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Lost Summer Romance: This Wonderful Surprise, Part II

Written by Barry A. Popkin on July 19, 2012

It was a beautiful, extremely hot summer night and Linda and I were riding my 765cc Shadow Phantom Magna motorcycle semi-naked down Robert Moses Causeway, way out on the tip of Long Island.

It is around 10:30 at night, with a full moon. It’s still 80 degrees out, even at night.

The ocean dunes are on one side and the bay dunes and bird sanctuaries are on the other side.

It’s quiet, peaceful, and nobody is around as we ride (now fully naked), into the wondrous night except for a police car hiding between two dunes in the bushes waiting for speeders to go by.

The police have their lights off and are way back in the bushes and Linda and I didn’t notice them as we flew by. One cop was drinking his iced Dunkin Donut coffee and says to the other, “Did you see that?”

“Yeah,” the other cop says with a smile. “I think they were naked.”

Linda and I are having a really great time as we ride wildly into the glorious night, until we get to the tip of Long Island, right before the water to Fire Island where you can go no further unless you have a boat.

In the sand dune deadend we make a merry-go-round, wild sliding turn, and started to go back. As we turn around and start back, Linda stands up on her foot pegs, topless, dancing slowly and lovingly around my neck.

She starts giggling and singing, and soon I join in now, as both of us are standing on our foot pegs somewhat naked and wonderfully out of our minds with “moonlight madness” singing down the road.

Robert Moses Causeway is a considerably long, pleasant ride about 10 miles long. Us wild ones are flying down the road as the warm, scented beach wilds are softly blowing maddening fragrances that caress our nakedness.

Flying by we pass the cops in the bushes going back the other way. It’s night, but the full moon reflected off the water gives the cops a pretty good picture.

Now one cop turns to the other and says, “Did you see that? Those crazies went by again.”

“Well, I am almost finished with dinner. And if they come back again, let’s get those naked love birds!”

Sure enough, we are having such a good time, we turn around and go back for one more exotic, loony ride.

The police are now done eating, and they start to pull out of the bushes slowly. Just when they are about to hit the road, they put on their headlights just as us nutty, naked riders go by again!

The police hit the siren and lights, and immediately give chase, shooting sand and smoking rubber.

I hit the throttle and we take off like a rocket! I am gaining distance on the police car, but know I will soon run out of road.

I know we are naked, have been seen by the police naked, are now speeding. And if we get caught, they will probably throw the book at us.

Furthermore, we certainly will get a ticket for speeding and they will take away my license, as I already have 12 points on my license and possibly get locked up for the night for dangerous driving and indecent exposure.

I am doing 117 miles an hour now, and remember a bend in the road with a big sand dune blind spot.

I downshift from fifth to first gear smoothly, and slide behind the dune, completely covering us and the bike.

Ten seconds later the cops go shooting by! I now have three choices–hide, run, or give up.

But the cops are not dumb, and shortly back up and find us hiding behind the sand dune.

They took my license number and other ID as they look at Linda, what a sight!

Then they started to laugh at us. They said, “We saw you go by the first time. Then you went by the second time, and we could tell you probably were naked. But, stupid! When you went by the third time speeding, that was too much. Listen, I know a lot of lovers come by down this road on their motorcycles and we get to see some awesome sights, but you two tonight take the cake.”

He hands me my ticket and says, “Get lost!”

We ride back to my place I had in Lido Beach during the summer, and when we get there Linda is in shock! She is stunned.

One hour ago we are on Robert Moses Causeway being chased by the cops. The next hour we were lucky to get back home.

It’s not amazing to Linda. It’s frightening. She says, “What is going to happen when my parents find out about this?”

She grabs my arm tightly, sinking her fingernails into my arm in frantic confusion. Her heart is pounding, but it slows to rushing as I start to calm her down while holding her tightly as I plead, “It is okay. Calm down please, I love you so much. Calm down. It is alright. It’s alright baby.”

I looked concerned for her. I implore, “Please forgive me for being so stupid. Let’s go inside out of this naked exposure and try to calm down.”

“Stupid,” she says!

We run up the stairs and I sit her down on the couch while holding her tightly.

She is still breathing heavily and I start to whisper in her ear, “I love you. It’s ok. Let me explain.”

I look into her frightened eyes as she looks at me in trust and belief. We talk in the night-darkened room in soft whispers as the moon reflects off the floor and beams off her trusting eyes.

She doesn’t exactly understand or want to understand what I am saying. But she is safe in my arms now and that is enough for this moment.

Editor’s Note: Barry A. Popkin is the Delaware-based author of four books in multiple genres including military history and family biography. They include: “My Year in Vietnam,” “The Savior The Prophet The War,” “Worlds Collide,” and “The Death of God in New York City.” All the books are available on his website or on Amazon.com.

Read Part III of Lost Summer Romance: This Wonderful Surprise, on Monday, July 23.

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Letter to Dad: Why Do We Wait Until It’s Too Late?

Written by Carol-Ann Hamilton on July 9, 2012

Carol-Ann Hamilton and her father

Though the premise of this website is, “If I had five more minutes to spend with a departed loved one,” I did take the opportunity to recently write and mail a three-page letter to my declining 89-year-old father to express what we have meant to one another across the years.

This, so as to not leave regrets over what should have been said before he passes.

Why do we wait until it’s too late? While deeply personal, I hope my heart-felt outpouring brings memories for others.

Excerpted, here is my Top-10 List, based on five decades-plus as my parents’ only child.

1. I profoundly internalize that you and Mommy wanted me. Many unfortunate children cannot say they were cherished by their parents as I was. It is clear you both loved me right from birth.

2. Despite the fact that funds were tight for a number of years, you demonstrated a sense of honour second-to-none in always trying to make things nice. You provided. More than one father shirks his responsibility. Not you!

3. Putting out your back creating my sandbox is forever etched in my consciousness. Remember how often we played Frisbees, shot basketballs, and played baseball catch?

4. The trips we took – big and small – were quite amazing in retrospect. I recently pulled out my old photo albums and relished the pictures, particularly those from eastern Canada and the southern United States.

5. Something I REALLY respect was standing by your hospital bed as you brought yourself back single-handedly from death’s doorstep. The strength and determination that took! You have my un-ending admiration for your sheer grit.

6. I further cannot thank you enough for the turning-point dialogue we shared about the difficult parts of my growing-up years. You took ownership like a man for the damaging impact that anguished time generated. I have long ago realized many of the factors that led up to that despaired period for you and Mommy. I assure you, I am complete with it as you go to your grave. May you be, also.

7. While previously mentioned, it bears repeating that we have performed yeoman’s service together since we lost her in April 2010. For both of us, it may have been one of the most grueling periods during the long life chapter we have been father and daughter. My prayer is that you have benefitted throughout.

8. I most certainly feel that way when I consider the value of what you have contributed to me in thoughtfulness across time. We have frequently kidded I must now owe you something like $1,689,234 when we add up your generosity plus priceless love.

9. Then, we come to the countless conversations in which you have amply demonstrated you “get it.” You have imparted your lessons well. Your stewardship of justice, integrity, principle, courage, and excellence shall reside permanently within me.

10. Last, but not least, I have so often felt SEEN and HEARD by you as the child and woman I Really Am that I have frankly lost count.

To recognize someone in their Essence is quite possibly one of the greatest gifts you can accord.

Whew! What more is there to say?

Not much! I believe I have expressed what is in my deepest core.

So you can to your grave in quietude and rest that you did your very best.

Trust me. I shall voyage well for the long duration of my journey henceforth.

You have left things in my capable hands, and I will attend to everything with fitting aplomb.

I will be more than fine in every possible regard.

All this to say, thank you from the bottom of my heart and soul for being my father.

I love you very much, Daddy.

Your ever-lasting daughter,

Carol-Ann Patricia

Editor’s Note: This touching letter was written by Carol-Ann Hamilton, a Principal at Spirit Unlimited & Changing Leadership in Toronto. Carol-Ann is the author of or contributor to six leadership, entrepreneurial, and self-help books. Her seventh book, “Coping with Un-cope-able Parents: LOVING ACTION for Eldercare will be published later on this year.

More stories from: Featured Story,With My Dad,With You

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Why Wait for the Last Five Minutes?

Written by Bruce Hammitt on July 2, 2012

Every New Year’s Eve I call one person who has been important in my life and I thank them for helping me grow as an individual.

I have called relatives, past teachers, and close friends.

I also have sent letters to important people in my life letting them know how much I have appreciated having them as friends.

So I guess I would advise that you not wait for the final five minutes.

What I do helps me know that I have told loved ones of my appreciation for them before they pass away.

Editor’s Note: This savvy and heartfelt advice comes from Bruce Hammitt, director of customer service at Calahan Solutions, a premier productivity consulting firm, serving a national and local clientele in corporate settings, home-based businesses, and residential environments. Thanks, Bruce!

Photo by Braiden Rex-Johnson

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Playing Favorites

Written by Brad Rex on June 25, 2012

Here is the fourth offering from one of our frequent guest columnists, Brad Rex. Not only is Brad my beloved brother, but he’s head of The Brad Rex Group, a consultant, noted public speaker, husband for 30 years, and father of three.

I’m proud to report that Brad’s new book, “The Surpassing! Life,” was published in May, so is now available for purchase here.

And I’m also honored to be among the first to excerpt parts of “Surpassing!” in the coming months.

Here’s his chapter entitled, Playing Favorites, which showcases the idea that every person is important and makes a difference. It speaks to the Five More Minutes With zeitgeist because we should all value and praise the worth of those around us (especially friends and family members) each and every day.

Thanks for your wisdom, as always, Brad. And congrats on a job well done with your new book!

Rejoice in your special talents, and recognize others.

C. S. Lewis

But I also want you to think about how this keeps your significance from getting blown up into self-importance. For no matter how significant you are, it is only because of what you are a part of.

Bible, 1 Corinthians 12: 19

Diversity and inclusion is a significant theme at Disney parks and resorts. The rallying cry used by Disney is R.A.V.E.—Respect, Appreciate and Value Everyone.

I really like this message, as it captures the idea that every person is important and makes a difference.

As you live out the idea of respecting, appreciating, and valuing everyone that you meet, you will develop strong relationships of mutual admiration.

It pains me to watch a person smile and greet a fellow traveler at the airport, but ignore the custodian, as if he was not there. We all have a tendency to judge a person’s value and only interact with people who have an equal or greater “value” than us. And some actually demean people who are perceived as having less value.

I wasn’t supposed to play favorites as the leader of Epcot. But, I have to admit that I did have a favorite group of Cast Members—the Custodial team. This team was very proud of the work that they did every day, 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, keeping Epcot spotless.

I tried to attend many Custodial pre-shift meetings. When I did, you could hear a buzz around the room that the VP was there. I would often start the meetings by asking the group, “Who is more important—me or you?”

I would go on to say that, if I were gone for a month, very few Epcot Guests would notice. It might impact our longer-range plans and there may be a few small hits, but, overall, the park would keep running well.

However, if the Custodial team was gone for a day, imagine what would happen—trash bins overflowing, restrooms filthy, kitchens unsanitary. So, who is more important?

In 2004, Richard Branson, the billionaire leader of the Virgin companies, had a reality television show entitled The Rebel Billionaire: Branson’s Quest for the Best. Through a series of business and physical challenges, Branson eliminated contestants, with the final contestant winning the opportunity to lead one of Branson’s companies, Virgin Worldwide.

One episode featured a business presentation that the team had to create and then present to Branson. The team worked on the presentation and was told to go across town by limousine.

One member of the team was the clear leader, and was a favored candidate to win the ultimate prize. When the group arrived at the building exit, the limousine was not there. Finally it arrived. Words were exchanged with the limousine driver, everyone got it, and they arrived at their destination.

Richard Branson was not in the presentation room, and the group was told to present to some of his executives. The favored candidate did a brilliant job presenting and answering questions.

At the end, the door to the conference room opened and Richard Branson walked in, dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform.

He stared directly at the favored candidate and told him he would never run one of his companies. The picture then went to video of the interaction with the limousine driver, and showed the candidate berating the chauffeur, who was Richard Branson in disguise, for being late and stupid.

“If this is how you treat someone who is serving you, you will not serve as a leader in the Virgin organization,” said Branson. Branson saw that this young leader did not respect, appreciate, and value everyone, and his relationships would suffer because of it.

I used to put on a Custodial costume and walk around Epcot, panning and brooming. It was as if I was invisible. I could talk to Guests, watch how managers interacted with Cast Members, and gauge the service of the operation much better than when people knew the VP was in the park.

And, it sent a clear message to the Cast at Epcot that I believed every job and every person was important.

Are you known as a person who respects, appreciates, and values everyone? If so, you will find people will want to know you and build relationships with you.

On the other hand, if you tend to demean and belittle others, you’ll lead a lonely and often bitter life.

The Bible tells us that we should “in humility, consider others better than yourself.” If you approach people this way and express genuine interest in them, you can create strong relationships and a wonderful, surpassing life.

Action Points

• Respect, appreciate, and value everyone, especially those who serve you.

• Get “in costume” and do other people’s roles, to understand their life.

• Consider others better than yourself.

Payoff

Deeper relationships, greater respect and appreciation of others, a diverse and inclusive work and personal life

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Father’s Day Remembered

Written by John Paul Carter on June 21, 2012

After all the wonderful Memory of Dad stories that we published last week in honor of Father’s Day, I couldn’t resist one last one. It’s courtesy of one of our frequent guest columnists, John Paul Carter, an ordained minister who pens a column entitled, “Notes From the Journey,” for the Weatherford Democrat newspaper near Fort Worth, Texas. Thanks, as always, John Paul!

From the time I was 14, my parents insisted that I find a summer job. By the time I entered Baylor in 1956, I had labored as a grocery-sacker, soda-jerk, shipping clerk, and metal worker. At the time, although I did my work well, I saw little connection between it and my future vocation as a minister.

As my sophomore year at Baylor drew to a close, having failed again to find a summer church position, I hired on as a counselor at the Dallas Big Brothers’ Camp Tammi Babi. The wilderness campsite was located in the rugged cedar-brakes near Cedar Hill (later the home of Northwood Institute).

It consisted of a base camp (dining hall and swimming pool) and several outlying campsites, each housing 8 boys and 2 counselors who lived in tents, cooked most of their meals over a wood fire, and “roughed it” for a month at a time.

I had lived in the city all my life, never been a Boy Scout, and only been camping once or twice. Looking back, I’m not sure who was more desperate, me for a job or the camp director for counselors.

Before the boys arrived for camp, we were required to complete a grueling, two week orientation during which we prepared the campsites and ourselves. There was a thick counselor’s manual to be mastered, new outdoor skills to be learned, and lots of back-breaking labor – all in 100 degree weather.

What had I gotten myself into?

The first Sunday at camp was Father’s Day and we were allowed to go home to do our laundry and enjoy a few hours in air-conditioning with our families before taking up our cross again. None of us lingered at the front gate that morning and some of us doubted we would return!

As soon as I got home, I began to describe my ordeal to my father – sleeping on a cot in a hot tent, digging latrines and fire-pits out of solid rock, exhausting heat, snakes, spiders, horseflies, and very little pay.

I painted a miserable picture and asked his permission to quit and search for another job.

Daddy listened patiently and was sympathetic to my plight. After a brief silence, he said, “I want you to go back out there and give it your best for one more week. Then, if you still feel the same way, come home and I’ll help you find another job.”

Reluctantly, I agreed.

To my amazement, after another week of hard work with the other counselors, I wanted to stay and spend the next two months in the cedars as “Chief Paul” with a bunch of eight-year-old boys I’d never met before.

Although I couldn’t imagine it at the time, that summer turned out to be one of the best times of my life. I learned more about life, survival, grown-ups, children, myself, and nature than I ever would have learned in a church – lessons that have lasted a lifetime.

Surely God was where I didn’t expect him and I almost missed it!

That summer might not ever have been, had it not been for my dad.

As he often did, Daddy listened, understood, encouraged, gently guided, and then let me make my own decision.

That’s why, on Father’s Day, over fifty years later, I still give thanks for my dad!

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Memory of Dad Poem: My Daddy–You Endeared Yourself to Me

Written by Betty Kreisel Shubert on June 15, 2012

MY DADDY

When I was just a little girl,

You endeared yourself to me –

By playing games of funny names

In ceilings and things we’d see.

You bought me a trike and a teddy bear –

The fact that you were always there –

Endeared you to me.

We ice skated down to Robertson –

When everyone else just walked.

We were better friends than anyone –

Often we just talked.

We gazed at stars – looked at Mars – studied astronomy.

The earth was an orange,

The sun, a lamp, as you explained the world to me.

As a rule, I’d be late for school (still am to be perfectly true).

I doubt if I’d ever have gotten there –

If it hadn’t been for you.

There were pony rides on Sunday morn.

You held me tight the night Brother was born

You knew I felt so alone and forlorn.

You endeared yourself to me.

If it rained a day that I was at school,

I knew that I could count on you to pick me up at three.

You would often leave an important case –

To endear yourself to me.

You always attended our May Day Fete –

And always you made me proud –

Because you were so handsome and your voice as a Barker, so loud.

As I grew up, you (and Mother, too),

Encouraged me in my field,

Gave me the prize of self,

Confidence to enfold me like a shield.

You rubbed sleep from your eyes –

To see a new sketch and approvingly exclaim.

How can I ever hope to explain –

How you endeared yourself to me.

You stepped over pins and mannequins –

For years you stayed in your room.

Tho’ I wonder now, how you stood for it,

You endeared yourself to me.

I’m grateful, too, for the way that you

Get along with my chosen mate.

Maintaining a bond of friendship,

I really think is great.

I mustn’t forget the Skippy stories –

Or the way you patted me to sleep.

The love and understanding –

That you rooted so very deep.

You handed down this patience, whimsy, and fun –

To your grandchildren – my daughter and my son.

I really am a lucky girl to have this wealthy store –

Of integrity, this legacy of imagination and lore.

Some give their children everything –

That money alone can buy –

But I am so much richer –

‘cause what I have you can’t buy.

My memories are YOUR TREASURY –

Better than money in the bank –

For this life time annuity, my Daddy, I must thank.

You endeared yourself to me.

Love always,

Betty

Editor’s Note: This poem was submitted by Betty Kreisel Shubert, a renowned theatrical costume designer with credits for stage, screen, television specials, ready-to-wear, Las Vegas musicals, and Disneyland.

Betty is also a fashion historian and author-illustrator of the upcoming book, “Out of Style: How, Why and When Vintage Fashions Evolved.” Congratulations on your book, Betty, and thank you for sharing this wonderful poetic tribute to your father. He sounds like a wonderful man. You are so lucky!

More stories from: Featured Poem,Featured Story,With My Dad

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KOMO Television’s Stories from the Heart Contest

Written by Braiden on April 16, 2012

Great minds think alike. With Sunday, May 13, being Mother’s Day, both Five More Minutes With and KOMO TV 4 are sponsoring contests soliciting your best Mom stories!

From the KOMO 4 website, here is Stories from the Heart information:

Share your thoughts about your mom, or a mom you admire or who inspired you. Her story could be profiled in a KOMO 4 special! The winner will win four tickets to a 2012 Mariners game.

Be sure to watch “Stories from the Heart: A Tribute to Mothers from Seattle Children’s Hospital” on Sunday, April 22, 7 p.m. to 8 p.m. Molly Shen of KOMO 4 News is your host. Your story could be part of the program.

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A Jar Full of Bullets

Written by Braiden Rex-Johnson on April 5, 2012

Sue and Colon Johnson

My darling father-in-law, Arthur Colon Johnson (known as A.C. to most; Colon to me), and I hit it off from the moment we met more than 30 years ago.

Like my wonderful husband Spencer, he was a tall drink of water (as they say in Texas, where he was born, raised, lived most of his life, and died)–6′ 4″ and 160 pounds soaking wet.

Perhaps it was the fact that we were both writers–me professionally and him a never-published, but still-believed-he-might-one-day-be sort of writer whose work included a fair amount of Louis L’Amour-inspired western ramblings, a smattering of mysteries, and a bunch of plain, ol’ tall tales.

Colon could spin a yarn longer than almost anybody I ever knew. Half the time you knew he was lying through his teeth, but just in case he wasn’t, you had to keep listening.

Colon and his wife, (known as Bobbie Sue to most; Sue to me), spent the last three years of their lives in a nursing home just a few blocks from their small, dark, 1980s-era trailer home that seemed to grow backyard sheds and storage areas as quickly as Colon could construct them.

Toward the end of their lives, Sue suffered a series of mini-strokes, broke her hip, and eventually lost her memory completely. She knew Colon was in the bed beside her, but often referred to him as “her.”

During those final long, sad years of her life, Sue never recognized us when we’d come to visit.

On the other hand, Colon always came alive whenever he knew we were on the way from Seattle. In fact, on four occasions when we visited, he was supposedly on death’s door. Once we got there, he made miraculous recoveries, much to our (and his selfless caregivers’) relief.

The fifth time he was at death’s door, he had broken his hip after falling in the middle of the night on the way to the bathroom.

“Take care of Sue,” he said to the nursing-home staff before he got into the ambulance.

After being examined at the hospital, his doctor encouraged mending the joint, even though his heart was weak.

He was on his way to the operating room, in the elevator with his baby sister, Mary Ruth. He squeezed her hand, told her he loved her, and died with a smile on his face.

We always thought he just didn’t want to undergo another operation and months of rehabilitation. Strong man that he was, he’d simply decided it was his time to go. . .

***

After Sue and Colon went into the nursing home, Spencer and I had to clean out the trailer and all the storage sheds, something that was a true labor of love as the mercury was sitting near 90 degrees that weekend in the “big, little town” known as Itasca, Texas, and we both hate to be out of doors on grass.

Spencer’s cousin, John Paul Carter (who is a frequent guest columnist on Five More Minutes With), and wife, Carole, came down from their home in Weatherford, Texas, a suburb of Fort Worth, to help us clear out a lifetime of “treasures.”

When the four of us told Colon we were going to be cleaning out the trailer, he got very serious and said we had to look for the jar full of “treasure” he’d hidden in a very secure place.

He described a cement tube he’d sawed in half and topped with a wooden wagon wheel to make a “table” he used for additional storage in the trailer’s carport. He said the wagon wheel was very heavy–it would probably take two people to lift it–so we were glad we had Spencer and John Paul to handle that job.

Once the top was off, Colon promised we’d find all sorts of “good stuff” within. I hate to admit it, but I think that dollar signs of what the treasure might be danced in all of our heads.

After the four of us had spent an appropriate amount of time visiting with Colon, we headed back to the trailer to look for the hidden treasure.

As mentioned before, the temperature that day hovered around 90. Under the carport’s metal roof, with nary a breeze blowing, it seemed closer to 100.

As Spencer and John Paul found the hand-made table and cleared off spent containers of motor oil and antifreeze and dried up cans of paint, Carole and I looked on, full of hope.

It was not an easy task to remove the wooden wagon wheel. . .lots of bad words ensued from both men. . .Carole and I laughed at the display of profanity and frustration. . .

Finally, we held our collective breath. . .Spencer reached into the depths of the cement cylinder. . .and pulled out. . .a jar full of bullets!

We broke into a fit of laughter. The discovery was so like Colon!

Tall tales, bullets he’d undoubtedly collected in the military during several tours of duty in the Marines and Merchant Marines during World War II, a grimy jar to protect his “treasure.”

It was so perfect.

Epilogue

Years later, John Paul and I were e-mailing back and forth and I asked him if he still had the jar full of bullets. His reply?

“I still have the jar of bullets sitting on the table in my shop. It makes me smile when I see them. If Colon is watching, he probably wonders why I haven’t put them in my safe-deposit box!”

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One Last Conversation with Dad

Written by Charles Price on April 2, 2012

This story was submitted by my new friend, Charles Price, who co-owns and blogs for The Taste of Oregon website in Eugene, Oregon. I met Charles at fellow writer Crescent Dragonwagon’s recent Deep Feast writers’ workshop in Seattle. We hit it off immediately, and after a series of Facebook messages, discovered we are both alums of Southern Methodist University in Dallas, Texas!

Charles sent this beautifully written story about his father, along with two nostalgic photos. I welcome Charles to the Five More Minutes With family, and know you will appreciate his thoughtful words as much as I do. Thanks, Charles!

One Last Conversation with Dad

“Dad”…………………. “Dad!”

Hearing myself say “Dad” just now was much easier than I expected. I’m so grateful that you can hear me call you Dad and feel so right with it. The last time I said your name to your face I was calling you “Daddy” and just beginning to feel awkward with that.

On the day you left us, Jimmy Chapin and I were casually strolling home from school on an otherwise beautiful March afternoon. I noticed Mr. Tucker’s 1955 Pontiac coming toward us. He didn’t pass and wave. As he slowed and pulled toward us, the first thing I saw was my mother crying. This isn’t good, I thought.

Mr. Tucker opened the back door and I got in. A handkerchief was passed over the front seat. “Your Daddy’s dead!” my mother said as best she could.

I was 12 and you were a mere 52. I was on the brink of my teens and then……… a blink and you were gone. Forever!

Wait….WAIT! We’re not through. NO! NO! NO! I cried in my mind.

Then the voices arrived…..so many voices. I never really heard voices as such; it was more of a constant humming that blurred my reality.

Everything about this day was different. Time slowed down. My swollen eyes were like magnifying glasses, selectively enlarging this and that at random. My hearing was like that, too.

Then a deep, cold, and thundering voice boomed through the chaos in my head, “He’s gone! Dead! Deal with it! It’s your fault and you know it!”

All those times I was so angry with you that I mentally wished you dead began swirling about my mind like ghosts with gossamer fingers pointed at me. I began crying uncontrollably and could no longer see through the tears.

The events of your last day with us are engraved in my memory in minute detail, frozen forever for me to visit anytime.

We made it through the weekend, your funeral, into the grieving, and eventually the healing.

Do you remember the day you came home from work, and I invited you into the backyard to see something I had made? I had taken some bricks I found in the garage and, with the help of a shovel, made shallow holes so the bricks rested flush with the surface of the ground in four places, diamond-shaped. It was my juvenile “Field of Dreams.” I was about 9 and wanted to play baseball with you.

Sometime in the week before, I was goaded into playing softball with the boys in the neighborhood. I said yes in a desperate attempt to quiet their questioning my masculinity. And after all, who needed them for that? I was doing a terrific job on my own.

Am I out of my mind? I thought. I’ve stepped into something that will prove forever my ineptitude with sports.

My tormentors were eager to put me on the spot. I don’t know what happened to me but when I stepped up to bat, I hit that ball dead on and knocked it clear over Mrs. Darby’s roof and beyond. I know I didn’t gloat, but I’m sure I puffed up a bit.

I remember how much you loved music and wish you could have experienced my musical years. I was a budding clarinetist when you passed on. Even my choice of clarinet was based on my fear of sports. My first choice was violin but marching bands don’t use violins. Marching bands are, however, a substitute for gym class and sports. Safety in the clarinet!

I know you remember how well I did in school; straight A’s for six years in a row. My only blemish was a negative check in “self control” somewhere in there. Me, caught out of control? Me, who could go to parties and no one would know I was there? Oh well, must’ve been a sudden urge for attention and so unlike me….at least then.

It would be years before I would even notice that my fall from A’s to B’s, C’s, and worse happened right after your death.

During those years, my feelings for you grew cold, buried deep in resentment. I had enough on you to resent you for the rest of my life. My feelings were easily hurt, and you knew just where those buttons were. I thought your spankings were hard and cruel. I resented your weekend drinking, and felt embarrassed to be seen with you. You were also older than my friends’ fathers. Their moms and dads were in their 30s. I hated you! No wonder I was gay, with an example like you.

You were my excuse for all my shortcomings. After all, how could a person with a father like you succeed?

Pretending to be straight when you’re not is like walking a tightrope; one slip and your weakness is exposed. I convinced myself that I was merely in a phase that would pass on when I met the “right” girl. Surprise, Charles, it’s not a phase. It’s very real. Get used to it!

It would be about another twenty years before I chose to do something different about my life. I was in my late 30s and having a mid-life crisis. One of my very dearest friends, Barbara Grove, had recently attended a multi-weekend self-help workshop, which was then called The Life Training. Now it’s called More To Life.

I explained to her the depth of my despair and asked if this would be good for me. “Most assuredly,” she told me.

There was (and is) nothing religious about this course, even though two Episcopal priests created it. It is, however, deeply spiritual.

There was a great deal of sharing, which scared me to death. There’s no way I’m going to let strangers see the crap in my heart, my unworthiness, and ultimately that I am a freak.

I stayed with it for both weekends as I had promised Barbara. I spent much of the workshop dealing with my issues with you, Dad. I was given a process where I could express my deep anger for you in a safe way that harmed no one. My, my, my – just expressing the anger freed up a fresh space big enough to fill with something of value: the truth.

With the help of other processes, I uncovered the truth about you:

You did the best you could with what you had
You loved your family, including me
Like everyone on this earth, you had your own mental dragons to slay
You were, simply put, as you were – perfection – the perfect father for me

It was at this time that I got a grasp on forgiveness and its power to release self-inflicted shackles. I left the training much more whole. However, it would another twelve years before I had an epiphany and busted my shackles of resentment for you forever.

It was my own 52^nd year. Vic, my lifemate since 1990, and I had relocated to Baltimore from Texas. It was a beautiful fall afternoon; I was on the floor of the living room in the middle of yet another forgiveness process with you. This one was deep and with an extra large helping of emotion. Just at the conclusion, an image of you appeared before my mind’s eye. It was the same image I conjured up during all the processes I had done before. Only this time, it was captioned:

“I deserve a loving place in your heart.”

I heard you! And so, Dad, you have it.

More stories from: Featured Story,With My Dad

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Fitting Funeral Tributes

Written by Chelsea Hanson on March 15, 2012

Our frequent guest columnist, Chelsea Hanson, has come up with a brilliant post on her blog entitled, How to Honor Your Loved One with a Funeral Tribute.

It struck a chord with me, because in addition to writing a story for Five More Minutes With, these are five more ways to pay homage to a departed loved one.

Thanks for sharing, Chelsea. You are doing such amazing work with your With Sympathy Gifts website, blog, and the World Grief Support Association.

What words could possibly express your feelings for your lost loved one? At a time like this, the task of coming up with words to adequately describe your feelings for someone we love can seem impossible. Nothing sounds right. No word is meaningful enough. Sometimes a picture, a memory, or even someone else’s words can do a better job of expressing our feelings than our own words. Here are some ideas of ways to honor your loved one with a touching tribute.

Video

When we lose someone close to us, we want to remember the life we shared together. A video gives us a chance to hear her laugh one more time, or to watch him play with his children. Put together a video montage of all of your favorite memories of your loved one to be played during the visitation or funeral. Let people remember your loved one they way they would want to be remembered.

Picture Board

A picture is worth a thousand words. Imagine the story you can tell with an entire board of photographs of your loved one. Choose pictures that remind people of the wonderful times in her life. Help people focus on the life she lived rather than her dying days.

Memory Table

A memory table is a table you set up with items that represent your loved one’s passions or hobbies. Bring in items that you know were important to your loved one, and invite others to bring their own items to place on the table. Maybe it’s an award she won or a letter she wrote to you.

Read a Poem

When you cannot find the words to say, there’s nothing wrong with borrowing someone else’s words if they accurately reflect your feelings. Find a meaningful poem or passage to read during the service. It doesn’t have to be particularly long, just as long as it’s from the heart.

Play a Song

Never under estimate the healing power of music. You could choose a song that had a special meaning to you and your loved one, or one that was written specifically to help people through hard times and death. During the service, say a few words about why the song is significant, and let people reflect on their loss as they listen to the beautiful music.

There are so many different ways to pay tribute to the ones that we’ve loved and lost. Everyone is unique, so choose a tribute that speaks to the kind of person you’re honoring and what you think they would love the most.

Sympathy Gift Baskets

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