But our main problem was we couldn’t get out of the truck because to step outside my no-longer-brand-new truck would mean facing the llamas. So I did what any levelheaded person with slime in his ears would do—I hit the gas and drove away. But guess who started following us? That’s right. The faster I drove, the faster they ran. We bounced around the cab as I drove forty miles per hour across a pasture. Old Mac Davis thought happiness was Lubbock, Texas, in his rearview mirror. I knew for a fact that happiness was llama land in mine.
At some point we finally lost the llamas. I hit the brakes, and we bailed out of the truck while simultaneously trying to wipe the foul mess off our bodies. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so dirty. It was awful. Plus, my brand-new truck…I’m sorry, I get all choked up just thinking about it.
We gathered our wits about us (girls still laughing) and headed for home. As we were leaving, we noticed another car pulling into the llama area. We watched as those stupid, sorry, good-for-nothing llamas moved in to take advantage of another unsuspecting family. And I think we laughed all the way home.
I had prayed for a fun, memorable day, one the girls would never forget. Moral of the story? God answers prayers, so be careful what you ask for.
Just Let It Happen
One definition of vacation is “a specific trip, usually for relaxation, recreation, and tourism.” The key word there for most people would be relaxation. Prior to five years ago, taking a vacation was about the last thing on my mind. I worked, I played golf, I played guitar in the evenings, and I went to bed. That was pretty much my life. But then when April and I got together and I was suddenly the father to her two daughters, I soon realized that vacation was a regular part of family life, one that was looked forward to all year long, something that involved planning and savvy financial maneuvering. I was constantly reminded by all three of my lovely ladies: “Where are we going this year?” “Are we going to Destin again?” “Can we go snorkeling?” “Can we rent a boat and go to Crab Island?” “Can we go parasailing?” The list of “can we’s” seems to be never ending. And the opposite of cheap.
For the family accountant (me), the relaxation becomes more difficult as vacation looms. The cost of renting a beach house, gas, flights, rental cars, and daily expeditions can be daunting. Then there’s the food. And the price tag just keeps getting higher and higher. Yes, I know there are less expensive ways to go to the beach, but these are memories we are making, right? I like being able to give my family things they enjoy. So even though staying in the Motel 6 is tempting, I generally bend to their wishes. This year was no exception. We got a beautiful condo right on the beach in Destin, Florida. We would leave during the last week of June and stay through the Fourth of July weekend.
I love my family. But not a one of them are angels, and that includes me. Put five normal, human, nonangelic beings in a vehicle for the ten-and-a-half-hour drive from East Texas to the Emerald Coast of Florida and chances are good every emotion on the spectrum will be covered. In other words, our trip usually contains “all the feels.” Is there any way to remedy that? There might be, but let me tell you what I did that year. I invited two more people.
Yes, you read that right. We invited two more people to go on vacation with us—April Hicks and her daughter Maggie. My wife and April have been best friends since the sixth grade. So our departing total was six women and girls. And me. In one car. In one condo. For a whole week. I was equal parts excited and terrified. But I can explain.
April and Maggie are our dear friends, and they had just recently suffered a terrible loss. Only five weeks prior to our vacation, April’s husband, Todd, passed away after an awe-inspiring battle against ALS. For five years, he fought this disease for which there is no cure, knowing full well what his fate would someday be. Yet he and April courageously soldiered to the end.
April and I thought that taking them on vacation with us, away from the worries and stresses they’d endured for the last several years, would be a great start to get them back on track. So they drove to Texas from Oklahoma, and the next morning, bright and early, all seven of us headed to Destin.
I felt like Todd was watching over us—and laughing—as the car pulled away filled to the brim with his wife and daughter and my wife and daughters. Only a fool would make such a trip this outnumbered. Alas, I am a fool. We left early in the morning so the girls could go back to sleep and sleep through the first three or four hours of the trip, and it worked! They all slept until we were nearly in Mississippi, and then they listened to music and watched movies on their iPads. They laughed and they looked at the battleships in Mobile Bay and watched for dolphins at Pensacola Beach. They didn’t fight or cry or scream. They were amazing. It was the most problem-free, stress-free cross-country trip any of us could have ever dreamed of. It was almost too good to be true. The two Aprils and I were ecstatic.
As we pulled into the driveway of our condo, the kids were already getting antsy to get to the beach. So we let them get their swimsuits on, and they all went down to the beach while I unloaded the car. Once it was unloaded, I put on my swim trunks and joined them. We played for a few hours, then dressed for dinner. I then had the best plate of oysters I’ve ever shoved into my piehole. I didn’t want to get ahead of myself, but if the rest of this vacation went like the first day, this was going to be the greatest week anyone has ever had. And it turned out to be just that, a great week for everyone.
Near the end of our week together, the two wives and I were sitting and talking on the beach. April H. said, “What do I do? I am a thirty-five-year-old widow. How do I go on without him?” Tears started flowing from both of them. Then she said, “And what about Maggie? How do I raise her alone? She needs a daddy! I’m just so scared.” I started to give her the same old cliché things that everyone always says when something bad happens: “You’ll be fine.” “You are strong.” “You just need time to heal.” But those words felt so weak and empty. So we simply gave her a hug and wiped away our tears. I stood up and headed out into the water with the kids, who were busy fighting waves.
A few minutes later, the women came out to where we were playing. April H. is not very tall, and the waves that day were big. A few of them crashed in over her head. My daughter Emma was laughing and said to her, “April, sometimes when those great big waves come in, I just close my eyes, grit my teeth, and let it happen. They knock me down, but I just get back up again.”
April and I looked at each other and smiled. In that instant, the words we had struggled to find to console and encourage April H. in her time of need had just inadvertently rolled off the tongue of our spirited and innocent little blonde. I said, “There’s your words of wisdom.” Life can be full of big waves and rocky seas. Sometimes they knock you down. But you just have to keep getting up.
Pineapple
Saying “I love you” is not always the easiest thing to do, especially when you have a new stepdaughter and she’s a bit of a cautious type anyway. I didn’t want to be pushy, but I really wanted to tell her, and I thought she wanted to tell me too, but it just felt sort of awkward. We needed some way to say “I love you” without saying it, if that makes any sense. Well, it did to us, so Abby and I came up with a code word to use in its place—pineapple. Yes, I’m serious. It was more comfortable for both of us in the beginning, but I admit that now, in my relationship with Abby, I actually prefer pineapple to the actual sentence.
It’s ours, and only ours, and I love it. It makes me happy, every time I hear it. “I love you” is heard by countless people every day. But how many people hear the word pineapple and feel loved?
Silence Is Golden
Ienjoy being alone. I do. I love silence. I can go hours at a time without speaking to anyone, without any type of human interaction at all. Now, this revelation makes me quite a ball of complexities, I will admit, because anyone who knows me knows I can talk as much as anyone you have ever met. Put me in a crowd or at a party, an
d watch the stories begin to flow out of me like Niagara Falls. As a matter of fact, my talkativeness as a child is still fodder for conversations at many of our family gatherings. By most accounts, the only time I wasn’t talking was when I was asleep. And I didn’t sleep very much. And not only do I talk a lot, but I also have a very loud, deep, boisterous voice that can be heard from a mile away. Being sneaky has never been a strong suit of mine. So I suppose it is odd for someone like me to cherish silence and serenity as much as I do.
But here’s the deal. I’m a dad. I’m a family man, and my family needs me. At any given time, I am needed by one or all of them, and the things they need from me are countless. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love my role as dad and husband. I am the provider and protector of my family, and that is not a responsibility I take lightly. However, every once in a while, I confess a little break wouldn’t be bad. Does that make me a bad parent? I sure hope not. I love these girls more than life itself, but geez louise, they can work a man to death and ask questions until the cows come home.
Case in point, I got home one night recently after a long day at work. It was already dark outside as I walked in the door and set my briefcase on the floor, ready to grab a drink and sit in my recliner. But oh, no. My girls had other plans. First, Gracee saw me. “Dad!” she yelled and ran to me with arms wide open. With complete trust, she leaped into the air, knowing I would catch her. And just as she knew I would, I caught her under her arms and pulled her up to my face. She smelled clean, and her hair was wet from the bath. I kissed her soft cheeks and neck with a fervor that always makes her giggle. Unfortunately, it also makes her squirm and kick her feet, and there is only one place those little feet will make contact with my body, and it is the one place a man never wants to get kicked. Just like clockwork, her little foot of fury connected solidly between my legs. I groaned and set her down. “Sorry, Dad!” she yelled over her shoulder as she quickly ran into her bedroom to play. With my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath and get this sick feeling out of my gut, I heard the other two daughters come sauntering up to me. I asked them about their day and got the exact answer I expected: “Fine.” About that time April walked up and gave me a kiss and asked me about my day. All in all, it was a warm, welcoming homecoming. The best part of my day, without a doubt.
And then, it began. Emma came walking up to me with algebra homework in her hands and a look of frustration on her face. “Stoney, I have no idea how to do these problems. I don’t know how to do these! I’m going to fail!” We sat down at the kitchen table and began to go over the list of equations that had Emma nearly in tears. After fifteen minutes or so of arguing, fighting, crying, and laughing, we finally found the right answer for the first problem. She finally understood. But before the ink was even dry on that algebra nightmare, Abby was standing next to me. “Stoney, we’ve got to have my speech presentation completed and turned in by Saturday! We haven’t even started!” I replied, “Wait, wait, wait. You’ve got to get the presentation done by Saturday, not me.” “But, Stoney! I need your help! Can we please sit down and start writing it tonight?” “Okay, give me a minute.” We spent the next hour discussing the topic of the upcoming speech she will be presenting at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo. We came up with a good plan, and I am pleased with what she will present.
I felt the tiredness beginning to drag down on me, in my shoulders and neck. I was ready to relax. Just then I heard, “Dad! I need you to read me a book before I go to bed!” Now, you may think that reading a three-year-old a bedtime story would be an easy task, but you don’t know what kind of kid we are dealing with. If you’ll refer back to the first paragraph, you’ll see where I say I was a loud kid who never stopped talking. Well, Gracee is a carbon copy of me. Reading her a book is a marathon of reading and intermittently having her own stories thrown in there for you to listen to. So I read for a bit; then she talked for a bit. We did that song and dance until, finally, I had to put my boot down. “No, ma’am. No more. It’s time for bed.” After a few tears, she snuggled into her bed, and I headed back to the living room. My recliner was in sight, and I could not wait to get into it. I sat down, closed my eyes, let out a long exhale, releasing all of the stress from my day. Ah yes, there it is. The silence I’ve been waiting for all day. Sweet, beautiful silen—
“Dad!”
Well, I guess there’s always tomorrow.
Don’t Blink
Isqueezed Abby tight. She’s normally not much of a hugger, but this day, I just didn’t care. I held her for a bit too long because I just wasn’t ready to let go. She hugged me back but said, “Oh my gosh, stop! It’s no big deal.”
But it was a big deal. It was her last first day of school, the first day of her senior year of high school. She hadn’t gotten her driver’s license by the first day of her junior year, so this was also the first time we had not driven her to school on the first day. In other words, she was driving herself.
So standing there in the driveway, I held that hug as long and as tight as I could, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and finally let her go. Her mom then stepped in, with big tears in her eyes, and Abby understood that another big hug was imminent. April wrapped her up in her arms, and Abby’s awkwardness sort of fell away, and she melted into her mother’s arms. They stood there in silence for a few moments, a beautiful mother/daughter moment that’s indicative of the amazing bond they have with each other.
April was nineteen years old when she had Abby, so not only are they mother and daughter, but they’re also best friends. April let go of her and looked her in the eyes. She said, “You’re going to do great. It’s your last year of being a kid, so enjoy it.” Then I opened her car door for her and helped her into her car, even though she thought I was acting silly.
As her mother and I watched her drive away, I felt a tear roll down my cheek. I quickly wiped it away, hoping April didn’t see it, but she did. I felt her arm slide around my waist as she said, “You’re such a big softie.” And she’s right. I am.
It used to get on my nerves when people would say things like “Don’t blink. Next thing you know, they’ll be all grown up” or “They just grow up so fast. You’d better enjoy it while you can.” It always felt like such a downer thing to say to someone who was enjoying living in the moment, taking our kids to softball games and livestock shows and cheerleading at football games. I didn’t want to be told about how quickly it would be gone. Just let me enjoy it! Let me have my happy moment with my daughters without having to think about what it’s going to be like when they’re gone.
I taught Emma to tie her shoes when she was seven. She weighed probably forty-five pounds. I set her little body on my lap, and we tied them and untied them over and over again. And then one day, finally, it clicked. We celebrated and laughed and high-fived. It was such a small thing, but for as long as I live, I’ll never forget that moment.
Now I look at her, and she’s beautiful and thirteen years old. She shaves her legs and gets BO and wears the same size shoe as her mother. That tiny little girl is gone, just a sweet memory, although for the most part, she is still every bit as entertaining as she ever was.
Abby, on the other hand, was older and more cautious with me when I first came around. She was more closed off, and it took me a while to gain her trust. But very few seventh graders don’t need help with math homework. And I’m pretty good at math, so that worked out in my favor. I’d spend those few minutes each night helping her with her homework. Slowly but surely, she came around. We got closer each and every day until, eventually, we couldn’t have been closer. She grew up from that little chubby-cheeked preteen girl into the beautiful brunette young woman I am now helping into her car, on her last first day of school.
We watched her pull out of the driveway and then drive away, and we began walking back to the house. April squeezed my hand and said with a tremble in her voice, “I just can’t believe it. It seems like just yesterday that
I dropped her off at preschool. She should still be my little girl, sitting in my lap reading bedtime stories.” I squeezed her hand back and said, “Yeah, I know. It’s like we just blinked.”
Dressing Girls Is Hard
Summertime means very different things to parents than it does to children, doesn’t it? For the children, it just means No School. But for the parents, it means the kids are going to be home all the time. And for us, that’s especially true, because we don’t have any family nearby, so they are home ALL THE TIME.
So, as our children see their three months of freedom coming to an end, we see nine months of freedom just beyond the horizon, waiting for us. Yes! Hallelujah!
When Emma was in the third grade, April and I hadn’t even been married a year. So having only been a dad to her two daughters since that time, there were certain things that continued to baffle me daily, school or no school. I had to become accustomed to the daily comings and goings of the prepubescent female. And without a doubt, one of the most difficult and sometimes infuriating things I had ever had to do in my life was the simple act of getting girls ready for school and out the door. To say it was quite an educational experience is an understatement of epic proportions. It’s like calling a slice of crispy, fried, delicious bacon just a piece of meat. It’s much, much more than that. There have been many, many things I have learned.
One of those many things that have left me scratching my head, day in and day out, has been getting our daughter Emma dressed in a respectable and presentable manner, on my own. She is without a doubt the most flamboyant and eccentric individual I’ve ever known. No amount of sparkle is enough. She wants loud, flashy colors, sparkly shoes, rhinestone belts, bright red lipstick, shiny, gaudy jewelry, and as much pomp and circumstance as humanly possible. Nothing is too ostentatious. Nothing is too over the top. Admittedly, her spunky attitude and extravagant taste in clothing and accessories can be completely adorable. But if you are a new dad, just trying to get by, it can be unbelievably exasperating.
My First Rodeo Page 9