A month of thankfulness, Part Two

I want to share these posts with you, to help you consider what you are thankful for. Perhaps some are identical, perhaps some are analogous, perhaps some are completely foreign to you. But the thing that should stick with you is having an ATTITUDE of GRATITUDE, always. Just this one simple change in your life, on its own, can transform you.

Some of the details of these posts are rather personal; obviously, I'm not revealing anything i don't want to reveal. At this late stage, my life is an open book for reading and enhancement of others. But it also means there may be things which don't make sense because you don't know my background. Hopefully it will be clear enough in context, but leave a comment if there's something that's unclear, and I'll clarify. May God bless you in this season of thankfulness. 

A month of thanks. No different than any other, except the thanks are also on our blog.

Nov 6. I am thankful for my son Hamilton Smith. He will be turning 21 in February, and he is a grown man in so many respects. I wish I saw him more - he moved into his mother’s house full time when he was 16 - but when I do, I remember how proud I am of him. He wants to be a biomedical engineer - making robotic parts for people who've lost theirs. His school of choice messed him up, so he's back in town at the local junior college to right his ship and head out to sea again. He has not allowed this set-back to change him, for which I am thankful.

A month of thanks. No different than any other month, except the thanks are on our blog.

Nov 7. I am thankful for my son Emerson. Though his life was brief, his soul lives on and waits for me to see him in Heaven once the Lord comes to get me. His presence there is my driving force, my best hope of convincing his mother to accept Jesus Christ as her savior and go to Heaven as well.

I pray for her salvation daily, as much as a play for my eldest son’s.

And I can hardly wait to see Emerson again.

A month of thanks. No different than any other month, except the thanks are on our blog.

Nov 8. I am thankful for my son Sutherland. I’m always proud of him for the usual reasons: he’s smart, empathetic, amazingly talented as a singer, actor, artist, dancer, writer, and the list goes on.

But here’s something important: I dropped off some black clothes at rehearsal for him on Saturday. After having been joking about the bag holding something illicit, we exchange a hug and, as I’m heading out the drama room door, he says, “I love you, Dad!” I reply in kind, but as the door slowly closes, I can hear three of his friends teasing him about saying that to me - and he immediately starts defending his displays of affection with gusto! I think all five of these kids would do the same - I’ll tell you R’s take tomorrow - but in high school, I was extremely impressed he would do more than shrug it off. Thank you, son. (Grandpa Stan in particular would be pleased.)

A month of thanks. No different than any other month except that the thanks are on our blog.

Nov 9. I am thankful for the existence of Rutherford S. P. Smith, my youngest son. Thirteen and every bit the semi-emo teenager. Everything is “sick” right now. Hair growing to a far-off destination, namely his eldest brother’s length. So happy to have his own room once Isaiah moved out that he hardly ever leaves it.

            And yet ... close to straight A student. Empathy beyond every other child. Known amongst his peers as the best ear in town; I know this because he’s occasionally late getting home from having talked a fellow 13-year old off the figurative ledge.

 And when I told him Sutherland’s take on loving his dad (see the above post), he said, “Yeah, my friends all think I’m weird because I actually CARE what my parents think, and I WANT them to be happy.” Oh, the shame!

A month of thanks. No different than any other month, except that it’s on our blog.

Nov 10. I am thankful for my twins. After all boys, Wendy and I were surprised to get pregnant one last time. She learned over the years how to break the news more genteelly: with Hamilton, it was holding a stick in front of my sleeping eyes and saying, “Ya wanna talk about it?”, while this time it was a nice dinner out, kids with our best friend, and guess what, hubby?

            I remember the twin news better than the pregnancy news, though. She called from the road after the first ultrasound, and said, “Meet me at the curb, and don’t bring the boys.” She got out and handed me the photo. I stared at the two feet for a while until it dawned on me that they weren’t two feet: they were two bodies. Twins.

I was finishing year six in Payette, a community that had lived with our ups and downs, our lost Emerson and our successes with South and Rowdy. And those who cared were split into two camps.

Half were like me, thinking how cool twins (identical, to boot!) were going to be, regardless of gender. The other half had fingers crossed: “I hope they’re girls, I hope they’re girls...”

When she’d gotten the vital ultrasound reveal, she shared the info with me so brilliantly that I stole the reveal for my band. She went shopping afterwards, and the last things she holds up are two little dresses. Girls. I did that to my high school band the next morning, and the flute and clarinet girls all screamed with glee, deafening the rest of us.

Of course, my 5’1” bride barely made 32 weeks with twins from her 6’2” husband. We never got to induce because her body wanted those babies OUTTA there. Besides, “baby girl B” was looking for a way out her rib cage, instead of the designated exit. C-section rescue involved 23 of us in the operating room, ironic when it had just been me and Wendy and the dog for H’s birth.