2-1/2 Weeks

Thursday, May 29, 2014 - Jen and I have one of our marriage-prep sessions (#4 of a series of 7) with an engaged couple from our church.

Friday, May 30 - Graduation open house for the son of a dear friend, whose husband died a year-and-a-half ago.  Happy, for sure, but sad that Dad wasn't there to share it with him. . .

Saturday, May 31 - Wedding of a young man, classmate of 3M, who was one of my Little League players, back in the day. . .

Sunday, June 1 - Baptism of 3M's baby girl

Monday, June 2 - 1F's birthday, celebrated quietly at home with wine and gin-and-tonics.

Wednesday, June 4 - 7M's confirmation Mass.  4M was his sponsor, and St. Sebastian his patron saint (something about the images of ol' St. Seb stuck full of arrows caught his imagination, somehow. . .)

Saturday, June 7 - Another marriage-prep session (a double, #4-5) with another engaged couple.  Also 2F's baby shower, and another graduation open house (which, you know, means that at least we don't have to cook).

Sunday, June 8 thru Tuesday, June 10 - Craig & 4M are in Seattle, finding an apartment for 4M (recent college grad that he is) to live in when he goes back in July to begin his job with a large, well-known purveyor of fine coffee.  Cheesy tourist photos to follow:

Saturday, June 14 - Ordination to the Catholic priesthood of our next-door neighbors' son, another former Little Leaguer, and former classmate of 3M.  Also 2F's birthday (her 29th) (no, really!).

Sunday, June 15 - First Mass for the newly-ordained young priest.  Which puts an entirely different twist on Father's Day (to say nothing of how his Dad is busting his buttons). . .

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For those of you keeping track at home, that's officially a crazy-busy 2-1/2 week stretch.  Looking ahead, it calms down, but only a little.  We've still got more marriage-prep sessions, and 4M's going-away party on the 28th (I didn't anticipate that his moving away across the country would have quite the emotional impact on me that it's had).  So, this June is pretty much a target-rich environment. . .

And, for the Catholics among my readers keeping score, you may have noted that five of the Seven Sacraments are accounted for in the above calendar entries (actually, to be perfectly candid, I'm pretty sure that, somewhere in the past 2.5 weeks, I've gone to confession, although I'll decline to go into detail on that one).  So if anyone is feeling sick, come on over, and we can get you anointed, and fill out a Sacramental Bingo card (kidding! . . . I'm kidding!)

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And, it being Father's Day, and me being a father and all, I am grateful for my kids, each and every one of them (joy, grief, heartbreak and all) (did I mention the joy?), and to Jen, for making a father of me in the first place. . .

Seeing Red

We live near a large state university, the same one that Jen and I both graduated from, back in the day, and 4M just recently (and my dad, a few days before that).  Large enough to have its own on-campus police force (colloquially known to the locals as the Kampus Kops), comprised to a fairly large extent of Criminal Justice majors who aspire to be real police officers someday.  And therein hangs a tale or two. . .

The MSU campus is, not to put too fine a point on it, huge.  A couple square miles, at least.  Which works out to well over 1000 acres, and that doesn't even count the farms to the south of the 'built-up' campus.  So, depending on where one is going, there are certain corners of our metro area that almost inevitably entail driving across campus, in one direction or another.  Which, because of the Kampus Kops, can sometimes (even often?) be waaaayyyy more painful than it needs to be.  Nineteen-year-olds with badges.  How could this possibly go wrong?

It has become apparent, through long experience, that the young Kampus Kops have been taught that people who are careless and unconcerned about things like obeying the law, are often careless and unconcerned about other, smaller things, and that the aspiring young officer of the law, by taking watchful note of these small markers of lawlessness, will often bag bigger Bad Guys than would seem to first meet the eye, because the petty scofflaw is the outward presentation of the Major Criminal.  Dontchaknow.

And so it came to pass, one fine Sunday evening, as Jen and I returned home from a prayer meeting (the geography of which made for a significant advantage if one chose a cross-campus route on the way home), that, about halfway across the two-mile expanse of the campus (and a lovely campus it is, if I may say so myself), I was summoned by flashing red-and-blue lights atop the vehicle behind me.

ME (thinking): What the heck?  I'm watching my speed (just for the sake of saying so, several members of our family had recently been ticketed on campus for 3-over-the-limit, and similar severe crimes).  What is this all about?

A couple minutes pass while the officer runs the standard check on my plate number.  Then the officer gets out of his squad car and proceeds to my window.  Knowing the drill, I hand him my driver's license, vehicle registration, and proof of insurance.  Looking up, I see a pimply-faced young man trying to look as stern as he possibly can.  He seems momentarily taken aback to find himself face-to-face with a gray-haired gentleman.

KAMPUS KOP:  Do you know why I pulled you over, sir?

The classic cop-question to put the driver-miscreant on the defensive.  I searched my brain cells for anything I might have done to attract the attention of this erstwhile specimen of MSU's Finest.  I knew I wasn't speeding, and I was taking a route across campus that didn't entail any turns, so I hadn't failed to signal a turn.  Finally, after a minute or so, I admitted defeat.

ME:  I'm sorry, officer, I have no idea.

Actually, I'm kinda curious to find out.

KK (with a triumphal, even smug air): You have a broken tail-light.

So that's it!  Of course!  I don't even remember how the tail-light lens came to be broken, but in researching the replacement cost of the tail-light, I got a number distressingly close to $200, so I decided that I wasn't going to pay that kind of money to replace a tail-light that was still entirely functional.  I made my way to the auto parts store and purchased a roll of red tail-light tape, with which to cover the hole, and restore the red parts of the tail-light to their original redness.

ME (a little confused):  But I taped it over with the red tail-light tape. . .

KK:  Well. . . it's the wrong shade of red.

He looked me right in the eye with a straight face as he said this.  I looked him straight in the eye right back, not saying a word for a minute or more.

ME (thinking):  Did you just say 'WRONG SHADE OF RED'???  ARE YOU F***ING SH***ING ME???  'WRONG F***ING SHADE OF RED'???  Does it even occur to you how f***ing brain-dead STUPID that sounds?  You pimple-pocked puke!  I wanna talk to the genius that gave you a badge!

ME (out loud, very respectfully):  Uhhhh, I'm sorry officer, but I specifically bought 'Tail-Light Tape'.  (I fished around in the glove-box for the remnant of the roll, still in its package, which proclaimed in large, bold letters that it was, indeed, no-fooling, 'TAIL-LIGHT TAPE').  Is there a different brand I should have bought?

At this point, the young officer-wannabe had a look on his face like he had a stomach-ache, and wished he could be anywhere else.  That damn cracked tail-light was supposed to belong to the biggest drug-dealer on campus, not some gray-haired decent-citizen type who was probably older than his dad.  And the old guy saw right through his BS about 'the wrong shade of red'.  The search was now on for a not-too-badly-failed graceful exit, although, to be brutally candid, it was already too late for that.

KK:  Well, uh, try to be more careful about how you repair your broken tail-lights, OK, sir?  I'll let you off with a warning this time.

ME (thinking):  'LET ME OFF WITH A WARNING'???  You BETTER freakin' let me off with a f***ing WARNING.  'Cuz if you ticket me, I am DEFINITELY contesting it, just to hear you say 'Wrong Shade of Red' to the judge, Idiot-Boy.

I'm thinking that it's not getting any better for the kid as words continue to come out of his mouth, so I just try to bring things to a merciful close, so I can be on my way.

ME:  OK, officer, I'll try to do that.

KK:  Thanks.  Have a good evening, sir.

ME:  I'll try.

ME (thinking):  Dumbass; there's 20 minutes of my life that I'll never get back. . .

Musings on Maternity. . .

Mother's Day, and I have an unruly tangle of thoughts running around in my mind.  They don't quite coalesce into a tight little package, but they do more-or-less swirl around a central theme.  Sort of.  See what you think. . .

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As I have contemplated the significance of three grandchildren arriving in our lives this year, none of whose parents are married, it has struck me with wry irony that this is the continuation of a grand family tradition.  I myself, having been adopted as a small child, was conceived and born out-of-wedlock no less than my newly-arrived (and yet-to-arrive) grandbabies.  And you know, it hasn't done so badly by me, after all.

I have always had, I think, an, um, earthier-than-normal appreciation of motherhood and childbirth.  When I met my birth-mother, 25 years ago, I was already a father of three children; three times, I had been with Jen in the delivery room to witness the birth of our children, and the awe of it has never left me.  So one of the first things rolling around in my brain when I met my birth-mother was that here, at last, was the woman in whose body I spent the first nine months of my existence, and between whose legs I came into the world.  Um, earthy, no?

When 1F was born, she was the first person I had ever known who was genetically related to me, and it was endlessly fascinating to look at her and see little odd traits that I knew had come from me - a cowlick at the same place on her hairline as the one I had, the contour of a nose, or an oddly-shaped toe.  Jen and I have never lost our sense of awe that our children are, quite literally, MADE of the two of us.

In time, I wondered how those things had come to me in the first place - whose eyes, whose toes, whose cowlick did I have?  And so, when my birth-mother and I were reunited, there was a lot of staring at each other going on, trying to sort out the genetic connections we shared with each other.

Along with that sense of connection, though, I have always carried a deep sense of gratitude to her.  For carrying me in her womb, certainly (I was sorely disappointed, even if I understood why, to find that there were no photos of my pregnant, 19-year-old birth-mother; I can't explain it, but it would have given me a kind of comfort to see her swollen belly, knowing that 'that was me'), but maybe as much just for giving me birth.  I was in college, a couple years after Roe v. Wade, when it first dawned on me that I had been somebody's unwanted pregnancy once-upon-a-time.  And then finally, and most significantly, I am grateful to her for giving me to my family, which, for better or worse, formed me into who I am today.

And then, even once I was safely adopted into a family, my adoptive mother left my dad (abandoning me in the process) when I was nine.  Dad remarried, and his second wife raised me from age 10 until I left home to go to college (and, who am I kidding, the 'raising' didn't exactly come to a screeching halt in my college years).

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So, for me, Motherhood is a bit like a relationship status on Facebook - 'It's Complicated'.  But then, not really.  Even just watching Jen's relationships with our children (or our daughters with theirs), I see something wonderful, something intrinsic, something splendid and awesome, in the connection between mothers and their children.  It's roots are biological, for sure, but it swells to engulf their hearts in ways that simply aren't the same for fathers.

So Thank You - Happy Mother's Day.  To my own mothers, each of you in your unique way; to my wife, the mother of my children; to my mother-in-law, who gave life, and even more, trained up the finest woman I've been privileged to know; to my daughters (and my son's baby-mama), mothers of my grandchildren. And I bow in honor to all the mothers I have known - blessings on you all, for your sacrifices on behalf of your children; and maybe all the moreso for making fathers (which, at least in my case, was pretty much the same thing as making a grown-up) out of your husbands.

Proud Moments. . .

Quite a few of 'em, just lately. . .

Start with 3M and his girlfriend bringing their new baby girl into the world a couple weeks ago, Chapter 2 of our Year of the Grandchildren.  She is a certifiable cutie (and it's just amazing how tiny she looks next to 6F's little boy, who is now all of three months old). . .

Friday, we had the funeral for a dear friend, 83 years young (in fact, she died on her 83rd birthday).  She and her husband of 61 years (61 years!!) have been friends of ours, even something like mentors, since before we were married, and their marriage has been a wonderful example to us of how marriage is done rightly.  Heck, one of their sons was even a groomsman in our wedding.  At the funeral home, their six grown children stood up and sang a barbershop quartet number together; it was one of those goofy, pure 'Big Happy Family' moments that just brought tears to my eyes. . .  Funerals like hers have more of the character of a Graduation Ceremony into Heaven. . .

And then yesterday, we had a double-header.  In the morning, we were at our eldest granddaughter's First Communion (that's 1F's birth-daughter, who is now 8 years old).  We see her seldom enough and far-enough between that it's always amazing to see how much she's grown, and how much smarter she is than the last time we saw her. . .

Then yesterday afternoon, 4M had his commencement ceremony from the alma mater he now shares with Jen and me, and my dad, besides, having completed his BA degree in Supply Chain Management.  We've finally got a college graduate among our offspring.  And it'll be awhile again before we get another one, so we'll kinda enjoy the glow from this one for a while.

So, you all would be very kind to indulge my paternal (or grandpaternal, as the case may be) pride; just watch out for flying buttons, 'cuz they are poppin' off my vest. . .

Feast of the Resurrection

A cute take on Christianity, and the life of Christ, don't you think?  And apropos of the Day at Hand. . .

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"The angel said to the women, 'Do not be afraid; I know that you seek Jesus, who was crucified.  He is not here; for He is risen, as He said.'"
     - The Gospel According to Saint Matthew, chapter 28, verses 5-6

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I knew I had posted this 'toon somewhere in the past. Here it is, if you're interested. . .

Another Quote. . .

A few years ago, I picked up a book on number theory, since it's a field of Mathematics that has occasionally fascinated me, and I was looking for something fun and relaxing to read (because that's just the kind of pathetic nerd I am, reading math books for fun and relaxation).  Anyway, I was reading along, relaxing and enjoying myself, when suddenly, in the middle of the book (An Adventurer's Guide to Number Theory, by Richard Friedberg; page 84, to be exact), a quote jumped off the page at me.  Now, as fun and/or relaxing as a good math book can be, I don't generally read them because they're just so doggone quotable; but whatchagonnado?  See if you don't agree that, even coming from a math book, this is pretty good -

"Every advance may bring a loss.
When people have electric lamps, they may forget how to build a fire.
When they have automobiles, they may forget how to ride a horse.
When they have weapons, they may forget how to make friends,
and when they have money, they may forget how to pray."

I Think It's Working. . . Maybe. . .

In honor of today being my 58th birthday (thus completing my second 29. . .), and Wednesday marking the beginning of the penitential season of Lent, I offer one of my all-time favorite quotes, from George MacDonald:

The business of the Universe
     is to make such a fool of you
          that you will know yourself for one
               and so begin to be wise.

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At least, I'm definitely coming to a deeper understanding of just what a fool I am.  As to the onset of actual wisdom. . . well, that's not for me to say. . .

On the Way to Work This Mornin'. . .

I grew up in Up North, Michigan.  And Up North in Michigan is, no doubt about it, UP NORTH fer realz (in fact, as you approach my hometown from the south, there's a sign on the side of the road informing you that you are crossing the 45th parallel, halfway between the equator and the North Pole; a few miles north of that, and you're coming into the town where I grew up; so we were definitely on the 'North Pole' side of things.  Just sayin').  And back when I was a kid Up North, we knew how to throw a winter, lemme tellya.  I've told a few stories in this space about winters Up North (here is one of them) (and here is another), but this isn't going to be one of 'em.  I tell people that, in the 40 years or so that I've lived in or near the city I now (still) call home, we've had maybe half-a-dozen of what we'd have called honest-to-gosh winters back Up North.  And this winter, even with a month or so left to run (or six weeks, if you believe that damned groundhog), qualifies.  Most definitely, this one qualifies. . .

As I left work last night, the forecast was for 1-2 inches of snow overnight.  Which, in the context of winter in Michigan (and perhaps this winter most especially), is not much.  I thought briefly about taking my laptop home, so I could work from home if need be, but then I thought, one or two inches, I'm not gonna have any trouble getting in to work.  So I left it locked up in my office.

This morning when I got up and got in my car, I found that the forecast was a tad optimistic.  By about a factor of 3; 3-6 inches of snow filled my driveway, and for a few seconds, I thought I might not even get out of the driveway, much less 80 miles or so to work.  I got out on the main surface streets, and they were snowy/slushy and a bit slick, but nothing extraordinarily bad.  And by the time I got out onto the freeway, things were OK, if less than fully ideal.  The right-hand lane was two-tracked to bare pavement, and the left lane was snow-covered; I was able to maintain a steady 40 mph without undue anxiety.  As I drove further, the road got a bit clearer, and I was keeping up around 55 mph.  Not the 70 mph posted limit, and certainly not the 80-or-so that traffic usually goes on a clear, dry road, but moving along comfortably.

I had just passed a row of vehicles whose drivers didn't feel as comfortable as I did at 55, and was more-or-less by myself, going easy.  There was a semi about a quarter-mile ahead of me, and a car about a couple hundred yards behind me, and we traveled in that spacing for a few miles, the road, to all appearances, clear, if not quite dry.

We crossed the line into Genesee County (not quite halfway to work), and I saw the semi ahead of me move to the left, as if he was changing lanes to pass a slower vehicle.  I made a mental note, and prepared to do likewise when I came up on the slowpoke.  But then, I saw the cab of the truck in full profile, and a couple seconds later, I was looking full-on at the side of the trailer, as the semi jack-knifed  across the roadway.  Quickly appraising the situation (mentally noting that, 'this is not good'), I began pumping my brakes purposefully-but-gently, and quickly, I was sailing along sideways on black ice.  I managed to fight my car back to a more-or-less straight configuration, then moved onto the shoulder where the accumulated snow would help bring me to a stop, a hundred yards or so from the semi.  The guy behind me was a little slower to grasp the situation, and he sailed past me before bringing his car to a stop just in front of me.  The vehicles further back saw the ice-capades playing out ahead of them, and stopped in an orderly progression.

But we were all, as they say, SOL as far as further travel was concerned.  Our semi friend extended across both lanes of the freeway and both plowed shoulders.  The cab was pointing straight backwards, hard against the center guardrail.  No one was going anywhere for a while.  One guy, a few spots behind me in the line, had a 4-wheel-drive Jeep, and he decided to take to the deep snow beyond the shoulder, but he only made a few yards of progress before he was more irrevocably stuck than he had been.  I don't think I was the only driver in line who snickered from my happier position on the road.

I called my boss and apprised her of my situation, and told her that I would be late arriving, if at all.  I popped in one of my books-on-tape CDs and listened for a while. Then I pulled the book I'm currently reading out of my briefcase and read, looking up from time to time to see what, if anything, was happening.  A fire truck and a couple police cars arrived, and finally, one of the jumbo-size semi-grade tow trucks.  I watched over the course of a couple hours as the tow-operator and semi-driver tried to puzzle through the geometry and physics of the situation.  My feet grew cold, so I turned the car on and off at intervals, to stay warm without using too much fuel.  I observed with mild interest as snow drifts slowly formed on the upwind side of all our cars (and the wind was blowing duly hard), and I noted how the drifts formed in an arc, roughly marking the 'shock wave' from the wind diverting around the shapes of the cars.  A minor crisis arrived in the form of pressure from my bladder; damn morning coffee.  I used the two passenger-side doors of my car as a makeshift 'stall', and my empty coffee thermos made for a suitable, uh, recepticle, and the crisis was averted.  I rinsed the thermos out with a couple loads of snow, but even so, it's going through the dishwasher two or three times tonight.

Finally, around noon (after three hours of sitting, going nowhere), the tow-truck got the semi unwedged, and we all prepared to resume our respective journeys.  A state trooper walked back along the line of vehicles, informing us that Genesee County had no plows out, and no salt trucks, and we should all just get ourselves hunkered down in our homes, and go slow on our way there.  So I called my boss back and told her I'd see her tomorrow.  Then I started my car, pulled back out onto the roadway, and headed home.

-- (*edit 6PM*) --

So, I got home about 1:00 or so, and hung around long enough to bang out the above paragraphs.  Around 2:30, I got a call from Jen, asking if I could pick her up from her job, since one of the kids had her car.  Sure, says I, I'd be happy to.  So I hopped in my car and headed back out into the elements.  As is often the case (especially since we live on a two-block-long, dead-end street, which might just be the last street in Our Town to get plowed), just getting down my own driveway, and up my own street, was the hard part.  Once I got out onto the main thoroughfares, the going got much easier (although, in the aftermath of a 6-inch snowfall, it's a while longer before things are quite ALL the way back to normal).

I pulled up to a red light where the main street I was on passes under a freeway.  As the car rolled to a stop, I leaned back in my seat and exhaled heavily, glad to be done with stressful driving and such, and. . .

BAM!  I get hit in the ass by a lady driving an SUV.  Her stopping distance was, um, a trifle longer than it would normally be, and she was a tad slow to recognize that fact, thus causing an attempted collocation with my little car.

(*sigh*)

Another hour while we wait for the police to show up and collect the information.  And I am wondering how it is that I've now been rear-ended in each of the last two Februarys (jeez, I never even wrote about the one last year; must've been one of those 'Real Life' things that took me out of circulation for a while.  Got a whole new/used car out of that one).  The comfort one draws from the fact that neither of them was my fault is surprisingly small. . .

The actual damage to my car was pretty minimal, really - a cracked rear trim panel (which, for such a small car as mine, is an impressively large hunk of plastic), and that's about it.  The trunk opens and closes normally.  As I sit here, I'm debating whether to even fix it, or just cover the cracked part with ductape and save the deductible.

So, how was your Wednesday?

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And, all prior ambivalence aside, three weeks ago, we welcomed our new grandson, 6F's little guy, into the world.  Cute as a bug, he is, and just like that, he's won his way into our hearts.

Lord, have mercy, and bless him, and his parents, with a good life.  Together.

Joy, Heartbreak and DNA

Yesterday was Epiphany, marking the end (at least in a liturgical sense) of the Christmas season, and the return of 'Real Life' after the time of celebration and feasting.  And oh, yes. . . Real Life is most definitely upon us. . .

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I've written here, and in my previous blog, about my grandchild(ren), 1F's 'birth-daughter' (just recently turned 8 years old) and her adoptive siblings.  And of how God, true to His Word, has indeed 'worked everything out for the good'.

You have probably also noticed that, since roughly a year ago or so, the frequency of my posts here has become considerably less.  There are a variety of reasons for that, mainly subsumed under the heading of 'Real Life Hath Its Demands'.

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And so it came to pass, late last spring, that one such Demand made itself known.  6F took Jen aside and told her that she, 6F, just barely turned 18, and not yet, at the time, graduated from high school, was pregnant.

(*sigh*)

You want to think that the younger kids, especially the girls, were paying attention when 1F was going through her own pregnancy.  But. . . perhaps not.  I don't know what it's like for women, exactly, but I know that most guys (and young guys most especially), faced with the immediate availability of sex, aren't so clear-headed as to say, "Wait. . . you could get pregnant. . ." or, "But we aren't married yet. . ."  Maybe in my grandmother's day, but not just lately.  (And perhaps the size of my own family will attest to my own uh, shortcomings as pertaining to self-control. . .)  And, even so, the generation of a new human life loses none of its sacred wonder for the circumstances being, shall we say, somewhat sub-optimal.

6F's boyfriend is, on the whole, a solid kid, responsible, hard-working, etc. (by which I mean he's diligent, frugal and focused; the question of keeping wicks dry is a separate matter).  We have thought that, if it should happen that way, we wouldn't have any serious objections to the two of them marrying.  In, oh, say, five years, when they're both more, uh, grown up than they are now, and clearer on the distinction between being married and 'going steady' (though I doubt that anyone calls it that anymore).  But this puts a whole new twist on timetables and suchlike, and adds pressure to the marriage (and the family) that they hope to form together.

We will see what we will see, of course, but Jen and I are mainly of the mind that, if the two of them can form a stable, loving marriage, that would be best all around, for all three of the principals.  So we're basically of the mind that we will do all that we can to help the two of them form such a marriage, if they can.  If. . .

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So, our second grandchild (at least in biological terms) is on his way.

We had a couple months to digest 6F's news before 3M came to us with the news that his girlfriend was also pregnant.  Again, wonderful - another new human life is arising from our gene pool.  But again - carts and horses, and all that. . .

3M and his girlfriend have been together for nearly two years, and we had frankly thought that we'd be hearing wedding bells before too awfully much longer.  3M has been doing well on his job, and getting himself 'established' to the point that being a husband and father is not a crazy idea.  The two of them want to get married, and almost certainly will.  But their relationship has had some, uh, volatile tendencies in the time they've been together, and I worry just the least bit that this will put pressure on them to marry, possibly over their own nagging doubts.

But, you know, as with 6F, we view our role as helping them get to the best possible place together that they can, both for their sake and their unborn child's. . .

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So, two grandchildren - our second and third - on the way, without any of our kids being married.  But, you know, we could console ourselves to a considerable degree that both couples were on their way to marrying, even if (marriage-prep timetables being what they are in our Catholic diocese) the marriages won't happen until some time after the birth of the child.  I'm not terribly concerned with appearances, or 'family honor', or anything like that; all I want is what's best for my own children, and their putative spouses, and the children that they've made together.

And then, a few weeks ago, 2F came to us with the news that she, too, was 'in the family way' (well, except for, you know, the whole 'family' bit).  Which came to us, how shall I say? - completely out of left field, since 2F hasn't had a boyfriend, that we know of.  Nonetheless, there it was.  After a week or two had passed, and we'd had time to digest this latest bit of generational news, Jen asked 2F who the father was; she said she didn't know.  And that's about all I'm going to say about that. . .

As you might imagine (or, you might not, I suppose), it's been a bit more challenging to find the silver linings to 2F's pregnancy, once you get past, "How wonderful - a new human life has come into being!"  But, as they say, it is what it is. . .

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It is an exceedingly fine line that we find ourselves walking, between, "we love you and we support you, and we're here for you," and, "this isn't how we raised you to behave; we're really not 'just-OK-with-it'."  There is more than a trivial likelihood that any or all of my children, and their respective children, will have their lives go less well in the long run for being pregnant out-of-wedlock now.  I have no desire to engage in an 'I-told-you-so-fest', either now or in the future.  But I worry.

And, honestly, it's hard for me not to take it, on some deep, existential level, as an indictment of me as their father.  "Train up a child in the way he should go," (Proverbs 22:6) and all that.  And I'm well-aware of the correlation between young women getting pregnant out-of-wedlock, and their poor relationships with their own fathers.  Not a happy thought for me, as I contemplate my own Judgment Day.

To say nothing of the fact that we still have two young sons not-yet-fully formed, ages 15 and 11, for whom this has become the centerpiece of our family's life these days.  How must our admonitions to chastity and moral faithfulness look to them, when their own beloved elder siblings have tacitly demonstrated that Mom-and-Dad's moral teachings are not to be taken seriously?

So, I suppose we could use your prayers.  We are genuinely happy, and just as genuinely perplexed.  Walking such fine lines can be exhausting.  And the fact that such a key component of our parental message to our kids has manifestly gone unheeded, if not outright ignored, is heartbreaking.  But then we knew that. . .

Roses Are Green!

Final Score of the 2014 Rose Bowl:

Michigan State      24
Stanford               20

Once again, the Spartan defense just progressively choked the life out of an opposing offense, becoming more impenetrable as the game wore on.  The offense made more mistakes (and more bizarre ones) than we've been used to (what were you thinking on that screen pass for the pick-six, Connor Cook?), but on the whole, they imposed their will on the Stanford 'D' more than the other way around.

I won't bore you with a recap of what I posted a couple weeks back; suffice it to say that my Spartans have earned their way back into consideration as one of the top football programs in the land.  As presently constituted, we aren't what we've been since the late 60s - an average program, occasionally good, which could produce wonderful moments, but stumble at least as often, and never rise to the level of 'elite'.  No, this is a damn good team, right now, and the wonderful moments are more the norm than the exception.  And I must say, we're loving it. . .

(I am recalling a conversation I had a couple years ago with some friends of mine from our sister school an hour down the road - Big Sister, if they insist - in which they all asserted that, what with Big Blue hiring a new coach, we Spartans would soon be relegated once more to our rightful position looking up at them, sighing wistfully, and wishing we could be like them.  At the time, I said, God bless coach Hoke and all, but I didn't think that Coach D and the Spartans were planning on going anywhere, and maybe they should get used to the idea of us being better than they'd like us to be.  It's fun to be proven right. . .)