I think I'll have cake

Tonight, I think I'll have cake.

I know it is Halloween and all; Candy will by abundant. And while I am a bit old to go out and collect my own, I will send my two children out as my surrogates to make sure I'm stocked up on sweets until the first round of Christmas parties.

Yet, I still need the cake. You see, It is my father's birthday. Seventy-three years ago Alton Ray Adams came bouncing into this world, not so much with a "Boo!" as much as a blood curdling scream. I am not sure that he had cake that night (I wasn't there.), but I will wager that even in the heart of the depression, such as it was, my Mammaw found a way to construct a chocolate cake. And with that, the die was cast: Chocolate cake from that point on and up to the time I left home to go to college. You may not see the importance of this but let me tell you, it was a good idea. It knocked the edge off of your sweet tooth, making it easier to avoid binging on chocolate and caramel corn, and, let us be clear...CAKE IS GOOD!

I have no idea why I got away from the habit. Sure, I left home and, after all, it was not my birthday. By why let a great tradition die for the lack of reason to celebrate? After all, my Dad was having a birthday somewhere, was he not?

I think I'll have cake tonight. It will be Chocolate, with vanilla ice cream, in order to celebrate a life. A life that ended peacefully just one year, three months, and fifteen days ago tonight. Don't misunderstand me, I am not looking to have a pity party here. Zig Ziglar says that the problem with pity parties is that you cant get any one to come and no one sends presents . He's right.

I miss my father all the time...not just on holidays where candy is served. I missed him yesterday and am fairly certain that some time this week some one will say something or look at me in some particular way and I will recall some slice of a memory that makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time. You can sprain tear duct that way. No, that is not what I want tonight.

I think I will have cake tonight, chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream, and a glass of cold whole milk. I'll eat just enough to take the edge off my sweet tooth, and lets face it...old memories, just like cake, are good.

A Beautiful Ordeal: First Post

I have had this notion in my head for some time that life is a “beautiful ordeal”. It is troublesome and yet a treasure, irrational and irreplaceable. In my thoughts, relationships and experiences I am confronted with the idea that existing in this world is a messy business, punctuated by tears, disappointment, victories and laughter.

As I start this experience of sharing, I would be out of line to fail to mention a few things. I was raised in a very small town in North Central Texas, the third child of four, to the proprietor of the only grocery store in our little town. I was a chubby kid most of the time, and what I lacked in confidence and skill, I compensated for with volume and bravado. In a small town where everyone played sports, I was a fair athlete, not the best by far, but competent…usually. I was cavalier when we won (seldom) and heartbroken when we lost (often). Overall, I grew up happy and optimistic about life in a conservative, self sustaining, old fashioned little town. I still carry the values that I learned on the narrow streets and sun cracked vacant lots of that town. I have come to be quite proud of the way my father and mentors taught me to approach life.

Over the last forty some odd years I have experienced tragedy and victory, separately and simultaneously. Certainly, I didn’t know it at the time, but life has taught me that learning occurs in the valleys and wisdom is found on the peaks. The perfect example that I can share is the birth of my son. Born on a Sunday in 1992, he was to be my heir, my pride, and my key to an early retirement. But instead of the captain of the football team or the next Rhodes Scholar, I got Spence. Spence is a small but noisy seventeen year old boy, with a congenital heart defect, scoliosis, kidney disease, and moderate mental retardation. I remember vividly that on the day of my son’s birth I cried (literally) to my father that it was not supposed to be this way. And while I heaped scorn on God and the fates, Spence lay on the operating table enduring open heart surgery on his walnut sized newborn heart. Do I feel guilty about those selfish, stupid emotions? No, I was in learning mode. The next 17 years have provided me with the wisdom to know that this is what life is; a beautiful ordeal punctuated with tears and disappointment, victories and laughter.

I stumble through this life with my wife, Kim, and my children Spence and Annie. I miss my Dad, who is gone now, and yearn for the once special relationship I had with my mother, mutilated and faded following several small strokes and a failing memory. I cherish my brother and sisters for their companionship, affection, and commiseration.

Life is hard. I know that many others have received a considerably greater portion of misery than I have, but it is irrefutable: Life is a female dog…and she bites. But life is also beautiful. I have been fortunate enough to cry many more times due to happiness than to do the same for sorrow. I suppose that Lincoln was right when he said “most folks are just about as happy as they make up their mind to be.” I love my life’s ups and downs…in spite of them and because of them.

I know that I have not done anything to deserve the hardships of this world, but I am equally certain that I have done much less to deserve the joy of watching Spence grow, the memories of the best father a young man could want, or the smattering of talent that functions to provide me a livelihood.

God is good…and I know it.

He has given me a gift: a beautiful ordeal.