Deep Thoughts

Or not. Maybe just thoughts.

As I was driving toward St. George on Saturday night after a satisfying trip to Lavell Edwards Stadium, I found myself thinking again. Nick on my right and Josh behind me.

It was a good trip. I found myself wondering if my boys will remember this trip like I remember certain trips with my dad and brothers. And will they remember it fondly?

(I think I did a pretty good job of keeping Gollum in check.)



 We just were 3 boys having fun going to a football game; eating nachos and hot dogs and cougar tails. I just wanted it to be fun. I want them to have a happy memory.

This is Josh adding to his signature collection on his football. Ask him about...but only if you're prepared to spend the time listening. He loves to talk about it.





I tried to point out to them the beauty of the landscape we were speeding past in the dark. The beauty that you could only see because of the soft, white blanket covering the ground between Fillmore and Beaver. That blanket was reflect in a strong light radiating from the moon.

Part of me wished I could just pull over and enjoy looking at it for a little while. However, I didn't have any snacks or beverages in the car that would allow for a prolonged trip. But I imagined what it would be like in my mind.

My dad taught me to appreciate things like that. Hopefully, in those moment between the glowing screens in front of their faces, they truly caught a glimpse of it.

See, I had a birthday a little more than a week ago and I sort of had some sudden realizations that I am starting to not be that young any more. (Starting) My body tries to remind me of that now and then when my mind isn't so convinced.

I am having conversations about things with my kids and telling them it was 30 years ago. Really? Thirty years? It doesn't seem like it was that long ago, but 30 is kind of a big number looking back.

The boys did get to enjoy playing in the median of the freeway for a little more than an hour as we waited for this mess to get cleaned up the next morning just north of Valley of Fire. So, that's a memory, too.

The smoke is rising from the second of two accidents ahead of us.

If you look at this photo closely, life flight is just taking off.

This was the cause of the second accident.

When Kids Leave...

Usually, parents would like it to be something planned and structured and desired by both parties. Parents understand that this is the best way to provide a platform for the future success of their child.

I say usually, because I suppose there are extenuating circumstances when parents don't want their kids around any more, regardless.

However, Nicki and I are not those parents. At least, not right now. Who knows with the little boys. We may feel it is best for their mortal survival at some point. Or not. They could continue being the good boys they are right now. This is our plan.

It was our plan for our daughters. Even Cassidy, who has only been with our family for the past 5 and a half years.We have really strived to give her the tools and teaching she needs in order to be a successful, adult, contributing member of society. Obviously, we have had expectations - of performance and behavior - as we do with all of our children.

Performance is easy. Just do the best you can do at all times and in all things you do. Keep commitments. Those sorts of things. Straight As are not the expectation (unless that is what we know the best is from that child).

Contribute to the family - there are chores, there are things that need to be done to help around the house and to get 6 kids to various activities every day. When you are the oldest and have a driver's license, it kind of comes with the territory. Of course, we could deny the younger kids opportunities and activities that the older kids had, I suppose. But it's kind of a time for the older kids to be able to repay by helping with the younglings.

Behavior is more tricky. We have standards that we have learned through our religious beliefs. We teach these standards of behavior to our children. As they get older, they are allowed more and more freedom to make their own choices and mistakes. Naturally, there are consequences that come with choices. Some are implemented by us - usually in an effort to protect our children from what could be far worse consequences. Hopefully, they are powerful enough to reinforce positive behavior and inhibit negative behavior. And yes, there are consequences for both good and bad choices.

Again, "good" and "bad" definitions are largely informed by our religious beliefs - as I believe it should be for all parents who believe in something, presuming they want their children to believe in that same something.

I get it. Some people are different. Some people have no expectations or requirements of their children. They say, "We should let them learn on their own and make their own mistakes and not have any responsibilities because they are just kids."

That's cool. But the vast majority of those children are in prison. Or out of prison and in gangs. Or dead. I guess we just want more than that for our children.

Sometime children, regardless of how hard we try, will insist on making choices that range from unwise, to poor, to horribly bad. Unfortunately, that's where Cassidy has been at, lately.

She is 18, although still in High School. Yet, for all the unconditional love she has had at home, she feels, currently, that she needs more.

There is much more to it than what is going to be presented here, but I won't get into every little detail - particularly of Tuesday night. Suffice it to say that, aside from just regular familial responsibilities (which were admittedly a little more recently because of a small issue of cancer) she didn't like having restrictions on her cell phone and internet usage. But, again, as protectors for our children, we will enforce such restrictions when our children repeatedly demonstrate that they are unable to handle the freedom without degrading into self-destructive behaviors, at best, or even worse, family-destructive behaviors.

So, she left us. It's been two days. It hurts. A lot. I know how I feel. And I'm just the Dad.

Nicki is hurt and heartbroken. My kids are confused and hurt even more - especially the youngest 3, given this is a repeat of what has already happened in their lives.

I hope she is okay. I hope she doesn't make any more stupid choices that will cost her more than her choices through today have. I worry. I fret.

Oh...and I am mad. Don't forget that. The lies she is spreading are vicious and deplorable. The selfishness involved in these actions is supreme. As if Nicki and I wouldn't like, sometimes, to just get up and run away from all of our problems. But, as adults and parents, we know what we would lose is infinitely greater than the minute perception of freedom we would gain.

What is Cassidy doing? Well, read Luke 15:11-16. That's my best guess. And all I can hope and pray for is that, at some point, verses 17-24 will happen.

Two Years

No, it doesn't always seem like it's been that long.

Yes, I think about that night a lot.

No, I am not always comforted by things I know to be true, regardless of how surely I think I know them.

Yes, I do find hope and peace in certain memories from the experience.

My friend tells me that some of the pain I have eases over time and that I will start to let the peace and hope outweigh the pain, distress and regret.

It's still hard to not be able to call my dad and just talk. It's not like we did that all the time, but I like knowing I always could. Whatever it was - politics, BYU football, something the kids were doing. It's nice to be able to talk to your dad about those things - especially when you are on the same page. And we were.

And he was always supportive of me and what we were doing. Any other disagreements we had didn't wash away the fact that I knew he loved me and was proud of me and my family.

So, today, two years from that early morning hour when I watched my dad pass from mortality, I miss him.

There Is a God

Earlier this year, the Master of Laketown, Stephen Fry, blessed the public with his opinion on the existence of God.

Heaven knows I trust this face for opinions on God.

In it, he said that God is evil. Now, I am not completely familiar with how atheists define evil, since they don't believe in God, but I will address his bravado regarding his meeting with God.

He said that IF there is a God, when he meets Him, he will have one question and one question only: "What is the deal with childhood cancer?" I may have quoted him as Jerry Seinfeld, but that is basically the idea. Then he goes on in his blasphemous rant, of which I could only listen to less than a minute - which is why I have not provided a link to the interview here.

I am a father to a child with cancer, so I feel that I have somewhat of an expertise and a right to speak on this matter.

Master Fry, go ahead and act all tough here on earth. Display the bravado and ego about how brash you will be in the face of your Creator. It will all disappear on that day. Blasphemy will get you attention here for the shock value. Congratulations.

However, when you get to the "Pearly Gates," if you will, and you have your brief opportunity to meet with God, I doubt you will have the ability to speak your blasphemous question. More likely, you will be so struck with awe in the presence of His majesty and His glory that your tongue will be bound. Couple that with the quick rise of guilt and shame that will come over you as you recall wasting your life fighting against Him and His word and His believers.

God lives.

It is He who sustains me through the trial of having a child with cancer. He didn't give my daughter cancer. But he allows the human condition to persist - including cancer in bodies of all ages - so that we can strive to be perfect, like Him. I've made my peace with that long ago, because whatever the pains and trials we have to endure here are nothing compared to the glory and beauty that awaits us in the eternities.

One of These Things Is Not Like the Other

I have watched 3 living souls die. Two humans and one dog.

How's that for a starter to a blog entry?

The most peaceful death I witnessed was that of my family's dog, Pepper. Just over 2 and a half years ago, she was blind, she always smelled because of some sort of sickness she was in the middle of, and she could barely move around the yard. So, we decided that she needed to be euthanized because I couldn't bring myself to save $100 and just take her north on US95 a few miles.

And it was sad. It was hard, but very peaceful. She went to sleep and then died. One second our puppy was there. The next second, she wasn't; just her body. And Nick and I cried together in that moment.

In 2007, Nick and I were on our way to a "Fathers and Sons" outing with our church. I don't intend to get into all the details, but I witnessed a horrific crash when a vehicle traveling on I-15 in the opposite direction rolled 3 times and landed in the median. I was the first vehicle to stop and the first person on the scene. Nick stayed in the van watching a movie.

As I knelt by a little girl, I watched her grandma breathe her final breaths. It was not a pleasant memory. It was violent and can still, from time to time, disturb my thoughts more than 8 years later.

Lastly, we are coming up on the 2 year anniversary of my dad's death. I was there in the room when he died. Also in the room were my mom, 3 brothers and a sister-in-law. And while I would like to say that watching his passing was as peaceful as watching Pepper die, it wasn't. No, it was much closer to watching the woman die in the median of I-15.

It's a thought that I can't seem to get out of my mind right now. It was not an easy, peaceful thing to watch. It was painful and disturbing.

Yes, there was an experience associated with it that can bring peace to my soul if I can focus more on it than the mere physical and mortal experience. But I am not always able to do that. I wish it was a less disturbing memory, but it isn't.

I have a friend who was with her husband when he died of cancer and I spoke to her recently. She assured me that the disturbing part of the memory will fade over time. It's been 13 years for her.

So, I hold on to that. There is an experience linked with the event that brings peace and has profound meaning. I try to hold on to that and push back the other.

Today - Scout Camp

Tomorrow - college.

My two daughters are seniors in the fall.

We haven't really ever had our kids going on trips without at lest one of us there. We always took the opportunity to be a chaperon on the trip our kids went on.

This past week, though, Nick's been at scout camp.  And it has been a little, well, stressful. No contact. No reassurance that he is being adequately supervised. Just going on faith, hope and trust - in God. And that that trust will somehow translate into competent adult leaders at the camp.

He survived, so that's good. But there was definitely angst at his absence.

Is this just a small sample of how it will be next year when my daughters are away at school? Every day wondering if they are okay? If they are getting their homework done? If they are properly being taken care of - by themselves? If they are getting back and forth to classes safely?

Ugh! Why can't my kids all be in kindergarten again? All I had to worry about is whether they made it through the 3 hours without peeing their pants or eating Elmer's glue (which, by the way, I never did either of those things when I was in Kindergarten).

This business of watching kids grow up is heartache.

Of course, when they are successful, it's the complete opposite of heartache. It's heart...not-ache. It's heartfullness. If that isn't a word, I proclaim it one today.

That Time I Was Teaching Her to Drive

It wasn't planned.  Really, it just snuck up on us.  But...our oldest daughter was approaching 16 and needed some driving instruction. That job fell to Nicki.

The experience was so enjoyable for her and successful in generating happiness and goodwill with our daughter, that she felt...nay...she insisted that I should have the privilege of teaching the next one.

I was so grateful to her for allowing me the pleasure of having this experience.  I bordered on envy as I heard tales from each day when they would get back and Nicki would tell me how it went.  Such was the excitement that she could not keep her voice down while telling me.

I knew I could have the same blessed experience, plus, even do a better job teaching our next daughter.  I mean...obviously.  How many times have I backed into our neighbor's car or run into the side of our garage?  I can count them on zero (000) fingers.

Now, my hope is that - with the assistance of Google - I can lay this out in a pictorial, of sorts.  In order to apply for a driver's license, teens need 3.6 million hours of practice behind the wheel while having a learner's permit.  At least, that's what it feels like to them.  Then, after only 2 hours, it feels like it to the parents, as well.

Therefore, our daughter had the duty...even the honor of driving to school at 5:30 every morning.  The bonus is that she was accruing night-time hours, which are supposed to account for about 20% of the required permit driving.  Because...you know...it's still dark at that time.

We exited 95 southbound onto Las Vegas Blvd.  By this point, I had only been through one roll of Charmin since we left the house.  I had talked to her about how to maneuver the merge onto Las Vegas Blvd - using multiple senses (including Spidey Sense) to be aware of all the factors she would be encountering.

Of course, remember that it was dark - as in no sunlight. Here is what the oncoming street looks like (only dark...and no oncoming traffic - except for one car approaching beyond the overpass).

Using my calmest voice, I advised her to wait until the approaching vehicle passed.  Apparently, I used too calm of a voice, because she kept us moving into the lane (the vehicle approaching us in the left lane and now at the intersection behind us - shown below right).

At this point, my voice became, oh, shall we say, a little less calm.  Also, she was now becoming more aware of the car approaching and less aware of what was required of her: namely, finishing the turn into the right lane and staying out of the way of that other car.

Did you happen to notice was was in front of us?  Because, suddenly, this was all I could see (without sunlight and the vehicle in front - you get that by now, right?):

Now, unable to use my calm voice, I could only use my "Holy Crap We Are Going To Die!" voice in an attempt to get her to turn into the left lane and not run onto the median and into the fence.

The approaching vehicle managed to miss us.  And we missed that iron fence by no more than 2 centimeters (for Americans, that means a very small distance); the left tire bounding up onto the median and then back off as she moved into the left lane.

I was completely out of Charmin by that point.

Yes, I know that she was as scared as I was.  And my yelling had not helped her any.  She wanted to stop the car right where we were and be done driving.  But now, it was time for me to find that calm voice again and cheerlead a little bit.

"It's okay, sweetie.  We are alive and you didn't run into the fence.  These things happen.  We learn from them and then do better the next time."

Straight out of the "Lies Parents Say" Handbook.  It's funny how you never get a chance to read it, but the lies come so easily when you need them.

I suppose they come easy because of how much we love them.  We want to protect and build them up.  Sometimes, that means coloring in the truth just a little bit.

Getting to Know You

Recently, the son of my 1st Grade teacher, Mrs. McKinney (that's my teacher, not the son), reached out for submissions for a book he wanted to put together for his mom since she is retiring this year after 102 years of teaching.

Some things you should know:  First, she is fairly short in terms of measurement from the floor to the top of her head when she is standing.  Honestly, I don't know exactly.  Maybe around 2' 6"?  I was always certain that Bilbo Baggins was much taller than she was.

Secondly, she was my teacher in 1978.  In first grade, I thought she was old.  That's really funny since she couldn't have been a day over 75 at the time.  She taught my next several brothers, as well.  When I was in her class, she team-taught with Mrs. Schofield.  There was a reason the school was doing this.  As a first grader, I didn't care what the reason was.  And today, I still don't know why.  But I am glad.  It was the source of many great memories.

Third, the First Grade Circus was an annual event.  And by event, I mean a really, REALLY big deal.  A major production.  If you haven't heard of it, it's because you didn't live in the foothills of Provo back then and you missed out.  I'm serious about the missing out.  There were rope jumpers and rope climbers.  Strong men and monkeys. Clowns, MCs and, most importantly, bears.  Ask anyone who was in it what music they remember from it.  Most likely, they would start humming or singing the "interlude" music Mrs. McKinney played on the piano.

I could not find my class picture, or else I would insert it here...I found every grade in elementary but 1st. (And by "I found," I mean "my mom found").

This is my (slightly edited) submission:

I had some good college professors.  And I had a couple of really great High School and Junior High teachers. But none of them compare to the influence and memories created by Mrs. McKinney.

She was team-teaching with Mrs. Schofield at Edgemont Elementary.  And her being special was more than just because as a first grader I was her same height.  She cared about me and I knew it.  I knew I was loved and watched over when I went into her classroom. And I am sure it wasn’t just me who felt that way.

From “Getting to Know You” to the First Grade Circus, I loved first grade.  It's all about the experiences Mrs. McKinney provided for us.  At the risk of plagiarizing Mr. Fulghum, it was more than the 4^th Grade Reading mentors provided for us. More than ABCs and 123s.  And whatever else I learned in first grade. What I learned most about in first grade was to enjoy being at school. To treat others fairly and kindly. To my mind, it was a great supplement to all the things I was being taught at home.

I loved being able to be featured in front of the whole class and have my whole family as “Show and Tell” for the day.  I even remember certain snippets of other kids’ families in their “Getting to Know You.”

I remember walking through the halls at Christmas going from classroom to classroom looking for an inn with a room available.  I was Joseph.  A girl played Mary.

I was one of the “Solo Bears” in the “If You Go Into the Woods Today” number in the First Grade Circus.  Mary (from above) was the other.  I mean, how much fun was the circus?  Each of my little brothers looked forward to their turn to be able to do it.  We all remember what parts we had in the circus and still love singing the “Interlude” music that Mrs. McKinney played between each set.  I won't comment regarding whether or not we skip, too.

I also remember Mrs. McKinney pulling my first tooth.  I was crying over it and she just helped me calm down and pulled it out.

Mrs. McKinney will always be one of the greats.  How can you fit so much awesome into such a small package?

To demonstrate to her how greatly my artistic skills have improved since first grade, I have done this drawing for her:

It's Part of Our DNA

This past weekend, I had to reinforce a skill.  Teach a principle.  Solidify a point. Mold my young breed.

With young boys between the ages of 7 and 13, there is a certain hinge, or set of hinges, in the house that doesn't get as much use as it should.

I don't know that I can claim credit for the lyrics, because I have a sneaking suspicion they were lying dormant in my mind from my childhood when sung to me by my mom.  After all, she had 8 young boys between the ages of 3 and 18 at one point.  She certainly is the one who taught me the skill of making up different words to familiar tunes.

I taught it to Nick several years ago, and it seems to have worked (within a reasonable variance rate) for him.

So, if you are familiar with the LDS Primary songbook, please sing along with me the Avery Boy Anthem (as I titled it for my sons this weekend):

To stand while you pee is a blessing, you see,
But lift up the seat when you pee.
If you leave the seat down, you will make Mommy frown,
So lift up the seat to pee.
Nobody likes to sit on a wet seat.
It's up to you to keep it clean and neat.
So, lift up the seat! Lift up the seat! Lift up the seat when you pee!

I am sure their having that song stuck in their head all day yesterday had nothing to do with the fact that the song has the word "pee" in it 4 times.  Or that I sang it to them several times for their bedtime song on Saturday night.

It might just work.  You are welcome to try.

Seems Like Maybe It's Time

I make no apologies about it.

I can read my kids' texts. They show up on my iPad.  I even insert myself into their text conversations sometimes.

Again - no apologies.

And if you aren't doing it, then you don't love your children.

But...I think it's about time for me to consider letting my 17-year-old daughter out of the observation chamber.

I popped in to see what was going on and my eyes began burning.  I screamed in pain and agony as my brain was seared.  No, it wasn't because of any improper pictures or language, which is why I ever monitor the texts in the first place.

For the most part, she has embraced my counsel on those matters as they have come up.  For that, I am grateful.

But reading in (spying on, if you will) a group text with a couple of her friends, I realized there are things that I do NOT need to be reading about. Ever.

EH...VER.

Not about her.  And certainly not about her friends. I don't think I need to spell it out for you. So I won't.

But don't go thinking my boys will get off so easily. [Evil, Maniacal Laughter]

Some Things Are More Important

So, as we were driving up to Primary Children's last week, I felt an odd sense of internal dread. Something not related to the issue we are dealing with as a family.

No, this was different. This was something more.

The skies were darkening all around me. Ominous imagery on every side of us.

You see, the road used to access the hospital drives straight into the belly of the beast.

All that bloody crimson red.  All those ugly block red & black Us.

I could feel my spirit waning and falling into the silent abyss...

Then Matti said, "Dad, are you sure you're going to be okay coming here?"

Mustering up all the energy and courage I had, I assured her that, "Some things are far more important than even my hatred for the University of Utah."

"Wow, Dad! Thanks! I really feel special! Just kidding...no...but really, thanks!!"

She get's it.  Trust me.

It Was Only In My Dream

At least, that's what I keep expecting to find out. It's kind of a foggy non-reality right now. The same is true for the rest of the family.

Of course, this entire week has not been the greatest spring break ever. Only fitting that we end it with news of cancer. And for my daughter.

I'm her father. All I can do is call doctors and research and hug her. It doesn't feel like enough. I'm frustrated, confused and angry, too. I try to convince myself that when we next meet with the doctors, they will say, "Oops, we made a mistake. Our bad."