A SAD FAREWELL

This morning my dad received a call that his brother, Gilbert, had passed away--the brother we flew down to see last month to celebrate his 90th birthday. His health was failing so it did not come as a shock. Although Dad says he’s doing fine, he tends to hide his feelings, but does realize that Gilbert is in a better place. Dad lost his sister, Lois, a year ago, his 92-year-old sister is not in top-notch shape, and Dad was questioning his own mortality not that long ago.

Dad won’t be going back for the funeral, but I’m sure it must be of some comfort to have been able to see his only brother before it was too late. Actually, I’m glad I was able to do the same.

To give you a little glimpse of this man’s life, the following is the poem I wrote for Uncle Gilbert’s 90th birthday.

THE YEAR WAS 1918,
THE BIRTH OF HOWARD COSELL,
AND THE FIRST FEMALE SHERIFF,
DOUBT THAT WENT OVER TOO WELL.

INVENTION OF THE FORTUNE COOKIE,
THE BIRTH OF PAUL HARVEY,
THE RED SOX BEAT THE CUBS,
WASN’T THAT JUST MARVEY.

MISSOURI TO CALIFORNIA,
FROM FARM BOY TO MARINE,
THEN YOU MET ELEANOR,
THE PRETTIEST GIRL YOU’D EVER SEEN.

RETURNED TO MISSOURI,
NOW FOUR KIDS TO RAISE,
STEVE, MARY, JOHN, AND PAUL,
THEM THER’ WERE THE DAYS.

SO HAPPY 90TH BIRTHDAY,
TO MY DAD’S FAVORITE BROTHER,
WHOSE NOT ONLY NUTS ABOUT CARS,
BUT METICULOUS LIKE NO OTHER.

Please keep the family in your prayers, especially Uncle Gilbert’s four children and his wife, Eleanor. They were married for over 63 years.

A HOPE SHATTERED

As I have mentioned in a previous blog, Jonathan was five years old when he was diagnosed with a lazy eye and eye patch therapy would no longer be beneficial after he turned eight. Every time Jonathan has to renew his driver’s license, he has to take the written test, a driving test, and must turn in a DMV 62, Report of Vision Examination, completed by the examining doctor. One of the doctors at an eye center in the local Wal-Mart had a different perspective of the eye patch therapy and said it would only be beneficial at an early age—as an infant. Although being told that nothing could possibly be done, I always believed that diagnosis would change because of the advancement in modern technology.

Also had wondered whether or not Jonathan’s vision disorder had developed because of the many head-banging incidents over the years--rolled out of my arms as an infant, rolled off the bed in a cabin in Pagosa Springs, hit his head on the corner of the organ, tripped and cracked his head open on the cement stairway of an outdoor mall. However, during another visit to the eye doctor last weekend, Jonathan’s diagnosis was finally understood.

Jonathan has amblyopia in his right eye that cannot be corrected by glasses or contact lenses and is not caused by an eye disease. Also called lazy eye, the vision is limited because the eye and the brain are not working together properly and the brain is favoring the good eye. His right eye is 20/100 and also has hyperopia (farsightedness) and astigmatism. Jonathan is part of the 3% population who has this neurological eye disorder. It will not get worse. It will not get better. It was a very heartbreaking disappointment.

Jonathan took the form to the local DMV and afterwards called me with great news. His name was removed from the temporary list and was given a regular driver’s license. It must have been the notation the doctor wrote on the form that Jonathan’s vision has not changed since 1995. When it’s time for renewal in five years, there should be no more hassles with red tape bureaucracy.

PHENOMENAL

In the past I’ve attended plays, sporting events, and concerts on both amateur and professional levels. Some were free while others a little more pricey, but not many can compare to the five dollars of entertainment witnessed last night on a folding chair in a large multi-purpose room (for lack of a better word) at a Christian junior and senior high school located in Orange County. The event—the annual “Big Night of Jazz” with three school bands performing with a special featured woodwind artist. This year was basically a night of Duke Ellington. School bands. Big deal. Have heard a few and you couldn’t pay me to attend another performance.

The first group was the Junior High Jazz Band. The musical director, Isaac, who looked like a kid himself, had only been at the school for two years. The group was quite impressive for being so young. The next band was the Jazz Workshop. The musical director for the high school band, Len, played trumpet with this group. Again, more great music. The last group to perform was the Eight O’clock Jazz Band including the featured guest artist, Keith Felch, a teacher and performer in Southern California for over 30 years. It was wonderful, exceptional, remarkable, and not just Mr. Felch who happened to play several instruments, but the entire group. The playing abilities of several of these young talents were emphasized throughout many of the songs, but a certain young gent on the ivories stood out, actually the only reason I was attending this concert.

Knew he was good after hearing him play in the church Praise Band. Found out just how good after hearing a solo during my first encounter of the church’s annual Gift for Jesus program. Realized how much this kid knew his stuff after I was asked to join the Praise Band as (what I call) a “background” keyboardist. Not only do I have a new found respect for this young man, but also I’m now even more intimidated. Do you suppose Daniel would teach me everything he knows if I paid him?

To me, Daniel is, well…phenomenal and in a class all his own. He is graduating this year and will be attending a popular California university majoring in Pre-Med. Definitely think Daniel would have a shot at receiving the title on America’s Got Talent and winning the million-dollar jackpot, which leads me to the million-dollar question. Why am I playing in the same group as Sir Daniel?

OH, GOOD GRIEF!

Yes, Glenda, I agree and hope Charles doesn’t read yesterday's blog (would hate to see him beat me up; doubt I could hold my own). :) Guess I pulled a Geron. That was just too funny yesterday and apparently it stuck in my mind. Could say it’s Geron’s fault; could say I’ve watched too many episodes of JAG; could say my uncle who just celebrated his 90th birthday was a Marine or… but it was my goof. Guess it shouldn’t surprise me. When our student worker comes in and is going to microfilm, I see the cord sprawled across the floor but within five minutes, I’m tripping over it.

My apologies to Sir Charles. He is definitely an Army man.

A NEW BIRTH

Believe it was around the ripe age of 11 when I walked down the aisle during the invitation song to confess that Jesus was my Lord and Savior and was ready to be baptized. That song might have been “Just as I Am” as it seemed to be the going song for invitational response. A good friend, Lora, had already gone forward to do the same. My parents were surprised. Never had I mentioned the desire to be baptized let alone the intention of doing it that evening (yes, for those in shock, church met three times a week). It was an important day and it would also be the last day my best friend’s father would be Candelaria Church of Christ’s pulpit minister. Not only would Laura be gone, but also a man I considered a significant part of my life (actually the entire family) and the only one I could ever imagine being involved in such a life-changing event.

Over the years have questioned my real motivation of that night and whether or not I became baptized for the right reason and not just because Bob was leaving. Have witnessed a handful of self-proclaimed Christians becoming baptized again for one reason or another and to be honest, wondered if I should be doing the same. However, I knew I loved the Lord and 40 years later still believe in the same basic principles, so I’d say I’m fine in God’s eyes.

This morning a pretty, young lady was baptized and unlike me, she let her desires be known but waited a week until her father would be home. Charles is a Marine and stationed in Northern California and periodically returns home to be with his family. Shelby not only wanted her dad home to observe this special time, but also to participate by baptizing her. Charles also baptized his son, Marcus, last year.

For some unknown reason, I grew up believing that only a “man of the cloth” could perform this ritual; otherwise, the baptism would be null and void. Actually having your own father dunking your body into that freezing, cold water in the baptistery. What a concept and a great concept at that. Who better than an earthly father turning over his child to the Heavenly Father. Charles is not the first father I have seen do this but did like what he said, “One of the best things you can do--baptize your child.” I was raised in a Bible-believing, God-fearing home and now wish that Dad could have had the privilege that night so many years ago.

Now subject to debate: What if a mother wanted to do the same? Yes, what if Glenda would have liked to baptize Shelby today? Personally, I don’t think God would mind at all.

FAMILY REUNIONS

How many have you attended over the years? None that I can recall until this past week and it was a double whammy. Dad’s brother was celebrating his 90th birthday and the entire gang was coming from Georgia, Oregon, Texas, Iowa, Michigan, and California to the “Show-Me State.” There would be a family dinner at Steak and Ale on Friday night and a come and go birthday party for friends and family on Saturday afternoon. At the same time there was to be a cousin reunion in the same area on my mother’s side. Mom and Dad said although it would be nice if I would go, it was not necessary; however, it had been a long time since I had seen many of my relatives, probably 40 years to be exact, and their spouses, kids, and grandkids whom I had never met. It would be helpful to my parents and it would be a chance to do something different, so Debbie decided to go and would play chauffeur. Hey, who could turn down an opportunity to take an all-expense-paid vacation?

Mom found a great deal with Southwest Airlines--three round trip, nonstop tickets to Kansas City. Had to rent a car and drive three hours to Springfield, but who could beat the price of $507, not per ticket, but total cost.

It had been at least ten years since I had flown into the wild blue yonder. Never experienced the restrictive airline check-in tedium immediately following 9/11; however, it still was a pain in the butt and decided I’d rather drive anytime, anywhere. Actually packing your liquids in no more than three-ounce containers and putting them into a quart plastic, zip lock bag; removing jackets and shoes; and allowing only one carryon and one smaller personal item.

Woke up at 2:00 am, picked up at 4:15 am, and arrived at LAX long before take off at 6:40 am. To be honest, everything went quite smoothly. Dad was assisted through the security checkpoint in a wheelchair all the way to preboarding. The wait lasted forever and, of course, Dad decided to go to the bathroom right before they started to preboard, and I sat with the luggage. The other lady in the wheelchair boarded as well as an elderly couple and a few parents with their young children. The assistant pilot came out and inquired about Dad. He was still in the bathroom, but I could go ahead and board with the luggage. As I went down the ramp, here came my parents and the assistant pilot took Dad to the plane. Seemed like a long time in the air but finally arrived in Kansas City a few minutes early. Took the shuttle to Hertz and drove out the gate in a KIA Spectra (might be the next car I’ll purchase) down to Springfield. Apparently took the longer route by approximately 40 minutes; however, found the motel, checked in, grabbed some hamburgers at the next door McDonald’s, and crashed. It was a long day and we all were beat. I don’t know…the nerves and anxiety were pumping and somewhat wished I had stayed home and gone to work.






On Friday drove Mom and Dad to Ozark and visited a few of their old stomping grounds.

The first two pictures are where Dad grew up on the farm. No longer the same and now quite exquisite—called Equestrian Estates and beautifully landscaped and filled with one million dollar mansions.

The third picture is where Mom and Dad went to school--Mom from third grade through high school and Dad from sixth grade through high school.

The fourth pic is Garrison Springs where Mom ditched school for her first and only time. It was a shock to all as she was considered the goody, goody girl, at least in comparison to her twin sister, Mary.





We went to the cemetery (it was not Forest Lawn) to pay our respects and for me the first time to visit where both sets of grandparents were laid to rest as well as my mother’s brother, Jim, and several other relatives.

That evening 34 of the Gaither clan met at Steak and Ale to celebrate Uncle Gilbert’s 90th birthday. Strange seeing relatives I’ve never met, some I hadn’t seen since age nine, and the majority not since high school. Unfortunately my uncle is not doing well, heavily medicated and often doesn’t remember who people are--didn’t recognize his big sister when she entered the restaurant.

Saturday was the big day—Mom’s cousin reunion and the come and go birthday party for Uncle G. We met Mom’s side of the family at a small café in Ozark next door to a beautiful gift shop that is owned and operated by two of Mom’s cousins. One of their spouses made some of the jewelry out of old silverware patterns and insisted Mom and I pick out something to take home. Mom chose a necklace with a turquoise stone embedded, pattern dated 1948—the year my parents got married; and I picked a small, simple pattern pair of pierced earrings, but they insisted I select the rare Cupid pattern dated 1880 instead. Beautiful handiwork and a generous offer indeed. Didn’t remember ever meeting anyone before and the majority I had never met. The lunch buffet was nice. Pictures were taken and a PowerPoint presentation was shown of old and recent photos of all the family members. Didn’t realize how many had lived in New Mexico. Very interesting even though at the end I still was confused who was who. It was impossible to be in two places at once and missed part of my uncle’s party but caught the end and stayed several hours past to visit with family and then said our goodbyes. A very hectic day but it didn’t matter how long it had been—we were and always will be family who love each other.

On Sunday went to church and heard my third cousin preach, but he was not the regular preacher. Took Dad to visit his best friend since the sixth grade. Gene was tall and stood erect—no cane, no limp—with all his faculties intact and a great sense of humor. On Monday drove back up to Kansas City, turned in the rental car, and stayed overnight at a hotel near the airport. On Tuesday morning arrived at the airport to discover our nonstop flight had been cancelled and would have to change planes in Phoenix (should have known—everything on this trip had gone too smoothly). Had to play my patience card and alter our pickup arrangements; however, the flight attendant was a jokester, an impressionist and quite entertaining…possibly worth the change in routes. We made it to Phoenix. Caught the next plane and arrived at LAX only 1-1/2 hours later than originally planned

Although wish Dad was more mobile, it does make the flying experience much easier when traveling with someone considered “disabled”—always given priority over other passengers; however, Mom had to keep tipping the hired help. Still, from now on I’ll avoid flying if at all possible. And apparently, we got out of there just in time before the tornadoes came roaring in.