And today, youngest SON of Thunder celebrates such a day. Yes, they grow up too fast.

I was looking over a previous letter and realized what I said then I still mean today. Some things don’t, and shouldn’t, change.

So, with the appropriate age and grade changes, here’ s that letter I wrote last year to the Youngest.

Dear Master Shifu:

At least that’s what we call you most of the time, especially when you’re doing some type of Kung Fu stuff on your older brothers. But enough of that.

Today is your day. You are now seven  eight and in First  Second Grade. Your life is before you because this is when it really starts. You are ready, and you’ve told me that enough so I know too.

As you know, every now and then I write a little fatherly advice column for each of you. And since today is your birthday, it’s your turn.

You, like your brothers, are a gift from God and the Little Black Dress and I are very grateful you are in our lives.  We also call you the Sons of Thunder, because, frankly, that’s pretty much what you all are. But even when the house is destroyed as soon as you come home from school, despite The Dress spending six hours cleaning, always know we love you.

Anyway, here’s some things I’ve learned and what to pass on to you:

- You are silly funny. Don’t ever let that go. You can make anyone laugh, like when you were introduced to your First Grade teacher and you said “ha lo guvnur” in that British accent. Never lose your sense of humor.

- Always stand up for your brothers. They are your family. Even when they hide your favorite toys or won’t “share,” let it go. Life is more than that.

- Treat every woman or girl like you would The Dress.  Mothers will adore you, fathers will actually let you date their daughters. But that’s down the road.

- God has a purpose for your life. Find it. You will learn as you grow older that you have certain talents and passions not shared by others. Realize those passions and desires come from God.

- Find a hobby – golf, fishing, sailing or whatever – you can do all your life. You will develop friendships through those hobbies. It will also enable you to get away every now and then and just think.

- Enjoy your work and make sure it’s tied to your passions.  Never work where you are not appreciated.

- Honor your word. It is one of the most important things you have and is incredibly difficult to regain if lost. Keep your promise even if it costs you.

- Tied to that is to be loyal. Loyal to your friends, you family, your spouse, your work. Be known as someone who can be trusted, you will never lack anything. If you are betrayed, remember people are human. Practice one of the hardest things in the world – forgiveness.  That doesn’t mean you can forget, but if you don’t forgive, you will be the one damaged.

- Realize what is truly important in life and focus on those things: God, family, friends, loyalty, honor. Take care of those, everything else will fall into place.

- Practice the 80-10-10 rule. Give 10 percent of everything you make to charity; save 10 percent; learn to live on the remaining 80 percent. You will always have enough money.

- Don’t grow up. I realize you will, but I do love you just the way you are. But I also mean to keep your child-like sense of awe, of laughter, of taking delight in the small things.

- Even after school, continue to learn. Develop a thirst for knowledge.

- Take care of the small things, but never let them overwhelm you. Do them one at a time, but do them right. The big things will take care of themselves.

- Be willing to sign your name to anything you do.

- If you don’t know, ask. No one knows it all

- Marry someone like your mom, The Dress, and you will be fine.

I realize a lot of this is over your head right now, especially since you’re just starting to read. That’s okay. Hopefully you’ll keep this around and pull it out every now and then.  And maybe you’ll go, “wow, dad was kinda right on some things” or something like that.

Just remember, your mom and I love you very much and will always be there for you, even when you don’t mind and we, well, kinda yell and stuff.

Happy birthday Levi Scott Winters

Dad

Being Father’s Day, and the fact you have the three Sons of Thunder, I thought it appropriate to write you a letter. Writing you a letter is writing me a letter, because you are I and I am you. Or something like that.

This might get weird.

Anyway … when you’re about to hit your wall or questioning what’s important in life, pull this out and remember.

The most important earthly thing you will ever have is your family. You are blessed with the Little Black Dress who for some reason adores you and the three Sons of Thunder, who want to be you.

Don’t screw that up.

You are the head of the household despite what liberal equality groups say. Act like it. That means be the man of the house. Teach The Sons what is right and wrong. Teach them about God and having a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. Teach them what a real man is.

Just a few notes:

The Sons value time spent with you more than anything. Time is one thing that can never be replaced. Don’t waste it. As a father, the best way to spend your time is with The Sons.

Each of The Sons are different. They have their own personalities. Do not try to make No. 1 Son into No. 2 Son or No. 3 Son. Each are a gift from God and God gave them each their personalities. Treat them as individuals, not the mass Mongrel horde they sometimes are.

God loaned The Sons to you. They are His. You are The Sons’ steward and one day you will give an accounting to the Master of the Universe on the job you did with what is His. Be able to hold your head up and have Him say, “well done, good and faithful servant.”

Teach The Sons about money. Teach them to save 10 percent of everything; to give away 10 percent to God and worthwhile organizations; to live on the remaining 80 percent.

Help them find a sport or hobby they can participate in all their lives. They will find friends of like mind and realize life is not all about work.

Speaking of friends, remind them they will be known by their friends. That their friends will have an incredible impact on their lives and on how others perceive them. Teach them to choose wisely.

And on the same subject, help them become the type of friend that everyone else wants. That they are loyal to their friends, that they stand by their friends when everyone else is gone.

They are the Sons of Thunder. Teach them to live up to that – and I’m not talking about the noise level. Rather, that they be willing to sign their name to anything they do. That they understand their honor is one of the few things they truly possess; it is easy to lose and very difficult to get back. That their word is their honor, their bond. That they honor their commitments. That they honor women.

That they defend the weak. That they right the wrong. That they always do their best in whatever it is. That they find their passion. That they find God’s purpose for their life. That they realize their passion is always tied some way to God’s purpose for their life. That they do not follow the crowd. That they love their job. That they make a difference in the world. That they bow to no man save one, a Jewish carpenter.

That they, the Sons of Thunder, become the Men of Thunder.

That they find their own Little Black Dress.

And if all else fails, remember the word of God: “Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger by the way you treat them. Rather, bring them up with the discipline and instruction that comes from the Lord.” (Ephesians 6:4)

Still reading?

Go away … go play with The Sons.

Cheers

Me

I had a very nice little Dolly Varden on the line when I was rudely interrupted by my cell phone. Normally, this is ignored, especially when fish are involved. This call was not.

Within a couple of hours, the first Son of Thunder entered the world. He arrived fast, the doctor and I didn’t even have time to put on those ugly scrubs. We just threw on some gloves and within minutes, I was holding him against my fly fishing vest.

I hate clichés; like how they grow up so fast, where did the time go.

He has grown up too fast and I have no idea where the time has gone.

Today, Eldest Son of Thunder becomes a teenager. And as in the past, it’s time for one of those letters. A lot of this may sound familiar, and that’s because some things just stand the test of time.

Here goes.  

Dear Caleb:

Congratulations on hitting a major milestone. You are now officially a teenager and it is an apparent rite of passage that you now get to talk back, sulk and just test our patience to the limit.

Don’t go there. Be you.

And I guess that’s my first bit of advice – be you. I say that because “you” are incredible. You are a gifted athlete who can play any sport with anyone. And you are way too smart. Please realize that at some point, you really are going to have to study more than you do now.

But be you. God made you exactly the way He wanted. Honor that and Him by being you.

Stand for what is true. Be honest and keep your commitments. Be known as the one whose word is their bond. It is becoming a dying art. If you make a promise, keep it.

Be willing to sign your name to anything you do. By that I mean do your best at everything – school, work, play or anything else. Be able to look anyone in the eye and say with complete honestly, “I did my best.”

Find your “Sams” and more importantly, be a “Sam” to others. Always be willing to help others; seek wisdom and guidance from Godly individuals. Never be afraid to ask for help, admit what you don’t know and then learn it. Also admit when you are wrong and then fix it. Never pass blame.

When everyone else has deserted, be the one still standing: standing by those who need you, standing by the Truth, standing by Honor.

Speaking of Honor, learn what it really is. It is unfortunate that it is a word sadly lacking today. Honor God and Honor yourself. Be respectful to women and your elders. Remember that when you break it all down, you only have two things in life – your name and your Honor. Honor both.

Be passionate. Anyone can learn a skill, but true passion is an art. It cannot be taught, it comes from your core. So be passionate in everything you do.

You know, as I write this I realize with a great deal of pride that I am simply describing you as you are now. I am incredibly thankful for that and I am proud of who you are. But it never hurts to reiterate.

Just a couple of other things:

Learn the 80-10-10 rule – save 10 percent of everything you make; give 10 percent away to charity; live on the remaining 80 percent. I have yet to meet anyone who lived by this rule and had financial problems. Remember that everything, even your money, is really God’s. Live wisely and within your means. Try to pay cash for everything; credit is a deadly game that few win.

Choose your friends wisely. Realize, especially as you get older, they will have the greatest impact on your life. And rightly or wrongly, people will judge you by your friends. Be loyal to your friends, but be willing to break any friendship that could lead you down the wrong path.

And speaking of people, never judge. Never judge by their title, their income or their stuff. Judge not. Realize that money, fame and fortune do not make the man. A man is one who keeps his word, who stands for what is right regardless of the cost, who protects his family and Honors God.

A man is one who does not try to be someone else or who follows the crowd. A true man is one whom, to those being honest with themselves, they wish they were. Be that man. Be the one others want to be.

One day you will stand before God. He will not look at your resume, your title, your stuff or anything else the world considers important. He will simply ask you what did you do with the talents He gave you. Be ready, and be proud of your answer.

Understand that regardless of how crazy your mom and I make you sometimes, that we always have your best interests at heart – even when we’re wrong.

And finally, realize there are only three major decisions in life: the career or job path you choose, your relationship with Jesus Christ, and whom you marry.

As to the first, choose a career in something you are passionate about, that your are good at. Regardless of what it is, be the very best at it you can.

Regarding the second, it is without doubt the most important decision you will make. And it is an ongoing one. By that I mean every day you must determine how you will live. You can follow the world, or you can follow Christ. Our time on earth is short, eternity is forever.

The third choice is easy. Marry someone like your mom, the Little Black Dress.

Caleb McPhee Winters, despite what I tell you, I am not perfect. But always remember that I love you with every ounce of my being and I am doing the best I can in raising you. So just hang with me.

Happy birthday Son.

Love, Dad.

We will forgo any mention of Obligatory Day.

Anyway, let’s continue. Deep in making a marinade sauce for the grilled lamb on the night’s menu, I was in a quandary. (Those wanting the recipe, also known as  ”How To Win The Heart of Your Own Little Black Dress,” just click  here)

My hands were covered with said marinade, as well as the raw meat, and I needed some more spices. I needed some help. And so I did what I thought was a rather excellent way to get help. I said … “I need some help.”

Nothing.

So I tried again, a rather common practice in our household where increasing volumes somehow seem to get better responses.

“I’ll help … but I have to die first,” responded the youngest Son of Thunder.

Well, that gave me pause.  

“Excuse me?”

“I have to die first i’m in the middle of this tank war and i’m in the red tank right here, see? see? see? and if i stop now then i die and i’m almost done and i’ve never beat this level and hang on just one more second and oh shoot i just got shot and where did he come from and arrhhgghh now i missed him and i only have one bullet left and where did that tank go and …”

“Never mind.”

So I tried a little holler toward the other side of the house.

“I am trying to have a zen moment here. I have been trying to have a zen moment all day, but you and the Sons are not letting me and I will have my zen moment NOW.”

My rapier wit determined the Little Black Dress was trying to have a yoga workout. One does not – ever – disturb that. Otherwise the wrath of (insert really deadly outer space monster/war god name here) emerges.

Basically, that option is out and the youngest Son is still hanging on. So I do what I thought was a pretty smart move considering the various scenarios. I put the meat and marinade down, washed my hands and got my own spices. And thank you very much.

I then I had one of those moments.

Youngest is playing a war game and is that really appropriate? So now I’m dealing with all that guilt stuff and shouldn’t he be reading a nice book and the weather is gorgeous outside and am I really monitoring what he’s playing and what kind of example am I setting by letting him play some tank war game and …

He said he’d die for me.

I was so honored. So proud. Everything The Dress and I had tried to teach them about what really matters in life was taking hold. A slight tear formed as I thought of that scripture in John where it says “There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends (or father in this case).”

Yeah, and then I woke up.

For example, one of the Sons of Thunder will come home from school, look at me and introduce a new word. And there will be a pause. Followed by a “what did you just say” retort from me that includes several exclamation points.

And that is followed by a very meek “nothing.”

And that in turn is followed by The Lecture about how we don’t say certain words. They are “bad” words. And The Lecture includes the finer points of how weak people use bad words, that how you speak says a lot about you – and reflects on the Little Black Dress and so on and so forth, yada, yada, yada, blah, blah, blah.

The Sons of Thunder are allowed – with no repercussions – to ask whether a certain word falls into said “bad” word category. Those are pretty cut and dried. The conflict arises over what I call, “on the edge” words.

Words like “crap.”  

The Dress does not like that word. And the Sons ask why and I explain what crap really means and is that really what they want to say and let’s use a nicer word despite the fact your brother just kicked you and …

“What about holy crap?”

That would be a no. Just because you put “holy” in front of a word does not make it so. In fact, I explain, that kind of makes the phrase worse. And the Sons ask why and I revert to the tired phrase I swore never to use when I had kids – “because I said so.”

It’s a learning process. I’ll hear the word, follow it with a “what did you just say?” and get the “nothing” response. But I will give them credit, they are trying hard and at times, even catch themselves before I do and yell out a “sorry.”

So anyway. Flash forward to a recent Sunday. We’re all sitting in church listening to the pastor give a pretty darn good sermon when The Incident occurs.

Simply put, the pastor says “crap.” It was not a “crap … I just stubbed my toe” comment, but rather more of a “we really don’t need that kind of crap in our lives” statement. Just in passing. However …

Roughly a nanosecond after the first said usage of the word, there were war whoops from the Sons and the Eldest hit my on the arm. This hit inferred quite a bit, like “see the pastor just said it and if the pastor can say it then we should be able to say it and what’s the big deal anyway, because it is the pastor and all and he’s supposed to be an example and if he says it’s okay then …”

I simply looked at the Eldest and said, “don’t go there.”

Pity the pastor. Because he actually uses the word two more times. I know this because The Dress started counting. And she also started fuming. And she also started talking under her breath about writing a letter, and what kind of example is this, and this is church, and where are the deacons and …

I know it’s going to be a long ride home. And it is. The pastor was lucky we didn’t invite him to lunch that day. And let’s just leave it, and the whole “I don’t care what the pastor said, I’m your mother and …” conversation on the ride home, at that.

So next Sunday The Dress is ready for bear. And I really don’t want to be there because I’m already feeling sorry for the pastor. Because I have this gut feeling if he says The Word,  the LBD is going to stand up and say A Word or two.

Fortunately, the pastor refrains from saying The Word.

Instead, he lets out a “pissed off.”

You thought there were war whoops the week before? The Sons are about to have a coronary. And The Dress looks at me and says “we’re finding another church.”

I don’t consider myself, nor The Dress, prudes. One does not look up the term “goody-goody” and see my name as a shining example. I’ve been known to use a word or two quickly followed by a look at the Sons and a “sorry, but don’t you ever let me hear you say that” comment. And despite The Words, we are still at the same church.

I realize times change. Growing up, I wore a coat and tie to church. Now, I’m usually in jeans. There is no question we are a more casual society. But I’d just prefer my pastor to not try to be all “hip” and “in” and use words like that. I use that word occasionally, but I try not to because I don’t want the Sons using it. They don’t need that vocabulary at their age.

The Bible talks a lot about how Jesus was not above hanging out with certain types – the types one normally does not bring home to mom. These included rather bawdy types, like thieves and hookers.

Jesus met them at their level, because they needed him. However, He never stooped to their level. By that I mean He would go to the house of someone the “good people” would call “sinners.” But He didn’t start cussing, get drunk and pick up some prostitute.

He didn’t try to be all “hip” to reach others. He did not change His core, His character. He remained holy.

Can’t wait for this Sunday.

Never a “may I,” “pardon me,” or “so sorry.”

About the only nice thing one can say of death will be at its own. An appropriate epitaph would be ‘He showed no favorites.” Death treats all, regardless of race, status, color or age, equally.

Death’s timing is no better than its actions. The Sons of Thunder know this too well of late. Our little clan would like a pass for a while, quite a while actually.

But no, that won’t do. And it was to the youngest Son of Thunder that the black-robed scythe paid his latest visit.

There are certain sounds no parent wants to hear.

We heard those, along with some rather peculiar phrases as well. Words like “cage,” “Anakin,” and “on the floor.” It was not until I arrived upstairs that things slowly fell into place. What I saw was a cage – a gerbil cage – upside down on the floor. The sawdust and other bedding that was in said cage was now all over the floor. Anakin, the dwarf hamster of the Youngest Son, was nowhere to be found.

Also missing was the Dog Who Thought She Could Fly and the two cats belonging to the Sons and the Little Black Dress. I make that latter point so readers will understand said cats are not my cats. I don’t do cats.

Utilizing my years of investigating reporting background, combined with an immense level of deductive reason and a rapier wit, I concluded we had a probable crime scene.  Nevertheless, a full-blown search, complete with flashlights, was conducted. The fact said search was held in the room of a Thunder Son who did not believe anything should ever be thrown away made the investigation slightly more difficult.

The Dress and I, after looking at each other, suggested to Youngest Son that Anakin probably got away and jumped out the open window and is now off playing with other escaped gerbils and frolicking in the meadows and dashing in the woods and …

“He can’t jump that high.”

Okay, well that was pretty well dead-on. While the youngest in years, said Son often is the sage amongst the three. And then we got a look, the kind that breaks your heart and makes you realize you are going to have to talk about death … again.

And so you start the talk and some of the lessons sound familiar:

Someone is going to get blamed

This time, it’s the Little Black Dress. Turns out she moved Anakin and his cage from the Youngest Son’s room to the Middle Son’s room because the Dog Who Thought She Could Fly was constantly trying to do just that, and land inside Anakin’s cage. Although never successful, that is getting into the cage, the flying action did knock the cage around some.

And so The Dress moved the cage next to yet another gerbil’s cage in another room. This was a temporary move that – I promise – will be explained later. But it was this action that led Youngest Son to, well, blame The Dress for what had transpired.

And the LBD tries to explain why she did what she did. And it’s not having much of an impact on the Youngest Son. So she tries again, and then I get pulled into it with a look from The Dress and the comment, “right dad? right? Isn’t that right, tell him dad.”  I try my best but I not really get why the cage was moved either (which I do understand now and will explain later). Basically, I’m not a lot of help here.

Regardless of the circumstances, death causes us to issue blame.

Blame the stereotype

“Roxie (the Dog Who Thought She Could Fly) did it.”

As I said, the Youngest Son is astute and I pretty much agreed with him on this one. Maybe it was the fact I had to kick gently move Miss Roxie away from the various gerbil cages on more than a hundred times. Maybe it was the fact that Miss Roxie would get inches from a cage and bark and bark and well, just bark.

Maybe it was the fact the Dog Who Thought She Could Fly was nowhere to be found. And once found, had a “You honestly think I jumped on the bed, flew halfway across the room, jumped up on the desk and knocked the cage over onto the floor … and I want a lawyer now” kind of look. The fact said dog is constantly referred by me as “rat dog” and immediately peed once I found her did not help her case.

Or it could have been the cat. Not Mr. Three as he is simply obese and couldn’t if he wanted to. But Sam is another matter. I say that because on more than one occasion I’ve caught Sam sitting on top of one of the cages licking his lips. Licking like I do when someone presents me with a porterhouse steak covered with cracked pepper and olive oil and right off the grill.

Or they could have worked in cahoots. I mean, they do sleep together.

So we have the moral of guilt by association. Not only that, but we always assume the stereotype is guilty.

This blog is getting too deep philosophically.

We say stupid things

We don’t mean to, but death makes us just babble sometimes. As was the case with the Middle Son. “Wow, what a day. My older brother got a new canteen, I got a Star Wars figure and my younger brother got his gerbil eaten by Miss Roxie.”

Okay, not exactly smooth there. He tried. He failed. But he’s learning.

Accidents happen and sometimes it’s too late

As I mentioned, The Dress moved Anakin’s cage. There was a reason. Said cage was faulty, a slight jar would/could make the cage door open. Sitting in the back of the LBD’s car was a new cage with a better door. She had just gotten it a couple of hours before The Incident and was waiting for Youngest Son to come home.

She moved the cage into the other room because there was a gate the Sons would put across the door of the bedroom to keep the Dog Who Thought She Could Fly out of said room. Thus the gerbils would be safe.

They forgot to put the gate up.

Sometimes Death takes the right one

Not that we should rejoice at the death of anyone, but if someone has to go …

Anakin did not exactly fit the stereotype of cuddly gerbil. At one point he had a roommate – so named Chase. They were soon separated after The Dress noticed Chase was missing chunks of his body; chunks about the size of a gerbil’s mouth.

Fitting?

The theological debate

“Is Anakin in heaven?”

Loaded. Loaded question.

I can’t find a scripture that says all dogs, cats and yes, gerbils, go to heaven. I also can’t find one that says they won’t. And I don’t need comments from the “United Super Christian Church of Animals Have No Souls” spewing doctrine.

God is the creator of everything. Heaven, according to Scripture, is a place of perpetual joy. Youngest Son is seven. And so despite Anakin’s earlier aggressiveness toward Chase …

“Yes.”

An aside – I believe there is one and only one way for humans to get to heaven. The Bible is very clear. I have no clue about pets. I’m not going to get into – ever – a debate about pets in heaven. And the “United Super Christian Church of Animals Have No Souls” can picket my house – the Sons will bring you out lemonade when it’s hot. There are more important issues.

Back to the conversation.

“Yes … and he’s up there playing with Sparky.” Sparky was a dog belonging to my parents that Youngest Son, for whatever reason, especially loved.

“What if Sparky eats him like Roxie did”? Told you the kid was a sage.

“They’re in heaven, they don’t eat each other up there. God makes sure of that. And Mimi and Papa (the LBD’s parents) are up there and are taking care of both of them.”

Youngest Son thought for a moment, nodded, and said “Okay … goodnight.”

And so today The Dress and Youngest Son are off to Gerbil/Hamster House of Fun to find another. I just hope the hamster humane society police will give us a little more grace and not pay a visit.

It’s something we don’t think about. It’s just hanging out there with its friendly finger neighbors, just doing its thing. But it’s practically a necessity – try doing something with your hands and not using your thumb. Yeah.

And, according to the Sons of Thunder, you apparently can kill a man with a thumb. Now I’m not saying the Sons have actually killed said man, and they might be exaggerating, but let’s just not go there.

The thumb ranks up there with things the Sons of Thunder consider necessities – the computer, cell phone, Playstation, television, PSP 3, Wii and so forth. Notice how all those “necessities” I just mentioned involve electricity? And to the Sons, they are quite necessarily necessities.

Occasionally, and oh so very rarely, the Sons get a little too big for their britches. Uppity, not minding, basically fulfilling their nicknames.

Enter the “no thumbs” rule.  

If your kids are anything like ours (we feel your pain, joy), there are certain times when they are not at their best. This would include getting up in the morning, getting ready for school and bedtime. Oh, and when we say it’s time to get off electronics. Happy campers they are not.

And yes, we have – rarely (ha) threatened to remove, eliminate or take away all electronics until the Sons start acting like gentlemen. For some reason, this has little effect. In a nutshell, we say “no electronics.” And they say, “what about the computer?” And we say that’s electronics. And they say “what about television?” And we say that’s electronics. And they say “what about PSP 3?” And we say that’s electronics. And they say “what about Playstation?” And we say that’s electronics.

And so on and so on. Ugh.

Anyway, the Little Black Dress was talking with someone with a similar situation; who’d have guessed? And they told her about the “no thumbs” rule.

And it means exactly what it says. You can’t use your thumbs.

Now when we first introduced this rule, we got little smirks from the Sons. They headed off with a “aren’t they dumb” look and …

“Sorry, can’t use your thumbs.”

And there’s this pause. And they suddenly realize life with no thumbs, when it comes to electronic devices, can get a little difficult.  They can’t function,  or rather function remotes and handhelds, without thumbs.

There is one exception to this rule, a quite simple one really. They may use their thumbs all they want, all the time, any time, however they want … as long as they are outside. And the only exception to that exception is no electronics outside.

And out they go, pouting all the way. Yet within a few minutes, there is a game going on. Probably with lots of rules, maybe a blue ball and the obvious sharp stick.

But at least they are using their imaginations and not having some electronic device serve as such.

And that’s the point.

Suddenly, very audible gasps and “oohs” came from the audience. My friend stopped in mid-joke and simply said, “Wow.” I remember how he enunciated that word, like seeing something for the first time that blows you away – in a good way.

The cause for all this?

The Little Black Dress walked in the room. Except this time, she was wearing pink. And she held her dad’s arm.

A lot of what transpired over the next several minutes remains a blur. I do, however, remember her saying “I do.” And that’s because I was waiting for that.

I remember this guy in front of us, wearing black robes, who said, “You may kiss your bride.”   I remember that because, well, I was waiting for that.

And so I kissed the Little Black Dress, the woman, not the actual dress, which was pink anyway. I mean the dress was pink, not The Dress. Never mind.

And The Dress looks at me and says “You can do better.”

So I kissed her again. And then for good measure, kissed her one more time. Today, we remember that as the Trinity kiss.

Seventeen years ago The Dress said “I do” and married me. Silly girl.

What a ride – times on the highest mountains; times in the deepest valleys.

Moving across the country to become publisher of a daily newspaper, then general manager of another one in the Midwest, followed by moving deeper South to run a national newspaper wire service.

Taking a buyout after 24 years with the only company I ever worked for, and not knowing what to do next.

Experiencing the joys of one, then another and finally a third son, known here to readers as the Sons of Thunder. Nearly losing the middle Son; burying the LBD’s mom; and then her dad.

At times The Dress and I thought life could not be better; other times we wondered if we could, or would, survive.

Yet even in the darkest times, we’d look at each other and say, “We will get through this.”

And we have. Even if every now and then I break something.

Over the years, I learned The Dress is really into those special days – Valentine’s (ugh, don’t get me started); her birthday month, and yes, I meant month; Christmas; Easter; President’s Day; your fill in the blank day; and yes, anniversaries.

She likes to go all out on those occasions, which translated means I’d better go all out. I try, but I am no match for The Dress. We are at the point in life where we buy our own gifts – from the other.

“Wow, great pair of shoes/perfume/flowers/jacket/skirt/etc., etc., etc., … when did you get that?”

“You got this/that for me for Christmas/Our Anniversary/Easter/President’s Day …”

You get the point.

I am not the most “gifting” person, or as The Dress will point out, I don’t “fawn” enough. True. She will also point out I don’t use enough adjectives and adverbs, at least in her opinion, when I write.

And that’s what I am, by profession and passion – a writer. I try to make every word count, and with brevity.

This is our 17th anniversary and my gift to you Little Black Dress is from the heart even if it’s just words.

I love you. I thank you for marrying me. I thank you for standing beside me through everything. I thank you for the Sons.

And as an extra gift, please use the enclosed coupon worth 200 adjectives and adverbs to use as you see fit.

Yeah.

Most kids walk into their parents’ room and start softly calling out “mom” or “dad” with a slightly increasing volume until they reach the yelling stage – or you finally wake up. Not the middle Son of Thunder. He has a tendency to just walk into the room and come right by your side of the bed. And wait, without saying a word.

I guess he thinks his aura will wake us up. And it does, and it totally freaks you out when you come out of a dead sleep and see a body standing right there.

This morning was no different.  This time it was to remind us that today was his day. The Son hit the big 10.  

Birthday tradition has it in our family that all parents/siblings wake up early, walk into the birthday boy’s room and do a little serenade. Okay, a really loud serenade.  Obviously, Middle Son blew that. But he promised to pretend to sleep and went back into his room so we could continue the tradition. He did his part, we did ours and the tradition lives in.

Each year I write a letter to the Sons on their day. It seems I write similar things each year, maybe because if you follow a few simple time-tested guidelines, things work out in the end. And so, tradition goes on.

Dear Seth:

Congratulations on hitting 10. You are now in double digits. I wish I could say life and things and stuff will get easier. They won’t. But that’s okay, because know you will always have your mom, the Little Black Dress, and I behind you. And your two brothers, at least when you all aren’t pounding on each other.

I admire your voracious reading habits, you got that from me. You are quite an artist, which obviously came from The Dress’es side and not mine.  And I love your imagination. You’re the only kid I know who can go out by himself with just a stick and create an entire battlefield with six opposing armies.

Just a few thoughts from you old man:

I know you’re just starting to get a real understanding of money, but try to live by the 10-10-80 rule. Give 10 percent of everything you make back to God and charities; save 10 percent; and learn to live on the remaining 80 percent. You will always have money.

Be willing to sign your name to anything you do.

Remember your name, your honor, are among the most important things you possess. Never let anything tarnish them.

Keep your word, even if it hurts or costs.

Be a true friend – the kind someone can call at 3 a.m. for help. You will never lack friends.

Forgive. Human nature makes it impossible for us to truly forget, but learn to forgive a wrong. Your heart will feel better. Keeping a grudge or not forgetting only hurts you, the other person probably doesn’t even know.

Get all the advice and knowledge you can. Weigh it. Remember that in the end, you have to make your own decisions. Stick with them unless new information causes you to change.

Work harder than everyone else. Be the first to arrive and the last to leave.

Remember something else about work, God and family are more important. Learn what is really important in life.

And finally, a man once asked Jesus what were the most important commandments.

“The most important one,” answered Jesus, “is this: ‘Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’There is no commandment greater than these.”

Follow those two rules above all else and you will live a rich life.

Oh, and marry a girl like your mom.

Love you Seth

Dad

As I do for

Until today.

You see, the sounds of the foaming Rottweiler meant success. And I can now add to my “gifts” I wrote about earlier. To that of swatter, fire starter and smoresman, we now add the title of trapper.

Mask was caught.  Let awesomeness commence.  

Mask was the name given by the Little Black Dress to our nightly visitor. A visitor that at first was cute, but soon wore out his welcome.  He wore it out by pooping all over the inside of the dock; breaking into the dock refrigerator and drinking the Gatorade; opening up the glove compartment to my dad’s fishing boat and taking things that did not belong to him.

Mask is a raccoon; a cute and very smart but bad raccoon. And he was caught, thanks to the hard work of yours truly and the eldest Son of Thunder.

The Son found an old rusty trap out in the shed and proceeded to fix it up.  We put in bait and placed the trap along Mask’s normal visitation trail. First night we were snookered, as he knocked over the trap and got the goodies. Not to be outdone, we staked the trap, reset it and waited.

As noted, the morning brought success. But it also brought back memories of earlier trappings. You see, once there is victory, there is also feelings of remorse and pity on the part of the Little Black Dress. This time was no different.

As I recall, I was “told” to get out of bed to go check on the Rottweiler and to see if we had caught Mask. As noted earlier, we had.

“Is he okay?” she asked after I returned. Now I thought she was referring to the dog; but no, she was referring to Mask. And then she goes out to check on Mask herself, and points out he looks scared and afraid. And I try to point out anyone would be afraid locked up in a small cage with a Rottweiler drooling over you.

And then she points out the sun is coming up and Mask will get hot and I “must do something” to ensure Mask doesn’t get uncomfortable and should we feed him something and where am I going to take him and should we call the Humane Society and …

Way too many questions before my first cup of coffee.

So I go and wake up the eldest Son to inform him of our victory so we can celebrate the male bonding of hunting by doing a war dance and beating our chests and …

“Can I sleep for five more minutes first?” he asks.

That would be a “no.” Get up and relish in your victory.

“Cool,” he says after finally getting up and checking out Mask. “Can I go back to bed now?”

Whatever.

Now all I have to do is figure out where to take Mask and make sure he doesn’t bite my finger off when I try to open the trap.