blog if the junk (very valuable trinkets with priceless sentimental value) would ever be meaningful enough to live outside of a storage unit. The answer is yes. All 17 feet of a packed U-haul now resides in our back room. Only weeks after turning this room into a nice guest room, a quiet escape when we don't have guests, which is almost always, this room is now the unlikeliest of mini storage units. We underestimated the difficulty of finding available storage in the center of the universe. We could not locate a unit small enough and cheap enough. I am grateful to find out that there are people who have enough junk (valuables) to require a storage unit twice what we need. Storage that size really qualifies as an off property room addition.

There was only one way to solve our delimma. We invited our belongings to move in with us. I am hopeful our arrangement is very temporary. I am actually taking the day off work tomorrow to help Katie decide who gets to stay and who has to go. I am sure it will be a very difficult day - one full of many sad good byes.

The loading and unloading was definitely a chore, but overall, we had a nice trip to North Carolina and back. We are very grateful for a safe journey. We are also very grateful for the opportunity to see many friends we hadn't seen in several months. I am glad that we haven't lost contact with them like so often happens when you move away. Elliott got to spend time with our God-daughter Mary Addison while I was loading the truck. Katie said they played together wonderfully, which puts a mark in the "he might just like it" column when trying to prognosticate his reaction to the arrival of a little brother or sister.

Speaking of which, Katie has her next ultrasound this Tuesday. We will likely no whether it is indeed a brother or sister that will be joining Elliott in terrorizing the rooms of our house that have not been converted in to storage units.

You'll surely be the first to know.

Happiest Day of the Year

I hope you enjoyed today. According to Cliff Arnall, a psychologist at the University of Cardiff in Whales, a mathematical formula he developed reveals this is the happiest day of 2008 (read article here). He used various factors including the amount of sunshine and the likelihood that this day more than others would trigger pleasant childhood memories. On top of that, my fortune cookie at lunch today said "your happiness in life is intertwined with your outlook on life". So I guess if I wanted it to be the happiest day of the year, I needed to look at it as such.

I must say that was difficult to do today. If you'll notice in the picture, my son is running through the house with his mama's shoes on and proudly waving a pot holder. This, only three days into the summer that has been billed as mom and Elliott's wild adventure. If this picture is a snapshot of summer camp after week one, what does the going home picture look like. And will there be room for it in his backpack already stuffed with his Better Homes and Garden magazines and autographed 8x10 photo of Martha Stewart.

There were many days I picked him up from grandma and grandpa's nut house daycare a little bit wilder than I left him, but his overall composition seemed in order. Potholders and sandals could be the first signs of frightening personality changes that leave him trading basketball cards for recipe cards.

I hope a spot stays open at the nut house - just in case this requires mid-summer intervention.

Graduation Day on Friday the 13th

Given that today is Friday the 13th, we're thankful that graduation went off without a hitch. Elliott graduated from Grandma and Grandpa's daycare today. That may be over dramatic, but in today's times when there are kindergarten valedictorians and 2 hour ceremonies to recognize the completion of a three week dance class, it seems appropriate. In reality, it was Elliott's last day with grandma and grandpa on a regular basis. Mama finished school today and mother and son are gleefully preparing for a summer adventure. An adventure I am confident will provide good blogging material.

We can't be any more grateful for grandma and grandpa stepping in to help out. When we decided he would be staying with them, we knew he'd get much more than daycare. He would be showered with love (aka spoiled rotten), he would be educated, and there was a risk he would think twice before returning home with us at night. All of the above played out as expected.

Speaking of education, as a father you start preparing answers for questions you know are in your future. For example, "Dad, why is Friday the 13th and unlucky day?" I immediately drew a blank today when I tried to practice my answer. I've never stopped to think about it really, probably because I've never been superstitious. So I did a little research to come up with something better than "it just is."

Toby Keith once sang "I wish I didn't know now what I didn't know then." That would summarily sing to the results of my research. What I know now is there are no less than 50 different myths as to the origin of Friday the 13th. Most of them are not even rooted in that particular day, but more in the belief that for dozens of reasons, 13 is an unlucky number and Friday a historically bad day of the week. The greatest irony is that many of the myths are rooted in Christian events. I would have to believe that Christians hold luck in low regard for its impact on the various twists and turns of life.

But I'm wrong, Christians, as well as many other Americans of every faith, shape and size take the risk of this day very seriously. Many have to go through counseling just to make it through this particular day. By some estimates, each Friday the 13th costs businesses 800 to 900 million dollars. People won't get on planes, they won't go to work, they won't expose themselves to society on any level. To 21 million Americans, the fear of this particular day is that great.

So when Elliott asks me the question, where did this day come from, the answer is simple - "They named it after a movie."