Our son had just finished his first day of high school and he thought he had found the "happy hunting ground." For girls, that is. He regaled his sister, then a junior in high school, with stories about all the incredible girls he'd seen that day. The more he talked, the more disgusted she became. Finally, she blurted, "You are so superficial!" To which he immediately replied, "Well, of course. I'm a freshman! We're into superficial!"
Every time a soldier dies in battle, it's a tragedy. It doesn't matter how just or unjust we might think the war is or which side he's on. It's still a tragedy. But if there are degrees of tragic, then there's one kind of battlefield death that seems the most heartbreaking of all. They call it "friendly fire" - when you accidentally shoot or bomb your own fellow soldiers. In the Civil War, General Stonewall Jackson was killed accidentally by his own men - "friendly fire." In Vietnam, in Iraq, probably in every modern war, it has always been an awful tragedy when one of your own is brought down by a weapon you fired.
With my wife growing up in the South, she looked forward to a spring that was getting under way by early or mid-March. With me growing up in the North, I got used to spring beginning a little later than that. And in some places in the North, if you miss the Fourth of July weekend, you may miss summer. But let's stick with spring right now. Some people look for the first robin, let's say, to mark the end of winter. For my wife, it was the daffodils. Those bright yellow flowers were the harbingers of spring for her - as well as a way to mark her early spring birthday. Living in the North, I've had to really do some creative florist work to try to get her some birthday daffodils. Of course, it's cheaper than paying for counseling for her, right? But this year, she got to pick the first daffodils at Grandma and Granddad's old farmstead. Grandma's been gone for quite a while now, but the flowers she planted a long time ago are still blooming.
In recent years, there's been a stretch of Oklahoma, including Oklahoma City, that has seemed like "Tornado Alley." On the Weather Channel, many spring and summer days show that part of the country colored in the bright red that indicates severe weather. The most powerful tornado America ever had roared through the Oklahoma City area just a few years ago. As I drove through that area on a spring day between storm systems, I couldn't help but be impressed with what I saw as I drove by a church. Right in front of the church you could see an open door sticking up out of the ground. The church actually has a storm cellar right out on the street, and the door was wide open!
When you're five years old, you have a number of those milestone experiences - lots of "firsts." Like your first soccer game, which our five-year-old grandson had. I reminded our daughter that she had joined that much-talked about tribe called "soccer moms." Well, our grandson had never played soccer before, and he doesn't have an older brother or sister to learn from. So his first game was, shall we say, a great learning experience. And he did a good job. But not good enough for the kind of performance most firstborns expect of themselves. Though he got the ball several times for his team and moved it down the field, he didn't score any goals, and he was bothered that he missed one. Right after the game, he gave his mom his two-word summary of how he thought he did. He just said, "I tried."
Fashion models...they're considered the "beautiful people." Right? But all too often, they're also the unhappy people. That's what our friend Lindsey explained to us after she had left an enviable position as a model with one of the most prestigious agencies in the world. For example, Lindsey told about the eating disorders that plague young women for whom a small weight gain can actually cost them a well-paying job. Lindsey explained how she and others were carefully and critically weighed before every shoot. The gain of a pound or two meant that they didn't qualify anymore. You paid a price to be admired.
Junior high band concerts; oh, there's a test of a parent's love. I know. We got to support our kids by being at seven years of their junior high concerts. It's nice to see those young teenagers making a nice effort. It's not necessarily a memorable musical experience. Wouldn't it be interesting to, oh, let's say hear those young musicians trying to play a major Beethoven symphony? What if you've never heard any of his great compositions? All you've heard is that Beethoven was a musical genius. Then you hear the junior high band play a Beethoven symphony. And what do you have to say about Beethoven? "Did you say this guy was a genius? I just heard Beethoven! It was awful!" You didn't hear Beethoven. All you heard was some people doing a bad job playing his music.
There's just enough of a kid in me that I really love those glass elevators they have in some hotels. You know, you get in on the main floor and then you ascend to the top floor, all the time you're watching the big things in the lobby become small things in the lobby. And the limited view you had down there, oh, suddenly turns panoramic. Or if you've been in one of the world's great skyscrapers, you may have tried some of those elevators. We're talking lobby to observation deck in a matter of seconds; rising scores of floors in less time than it takes to place some phone calls. So, at 10:02, you're down in the lobby or even the basement and at 10:03, hey, you're looking out over the entire city - all because of an elevator.
Snow I can handle; I grew up with it. But ice - that's another story. Driving on that slick stuff, walking on it - that's just downright treacherous. Some of the most dangerous winter weather I ever experienced was a few years ago when a series of ice storms dumped this triple layer of ice on every surface in our area. And then the temperature was stuck below freezing for nearly two weeks, so we did some fancy-dancin' for a while. One thing I was glad we had a little stock of was bags of that ice-melting compound, those little crystals that you scatter on the ice. It soaks in and slowly but surely starts to soften that slippery stuff and then it starts to melt it. And when there's hard ice everywhere, man, that's a breakthrough!
A listener shared a story with me recently that is just too powerful not to share with you. A man named George Thomas was a pastor in a small New England town. One Easter Sunday morning, he got up to speak and he set a rusty, bent-up, old bird cage next to the pulpit. You could tell by people's faces that the pastor had some explaining to do. He said, "Well, I was walking through town yesterday when I saw a young boy coming toward me, swinging this bird cage. On the bottom of the cage were three little birds who were shivering with cold and fear. I asked the boy, "What you got there?" He said, "Just some old birds." The pastor then asked, "What are you going to do with them?" The answer came back, "I'm gonna tease 'em and pull out their feathers to make 'em fight. I'm gonna have a real good time." The pastor pointed out that the boy would soon get tired of those birds and he inquired what he would do with them. "Oh, I got some cats," the boy said. "They like birds." What happened next is what puts you and me into the picture.
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