About a year ago this time, I had three copies of this little story printed up by a graphic design colleague at the college I teach at (Kirkwood Community College). I gave one copy to my father for his 70th birthday a month later. 

A few weeks ago I read a passage of it to him, along with a small group at the Marion Library Author Fair. Aside from learning how to read as a child, it was the first time I ever read anything aloud to my father. 

If you've ever expressed your love and gratitude and admiration for a parent, you'll know it was a proud and special moment I won't soon forget.  

Thanks to all the encouraging readers who have made sharing part of my soul with the world, and with my father, a great experience. And an unforgettable memory.

Todd

ps - If you read the novel, I'm sure you could guess which part I read. 

The Marion Public Library is hosting an Author Fair on Saturday, February 16 starting at 10 am. It's a great chance to attend sessions, listen to a variety of readings, and chat with several authors. 

Please help spread the word about this great event - hope to see you there!


Click the link for more details on sessions, reading schedules, and free drawings for great prizes! 

http://bit.ly/UOxkH3

I have a neighbor who lives across the street named Dick. Dick is 83 years old and has a vintage black and gold snap-style Iowa Hawkeyes jacket with his name embroidered in cursive writing on it. Dick wears suspenders over his blue work-shirts and a smile on his face.

I like my neighbor Dick.

I like Dick because when he asks how you’re doing he really wants to know and he takes the time to listen. I like Dick because he offers you his hand tools and also a hand with your yard. I like Dick because he still gets up at daybreak, starts his old rusty white cargo van (sometimes waking me up if the windows are open) and drives off to his landscaping job.

Yes, Dick still works – because he wants to work. Dick still drives, because he can. Dick still rides a shiny green John Deere mower across his lawn – which I secretly envy.

Again, Dick is 83.

Last summer, I came home one day to find Dick standing beside a pile of gravel rock as tall as he was. Shovel in hand. Work boots on. Suspenders holding up his baggy pants.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I didn’t just think it; I said it aloud as I pulled into the garage.

Sure enough, I could hear his steel blade stabbing into the mountain of loose rock as soon as I opened the car door. I peaked out of the garage and watched him for moment as he scattered the rock, one shovel-full at a time, across what was to be his new parking pad for a long work trailer.

It was at this point that I had a choice: I could either be a dick, or I could be like Dick.

Believe me, I didn’t want to shovel rock (does anyone ever want to shovel rock?). It was already an Iowa-summer scorcher where you sweat just stepping outside to get the mail.

My back hurt. I was tired. I had other things to do. The excuses were as plentiful as the rock pile was high.

I turned away. I shut the garage door and stepped into coolness of my house.

That’s when it hit me. I shut my eyes and grimaced at the pain of doing something I didn’t want to do, but knew was the right thing to do. I went to change clothes.

Moments later, leather work boots and gloves on, shovel in hand, Dick and I chipped away at the enormous pile for the next five hours.

Dick’s wife, Bertrude, came out later with a platter of sugar cookies and lemonade. A Norman Rockwell-like image flashed in my mind at that moment as Dick and I chatted in the shade of his maple tree. I teased Dick about outworking someone half his age (yours truly) and finding the fountain of youth. He laughed and shared stories I enjoyed hearing.

I became friends with an old man that day as we shoveled and sweated beside each other under a hot summer sun. One who became even more of an inspiration to me.

NOTE: When I started this blog post, it wasn't meant to be some moralistic, life-lesson. Not at all. It was meant to be light and fun. A snapshot of what’s it’s like to live in a neighborhood full of retired folks who spend their time incessantly mowing, weeding, watering and watching their lawns (they are beautiful, I might add). What it’s turned out to be (which I’m finding happens a lot when writing these posts, and when I wrote My Father’s House) is a reflection on the wonderful people all around us, lessons we can learn if we take the time to listen, and experiences that can shape our character...maybe even our lives.

Happy Holidays everyone. Be safe, be merry, be loving.

Todd 

As a teacher, I sometimes relate life situations in terms of quiz questions (strange, I know.) But I wonder how people would answer this one. How would you?

Thanksgiving is...

A. An overwhelming amount of work that may include planning, traveling, hosting, shopping, cooking, cleaning and possibly stressing out a bit, err, A LOT.

B. A grand feast that leaves you stuffed and sprawled out for hours afterwards snoring and/or groaning in a self-induced food coma.

C. An annual special ops mission (code name: Black Friday) that involves heaps of ads, strategic plans, maps or GPS devices, cellphones, night vision glasses, and of course - credit cards.

D. A time to reflect upon and appreciate the blessings in your life and be grateful.

Sooooo, how would you answer this one? (Yes, there may be more than one correct answer.)

Happy Thanksgiving!

Todd    

Happy 70th birthday to the wonderful woman who cradled me as a baby, nurtured me as a boy, and encouraged me as a man.

I don't know if all mothers and sons share a special bond, a deep connection of love and trust, protection and pride like we do. I only know how much I admire and appreciate you. And I want to thank you for all you've ever done, and keep doing for me.

Always know your son loves you - today and everyday.

Todd