The First Date (I)

In some ways, it was a day I’d been dreading ever since the day of Scooter’s birth some 16 ½ years ago.  I still recall the day of her birth and the pediatrician came into the hospital room to make sure she had the requisite number of fingers and toes.   After giving her the OK, we chatted for a few minutes as the nurse took Scooter and gave her to Kadie. 

I’m not completely sure if his parting words were meant as a blessing or a curse, but they’ve haunted me over the ensuing years.  “You know, hold her all you can now, because she’ll be leaving for college like that!” and snapped his fingers as he left the room.

I’ve blogged a bit about a few of her firsts, but one of the most terrifying prospects came to fruition recently.  Scooter told me that a young man would like permission to take her out on a date.  This simple statement set in motion a complex series of events from which we are only now beginning to recover.

The Accident

A few months after Scooter got her license, I had just dropped her little brother off at home when I got the call every parent of a teenager dreads.  "Daddy, I just got in a car accident and the policeman wants you to come here!"  I could hear the tears in her voice as she took gasping breaths between the words.  I asked her if she was injured or if anyone else was hurt.  She replied "No Dad, I'm fine.  I looked down for a second and ran into the guy in front of me.  We're both OK, but could you hurry?"  She was on the street in front of her school and when I arrived I saw her car behind another car with a policeman standing between them.

I saw another father standing next to the driver of the other car.  The driver was a boy who was as skinny as he was scared.  He looked about 12, but I found out later had just turned 16.  When I identified myself to the police officer he thanked me for coming and then motioned for the four of us to gather round. 

He cleared his throat and began speaking what sounded like a speech he has given before.  "OK, here's how this works.  We have here an accident involving two brand new teenage drivers.  If I report this accident, there will be auto insurance rates skyrocketing all over the place.  There were no injuries and there are only a few scratches on both cars.  If both fathers are willing to walk away from this without reporting it to anyone, I'll close my notepad and drive away."  He had already talked to the other father (who nodded his assent) and then looked at me.  I quickly agreed.

"Alright, y'all have a nice day." And he got in his squadcar and drove away.

As a friend told me later, it was a great way to have your first accident.  Thank God for mercy over judgment!!  And Scooter's been accident free ever since.

A New Driver in the Family

Shockingly, Scooter has begun to drive a car.  I’m not sure that has completely sunk in.  She turned 15 last year and took driver’s education last in fall of 2010.  Scooter earned her permit in January and was required to drive for 50 hours under our supervision.  She counted the days until her birthday when she would turn 16 and be eligible to take her driving exam.  On that day we drove up to the DMV to take her exam…but a problem quickly arose.
Scooter’s car was graciously given to us by my brother and sister-in-law.  But they live out of state so I had to get new plates and registration.  I had done that, but left the out of state inspection sticker (I mean, it wasn’t due for another three months and why spend $10 if you don’t have to?) When we arrived for the exam early in the afternoon, we were discouraged to find that we couldn’t take the exam without getting an in state inspection.

We got back to the DMV to take the exam around 4:15 only to find out that they ran their last exam at 4:00.  As the gentleman told us we were too late, I saw Scooter begin to tear up.  I asked him if there was anything we could do and explained that we had been by earlier in the day.  It was her birthday after all.  He paused for a moment, looked back at the clock, looked at my weeping daughter, and then  said that he would see what he could do.  (So note the other important lesson for Scooter that day: A woman’s tears are a powerful force.  I have encouraged her to use them only for good).

He returned a few minutes later and told us that he had arranged for her to take her exam.  She took her driving exam and made an exceptional score, well above what was required for passing.  She has the maturity, the skills and now the license.  Everything looked fantastic.

So it came as some surprise two months later when she had an accident.

...Summer Daze...

I’ve been watching a lot of baseball lately, due no doubt to the impressive pitching performance of the Rangers this season. Skeeter has been watching a lot with me and learning a bit about the game. And it can be a confusing game. Recently, after a Ranger scored from third, she asked “Was that a Death Run?” I was stunned for a few seconds before remembering a previous conversation. “No, it’s called a suicide squeeze.”

We took a five day vacation to San Antonio and traveled with two other couples. We had much fun, but I was outvoted on two significant issues. We didn’t have a single Mexican meal there and we didn’t go see the Alamo. It reminded me again why we normally vacation alone.

I signed up for extra classes this summer. The result was that I taught classes all summer and thus reduced my days off to about two weeks over the summer break. Part of the reason I got into teaching was to get summers off. Of course that was before kids’ college funds.

Scooter has had a time consuming job this summer and it’s wearing on her. She baby sat one of Squealer’s friends for eight hours every day all summer long and is worn out from chasing them all around. I’m secretly (and not so secretly) amused every time the Girl or Squealer says to her “I’m bored.”

Pecan Grove continues with Transition Team meetings on a weekly basis. It’s going well, I think, but slowly. Many conversations, many different points of view. We continue to pray for breakthroughs in some of these unresolved issues.

FPU is going well at Pecan Grove. Recently one guy (who’s in financial difficulty) roared out of the church parking lot in his 08 fire engine red Mustang. One of the coordinators for the class said in his slow southern drawl. “Dave’ll tell him to sell the car.” Indeed.

A triple wammy next week as Scooter starts High School, Skeeter Middle School, and Squealer begins the first grade. I took Scooter to her high school orientation (at my own alma mater) this week and found the rising nostalgia a bit overwhelming. I can’t believe my daughter is entering her freshman year of high school.

Facebook has taken over more of my life and crowding out a bit of blog time. Perhaps that will change as we start school on the 24th. We’ll see.

On Vampires and Make Up

Correctly drawing the line is our greatest challenge as a parent. Trying to carefully balance the two extremes of protection and independence is the most difficult task I’ve found. How do I decide what is too dangerous and what is acceptable? Working out the whole business of being as crafty as serpents and as innocent as doves is a pain in the neck. Certainly I pray for wisdom and seek counsel from others. Certainly I look back on my own parents’ child-raising techniques.

But then I wing it. Two examples.


Situation One:

The primary problem of course, is that my daughter Scooter is a lot like me. I grew up loving to read and throughout my childhood read fairly obsessively. Both of my parents (avowed readers themselves) adopted a pretty laissez faire approach and allowed me to read whatever I wanted to read. Kadie and I have been a little more tight reined in our approach, marking certain stories (mostly movies) off limits. But a situation arose a month ago that raised an issue for me.
Scooter told me she wanted to get a new book, the book Twilight. Many of her friends were reading it, a new movie was coming out about it, and it apparently was making quite a splash among the early teen world. I’m not sure why there was some familiarity with it, but I vaguely recalled hearing about it. After some checking around on the internet, I read up on the book.

It’s a fairly typical teen romance book, telling the story of a young girl who moves into a town and desperately wants to fit in to her new high school community. In the course of her arrival she identifies various social cliques and tries to decide the folks with whom she wants to build relationships. Then she meets a guy and they fall in love. The End. Pretty innocuous stuff, except for one problem.

He’s a vampire. Undead. Immortal and unliving.

So at what age should a kid start to read such fare? I had no idea. So, I read the book (a review will follow, at some point) and decided to let her read it. She’s in the middle of it now and we’ll have a conversation about it when she finishes.

Situation Two:

Unconnected (but not really) was the dreaded conversation about make-up. She’s entering the second semester of the eighth grade and high school is now for her more a reality than a distant dream. (It remains a nightmare for me, of course). So she’s gotten serious about wanting to try out make-up. This subject has come up a few times over the last few years and I’ve developed a pretty good line in response. I would always say “You look so beautiful without make-up, why would you want to cover your pretty face up?” But she’s no longer placated by that line and has now pushed me for a timeline. After some negotiation (she wanted to start wearing make-up today, I wanted her to start in her thirties) we decided that she would start this summer, to give her some time to experiment before high school begins.

I’m not too sure my exact motivations in each of these situations, but in each instance, to some degree, I recognized that I was the one with the greater problem. I don't want her to grow up. So each of these situations has challenged me in the area of letting go. I’ve seen the end result of holding on too long and it's not pretty. I have students in my classes at school whose parents never let them go and they end up at one of two unhealthy extremes. Either they go wild with their newfound freedom, or they bring their parents into my office when I advise them and try to speak with them about some of their life goals. It’s quickly apparent that they don’t distinguish themselves from their parents in any meaningful way.

Operating on the principle that we start with the end result in mind, then we have to cut the (insert metaphor of your choice: aprons strings or umbilical cord) at some point if we want to produce healthy, Godly adults.

On these two particular issues, the time is now.

True feelings

This morning, Squealer wandered through the house shouting my name. When he finally found me he said “Daddy, Scooter called me weird!” Now weird is one of those nebulous words that is highly discouraged, but not actually forbidden in our house. Still, it’s unusual for Scooter to use that term with her brother. But clearly it was a situation that I had to address.

When I went into the living room I found Scooter sitting on the couch reading a book. I said “Scooter, did you really call Squealer weird?”

Without raising an eye she shrugged and said “Somebody had to finally let him know.”

Deep Waters Ahead

Over the last few weeks, I’ve shared some special moments with my kids. With the small perspective that being a parent for 13 years provides, I know that these moments are fleeting. The brevity of childhood hit me years ago, the first afternoon I arrived home from work and Scooter didn’t meet me at the door with a shrieking “Daddy’s Home!!!!”

What I’ve long known in the abstract I’ve now witnessed in the concrete: kids grow up. Even worse, my kids grow up. So over the course of the last month, I’ve had three experiences that I know won’t last much longer. I feel like I’m walking from the shallow end of my kid’s childhood to the deep end of the pool where teen years and adulthood lie in wait. My toes can still touch the bottom, but not for much longer.

We’ve recently wrapped up soccer for the second season and the kids all loved it. But unlike last year, Squealer seemed to finally get the point of the game this year. He scored his first goal in his first game. A writhing, amazing shot as he fell down under a heap of defenders. As he scored the goal, simultaneously falling face first to the ground, he laid on his stomach with one fist raised victoriously in the air. His eyes met mine and he scrambled up and sprinted toward me on the sideline and gave me an enormous hug. Thus it started a trend. Whenever he scored a goal this season (a not uncommon occurrence, given his mother’s athletic abilities) he sprinted toward the sidelines and hugged me. It made me hope for high scoring games.

Skeeter recently, out of the blue, asked me a question I hadn’t heard in years “Daddy, can you rock me tonight?” And so, for the first time in a good two or three years, she crawled up into my lap (much smaller now than it used to be) and we rocked, although her feet were practically touching the ground. He face was in the crook of my arm as we sang and talked and pretty soon I felt moisture on my arm. Realizing she was crying, I asked her what was wrong. She said “I don’t want to go away to college. I want to stay here with you and Mom.” So of course, not only was my arm wet, but soon her hair as well. I don’t know how many more times I’ll get to rock her, but such moments too are disappearing. And of course, when the day comes for her to leave for college, I’ll be the one wishing she could stay while she’ll be the one looking forward to new adventures.

Scooter is the biggest and the oldest, neither hugging Dad in public nor rocking with him in private. But she still gets happy when I’m able to stop by her school for lunch. She likes it when I sit with her and her friends at the lunch table and they explain to me again all of the intricacies of early teen life. She rolls her eyes at my corny jokes and turns beet red in front of her friends when I display my attempts at cool lingo “Between us, let’s keep it on the ‘LD” or “That new group is really on the chain!” But her face lights up whenever I get the chance to come by and she gives me a quick peck on the cheek goodbye when her friends are safely around the corner.

But I can see changes coming. Squealer will one day celebrate goals with high fives instead of hugs and Skeeter will ask me for gas money instead of time in the rocking chair. Scooter will beg me to take her off campus to lunch instead of eating around her friends. But I’ll treasure these moments and I’ll miss them at the same time.

My feet can still touch the bottom, but not for much longer.

In which I take an unprovoked shot at my brother…

who as we speak can’t defend himself because he’s sitting in the dark in Houston


Last night on the trampoline:

Scooter: "Daddy? What purpose do mosquitoes serve? Why are they here?"

Me: "Scooter, I’m sure mosquitoes serve some purpose in God’s creation, but their reason for existence completely eludes me…sort of like your Uncle Bartolo."


Scooter:"Daddy! If Uncle Bartolo heard you say that he'd cry."

To the Four Winds...

Life has (yet again) accelerated around our household. For the first time in thirteen years, each of our kids is in school. Scooter occupies the Alpha position in middle school as an eighth-grader, the queen of all she surveys. Peasant sixth graders cower in her presence. Skeeter is in the same position as a fifth grader in elementary school, at the pinnacle of the heap. At the other end of the food chain is Squealer, a small kindergartener who is still adjusting to this new (and exhilarating) world outside our household.

Having three kids at three different schools has stretched our meager planning and scheduling skills to the breaking point. Mornings begin early and race by. Scooter heads to the front yard at 6:59 am for her 7:00 bus stop. (Yes, I’m mostly over my first impression from a couple of years ago). After much prayer and anguish, we decided to let Squealer ride the bus. This concerned us, because with his diminutive size (and his giftedness in bothering people) we were concerned about him being tossed out one of the bus windows. But after an extended phone conversation with the bus driver (and the reality of his school being some distance from our home) we decided to give it a shot. He too must be at a bus stop for a 7:00 am pick up, about a mile from our house. Skeeter leaves the house at 7:30 via bike. Her school is .9 miles from our home and you must be 1 mile away to ride the bus. So despite the fact that she must cross a pretty major thoroughfare, we decided to take the plunge and let her ride. She loves the responsibility and freedom that a bike gives her.

So every morning, our three kids are scattered to the four winds. A bike, two buses and a multitude of prayers fan out across our community every morning. And we are reminded again that they are in His hands.

Exactly where they've been all along.

Overheard During Obama's Acceptance Speech

(The kids aren't really into politics, but because it is a memorable speech, I encouraged them to stay up and listen to Obama's acceptance speech).

Obama: "the same party that brought you two terms of George Bush and Dick Cheney will ask this country for a third. And we are here because we love this country too much to let the next four years look like the last eight. On November 4th, we must stand up and say: "Eight is enough."

Scooter: "Oooooo?! Did you hear what he said about President Bush?"

Skeeter: "Was that a slam?"

Scooter: "Uhhhh...yeah"

Skeeter: "Well, I hope the President wasn't watching."

From Bonnets to Earrings...

At 10:22 on July 27 of 1995, my first child was born. Months of worry and a lifetime of prayers had led to that moment. I recall vividly in the early hours of the following morning that I sat and gently rocked her, long after the nurses had left and Kadie had finally succumbed to the fatigue of the day and the long night. (I also recall the Texas Rangers snapping an eight game losing streak, but that's not important right now).

So I was the only one in the room, rocking my newborn when the pediatrician came in to give her a check up. He was in his early forties, not too much older than I am today. He paused for a moment as he saw me rock her and he smiled and said “Tomorrow she’s going to be all grown up.”

I considered strangling him on the spot.

But he’s now been proved right. As of yesterday evening, we now have a teenager in the house. May God have mercy on our souls.

Kadie took her to get her ears pierced this weekend. Scooter has been looking forward to that rite of passage for most of her thirteen years. When she would ask why she couldn’t get them pierced any earlier, I always would respond “Because you will have the rest of your life to be a grown up. You can be a little kid for awhile longer.”

After they returned from the mall, she came up to me in the living room, pulled her hair back to display her new earrings and said “How do I look Daddy?”

For just a moment when I looked at her, all I could see was:

"You look beautiful, honey, just like you always have."

Soccer Finale

Like a meteorite streaking across the fall sky, soccer season has now come and gone. The kids played their last games on Saturday. Squealer’s team performed exceptionally well. It’s interesting to note that some kids just seem to “get it” at an earlier age than others. I’d guess that 95% of the goals were scored by about 4% of the kids. Squealer’s team had one kid who got it and she scored 4 or 5 goals a game. The other kids scored only when the mob of kids happened to migrate into a net. Squealer scored a couple of goals throughout the season, but spent a lot of his time zoning out on both butter and dragon flies.

Strangely, right after his final game, he was stung by a bee. I tried to comfort him by explaining the impressive symmetry that the bee sting brought to the season, bookending his and Scooter’s experiences with soccer, but he didn’t find much succor in that.

Scooter’s team was beaten day in and day out throughout the season. There were three teams in her league and the other two teams just beat on her team relentlessly. They lost all their games. She had a blast though, manning (?!) the defender’s position and blasting out soccer balls whenever they came her way.

Skeeter’s team performed well. We (for I am an assistant coach on this team) played the much hated Red team for our final game. We had played them in our initial game and they pasted us 5 to 1. They then went undefeated the rest of the season. Shockingly, we also went undefeated, although we had one tie game.

In this final game we scored two quick goals and then managed to hold onto a 2-1 win over the fearsome Red team. After the game, the opposing coach told me that our two defenders (back guarding the goal) were the difference. “Every time we got back there, one of those two little girls would clear the ball out. They were the difference in the game.” Needless to say, Skeeter was one of those two. Because of our tie, the hated Red team won first place.

Final Thoughts:

1. It was worth it. Trying to watch three kids playing on three different fields at three different times was often a pain, but they all enjoyed it.

2. A church league offers just a slight reduction in the insanity level of parents. I suspect that it doesn’t happen all the time, this leagues was a good choice.

3. The cheesy pablum often offered up about team sports is true. It’s good for kids to work with other kids toward a competitive goal. The children learned a lot and I suspect we’ll be doing it again next year.

Frogs and Doughnuts

“The frog jumped off the log and onto the blue lily pad” said a serious voice.


I wasn’t sure what to do with that information.

Kadie was on the other end of the phone, driving home from picking up Squealer from his preschool program.

“Hmmm” I replied, trying to match the gravity in her voice.

“You have no idea what that means, do you?”

Silence.

Finally, I said “Nope” popping the “p” as much like Black Adder as I possibly could.

She sighed wearily, reminded yet again about how often she must explain things to the other four members of the household, and with a voice of resignation said “All the kids in Squealer’s class have frogs with their names on them sitting on a log. When the kids misbehave, their frog jumps onto a blue lily-pad. If the kid continues to misbehave, the frog next jumps onto the red lily pad and a note goes home to their parents.”

A few minutes before, Squealer had gotten into the car and announced to his Mom that his frog “fell off the log” and onto the blue lily pad. I loved how he described the frog as “falling off,” thus absolving himself from all blame by characterizing himself as a helpless pawn who is merely the passive recipient of universal forces far beyond his ken.

As punishment, we grounded him from Words World.

{In an unrelated note, whenever Squealer gets out of his bed at night and starts roaming the house, Scooter normally sees him first. When she sees him she announces in an official sounding voice “The jelly has left the doughnut.” I’m unsure where she first heard this, but it never fails to induce laughter from me.}

The Thrill of Victory...

Soccer Round-Up

Squealer:

Squealer’s and Scooter’s games were at the same time, so we ended up running back and forth between them. I had Squealer duty first and saw him score his first goal!!!!!! Or rather to say, that he was at the head of the scrum that migrated into the goal along with the ball (and about three of the kids).

His team was superior to their opponents only by virtue of the fact that they were a little older and thus concentrated on the game the whole time. The other team was quickly distracted and would only have three of the four kids going after the ball at any given time. Squealer ended the game in goal, although the ball spent the entire time down at the other end of the field (pitch?). I was behind him in the goal as a helicopter parent, trying to keep him interested in the game. The game ended without the other team even shooting at his goal while he was goalie. He was quite sad and lamented “I didn’t get to play.”

By far the most excitement of the game was afterwards when there were snacks. When the coach announced that there were snacks, there went up a tremendous cry and they assaulted the mother who was unfortunate enough to have drawn snack duty for game one. While he ate his snack, Squealer was bitten by an ant in an, uhhh uncomfortable and private place that necessitated a trip to the doctor’s office today (he’s fine).

Scooter:

I didn’t catch as much of her game, but she played very well as a defender during the time I watched. She cleared the ball out from her end of the field (pitch?) on numerous occasions and her team won 3 to 1. The low point of the game came right after she went in and I was distracted talking to Skeeter. When I looked back out there I saw that she was crying and clutching her thigh. I yelled at her (while the game was ongoing) and asked her what was wrong. She told me that a bee had just bitten her on her leg.

When she came off she was crying hard (it was her first bee sting). Through tears she said “Well, at least it died.(sniff, sniff)” I said “Did you kill it?” Through her tears she rolled her eyes and said “Daddy, everyone knows that a bee dies after it stings you.” Ummm..right, I certainly knew that, though entymology was not foremost in my mind with a weeping daughter.

Skeeter:

We were smoked. Destroyed utterly. Due no doubt to excessively poor coaching we were pummeled 4 to 2. Skeeter played well and aggressively. A pall was cast over the team when one of the coach’s daughters took a wicked shot to the mouth by soccer ball. It was apocalyptic as she bit her tongue and blood flowed as high as a horse's bridle profusely. The little girl is Skeeter’s best friend and Skeeter was sad for the rest of the day. (Although she is also doing better today).

All in all, I think the following video summarizes our day.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nPk_IZ44DMc

Unmasked

Scooter loves to read. She is a literary omnivore, devouring most genres and always on the lookout for something new. Scooter enjoys sharing the contents of what she’s reading at all times. Whenever something amuses her she shares it.

She also loves stories about animals (doesn’t every 11 year old girl?) and has recently been working her way through Chicken Soup for the Petlover’s Soul. (Though not pet lovers of chickens apparently. I’ve chosen at this time not to point out to her the irony of the book title which certainly implies boiling poultry).

At lunch yesterday, she shared with me some cheesy story from the book about a boy and a lion and God, as I listened absently. When she finished the story I chuckled amusingly condescendingly and said something like “That’s a cute story.”

Then she dropped the hammer: “You have two laughs, Daddy.”

I was immediately surprised and it caused me to laugh. “See, that’s your real laugh.” she said. What’s the difference I asked? “I dunno, but I can tell when you’re not really laughing and when you really are.”

She then asked “Why do you laugh at the story if you don’t think it’s funny?” On this rare occasion I decided be truthful. “Ummmm…honestly, I guess I laugh because you think it’s funny and I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

She considered this for a moment and then said “I guess so, but I know what your fake laugh sounds like. So now when you fake laugh, it will hurt my feelings.”

So apparently my condescending artifice has been uncovered. I will have to be a lot more self-conscious from now on. But on the plus side, she will be able to tell when I fake laugh at other people…

On the Way Home From School

(Digging around some old files a few days ago, I came across this from about two years ago. Scooter would've been in the fourth grade.)



Scene: In the Saturn VUE on the way home from school…

Dad: “So, Scooter, what happened at school today?”

Scooter: “I was playing Connect Four with Josh. I made my last move and Josh looked over at me and said ‘You are a pathetic fool.’ Then he put in the last checker and won the game.”

SILENCE

Dad: “And then what did you do?”

Scooter: “Sir? Oh I just cried and told the teacher.”

Dad: “I think that’s what I would’ve done too.”

SILENCE

Skeeter: “Can we get an ICEE?”

"Snow" by Scooter

Because it is winter,

I am falling, but the wind catches me

It is then when I realize I am not alone

I see all of the other flakes dance around me

The wind moves me with my tiny particles

I skid and land on a bush with a blanket on top

A deer eats berries and carries me on its back

As the deer moves faster, I am pelted onto a leaf

But now I am falling, falling to the ground

It's a Girl!!!!

On July 27, 1995 my life changed forever. On that day I became a father to a daughter. Scooter entered our world and not much of the world has remained the same. In addition to the typical changes I expected: wailing and crying, projectile vomiting, volatile mood swings (and that was me!) I underwent one change that I never expected.

I caught a glimpse of the world through female eyes.

On those evening when I was rocking her to sleep or walking her around the neighborhood, I realized how gender-specific my viewpoints had been. I began to wonder about the larger world and what it has to say to and about women. I began, to take one example, viewing beer commercials a bit differently. I found myself thinking “These women were once someone’s little girl.”

On those occasions when I advise female students, I think about how Scooter and Skeeter will one day be seeking advice and guidance from a professor in college.

I have also become more sensitive to how men talk about their wives, especially in public. Whenever I hear a disparaging or hurtful joke from a husband, I cringe and wonder what is said in private. I think that becoming a father to a daughter has made me a better husband.

It has also affected my preaching. I have often used Mother’s Day as an opportunity to have honest dialogue about the role of women in the New Testament and in the church today. Such conversation is necessary because the church has all too often become a place of difficulty and pain for many women.

Some of my interest has filtered through the blog a bit. The most-searched phrase that has brought people here is “minister’s wives” going back to this entry. I take it as a point of pride that at least one Christian women’s group links to this blog. I also expressed my concern about the view of women by society here.

All of these things are reflected in my concern for Dr. Klouda and her family.

I wish that Dr. Klouda and her husband were not going through this difficult time. But I especially regret that her daughter has to go through this. In the ABP article, Klouda is quoted as saying:

As a mother, Klouda said, she teaches her daughter to “think for herself” and
“look at what God’s Word says in light of herself.” But that doesn’t always
assuage the feelings of the 15-year-old who had to switch schools during her
teens because of the family's move.

“She’s a young person and has her own opinions,” Klouda said. “To her it’s just an injustice. She thinks it’s unfair. She thinks it’s wrong. She thinks this should have not happened. She thinks, ‘They ruined my life too….’” “I just don’t see how the decision was really thought through about the implications for me and my family,” she said. “It was really a decision made on principle, but it didn’t take into consideration many other factors."

Shortly after Scooter’s birth, my Methodist aunt gave me a sweatshirt with the logo from the picture above. She gave it to me, certain I would never wear it because I would find it too offensive. But I’ve worn it with much pride and enjoyment. She thinks it’s subversive, but it actually reflects paternal pride. The greatest gifts I have ever received are my kids and my first two are girls.

Above all, what concerns me about the Klouda affair is what it says about the SBC’s view toward women in general. I do not believe that women should be pastors, but I believe passionately that women will continue to contribute greatly to the cause of Christ long after the last SBC church has closed its doors.

Wrestling Injury

Our girls are as different as the constituent parts of an Oreo cookie. Broadly speaking, Scooter possesses empathy in abundance and Skeeter is a little more independent. I’ve mentioned already Scooter’s new experiences this school year riding the bus. When she rides away (it stops right in front of our house) she likes to see us waving and giving her the “I love you” sign with our hands. Skeeter, on the other hand, never looks back once we drop her off at school. She hits the pavement and is focused on school and the rest of us disappear from her little world.

A few days before Christmas, I foolishly agreed to another wrestling night. Things were progressing along well when Skeeter executed a perfectly good axe-kick that caught my extended thumb and drove it straight down towards my wrist. I, like most homo sapiens, possess an opposable thumb--but not in that direction.

I immediately yelped in pain and jumped to my feet. Squealer, not fully understanding what was going on, (or maybe, less charitably, not caring what was going on) immediately began a second attack. I told Squealer that we had to wait a few minutes before Daddy’s hand felt like playing again. Scooter knew that I was hurt and immediately burst into tears because she could see the obvious pain on my face. Even though she had nothing to do with the injury, she could tell that her Daddy was hurt and it caused her to cry.

But as soon as I said “Let’s take a few minutes so that Daddy’s hand will feel better” Squealer, who had actually injured me, shouted “Woo-Hoo! Water break!!” and ran into the kitchen to get a drink.

Scooter Conversation

Due to an evening meeting, I was able to come home early in the afternoon yesterday. When I walked in the door at three, Scooter was already there:

Scooter: "DADDY! You're home early!!!!"

Taran (pleased with her excitement): "Yes, I got off work early today!!"

Scooter: "Did you get fired?????"

Taran: "Thanks kid. Thanks a lot."