My dad, Haynes Knox, never played sports. From what I was told, he had rheumatism as a child and that condition apparently stunted his growth for a few years. As a result, he was a bit smaller than most of the kids his age. That meant he didn't get to play sports like baseball or basketball and had no interest in them.
When I told him I wanted to play baseball, the only stipulation he gave me was that I could not quit if I decided to play. So, when I finally decided to play, during the summer between the 4th and 5th grade, he made sure I went to practice, attended all the games and did his best to find all the ways he could to make me a better player. Dad got an idea from one of my teammates' dads, to put a baseball on a rope and swing it around in a way that I could practice making contact with the ball. I can't count the evenings he would go outside with me, after he got home from work, and swing that ball around and around and let me hit it again and again so I could be a better hitter. In retrospect, it's also pretty amazing that I never accidentally hit the ball back at him while he was swinging it around and round. I'm sure if I had, that exercise would have been over. Eventually, that baseball started coming apart, because of the hole that was drilled through it and it had been hit over and over again. But, it was OK, because by then, my hitting had improved and I didn't need that exercise quite as much. It had served its purpose and Dad was pleased with my progress as a hitter.
About the same time as all this was happening, I became interested in pitching. Dad didn't throw very well and seemed reluctant to play catch with me, probably because he didn't want to get hit by the ball. So, set up an old tire against a shed we had in our back yard that we used to store hay for my pony, Poncho. Dad marked off 45 feet (since I was still in Little League) and set an old board in the ground to act as the pitching rubber. He bought a bunch of baseballs and put them in a 5-gallon bucket and told me to throw at the hole at the center of the tire. I eventually moved the board in the ground back to 60 feet, 6 inches, to mark the distance of the mound in Pony League and high school baseball. I used that old tire as my target and the building as my backstop, until the building had to finally be torn down and removed from our property. During that span of time, I became a starting pitcher at Malakoff High School and made all-district and and all-county teams at that position. I owe whatever success that I achieved to my father and his support of me playing the game - and particularly my practice pitching against that old building.
One of the best memories I have of time I spent with my dad was when he took me, along with Paul Loper and Carl Tapley to see the Texas Rangers at the old Arlington Stadium. We skipped out on church that Sunday and the 4 of us loaded up in Dad's 1972 Ford Maverick and made the drive from Malakoff to Arlington for an afternoon game. It is one of the most vivid memories of my life. We were in the nosebleeds, up behind home plate on the right field side of the stands. We were there early enough for batting practice - for both teams. We all brought our gloves, but there were no foul balls anywhere near us. We didn't care. We spent the afternoon living it up. Dad and I attended several more games together there, including one double-header, on a Saturday afternoon. When the second of the two games were over that night, Dad told me "let's not do another double header again, OK?" Fortunately for Dad, there were no more double-headers at Arlington after that.
I don't remember a time that I went to bat that I didn't hear my dad tell me, from behind the backstop, "watch 'em close!" In fact, I don't recall not having my dad at any baseball game I ever played (except when I tried to play in college. Even then, he would ask me how I did.). In fact, I distinctly remember playing in Blooming Grove, during my junior year of high school (1986), and Dad was the only fan from Malakoff in the stands. For whatever reason, the fans in Blooming Grove were on us particularly hard that day, and were talking a lot of trash. Several high school kids came around and sat in the stands behind our dugout so they could taunt us. I could hear Dad throughout the game, telling me to "watch 'em close" when I was at the plate. The picture of him being in the stands, surrounded by hostile fans from Blooming Grove is still burned in my mind. I don't know if they talked trash to him. They probably did. But, knowing my dad, he wasn't phased by their behavior and didn't care. He was there for me. "Throw strikes!" That image of him being in the stands is what I see in my mind when I'm facing difficult circumstances. I know I have at least one person on my side.
I'm writing this after watching my first baseball game at Olsen Field at Blue Bell Park. I was there with my daughter, Jessica, her boyfriend, Bradley and one of her buddies from A Battery. The Ags played Yale and showed that they were the far better team, winning 12-5. As I sat in the stands, I remembered attending that game in Arlington, with Carl, Paul and Dad. I couldn't help but feel that my dad was there. I said a few times to myself "watch 'em close," and to the pitcher "throw strikes!" We all got to laugh as we enjoyed the game of baseball together and acknowledged that this game was the link that tied it all together.
It really doesn't matter who's playing or where we might be, baseball is still a huge part of my life. I realize it every time I enter the gates of a ballpark or put on a glove to play catch with somebody. And I have my dad to thank for that.
Monday, March 21, 2016
Saturday, August 29, 2015
Reflections On Becoming An Empty Nest
I think just about everyone who knows me and my family should be aware that we recently sent our baby off to college a week and a half ago. If not, we took our youngest daughter, Anna, to Texas A&M on August 19th. Today, we went back to College Station to see her and some 400 freshman cadets pass before the Corps Commander in their Fish Review, when they are officially accepted into Corps of Cadets. It was really a good day.
I noticed on Facebook, over the past several weeks, that a lot of our friends had kids going off to college this year. Great thing, that Facebook. If anything, I was aware, going into this experience of emptying the nest, that my wife and I would not be the only ones having to say goodbye to one of our kiddos. It didn't necessarily help things. But, when I would get melancholy or restless in the days leading up, I could tell myself "suck it up! You're not the only one who's feeling like this!"
It also helped that we had two kids leave the nest already.
Our son, Chris, left home for UNT in Denton - 4 years ago this week. I remember feeling a lot of the same things in the days leading up to his departure for UNT: melancholy, anxiety. I wanted to make sure that everything was just right and we had that heart felt goodbye when we dropped him off at school. Little did we know that he had plans of his own for arriving on campus. We spent the night before at my brother's in Mt. Vernon, TX, which was only 2 hours away from Denton - as opposed to driving 4 hours from home in Conroe. Chris told us that he needed to be on campus at a certain time that morning. I thought to myself "that's odd, to set a time for move in." We got up early and said bye to my brother and sister-in-law, drove to Denton, unloaded his stuff in the dorm and that was it. You know that feeling you get when you think somebody is trying to get rid of you? Yeah, that's exactly what we were feeling. We took a little time for a few pictures and that was it. We found out later that he had planned to go to a certain gathering on campus that morning and didn't want us there to cramp his style. It was pretty much par for the course. The boy had always been independent and he was ready to get out on his own.
In the 4 years since that day, he's probably been home a dozen or so times. One of the times was to go to Malakoff for my dad's funeral, which was only 3 weeks after he left home. We came to realize quickly that he was ready to get out on his own for quite some time. In the time since, he has proved to be responsible in taking care of himself and his business. He will beginning his 5th year at UNT this fall. He has worked throughout his college career and got his own apartment midway through his second year in Denton. We had to adjust to Chris not being at home, but it wasn't too difficult. When he was at home, he was often in his room, playing guitar or listening to music. In the years since he left for college, it's been like he was still in his room, only we don't hear music coming out of there anymore. But, let him come home for the weekend, we realize what we've missed in his absence.
Jessica surprised my wife and I when she told us that she wanted to go to Texas A&M two years ago. To our knowledge, she was planning to go to UNT, like her brother. No one in our family had ever attended Texas A&M. Afterall, engineers and scientists go to Texas AM. Not the artsy-fartsy types like the members of our family! We were even more surprised to find out that she wanted to join the Aggie Band, which involved joining the Corps of Cadets. We both were pretty nervous about our ballerina and singer doing the things cadets do - along with the normal rigors of going off to college for the first time. When she went off to Fish Camp, she came back with stories about the people she met and the crazy things they did to get to know each other. That was one thing. Then, it came time to go off to FOW (Freshman Orientation Week) with the Corps, which was entirely something else. I heard stories about FOW and was concerned about how Jessica would be able to handle it. I sat her down at one point and told her that she couldn't quit and I didn't want her to call me and tell me should couldn't take it, because I would be there to take her home in a heartbeat. Thankfully, that never happened.
Two years removed from that experience, there have been multiple trips to see the band perform at Kyle Field and other locations, various parent activities on the A&M campus, along with several trips home whenever she had a free weekend. When we saw her at Fish Review two years ago, we were able to breathe a little easier. She survived FOW and was ready for the challenges and opportunities that were ahead of her. There were some difficulties early on, and with the help of her buddies she made it through. In the time since, we've gotten to know her buddies from her band outfit, along with their parents. We've had a few of the buddies over for dinner, taken a few of them out for lunch. We've tailgated, attended Aggie games and various band and corps activities. It's like our family has expanded through this experience to include all of them. It was a trade-off we never would have expected and has been such a pleasant surprise.
Anna, like Jessica, said she intended to go to UNT and live with her brother up until a couple of years ago. I was good with our baby going to live with Chris. He would take care of her and show her the ropes. She would love Denton. But, her tune began to change and she started talking about going to Texas A&M instead. Anna attributed the decision to attend A&M to God telling her to follow in Jessica's footsteps. I was OK with the idea. After all, who am I to argue with God? She was one who preferred a structured environment - possibly more than her siblings. But, being the baby, she also liked doing her own thing. In a lot of ways, her mother and I were also a little more protective of her since she was the baby. In the years since Chris and Jessica left home, Anna had to deal with me and her mom trying to dote on her a little more since she was the only kid in the house. There was also the presence of her Grandmama who seemed to dote on Anna more than anyone else. It's a wonder we didn't drive her crazy.
We dropped her off, behind Dorm 11 on the Quad a week ago this past Wednesday. Much like her brother, she was ready for Grandmama, her mom and me to get going so she could get to the business of being a fish. With Anna being our second cadet, we knew things would be different. We had "connections" now and could keep tabs on how she was doing. Just like Jessica, I feared that I might get a tearful phone call, at some point during the night, telling me that she wanted me to bring her home. Thankfully, that call never came. Our connections told us that Anna was doing well and making her mark over the course of FOW. Good bull, as they say in the corps.
Today, we arrived at Simpson Drill Field to the sounds of the Aggie Band playing while cadets from the various companies filed onto the field for Fish Review. We were able to find Jessica quite easily. She was second to the end of her rank, nearest the sideline where we were seated. Anna, on the other hand, was a little harder to spot. We looked and looked. Finally, during the swearing in of the fish cadets, we saw her. Our baby was now fish Knox, the second in our family, part of the class of 2019. Grandmama, Aunt Janeen, her mom and me - we pointed to say we found her.
When the review was over, we gathered on the field for pictures and it was quite clear to us that our newest cadet was doing quite well. She introduced us to her buddies. Her buddies introduced us to her parents. New connections and relationships for the next four years of football games, tailgate parties, parent and student activities - all part of the life of a cadet family at Texas A&M. I looked at Janeen and there were tears in her eyes.
"They're all grown up," she said.
"Yeah, they are" I replied.
For me, songs come to mind when I encounter the events from day to day. Music has always played a big part in the life of our family and with each of our children. When I was snapping pictures of Anna with her fish buddies today, a song came to mind by one of my favorite songwriters, Steve Hindalong. He's written several songs about his children over the years, at various stages of their growing up. I met Steve at a concert earlier this year and we talked about his songs, about kids growing up and such. He wrote the song below for his daughter, who was making the transition to adulthood, possibly at a time much like this. He told me how she went through some really tough times, but was doing well and he was looking forward to seeing her on a later leg of the tour. As I watched Anna with her buddies today, the words of this song came to mind and kept rolling through my head:
When our kids are born, we should understand that we are preparing for their launch as adults right then. We're not supposed to make our children dependent on us. Our goal needs to be to make them independent and prepare them to achieve the things they want for their lives. We can choose to act like that day will never come, or neglect our duty as parents to prepare them for it. Still, the time comes, no matter how well or poorly we do our job as parents. Hopefully, we aren't derelict in our duties and responsibilities because our children will be the ones who pay the price, not us.
As I sit here reflecting on the events of the day, I can't help but be thankful. Things will definitely be different around our house, now that all three of our children are off at college. If anything, it's much more quiet than I could have imagined - even a few days ago. We've been preparing ourselves for this for a long time and we'll adjust.
Now, it's up to our kids...go fly high, little birdies...especially you, fish Knox 2019...fly high...
I noticed on Facebook, over the past several weeks, that a lot of our friends had kids going off to college this year. Great thing, that Facebook. If anything, I was aware, going into this experience of emptying the nest, that my wife and I would not be the only ones having to say goodbye to one of our kiddos. It didn't necessarily help things. But, when I would get melancholy or restless in the days leading up, I could tell myself "suck it up! You're not the only one who's feeling like this!"
It also helped that we had two kids leave the nest already.
Our son, Chris, left home for UNT in Denton - 4 years ago this week. I remember feeling a lot of the same things in the days leading up to his departure for UNT: melancholy, anxiety. I wanted to make sure that everything was just right and we had that heart felt goodbye when we dropped him off at school. Little did we know that he had plans of his own for arriving on campus. We spent the night before at my brother's in Mt. Vernon, TX, which was only 2 hours away from Denton - as opposed to driving 4 hours from home in Conroe. Chris told us that he needed to be on campus at a certain time that morning. I thought to myself "that's odd, to set a time for move in." We got up early and said bye to my brother and sister-in-law, drove to Denton, unloaded his stuff in the dorm and that was it. You know that feeling you get when you think somebody is trying to get rid of you? Yeah, that's exactly what we were feeling. We took a little time for a few pictures and that was it. We found out later that he had planned to go to a certain gathering on campus that morning and didn't want us there to cramp his style. It was pretty much par for the course. The boy had always been independent and he was ready to get out on his own.
In the 4 years since that day, he's probably been home a dozen or so times. One of the times was to go to Malakoff for my dad's funeral, which was only 3 weeks after he left home. We came to realize quickly that he was ready to get out on his own for quite some time. In the time since, he has proved to be responsible in taking care of himself and his business. He will beginning his 5th year at UNT this fall. He has worked throughout his college career and got his own apartment midway through his second year in Denton. We had to adjust to Chris not being at home, but it wasn't too difficult. When he was at home, he was often in his room, playing guitar or listening to music. In the years since he left for college, it's been like he was still in his room, only we don't hear music coming out of there anymore. But, let him come home for the weekend, we realize what we've missed in his absence.
Jessica surprised my wife and I when she told us that she wanted to go to Texas A&M two years ago. To our knowledge, she was planning to go to UNT, like her brother. No one in our family had ever attended Texas A&M. Afterall, engineers and scientists go to Texas AM. Not the artsy-fartsy types like the members of our family! We were even more surprised to find out that she wanted to join the Aggie Band, which involved joining the Corps of Cadets. We both were pretty nervous about our ballerina and singer doing the things cadets do - along with the normal rigors of going off to college for the first time. When she went off to Fish Camp, she came back with stories about the people she met and the crazy things they did to get to know each other. That was one thing. Then, it came time to go off to FOW (Freshman Orientation Week) with the Corps, which was entirely something else. I heard stories about FOW and was concerned about how Jessica would be able to handle it. I sat her down at one point and told her that she couldn't quit and I didn't want her to call me and tell me should couldn't take it, because I would be there to take her home in a heartbeat. Thankfully, that never happened.
Two years removed from that experience, there have been multiple trips to see the band perform at Kyle Field and other locations, various parent activities on the A&M campus, along with several trips home whenever she had a free weekend. When we saw her at Fish Review two years ago, we were able to breathe a little easier. She survived FOW and was ready for the challenges and opportunities that were ahead of her. There were some difficulties early on, and with the help of her buddies she made it through. In the time since, we've gotten to know her buddies from her band outfit, along with their parents. We've had a few of the buddies over for dinner, taken a few of them out for lunch. We've tailgated, attended Aggie games and various band and corps activities. It's like our family has expanded through this experience to include all of them. It was a trade-off we never would have expected and has been such a pleasant surprise.
Anna, like Jessica, said she intended to go to UNT and live with her brother up until a couple of years ago. I was good with our baby going to live with Chris. He would take care of her and show her the ropes. She would love Denton. But, her tune began to change and she started talking about going to Texas A&M instead. Anna attributed the decision to attend A&M to God telling her to follow in Jessica's footsteps. I was OK with the idea. After all, who am I to argue with God? She was one who preferred a structured environment - possibly more than her siblings. But, being the baby, she also liked doing her own thing. In a lot of ways, her mother and I were also a little more protective of her since she was the baby. In the years since Chris and Jessica left home, Anna had to deal with me and her mom trying to dote on her a little more since she was the only kid in the house. There was also the presence of her Grandmama who seemed to dote on Anna more than anyone else. It's a wonder we didn't drive her crazy.
We dropped her off, behind Dorm 11 on the Quad a week ago this past Wednesday. Much like her brother, she was ready for Grandmama, her mom and me to get going so she could get to the business of being a fish. With Anna being our second cadet, we knew things would be different. We had "connections" now and could keep tabs on how she was doing. Just like Jessica, I feared that I might get a tearful phone call, at some point during the night, telling me that she wanted me to bring her home. Thankfully, that call never came. Our connections told us that Anna was doing well and making her mark over the course of FOW. Good bull, as they say in the corps.
Today, we arrived at Simpson Drill Field to the sounds of the Aggie Band playing while cadets from the various companies filed onto the field for Fish Review. We were able to find Jessica quite easily. She was second to the end of her rank, nearest the sideline where we were seated. Anna, on the other hand, was a little harder to spot. We looked and looked. Finally, during the swearing in of the fish cadets, we saw her. Our baby was now fish Knox, the second in our family, part of the class of 2019. Grandmama, Aunt Janeen, her mom and me - we pointed to say we found her.
When the review was over, we gathered on the field for pictures and it was quite clear to us that our newest cadet was doing quite well. She introduced us to her buddies. Her buddies introduced us to her parents. New connections and relationships for the next four years of football games, tailgate parties, parent and student activities - all part of the life of a cadet family at Texas A&M. I looked at Janeen and there were tears in her eyes.
"They're all grown up," she said.
"Yeah, they are" I replied.
For me, songs come to mind when I encounter the events from day to day. Music has always played a big part in the life of our family and with each of our children. When I was snapping pictures of Anna with her fish buddies today, a song came to mind by one of my favorite songwriters, Steve Hindalong. He's written several songs about his children over the years, at various stages of their growing up. I met Steve at a concert earlier this year and we talked about his songs, about kids growing up and such. He wrote the song below for his daughter, who was making the transition to adulthood, possibly at a time much like this. He told me how she went through some really tough times, but was doing well and he was looking forward to seeing her on a later leg of the tour. As I watched Anna with her buddies today, the words of this song came to mind and kept rolling through my head:
Comes a time for tears in the dark,
No need to fake it.
Yesterday her eyes were shining stars,
I know she'll make it.
No need to fake it.
Yesterday her eyes were shining stars,
I know she'll make it.
She's alright,
She's alright, now.
Flying over mountains,
Coming through the clouds.
She's alright,
Like an eagle in the wind.
I know she's gonna make it through,
Cause she's got true blue friends.
She's alright, now.
Flying over mountains,
Coming through the clouds.
She's alright,
Like an eagle in the wind.
I know she's gonna make it through,
Cause she's got true blue friends.
Even when the rain is falling hard,
She will find cover.
Even though she aches to the heart,
She knows we love her.
She will find cover.
Even though she aches to the heart,
She knows we love her.
She's alright,
She's alright, now.
Flying over mountains,
Coming through the clouds.
She's alright,
Like an eagle in the wind.
I know she's gonna make it through,
Cause she's got true blue friends.
She's alright, now.
Flying over mountains,
Coming through the clouds.
She's alright,
Like an eagle in the wind.
I know she's gonna make it through,
Cause she's got true blue friends.
When our kids are born, we should understand that we are preparing for their launch as adults right then. We're not supposed to make our children dependent on us. Our goal needs to be to make them independent and prepare them to achieve the things they want for their lives. We can choose to act like that day will never come, or neglect our duty as parents to prepare them for it. Still, the time comes, no matter how well or poorly we do our job as parents. Hopefully, we aren't derelict in our duties and responsibilities because our children will be the ones who pay the price, not us.
As I sit here reflecting on the events of the day, I can't help but be thankful. Things will definitely be different around our house, now that all three of our children are off at college. If anything, it's much more quiet than I could have imagined - even a few days ago. We've been preparing ourselves for this for a long time and we'll adjust.
Now, it's up to our kids...go fly high, little birdies...especially you, fish Knox 2019...fly high...
Saturday, May 24, 2014
Blarg...
It's difficult to put some feelings into words. Maybe because I'm a guy. As guys, we're not supposed to be in touch with ourselves in that way (by saying "we're," I mean guys, in general) that we discuss how we feel about something or other. We deal in actions, what we're supposed to do. So, when dealing with, let's say "changes" in the world and how a part of the world relates to us, or me, in particular, and if things aren't going so well, or in a way we expected, it can be alarming. (I'm being vague on purpose, to protect the confused.)
There comes a point when things change and all of a sudden all the cards are out of your hands. (Those things didn't just change, by the way. The "all of a sudden" had been in the works for a while.) Or, you discover that the things you are or were responsible for are things you can't really control anymore (*hint - you never were in control of them. Period.) Take your pick. Powerlessness is a palpable feeling and I am in touch with that one for sure this morning.
That said, I know I've been fortunate, so far in my life. Things have never been what I would call "easy" in my life. But, a quick comparison with any number of people within my immediate circle would show it hasn't been very bad at all. I certainly didn't do everything right or know exactly what to do at any given point along the way. There was a confidence I felt that grew out of a trust that had been established. That trust made me feel secure and to feel like everything was going to turn out like I wanted it to turn out. Nothing led me to see or feel anything else to the contrary - until I discovered things had changed at a more fundamental level around me. Upon making that discovery, I felt the earth below me shift and I've been walking close to walls and reaching for hand rails since, much like a person who survives an earthquake might do. So now, what do I do? What can I do?
Powerlessness. It reminds me that the only thing I can control is me. That realization is palpable and as real as everything around me.
There comes a point when things change and all of a sudden all the cards are out of your hands. (Those things didn't just change, by the way. The "all of a sudden" had been in the works for a while.) Or, you discover that the things you are or were responsible for are things you can't really control anymore (*hint - you never were in control of them. Period.) Take your pick. Powerlessness is a palpable feeling and I am in touch with that one for sure this morning.
That said, I know I've been fortunate, so far in my life. Things have never been what I would call "easy" in my life. But, a quick comparison with any number of people within my immediate circle would show it hasn't been very bad at all. I certainly didn't do everything right or know exactly what to do at any given point along the way. There was a confidence I felt that grew out of a trust that had been established. That trust made me feel secure and to feel like everything was going to turn out like I wanted it to turn out. Nothing led me to see or feel anything else to the contrary - until I discovered things had changed at a more fundamental level around me. Upon making that discovery, I felt the earth below me shift and I've been walking close to walls and reaching for hand rails since, much like a person who survives an earthquake might do. So now, what do I do? What can I do?
Powerlessness. It reminds me that the only thing I can control is me. That realization is palpable and as real as everything around me.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
A Cat Named "Cleo"
8 1/2 years ago, my family and I were on an all-church camp out. I got up early and went outside of the shelter where we were staying and started reading a new book I had just purchased. No one else in our group was awake, so I was about to cherish some seriously needed quiet time. Within about 5 minutes of getting settled in my chair with my book and a cup of coffee, a little black cat emerged from the woods. I thought she was wild, so I sat quietly to see what she would do. It turned out she was used to people. She proved it when she jumped into the camp chair next to me, then proceed to climb gently onto my shoulder, then crawled down my chest to settle in my lap - on top of my book. She purred loudly and didn't seem to mind when I shifted the book out from under her so she could rest on my lap. She stayed there that morning until my daughter Anna, who was 8 or 9 years old at the time, woke up and saw her. The rest of the weekend, the poor cat was dragged all over that camp ground and handled by every small child associated with our church.
One of the ladies from the church wanted to take her to a vet to see if she was healthy. I though that meant that the lady would take the cat home with HER. It turned out that the lady brought the cat to our house, told us about the trip to the vet, gave us a bag of food and cat litter and left the cat with us. She was ours, or we were hers - however that works. For the record, she would always be Anna's cat. So, we had to come up with a name. The kids running around with Anna told her at the camp to call the cat "Pancake" because she liked to eat them. Somebody else mentioned that she looked very elegant and suggested the name Cleopatra. I suggested the old standards from my childhood: "Jackson" and "Buttermilk" which were received with boos and hisses. Somewhere in there we got the idea for the Egyptian queen's possible nickname - "Cleo" - and the rest was history.
Cleo was never a big cat. She was also very quiet. That was something special to me. Our old cat, Columbus, would meow all the time - to the point of being obnoxious. He was an outdoor cat, which made having an indoor cat more feasible at the time. They once got within a few feet of each other and it was funny to see little Cleo trying to advance on the old guy. To avoid the conflict or prevent the possibility of showing the younger cat who was the boss, Columbus fled back outside. That was something else about Cleo, the cat was fearless. She loved to walk under our feet - literally. I can't count how many times she got under me and I stepped on her. It didn't help she was all black. I would walk through the house and not see her. She would growl in pain to which I would respond "get out of my way, silly." 5 minutes later she would do the same thing again.
Once, when my mom's dog, Molly, came to Conroe, Cleo wanted to make an impression. Naturally, Molly was anxious after the car ride and then arriving at a new place. Molly knew who I was, so she followed me everywhere - including into our house. When Molly walked in the door from our garage, Cleo made eye contact. Cleo flew across the kitchen floor and dove at Molly, landed on Molly's left front shoulder and latched on. Molly could do nothing but retreat and wound up in a corner and just laid down. I had to pry the cat off and even took a few swats at Molly as I pulled her away. Consequently, Molly will not walk into our garage on her own out of fear of the dreaded Cleo. They were forced to share the garage when it was cold earlier this year. Molly chose to sleep as far away from Cleo as possible. Our dog, Otis, would not cross Cleo for anything, either. Once, she sat in the doorway from our living room to the kitchen. It seemed innocent enough, but when we called Otis to take him outside, he would not try to go past Cleo - until I moved her out of the way. When I did, she acted as if it was nothing. Crazy cat!
In addition to being fearless, Cleo was a little off. We got her fixed not too long after she officially became "ours." We dropped her off at the place early in the morning and were told to pick her up late that evening. When we arrived, the staff pulled us aside to tell us that there was a complication. Somehow one of Cleo's ovaries had fused with her spleen. They had never seen it before. They were able to complete the operation, but they explained that they had to leave a small portion of the ovary behind to avoid damage to the spleen. "The only side-affect might be heat-like symptoms without being in heat." He was right. Every so often, she'd come in to get petted and would position herself so the "petter" was petting her hind quarters. It was weird, but then again, that was Cleo.
Anna taught Cleo to sit. I have to tell that part. Anna would show Cleo a treat and taught her to sit like one of our dogs. I think she may have a picture of it somewhere. If she does, I'll attach it to this post. But, she did it - better than either of our dogs - and only for Anna.
I think she also had some kind of kitty-kat OCD or something. I have never in my life seen a cat groom themselves like she did. She would groom herself until she would shed. She scratched and caused scabs to form all over her neck and head. She also barfed up more hairballs, for a shorthair, than anything I had ever seen before - seriously! I was afraid to let her go outside because she was still smaller than other cats her age. I was also afraid she might get run over. But, the grooming thing got out of control, so we had no choice. It turns out that was possibly the best and worst thing we could do for her. She loved roaming around our garage. She spent days in there before she ever discovered the outside world. Once she found it, the skin condition seemed to subside. She still groomed herself like crazy, but we didn't see near the number of hairballs we would see before. She loved being outdoors.
She also was still fearless and didn't like having to move when we pulled into the garage with one of our cars. After a few close calls, one evening the odds caught up with her and she got rolled under one of the tires. We rushed her to the local emergency pet clinic. In spite of some bruising and sore spots to the touch, she had no broken bones. That's when I think she finally got it about cars. After that, when we turned into the driveway, she ran away from cars first and would come back to see who was in the car.
It was good she finally learned to get out of the way of cars. But, she never got the memo about feet. That must have been her shtick - if cats can even have them. No matter how many times her tail or foot was stepped on, she would come right back for more. There were times that I would step on her and be so frustrated that I would push her away. She would slide across the floor only to come right back, as if to say "hey, what did you do that for?"
You may have noticed that I have been writing about Cleo in the past tense. I'm doing that because we had to say goodbye to her today. Cleo had a run-in with one of our neighbor's dogs. I wasn't there (which was probably a good thing), but I'm sure she put up a valiant fight. Unfortunately, the bigger dog was too much for her. We gathered her up and took her to the same local clinic where we took her after the run-in with the car. The doctor confirmed she suffered numerous, serious injuries. Treatment would be expensive and recovery was not a sure thing by any means. After some discussion with the doctor, we decided we had to say goodbye to our little friend.
In the minutes before the appointed time, we took turns saying little prayers for her. It wouldn't have been bearable if she was in serious pain. But, just like her fearless self, Cleo wasn't scared. I like to think God answers prayers for animals just like anything else. As the song says "His eye is on the sparrow..." I think He looks out for little, quirky cats like Cleo, too - even in circumstances like these. Surrounded by the only family Cleo ever knew, she continued purring until she went to sleep.
I tear up as I write about this. For all the times she tripped me up and I fussed at her, she would just get close and rub up on my leg, as if to say "this is all I really wanted." I'm really going to miss that, as well as the other quirky things she would do.
We buried her in our little cemetery we have in our back yard. When Anna was younger, every squirrel or bird that died in our yard "had to be buried" in our yard. I tried to explain to her then that they were not our pets. She wouldn't hear it. There must be a half a dozen squirrels and 3 or 4 birds out there in different places. (I hope the dogs didn't dig them up, for Anna's sake.) I'm sure Molly and Otis will have their place in the yard at some point. For the record, our old cat Columbus, shares the tree we buried Cleo under. Though Cleo never really ventured in our back yard, I'm sure she'd have liked the place.
It's crazy that an animal can carve out such a unique and sensitive place in a person's heart. Cleo did it to me from the time she walked out of the woods and into my lap.
(PS. The neighbor was upset about her dog attacking Cleo and compensated us for our loss. We had never officially met before tonight and may have gained a friend along the way.)
One of the ladies from the church wanted to take her to a vet to see if she was healthy. I though that meant that the lady would take the cat home with HER. It turned out that the lady brought the cat to our house, told us about the trip to the vet, gave us a bag of food and cat litter and left the cat with us. She was ours, or we were hers - however that works. For the record, she would always be Anna's cat. So, we had to come up with a name. The kids running around with Anna told her at the camp to call the cat "Pancake" because she liked to eat them. Somebody else mentioned that she looked very elegant and suggested the name Cleopatra. I suggested the old standards from my childhood: "Jackson" and "Buttermilk" which were received with boos and hisses. Somewhere in there we got the idea for the Egyptian queen's possible nickname - "Cleo" - and the rest was history.
Cleo was never a big cat. She was also very quiet. That was something special to me. Our old cat, Columbus, would meow all the time - to the point of being obnoxious. He was an outdoor cat, which made having an indoor cat more feasible at the time. They once got within a few feet of each other and it was funny to see little Cleo trying to advance on the old guy. To avoid the conflict or prevent the possibility of showing the younger cat who was the boss, Columbus fled back outside. That was something else about Cleo, the cat was fearless. She loved to walk under our feet - literally. I can't count how many times she got under me and I stepped on her. It didn't help she was all black. I would walk through the house and not see her. She would growl in pain to which I would respond "get out of my way, silly." 5 minutes later she would do the same thing again.
Once, when my mom's dog, Molly, came to Conroe, Cleo wanted to make an impression. Naturally, Molly was anxious after the car ride and then arriving at a new place. Molly knew who I was, so she followed me everywhere - including into our house. When Molly walked in the door from our garage, Cleo made eye contact. Cleo flew across the kitchen floor and dove at Molly, landed on Molly's left front shoulder and latched on. Molly could do nothing but retreat and wound up in a corner and just laid down. I had to pry the cat off and even took a few swats at Molly as I pulled her away. Consequently, Molly will not walk into our garage on her own out of fear of the dreaded Cleo. They were forced to share the garage when it was cold earlier this year. Molly chose to sleep as far away from Cleo as possible. Our dog, Otis, would not cross Cleo for anything, either. Once, she sat in the doorway from our living room to the kitchen. It seemed innocent enough, but when we called Otis to take him outside, he would not try to go past Cleo - until I moved her out of the way. When I did, she acted as if it was nothing. Crazy cat!
In addition to being fearless, Cleo was a little off. We got her fixed not too long after she officially became "ours." We dropped her off at the place early in the morning and were told to pick her up late that evening. When we arrived, the staff pulled us aside to tell us that there was a complication. Somehow one of Cleo's ovaries had fused with her spleen. They had never seen it before. They were able to complete the operation, but they explained that they had to leave a small portion of the ovary behind to avoid damage to the spleen. "The only side-affect might be heat-like symptoms without being in heat." He was right. Every so often, she'd come in to get petted and would position herself so the "petter" was petting her hind quarters. It was weird, but then again, that was Cleo.
Anna taught Cleo to sit. I have to tell that part. Anna would show Cleo a treat and taught her to sit like one of our dogs. I think she may have a picture of it somewhere. If she does, I'll attach it to this post. But, she did it - better than either of our dogs - and only for Anna.
I think she also had some kind of kitty-kat OCD or something. I have never in my life seen a cat groom themselves like she did. She would groom herself until she would shed. She scratched and caused scabs to form all over her neck and head. She also barfed up more hairballs, for a shorthair, than anything I had ever seen before - seriously! I was afraid to let her go outside because she was still smaller than other cats her age. I was also afraid she might get run over. But, the grooming thing got out of control, so we had no choice. It turns out that was possibly the best and worst thing we could do for her. She loved roaming around our garage. She spent days in there before she ever discovered the outside world. Once she found it, the skin condition seemed to subside. She still groomed herself like crazy, but we didn't see near the number of hairballs we would see before. She loved being outdoors.
She also was still fearless and didn't like having to move when we pulled into the garage with one of our cars. After a few close calls, one evening the odds caught up with her and she got rolled under one of the tires. We rushed her to the local emergency pet clinic. In spite of some bruising and sore spots to the touch, she had no broken bones. That's when I think she finally got it about cars. After that, when we turned into the driveway, she ran away from cars first and would come back to see who was in the car.
It was good she finally learned to get out of the way of cars. But, she never got the memo about feet. That must have been her shtick - if cats can even have them. No matter how many times her tail or foot was stepped on, she would come right back for more. There were times that I would step on her and be so frustrated that I would push her away. She would slide across the floor only to come right back, as if to say "hey, what did you do that for?"
You may have noticed that I have been writing about Cleo in the past tense. I'm doing that because we had to say goodbye to her today. Cleo had a run-in with one of our neighbor's dogs. I wasn't there (which was probably a good thing), but I'm sure she put up a valiant fight. Unfortunately, the bigger dog was too much for her. We gathered her up and took her to the same local clinic where we took her after the run-in with the car. The doctor confirmed she suffered numerous, serious injuries. Treatment would be expensive and recovery was not a sure thing by any means. After some discussion with the doctor, we decided we had to say goodbye to our little friend.
In the minutes before the appointed time, we took turns saying little prayers for her. It wouldn't have been bearable if she was in serious pain. But, just like her fearless self, Cleo wasn't scared. I like to think God answers prayers for animals just like anything else. As the song says "His eye is on the sparrow..." I think He looks out for little, quirky cats like Cleo, too - even in circumstances like these. Surrounded by the only family Cleo ever knew, she continued purring until she went to sleep.
I tear up as I write about this. For all the times she tripped me up and I fussed at her, she would just get close and rub up on my leg, as if to say "this is all I really wanted." I'm really going to miss that, as well as the other quirky things she would do.
We buried her in our little cemetery we have in our back yard. When Anna was younger, every squirrel or bird that died in our yard "had to be buried" in our yard. I tried to explain to her then that they were not our pets. She wouldn't hear it. There must be a half a dozen squirrels and 3 or 4 birds out there in different places. (I hope the dogs didn't dig them up, for Anna's sake.) I'm sure Molly and Otis will have their place in the yard at some point. For the record, our old cat Columbus, shares the tree we buried Cleo under. Though Cleo never really ventured in our back yard, I'm sure she'd have liked the place.
It's crazy that an animal can carve out such a unique and sensitive place in a person's heart. Cleo did it to me from the time she walked out of the woods and into my lap.
(PS. The neighbor was upset about her dog attacking Cleo and compensated us for our loss. We had never officially met before tonight and may have gained a friend along the way.)
Saturday, July 20, 2013
The Friendliest Place on Earth
Disneyland more than lived up to its nickname as "the happiest place on earth" yesterday. It is also quite possibly the friendliest.
My server at a sandwich shop asked me about the Texas A&M cap I was wearing.
"Are you a graduate of Texas A&M?"
"No, my daughter will be going there this fall."
"How exciting! I attend the University of Alabama!"
"Really! My daughter is in the Corps and she and I will be at the A&M-Bama game!"
(That's right, I'm her date for the A&M-Bama game! WHOOP!)
"I'm in the band, so I will get to be there, too! Maybe we'll get to see each other again!"
"That would be so cool if we did!"
All warm and fuzzy inside...
My server at a sandwich shop asked me about the Texas A&M cap I was wearing.
"Are you a graduate of Texas A&M?"
"No, my daughter will be going there this fall."
"How exciting! I attend the University of Alabama!"
"Really! My daughter is in the Corps and she and I will be at the A&M-Bama game!"
(That's right, I'm her date for the A&M-Bama game! WHOOP!)
"I'm in the band, so I will get to be there, too! Maybe we'll get to see each other again!"
"That would be so cool if we did!"
All warm and fuzzy inside...
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Another Christmas
This will be the second Christmas since my father passed away. I don't think it will ever get any easier.
I've noticed that my mother has gotten unsettled. She doesn't really know what to do with herself. We don't really know, either. Time has marched on and everything keeps moving. We don't really think about Dad not being here...until. Something happens, or we stop to do something and remember. He was here when we did this. Or, we did that and Dad was part of the company. When that happens, it's almost like getting a case of vertigo. Sometimes it lasts only a few seconds or a minute or two. Other times, it might leave me reeling for an hour. I know I'm not the first to lose a parent or someone I was very close to. When I say it that way, it's like I should find a little comfort in that, but there's none really to be found. It's times like these that I'm reminded - SO profoundly - that the human race was not intended to experience grief. I know we do experience it, often regularly and in large doses. But, ultimately grief was not intended for us.
In the time since Dad passed, I have been busy trying to find out as much as I can about the things he never told me. For one, where did we come from? Dad honestly didn't know. Really, it wasn't his fault, either. The Knoxes came from Alabama by way of South Carolina. Due to the nature of their arrival, our people didn't spend a lot of time talking about where they came from. I'm sure it was part of self preservation. But now that the Statute of Limitations has expired, it would be wonderful to get some inside information. Unfortunately, just about everyone who knew anything at all are all gone.
The other thing I've been trying to find out about is Dad's time in service. For those who know, Dad fought in one of the most pivotal battles of World War II. He froze off his behind for a few weeks outside of a Belgian town called Bastogne. He often spoke of the place, but never bothered to say much about what happened there. Some might argue that his time in the military was such a short time. It couldn't be so important, given his long life and the time he had with his family. But, when he was feeling good or in a mood to talk, he would often choose to mention something from his time in the military. I have to believe it was important to him.
So, in the last year and a half, I've had to fill in the blanks. A little over a year before he died, Dad and I watched Band of Brothers together and he opened up more than ever before to me. If I could have that time back, I have a whole list of questions I would ask him. So, instead of getting the information from him, I'm still looking elsewhere...and it stinks.
So, this Christmas, I am thankful that my family is together. I'm thankful I have time off and can enjoy being at home with those I love. But, it will be very obvious that someone is missing from our festivities. Our thoughts never stray far from thinking of him. And because he survived an absolutely hellacious winter in Belgium 68 years ago, he made it possible that we could be together and remember the man Dad went on to become.
I've noticed that my mother has gotten unsettled. She doesn't really know what to do with herself. We don't really know, either. Time has marched on and everything keeps moving. We don't really think about Dad not being here...until. Something happens, or we stop to do something and remember. He was here when we did this. Or, we did that and Dad was part of the company. When that happens, it's almost like getting a case of vertigo. Sometimes it lasts only a few seconds or a minute or two. Other times, it might leave me reeling for an hour. I know I'm not the first to lose a parent or someone I was very close to. When I say it that way, it's like I should find a little comfort in that, but there's none really to be found. It's times like these that I'm reminded - SO profoundly - that the human race was not intended to experience grief. I know we do experience it, often regularly and in large doses. But, ultimately grief was not intended for us.
In the time since Dad passed, I have been busy trying to find out as much as I can about the things he never told me. For one, where did we come from? Dad honestly didn't know. Really, it wasn't his fault, either. The Knoxes came from Alabama by way of South Carolina. Due to the nature of their arrival, our people didn't spend a lot of time talking about where they came from. I'm sure it was part of self preservation. But now that the Statute of Limitations has expired, it would be wonderful to get some inside information. Unfortunately, just about everyone who knew anything at all are all gone.
The other thing I've been trying to find out about is Dad's time in service. For those who know, Dad fought in one of the most pivotal battles of World War II. He froze off his behind for a few weeks outside of a Belgian town called Bastogne. He often spoke of the place, but never bothered to say much about what happened there. Some might argue that his time in the military was such a short time. It couldn't be so important, given his long life and the time he had with his family. But, when he was feeling good or in a mood to talk, he would often choose to mention something from his time in the military. I have to believe it was important to him.
So, in the last year and a half, I've had to fill in the blanks. A little over a year before he died, Dad and I watched Band of Brothers together and he opened up more than ever before to me. If I could have that time back, I have a whole list of questions I would ask him. So, instead of getting the information from him, I'm still looking elsewhere...and it stinks.
So, this Christmas, I am thankful that my family is together. I'm thankful I have time off and can enjoy being at home with those I love. But, it will be very obvious that someone is missing from our festivities. Our thoughts never stray far from thinking of him. And because he survived an absolutely hellacious winter in Belgium 68 years ago, he made it possible that we could be together and remember the man Dad went on to become.
Monday, November 05, 2012
Autopilot
It's a strange thing to get a few minutes to think these days.
It probably looks weird to read something like that. It was a lot harder to put that sentence together and it still may not make a lot of sense. Then, again it may.
Things in my life have been in a state of perpetual motion for well over a year now. I know, I don't have any less time than anyone else does. It takes a LOT of work to schedule and plan so that one gets the most out of every moment of every day. Some people are able to do that better than others. Some, not so much. I fall into the latter category.
Without trying to sound like I'm on a pity party, I've sort of been reeling since Dad passed in 2011. I tried to keep up with writing over the year since he died, but things seemed to get in the way A LOT. I know how it works though. My responsibilities start with caring for my family. Much of that centers around taking care of work. Those responsibilities don't always give time to sort out the feelings of losing someone, which seem linger long after the work of taking care of that sort of business is completed. At the oddest of times, I find myself missing my dad. These days it comes when I feel I need to talk to somebody, but I don't necessarily want to talk to this or that person. I would prefer him, but he's not there. It took long enough to get to that point, in terms of trust, to talk to him about my stuff. It seem with all the madness going on around me, it seems like too much work to search out someone else. But, it's just what I need to do.
In a very strange sort of way, a year later I find myself feeling much like I did a year ago. (It's that sort of feeling that has kept me from keeping a journal. What's the point of writing "I feel like crap again today?") I'm looking to a long break at Thanksgiving to give me some much needed respite from the stresses that have accumulated since the last vacation. As much as I need that (and believe me, I do. I CRAVE it!), it's not a good thing. It means, up until now, I've been on autopilot - just mailing it in. I know it's bad for me, but it's much worse for those closest to me who have to deal with me every day.
But, I must say that I'm preparing to make some changes going into the new year. I won't get into all of that now, but I see the mess that I'm in and I have an escape route planned.
I've used the four-letter word "P-L-A-N." That's probably the first big step to turn off autopilot and keep it off.
It probably looks weird to read something like that. It was a lot harder to put that sentence together and it still may not make a lot of sense. Then, again it may.
Things in my life have been in a state of perpetual motion for well over a year now. I know, I don't have any less time than anyone else does. It takes a LOT of work to schedule and plan so that one gets the most out of every moment of every day. Some people are able to do that better than others. Some, not so much. I fall into the latter category.
Without trying to sound like I'm on a pity party, I've sort of been reeling since Dad passed in 2011. I tried to keep up with writing over the year since he died, but things seemed to get in the way A LOT. I know how it works though. My responsibilities start with caring for my family. Much of that centers around taking care of work. Those responsibilities don't always give time to sort out the feelings of losing someone, which seem linger long after the work of taking care of that sort of business is completed. At the oddest of times, I find myself missing my dad. These days it comes when I feel I need to talk to somebody, but I don't necessarily want to talk to this or that person. I would prefer him, but he's not there. It took long enough to get to that point, in terms of trust, to talk to him about my stuff. It seem with all the madness going on around me, it seems like too much work to search out someone else. But, it's just what I need to do.
In a very strange sort of way, a year later I find myself feeling much like I did a year ago. (It's that sort of feeling that has kept me from keeping a journal. What's the point of writing "I feel like crap again today?") I'm looking to a long break at Thanksgiving to give me some much needed respite from the stresses that have accumulated since the last vacation. As much as I need that (and believe me, I do. I CRAVE it!), it's not a good thing. It means, up until now, I've been on autopilot - just mailing it in. I know it's bad for me, but it's much worse for those closest to me who have to deal with me every day.
But, I must say that I'm preparing to make some changes going into the new year. I won't get into all of that now, but I see the mess that I'm in and I have an escape route planned.
I've used the four-letter word "P-L-A-N." That's probably the first big step to turn off autopilot and keep it off.
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