This blog entry (slightly modified) was my column in the May 2009 issue of Valley Parent magazine. It is one of the most anticipated issues of Valley Parent because it contains the winners of the 2009/2010 class of our Fresh Faces Cover Contest. Hundreds and hundreds of families have entered their freshest face and thousands of grandparents and parents have been waiting on the information they got on page five.
Even though people see a page in one of our magazines that they really like, they won’t deface the magazine by cutting it out. That is one of the things that makes magazines so neat. You won’t cut out a coupon from a magazine. No, you just won’t do it. It looks too nice to cut up. But you will haul it to the dance school, or the beach for spring break or to the waiting room at the doctor’s office. And, if you like it, you’ll give it a place on the table or the shelf until it is covered with dust. I like dusty magazines. I also like them when they’re dog-eared. They’re treasures to me, but I’m kind of partial.
I like to talk. Those of you who know me know this. I especially like the people who sit around my Wednesday Rotary table, because they like to talk, too. These folks are not just talkers. They’re storytellers, and there’s a big distance between the two. Talk is just talk, but a story can send you back in time and can tug on the fabric of what makes you who you are. Stories incite passion. Stories are ageless and timeless and depending on the kind of story, they might even grow more powerful as they age.
One of the best things about life to me is being able to make an emotional connection with someone over a good story. I had one of those serendipitous moments yesterday at my Rotary table. I told my story first: We had a new couple to visit our church this past Sunday. They’re moving in down the road from us! He’s the Command Sergeant Major of the entire 3rd Army. He likes to fish, hunt and play golf and it was just like when I was child and a cool new kid moved onto the block. I’ve been excited about this since Sunday and they’ll arrive here after his retirement sometime later this year! (This is an extremely shortened version of my story, by the way.)
Geoff Love was sitting next to me and for the record, he is not usually at our table, so I don’t know him well. Geoff is a securities broker, a former banker and seems to be someone I’d like to get to know better. With a story, he let me in. He told of when his family moved into a new home in Mobile, Ala. He was standing in their new front yard with his small son and they were watching a group of neighbor kids playing in a front yard across the street. “God, please let them ask my son to play,” Geoff prayed. They did.
He looked at me, suddenly too emotionally moved to talk as he remembered that powerful memory, still raw after so many years, still producing tears. I will never forget Geoff Love. I am grateful for the gift he gave me yesterday at a Rotary table surrounded by six other people who never saw what transpired between Geoff and me.
Go today, and make a story with your children. It’ll be with you for the rest of your life. Isn’t life wonderful?
Heroes in our Midst
My family home — where my parents still live today — is right in front of the Columbus Metropolitan Airport on Britt David Road. My brother and I and all our barefooted, shirtless friends would ride our bicycles over to the terminal, sneak into the FAA offices upstairs and tap on the glass door that led to our childhood nirvana — the control tower.
Billy McGee was in charge up there and I spent untold hours standing in the background while Mr. McGee and his colleagues talked those shiny Douglas DC-3s onto the strip and then up to the terminal. The DC-3 was a “tail-dragger” twin-propped plane and I was in that control tower for hundreds of take-offs and landings over my years as an airport rat.
When I was 15, I landed a job driving a tractor cutting grass beside the runways. More than a couple of times, I knew I was in trouble when that “government” car rolled alongside me and the guy with the crew cut would tell me to stop popping wheelies.
I’d tone it down, get my job done and wander into the terminal looking for a cold drink from the beautiful woman who ran the gift shop. I had a huge crush on Marcella Henderson, wife of Berry and mother of City Counselor Skip. She was — and is — a beautiful woman who was so kind to put up with me during those summer respites in the air conditioned terminal building.
One strong airport memory was on holidays or any other day when my father would walk back across the street to our home with four or five uniformed guys in tow. He gave them rides to Ft. Benning, we fed them on holidays or other days and I learned to respect — really respect — the people who wear that uniform.
Yesterday at our Rotary Club of Columbus meeting, Commanding Gen. Barbero brought and introduced eight heroes to us. As he introduced them he told their story of valor. How they looked death in the eye and put themselves in harm’s way to save one or two fellow soldiers or to be shot down trying to keep others safe.
I confess here that I didn’t yesterday — and I don’t now — have dry eyes. My awe and respect for these men goes well beyond my ability to describe it. My father instilled in me his love for soldiers and am glad that love is part of my spirit. I have bought lunches and dinners and I have, in the best way I knew how, thanked them for their service to my country.
As we plan for the arrival of the armor school and as Ft. Benning becomes the Maneuver Center of Excellence, we’ll have several thousands more people to thank walking around our beautiful city. Be generous with your thanks.
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