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.
Showing posts with label Children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Children. Show all posts
Thursday, October 8, 2015
Sunday, July 19, 2015
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.
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.
Thursday, October 9, 2014
Daytime All The Time
(I am fully aware that this post will not win me any popularity awards. I am cool with that.)
There are people around the country who live under the ground. Far beneath the ground. They do not know Daylight as those who live above ground know it. They do not venture above ground to experience it. Some don't even try. Others find that the struggle to get above ground is so difficult that they just don't feel it is worth it. And there are those few who manage to make the incredibly difficult and trying journey to discover the wonder of the Sun.
Well, their scientists have found alternative sources of light. It was necessary, they felt, since even above ground, the Sun isn't perfect. It is on the other side of the world half of the time, for one. Also, you can't see it when clouds, thick clouds, heavy storms or even ash from volcanic eruptions get in the way. How effective is the Sun, really, when those things can get in the way of the Sun's light?
They worked for many years building the case for the equivalency of their light. These scientists even conducted a few studies recently to determine the effectiveness of their new light, although they have no way to show the long-term effectiveness or cost of their light. They have managed to convince people who live underground that these sources of light they have manufactured are equal to the light of the Sun - enough people that those who still long for the Sun are scorned and mocked for looking to something that is simply not necessary and certainly not superior in any way to their new light.
No longer do people need to be concerned with trying to venture above ground. They can enjoy all the benefits of the Sun beneath the ground. In fact, they are ready to let all of us who live above ground have this light. They have managed to redefine what Daytime is. It is simply the existence of light. Any light from any source - but especially this new source.
Where there is any light, there is day. It's a beautiful thing. Daytime Equality. No longer do the people underground have to live in a perpetual night. No longer do we above ground have to have a night. This includes during the nighttime. The moon is equivalent to the Sun. As are the stars. And let's not forget bioluminescent organisms - in the sea, on land, or in the air.
We have a new light. This light has been declared to be equal in brilliance, effectiveness, warmth, energy and nutrition as the Sun. Sure, it comes at great cost to produce and maintain, but that is not what is important. What is important is we no longer have lighting inequality. No longer is Daytime banned. Eventually, we will have the Justice System correct any attempt for people to assert otherwise.
Never mind that there is no real need for a scientific study to disprove something that has been proved through thousands (millions, if you prefer) of years of observation.
Never mind that Daytime never needed to be defined in the first place since it was simply observed day in and day out from the dawn of time. Daytime was and still is Daytime.
It's true that humans have, throughout time, attempted to find substitutes for the Sun, starting with fire.
Besides missing the Sun during the night, we built or otherwise lived in structures that blocked the Sun's light from reaching us. We built windows. We created torches and oil lamps, electricity.
But it isn't good enough to have the Sun. Some people don't have the Sun. We need something equal to the Sun. Now we have it. The laws will be corrected and that which is, by nature, superior to all other light will no longer be considered superior.
Nor should it be. I think it's outrageous that we ever thought the Sun could possibly provide superior light, warmth, or nutrition to all the Earth. So arrogant. How dare we?
So it shall be written and so it shall be done.
There are people around the country who live under the ground. Far beneath the ground. They do not know Daylight as those who live above ground know it. They do not venture above ground to experience it. Some don't even try. Others find that the struggle to get above ground is so difficult that they just don't feel it is worth it. And there are those few who manage to make the incredibly difficult and trying journey to discover the wonder of the Sun.
Well, their scientists have found alternative sources of light. It was necessary, they felt, since even above ground, the Sun isn't perfect. It is on the other side of the world half of the time, for one. Also, you can't see it when clouds, thick clouds, heavy storms or even ash from volcanic eruptions get in the way. How effective is the Sun, really, when those things can get in the way of the Sun's light?
They worked for many years building the case for the equivalency of their light. These scientists even conducted a few studies recently to determine the effectiveness of their new light, although they have no way to show the long-term effectiveness or cost of their light. They have managed to convince people who live underground that these sources of light they have manufactured are equal to the light of the Sun - enough people that those who still long for the Sun are scorned and mocked for looking to something that is simply not necessary and certainly not superior in any way to their new light.
No longer do people need to be concerned with trying to venture above ground. They can enjoy all the benefits of the Sun beneath the ground. In fact, they are ready to let all of us who live above ground have this light. They have managed to redefine what Daytime is. It is simply the existence of light. Any light from any source - but especially this new source.
Where there is any light, there is day. It's a beautiful thing. Daytime Equality. No longer do the people underground have to live in a perpetual night. No longer do we above ground have to have a night. This includes during the nighttime. The moon is equivalent to the Sun. As are the stars. And let's not forget bioluminescent organisms - in the sea, on land, or in the air.
|  |
 |
| Sea | Land | Air |
We have a new light. This light has been declared to be equal in brilliance, effectiveness, warmth, energy and nutrition as the Sun. Sure, it comes at great cost to produce and maintain, but that is not what is important. What is important is we no longer have lighting inequality. No longer is Daytime banned. Eventually, we will have the Justice System correct any attempt for people to assert otherwise.
Never mind that there is no real need for a scientific study to disprove something that has been proved through thousands (millions, if you prefer) of years of observation.
Never mind that Daytime never needed to be defined in the first place since it was simply observed day in and day out from the dawn of time. Daytime was and still is Daytime.
It's true that humans have, throughout time, attempted to find substitutes for the Sun, starting with fire.
Besides missing the Sun during the night, we built or otherwise lived in structures that blocked the Sun's light from reaching us. We built windows. We created torches and oil lamps, electricity.
But it isn't good enough to have the Sun. Some people don't have the Sun. We need something equal to the Sun. Now we have it. The laws will be corrected and that which is, by nature, superior to all other light will no longer be considered superior.
Nor should it be. I think it's outrageous that we ever thought the Sun could possibly provide superior light, warmth, or nutrition to all the Earth. So arrogant. How dare we?
So it shall be written and so it shall be done.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
I Am a Ranting Boob
Editors note: I wrote this originally a couple of years ago. I decided not to publish it back then. However, in light of my family's recent experience with cancer, I am publishing it now. So there.
What is it about teenagers today that causes them to completely ignore anything their parents say?
I know I wasn't like that when I was a teenager. I was a very humble, compliant young man. I listened to and heeded all the advice of my wise, loving, parents on account of their vast wealth of knowledge and experience. (Come on, Mom, back me up here!)
I am very much opposed to cancer. All kinds of cancer - including, of course, breast cancer. I, like most people, have known women who have had breast cancer. Some have died. Some have survived.
I want someone to find a cure. I want people to be aware of the issue and support the find for a cure. I want people to wear pink ribbons and pink t-shirts and run in marathons and 5ks to help raise the awareness, as well as funds that supports research of a cure for breast cancer.
I am NOT a fan of bracelets and bumper stickers and shirts that express a love for "boobies."
Call me what you will. I think it is just a little bit...well, stupid. How is using a slang term for a female anatomy going to raise cancer awareness? It raises awareness, sure..of the sexualization of said anatomy.
Don't get me wrong. I don't disagree with the sentiment the bracelet is conveying. But, I don't think that is the way to express my love and appreciation for them. Nor do I believe it raises appropriate awareness of cancer.
If that is the case, then I would like to start a bracelet and t-shirt campaign raising awareness for testicular cancer. Can you guess what they are going to say, Richard? Not the same, you say? I beg to differ. It's exactly the same.
Wear the pink ribbon. Run (or walk) in the 5k. Donate when a cousin (or friend) whose mother died of breast cancer asks you - even if it is just $5. But let's all be respectful, please. Speak like an educated adult.
This is all I am trying to teach my 13-year-old daughter. Yet, what was on her wrist when I came home from work yesterday?
What is it about teenagers today that causes them to completely ignore anything their parents say?
I know I wasn't like that when I was a teenager. I was a very humble, compliant young man. I listened to and heeded all the advice of my wise, loving, parents on account of their vast wealth of knowledge and experience. (Come on, Mom, back me up here!)
I am very much opposed to cancer. All kinds of cancer - including, of course, breast cancer. I, like most people, have known women who have had breast cancer. Some have died. Some have survived.
I want someone to find a cure. I want people to be aware of the issue and support the find for a cure. I want people to wear pink ribbons and pink t-shirts and run in marathons and 5ks to help raise the awareness, as well as funds that supports research of a cure for breast cancer.I am NOT a fan of bracelets and bumper stickers and shirts that express a love for "boobies."
Don't get me wrong. I don't disagree with the sentiment the bracelet is conveying. But, I don't think that is the way to express my love and appreciation for them. Nor do I believe it raises appropriate awareness of cancer.
If that is the case, then I would like to start a bracelet and t-shirt campaign raising awareness for testicular cancer. Can you guess what they are going to say, Richard? Not the same, you say? I beg to differ. It's exactly the same.
Wear the pink ribbon. Run (or walk) in the 5k. Donate when a cousin (or friend) whose mother died of breast cancer asks you - even if it is just $5. But let's all be respectful, please. Speak like an educated adult.
This is all I am trying to teach my 13-year-old daughter. Yet, what was on her wrist when I came home from work yesterday?
Saturday, April 28, 2012
There She Goes Again
I suppose if there is anything that can bring me back to writing again, it is Women's Conference.
The first question you are going to ask is, "Was there pooping?" To this question, I can answer a resounding, "Yes!"
One small difference: This year it was all in the toilet, which, most would likely argue, is the appropriate location in our advanced civilized society. It doesn't matter so much that it wasn't always flushed in a timely manner, but...baby steps.
I was actually looking forward to the experience this year. Okay, I am a terrible liar. I was looking forward to this like the Grinch looked forward to the Whoville celebration of Christmas.
It's possible that it might have showed in my countenance as Wednesday approached. On the one hand, I certainly was happy to do this for Nicki. Yet, on the other hand, I was none too excited about the prospect of "Dahoo Doray" floating to my ears.
I committed to myself that Nicki would be able to return home Saturday night to 6 living children once again. Or, at the very least, they would not die at my hand.
That first night, my two 14-year-old daughters decided to try my resolve. I responded by going to bed. Say what you will, but they survived the night. In fact, the next morning, they were getting along wonderfully, even helping one another with crimping hair and getting ready for school.
It wasn't until Friday night that I was tested. In all fairness, it wasn't all the kids' fault. There was a confluence of events that day surrounding plans, friends, and work that served to help decrease my patience ability. Yet, all 6 children awoke in mortality Saturday morning - chore day.
I don't expect everyone to understand - and that's okay. But this is not something that comes automatically when you adopt older children.
My little Whos were running all around the house. It wasn't "Dahoo Doray." It was actually hip-hop versions of Primary songs. Perhaps it was the 2 and a half days of service that I was forced to provide for my children, along with my renewed determination to not only survive, but have my children survive, as well.
But there, standing in the kitchen, doing the dishes and cleaning up from breakfast, I suddenly felt an overwhelming, over powering feeling. What was it? What was I feeling? It may have looked like this:
Only I wasn't dressed in a Santa suit, and I am not quite that hairy or...yellowish. And there might have been tears, but I won't confirm or deny that tawdry rumor.
Sorry, no stories of destruction and torment from this Women's Conference. No. But there has definitely been a change come over this Grinch this year.
The first question you are going to ask is, "Was there pooping?" To this question, I can answer a resounding, "Yes!"
One small difference: This year it was all in the toilet, which, most would likely argue, is the appropriate location in our advanced civilized society. It doesn't matter so much that it wasn't always flushed in a timely manner, but...baby steps.
I was actually looking forward to the experience this year. Okay, I am a terrible liar. I was looking forward to this like the Grinch looked forward to the Whoville celebration of Christmas.
It's possible that it might have showed in my countenance as Wednesday approached. On the one hand, I certainly was happy to do this for Nicki. Yet, on the other hand, I was none too excited about the prospect of "Dahoo Doray" floating to my ears.
I committed to myself that Nicki would be able to return home Saturday night to 6 living children once again. Or, at the very least, they would not die at my hand.
That first night, my two 14-year-old daughters decided to try my resolve. I responded by going to bed. Say what you will, but they survived the night. In fact, the next morning, they were getting along wonderfully, even helping one another with crimping hair and getting ready for school.
It wasn't until Friday night that I was tested. In all fairness, it wasn't all the kids' fault. There was a confluence of events that day surrounding plans, friends, and work that served to help decrease my patience ability. Yet, all 6 children awoke in mortality Saturday morning - chore day.
I don't expect everyone to understand - and that's okay. But this is not something that comes automatically when you adopt older children.
My little Whos were running all around the house. It wasn't "Dahoo Doray." It was actually hip-hop versions of Primary songs. Perhaps it was the 2 and a half days of service that I was forced to provide for my children, along with my renewed determination to not only survive, but have my children survive, as well.
But there, standing in the kitchen, doing the dishes and cleaning up from breakfast, I suddenly felt an overwhelming, over powering feeling. What was it? What was I feeling? It may have looked like this:
Sorry, no stories of destruction and torment from this Women's Conference. No. But there has definitely been a change come over this Grinch this year.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Return of the Daddy
*Editor's Note: The original working title of this entry was "Revenge of the Daddy." Shortly before this entry's release, however, I didn't feel that "revenge" should be used, since it is not a true Daddy concept. A true Daddy wouldn't seek revenge on anyone, let alone his children.
It happened again.
"One of your children pooped in the bathtub?"
No. Actually, that is not what I am talking about. Besides, it wasn't IN the bathtub. It was on the side of the bathtub and on the floor next to it.
Every year, the week following graduation at Brigham Young University, the campus hosts billions of women for Women's Conference. For the past couple of years, I have been bamboozled into taking time off work for 3 days to stay home with the kids while Nicki goes up there for yet another respite from, well, us.
You may recall my experience from last year. And truthfully, that experience was more about survival than anything else. And I don't mean MY survival. We are lucky the children made it.
A lot has happened in the 12 months since. And this time I was able to enjoy it a little bit more. No, really. Get off the floor and stop laughing. The most difficult part, I think, has been adjusting my seats and mirrors back to where I had them in my car after she got home. Four days later and it still doesn't feel right.
Not that anything was different from last year. I took one step into the door from the garage and, "Dad, can I have a piece of candy?"
"No."
"Then, can I play the XBox?"
"No."
"Can I solve world hunger and cure cancer?"
"No."
"Is Mom going to be home soon?"
"Not as soon as either you or me would like."
I was able to help them remember that she would be home on Sunday morning. Through gentle, loving talk at high decibels.
The above-mentioned bathtub incident happened that first Wednesday night. What I don't understand is that they do not do this to Nicki. Human waste seems to only end up in (or around) the bathtub when I am on duty. And yes, I am fully aware that I just used the word duty.
I was nearly finished with washing them, when I went to the other side of the tub to find, well, you know. I don't know why I asked. Obviously, the guilty child was "Not Me." I didn't need the boys to tell me that.
Then Jonny dimed out Mikey. He seemed the perfect culprit to me. He's been waffling between being potty trained and wearing diapers.
He was scolded and sent to his room for it. Jonny was the last one to get out.
Something inside me told me that I made a mistake. "Jonny, why did you poop on the floor?" If you have ever had to ask a child that question, you might be laughing at the sight of it in writing. I am. Even if you haven't, I give you permission to. It's a ridiculous question!
"I didn't," came the reply in his "I'm Lying to You" face.
"Yes, you did. Why?"
Then the admission. Boy, did he get it. No, I didn't beat him senseless. I'm not saying I didn't think about it. After all, he knew what he had done was wrong. And I'm not talking about the fecal matter. Although that was certainly part of it.
So what was his consequence for dropping the, uh, droppings? As I got him dressed, I told him to get me a diaper. I should have recorded the response. Classic. Yes, I made him wear a diaper to bed.
Later that night, as I tucked him into bed, Jonny asked, "Is tomorrow Sunday?"
Funny, that's exactly what I was thinking.
It happened again.
"One of your children pooped in the bathtub?"
No. Actually, that is not what I am talking about. Besides, it wasn't IN the bathtub. It was on the side of the bathtub and on the floor next to it.
Every year, the week following graduation at Brigham Young University, the campus hosts billions of women for Women's Conference. For the past couple of years, I have been bamboozled into taking time off work for 3 days to stay home with the kids while Nicki goes up there for yet another respite from, well, us.
You may recall my experience from last year. And truthfully, that experience was more about survival than anything else. And I don't mean MY survival. We are lucky the children made it.
A lot has happened in the 12 months since. And this time I was able to enjoy it a little bit more. No, really. Get off the floor and stop laughing. The most difficult part, I think, has been adjusting my seats and mirrors back to where I had them in my car after she got home. Four days later and it still doesn't feel right.
Not that anything was different from last year. I took one step into the door from the garage and, "Dad, can I have a piece of candy?"
"No."
"Then, can I play the XBox?"
"No."
"Can I solve world hunger and cure cancer?"
"No."
"Is Mom going to be home soon?"
"Not as soon as either you or me would like."
I was able to help them remember that she would be home on Sunday morning. Through gentle, loving talk at high decibels.
The above-mentioned bathtub incident happened that first Wednesday night. What I don't understand is that they do not do this to Nicki. Human waste seems to only end up in (or around) the bathtub when I am on duty. And yes, I am fully aware that I just used the word duty.
I was nearly finished with washing them, when I went to the other side of the tub to find, well, you know. I don't know why I asked. Obviously, the guilty child was "Not Me." I didn't need the boys to tell me that.
Then Jonny dimed out Mikey. He seemed the perfect culprit to me. He's been waffling between being potty trained and wearing diapers.
He was scolded and sent to his room for it. Jonny was the last one to get out.
Something inside me told me that I made a mistake. "Jonny, why did you poop on the floor?" If you have ever had to ask a child that question, you might be laughing at the sight of it in writing. I am. Even if you haven't, I give you permission to. It's a ridiculous question!
"I didn't," came the reply in his "I'm Lying to You" face.
"Yes, you did. Why?"
Then the admission. Boy, did he get it. No, I didn't beat him senseless. I'm not saying I didn't think about it. After all, he knew what he had done was wrong. And I'm not talking about the fecal matter. Although that was certainly part of it.
So what was his consequence for dropping the, uh, droppings? As I got him dressed, I told him to get me a diaper. I should have recorded the response. Classic. Yes, I made him wear a diaper to bed.
Later that night, as I tucked him into bed, Jonny asked, "Is tomorrow Sunday?"
Funny, that's exactly what I was thinking.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Glory Days
This past weekend, my family and I celebrated, along with 74 other alumni and their families, the 20th Anniversary of BYU's Vocal Point.
I was in the group from 1995 to 1997. And enjoyed performing in front of millions of screaming women - perhaps not millions; one or two, perhaps? - dying to hold my hand. It was BYU, after all, and certainly there would be nothing beyond that sought after or desired by either party. (Please no Brandon Davies jokes).
It is always a particular rush to perform on stage when the crowd is enjoying it and for a brief moment you are the focus of their attention. Let's be real. We each got an 8-10 minute opportunity to do it again during the afternoon concert.
But performing on stage simply cannot compare with this:
Watching that live (twice) caused my heart to grow many, many more times than the Grinch's did. I cannot put into words how awesome it was to watch 3 of my children perform in front of a sold-out 670 seat theater.
That evening, though, reliving my glory days collided with reality. After the current Vocal Point group did their evening show, I was congratulating them on their show and on how quite very good they are. (WAY better than my years were.)
"Thanks, Brother Avery. I was 7 when you were in the group."
CRASH!
I was in the group from 1995 to 1997. And enjoyed performing in front of millions of screaming women - perhaps not millions; one or two, perhaps? - dying to hold my hand. It was BYU, after all, and certainly there would be nothing beyond that sought after or desired by either party. (Please no Brandon Davies jokes).
It is always a particular rush to perform on stage when the crowd is enjoying it and for a brief moment you are the focus of their attention. Let's be real. We each got an 8-10 minute opportunity to do it again during the afternoon concert.
But performing on stage simply cannot compare with this:
Watching that live (twice) caused my heart to grow many, many more times than the Grinch's did. I cannot put into words how awesome it was to watch 3 of my children perform in front of a sold-out 670 seat theater.
That evening, though, reliving my glory days collided with reality. After the current Vocal Point group did their evening show, I was congratulating them on their show and on how quite very good they are. (WAY better than my years were.)
"Thanks, Brother Avery. I was 7 when you were in the group."
CRASH!
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