Three Chances at Life

Three Chances at Life

I don’t know many people who can honestly say they’ve had three chances at life. Mine came by way of four incredible people--first, of course, my parents. If they hadn’t met in high school and fallen in love, I would have never formed in my mother’s womb or drawn that first burst of air into my lungs. For the first two people I ever loved in this world, I am grateful. Next month, they will celebrate their 45^th wedding anniversary. Later this year, I will also celebrate that many years of life…thanks to them. I was their firstborn son.

Chance number two came in the most unlikeliest of ways—adoption. I had not done any research, hired an attorney or contacted an agency. No, in fact, I had just come out of the darkest period of my life in 2001 and getting that fateful call in August wasn’t even the faintest blip on my radar screen. But it happened and without time to even catch my breath, I said yes to idea of adopting a six-week old, bald and blue-eyed beauty, my Baby Sweet. I didn’t realize what a difference becoming a father would make in my life, most notably on my heart. I’ve always said that my oldest daughter saved my life. And maybe that sounds a bit melodramatic, but as I said, the year prior had been the darkest year of my entire life. Adopting my daughter made 2001 the brightest year of my life, followed three years later by the adoption of my youngest daughter, a mocha-skinned, brown-eyed beauty with the thickest and shiniest main of dark, “stick-up” hair.

Then came my divorce, making the last half of 2012 another dark and gloomy year for me. Separated from my daughters by more than 400 miles, I cried many tears and fought like hell from slipping back into a blackness so dark it seems like there is no escape. That’s how I had felt 12 years earlier and I had determined never to go back there again.

Chance number three at life came after I crossed the item off my bucket list that read “Play in a rock-n-roll band.” While it wasn’t the band that saved my life, per se, it was befriending the bass player in that band who would later become my best friend and lover. She helped me to believe in love again, then she delivered. Speaking my love language so fluently, she swept me off my feet and made me a very happy man. Ideally, I would have custody of my daughters, then I could say I’m the happiest I have ever been. Still, I am very content in the love I’ve found, a love that caught me off guard and came as quite a surprise at the very end of 2012. I am so thankful to have found her and to have found real love.

Very few people get that many chances at life. I’ve had three and I thank God for each of them and for those four very special people--well, five--who helped to make my life complete.

The need for self-compassion

I've always tended to be a self-centered person. In truth, I think all humans are self-centered to some degree. I mean, some sort of self-awareness is crucial to survival, but I'm talking more about the putting one's own needs--emotionally, physically--before the needs of others on a regular basis.

The problem I've found with my own focus is that I'm more keenly aware of my faults and shortcomings than I am with those things I do well. Self-centeredness that looks only for what's wrong is not a good thing. It's caused me to be negative, critical, judgmental and pessimistic. It really is a self-defeating mode of operation. It causes me to sabotage myself, my relationships and my goals.

I've worked on having a more positive attitude, but it takes real effort. As my partner of 19 years once pointed out, "You wake up in the morning just waiting for something to make you happy." She was right. I was a grumpy person first thing in the morning, especially before coffee, and if nothing good or promising presented itself, I kinda stayed that way throughout the day. So I attempted to change that by waking up in the morning with a thankful attitude. It worked occassionally well, but didn't really get to the heart of the matter.

As a critical, self-centered person, I needed to become more mindful of the way I speak to myself. That only became evident when I picked up a book at the library, titled "tthe mindful path to self-compassion," written by Dr. Christopher K. Germer. He explains that our self-speak should be just as compassionate as it would be for anyone else who is hurting, struggling or deflated.

What a concept! Show myself the same compassion as I would show unto others.

I had never considered it. But it makes perfect sense. When I was most down on myself, I'd usually turn to others for compassion and a "pep talk." It only dawned on me after reading the introduction and opening chapter of the book that I could be doing this for myself. Instead of judging, criticizing or chastising myself, I could be more affirming, affectionate and kind. And instead of beating myself up all the time, I could show more grace and love.

To some, this may seem like a no-brainer, but for the self-defeating pessimist, this is a real eye-opener.

My aunt, a therapist, has spoken to me before about mindfulness and I've put it into practice on occasion. It usually involves me taking in my surroundings, appreciating the beauty of the environment and living totally in the moment. In the book, Dr. Germer gives some exercises in mindful meditation that take it even further. His meditative practices encourage you to focus on your senses, your physical and emotional responses to your environment.

I haven't taken all of that to heart nor put it into practice, yet. The idea of meditation is still somewhat foreign to me. I have a hard time shutting off my brain to the multitude of distractions that lie in my subconscious, but I do see the benefits to it.

Still, the mere concept of self-compassion has me rethinking how I deal with myself. I know that I can be kinder and gentler to myself. As a life-long, worst critic, I believe that I can change that and become my biggest fan. It will take a lot of effort, but I am committed to living the second act of my life differently than the first. The first step in that direction is self-compassion.

Am I self-centered? Yes. Is that a bad thing? No, not necessarily. The important lesson I'm learning is how to speak to myself with more love, understanding and compassion. And I do believe that this, in turn, will help me to love and understand others better, as well.

Peace.

Comfort Music

Sitting in a quiet cafe this morning, nearly lulled to sleep by the hum of the overhead flourescent lights, I put in a 70's music CD I had made several years ago. The soft rock music instantly changed the atmosphere in the cafe and improved my mood, wiping away the cobwebs from my mind. It dawned on me that this music from my childhood is as good as comfort food. Hence, I donned the term "comfort music."

Just like it's edible counterpart, the style of music depends on the individual. For me, it is the music that played on the car stereo, the transistor radio/Walkman or the intercomm system at our house while I was growing up. Yes, our house had a built-in intercomm system with an AM/FM radio tuner that we managed to break the first or second year we lived there. Still, that music, which ran the gamut from Motown to Folk to Rock, that provided the soundtrack to my adolescence is what I would call my "comfort music."




This morning it was "Summer Breeze" by Seals and Croft, "Listen To What The Man Says" by McCartney and "Old Days" by Chicago, just to name a few. Like I said, it was a homemade CD of 70's tunes that I either plucked from another CD of mine or from an MP3 download site. It is full of tunes, like the ones mentioned above, that take me back in time and make me feel at home. When played on a great sound system, they wrap me up like a warm, wooly blanket on a cold Indiana day. Some of them remind me of childhood trips to our cabin in Sullivan, IN. Others remind me of driving through downtown Indy on the way to Pee-Wee Football practice at Riverside Park, or through Broad Ripple and past the mansions on Meridian Street. Those are great memories and the radio hits of the 70's were my personal soundtrack.

Okay, before I start to sound like a late night Time-Life Music Collection infomercial, let me switch gears. I also love Smooth Jazz. That upbeat, modern "elevator music" serves as a great backdrop to any number of things from chores to making babies (not that I've ever actually helped in making one). The syncopated and groovy rhythms sometimes get me motivated or make me want to jump behind a drum kit. But when I'm really looking for inspiration, to do chores, projects or workout (not that I work out that often), I switch into what I call 99X gear, mixing up classic rock from the 70's-90's with some edgier, newer alternative rock. See, I'm a complex music lover. But back to my point, and the informercial, I find comfort in the music of my youth. Back in my days of innocence, it was Paul McCartney and Wings, Stevie Wonder. the Doobie Brothers and James Taylor who provided the soundtrack. I think what that music does today, besides transport me back in time, it reminds me of when life was a lot less complicated and anxiety-ridden. That's why I call it "comfort music."

Toy Drive Article and My Memory

Call it old age, fading memory, failing synapses...I don't know why, but I have been absent minded lately. My friend, Janine, calls me forgetful because I only retain bits and pieces of her stories. Well, I haven't posted any of my news articles lately because I haven't had access to a scanner. DUH! I could have been taking photos, like the one below, the whole time. Now, I have quite a backlog to post. I'll get right on that (note my sarcasm)!

Pertaining to the news article, below, that appeared in today's Island Sand Paper, my father recently attended his high school reunion, where he learned that one of his classmates co-owns The Beach Pub right here on Fort Myers Beach. Talk about your small world coincidences. My father grew up in a small town that is just a spot on Old U.S. 41 in Southwest Indiana. His classmate, Tim Miller, is mentioned in the article. I interviewed co-owner Lou Caleca for the article, never remembering that Miller was Dad's classmate until my father called and reminded me Wednesday night, mere hours after the article had been submitted to my editor.

I'm such a dolt sometimes! Anyway, you can click on the image below to get a full-sized version of the article to read. I hope to get down to The Beach Pub this weekend to introduce myself to Mr. Miller...if I don't forget all about it before then.

Positivity, please.

Been awhile. Been busy...preoccupied. Have been journaling regularly and thought I'd share a portion of today's entry. I was taking some personal inventory and here is what I expressed:

...one thing of which I'm certain, my attitude helps shape my destiny. Positive thoughts always seem to breed positivity...attracts it even. I am determined to control my attitude and conquer the negativity to which I am prone and which dominated a large part of my life.

I've seen Joel Osteen on the morning shows and news programs promoting his new book, and while I don't subscribe to Osteen or his brand of religion, I do have to agree that affirming words help to shape our outlook on ourselves and life, in general. If we want to set a course for success, we definitely need to steer clear of negativity and affirm ourselves at every chance we get. Osteen offers 31 affirming words, one for every day of the month, and while they are probably laced with fundamental Christian ideas, it is the principle of affirming oneself with which I am aligning myself.

So today, I declare that I am a good person. Intrinsically, I want what's best for myself and for others. I seek out goodness for my life and I deserve good things to happen to me.

I am an honest person. I've been accused by others of being too nice and too honest. Well, I make no apologies, as those are character traits of which I am proud. I strive for honesty and despise deceit. I don't want to be lied to or about. I deserve honesty. I will continue to be an honest person and strive for truth. I will not hide behind falseness, lies and half-truths.

I will also strive for positivity. Positive thoughts are going to dominate me today.

Peace, love and happiness to you.

Stellar people, great friends

Okay, so my blog sat dormant for the majority of the summer. Part of the reason was personal and the other part was not having access to a scanner to keep my news articles posted. So here we are, approaching middle August and I feel the need to post something positive about two of the people in my life.

Here is a photo of their awesome family from about two years ago...

Shawn and Sherri Critser live on Fort Myers Beach and pastor the First Baptist Church--www.beachbaptist.org. They moved here from Henderson, Kentucky, near the area of Indiana where I was born and where my roots are. Needless to say, we hit it off right away.

I met their two daughters, first, at soccer practice at Bay Oaks Recreation Campus last August, nearly a year ago to the date. Their youngest played on my youngest daughter's team and their oldest daughter was goalie extrordinaire for my oldest daughter's soccer team. It wasn't until the season actually started that I met their family and all of the folks they usually brought with them.

To say that Shawn and Sherri are very vocal at sporting events, especially when their children are participating, is a HUGE understatement. It drew me to them right away. I tend to get very loud in support of my girls, as well. When I found out they were "old home folks," I immediately bonded with them and felt like family. It took some time for us to find space to interact and build on that "I've known you my whole life" kinda feeling, but it eventually worked out.

Now, I find myself living on their property in an RV they are letting me use...because they are just that kind of people--loving, kind, considerate and compassionate folks (though don't tell Shawn he's compassionate)!

To give an example of what I'm talking about, I asked Sherri if I could wash my first load of laundry in her house. She's basically said what is theirs is mine and to help myself to anything. Well, she not only said that I could, she offered to wash and fold my clothes for me. In fact, she insisted on it. That's the kind of friend you want in your life.

Beyond that, they have shown their true colors to me in many other ways. They are what I would call authentic people--genuine, forthright and honest--and "true" Christians. They have loved and supported me through the most difficult summer of my life, and I wouldn't trade them for the world. Nor would I trade Friday breakfasts with Shawn at the Heavenly Biscuit for all the money in the world.

I adore their children, their extended family and the good-hearted people at their church. It's been a pleasure getting to know them and become part of that circle of trust (i.e. their wolfpack of many). Well, that's all I had to say. It's good to have friends like that in your life.

A Man I'll Never Be

This song has always resonated with me...the lyrics, the melancholy in brad's voice that must have come from that deep, dark place where his demons were hidden...it's a shame that he's gone, but his memory lives on.

(Lyrics written by Tom Scholz)

If I said what's on my mind
You'd turn and walk away
Disappearing way back in your dreams
It's so hard to be unkind
So easy just to say
That everything is just the way it seems

You look up at me
And somewhere in your mind you see
A man I'll never be

If only I could find a way
I'd feel like I'm the man you believe I am
It's getting harder every day for me
To hide behind this dream you see
A man I'll never be

I can't get any stronger
I can't climb any higher
You'll never know just how hard I've tried
Cry a little longer
And hold a little tighter

Emotions can't be satisfied

You look up at me
And somewhere in your mind you still see
A man I'll never be

If only I could find a way
I'd feel like I'm the man you believe I am
And it gets harder every day for me
To hide behind this dream you see.........

I can't get any stronger
I can't climb any higher
You'll never know just how hard I've tried
Cry a little longer
And hold a little tighter
Emotions can't be satisfied

You look up at me
And somewhere in your mind you still see
A man I'll never be

If only I could find a way
I'd feel like I'm the man you believe I am
And it gets harder every day for me
I can't keep hidin this feeling

Thank you Tom Scholz for the great melody and rhyme, but thank you Brad Delp for pouring your heart and soul into the vocal performance! I feel you.

Game, Set, Match!

Here is my latest article from the May18th Island Sand Paper...it is about the Beach Volleyball League...happy reading!!!

...CLICK ON IMAGES FOR LARGE PRINT VIEW...

Beach PTO Teeing off for Education

CLICK ON IMAGES FOR LARGER PRINT VERSION

Loving the homeless

I just read an article about a homeless Naples man who was arrested on FELONY charges for "stealing" a cup of soda at a local McDonald's. REALLY??? This only highlights a growing trend of calousness towards the homeless here in Southwest Florida. I guess we've just gotten a little too hoity-toity down here with our gated communities sheltering us from the real world "out there."

Currently, there is a group of citizens in Bonita Springs who are fighting a homeless shelter that they don't want "in their backyard."

The Lee County Sheriff's Deputies are consistently harassing and tracking drifters on Fort Myers Beach. In fact, I was visiting a restaurant the other day (which shall remain nameless) and while I was visiting with the owner, a homeless drifter came up and asked to use the bathroom. Apparently, he did this every week and the owner didn't mind. But a deputy who'd been following the man approached us and asked the owner if he could arrest the drifter for trespassing. The owner said no and that he had no desire to press charges. After a little persuasion, the owner acquiesced and the homeless man was taken out to a waiting patrol car. One of the wait staff informed me that the owner was "too nice" and would never turn the guy away. All he wanted to do was clean up a bit, as he had spent the previous night on the beach.

Need I remind people that it is our job, as human beings, part of a global community of love, to help our fellow humankind? It's really not that difficult to give a guy your hand and help him to his feet, nor even to wash them.

All rights reserved by Kevin D. Hendricks

Here is my article on Earth Day activities from the Friday, April 20th, edition of the Island Sand Paper...

CLICK ON IMAGES FOR A LARGER VERSION YOU CAN ACTUALLY READ!!!

Drinking on Fort Myers Beach

After attending my second Town Hall Meeting on Fort Myers Beach, I just have to vent. There's an issue before our Town Council that has every tea-toteler and prude on the island up in arms. They are perplexed why our municipal government would even CONSIDER allowing beach businesses to expand the sale and consumption of alcohol onto the beach. At tonight's public hearing on the proposed ordinance, I heard a lot of moralistic grandstanding with terms like "family beach" and "family-friendly island" thrown around as if they were absolute truths with only one possible meaning.

Thankfully, the mayor's wife got up to give an alternate definition to "family time" on the beach. I take my family on the beach all the time and I'd love to enjoy a cocktail or two while out there. Does that somehow make me "family UNfriendly?"

Some of the naysayers lost all grasp of rational thought and began talking about our beach in terms of spring break gone wild, with topless girls splashing into the surf. I've yet to see that happen at the height of spring break and I certainly cannot see how the consumption of alcohol at a beach bar on the beach is going to lead to rampant luciviousness.

What those who throw terms around like "family values" fail to recognize is how many working families on this little island rely on the sale of alcohol at such establishments to make ends meet. That's right, old folks who no longer HAVE to work to make a living, there are families who would actually BENEFIT from expanded alcohol sales on our beach! Families making a living, feeding their children and buying them adequate clothing, those are family values that we should all be able to agree upon.

A patron who takes his/her beverage a few feet onto our sandy shores is not going to be the next star of a Girls Gone Wild video. They might be a mom, dad or even granddad, who is enjoying a tasty beverage with their family at sunset. And there is something morally reprehensible about that??? I just don't get it!

And it's not just working families who will ultimately benefit. Anyone with a vested interest on this island will benefit from increased spending by tourists who come to partake at the establishments who are granted the ability to serve on the beach. Since when is making an honest buck a non-Republican, anti-family value?

I sincerely hope our Town Council puts an end to this madness and votes to approve the new ordinance. The beach businesses deserve to play on a level playing field...tea-totelers be damned!

Tax Evasion leads off Sunday Morning...REALLY?!?! CBS!

This morning, CBS Sunday Morning led off with a story about tax evasion and people cheating on their taxes. Okay, I understand it is April 15th, but I've had my tax return for months now, so why is this a story. The 100th Anniversary of the Titanic disaster is much more compelling to me than the end of tax season and how people "cheat" Uncle Sam. I mean, I didn't hear them talk ONE TIME about all the loopholes that billionaires and corporations use to cheat the system. Instead, they focused on hardworking individuals and questioned their moral character. REALLY???

Look at it from an everyday Joe's perspective. Let's say your Uncle Sam was a financial mess who bummed money off you every year to the tune of thousands. The last you heard about your frivolous uncle was that he was driving down Wall Street just throwing handfulls of one dollar bills out the window of his gas-guzzling H2. Tell me how you'd feel about loaning him an extra $100 next week. Do you think your moral compass would guide you toward your wallet? Or would you tell a white lie that you just didn't have it this week?

Is that really cheating him? Even if the government told you that you HAD to give him the money, I wouldn't think twice if you fudged your way out of it. Now, let's get onto something more interesting CBS. Who's vetting these stories anyway?!?! Where are the feel-good stories that drew us into your program years ago?

Jack Mascola, 93, Renaissance Man of FMB!

The photo of Jack Mascola, below, graced the front page of today's Island Sand Paper, a weekly newspaper serving Fort Myers Beach, Florida. It served as a teaser for a personal interest story I wrote this week. The story is linked below.

...be sure to click on images for a large print version...

The New Deck at Surf Club

I had the pleasure of meeting Surf Club owner Bruce Cermak last Tuesday for the first time. Nice guy, loves what he does and loves where he lives. I have to say, it's not a bad gig...and neither is writing for the Island Sand Paper on Fort Myers Beach. Love it here! (click on the image, below, for a large-print version of the article)

This island is full of Midwesterners!

Latest Sand Paper Articles!

I'm a little behind on posting my articles. Here's the latest one on some helpful spring breakers who came not to party on our beach, but to help clean it up! This one ran last Friday, March 16, in the Island Sand Paper:

(click on images for larger, readable version)

This is my article on the Beach Elementary's production of Peter Pan, which ran in the February 17th edition of the Island Sand Paper (I replaced the photo of school kids with a black-and-white of the logo designed by their art teacher for the play):

NOTE: My daughter played one of the mermaids! She performed perfectly!!! (says the proud Dad).

Blue Marlin Tag Frames Creator, Jon Cudzik

My latest submission to the Sand Paper appears on page 20 of today's edition...

(click on image for large print version)

7-Year-Old Blog: A Retrospective, Part 1

My blog will be seven years old in April of this year! As a way to celebrate my commitment to writing, I'm taking a few months to look back over the seven years of intermittent blogging. I haven't always submitted my best work to the Great Blogosphere of the Ethernet, so I hope the gods will forgive, but at least I've been a loyal subject and beat the six-month average lifespan of most blogs. Maybe the blog is a dying art in the world of tweets and status updates, but it is more of a long-form tweet for me. Note, I don't even have a Twitter account. Enough with the prefacing, and onto the looking back! First, have a look back at the last six months, which is laden with posts about my freelance work at the Island Sand Paper here on Fort Myers Beach.

I am grateful for the chance to earn a little dough doing the thing I love--writing--and also for the chance to display some of my photography in newsprint. I wish to say thank you to Missy and Bob Layfield and Keri Hendry for the chance to work in journalism. Now to the writing samples...Enjoy! (NOTE: When you click the links, this blog post still shows at the top spot, so SCROLL DOWN!)

Holy Vettes, Batman!!!

Here is my latest offering from the Island Sand Paper, a Fort Myers Beach weekly. Page 12 features my article about the Corvette Cruise-in at Parrot Key Caribbean Grill...

sorry my scanner couldn't handle this one very well...be sure to click on the image above for a full-sized view, easier to read!

Salty Dog and CRAB articles

I have TWO articles in this week's Island Sand Paper. Check them out, below, but don't strain your eyes. You can click on either image to get the large print version...Enjoy!

(when the jpeg loads in your browser, be sure to click on it for full-sized viewing)

Blog Birthday in April

Hard to believe, but in April this blog will be seven years old.

I know I haven't been a consistent blogger. As you'll notice in the timeline on the lower right, there are missing months where I did not blog at all. No apologies. Life just gets in the way of writing sometimes.

But this has always been a great place for me to vent, to get creative, to share personal feelings, failures and accomplishments. All told, I'm pretty proud that I've stuck with it this long, since the average shelf life of most blogs is less than six months.

Over the next few months, leading up to that anniversary, I plan to do some looking back and share some of my favorite blog posts. This space serves as sort of a road map of my spiritual journey the last seven years. The road I began travelling back in 2004-05, down the path of rediscovery and emerging spirituality, led me far away from my Catholic and Pentacostal roots. Well, maybe not THAT far away, but certainly in a new direction.

For anyone who has followed my ramblings, thanks. I appreciate your interest and longevity. For anyone who has just stumbled upon this blog, welcome. Pull up a chair and click through some of the posts from 2005-2011. You might chuckle, maybe you'll even stop to ponder, but whatever you do, leave a comment. Blogs are not for stalkers. They're for conversation. You don't have to be a blogger yourself to leave a comment. Anyone can do so, even anonymously.

Thanks, again, for taking a minute to read. Ciao!

Gulf Coast Living is for me!

In 2006, I was ready to leave Tallahassee for a home in either the panhandle beaches or Indiana...talk about your polar opposites. I decided that with the cost of real estate on the coast and the lack of a support network there it would be best to move north. So we set out in December with a contract for the sale of our house pending and moved to Fishers, Indiana. It turned out to be one of the snowiest, coldest Decembers central Indiana had seen in a long time.

We endured four of those blustery winters before packing up and heading back south. Fortunately for us, Aunt Sarah had a vacant condo ready to take us in, so we found our way 1,100 miles from Fishers to Fort Myers Beach. It was a long, two-day trip with our two girls, two dogs and everything we could cram into a small Volvo sedan. We made it to Manatee Beach near Anna Maria Island by sunset the second day. It was a glorious sunset to welcome us back to the Gulf Coast!

Our original intent was to settle in the Bradenton area, just inland from Manatee Beach. We actually hunted for jobs and houses up there until school began in early August. By then, we were falling head-over-heels in love with Fort Myers Beach and it's small town charm. We quickly shifted our focus to finding a reasonably-priced rental on the island and jobs that would help us afford it. Best decision we've made in a LONG time...and only about 5 years overdue.

I was just looking over this blog, and it was May 15, 2006, when I stated that " I will live at the beach one day." What a crazy prophecy that came true this last year!

All of the descriptions of Destin and Panama City in that May 2006 blog are perfectly applicable to where I live now, except I think the white gulf sands down this way are finer and softer to the touch. I call our beaches "baby powder" because that's what it feels like under your feet in the coolness of a December morning. It's not the scratchy, golden, Atlantic Coast sand that feels like sandpaper between your cheeks. I think the baby powder sand is how a beach just to our south got its name--Barefoot Beach...but watch out for shells. This is a great place to find them, and when you walk closer to the shoreline, you'll crunch them under your barefeet.

The reasons I am so partial to the Gulf are the calm, warm waters and the absolutely glorious sunsets. The only other place I could ever see myself is in the Florida Keys. I think that once I get bored with the sunsets here, I'll make that move further south. Then, one day, you'll read my blog about how that self-fulfilling prophecy came true.

To say that I have adapted to island life is an understatement. I think that I was predestined to live here. My blood pressure has always been on the lower end of normal and I seem to move fluidly to the rhythm of island life. It's a slower pace that I intend to maintain for another 40+ years.

Hoboken Frank, the other...

click on images for larger, original versions

Hopes for 2012

Here's what I'm hoping for in 2012...

A Kardashian-free news feed. I mean, the Jersey Shore cast had their 15 minutes of fame, like most other flash-in-the-pan, 15-more-minutes-than-they-deserved fads, so why has the Kardashian clan clung to notoriety like they're British royalty or something (another thing I don't get by the way)?!?! Didn't we fight a revolution to get away from the British monarchy? Now, we apparently can't get enough of their every bowel movement, nor of the Kardashians...which leads me to ask, is there a difference?

An Obama-free America. Send the douchebag back to Hawaii or Indonesia, or wherever he's really from and give us a REAL leader! 'Nuff said (and this was a non-partisan rant, btw)!

A war-free zone for the whole year. We spent enough of our precious resources in countries that hate us to the nth degree, so let's focus on the homefront for awhile. Oh, and world peace would be nice, too.

An Occupy movement with a purpose, please. Are you starting another Tweet revolution in America, or are you just getting lots of like-minded people together for lattes? I'm confused. Was there a point?

The end of all reality shows. Really. Enough, already. I don't want to see any more rednecks on a channel labeled "Arts and Entertainment." Jessco, 'The Dancin' Outlaw,' was entertaining...in 1990! Mud People, People who hunt wild pigs, gators, their mama's tooth, etc...not so much!

Did I miss anything?

Flipper's On The Bay Expands Offerings

Cat Crusader Article from Dec 9th Island Sand Paper

If you can help Jo Ann out by donating food, money or time, please call her directly at (239) 463-6118. Thank you!

Waxing philosophical this morning

Funny the rabbit trails your mind will go down early in the morning after a half-cup of coffee. As I sit at my computer doing genealogy, of all things, I stumble upon a gravesite for one of my ancestors that gets me waxing philosophical, theological, even.

She was buried in an Oregon memorial park in the "Garden of Atonement."

Interesting concept that atoning for one's sins.

As I was taught, growing up in the Catholic Church, we were all born with the "mark of Adam," the stain of "original sin" upon us. That means, each and everyone of us, fresh from our mother's womb, drawing our first breath of air, was utterly doomed to failure...and eternal damnation, by the way.

What kind of bogus poker hand is that to be dealt?

The Catholics are to blame for this nonsense, you know. Now, most of the Christian worldview has been shaped by this idea that we are all born with a fatal, spiritual flaw. Innocent babies, my ass! We are wired with a penchant for evil.

This might cause one to call, "Foul!" Throw the penalty flag. Question everything he/she knows about God.

Where's the justice in that? The love? The forgiveness, even?

Ah, forgiveness...that's the rub. The "mark of Adam" with which we are ALL cursed spurred the Creator to action. He devised a master plan in which He would become the scapegoat (ala, the ram in the thicket from the story of Abraham and Isaac). Brilliant or psychotic? You decide.

The Supreme Being, Creator of all that is, devised a way out of our mortal conundrum, but it, in effect, involved His own death, a sort of deicide (it's a word, look it up).

The next thing I was taught, after learning of my one-way-ticket-do-not-pass-go entrance into Hades, is that Jesus, the one displayed in gory fashion upon a crucifix in every classroom and church I attended until middle school, was, in fact, God. He came to (drumroll please) ATONE for my sins and make everything right in my hereafter world. WHEW! That was a close call.

That was the best He could come up with...committing suicide for the fatal flaw that I was born with. Dare I say, created with? He couldn't conceive of ANY OTHER WAY but to spill His own blood?

So, to recap, I was created with or born into this world with a mortal flaw for which I was unable to help myself. The Draconian punishment for it--be I baby or old man--was eternal damnation in a lake of fire. And the ONLY way to get out of that dire, eternal consequence was for God to come down and kill Himself (i.e. His Son). And I am to believe that this Guy created galaxies yet unknown?

Puzzling.

Local Adopt-A-Troop Benefit

After a few weeks absence from the Island Sand Paper, I have a new article in today's edition all about the Nov 17th benefit for Adopt-A-Troop Foundation...

A Hero Remembered

Grave of Clifford O. Carlton
1924-1991
(Garden Sanctuary Cemetery, Seminole, FL)

On the heels of Veteran's Day Weekend, I thought it appropriate to honor the memory of one of my ancestors. His name is Clifford O. Carlton, of Evansville, who served heroically in the U.S. Air Force/Army during World War II.

I was researching Clifford's family, as I am a 4th cousin,* and ran across these newsclippings in the Browning Genealogy database (http://browning.evcpl.lib.in.us/):

4 Jan 1945 -- "Pfc Clifford O. Carlton was wounded in action in Germany on Dec 16 [1944]. An infantryman, he also has served in England and France since arriving overseas in August, 1944...A former Reitz High School student..."

24 Sep 1945 -- "Pfc Clifford Carlton, brother of Mrs. Heal, is now home on sick leave from Fletcher General Hospital, Cambridge [Ohio]. He is recovering from left leg wounds suffered last Dec. 16 in battle east of Cologne. In the Army since April 3, 1943, he trained at Ft. McClellan, Ala., Ft. Benning, Ga., Ft. Mackall, NC., and Camp Forrest, Tenn. When injured in a parachute accident, he was transferred to the infantry. Going overseas in July, 1944, he served with the 8th Division. His decorations include the Purple Heart, good conduct and American Defense ribbons, a three-star-studded ETO ribbon and combat infantry badge."

Clifford and his wife, Jane, retired to Madeira Beach, Florida. He died 25 Feb 1991 at Bay Vines Veterans Hospital in St. Petersburg. He was laid to rest at Garden Sanctuary Cemetery in nearby Seminole, FL.

* Clifford and I are 4th cousins, 2 times removed, because his second great-grandfather, Bracket Mills, was a brother to my fourth great-grandfather, Duston Mills, of Gibson County, Indiana.

Painting the Beach (Island Sand Paper)

My latest submission to the Island Sand Paper about an art celebration called Paint the Beach, Nov. 14-20, on Fort Myers Beach, which ran on the front page and pg. 19...

FLOWSTIVAL Benefit Celebration takes place the weekend of November 18-20 in Bonita Springs, Florida. Join us for a weekend of camping, rhythm and flow arts! Or as Dino likes to say, "Feel the rhythm; release the fear!" Online prices the next two weeks will save you money, so don't delay in getting your 3-day passes. Hope to see you there.

America's global spending spree backed by politicians on both sides

Secretary Clinton is at it again. You know, I don't mind when the liberal agenda wants to spend money on struggling families at home, but when they want to spend millions helping foreign countries halfway around the globe? Yeah, I have a problem with that.

Now Republican Senator Lindsey Graham is jumping on the bandwagon. He defends irresponsible spending in the name of 'national security.' Isn't that standby excuse wearing thin, yet. Ever since 9-11, our GOP leaders love to cover anything they do under the umbrella of 'the war on terror' and 'national security.'

I don't pretend to be a foreign policy expert and I'm sure the politicos in Washington claim to know better than I, but I CAN balance a checkbook. And I know that when I'm hundreds of dollars in the hole, I don't have money to go out and pick up the tab for me and my buddies.

Our nation's debt is outta control. We don't have money to be the 'bank of the world.' Let struggling countries find ways to make it on their own. It will be good for them in the long run....at least that's what my dad always told me when I asked to borrow cash.

Living History at Matanzas Pass Preserve

The Island Sand Paper ran my story today about the upcoming Visions of the Past event on pages 1 and 19...

I took the two photos with my digital camera. I think they translated pretty well on newsprint.

Dan Wheldon, gone.

The Indy Racing League was dealt a devastating blow today when one of its leading drivers was killed in a 15-car accident at the Las Vegas Indy 300.

Above is a picture I took in May 2008 while at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway for a day of practice. That could be Dan's wife, Susie, to his left. I'm not sure. Today, she was widowed at around 3:00 p.m., leaving her to raise two young sons without their father.

From what I know, Dan was a great driver, great competitor and a nice guy. He had won at Indy, won the IRL championship and won the hearts of many Indy car fans, especially the feminine variety. He was a good looking guy.

Today, his life was cut short at the age of 33 after his car hurled into the air, then barrel-rolled into the barrier fence before careening back to the pavement ablaze. His wrecked car was covered with a golden-colored tarp before being removed from the track at Vegas. During that same time, he was being airlifted to the local hospital where he would later be pronounced dead.

I feel so badly for his widow and their two children. My heart goes out to them.

I understand the dangers of racing at speeds above 220 mph. The Indy cars are like jets on racing tires. Unfortunately, too many times they go airborne. I witnessed it firsthand at the 2010 Indy 500 where on the last lap of the race a guy went airborne into the fence between turns three and four. I was sitting at the entrance of the short chute where the crash began that year.

I remember another deadly accident in the 80's that occured at Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Another driver, Gordon Smiley, was killed by a horrific accident that ended with him airborn and into the fence. Safety and race car design has come such a long way, but today we are reminded just how dangerous this sport still is.

Again, I am saddened by the Wheldon family's loss. I can only hope that this incident leads to further advances and improvements in driver safety.

Rest in peace, Dan.

A day at the beach for Beach Elementary 4th Graders

CLICK ON PICTURE FOR FULL-SIZE IMAGE

Noles ready to knock-off #1

http://colts-noles.blogspot.com/2011/09/countdown-to-fsu-ou-has-begun.html

My COLTS-NOLES blog is all decked out in garnet and gold for this weekend's game.

GO NOLES!!!

Never Forget

Yesterday, I blogged about The Falling Man and my recollections of 9/11. Today, I stumbled across a blog written about the massive outpouring of support after the attack. As Senator Rob Portman was recalling his wife's trip back to Ohio and the Search and Rescue Team she passed on their way to Ground Zero, I remembered the many volunteers who went to New York from Florida in the wake of the 9/11 terrorist attack.

Yesterday, I told my story of watching the horror unfold on television and how I was working for the government in Tallahassee. Well, fast forward just a couple of months and I had been rehired by the Florida Division of Emergency Management to serve as their spokesperson. I had the privilege of speaking with many a volunteer who had just returned from the devastation at Ground Zero. Some of them had served in the Salvation Army tent kitchens, ensuring that volunteers and first responders had a hot meal after long, laborious hours of combing the wreckage.

While I don't recall offhand the total number of volunteers we sent from Florida, I do know that Search and Rescue was another group of willing volunteers. The urban S&R teams would painstakingly navigate twisted steel and dig through feet of ash and rubble just to search for survivors and recover barely recognizable remains with the help of specially-trained canines. Those volunteers were just as much heroes as the first responders who gave all to save their neighbor.

I remember wishing I could go with one of the Florida teams, if just to serve a few meals or hand out bottled water. I had so much respect for my colleagues in Tallahassee who dropped everything and went for weeks on end to serve in New York City. Alas, I had a four-month-old baby at home and a wife who couldn't sleep. There was no way I was leaving them for 6-8 weeks.

Still, the memories of the days, weeks and months after 9/11 are vivid for me. I'll admit that I had grown complacent, choosing not to reflect on the horrible images that had bombarded me through television and online news outlets in 2001. But since yesterday, I cannot get them out of my head, so I designed the collage at the top of this blog post. It reminds of the phrase that was our nation's mantra in the waning months of that year. Let us never forget.

Nine-eleven

Ten years ago, you could have typed three numbers and immediately everyone would've known what that represented. Nine, one-one. The three-digit emergency telephone number that links U.S. residents with first responders in times of crisis or imminent danger. Sadly, today that is no longer the case. For when you type nine, one-one, it evokes sadness and tragic memories of a fateful day in history.

I've been reluctanct to recall those memories. And in the days leading up to the tenth anniversary/memorial of "nine-eleven," bombarded with reminders on television and the web, I've been reticent to share any feelings associated with those memories. Today, I finally broke.

As I watched the end of Live with Regis and Kelly, they had a prolonged moment of silence. Then, I stumbled upon a documentary titled "9/11 The Falling Man" on The Western Confucian blog. I knew that I needed to speak and let those feelings flow freely.

The Nine-eleven disaster did not effect me directly. I knew no one in the tower. I'd never even been to Manhattan and seen the World Trade Center in person, only on TV. I was 1,100 miles removed from Ground Zero. Yet, I have vivid memories of that day.

Working in the Pepper Building, part of a sprawling network of government buildings in downtown Tallahassee, I overheard my coworkers watching live coverage of the terrorist attack on MSNBC. The first tower had been struck. People were gathering around the computer monitor on the other side of the cubicle I was in. I needed to get to a television, so I took a coffee break and drove to the nearby Governor's Square Mall. I found TVs blaring live coverage in the food court of the mall. I was stunned; flabbergasted, even.

Watching the news with horror, I called my wife who was on maternity leave with our two-month old (to the day) daughter. They were watching something other than the news, oblivious to the terrorism that had just been perpetrated on American soil. Until that day, the most shocking attack of this kind we had seen on television, was the 1996 Olympic bombing in Atlanta or the Murrow Federal Building bombing in Tulsa. My wife was bewildered as she turned to CNN.

I received a call on my cellphone that our office had been evacuated as a safety precaution. In fact, the entire state government came grinding to a halt. The Capitol Building and adjacent offices in Tallahassee were cleared because of the fear that the President's brother, Governor Jeb Bush, would be a likely target. I was relieved that I didn't have to go back to work. I could hardly remove my glare from the televisions at the mall. Truth be told, I could hardly believe my eyes!

It was around 9:30 that morning and the news cameras had already shown the second tower being hit by a hijacked airliner and now the tower was falling. The iconic World Trade Center in New York was crumbling before my eyes. There were people leaping from busted out windows in the other tower. The scene was absolutely surreal.

I don't remember how long I stayed at the mall that morning or what time I returned home, but I must have been glued to the cable news networks for hours that day. It seemed as if pandemonium had struck the heart of Manhattan's financial district. It had, indeed.

The interviews with victims' spouses in the first 24-minutes of The Falling Man film will bring you to tears. But the positive spin one husband gives was inconceivably imaginative considering his great tragedy. His wife, stuck high in the south tower before it fell, was found on the sidewalk in front of the building across from the tower. She obviously had jumped. He tried to imagine the split-second thought going through her head as she made that fateful leap from high above lower Manhattan. He describes the liberating, breathtaking sense of flight and how she was finally able to breathe, free of the smoke, ash and burning embers of the unstable trade tower. I was amazed that he could even find an image so positive from such a horrific act.

USA Today reports the gruesome story about those who jumped, but whose deaths are still labeled "homicides" by the New York Coroner's Office. Not all who "were forced out by smoke and flames" made it to the streets below. "On the south side, firefighters reported 30 to 40 bodies on the roof of the 22-floor Marriott Hotel, adjacent to the north tower." One eyewitness from the south tower saw a lady fall just outside his window. He recalls, "She wasn't screaming. It was slow motion." He saw her hit the ground. How horrified he must have been.

Gruesome though it may be, that sight saved hundreds of lives. "Many south tower survivors say the sight of people jumping created an urgency that caused them to leave immediately and ignore announcements that it was safe to return to their desks."

USA Today estimates that upwards of 200 people jumped, mainly from the north tower which was hit first but stood 46 minutes longer than the south tower. "The Falling Man" has been identified by family and co-workers as Jonathan Briley, a worker at the Windows on the World restaurant. No positive i.d. was ever made, however. Information and pictures about the late Mr. Briley can be found on Michelle Malkin's blog in a post titled, "The Falling Man Revisited".

The film asserts that we, as Americans, have attempted to erase those gruesome images by refusing to look at them. But I, for one, can never erase them from my memory. They were the visible casualties from a man-made disaster that claimed nearly 3,000 lives. And while I did not know any of them personally, the images of those who jumped from certain death TO certain death certainly touched me deeply.

Because of that fateful day ten years ago, no one can ever say, type or think 9-1-1 without having to pause that split second and think, is that "nine-eleven" or "nine, one-one?" That three-digit code will forever link our country with the heroic first responders who come to our rescue in times of personal crisis and who came to Ground Zero at that time of national crisis. May all who died rest in peace. May all who live, "Never forget."

First Game Rust?

Let me say right from the start that I'm VERY happy with a shut-out win to start the 2011 season. BUT, the Seminoles didn't quite play up to all the hype or the Top 5 ranking. Shannon J. Owens nails it in the Orlando Sentinel column, "The Seminoles played footsie with the Warhawks when they should have been cutting off their toes."

Courtesy Seminoles.com

The team with national championship aspirations wasn't playing like a contender today. Their first quarter performance was lackluster and uninspired. You'd never know they had a Heisman-caliber quarterback or lightning-fast receivers. As Owens points out quite graphically, they lacked the killer instinct of the Seminole teams of old.

While other top teams were steamrolling their first opponents of twenty-eleven, the Seminoles were settling for punts and field goals. And say what you will about ULM, but they were scheduled to be a cupcake of a home opener. The shutout was nice, but it should have been by 50 points with all the firepower in Jimbo's arsenal.

I don't know if it was the playcalling or the execution, but I was having flashbacks during the the first quarter of the "good ol'" Bowden days...and I'm talking about the infamous Bowden playcaller, Jeff, not Bobby. Some of the vanilla plays early in the game definitely had a hint of Jeffy. Very conservative (as if the Warhawks were just supposed to play dead and grant the Noles 10 yards on every play).

Granted, the Warhawks did put up a fight, but their offense couldn't muster 200 total yards. They laid a golden goose egg on the final scoreboard.

What do we take away from this so-so home opener? Well, a win for one. I am very happy the Seminoles go into Week 2 with a 1-0 record. I was glad to see some flashes of brilliance from EJ Manuel at quarterback. His long, touchdown pass before the half was beautifully thrown and right on the mark! But we're used to seeing those kinds of plays on the first first-and-ten of the game, especially against cupcakes like ULM. So, there's room for improvement. Better playcalling and better execution are a MUST if FSU wants to be taken seriously this season.

Let's go Seminoles!!!

First Feature Article Published!

Well, I am officially a freelance writer in Fort Myers Beach!

A huge, DUH!!!

I just read where Hilary Clinton wants to send aid to famine-ravished Somalia for food distribution. Why is that not such a stellar idea? Well, for one, Somalia is run by one of the most corrupt governments in the world. One local expert says, "Corruption has marred every aspect of Somali society."

So the same state that sponsors terrorists and allows pirates to run its shores like a rogue coast guard should be rewarded with our tax dollars. Brilliant, Ms. Clinton! With our nation facing economic crisis and a downgraded credit rating, we need to be throwing good money after bad and help line the pockets of corrupt, terrorist regimes???

Not that I don't feel bad for all the pain and suffering for innocent Somalians, but you cannot trust corrupt leaders to do the right thing because they don't even care about the suffering as much as we do! They'd step on their own children to get what they want. How much of the millions in aid sent to Haiti even reached those devastated by the earthquake? I'm sorry, but the Red Cross and other relief agencies are only allowed to do as much work in foreign countries as the officials will allow. They control the logistics, the runways, the infrastructure, and all the money and relief efforts in the world won't overcome their ineptitude, lack of empathy or greed.

But, yeah, okay, let's send them money we don't have so they can thwart the relief for their dying citizens and fund a terrorist cell in Muslim-controlled east Africa. Yep, great idea!

My Manatee Article was Published!

I wrote a guest commentary on manatee safety for a local island paper. Here it is in print:

"They're fast food employees."

The news is reporting that 62,000 new McEmployees are going to work under the golden arches this week. I speculate that of those numbers, about half are non-English speaking, another quarter are teens or college-aged workers and the rest are a mix of out-of-work professionals and those whose sights aren’t set that high.

This morning, my wife returned home from work after early morning visits to two 24-hour, fast food drive-thrus. It was 5 AM and all she wanted was coffee and a breakfast sandwich. Apparently, that was too much to ask.

First, she ordered a McBreakfast with coffee, but was refused service because the geniuses there decided to clean all the coffee makers—both regular brewers and McCafe machine—at the same time. None of the bright McEmployees thought to have one brewed pot on a warmer elsewhere, or to maybe do one machine at a time. Short of that, they could’ve picked a better time than the beginning of the breakfast rush, like say 2 AM. Even the bars haven’t let out by then.

Secondly, she decided to hit the drive-thru at the next door Steak-N-Shake. Upon her attempt to order the same breakfast, she was told they don’t serve breakfast until 6 AM. They were happy to make her a burger topped with an egg, but NOT a breakfast sandwich with any other meat! Oh wait, you can also order a bacon burger, so there IS breakfast meat in the restaurant.

Sooo, they are open 24 hours, but breakfast starts promptly at 6. Okay. Where’s the logic in that? Do the chickens only wake up and begin producing the eggs at 6 AM in Steak-N-Shake’s storeroom? Apparently not. Eggs are available for burgers ONLY! No egg is to touch that hot grill for ANY OTHER sandwich!

The moral of this story?

Kids, do yourself a favor, and shoot a little higher. When I was a teen looking for employment, I was afforded the opportunity to get a McJob or to make pizzas at a national pizza chain. I chose the latter. But you can do better. Go wait tables, dig a ditch or intern at a professional office somewhere. Even ditch diggers get better direction and management from their supers.

When my wife came home and explained her adventures in drive-thru ordering, I simply replied, “Honey. They’re fast food employees.”

Random Spirituality

Just in time for Easter…my first blog on anything spiritual in quite awhile. I’ve been ruminating on what it means to “lift God up from the Earth.” It would seem that it means different things to different readers of the Gospel. I am referring, of course, to the words of Jesus as recorded in the Gospel of John, twelfth chapter, 32nd verse, “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.”

In the evangelical circles where I once circulated, this one verse served as their singular mission statement. Lift God up so that everyone will be saved. Of course, they didn’t believe in universal salvation. I mean, what would we do with an empty hell? List it in the real estate section on Craigslist?

No, my contemporaries in the church didn’t believe that we could lead every soul to Christ, they just believed that we should try. And the Christ-given formula was simple.

Lift God up from the Earth.

But what does that mean, exactly? What did Jesus mean when and if he said these words? The footnote in Today’s New International Version, © 2005, says that lifted up means “exalted.” Well, there’s a favorite catchphrase in evangelical Christianity, “Exalt the Lord!” I used to sing that chorus in church. So was that the secret formula? Go public with my praise and lift God up with my voice? Would that “draw all people” to God? Some of my contemporaries thought so.

There was another sample in my circle who believed it meant that and more. They believed that Jesus was giving them the charge to wear their Christianity on their sleeve. You’ve seen them on street corners, in the public square, toting signs, holding political rallies, etc. They believed that the more public with your faith, the better. How else would God be lifted up? In my personal experience, these kinds of displays only served the opposite purpose of turning people off to the message of redemption. It may sound like a harsh criticism, but I’m only pointing the finger at myself. I lived this way for awhile in my younger adult years.

Now that I’ve been fully detoxed from years of “churchification,” I feel that I have a better perspective. I still believe that faith should be lived out publicly, but not in any of the ways I’ve described heretofore.

I sincerely believe that Jesus was promoting a better way to live that had nothing to do with church services, praise choruses or political rallies. He just went about daily life doing what he does, helping others. He usually didn’t make a big spectacle of it, though some of his ministry did become a spectacle, of sorts. In fact, after some of his great miracles, he actually requested discreetness. Jesus wasn’t about drawing attention to himself. He was about helping people live better lives.

I do not see how forcing one’s religion or personal beliefs down someone else’s throat serves that same purpose. It draws no one closer to God. Likewise, I don’t see how public displays—whether at outdoor church services or pro-life marches—exalt the Almighty and draw people in.

I think it is simple, random acts of love and kindness that go the furthest to accomplish the mission of John 12:32. The little things we do to help others that make life better in small increments are, in my opinion, what lifts up the ideal of Christ and knowingly or unknowingly draw them toward that ideal.

Consider that as you enjoy Easter Sunday and determine to make the world a better place one random act at a time. Peace be with you.

"Look, Ma! No hands!"

Fear is something I learned early in life--fear of the dark, fear of storms, fear of getting hurt, etc., etc. I wouldn't even ride the new bike I got for my sixth birthday for fear of falling down and skinning my knees or elbows...or worse. Not sure if God gives us fear as a safeguard, but I had an unhealthy dose.

Well, yesterday as I was circling the nature trail behind my 6-year-old, I was amazed at how well she rides a bike for her age. No fear. Actually, I was the one worried about her taking a sharp curve on the leaf-covered trail and losing it. I don't think that ever crossed her mind, at all. As she pedalled fast and leaned into the serpentine bends of the trail, I swelled with a little pride.

What struck me was the fact that my two daughters fear very little. Did God use the baby dropper to administer their fear level? Or had my wife and I done a good enough job of parenting to ensure that they don't fear the world or the everyday scrapes and bruises that are just a part of growing up?

Either way, I am thankful that my daughters don't fear the things I did as a kid. Seriously, I didn't even ride a bike until I was 10! I was that fearful. My hope is that my daughters will always grab life by the horns and go for it; that fear will never creep in and lord over them the way it has me at times in my life (not just as a kid).

It seemed like an odd thought to have while enjoying a bike ride on a warm, sunny afternoon, but I've ruminated on it now for several hours and I am very thankful. I guess God knew what he was doing when he gave me the two most wonderful girls in the whole world. Guess I shouldn't fear their growing up and moving out. Just another fact of life...and mine has been enriched so much in the last 10 years.

Coach Caldwell

If you suffered through the Colts game last night, then stayed up for WTHR’s post-game coverage, then you heard the blue jersey-clad fan call out the head coach on camera. It was well said, and WAY overdue! Just who is this soft-spoken, even-keeled nobody at the helm of the NFL’s most jeckyl-and-hyde team?

I’ve been complaining to my family about him for two years. He led a dismal Wake Forest Demon Deacon's team into a few games at my alma mater, Florida State. It was typically a Demon Deacon bloodbath. They were the doormats of the ACC, after all, and FSU was at its Bowden Dynasty finest. But don’t let the brilliance of the Bowden era at FSU diminish the complete dullness of the Caldwell era at Wake Forest. I saw how pathetic they were, firsthand! And Jim Caldwell’s expressionless face on the Wake Forest sideline matched the equally vanilla play on the field by his team. It was uninspired football.

The official Colts/NFL website states, “Caldwell spent 1993-2000 as head coach at Wake Forest. In 1999, Caldwell led the school to its first winning season and bowl game since 1992.” Granted, that bowl game pitted a 6-5 Demon Deacons team against a very average Arizona State team, also 6-5.

Here is Jim Caldwell’s record as the Wake Forest head coach, by year:

1993 Record, 2-9
1994 Record, 3-8
1995 Record, 1-10
1996 Record, 3-8
1997 Record, 5-6
1998 Record, 3-8
1999 Record, 6-5
2000 Record, 2-9

Let me do the math for you—that adds up to a total of 25 wins in 8 seasons as head coach, an average of 3 wins per season. THREE WINS! WOOT!!!

So Tony Dungy helps him get to the next level, hiring him while still at Tampa Bay. The Feb. 2001 headline from the official Buccaneers/NFL website reads, “Tony Dungy dips into the college ranks once again to flesh out his coaching staff with Jim Caldwell, Joe Barry and Mike Tomlin.” Now, I’m not knocking Dungy for pushing diversity on the NFL (Lord knows they needed it!), but what exactly did Caldwell bring to the table? A losing record as a college head coach?

And now we have the politically-correct Mr. Irsay to thank for promoting from within, someone who is even MORE mild mannered than Dungy. Thank you, Tony, and thank you, Mr. Irsay. I hope Coach Caldwell enjoys the extended off-season, and the unearned accolades for an over-achieving, MASH unit (aka the 2010 Indianapolis Colts).

Bowl Mania

Are you kidding me, NCAA???

Just when the crescendo of public dissent was reaching its peak, you go and ADD bowl games?? I know that's your idea of an answer to the call for a playoff to crown a legitimate national champion, but it's a huge step in the WRONG direction. We don't need more MEANINGLESS games! I mean, seriously! The Pinstripe Bowl? The Car Parts Bowl? The TicketCity Bowl? Where do you come up with these ridiculous names and sponsors? What's next, the Extenze Bowl hosted by Jimmy Johnson???

Am I the only one tuning out these lackluster, mismatched, over-commercialized bowls? Are there really football fans out there SO hard-up that they'll watch a pair of teams barely over .500 kick a bevy of field goals? COUNT ME OUT!!!

I watched my alma mater in the Chick-Fil-A Bowl, and I'll probably watch the BCS National Championship, but the Throw-Mama-From-The-Train Bowl and the Overhyped-Pair-of-7-and-5-Nobody-Team-Bowls...NO THANK YOU!!!

Get real and give the people what they want, you greedy, money-grubbing bastards!!! (Imagine the voice of Jim Mora) PLAY-OFFS!