JUST WHAT IS NORMAL?

As I pondered this question,  my mind quickly returns to something my mother use to say whenever we were talking.  I use the word talking, because it  sounds much nicer than the word gossiping.  We would be talking about someone, whether it be about an individual or a whole family, and  Mom would often say  "Well, they're just not like us."  I always associated her saying this as to meaning either us, or the other party wasn't normal.  I never quite figured out who was normal and who wasn't normal.  Here I am, many years later,  a father and a grandfather and I'm still not sure who, or what is normal.  I used a quote the other day from Morticia Addams of the famous  Addams Family T.V. Show.  She said "Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly.”  It sure makes you think doesn't it.  Normal applies to so many segments of our lives. 

Thinking about being normal can be whimsical and funny and silly or it can be serious and sad and bring tears to your eyes caused by guilt or some other deep feelings.   As I think back in my life I can remember thinking it was normal to drink a 6 ounce bottle of Coke and feel totally satisfied,  but at the same time I also believed it was normal to sit down and drink a 6 pack or more of beer at one sitting without getting up once except to relieve myself.  As I look back now, I realize that wasn't normal,  that was getting drunk. The only thing about this situation that was normal was the  act relieving myself.  This is an example of thinking something we did was funny or silly and normal at the same time.  We believe these kind of things and thoughts were normal for a fellow at a young age.  I can also remember times of hitch hiking to Florida and New Orleans as a teen and riding my bike down Stone Mountain before my teen years, and I say these times and experiences were normal for a kid back in those days and times.  I remember these and many other experience and I, shall we say " justify"  them as being normal but some stories I don't tell because I don't want to give my Grandkids the impression that this behavior is normal today.

I can also remember, and it makes me feel so ashamed to remember, a time when I would look at a child in a wheelchair because of Polio, or a child with Down Syndrome or Autism  and I would think to myself,  "These poor kids just aren't normal."  Many times we try to "justify",   there's that word again  "justify",  don't you just love that word.  We try to "justify" some of those feelings by the fact that "Well, we were just young.  We didn't know better back then.  We've learned from experience."   But have we?  Have we really learned anything?  So many times we judge whether a person is normal or not just by the way they look  as compared to ourself, or maybe how they believe about some things.   If they don't look like us,  they're not normal.  If the don't worship like us, they're not normal.  Sometimes they even have to eat the same kinds of food as we do to be normal.  We say we're not prejudice but do we make the same effort to invite Blacks or Hispanics to our churchs as we do people who look like us, or do we say..."Well,  they just don't worship like us,  you know,  in a normal way."  Are we just as happy when a Jew or Mormon moves into our neighborhood as if it was a Christian moving in?  You know what I mean...."Normal People".  Do we look at a diverse neighborhood as a problem or as an opportunity to learn of other cultures and to share the gospel?  How about the friends our kids have?  Do we let them pick their friends or do we try to pick all their friends for them?  After all,  we do know what's best for our kids.  Those other kids are different.  You know what I mean..."They just are not normal."  
I worked with teenagers for years and can name  so many kids that weren't normal.  Kids that were wild.  Kids that were poor.  Kids that were dirty more than the were clean.  Kids that cussed and drank and did other things that weren't NORMAL.  But many of these  kids that weren't normal grew up to be fine, successful, even prominent adults.  Some business owners.  Some preachers.  Some teachers.  Some even managed to grow up to be good Moms and Dads.  They grew up to be NORMAL people.  Why you ask?  Maybe our normal kids were a good influence on them.  Maybe a teacher was a good influence on them.  In fact,  maybe you,  were the influence they needed.

Again I think back to years ago.  I think back to hair on my shoulders.  I think back to silk shirts with collars large enough to serve as a kite if you would have tied a long tail on my back belt loop.  I think back to bright colored striped bell bottom pants and sandals  with their soles made of old tires..  I think back to a time when most adults thought "I wasn't normal."  The thing that scares me now is  I look at the young people today with their body piercings and tattoos and some of the clothes they wear and most of those kids  look back at me, and they also think...."I'm not normal."  And I ask myself....Will I ever be normal?"  I have a feeling I never have nor will I ever be normal.....All I can say is,  "That's my goal."  I think I'll have some  shirts printed up that say......."ABNORMALITY IS THE NEW NORMAL"........I could probably sell them and make a fortune.  But then I ask myself....Is being rich normal?

Romans 12:2 

Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.

HICKORY DICKORY DOCK

Hickory, dickory, dock,
The mouse ran up the clock.
The clock struck one,
The mouse ran down,
Hickory, dickory, dock.

This has been one of my favorite Nursery Rhymes for as far back as I can remember.  Why this one you ask?  I think it is because of a story I was once told about the meaning of the rhyme.  I have never been able to confirm if the story I was told is true or not but I still choose to believe it is.  Kind of like Santa and the Tooth Fairy.  Some people will try to tell us they don't exist either but we know better don't we?  I have seen the nickles and dimes left in the middle of the night under a pillow and the gifts under the tree on Christmas morning.  I have seen the smile on a child's face and have experienced the good will in a man's heart.  I know what is real and what isn't.  Just like the author of this nursery rhyme.  Some say it was written by a fellow named Oliver Goldsmith while others say it was a counting rhyme used by shepherds hundreds of years ago.  I choose to believe it was written by Mother Goose,  one of my all time favorite authors.  I know.  Now you are going to tell me Mother Goose was a fictional character  Believe what you want but I believe she was real and your not going to convince me differently.

Now about the story.  The way it was told to me was that many years ago the first big clocks were made with gears of wood.  Now these gears or splines took a long time to make and once they were made, they were in constant motion and under a lot of pressure from the other gears and splines as they turned the hands of the clock.  Like any piece of machinery,  these gears needed maintenance so they were oiled on a regular basis.  Now back in these days, they didn't have the lubricants we have today so the people would use animal fat to oil the gears.  Now the animal fat worked very well but the one downfall was that it attracted mice.  The mice would climb the clocks and gnaw or chew on the gears.  It was like the maintenance men were sitting up a mouse buffet.  The mice loved it and they told all their mice friends and they all came often to partake of this wonderful "All you can eat buffet."  Does this sound kind of familiar? Maybe the Golden Corral or Ryans.   Oh well,,, back to the story.  So here we had another downfall.  The mice gnawed and chewed and chewed and gnawed until the gears would have to be replaced which cost a lot of money and took a lot of time and hard work.  So a very smart man, an engineer I assume but not from Ga. Tech as this was before the year of the Yellow Jacket,  was asked to come up with a solution to the "animal fat / gear / mouse" problem.  He worked and worked to find a lubricant that wouldn't attract the mice but could come up with nothing.  He thought of putting poison in with the animal fat but decided the smell of thousands of dead mice would be to much to take, plus he didn't want to face the pressure from PETA.   Yes,  There were even tree hugging fanatics back then.  Then one day as the engineer was working at his desk,  one of the mice he had for his experiments got loose unbeknowst to him.  The mouse jumped up on the  desk and by chance turned over a small bell the engineer had sitting there that he used to summon his assistant.  As the bell rang,  it startled the mouse and in a blink of an eye the mouse was gone.  The engineer leaned back in his chair and  a smile came to his face as he realized he had discovered the first burglar alarm.  Have you ever noticed how many things are discovered by accident?   The name he came up with for his invention was  "Chimes" as it sounded much more Politically Correct  than burglar alarm.  You know,  you have to appease the PETA people even now days just as you did back then.

Well,  after installing the "chimes" (burglar alarms) on all the clocks the mice were scared away at every hour on the hour.  But,  just like happens with most good things,  this also came to an end.  You see,  after a while the sound of the chimes became  familiar to the mice and they discovered the chimes wouldn't hurt them  Instead of a deterrent, the chimes became a call to eat,  a dinner bell if you will.  Kind of amazing how we get so use to warnings after a while they don't frighten us any more isn't it.

Well,  that's not the end of the story.  You see,  a few years later there was a young man that had dropped out of school in the third grade  Although he wasn't what we would call educated,  he was very smart,  inquisitive, a hard worker and had a desire make life a better place for the people.  So at the young age of nine or ten he went to work for the town blacksmith to learn a trade.  He learned his trade well and went on to become a wonderful metal smith and to  invent metal gears and splines to run the clocks.  The mice found out very soon that steal wasn't near as tasty as wood marinated in animal fat.

Well there are many morals in this story.  If you look I'm sure you can find one worth sharing.  Some people will tell you it's not a true story but it's  My story and I'm sticking to it.

May your day be blessed by God

AND NOW THE REST OF THE STORY........


Tuesday will be my 65th birthday.  I remember back when 65 was considered to be a "Senior Citizen."   Then as medical care became better and some of us decided we should take better care of ourselves,  we began to live longer.  And then  someone decided it would be a good thing since we were living longer,  maybe we should get old sooner and we became "Senior Citizens" at the age of 55.  In fact AARP wanted my money so bad they declared me to be a senior at age 50.  Seems everyone except Social Security wants me to be a senior citizen sooner and sooner.  If the government had their way none of us would be eligible to draw any money from Social Secuity  until age 85.  Have you noticed that it all comes back to money?  And when I say all,  I mean that first thought that usually come to mind when thinking about or discussing anything. 

When I got up this morning I made me a glass of tea,  sat down at the computer, clicked to my local newspaper and prepared myself for my daily dose of depression.
After stomaching  all I cared to about the world,  politics, disasters and the like,  I then clicked to Facebook.  The first thing I saw was that a couple of old High School friends, Roy Jarrett and Jim Bello, had written on my wall.  I haven't seen either of these men in many years but they both played a big part in the process of my life I like to call growing up.  They were writing to wish me a Happy Birthday.  As is usually the case,  my mind,  all of a sudden started to swing back and forth between being 65 and the good times of playing football with Roy and baseball with Jim.  I went from the depression of the news to the happiness of childhood in a matter of seconds.

I then thought about many of the  days in the past,  days that back then seemed just to be so routine but now are so special in my memory.  Like the daily trips taking Cindy and Vicki to Middle School, that at the time seemed so mundane, but now as I recall them making fun of me because I liked to listen to Paul Harvey and his...."And Now The Rest Of the Story" on the radio and his "Bunn-o-Matic Coffee Maker" commercials,  it is moments like these that bring such a warmth to my heart and a gigantic smile to my face.

Or it is moments like yesterday when the whole family is together and time is shared between brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and cousins and in laws and children and parents.  It's knowing that everyday is special.  It's realizing that everyday is truly a gift from God.

Have you  thought about your life lately?  I mean really  thought about it?  Sometimes now in my life I get the feeling I want to....no wait...."want to" isn't  what I feel.  The right expression is a feeling that I "need to" write something.  Do you ever feel a need to put something on paper?  A need to express a feeling you have?  A need to tell how you love something or someone?   And then just as quickly a feeling of fear comes over you.  "I can't write" you tell yourself.  "It will be boring" that inter self tells you.  "People will laugh at me" the voice whispers.  And then you convince yourself...... "I really don't have anything to say."    I have a secret to tell you.  There is nothing to fear and you DO really have something to say.  Think of your life as a book and each day is a clean page.  That clean page needs something on it.  Every day is your special day and every day has a special story for you to tell.  Come Tuesday of this week,  I will have lived 23,742 days.  That's 23,742 stories I have to tell.  I'm way behind and better get busy.

Every day, you're writing a new story too.  Someone needs to hear it.  The blank page is before   you.  Time may be running out.  If you're not a senior citizen,  You will be before you know it.  I hope to read your first story soon.

God Bless

J. Wesley Daniell

Sittin' in the mornin' sun
I'll be sittin' when the evenin' come
Watching the ships roll in
And then I watch 'em roll away again


As I sit here this morning,  as usual my mind goes in many directions.  I think of times past.  I think of friends and family,  of good times and sad times, but mostly good times.  I think of times spent in the mountains and times at the beach.  I think of laughter ringing in the air and of tears gently falling to the ground.  I think of children playing in the park,  full of energy, and I also think of a child snuggled in my arms,  full of contentment and their feelings of security and peace.....And then...just as quick as the eye can blink my mind goes to times still to come.  The "future" we call it.  What does it hold for me?  What does it hold for those I love? Being almost 65, I'm in what I like to call the forth quarter of the game but if the Lord is willing and this pig valve is strong enough to survive the excitement yet to come, who knows?  After all, many a game has been won in the forth quarter.  And then just as quickly as my mind went from the past to the future an old song pops into my mind.  A song from 1967.  A song made famous by a Georgia boy and recorded on this day,  December 7, 1967.  Three days later Otis Redding would die in a plane crash outside Madison, Wisconsin.

When Otis Redding, along with Steve Cropper, wrote this song,  I wonder where their minds were?  Were they thinking of times past or dreaming of things to come?  You can be sure it was one or the other.  When my mind goes back to the past,  some of my best thinking was done while gazing at the waters.  Made no difference if it was sitting beside a small creek, in a boat on a peaceful lake or looking at the beautiful colors or the powerful waves of the oceans from the beach or a pier.  It seems water always takes us on a trip if only in our mind.

As always, when I started writing today, I had no idea where I was going.  I still don't, but as I just now stopped to read what I had so far put on paper something hit me.  Have you ever noticed how much of our lives we live in the past or the future?  It's old times or when I was in school or back when I was young etc etc.  Then the next thing you know,  it's December the 7th and we're saying,  "Well next year I'm going to do this or do that."   I wonder what Otis Redding had planned for December 11,  1967?
Oh sure,  it's nice to look back.  It's fun to think of the things we did but it's also sad to think of the things we didn't do.  Can you think of one thing you wish you had told someone, but didn't?  Can you remember that one person you wish you had called just to let them know you were thinking of them, but didn't?  There's no going back now.  The time has past.  And how about that old friend you haven't talked to in months or years.  You know the one.  The one you told your spouse that y'all needed to go see as soon as the Holidays are over,  things slow down and we had more time, or the old aunt or uncle that is shut-in that you've been meaning to go see but just haven't found the time.  Listen to that excuse ...."Haven't found the time."  I found time to watch that football game.  I found time to rake the leaves.  I found time to go shopping. Hmmmmmm.......maybe it's not finding time that's the problem....maybe it's MAKING time that's the problem.  Or how about just saying a prayer for someone you love.  I've prayed for people and I've been prayed for.  It doesn't take much time.  I remember just after my heart surgery running into an old friend and they told me..."I heard about your surgery and I've been praying for you."  I looked at him and said..."I know,  I could feel it."  And I could.   I talked to my sister last night who will have her surgery next week and to my brother-in law.  They both talked about the out pouring of prayers they had received and the strength and comfort the prayers had given them.  Prayers are like love..."they don't cost anything but are more valuable that silver and gold."

You know,  I don't have a past that I can change and I don't have a future that's promised to me.  All I have is today.   It's all you have too.  Make it count.

I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay
Watching the tide roll away
Ooo, I'm just sittin' on the dock of the bay
Wastin' time

DICY AND COTTON EYED JOE

It was February of  1948 and I had just entered this world.  My sister was an old soul at the time, having just passed the ripe old age of six and 1/2 years.  The family pastor, George Southard, who in my formative years I considered to be a
'Rock Star", approached my sister and asked the  pretty little girl what the family was going to name the new baby?  My sister,  never being at a loss for words responded to the preacher,  " I'm not sure but I think we're going to call him Cotton Eyed Joe."  For the last sixty four plus years I have been thankful my parents didn't let my sister name me.This is one of the earliest stories I can remember hearing about my big sister, but the memories of her started at about the age of 3.

My big sister's name is Dianne but we all call her Dicy.  I don't know where this nickname came from but it does seem fit her rather well.  Of course when I had reached the wonderful age of about three, Dicy had also grown and was now about nine years old.  There are just a few memories that I can pull from the depths of my mind from that far back but there are a couple.  One is that Dicy was taller than me.  I can remember having to look up to her.  Isn't it strange how things work out.  It's now more than sixty years later.  In stature I am now taller and have been for awhile but I still find myself having to look up to her.

 At that time in our life,  we lived in a house in Mableton, Georgia where Ragan Plaza now sits.  I can remember we had these tall Nandina bushes in the front yard.  At the time I thought Dad must have planted these bushes just to entertain Dicy because they attracted what seemed at the time to be millions and millions of bumble bees.  I thought Dicy must be the bravest person in the world because armed with nothing more than an old fruit jar with holes punched in the top she would venture out to the picket fence where the bee bushes were and bring back to the house her bounty of bumble bees.  At the young age of nine,  Dicy had become the great white hunter, and I wanted to grow up to be just like her.  Of course at the young age of three I knew and Dicy knew I needed much practice and training to become a great bee hunter.  Here is why that first memory sticks in my mind so vividly.  Dicy was the elder.  In my mind at that time she was almost a grown-up at the age of nine.  I thought I would never be a great bee hunter like Dicy was. But even at her young age, Dicy was caring,  she was filled with patience and she was willing to share her knowledge.  Dicy got another old fruit jar.  She got the lid and the sharp potato knife and taught me how to punch holes in the top so the bees could breath.  Later on when I thought I had learned everything, I decided to make a new and better bee catching jar all by myself.  As I was punching the holes in the new lid with the sharp potato knife I missed the lid and drove the Sharp potato knife through my hand instead of the lid.  I've tried to recall if Dicy failed to teach me the safety part of making  the bee catching jar or maybe I just slept through that lesson.  I really can't remember so I will just assume I missed that lesson.  Anyway I can remember our maid, Suzy, soaking my hand in Kerosene everyday after that.  Suzy always said the kerosene was good for healing the cut but I still think she was punishing me for using her potato knife.  At my young age it was to dangerous for me to go out into the big front yard to catch the vicious bumble bees so Dicy would spend what now seems like hours and hours on the screened porch perfecting bee catching strategy by catching the safer object of the hunt,  the common housefly.  I would spend days on end catching houseflies.  I must have caught thousands.  As I think about it I must hold the world record for most houseflies caught.  Now you may think the only thing I learned in all of this is how you catch house flies and bumble bees but you would be wrong.  This practice was also very valuable in the catching of lighting bugs in later years.  The other thing Dicy taught me in this process at the time seemed kind of sissy or kind of girly.  As it turned out Dicy was way ahead of her time, although I didn't realize it until I got older.  She taught me about catch and release.  Even at her young age Dicy had compassion and she passed it on to her little brother.

As we grew older we moved to Atlanta and had many more experiences that we learned from.  As I grew it seemed I was always looking up to Dicy and I was always learning from her.  How to act and how to treat others.  How to dress and how to enjoy life.  As I was thinking back on times spent with Dicy,  I tried very hard to think of just one time,  one single moment when I didn't feel welcome in her life.  When she was a teen and I was the little pesty brother,  I cannot ever remember her pushing me away.  I knew all her friends,  she always made me feel apart of what was going on in her life and even today I'm friends with many of these same people. When I needed anything,  Dicy has always been there.  In fact it seems whenever anyone needed anything Dicy has always been there.

I could tell you many more stories of growing up with Dicy and will probably do that at another time.  She has been such an inspiration to our whole family, always putting every one's needs in front of her own.  Now it's time to think of Dicy first.  Doctors have diagnosed her with cancer.  She will meet with the surgeon Monday to determine when surgery will be performed and what other procedures  they will do.  I have no doubt she will be fine.  We have prayed to God and we all know He is in control.  The whole family believes God will use this part of Dicy's life to touch other just as He has used the rest of her life in this way.

Many of you that will read this know Dicy and have been blessed because of knowing her and I ask that you lift her up in your prayers.  Some of you haven't yet had the pleasure of meeting her.  To all of you, I ask that you lift a prayer selfishly that the Lord heal her and take care of her until you can have the great pleasure of calling Dicy your friend also.

As I said,  we have prayed to God and once again we ask for His undeserved grace.  Amen and Amen.

LISTENING 


How long has it been since you had a quite time with God?   No No No....Not a prayer time but a quite time.  For me, it had been awhile.  Oh I've had plenty of prayer times,,, "Good prayer times."  I've done prayer request and I've thanked Him for answering my prayers.  I've praised Him and I've knelt in awe at how good He's been to me and my family.  I've looked to the heavens and often wondered why He loves me so much.  But again I ask..."How about a quite time with God."

Now as you read this,  some of you may think I'm talking about you.  Let me assure you this is all about me.  If by chance it speaks to you,  maybe you should have  a quite time with God yourself.

As I stated before I've had my prayer times.  I'm not talking about that.  What I'm talking about is coming into the presence of God and keeping my mouth shut and listening.  Got that.... "LISTENING" to God.

I did that last night.  It was a cold night.  Our first below freezing night.  I went to bed and pulled the covers up tight against my body and as always I said my prayers.  I thanked God and I asked of God.  I praised God and I thanked him some more.  I told God He was great and I was amazed at His saving grace.  I thanked Him again and said Amen.  Amen is suppose to be the end of the prayer but for some reason it didn't feel finished and I laid there.....And I laid there...And I laid there some more.  And then it hit me,,,I was through with my prayer but God still had His turn coming.....He wasn't through.  God had listened to me,  He had listened with a loving heart and a loving concern.  God had heard my every word.  It was now God's turn to speak.

I pulled the covers tighter,  I turned the volume on the TV down ( I sleep with the TV on) and I said...."OK God...Speak to me."  And He did.

He talked to me about my reaction to the election.  No it wasn't an audible voice but I know it was God's voice.  He said "I know you're disappointed in the outcome and that's OK.  Nothing wrong with being disappointed.  What is wrong is the way you are reacting.  Your reaction has been to argue.  To call the other side names.  To get angry and let your anger fester.  Then you think to yourself...I'm just going to quit.  I'm not going to do my part anymore.  It is totally "us against them" and I'm sure not going to do anything to help them.  I'm going to take my ball and go home."

Then God said something that really hit home.  He said something that I went to sleep thinking about and woke up thinking about.  God said...."Wesley,  your attitude doesn't please Me."  What I was thinking,  What I was saying,  The way I was acting  didn't please God.  I then asked God to forgive me for responding the way I had been.  I ask Him to guide me in the way I should go I asked Him if it was possible to mix Christianity and politics.  The answer came to me not in that Godly voice but in a voice that nonetheless I was assured was from God.  I am a Christian first, and although I'm not of the world I am in the world.  I am in the world to make it a better place.  I am in the world to serve not only God but to likewise serve man.  I am in the world to minister to mankind.  I will hold to my morals,  express my morals and beliefs but I will do so with humility and love and not with haughtiness and anger. 

I had coaches in high school that just like me hated to lose.  To name a couple Julian Mock and Benny Davis.  But they taught me to not only win with dignity but to lose with dignity also.  They taught me about character.  I thank God for reminding me of what these men taught me and I pray I will carry myself in the future as I was taught.

And don't get this wrong.  The fight isn't over.  I will not change my beliefs in order to win but I will fight to change the minds of my brothers and sisters of this great country as God would have me do.  I will treat them as I would have them treat me and by using this strategy, God and the USA will win.  If I have offended anyone of you during this election period I ask for your forgiveness.  Now on to 2014 and 2016 and beyond

To God be the glory...Great things He has and will continue to do.

THE "F" WORD

If memory serves me it was a warm day at the end of August.  One of those feel good days that fills your whole body with contentment and excitement.  Our young family was together,  myself, Peggy my wonderful wife and our two beautiful daughters, Cindy and Vicki.  We had just picked the girls up from school and were excited to hear about their day.  Vicki was in kindergarten so everything about school was new to her and Cindy was growing up and forging ahead toward her higher education.  Cindy was in first grade.  As we rode down the road, Peggy and I were all smiles in anticipation of the stories we were about to hear.  The stories about how the girls liked their new teachers and about how nice and pretty they were.  The stories about the new friends they had made and the fun things they had done.  We also wanted to hear about what they had learned......or did we?

As Cindy was telling us about her day at school she told us that one of the boys had said the worse word you could ever say.  "What did he say?" I asked.  Cindy then said,  "Oh it was awful,  no way could she tell us what the word was."  Peggy then asked her what letter the word started with.  Her quick reply was,  "It starts with an "F" and has four letters.  I was a young man at the time but could feel my blood pressure going up.  I was becoming angry.  We had to get to the bottom of this.  Who would teach a child to use this type of language.  These were first graders.  Peggy then told Cindy..."It's OK  just tell me the word the boy said."  Again Cindy refused saying it was an awful word.  Finally Peggy told Cindy..."Just lean over here and whisper the word in my ear, or better yet,  Just spell it for me.  No one will hear it but me."  Cindy slowly leaned over close to Peggy.  She got her lips as close to Peggy's ear as possible to ensure that no one else could possibly hear her.  As she spelled this horrible word out in a whisper that only her mother could hear.....as she spelled this awful four letter word that started with the letter  "F"...... A smile began to wash over her mothers face which soon turned into laughter.  What was this awful word I now asked Peggy,  spell it out for me to which she slowly spelled  "F...A...N...Y.......So on this day in school my oldest daughter had learned the word "fanny",  but she had yet to learn to spell it correctly.

We have told this story often and it always brings a smile to my face.  It is one of those stories that I will always keep in my memory bank.  But as I was thinking about this story today,  I got to thinking about how we learn things.  When did you learn your first "cuss" word?  Was it from a classmate or a family member?  We're you offended by it?  I honestly don't remember the first cuss word I learned.  I'm sure I was young.  I do remember a couple times in my early life when I heard someone say a cuss word and it had an effect on me.  One was at a basketball game Murphy High was playing in.  I really looked up to that team.  They were like heroes to me.  It was half time and as they came off the court I heard one of the players say a cuss word.  I could tell he was angry and I can remember asking myself.."Is anger reason enough to use bad language?"  The other time I can remember is I was helping my Dad on his bread route.  I must have been 7 or 8.  Dad had made a mistake and he was upset with himself, and again in anger out came a cuss word.  It is the only time in my life I can remember my Dad cussing.  I'm sure he had cussed before and I'm sure he cussed again but I never heard him.  As I look back on this time I'm glad I heard him cuss.  It made me realize he wasn't perfect after all.  It made me realize we all make mistakes in life,  even our dads, but we must put those mistakes behind us and keep on going forward.

Sometimes I worry about the stories I tell my grandchildren.  About my growing up and the things I did.  They probably don't understand that times were different then.   Maybe I shouldn't tell then about hitchhiking to Florida at an early age or riding down Stone Mountain on a bicycle back when it was just a big rock in the middle of the woods.  Or about walking downtown on the railroad tracks or hunting for rats in Underground Atlanta before it was Underground Atlanta.  Stories about segregation and integration, about ax handles and fire hoses. Stories of times spent in the pool halls and of skipping school.  I worry if these stories will give them ideas of things they could do and I wonder if some of these stories might embarrass them.  Then I began to wonder if maybe they are at a time in their life when they don't want to share everything that is happening in their life with me.  Could they be afraid of giving me ideas of things to try.  Is it possible they are afraid they may embarrass me if I knew all about their life.  After all.... "WE DO LIVE IN A DIFFERENT TIME."  

Which reminds me..."Did I ever tell you about the time.........................."