Lori shared it. I can’t let it go. A cover of Chris Stapleton’s “Tennessee Whiskey.”
And a Youtube comment from J. Scott Hamilton that followed: “your voice tells us you’re a great singer. Your daughter’s smile tells us you’re a better dad.”
Tag: Father
Driving I-95 S. With Hammer at Rest.
A nothingburger during a nondescript morning commute a month ago.
Not a Vuong nothing Moment that changed everything after it.
But it changed Something.
Why this particular Moment among the billions?
Why is it called up when it is?
And here IT comes again this morning.
This Moment. It’s pulled forward, to the front. Taking its right hand, sweeping aside the incessant swing of the Hammer on the searing molten metal, of not enough, not good enough and Now.
And it’s exactly at this Moment, when the Hammer rests, and Vuong’s luminescence offers its cooling respite.
It whispers listen, pay attention to This. And it hangs around until I do.
The pre-rush hour traffic on I-95 was detoured onto Exit 2. GPS routes me through Port Chester. I pull up to a stop light, and there they are.
Father and Son. Son, maybe 4 years old. Dad is wearing an overcoat, much too heavy for the season. Son looks up to his Dad, Dad bends over and picks him up, hugs him tight, then sets him down.
And they walk. Dad’s lunch box swinging in his left hand, his Son’s hand swinging in his right.
Let’s play it again Vuong. One more time.
The Hammer rests, for this Moment.
Photo Credit
to live as men for others
Many mentors have influenced me with their muscular Christianity, but Father Byrne’s method of shaping souls was different. He drew upon St. Francis of Assisi’s maxim: “Preach the Gospel at all times. When necessary, use words.” The diminutive priest was a giant in my life but made himself small so students like me would aspire, as he did, to live as men for others.
This is the phrase—men for others—that runs through my mind this Father’s Day. It’s how men like my dad and Father Byrne lived, and I’m convinced it’s critical to being a good father; indeed, a good person. Find something meaningful that is bigger than yourself and live for it, simple as that. For seeking the good of another is more than living, it is loving.
To my many fathers and to all like them, thank you and Happy Father’s Day
~ Mike Kerrigan, from To All the Fathers in My Life, Thank You (wsj.com, June 14, 2019)
Photo Credit
Father & Son. Family Time.
It was a line from a movie. I think.
It was in one of the last few movies that I watched. I think.
I searched, and searched, and searched trying to find the source. The Source, damn it. What was the source?
No luck.
But it goes something like this.
Father talking to Mother about 20-something Son. “I see so much of him in me, but he’s a better version.”
I grab my iPhone and send Mom and Son a text.
The same Son whose hand is never far from his iPhone. Texting, and Texting and Texting his Friends.
Yet…he rarely replies to any of my texts. And, almost never, no let’s say, Never, replies to any of my emails that I flip to him that I’m sure would be of interest. Who does email anymore Dad?
He stays far enough away, but not too far away from the hand that pays for his Data Plan every month. The same AT&T Data Plan that sends his Father the itemized bill with a line by line detail of the hundreds (thousands?) of texts that he sends to Others every month.
And, This, irritates me. Continue reading “Father & Son. Family Time.”
Flying North AA4650. With RTP.
It’s one of those moments in life when you remember exactly where you were, what you were doing, and how you felt.
In the old pre-smartphone days, it was the 3 am phone call, with the ring shattering the silence. You fumble in darkness trying to find the handset praying…please, please, please, let it be a wrong number, and not something worse.
Today, it’s all about texting. And it was a text.
Yesterday morning. 11:00 a.m. Nashville, TN. The first day of a 4-day conference in a large ballroom at the J.W. Marriott. The lights in the room were dimmed, the spots beamed down on the speaker on stage.
My iPhone screen lights up, flashing an iMessage notification.
“Please call me. Now. Important.” Continue reading “Flying North AA4650. With RTP.”