Shirley you can’t be serious!

On May 14th, 1947 my grandparents, Ross and Marge Shirley were married. Now here we are 60 years later celebrating an amazing anniversary. Friday afternoon I packed the kids up and made the drive to St Anthony Idaho to spend the weekend with the Shirley clan. Kate had to work all weekend, so I was on my own. But not to worry. We plugged the DVD player into the car, positioned it so that everyone could see, but Bean couldn’t touch buttons, and we were in business. 4 ½ hours later we rolled into the Shirley’s circular driveway. We were the first of the crew to arrive, and I think I offended Grandma by not staying for dinner. She’s not in the best of condition, and I didn’t want to burden her with feeding us, so I took the kids to McDonald’s as a reward for not driving me insane on the drive up.

Ard and Jan arrived later that evening. Alley decided to bring her kids up Saturday morning, giving Chas a ride. My Dad was going to head up Friday night, but remembered at the last minute that Patty had given him Saturday matinee tickets to Les Miserable, and he might have been in trouble had he skipped. So he drove straight from the performance Saturday evening. Beckie and Erik also made the trip on Saturday, which I was happy to see. They decided to stay in a hotel, which was a good thing, because Grandma’s house isn’t that big, and we were getting tight.

But Alan made the toughest trip. He and Jeff had tickets to the Jazz game Saturday night, so they drove up Sunday morning, then Alan rode back Sunday night with Beckie and Erik. That’s too much driving for one day. Especially since Alan had to ride in the back of Beckie’s VW bug.

Grandpa Shirley is not doing too well. Last week he fell and broke his clavicle, and has been flat on his back in bed ever since. But Saturday night he made the arduous journey out to the TV room to watch the Jazz game. The man has his priorities straight. Fortunately his trip was not in vain, as the Jazz won. It is hard to see Ross in such rough shape. He has had a great long life, but it still pains me to have to help him out of the bed to get to the bathroom. Looking at the trophies on the mantelpiece, I am reminded that in his day he was a master marksman, and a very active person. He still is active as he can be. He rode his motorcycle around his fields until he fell and broke his hip. At that time Grandma took away the bike, and he got a 4 wheeler.

After helping Ard with some yard work Saturday morning, Chas and I took the kids to the St Anthony sand dunes. We buried the kids in the sand up to their necks, but they still got out. Bean and my niece Chloe hated the sand, but the rest of the kids thought it was great. At least, Hannah did until she fell face first down a dune. I felt bad for laughing, but it really was a sight.

I did have one scare when I came over the crest of a dune to find Patrick's shoes buried in the sand. Fortunately, though, he wasn't still attached to them.
Sunday morning we drove down to my cousin Jason’s mission homecoming. He is fresh back from Italy, and his brothers are doing a good job corrupting him. My girls didn’t look as cute as they usually do for church, but without Kate’s help, it was the best I could do. After the homecoming, we returned to Grandma’s for a barbecue in honor of the 60th wedding anniversary. It was sad to see only half of the guests of honor in attendance at the party, and Grandpa stayed in bed. But she was in good spirits, and I could tell that she was in heaven being surrounded by her children, grandchildren and great-grandkids.

After dinner my Dad and his brothers broke out the guitars, at which time we decided to head down the road for a pickup basketball game. We played 3 on 3 at uncle Nephi’s driveway, and were lucky to escape without injuries. Nephi has brick exteriors on his house, and Erik, while stealing a pass fell backward, missing the corner by a scant inch. But it was good to get a game in, since we never seem to get all of us in the same place at the same time.

It was a short trip, but I am glad we went. Instead of watching TV or playing Gameboy all weekend, the kids got to do some things they don’t normally get to do. I took Patrick into Grandpa’s shed, which is bigger than my house. His eyes nearly popped out when he saw the ski boat, tractors and various farm tools. We took the kids on rides with Grandpa’s 4 wheeler. I got to explain to Patrick why great grandpa has a ditch in front of his house, and what crop irrigation means. The kids discovered two bird nests. They also got to play on the Shirley’s organ. Friday night while Ard and I were visiting, a raccoon came right up to the back slider door and all but asked for a handout. Though the kids were asleep, they were excited when I told them about the brazen little creature that had been 20 feet from where they slept. The kids also got to play with second cousins that they don’t get to see often. At the anniversary party I counted a total of 35 people from the family who were able to make it. It was a great way to spend Memorial Day weekend.

Irony, defined

Last Friday night, while working around the house, I heard Samantha and Bean start screaming at each other in the living room. I rushed upstairs to see what was causing the two of them to fight like that. I found them fighting over possession of the picture frame below...

Swabbing the Deck

When we built our deck this summer, Kate and I decided to use Trex, which is basically recycled garbage. But it is very dense, strong, and you don’t have to stain it. But that didn’t matter. My kids have already worked hard to stain it. Spilled drinks, suds from bubbles and grease from dropped food have all given my deck its own personality. While these markings drive me crazy as I try to keep the new deck new, they are good. The stains actually indicate that my kids are spending time outside, instead of plastered to a TV or Gameboy.
But Patrick decided to give the deck a most unique stain. While I worked in the salsa garden adjacent to the deck, Patrick watched while sitting on the porch swing. But before long he was bored and decided to swing with his chest on the seat, dangling his legs below. He started swinging too hard, and slipped off, hitting the deck nose first. To add insult to injury the swing came back and smacked him on the back of the head, forcing his face to the deck again.
Now, I have witnessed Patrick’s broken arm, several bouts with stitches, burns, and black eyes. But I have never seen anything as horrific as this. His nose looked like a faucet of blood pouring full blast. I didn’t know he had so much blood in him. Several times I wondered if I would be able to get it to stop. But thanks to my training as a First Aid merit badge counselor I was able to stop the flow. And Patrick, as is typical, was back to his normal self within 20 minutes of the stoppage of blood. No broken nose, but he’s young. I am sure it will happen sooner or later…
Even though it was P who suffered the injury, I thought I was going to have to administer CPR to Samantha. She took one look at the spray of blood and freaked out. She nearly hyperventilated.

Pomp and Circumstance

Yesterday marked the official end of my undergraduate career. We attended commencement at the Huntsman Center, where LDS first presidency counselor Thomas S. Monson delivered an inspiring address.

Last night we celebrated by having a party at my home. We had so many people that my house reminded me of a car full of clowns. I am not sure how we fit so many people in there. Of course, we hustled to get the deck done before the party, so that the guests would be able to sit out there and enjoy the May weather. The May weather turned into March weather, and we got rained out. But that’s okay. I was so happy that nothing could rain on my parade, so to speak.

If anyone were to say that I made too big a deal about graduation, he or she wouldn’t know much about my circumstances. What I am about to confess may upset some people, but it needs to be said. (No, Jeff. I am not gay). Ten years ago the thought of being a college graduate seemed an impossibility. That’s because midway through my senior year in high school I stopped going. Soon after the school dropped me from their records.

Most people except for family who were there at the time don’t know. It’s not exactly something you want people to know. If it wasn’t for my mother’s big mouth, no one would know. The people who do know ask me why. Was it because my parents divorced? Was I depressed? Sick? No, the reason for it is simply that I was lazy. I just didn’t care. I would come to care a few years later when I went back to get my GED. I can’t think of anything more humiliating than sitting through the GED classes.

Even after I completed my GED I struggled. Listing that on job applications instead of a real high school didn’t help me get a lot of jobs. And getting into college with just a GED education is not exactly easy. But eventually I was accepted into the University of Utah, and after six years of part-timing it and working full time while trying to be a responsible husband and father I have graduated with a BA in English. I am even considering grad school.

Like I said, some might be angry with me for not bringing this up before, but that can’t be helped. Right now I am just happy to have finished my undergrad work. I have been able to go from high school dropout to the first of my siblings to finish college. And through careful planning and being labelled as 'cheap', we were able to get me through college without student aid or student loan debts. And that's the best part.

The embarrassment of quitting school will never fade for me. But the important thing is that I learned from my mistake. There were times at the University that I wanted to quit. I was tired, frustrated and unmotivated. But as President Monson advised in his address, you have to glace backward, and reflect on the past. I was able to remember my past failure and use it as motivation to keep going. Higher education is hard. It is expensive, demanding and time consuming. And I am a firm believer that it is all worth it.

The average age of my graduating class was 27, so at 31 I don't feel too bad about it. the oldest of my class was 80. There are a lot of people who helped me to get through, from my in-laws who babysat while I was at night classes, to employers who gave me a flexible to schedule, to my family, particularly my Dad, who always inquired how things were going and offered an encouraging word, to my sweetheart, Kate. She sacrificed the most for me, and was the most invested in my success.

As Kate and I like to say, the two of us have done pretty good for a high school dropout and a teen mom.