Proud

I will say, boldly and without reservation, that this post is about my kids, and I am going to brag about them. Deal with it. This is my blog, and I can do what I want. I f you feel differently, write your own blog. No, really. Write one. It is neat.

The other evening, my daughter Emily came downstairs and began searching through the bookshelves in the basement. I asked her what she was looking for, and she told me she was looking for Johnny Got his Gun.  She knew I had a copy, and she just wanted to read it. I am proud of Emily for countless reasons, and one of the qualities that makes Emily Emily that I am proud of is a thoughtful, intelligent young woman. She thinks about things. Not with an elitist effort to place herself above others, but with innocent and sincere wonder. She considers her favorite music and ponders why the artists might have written the way they did, about from where the words and emotion might have sprung. She thinks about how people behave, and what might be behind their actions. She examines history and wonders what motivated the players on the world stage. And she reads with that same thoughtful approach. So, when she asked for one of my favorite novels, for no other reason she wanted to read it, was proud. It could not find my copy, and I am hoping I lent it to someone who has been enjoying it, but I do not remember. To rectify the problem, I gave Emily some cash and told her that having a copy of that book on our shelf was a must. Within two hours, she had a copy of Johnny Got his Gun. 

Johnny Got his Gun  is an amazing novel by the way. Would you like to know what trigger my desire to read it? I really don't care if you answered in the positive or negative; I am going to reveal this monumental piece of information. One word. "One". That is the word. "One". Metallica put out a song titled "One" while I was in high school. It is a dark and somewhat disturbing song. It confused and intrigued me. I discovered that the song was based on a novel titled Johnny Got his Gun.  I found a copy of the novel somewhere in Ellsworth High School and read it. I loved it. It was dark and disturbing. It made me think.

While I am bragging about how proud 'i am of my kids, I have to throw out some kudos to my boy Dylan as well. Last week, I left my wife, son, and daughter for a few days to spend a little time with a family of a different sort as Coach Warner and I headed to the mountains of Colorado with our seniors. It was, as always, a terrific trip that allows us to learn a great deal about the young men who will lead our football brotherhood this fall. At our campsite, phone reception is unreliable, to put it mildly. At one point, my phone rang with my Motley Cru "Home Sweet Home" ringtone, but when I answered, the call broke up and was lost. I texted my wife Heidi, as well as Emily and Dylan, in case something was wrong. Dylan responded that he wanted to make sure everything was ok and that I had made the trip safely. There was also a car parked in front of our house, and he wanted to know if I knew whose car it was and why it was parked there. You see. Dylan was man of the house, and he was taking that role quite seriously. The next day, Emily had gone to out, and she had told her Mom she would return around 5. It seems that at 5:15, Dylan tok it upon himself to call his oder sister and check on her status. He just wanted to be positive that she was safe and sound, since she was late, after all. Dylan is thoughtful, much like his sister. He is also a very serious soul. If he is given a job, he will do it, and he will do it as well as he possibly can. That is just how things should be, at least in his mind.  He is 13. I am not saying the kid is perfect, but he is someone to be proud of.

I could rattle on and on about these two fine young people. All I can say is that they have been raised well. Seriously, they have somehow managed to take the good things their mother and I do and insert those seeds within their minds and hearts and nurtured them, while ignoring the failings in us (ok, more in me). They have been blessed with great examples and guides outside our home, from their grandparents to amazing teachers, and they have had the intelligence and discrimination to choose the examples they value well. That is something else I have to be proud of. I have not even scratched the surface of all of the reason I have to be proud.

So there you have it; my kids are amazing, and I am proud of them. How could I not be?