I am a card-carrying member of the male gender. In order to keep my man card, I've prided myself on being a critic of important things in life like, say, who the best overall player in the NBA is (Kevin Durant, of course) and why the Carolina rig far outfishes the Texas rig for bass. Well, tonight is the Academy Awards, and a huge part of the Oscars is the red carpet, or so I've been told. For other men like me who don't know, the red carpet is famous for hits and busts. My wife and her college roomate used to watch the red carpet walk every year and talk about which dresses were flattering, and which ones were, well, just plain bad. Wanting to bond with my wife tonight, I had the great idea to rate dresses with her on two separate ballots and compare notes. Amazingly, we agreed in many instances. We used a simple 1-10 rating system which allowed for comments. On this blog you won't hear official dress terms unless I learned them tonight (like the "peplum" which looks like a belly fat flap to a guy,) but you will read a real cave man's professional perspective of something he knows absolutely nothing about. So with respect to Bjork and her dead Canadian goose dress, here's the best and worst of the red carpet, 2012.
Top 5
1. Natalie Portman-9.5
Donning a sparkling diamond necklace, Natalie was wearing a red dress from some famous designer with a French name I think. Whatever it was, it was stunning, classy, making her look even more beautiful than when she was in her wedding dress at the end of Star Wars, Episode II. But then again, she would probably look beautiful in a meat suit.
2. Milla Jovovich- 9.3
All I wrote down in my notes was, "Wow!" so I had to go to the internet to get details. Her dress was by Elie Saab, who also makes a great French car that sells poorly in America. Was the dress white? Was it silver? I don't know, but I know it was very beautiful on her because it contrasted well with her dark hair and dark red lipstick, especially with that sexy thing she does with her eyes. She knew she had it going on.
3. Penelope Cruz- 9.0
Penelope is another actress who would probably look stunning in just about anything she wears, but she knocked it out of the park with her greyish-purplish flowing dress. The off-the-shoulder sleeve thingies were classy, and the dress flowed plainly, yet elegantly like freshly fallen snow on a mountainous landscape on Christmas morning. Yeah, it's safe to say that I liked her dress.
4. Viola Davis- 8.5
It seems that green was in this year, and nobody did green better than Viola. Though I have no idea who she is, she was stunning in a dress which was strapless, form-fitting in the middle, and flowy on the bottom. Viola's dress was the first one I judged and it stood as the base to compare all other dresses. Plus, emerald green is my favorite color.
5. Gwyneth Paltrow- 8
White and tight. Gwyneth can get away with it even with the Tarzan shoulder strap because she wore an overcoat of the same color that looked like a cape. Man, I'm not making her sound very attractive right now, but Superman was awesome and he had a cape, and so is Gwyneth. I personally think the cape should make a comeback. I would wear a cape.
Bottom 5
1. Judy Greer- 2.5
Judy was wearing a silver skid mark on a black dress. The tread pattern of the tire used to run over her dress wasn't very aggressive, so I wouldn't trust it in mud or on a snowy day, with or without four-wheel drive. Had her dress been run over by an all-terrain pattern, like the Jeep Pro Comp Xterrain Radial, I would have had much more respect for it.
2. J Lo- 3.0
Ms. Lopez, please leave something to the imagination. Sorry gentlemen, no links on this blog.
3. Anna Faris- 3.6
I was told that they were black sequins, but it looked just like a rubber suit I wore my ninth-grade year during wrestling practice when I had to cut five pounds before regionals the next day. Had she worn her outfit from The House Bunny it would have been a vast improvement.
4. Emma Stone- 3.99
A red flowing dress would be beautiful enough, but it had one major problem: the big red bow around her neck that her dress' designer took off the Jaguar he gave his wife as a Christmas present. Imagine being a dress designer. You have a beautiful dress and you ask yourself, "What little modification can I make to totally ruin this dress?" Voila! A bow!
5. Kristen Wiig- 4.0
Where to begin? The dress she dons is the color of wood. The top half is actually made of wood which looked like the checker board I made for my brother in 7th grade wood shop. The bottom half is plumey, like the tail of a peacock who woke up with bed head.
***As a post script, my wife would have looked far better than any of these women in any of their dresses.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Saturday, February 18, 2012
15 Years. 5 Months. A Block of Wood
It's hard to believe that it's been fifteen years since God called his servant Amie Montgomerie home. I'd be remiss not to make mention of the anniversary of her death yesterday. It marked such a transformative time in my life. It was a time in my life when I was lost. It was after hearing her remarkable story that I rededicated my life to the Lord, so I am forever grateful that God gave her to us, even if it was for such a short period of time.
I believe with all my heart that nothing happens arbitrarily, that God has purpose in everything he does, and though I would like it to be like that scene in Bruce Almighty where Jim Carey's character is playing God and he answers "yes" to all prayer request e-mails, I know it just doesn't happen that way. One husband prays for a healthy organ for his ailing wife while another husband prays his wife, an organ donor, doesn't die after the accident. One prayer will be answered thankfully, one prayer will seemingly be discarded. To know the will of God. I felt that strong will when Amie died, and it didn't take me long to regret cursing God for allowing one of his angels on earth to be overcome by such evil murderers. That's why I swore I would accept God's will last September when Dad was in ICU. I knew it didn't look good, and I did try bargaining with God, praying such sentiments like, "God, if you pull Dad out, it will be another one of your miracles that people will be able look at and not be able to deny your existence, much less your supreme authority." If only Bruce Almighty had been ruling fifteen years ago. Five months ago. Alas it was not so, but thankfully I have seen the error of my ways and accepted what God knows to be his perfect will. As tough as it is to accept sometimes, and as hard as it is sometimes to live after a loved one passes, I know God's will is perfect and good shall come about through Dad's death, just like it did with me when Amie died. Still, days like today make it hard.
Three weeks ago my elder son was given a block of wood, four nails, and four plastic wheels and told to make a car. From the moment I signed my son up for Boy Scouts, I had been looking forward to a little father-son bonding time, which I got with him. But I was also looking forward to the phone calls with Dad, asking him questions about the laws of physics, how to calculate the center of gravity, how to turn potential energy into kinetic energy. These are the kinds of things for which he would have had answers, and he would have loved educating me every bit as much as I loved educating my own son through the process. It seems to me from a son's perspective that this was what he lived for, so I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised that I feel the same pride as a Dad. I know God felt it for his Son.
I believe with all my heart that nothing happens arbitrarily, that God has purpose in everything he does, and though I would like it to be like that scene in Bruce Almighty where Jim Carey's character is playing God and he answers "yes" to all prayer request e-mails, I know it just doesn't happen that way. One husband prays for a healthy organ for his ailing wife while another husband prays his wife, an organ donor, doesn't die after the accident. One prayer will be answered thankfully, one prayer will seemingly be discarded. To know the will of God. I felt that strong will when Amie died, and it didn't take me long to regret cursing God for allowing one of his angels on earth to be overcome by such evil murderers. That's why I swore I would accept God's will last September when Dad was in ICU. I knew it didn't look good, and I did try bargaining with God, praying such sentiments like, "God, if you pull Dad out, it will be another one of your miracles that people will be able look at and not be able to deny your existence, much less your supreme authority." If only Bruce Almighty had been ruling fifteen years ago. Five months ago. Alas it was not so, but thankfully I have seen the error of my ways and accepted what God knows to be his perfect will. As tough as it is to accept sometimes, and as hard as it is sometimes to live after a loved one passes, I know God's will is perfect and good shall come about through Dad's death, just like it did with me when Amie died. Still, days like today make it hard.
Three weeks ago my elder son was given a block of wood, four nails, and four plastic wheels and told to make a car. From the moment I signed my son up for Boy Scouts, I had been looking forward to a little father-son bonding time, which I got with him. But I was also looking forward to the phone calls with Dad, asking him questions about the laws of physics, how to calculate the center of gravity, how to turn potential energy into kinetic energy. These are the kinds of things for which he would have had answers, and he would have loved educating me every bit as much as I loved educating my own son through the process. It seems to me from a son's perspective that this was what he lived for, so I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised that I feel the same pride as a Dad. I know God felt it for his Son.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Just Like Me
"I only saw him years later, when he was worn down by life. Look at him. He's got his whole life in front of him, and I'm not even a glint in his eye." "Ray Kinsella" from Field of Dreams.
In a movie full of famous quotes ("Ray, people will come Ray,") this wasn't one of Kevin Costner's most memorable lines, but it's one that has resonated with me tonight. To put the quote above in its proper context, Kevin Costner plays a character named Ray Kinsella, a man with many regrets in his life, but none bigger than breaking off his relationship with the father that didn't understand him. His father dies before he could make up with him, and from somewhere deep within, Ray hears a voice. This voice convinces him to build a baseball field of all things, then take an Odyssey into the unknown, a path wrought with strain of every kind imaginable until he stands face-to-face with his father-- that is the younger version of his father who, like many other ghosts of baseball past, have found their way onto Ray's baseball field for a second chance.
So as he stands down the basepath staring at his father, overcome with emotion, he has a revelation that his father wasn't always... old.
My own dad told my brother and me, when we were old enough to start thinking seriously about getting into trouble, that whenever we had a stupid thought run through our heads, to think better of it, because whatever trouble we were thinking of getting in, he had already done it. Dad rarely got into specifics, but it was a message that was usually well-received, sometimes shrugged off, and from time-to-time ignored completely.
You see, I only knew Dad from the time he was 25 until his passing this fall at the too-early age of 61. When you figure in eleven years of my growth from infancy, by the time my brain started telling me it was okay to run down to the creek in mid-January and use a shovel to bust the ice to go ice fishing, my dad was 36 years old. That is, old enough to have little desire to repeat youthful indiscretions.
Just like me.
The Dad I knew was Army-hardened. He was faithful, never skipping a day of work. He was tired at the end of the day because he put in his all. But he still had time to play Superman: play catch with us out in the yard, coach our little league team, take us hunting and fishing. When he did any of this though, wisdom flowed from his few words. Everything had a lesson behind it. Everything was spoken from a mentor's point-of-view. Dad wasn't a hell raiser. He drove us around in a station wagon and Old Blue, his 1974 Chevy pickup, and took his time in doing so. He rarely got excited, rarely let his emotions show, never acted immature.
Pretty much just like me.
So when he gave us the vague warnings about his experiences, I, as I assume my brother did as well, let it slip in one ear and out the other. Boldness led to wrecklessness. Knuckleheadedness prevailed, and I turned from a boy to an adolescent who needed to see why the green slime on a lake's spillway is slick. Why you don't point a bb gun at a girl's foot (sorry Kelda.) Why you don't roll a tire down 5th Street hill into traffic. Why you don't egg and shaving cream the back of a church. Why you don't try to catch a Mississippi Kite with a fishing pole.
I had never truly believed that Dad was just like me.
Tonight Providence brought to me one of Dad's childhood friends. In town on a business trip, this gentleman who referred to my Dad as his older brother, had lived next door to Dad growing up. He was able to relay some stories about Dad that I was never to see in the man I looked up to. About him playing Huck Finn with a borrowed rowboat and capsizing on the Arkansas River. About stealing watermelons and blasting fish from the water with M-80s. Fast cars and football. Basically all the things that I would have done (and some of which I did do) when I was a kid, trying to learn the ways of this world.
Though it still hurts, and though I know I will never completely get over the loss, it does help bring a smile to my face to know that Dad was just like me.
In a movie full of famous quotes ("Ray, people will come Ray,") this wasn't one of Kevin Costner's most memorable lines, but it's one that has resonated with me tonight. To put the quote above in its proper context, Kevin Costner plays a character named Ray Kinsella, a man with many regrets in his life, but none bigger than breaking off his relationship with the father that didn't understand him. His father dies before he could make up with him, and from somewhere deep within, Ray hears a voice. This voice convinces him to build a baseball field of all things, then take an Odyssey into the unknown, a path wrought with strain of every kind imaginable until he stands face-to-face with his father-- that is the younger version of his father who, like many other ghosts of baseball past, have found their way onto Ray's baseball field for a second chance.
So as he stands down the basepath staring at his father, overcome with emotion, he has a revelation that his father wasn't always... old.
My own dad told my brother and me, when we were old enough to start thinking seriously about getting into trouble, that whenever we had a stupid thought run through our heads, to think better of it, because whatever trouble we were thinking of getting in, he had already done it. Dad rarely got into specifics, but it was a message that was usually well-received, sometimes shrugged off, and from time-to-time ignored completely.
You see, I only knew Dad from the time he was 25 until his passing this fall at the too-early age of 61. When you figure in eleven years of my growth from infancy, by the time my brain started telling me it was okay to run down to the creek in mid-January and use a shovel to bust the ice to go ice fishing, my dad was 36 years old. That is, old enough to have little desire to repeat youthful indiscretions.
Just like me.
The Dad I knew was Army-hardened. He was faithful, never skipping a day of work. He was tired at the end of the day because he put in his all. But he still had time to play Superman: play catch with us out in the yard, coach our little league team, take us hunting and fishing. When he did any of this though, wisdom flowed from his few words. Everything had a lesson behind it. Everything was spoken from a mentor's point-of-view. Dad wasn't a hell raiser. He drove us around in a station wagon and Old Blue, his 1974 Chevy pickup, and took his time in doing so. He rarely got excited, rarely let his emotions show, never acted immature.
Pretty much just like me.
So when he gave us the vague warnings about his experiences, I, as I assume my brother did as well, let it slip in one ear and out the other. Boldness led to wrecklessness. Knuckleheadedness prevailed, and I turned from a boy to an adolescent who needed to see why the green slime on a lake's spillway is slick. Why you don't point a bb gun at a girl's foot (sorry Kelda.) Why you don't roll a tire down 5th Street hill into traffic. Why you don't egg and shaving cream the back of a church. Why you don't try to catch a Mississippi Kite with a fishing pole.
I had never truly believed that Dad was just like me.
Tonight Providence brought to me one of Dad's childhood friends. In town on a business trip, this gentleman who referred to my Dad as his older brother, had lived next door to Dad growing up. He was able to relay some stories about Dad that I was never to see in the man I looked up to. About him playing Huck Finn with a borrowed rowboat and capsizing on the Arkansas River. About stealing watermelons and blasting fish from the water with M-80s. Fast cars and football. Basically all the things that I would have done (and some of which I did do) when I was a kid, trying to learn the ways of this world.
Though it still hurts, and though I know I will never completely get over the loss, it does help bring a smile to my face to know that Dad was just like me.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Coping
How does a man cope with his father's death?
Just a few weeks ago I was in a hospital room, sitting down in a chair across from my father with my brother at my side. Hunters as we were, we were talking about rifle scopes, retelling stories of great shots that we had told before. That's when the topic turned to snipers. My father, just having had either a stroke or what the doctor diagnosed as merely Bells Palsy, mentioned to me in his slurred voice that if I was interested in learning more about snipers, he had three books on the bottom shelf of his bookshelf in the basement. I was leaving to head back to my family that very afternoon, having been given assurance from the doctor that Dad was well on the way to recovery. I had considered making a stop at the house on the way out of town and picking up one of those books, but haste compelled me to gas up and head home so that I could have time to rest up that evening for another day of school the next morning. Little did I know that my father would be on life support less than forty-eight hours later.
After the funeral, it was time to consider heading back to my life. On the way out of the house, I excused myself and went downstairs. It was Dad's final request of me, and I could not let him down. I chose the first one of the three that I saw, Dear Mom: A Sniper's VietNam by J.T. Ward. I took it home and opened it. It was incredibly hard to get through the first line without crying. It's not that the first line was a heartbreaker, but there was something there which caused me agonizing pain. Perhaps it was my link Dad's experience in boot camp, since I couldn't ask him questions about his time in the Army anymore. Perhaps it was the fact that this was Dad's book and I was reading what he once had in his hands. I have a picture of Dad in my mind, sitting on the couch in his spot night-after-night, reading his books. To that end, he had over 500 books on war on his bookshelf from which to pick, and more boxed up on the floor.
I eventually made it through that first line and only put the book down when sleep or school forced me to. Though I don't know J.T. Ward at all, I could feel myself living this man's military life and his war experiences, and somehow it kept Dad alive for me. I finished it about thirty minutes ago. The only problem was that whenever I had questions, Dad was just a phone call away. So many questions went unanswered.
So now I am left feeling empty inside. When I go back to Mom's house, I will replace Dear Mom with the second book Dad spoke of and see if there is something in it that can keep Dad's memory alive for me. I try to end each blog post with some type of morale, platitude, or upbeat statement, but right now I still have the same hole in my heart that I had a few weeks ago when Dad passed. I'm not sure it will ever be filled. I'm just afraid of what won't happen when I finish all three books.
Just a few weeks ago I was in a hospital room, sitting down in a chair across from my father with my brother at my side. Hunters as we were, we were talking about rifle scopes, retelling stories of great shots that we had told before. That's when the topic turned to snipers. My father, just having had either a stroke or what the doctor diagnosed as merely Bells Palsy, mentioned to me in his slurred voice that if I was interested in learning more about snipers, he had three books on the bottom shelf of his bookshelf in the basement. I was leaving to head back to my family that very afternoon, having been given assurance from the doctor that Dad was well on the way to recovery. I had considered making a stop at the house on the way out of town and picking up one of those books, but haste compelled me to gas up and head home so that I could have time to rest up that evening for another day of school the next morning. Little did I know that my father would be on life support less than forty-eight hours later.
After the funeral, it was time to consider heading back to my life. On the way out of the house, I excused myself and went downstairs. It was Dad's final request of me, and I could not let him down. I chose the first one of the three that I saw, Dear Mom: A Sniper's VietNam by J.T. Ward. I took it home and opened it. It was incredibly hard to get through the first line without crying. It's not that the first line was a heartbreaker, but there was something there which caused me agonizing pain. Perhaps it was my link Dad's experience in boot camp, since I couldn't ask him questions about his time in the Army anymore. Perhaps it was the fact that this was Dad's book and I was reading what he once had in his hands. I have a picture of Dad in my mind, sitting on the couch in his spot night-after-night, reading his books. To that end, he had over 500 books on war on his bookshelf from which to pick, and more boxed up on the floor.
I eventually made it through that first line and only put the book down when sleep or school forced me to. Though I don't know J.T. Ward at all, I could feel myself living this man's military life and his war experiences, and somehow it kept Dad alive for me. I finished it about thirty minutes ago. The only problem was that whenever I had questions, Dad was just a phone call away. So many questions went unanswered.
So now I am left feeling empty inside. When I go back to Mom's house, I will replace Dear Mom with the second book Dad spoke of and see if there is something in it that can keep Dad's memory alive for me. I try to end each blog post with some type of morale, platitude, or upbeat statement, but right now I still have the same hole in my heart that I had a few weeks ago when Dad passed. I'm not sure it will ever be filled. I'm just afraid of what won't happen when I finish all three books.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Dad
Dad was a husband, a father, a son, a brother, a mentor, and a friend.
He was a teacher and not just a jack of all trades, but a “master” of all trades. He was knowledgeable about everything that is practical because he had many people who taught him how to do things early on, and the rest he read about. To that end, he has over 500 books he read just on the topic of war on his bookshelf he built in his shop.
Two of his philosophies that he spoke of quite often was, “Do it right the first time, or don’t do it at all.” And “The process to learning is to watch it, do it, then teach it.” He spent his life teaching his kids how to do things. Towards the end of his life he enjoyed teaching his grandsons how things worked.
Whenever we kids needed help with anything, we would call him up and he would walk us through it. If we still couldn’t figure it out, he would come over on the weekend to help us out. He found his greatest satisfaction in helping out his children. He always had answers because his kids always had questions. Auto mechanics, plumbing, electricity, carpentry, algebra, and how to turn on a fastball. We watched the Super Bowl together every year until just a few years ago, but he was sure to talk with me before the game anyways, give me his insights on who was going to win.
Dad didn’t enjoy art much, but he loved the art of playing the guitar. He never had a single lesson in his life, but taught himself to play by sounding out the melody of a particular song and playing it note-by-note until he could play the whole song. When I wanted to learn how to play the guitar, the first two songs he taught me to play were “Taps” and “Amazing Grace”.
He swore he wasn’t going to coach our little league teams because he didn’t want to be the one to explain to parents why certain kids played more than others, yet when they needed a coach, he couldn’t resist. He was by far the best coach Chris and I ever had, high school and college included.
He was an expert in:
-Football, and especially what the Kansas City Chiefs could do to be a better football team.
-Guns- he knew everything there was to know about every known make of gun and every type of ammunition.
-Warfare
-Politics
-Tying knots
- How to throw any kind of ball
He was a Master Inventor:
They say that “necessity is the mother of invention.” Whenever he faced a problem, he invented a tool to fix the problem. He would just see the solution in his head and go create it. A perfect case in point: in the week leading up to his last dove hunt a few weeks ago, he needed a way to sit down and be comfortable since he couldn’t stand very well anymore. He welded some angle iron together, bolted a piece of plywood to it, then ran a few long bolts through the back end. Everybody looked at it from every angle and couldn’t figure it out until he put it on the ball hitch of his vehicle and sucked the nuts down on the bolts. It worked perfectly and he was able to sit on his “ball hitch seat” and comfortably enjoy his last hunt.
He was by far the most dependable man I have ever known.
-Every town has a Gary Shelton. He was always there for anyone who needed him. He might work a 10 hour day, come home and receive a phone call from someone who needed his help and he would be out the door until after sunset. I honestly don’t know what the town is going to do without him.
-He would drive around on snowy days in “Old Blue” his dependable ’74 Chevy pickup and rescue motorists who had slid off the road.
-He never missed his kids’ games. Whether it was football, baseball, wrestling, volleyball, or softball, he would always be there and be proud of his kids’ efforts.
-He never missed work. He never took sick days. When he took his two weeks of vacation in the summer, it was to go to the Cline’s farms to help out with harvest.
-He never missed birthdays or anniversaries and though he wasn’t the best shopper, he always seemed to put so much thought into his gifts that oftentimes the receiver would cry.
Dad had many hobbies.
-Flying remote-controlled airplanes- loved WWII war birds, especially corsairs.
-Flying- he used to take his family up in the air every Sunday afternoon for a “Sunday Fly” which was also good for scouting deer.
-reloading rifle cartridges
-teaching his kids to enjoy the great outdoors
-deer hunting. Archery in his younger years and rifles in his later years.
-dove hunting. Taught Chris and me a lesson we will never forget on Chris’ first dove hunt when, with one shot, he sawed a small tree in half to introduce the concept that “guns are not toys.”
-pheasant hunting with his brothers, boys, and friends. Opening Saturday of pheasant season was a holiday to dad and something we looked forward to every year.
- On snowy days, he would tie a rope to his hitch and a saucer to the other end of the rope and pull his kids down snowy back roads.
Dad had a love for the outdoors.
-It was like a little slice of heaven going fishing for bass out at Tammen’s Ponds in the last 15 years of his life. He got the biggest kick out of the little touches God would show him in nature. For example, a few weeks ago he threw a lure in the water and a large grey heron must have thought it was a frog and went after it. Dad reeled it in as fast as he could and the large bird barely pulled up before flying right into him.
-He found God in the view of a sunrise from a deer stand. When he was in the process of hearing and acting upon God’s call in his life, he explained that nature was his church and that he could experience God’s grandeur through something as simple as the leaves rattling in the trees, frost on the grass, or a graceful deer walking down a path. Those were the times he felt closest to God.
Dad was compassionate.
He was the ultimate conservationist. Even as a hunter, he couldn’t stand to see nature take its natural course and sometimes felt the need to intervene.
-In the early nineties as he was driving through the country while working, he noticed a baby fawn in the ditch. His mother had been run over by a car. He couldn’t fathom the idea of the fawn dying from starvation or at the hands of coyotes so he rescued it, and brought it home to teach his kids a lesson in compassion. The Great Bend Zoo took in the deer, and rebuked him, telling him to let nature take its course next time. He listened by next rescuing a kitten from the coyotes and just making it his pet. Maddie “The Wildcat” still lives in his house.
Dad was nostalgic.
He loved reminiscing about his younger years.
-football games he played in high school.
-growing up on Lena and Clarence’s farm and learning life lessons from them
-past deer hunts
-catching catfish on the Arkansas River
-having one of his brothers bury him in a hole while he used a garden hose to breathe.
- Whenever we got into a car, he would relive his passions for being out of doors. For example, when we would go to Great Bend or Hutchinson to go shopping on a Saturday, Dad would drive us down the county roads so that we could enjoy taking in the nature he so loved, not driving by it as fast as we could go on a highway just to get to our destination. To dad, the journey was always more important.
Dad was tough.
He never complained about pain, and he was never without it. The only things he ever complained about were food and the government.
God had a plan for His salvation.
Dad is a poster child for the beauty of how God works in mysterious ways. I believe Dad always felt a strange tugging on his life, but being tough, he seldom gave his thoughts on faith. Mom spoke with him and Lori would try to get him to open up about it, but it was always tough for him. One day in the fall of ’07, Chris and I were home playing catch with the football in the yard and somehow God had placed Dad on both of our hearts. We sat down and decided we needed to gather our courage and talk with him about the need for baptism for the forgiveness of his sins. We had an open and honest discussion and the message was fairly-well received. Between all our efforts, a seed was planted.
That next summer he had a back surgery that went awry. Half paralyzed and in a weakened state, he woke in the middle of the night in his hospital room and saw his late-grandma Lena Unruh and his late-mother-in-law Frances Gasser sitting on the side of his bed. They told him that he would be alright. Sobbing, he woke his wife Mary who was sleeping in a cot next to him and told her he had a need to be baptized. This is a great example of God’s perfect will.
God had a great plan for Dad’s life. As tough as it is to let him go, I am assured by my faith that he is in heaven this very minute and all his pain is gone. He is with Lena, and Grandma Gasser and everyone else who loved him and left this world before him, including Jesus. I thank God for allowing our lives to intersect and I look forward to seeing him again some day.
He was a teacher and not just a jack of all trades, but a “master” of all trades. He was knowledgeable about everything that is practical because he had many people who taught him how to do things early on, and the rest he read about. To that end, he has over 500 books he read just on the topic of war on his bookshelf he built in his shop.
Two of his philosophies that he spoke of quite often was, “Do it right the first time, or don’t do it at all.” And “The process to learning is to watch it, do it, then teach it.” He spent his life teaching his kids how to do things. Towards the end of his life he enjoyed teaching his grandsons how things worked.
Whenever we kids needed help with anything, we would call him up and he would walk us through it. If we still couldn’t figure it out, he would come over on the weekend to help us out. He found his greatest satisfaction in helping out his children. He always had answers because his kids always had questions. Auto mechanics, plumbing, electricity, carpentry, algebra, and how to turn on a fastball. We watched the Super Bowl together every year until just a few years ago, but he was sure to talk with me before the game anyways, give me his insights on who was going to win.
Dad didn’t enjoy art much, but he loved the art of playing the guitar. He never had a single lesson in his life, but taught himself to play by sounding out the melody of a particular song and playing it note-by-note until he could play the whole song. When I wanted to learn how to play the guitar, the first two songs he taught me to play were “Taps” and “Amazing Grace”.
He swore he wasn’t going to coach our little league teams because he didn’t want to be the one to explain to parents why certain kids played more than others, yet when they needed a coach, he couldn’t resist. He was by far the best coach Chris and I ever had, high school and college included.
He was an expert in:
-Football, and especially what the Kansas City Chiefs could do to be a better football team.
-Guns- he knew everything there was to know about every known make of gun and every type of ammunition.
-Warfare
-Politics
-Tying knots
- How to throw any kind of ball
He was a Master Inventor:
They say that “necessity is the mother of invention.” Whenever he faced a problem, he invented a tool to fix the problem. He would just see the solution in his head and go create it. A perfect case in point: in the week leading up to his last dove hunt a few weeks ago, he needed a way to sit down and be comfortable since he couldn’t stand very well anymore. He welded some angle iron together, bolted a piece of plywood to it, then ran a few long bolts through the back end. Everybody looked at it from every angle and couldn’t figure it out until he put it on the ball hitch of his vehicle and sucked the nuts down on the bolts. It worked perfectly and he was able to sit on his “ball hitch seat” and comfortably enjoy his last hunt.
He was by far the most dependable man I have ever known.
-Every town has a Gary Shelton. He was always there for anyone who needed him. He might work a 10 hour day, come home and receive a phone call from someone who needed his help and he would be out the door until after sunset. I honestly don’t know what the town is going to do without him.
-He would drive around on snowy days in “Old Blue” his dependable ’74 Chevy pickup and rescue motorists who had slid off the road.
-He never missed his kids’ games. Whether it was football, baseball, wrestling, volleyball, or softball, he would always be there and be proud of his kids’ efforts.
-He never missed work. He never took sick days. When he took his two weeks of vacation in the summer, it was to go to the Cline’s farms to help out with harvest.
-He never missed birthdays or anniversaries and though he wasn’t the best shopper, he always seemed to put so much thought into his gifts that oftentimes the receiver would cry.
Dad had many hobbies.
-Flying remote-controlled airplanes- loved WWII war birds, especially corsairs.
-Flying- he used to take his family up in the air every Sunday afternoon for a “Sunday Fly” which was also good for scouting deer.
-reloading rifle cartridges
-teaching his kids to enjoy the great outdoors
-deer hunting. Archery in his younger years and rifles in his later years.
-dove hunting. Taught Chris and me a lesson we will never forget on Chris’ first dove hunt when, with one shot, he sawed a small tree in half to introduce the concept that “guns are not toys.”
-pheasant hunting with his brothers, boys, and friends. Opening Saturday of pheasant season was a holiday to dad and something we looked forward to every year.
- On snowy days, he would tie a rope to his hitch and a saucer to the other end of the rope and pull his kids down snowy back roads.
Dad had a love for the outdoors.
-It was like a little slice of heaven going fishing for bass out at Tammen’s Ponds in the last 15 years of his life. He got the biggest kick out of the little touches God would show him in nature. For example, a few weeks ago he threw a lure in the water and a large grey heron must have thought it was a frog and went after it. Dad reeled it in as fast as he could and the large bird barely pulled up before flying right into him.
-He found God in the view of a sunrise from a deer stand. When he was in the process of hearing and acting upon God’s call in his life, he explained that nature was his church and that he could experience God’s grandeur through something as simple as the leaves rattling in the trees, frost on the grass, or a graceful deer walking down a path. Those were the times he felt closest to God.
Dad was compassionate.
He was the ultimate conservationist. Even as a hunter, he couldn’t stand to see nature take its natural course and sometimes felt the need to intervene.
-In the early nineties as he was driving through the country while working, he noticed a baby fawn in the ditch. His mother had been run over by a car. He couldn’t fathom the idea of the fawn dying from starvation or at the hands of coyotes so he rescued it, and brought it home to teach his kids a lesson in compassion. The Great Bend Zoo took in the deer, and rebuked him, telling him to let nature take its course next time. He listened by next rescuing a kitten from the coyotes and just making it his pet. Maddie “The Wildcat” still lives in his house.
Dad was nostalgic.
He loved reminiscing about his younger years.
-football games he played in high school.
-growing up on Lena and Clarence’s farm and learning life lessons from them
-past deer hunts
-catching catfish on the Arkansas River
-having one of his brothers bury him in a hole while he used a garden hose to breathe.
- Whenever we got into a car, he would relive his passions for being out of doors. For example, when we would go to Great Bend or Hutchinson to go shopping on a Saturday, Dad would drive us down the county roads so that we could enjoy taking in the nature he so loved, not driving by it as fast as we could go on a highway just to get to our destination. To dad, the journey was always more important.
Dad was tough.
He never complained about pain, and he was never without it. The only things he ever complained about were food and the government.
God had a plan for His salvation.
Dad is a poster child for the beauty of how God works in mysterious ways. I believe Dad always felt a strange tugging on his life, but being tough, he seldom gave his thoughts on faith. Mom spoke with him and Lori would try to get him to open up about it, but it was always tough for him. One day in the fall of ’07, Chris and I were home playing catch with the football in the yard and somehow God had placed Dad on both of our hearts. We sat down and decided we needed to gather our courage and talk with him about the need for baptism for the forgiveness of his sins. We had an open and honest discussion and the message was fairly-well received. Between all our efforts, a seed was planted.
That next summer he had a back surgery that went awry. Half paralyzed and in a weakened state, he woke in the middle of the night in his hospital room and saw his late-grandma Lena Unruh and his late-mother-in-law Frances Gasser sitting on the side of his bed. They told him that he would be alright. Sobbing, he woke his wife Mary who was sleeping in a cot next to him and told her he had a need to be baptized. This is a great example of God’s perfect will.
God had a great plan for Dad’s life. As tough as it is to let him go, I am assured by my faith that he is in heaven this very minute and all his pain is gone. He is with Lena, and Grandma Gasser and everyone else who loved him and left this world before him, including Jesus. I thank God for allowing our lives to intersect and I look forward to seeing him again some day.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Remembering 9/11
I've tried five times to find the right words to start this blog, and nothing seems good enough to fit the situation so I went to my lesson plan book, to the entry from September 12th, 2001 to look for inspiration. I have no idea what I taught that day, partly because I was in a fog, but mostly because I only had seven little words written in the block for that day:
"The day prayer came back to school."
Mr. Jerry Winkle, the principal at Ponca City High School at the time, came over the intercom and forgot all about political correctness. He forgot all about political lines in the sand. Our nation had been bored for way too long and in that boredom decided to overthink everything, including in what ways we can ban God. Seeing as our nation needed God at that, our weakest moment, Mr. Winkle got on the intercom and prayed for peace and understanding.
And we wept.
A few days later, President George W. Bush stood on top of the rubble that was a great building and promised America that we would seek justice for those who perished in the worst terrorist attack on American soil ever. "The people who knocked these buildings down will hear from all of us soon!" His approval rating that day was 94%. Firefighters and police officers were heroes, not taken for granted or sneered at. America was united.
And we wept.
It's so hard to believe that it's been 10 years since that tragic day that has shaped part of who I am today. Nearly 1/3 of my life has been affected by that horrible day when America lost its innocence. Sadly my students have never truly known an America at peace, and I weep for their loss of innocence as well.
I have many lasting memories from Tuesday, September 11th, 2001, but the one that sticks out in my mind is where I was at 9:15 CST. One of my students had come back from the library 45 minutes late and when I questioned him, he said he was busy "in the library watching the plane hit the building." I had in my mind that if indeed he was telling the truth, a single-engined Cesna was sticking out of some building somewhere, but then the bell rang and I walked out into the hallway.
It was like being part of a zombie movie. All the students had the "deer-in-the-headlights" look. Nobody talked, and the sound of a high-school hallway without noise except for the shuffling of feet on a worn-down carpet is an eerie one. Two cheerleaders came up the stairway from the right, both crying and holding each other. I was totally bewieldered. The bell rang then the strangest thing happened.
One girl came skipping down the hallway like a child in a field of daisies, singing, "It's the end of the world as we know it!" I'm quite certain the look on my face was one of incredulity.
My second period students helped me fill in the gaps, and my mind turned to the unsuccessful attack on the WTC in '93. I then knew that I was living in the midst of history. The lesson plan for that day was scrapped and my classes walked to the auditorium where a projector was set up with a live feed of the smoldering Lower Manhattan. It was then that I lost my innocence.
The details of the rest of my day aren't as important. I, like every other American family, sat on the couch, glued to the TV, trying to make any sense out of what was going on.
In one day our world had changed. In one day we went from seeing the violence of war on television bouncing off a satellite from across an ocean to seeing it in our own backyard. Ten years removed from that fateful day, I pray that our world is safer. I pray that good will win out over evil And I pray that we can look back to the lessons of that day, come together as a country, and for at least one day, not concentrate on what separates Americans, but on one word that unites us. That word I leave up to you.
"The day prayer came back to school."
Mr. Jerry Winkle, the principal at Ponca City High School at the time, came over the intercom and forgot all about political correctness. He forgot all about political lines in the sand. Our nation had been bored for way too long and in that boredom decided to overthink everything, including in what ways we can ban God. Seeing as our nation needed God at that, our weakest moment, Mr. Winkle got on the intercom and prayed for peace and understanding.
And we wept.
A few days later, President George W. Bush stood on top of the rubble that was a great building and promised America that we would seek justice for those who perished in the worst terrorist attack on American soil ever. "The people who knocked these buildings down will hear from all of us soon!" His approval rating that day was 94%. Firefighters and police officers were heroes, not taken for granted or sneered at. America was united.
And we wept.
It's so hard to believe that it's been 10 years since that tragic day that has shaped part of who I am today. Nearly 1/3 of my life has been affected by that horrible day when America lost its innocence. Sadly my students have never truly known an America at peace, and I weep for their loss of innocence as well.
I have many lasting memories from Tuesday, September 11th, 2001, but the one that sticks out in my mind is where I was at 9:15 CST. One of my students had come back from the library 45 minutes late and when I questioned him, he said he was busy "in the library watching the plane hit the building." I had in my mind that if indeed he was telling the truth, a single-engined Cesna was sticking out of some building somewhere, but then the bell rang and I walked out into the hallway.
It was like being part of a zombie movie. All the students had the "deer-in-the-headlights" look. Nobody talked, and the sound of a high-school hallway without noise except for the shuffling of feet on a worn-down carpet is an eerie one. Two cheerleaders came up the stairway from the right, both crying and holding each other. I was totally bewieldered. The bell rang then the strangest thing happened.
One girl came skipping down the hallway like a child in a field of daisies, singing, "It's the end of the world as we know it!" I'm quite certain the look on my face was one of incredulity.
My second period students helped me fill in the gaps, and my mind turned to the unsuccessful attack on the WTC in '93. I then knew that I was living in the midst of history. The lesson plan for that day was scrapped and my classes walked to the auditorium where a projector was set up with a live feed of the smoldering Lower Manhattan. It was then that I lost my innocence.
The details of the rest of my day aren't as important. I, like every other American family, sat on the couch, glued to the TV, trying to make any sense out of what was going on.
In one day our world had changed. In one day we went from seeing the violence of war on television bouncing off a satellite from across an ocean to seeing it in our own backyard. Ten years removed from that fateful day, I pray that our world is safer. I pray that good will win out over evil And I pray that we can look back to the lessons of that day, come together as a country, and for at least one day, not concentrate on what separates Americans, but on one word that unites us. That word I leave up to you.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Best Tom Hanks Movies of All Time
When all is said and done, Tom Hanks may go down as the best actor of our generation. Unlike other actors who are typecasted, Tom is a chameleon. He's been a cast away on an island, a conflicted Army captain in occupied France, and... Forrest Gump, whatever he is. Just think what would have happened to Timmothy Robbins' career if Hanks had taken Andy Dufrense in The Shawshenk Redemtion?
The intent of this blog is to identify the five best Tom Hanks movies in order, but focusing on his particular characterization. For example, The Da Vinci Code was a pretty good movie, but won't make this list because Hanks couldn't make Robert Langdon an exceptional, interesting character. That movie's focus was on the action and adventure set forth by the clues Langdon uncovers, but in no way is Langdon a memorable character, with the possible exception of having unfortunate hair. But who am to critique that?
Anyways, the order is from the best to the fifth best. As always feel free to differ.
1. Forrest Gump (1994)- Could there be a more interesting character? A small boy from Alabama, Forrest defines destiny. He's a boy who overcomes his disability and the torturous hometown bullies. Because he is bullied, he is a teenager who shows off his speed at the right time in front of the right coach. Because of this coach he becomes an All American football player and graduates college. Because he graduates college he is handed a pamplet on being all he can be. Because of that Army recruiter, he ends up saving half of his platoon in Viet Nam and getting "shot in the buttocks." Because of that wound he learns to play ping pong. Because of ping pong he becomes the best in the world. Because he is the best in the world he ends up with a big endorsement check and can buy a shrimp boat. Because he buys a shrimp boat, he becomes a "gazillionaire." Because he becomes a gazillionaire, he gets bored and decided to run across America about five times, just for fun. And let's not forget about Jenny. Sure, I left out a lot and trivialized everything in the movie, but the movie Forrest Gump is an epic and the movie's namesake is by far the most interesting character in modern cinema. Hanks is brilliant in this role.
2. Cast Away (2000)- This is one of those movies that people either love or hate. Despite Helen Hunt's minimal role in the movie, I love it. A Fed Ex Systems Engineer whose life is run by the seconds on a clock, Chuck Noland finds himself shipwrecked on a small island in the South Pacific Ocean where time stands still. I love the irony. Chuck has to adapt to survival mode, learning lessons along the way (usually the hard way) until he is able to set sail back to civilization. The human side of Hanks really comes out in this movie as the audience shares every painful moment. The fact that he lost something like forty pounds for the "four years later" part of the movie is a testiment to how seriously we should take him as an actor. I have two enduring questions: first, what was in that darned package with the wings on it, and second, which road does he take in the end? I have to believe in my heart of hearts that he follows the hot cowchick back to her house. That's how I would write that ending.
3. Saving Private Ryan (1998)- Unbelievable that I could rate this as low as number three. Capt. John H. Miller has a job to find a private who has lost his brothers in action in war-torn France so he can send the kid home to his parents. To do so is almost an impossible mission. He has to show the professionalism of an officer around his enlisted men who don't believe in the mission and on many occasions want to defect. He has a mysterious past that he offers up only in the most dire of circumstances when nothing else will keep his men happy. He has to be moral, ethical, and professional around his men, and chooses to cry only when his men aren't looking because he can't show weakness around them. They depend on him too much. Then there's the nervous twitch. When all is said and done, Saving Private Ryan might be the best war movie of all time, and while Hanks' performance of the hero Capt. Miller is marvelous, it only makes number three on this list.
4. A League of Their Own (1992)- Not just a chick flick. Ex-ballplayer Jimmy Dougan is given a last chance when the owner he played for offers him the managerial position of the Rockford Peaches of the newly formed All American Girls Fastpitch Baseball League. A classic case of a man with all the talent in the world who didn't appreciate it and has become a mysogynistic lush with bad knees. Who better to coach girls? Hanks plays Jimmy Dougan brilliantly, comically. His maturation from the coach who shows up drunk to the games and sleeps on the bench to one who sees the value in these "ballplayers" is exciting to watch and makes him one of the more memorable protagonists. Plus, without this movie we would have never been given the line, "There's no crying in baseball!"
5. Big (1988)- One of Hanks' earlier roles, he plays Josh Baskin, a boy who makes a wish on a carnival machine and wakes up the next morning a fully-grown man. Baskin has to face the corporate world with the brain of a twelve year-old, and eventually sees that adulthood sucks, despite the paychecks. From his innocence in bringing home his hot co-worker and then taking the top bunk so she can have the bottom one, to playing in his office with his bet friend at work, to the ever famous floor piano at FAO Schwarz, Hanks does what every male adult craves to do: act like a boy again. Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to the pool to do a cannon ball off the diving board.
Honorable Mention (in order of year it came out)
The Money Pit (1986)
-Walter Fielding, Jr.
Sleepless in Seattle (1993)
-Sam Baldwin
Apollo 13 (1995)
-Jim Lovell
The Green Mile (1999)
-Chuck Noland
Road to Perdition (2002)
-Michael Sullivan
The intent of this blog is to identify the five best Tom Hanks movies in order, but focusing on his particular characterization. For example, The Da Vinci Code was a pretty good movie, but won't make this list because Hanks couldn't make Robert Langdon an exceptional, interesting character. That movie's focus was on the action and adventure set forth by the clues Langdon uncovers, but in no way is Langdon a memorable character, with the possible exception of having unfortunate hair. But who am to critique that?
Anyways, the order is from the best to the fifth best. As always feel free to differ.
1. Forrest Gump (1994)- Could there be a more interesting character? A small boy from Alabama, Forrest defines destiny. He's a boy who overcomes his disability and the torturous hometown bullies. Because he is bullied, he is a teenager who shows off his speed at the right time in front of the right coach. Because of this coach he becomes an All American football player and graduates college. Because he graduates college he is handed a pamplet on being all he can be. Because of that Army recruiter, he ends up saving half of his platoon in Viet Nam and getting "shot in the buttocks." Because of that wound he learns to play ping pong. Because of ping pong he becomes the best in the world. Because he is the best in the world he ends up with a big endorsement check and can buy a shrimp boat. Because he buys a shrimp boat, he becomes a "gazillionaire." Because he becomes a gazillionaire, he gets bored and decided to run across America about five times, just for fun. And let's not forget about Jenny. Sure, I left out a lot and trivialized everything in the movie, but the movie Forrest Gump is an epic and the movie's namesake is by far the most interesting character in modern cinema. Hanks is brilliant in this role.
2. Cast Away (2000)- This is one of those movies that people either love or hate. Despite Helen Hunt's minimal role in the movie, I love it. A Fed Ex Systems Engineer whose life is run by the seconds on a clock, Chuck Noland finds himself shipwrecked on a small island in the South Pacific Ocean where time stands still. I love the irony. Chuck has to adapt to survival mode, learning lessons along the way (usually the hard way) until he is able to set sail back to civilization. The human side of Hanks really comes out in this movie as the audience shares every painful moment. The fact that he lost something like forty pounds for the "four years later" part of the movie is a testiment to how seriously we should take him as an actor. I have two enduring questions: first, what was in that darned package with the wings on it, and second, which road does he take in the end? I have to believe in my heart of hearts that he follows the hot cowchick back to her house. That's how I would write that ending.
3. Saving Private Ryan (1998)- Unbelievable that I could rate this as low as number three. Capt. John H. Miller has a job to find a private who has lost his brothers in action in war-torn France so he can send the kid home to his parents. To do so is almost an impossible mission. He has to show the professionalism of an officer around his enlisted men who don't believe in the mission and on many occasions want to defect. He has a mysterious past that he offers up only in the most dire of circumstances when nothing else will keep his men happy. He has to be moral, ethical, and professional around his men, and chooses to cry only when his men aren't looking because he can't show weakness around them. They depend on him too much. Then there's the nervous twitch. When all is said and done, Saving Private Ryan might be the best war movie of all time, and while Hanks' performance of the hero Capt. Miller is marvelous, it only makes number three on this list.
4. A League of Their Own (1992)- Not just a chick flick. Ex-ballplayer Jimmy Dougan is given a last chance when the owner he played for offers him the managerial position of the Rockford Peaches of the newly formed All American Girls Fastpitch Baseball League. A classic case of a man with all the talent in the world who didn't appreciate it and has become a mysogynistic lush with bad knees. Who better to coach girls? Hanks plays Jimmy Dougan brilliantly, comically. His maturation from the coach who shows up drunk to the games and sleeps on the bench to one who sees the value in these "ballplayers" is exciting to watch and makes him one of the more memorable protagonists. Plus, without this movie we would have never been given the line, "There's no crying in baseball!"
5. Big (1988)- One of Hanks' earlier roles, he plays Josh Baskin, a boy who makes a wish on a carnival machine and wakes up the next morning a fully-grown man. Baskin has to face the corporate world with the brain of a twelve year-old, and eventually sees that adulthood sucks, despite the paychecks. From his innocence in bringing home his hot co-worker and then taking the top bunk so she can have the bottom one, to playing in his office with his bet friend at work, to the ever famous floor piano at FAO Schwarz, Hanks does what every male adult craves to do: act like a boy again. Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to the pool to do a cannon ball off the diving board.
Honorable Mention (in order of year it came out)
The Money Pit (1986)
-Walter Fielding, Jr.
Sleepless in Seattle (1993)
-Sam Baldwin
Apollo 13 (1995)
-Jim Lovell
The Green Mile (1999)
-Chuck Noland
Road to Perdition (2002)
-Michael Sullivan
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