Cedar Posts Don't Give

When I was 14 my dad and I had our first major disagreement. The first serious skirmish in the war of teen rebellion...

No matter how kind and decent a man treats his son the time will come when the young buck feels moved to lower his head and poke his budding antlers into the old man's posterior.

As much as I loved Dad I had it in my mind that we should now find ourselves on more or less equal terms. I felt that I had reached the age of answering only to myself in most matters. No longer needing, or desiring, the constant guiding hand of my parents. I was a man, dammit, and I demanded respect!

My parents bore the changes in me with a combination of bemusement, amusement, and frustration. My mother, God rest her soul, was determined to simply ignore the fact that her son was growing up. I suppose poor Mom was living where Dad often said she did; in the state of denial. When I attempted to enlighten her on the new and challenging situation we found ourselves in she would just pat my hand and say,

"You'll always be my baby."

Talk about a slap in the face! She just didn't get it!

"I...am...not...a...BABY!!! I am a MAN!"

When my mother passed away I was married with three children. I was still her baby. Some battles can't be won.

Poor old Dad, having been a boy himself once, was a bit more understanding. That's not to say that he liked the changes in me, he didn't, and he let that be known from time to time, but at least he recognized and acknowledged that things were different. He continued as he always had. Trying to be patient, to offer sound counsel, to be a good father to me.

When I began to get under his skin Dad would go off to his shop and find solace in working on a car, all alone. Looking back, I realize those must have been lonely hours for him. To his credit, he kept trying. He gave me more and more freedom. He allowed me to make my own mistakes and he tried, Lord, how he tried, to be patient.

We were in the kitchen on that fateful day when I finally wore my father's patience out. Had I studied the signs I would have known better. Dad was sitting at the table with his his notebooks and ledgers spread out before him, working on the taxes that he paid quarterly. The government must have had Dad confused with Rockefeller because their idea of a 'fair tax' on this poor working man was a heavy burden for him. At any rate, it was a good time to watch my p's and q's, but, as the old saying goes, "fools go where angels fear to tread..."

I was digging in the refrigerator for a snack when Pop said,

"Dinner will be in a bit. Why don't you just wait?"

Using the obnoxious tone of voice only a teenager can possess I smartly replied, "I don't want to wait. I'm hungry now."

You would have thought that I called his Momma a bad name. My Dad's face got beet red, a flush ran all the way up his neck, and his eyes bulged out! He began to speak, almost a whisper, at first, but each word got a bit louder, building to a cresendo of anger I hadn't known the old man capable of.

"That's it! That is By God it! I have taken about all I'm taking from you!"

Standing up, leaning over the table, the old man continued to express his fatherly displeasure at my conduct of late.

"You mouth your mother, you disrepect me, and you think I'll put up with that? You think I'll take that from my own son? I'll be damned if I will! I'm done! Do you hear me, boy? I am DONE!!"

As he yelled out that last word he brought his fist down on our kitchen table and broke it in half. As his papers, coffee, and everything else fell to the floor with a crash I stood by the door, trembling like a virgin bride. A wiser kid would have fallen to his knees and begged for mercy, and I admit the thought crossed my mind, but wisdom had not yet come to me. As I stood there, staring at Dad in his rage, a little voice whispered in my head.

"Psst...you're a man, remember? Are you gonna' let him talk to you like that?"

"Not now, we'll chat later. I'm a little busy now."

"Chicken! Your Mom was right! You ARE still a baby!"

I made my decision. I didn't care how big he was, he wasn't getting the best of me! As Dad glared, I forced myself to smile at him and said, "that was cute." I had expected a reaction. Lord, did I get one. Did I ever.

My father, displaying a fleetness I didn't know he possessed, came after me. It was like facing all four of the Horsemen from Revelations simultaneously. In that split second, as he kicked that table out of his way, I realized the wisdom of a hasty retreat. As a friend of mine once said, "A good run is better than a bad stand."

Realizing I had made a major mistake, I decided to compound it by yelling, "You'll never catch me, fat boy!" and running out the back door with my father in hot pursuit. As I fled for my life through the yard I couldn't resist looking back over my shoulder to see how close Dad was. He was a man of many talents but he wasn't fast afoot. I mean he just flat could not run. Figuring I had the old goat beat I laughed, and turned around to finish my run to daylight...

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Did I mention my mother didn't own a clothes dryer? Strange, isn't it? All the money Pop made, but no dryer for Mom! I know what you're thinking. What the hell does that have to do with what we're talking about? Simple, really. The lack of a dryer made it necessary for Mom to hang our clothes out on a line to dry. Did I further neglect to mention that Dad had put cedar posts in to serve as clothesline poles?

I turned around from taunting the old man just in time to run smack-dab into one of those posts at full tilt. Now, when I say I ran into it, I don't mean I grazed it, or I glanced off of it. I mean I center-punched it. I must have looked like Wile E. Coyote in those old cartoons. I hit that thing and my arms and legs went straight out. I don't remember hitting the ground.

I woke up on my parents couch with my old man sitting there grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "You weren't all that hard to catch, boy." he said, with a chuckle.

I had broken my nose, had both eyes bruised black as coal, and had a knot on my head that stuck out about two inches past my eyebrows. Pop said, "hold still, son." He leaned over, grabbed my nose, and popped it back to where it belonged.

Thankfully, my Dad had a sense of humor about the whole affair and the ingominity of knocking myself out was the extent of my punishment. Pop still laughs as he remembers that day and delights in telling my children about it. I've tried to tell them that their grandfather spices a story up a bit, now and then, but I think they enjoy knowing that their Daddy wasn't perfect.

What DO You Know, Pa?

Brendan and I were discussing his trip to Chucky Cheese Pizza last Sunday. He had a wonderful time at his little buddy's birthday party and wanted to tell me all about it.

"I didn't eat much, Pa. I was too busy playing all the games! I had six trillion tickets and all I got was a little red ball?"

"Six trillion, huh? That's a lot of tickets, bud."

"I know, Pa. I worked hard to win them."

"Did Mommy carry them for you?"

"Yes, Pa. I needed Mommy to hold them so I could play!"

"Glad you had fun, buddy."

"Yeah, me too, Pa! Pa? What makes those games work like that?"

"I don't know, bud. I've never been there."

"You've never been to ChuckyCheese?"

"Nope."

"Gosh, Pa. Mama didn't have your birthday there?"

"Nope."

"I guess you're too old for that, huh Pa?"

"Too old for what?"

"Birthday parties."

"I guess so, buddy. When you're my age, they're not as fun as they used to be."

"You are pretty old, Pa."

"Watch it, sucker."

Brendan laughed and climbed on to my lap to eat a hot dog. As he ate, he asked why his hot dog was 'square.'

"I don't know, buddy."

"Pa, what do you know?"

"Not much, I guess."

"I guess not."

I could have explained to him that Oscar Mayer packs them so tight they come out square looking, but where's the fun in that? Far better to receive a pitying look from a four-year-old who just can't understand how you can take care of yourself at such an advanced age as 45.

God, I love that little boy.

I Sold A Story!

I sold a piece to commonties.com entitled 'Dead Broke and Underground.'

It's up on their story blog now. Stop by and read it, feel free to leave a comment!

What I Am

What I Am
by Donnie Marler

Tempered by the fire of battle,
Tested by fear and doubt,
Held up by my God and my brothers.

I have suffered,
I have hurt,
I have bled,
I have lived,
and I have died.

I have wept for fallen brothers,
I have prayed for my family at home,
I have hoped,
And I have loved.

Though I've died, I yet live,
I am reborn in each new generation of my brothers,
I live in them,
They carry my memory in their hearts,
They honor me,
And they will never forget me.

This land I love,
I have given it all I had to give,
And I would do it again.

I am one of The Few and the Proud.
I am a United States Marine.

Do I What?

"Brendan Tyler! Get back here and put your pants on! Right now!"
I chuckled as I heard my daughter scolding Brendan and the rapid thud of little feet running up the stairs toward my office.
"Pa?"
"Yes, baby?"
"Wanna' see my butt?"
"Is this a trick question?"
"No, Pa! I got new underwear! Look! Spongebob!"
"Hey! Those are pretty cool, buddy! Maybe Pa will get some?"
"You're too old, Pa."
"Gee, thanks. I'm cutting you out of my will, you know."
"What's a will, Pa?"
"Never mind."

Brendan has moved up in the world! He has boxer briefs now, and loves them. He wanted some because Keenan wears them, and Lord knows, if Keenan does it, it must be cool.

Our family is going through a difficult time, but any day that begins with Brendan running into my room for his good morning hug is a good day.

I love you, baby. I guess I'll leave you in the will after all.

Return of a Prodigal Son

The tiny community of Richwoods, MO is a happy place this morning. Shawn Hornbeck is home, and safe. As a friend of mine said, we live in a fallen world, but every once in awhile something happens to bring a smile to even the most hardened faces and the saddest of hearts. The return of this young man is such an event.

When Shawn was kidnapped his step-father, Craig Akers, an incredibly decent and loving man, had begun the process of adopting Shawn as his own. One of the most poignant moments of the reunion was when Shawn asked Craig to see that through, to make him his son. "Shawn wants you to know that you might soon know him as Shawn Akers," Craig said, tearfully.

Craig Akers is a heart patient. After he and his wife received the call that Shawn had been found, and began the long drive to the Franklin County Sheriff's office for a long prayed for reunion the excitement of the moment overcame him and he began having chest pains and numbness in his left arm. "Please, God. Don't let me have a heart attack now. This is no time to have a heart attack!" Thankfully, his symptoms passed and he and his wife were soon with Shawn once more.

Smiling through his fear and pain, he cried as he recounted the first wonderful moments of reunion with Shawn. Neither he nor his wife could express the beauty and deep emotion of the moment. They simply held on to Shawn for all they were worth, and thanked a benevolent God for another miracle.

Upon his return to Richwoods Shawn was greeted by many signs proclaiming the communities joy, colorful balloons gaily bouncing in the breeze, smiling faces and happy tears, and most importantly, the realization that his small hometown had never given up hope and had never stopped searching.

His abduction was hard on this small town. His little classmates suffered and cried for him, and were forced to face a world in which not every person is good, and where not even a child is safe from the deviant desires of madmen in our midst. The abduction of this boy was the loss of innocence for many, and I hope his return will ease the pain of them all, and I pray Shawn is treated well by his old friends. I'm sure he will be.

When his class graduated eighth grade they left an empty chair for him and prayed he would someday fill it again. Upon his return, many of his classmates filled the bleachers with signs of welcome and love for him.

"I hope he remembers me!" one young man excitedly said.

"Don't cry, Papa", a little girl told her grandfather, the assistant principal of Richwoods school who couldn't hold back his tears when Shawn came in.

Our small towns are dying, the mines are closed or closing and there is little hope for another industry to move into our area, but the search and vigil for Shawn has shown the world why we live here, why we don't want to leave, and what being part of a community really means.

A child in trouble is every man's child, and each man and woman in this community gave something of themselves in the search for Shawn. Thousands of hours spent looking through the fields and forests searching for any clue to what happened to this young man. A search both relentless, and loving, and in which hope never died.

That hope was realized a few days ago. The thousands of prayers were answered, and a young man has returned to the family and the community that loves him.

There is a God in Heaven, and every once in awhile He shows His face.

Each New Day

An ancient wise man once wrote, ‘there is nothing new under the sun.’ The Teacher was beaten down by a life filled with thrilling ascents to glory and crashing falls into despair and hopelessness, and had concluded that ‘all is vanity.’

But was he right? I don’t think so.

I believe each day brings forth something new under the sun. The brilliance of the sunrise may look like yesterday, but there are subtle differences in the Lord’s pallet of color each morning. Sunrises inspire me, they always have. I love sitting on my deck and soaking up the first new rays of another day of my life. Breathing the cool, crisp, air while watching the fog gradually thinning, then fading into nothingness is like lifting the veil of a new bride. The hint of beauty revealed for those who would seek it.

Many of us have been blessed with new life in our families this year. Some are parents for the first time, excited and a bit frightened by the responsibility for another. I remember that feeling well, the wondering if I will be good enough, if I have enough heart and patience. I did and I do, and so do you. Just enjoy them as much as possible because the time passes far more swiftly than you know. The days of tea parties and kickball games don’t last long. Treasure them, they are the memories you will hold fast to in your later years, long after the laughter has faded away.

A lucky few have become grandparents for the first time, and know the joy of seeing those special little faces napping gently in your arms. It is a moment you will never forget, the first time you gaze at your grandchild. Your heart melts and you find yourself wrapped around a very small finger forever. The two nicest things I’ve ever been called are Daddy and PaPa. God, it’s wonderful isn’t it? Nothing new under the sun? I daresay, he was wrong, there is something new, and beautiful, under the sun each bright morning of our lives.

Some of us have lost someone we love this past year, and are dealing with that loss as best we can. Our loved ones can see the sunrise from the other side of the veil now. They can watch as God creates the dawn. They can see the Creator’s sovereign right hand drop slowly as he gently and tenderly lays the sun to rest at the end of each day, and they can still share our lives and our love for them. I believe they remain with us forever. Nothing is stronger than love, and a heart full of love and devotion never dies, it simply takes on a new and majestic form in Heaven alongside the Father and the Son. We mourn for them, and we feel the pain of their absence from our presence, but we will be together again someday. I still talk to the loved ones I’ve lost in my life and I believe they can hear me. They cannot answer, but perhaps they smile when I say their names, and know they are remembered and loved.

There is something new under the sun this morning. It’s the opportunity to make it a better day than yesterday. To say I love you, or I need you, to someone special who would appreciate hearing it. To hold someone in your arms for a moment, to share the warmth of your heart with them, to treasure them. I look at each new dawn through the eyes of a child receiving a gift from a loving father. Each day is special, each day is ours to fill with what we will. The choice is ours.