We honor you.....

Dear Marine, Solider, Airman and Sailor,

I would like to take this moment to thank you.  I know it's not much and I realize that many of you will never

see this post but I'd like to thank you anyway.   Active duty, reservist, retired or veteran I'm speaking to you.

Once every year America, the country that you serve, chooses to remember you and that day is tomorrow.  I

could tell you that I think about you and appreciate you everyday, but the truth is I like most people take you

for granted.  I do pause today, at this moment to tell you how much I appreciate you and what you do for our

country.  I would call it a job but having served in the Marines calling it a job is a disservice to you.  Please

allow me to express my gratitude to you.

I appreciate that you leave your families behind sometimes for years without seeing them.  I can only imagine

what it must be like to hear that you are a father knowing that your child may take their first step before you

ever hold them.  I can appreciate what it's like to come back from deployment and find that your girlfriend or

boyfriend has moved on to someone else.  I know what it's like to be so lonely for home that you hide so your

buddies don't see your tears.   I can appreciate that mail call is the highlight of your day and a letter from

home will be read so much that eventually it falls apart from being folded and unfolded to be read and shared

with your  buddies.  I know what it's like to be on edge for weeks at a time, to be hungry, tired, dirty and that

a toilet is considered a luxury.  I know what it's like to not see anything and I mean anything but ocean for

weeks at a time and there is no bar, buffet or shuffleboard games on the ship on which you serve.

There are things though that I have no idea how to appreciate about you.  I don't know how to mourn the loss

of one of my buddies.  I cannot imagine coming back without my arm or my leg having to learn how to button

my shirt or walk again.  I cannot imagine how your wife, mother, father, sisters, brothers and friends mourn

when you give the ultimate sacrifice for your country.  How when your flag is folded and handed to your

family somehow they are suppose to understand that you not only gave your life for you country but you did it

for your buddies that count on you everyday.

I could go on and list a thousand reasons why I am writing this letter to you today.  I look back over this letter

and realize that no matter what I say it is inadequate to express how I, no how we feel about you and your

service to our country.  We are honored, blessed and humbled by you and what you do everyday so that

we may work, live and play mostly without a second thought to our safety and freedom.  God bless you

and your family.  We officially honor you tomorrow but you deserve more than our gratitude.

Lest we forget,

A forever grateful American

My home's in Alabama

I grew up in Alabama.  I have told people that in the last several years when asked where I am

from and the looks I get or the comments are less than gracious.  I was even told by someone that I was

officially "white trash"  and they meant it.  I have literally been around the world by ship and by plane.  I've

been in Somalia, Africa, Egypt, the Middle East, Italy, Spain, etc...   I've lived in Jackson, Mississippi,

Atlanta, Georgia and I currently live in Nashville, Tennessee.  I live here because it's where work brought me.

I love Nashville, don't get me wrong, it is a great city and I think I'll probably be here the rest of my life but as

the song says "My home's in Alabama"

I was 20 years of age and had just finished Infantry Training School at Camp Geiger, North Carolina.  I was

given orders to Naval Air Station, Brunswick, Maine.  The morning I graduated I got in my S-10 truck and

drove straight through.  It's 19 hours from North Carolina to Brunswick and that's a lot of road to travel

when you are by yourself.  I can't tell you it was a great drive.  Honestly I can't tell you much about the drive.

What I can tell you is that knowing that I might never see my home, my folks, my friend or Alabama weighed

heavy on my mind;  like the air right before a tornado touches down and changes your life in an instant.  Only

I had 19 hours to think about it.  I did what most people do I suppose I turned on the radio.  In those days

before satellite radio and iPods you had to change stations ever 50 or so miles as you ran out of reception,

waiting till the words were so interrupted with static so that you could no longer sing along or understand the

song.  There was no "seek" button on the radios then, you had to slowly turned the knob till you came upon a

station that was clear.  I listened to gospel, country, rock and almost any station you could imagine.  There

were no "talk" radio or "sports" radio then, just music which is maybe the way it ought to be again, but I

digress.  I was around 17 hours into my drive when I saw the sign that announced the Maine State line.  My

radio was just issuing loud crackles of static and I began to move the dial to find a station hopeful it would lift

my spirits.  The sign had pushed me into a deeper funk, realizing that I was only hours from my life changing

knowing it would never be the same.  Finally, a station cameover the air clearly.  The announcer told me it

was a country station and and a song began to play.

Oh I'll speak my Southern English just as natural as I please

I'm in the heart of Dixie, Dixie's in the heart of me

And someday when I make it, when love finds a way

Somewhere high on Lookout Mountain I'll just smile with pride and say,

that my

Home's in Alabama, 

No matter where I lay my head

My home's in Alabama, 

Southern born and southern bred.

I'd like to tell you I was manly, but the honest truth is I cried like I was 14 year old girl who just had her heart 

broken by her first love.  No cell phone to call home, nobody to share my grief, just me, the radio and 4 men 

who grew up, lived and then sang a song about our life.  I don't know if I'll ever move back to Alabama.

I don't really know what tomorrow will bring or where I'll be six months from now.  What I do know is that 

ever time that song plays if you look closely you might just see a tear in my eye and a smile on my face.  

The clock ticks....

I woke up.  That's how it started two weeks ago.  When I was younger it would have been a minor nuisance

that would  have been brushed away as easily as the cobweb highlighted in the dewy morning as I run the

trails and greenways in Nashville.  It was a sharp pain in both hips and lower back that ran down both my

legs.  I tried the old standbys.....a heating pad, advil and stretching more before and after my runs.  I even

changed my chair at work seeking relief.  I had a run approaching, a 13.1 mile run that was flat and fast.  I

had worked up to 35 - 40 miles of running per week in training.  I had the fastest run since I was in the

Marines just two weeks before, a 6 mile scorcher in less than 50 minutes.  It's not Olympic qualifying time

mind you; but for me it was exhilarating, like the perfume that lingers when a beautiful woman walks past

filling your soul with hope and memories of younger days.  I ran despite the pain, pushing on and telling myself

it would go away.  I had made a commitment both monetarily and emotionally that must be fulfilled despite my

discomfort.  I would not quit, Marines don't quit we push through.  My doctor was more practical.  An xray

demonstrated a compression of the discs in my lower spine.  The effects of age, gravity and effort culminating

in nerves irritated and angry demanding treatment and rest.  Only when satisfied by both releasing me on it's

own timetable to begin running again.

He was at practice.  In the middle of a pile of tacklers, a gaggle of body parts with limbs entangled, boys

pushing and shoving towards the ground, gravity working with momentum to create chaos.  He heard it pop

and the pain was instant.  The left forearm that was straight and strong now was broken and useless as he lay

on the bottom of the pile.  He cried.  I don't blame him, I would have too.  I like to think more from the

thoughts of plays, games and a season lost but I'm sure it hurt too.  The emergency room splinted it and the

next day in surgery the physician pushed it back into place.  The thought of that is not for the faint of heart.  I

have watched this as a nurse in the operating room and it is not done with finesse but with pure brute strength

bone grinding upon bone to reset them into their original but marred form.

We watched from the sidelines last week.  He from the field and I just stayed home.  He surrounded by his

teammates and I surrounded by my guilt, my shame and a heating pad.  He dreams of tomorrow, games and

seasons yet to be played.  I dream of recapturing my youth, running forever never tiring faster and faster.  The

clock ticks for both of us, time running on without regards to who we are, who we were and what we dream.

I only hope for him that he stays a step ahead............

She would have been 43......

She would have been 43 today.  She was born on October 13th, 1967, on Friday October 13th, to be exact.

A fact that my mother reminded her jokingly all her life.  They named her Michelle White. They gave her no 

middle name, just a first and a last. Strong and simple.  She always said she wished her middle name was 

Grace like our grandmother and so my first born's middle name is Grace in her memory.  She grew up 

in the same little town that we all did, but she was special, better, and different than all of us.  She was 

beautiful from the day she was born till the day that she passed.  She had a smile that would light up a room 

and a glare that would melt the surface of the sun if you incurred her anger.  She made friends as easy as 

anyone I know and could push them aside just as quick. She had a gift, some of the older folks call it 

prophecy, where she knew immediately if you were genuine or full of it (as my father would say) just by 

looking in your eyes.  I remember she once made an issue of a choir director at our church that required a 

meeting of the deacons in which she enraged him and mocked him so much I'm told that he had to be 

restrained from coming across a table at her.  Three weeks later the church discovered he was making 1-800 

calls and promptly let him go.  She knew though.  She absolutely and I mean absolutely had to have the last 

word in a conversation.  I recall many times in conversations with my parents, my father telling her to be quiet 

and not say another word, he begin to walk away and she'd say "Fine I won't say that you're wrong", or "I 

didn't say anything in the first place", and it'd start all over again.  She was the most stubborn person I've ever 

met in my life and if you know my family, that's saying alot.  I never and I mean never saw her flinch or budge 

if she thought she was right and her cause was just.  I sometimes envy that of her as I've gotten older.  As 

much as you could love her, she still had a distance about her that only made you want to try harder to gain 

her love or approval.  My last memory of her was fixing her car the day she passed.  I know she was loved as 

the registry tells us there were over 600 people that came to pay their respects and if I remember correctly 

over a hundred cars in the funeral procession.  We all should be hope to have such a send off.

I've wondered about her alot in the last several years, what she would have accomplished, what she might 

have looked like at our age.  I imagine she'd be just as pretty, her face slightly worn over the years but still 

with a smile that would soften the hardest heart and most likely a wisdom of the years that many seek and few 

receive. I also imagined she'd have done things her own way, regardless of the consequences.  I wonder if 

she'd be proud of my accomplishments and ashamed of my failings.  I suppose even now I still seek her 

approval.  Some things never change and never will.  The only thing I know for sure is she'd be 43 today and 

I've missed her for the last 23 years.

Ashamed of us

I'm ashamed of us.  I mean I'm ashamed of us as a society.  It's gotten slowly out of hand over time and I

think we need to reexamine how we view things in todays modern society.  It's been on my mind for

sometime now but it became so apparent this week after the death of Tyler Clementi, a Rutgers University

student who jumped from a bridge after his personal life was broadcast for all to view.   Two Rutgers

students hid a web cam in Tyler's room and broadcast a sexual encounter over the web for all to see.  First

let me offer my condolences to Tyler's family and friends, suicide is a tragedy and having experienced this in

my own family I cannot grieve for you enough.  Second, let me express to you that I am ashamed that some

how we as a society would create an environment that someone, anyone would think these actions would be

appropriate or tolerated.   I suppose that these two students thought this was funny and in some ways we

are all responsible for that.  We post videos of people being embarrassed or hurt on you tube and they

get a million hits, we pay money to go see movies called JackAss or Borat where people are manipulated

into situations that are both degrading and humiliating.  These movies make millions, I believe I just saw an

advertisement for JackAss 3 so somebody's paying to see these movies.   Quite frankly I've never gotten

the comedy aspects of these movies but I know my teenagers think they are funny.  I'm ashamed of myself

now for not being more verbal about the fact they offer no socially redeemable values and permitting my

my kids to watch them.  I believe these movies, these 3 minute clips of life never show the long

lasting effects of our behavior or actions, never demonstrating the consequences known or unknown for the

participants.  So much so that they have become acceptable, that we have embraced them as a social medium

to entertain us despite their negative effects or costs to us as a society.  So far the the cost of one live video

broadcast is one promising violinist dead, two students who are likely to spend many years of their lives in

prison and a slew of family and friends grieving for all three of them.  I'm not laughing anymore and I hope you

won't either.

For the love of the game

For the love of the game.  It literally means to "play for nothing".   I'm reminded of this expression as I

watched  my 9 year-old-son play in his 4th tackle football game of this season.  His team is not very good.  

What I mean to say is that they are not very good by the standards of wins and losses.  They are currently 

0 - 4.  Four losses by a combined score of around 160 - 0.  I'm not exaggerating the score either.  Yesterday 

the sixty or so parents that were at the game screamed and cheered when we achieved our first, first down of 

the season.  

My son plays center or interior lineman on the offense and defense for his team.  They are not very glorious 

positions.  Caleb wanted to be a running back but he's the tallest kid on the team and weighs 2 lbs over the 

limit for a kid to carry the ball in his league.  He also inherited his father's speed and that doesn't help him 

much either when it comes to being a running back.  Not that Caleb complains mind you, exactly the opposite 

he relishes the challenges of blocking and tackling.  I've never heard him complain once this year  about 

anything, not the score, not the heat, not the coaches and not being at the bottom of a number of piles of 

entangled limbs and bodies after the end of a play.  Quite the contrary, he constantly talks about how great

it is to be a football player, to tackle, to block and to play the game every week.  He smiles and waves to me

occasion during the game and practices.  He truly plays for the "love of the game".  Yesterday his team was 

losing 41-0 and on the extra point Caleb tackled the kid on the one yard line.  He immediately got up, 

started jumping up and down, slapping his teammates on their helmets and pumping his fists.  Most of his 

teammates just walked off the field with their heads down but he truly celebrated just the moment.  It 

was glorious in his mind, as if he were Barry Krauss and he had stopped Penn State for the winning 

touchdown in the National Championship game.  In today's age of technology, nutrition, training techniques 

and the monetary awards for being a great athlete my son celebrates the moment for what it is....an 

opportunity to play for the love of the game.  I am humbled by my son who reminds his father to 

celebrate every moment, to cherish every opportunity and to do my best every day regardless of the reward.

You'll have to excuse me now, I've leaving shortly for my daily run of 6 miles, only today I'm leaving my 

expensive modern runner's watch at home.  I'm just going to run, give it my best effort and have a good time.

If you are around when I finish today don't be surprised if  I high five you, jump up and down with a big

smile on my face.  I didn't just win the Boston Marathon, I ran for the love of the game.  

Idiot Tax

I use to be for something I'm gonna call "idiot taxes".  It began with cigarettes and I actually thought it was a

good idea at the time.  You know what I mean, it's the tax that  is suppose to discourage you from smoking

and at the same time "pay" for all the smoking related diseases.  Like I said, I was in favor of this tax but I'm

beginning to rethink my support.  What made me start thinking (always a dangerous thing as my father would

say) is that San Francisco is adding an "idiot tax" to alcohol.  Now it's citizens will be paying an extra 3.5

cents per beer and around 4.5 cents for liquor.  It totals around 16.5 million dollars a year.  The city

decided that all of it's citizens should "share" the medical costs and police costs from drinkers who caused

trouble and those that can't pay their medical bills for alcohol related injuries, accidents and diseases.  Again,

you might think this is a good idea, but lets take it further.  Maybe we should  impose an idiot tax on cars, for

those drivers that drive without insurance or after drinking.  Then we'll idiot tax condoms for those that don't

use them to pay for venereal disease and uninsured pregnancies.  Let's also idiot tax soda and ice cream to

pay for weight watchers for everyone who overeats and needs to drop a couple of pounds.  Now I'm really

getting the hang of this I think, lets have an idiot tax for everything, that way we don't have to promote

responsibility and self control as a society.

I do have one alternative though.  Consider this,  Bill Haslam the republican primary winner for the Governor's

race in Tennessee spent 8.7 million dollars to win just the primary.  Let me repeat this, he spent 8.7 million

dollars to win a primary race for a position that will pay him 155,000.00 per year.  I say we just tax these

candidates every dollar they spend over their annual salary based on the 4 years they'll serve.  We'll call it by

the name I proposed earlier the "idiot tax".   Only now we'll know it's being paid by the right idiot.