freest8r – Page 3 – Bryan's Blog

Gray Pride

For the past 8 years I’ve grown a beard over the winter. I love my beard. Beards are manly. I put on my red flannel shirt and blue jeans and I’m like a miniature lumberjack. Last weekend I whipped out the chainsaw, fired that bad boy up, and cut down a tree. I epitomized manhood, climbing, cutting, I even yelled “Timber!!” a couple of times. I eventually had to stop because of the blister on my left hand, but for about 10 minutes I was the picture of virile masculinity.

Christmas Joy (2019)

I talked to a young man at church after the Christmas Eve service. He said he felt like he was in between the magic. When he was a kid, Christmas morning was magical. The wonder and excitement of all the presents, and the food, and the lights. When he gets older he’ll have the wonder of experiencing the magic again through his kids. Right now, he’s in between.

Salute to Service

The Vietnam War was in full swing while Dad was in college. He received a college deferment, but upon graduation, the war was still slogging on and his draft number was pretty low. He was willing to serve, but he didn’t want to be drafted, so he signed up for the United States Air Force as an aircraft maintenance officer. He spent the last two years of college as a member of the Air Force ROTC, so the transition was smooth, and he attended boot camp without incident. The trouble didn’t start until his first duty station where he ended up in a bit of hot water.

Storms Blow

I just discovered another way that I’m like my Dad. He hated cancelling activities. Neither snow, wind, rain, or hurricane would stop him. I was unreasonably annoyed last year when the governor cancelled every activity in the state for Hurricane Michael. I’m annoyed again now that so many activities are cancelled for Hurricane Dorian. There are definitely areas of Virginia Beach that will deal with flooding and power outages, but why can’t we play volleyball or go to the Y? It’s a little wind and rain, no worse than a standard nor’easter. Annoying. Dad was like that too, particularly about church.

As pastor he could make the call. If it was Sunday, he would insist on having church, regardless of the weather. Lianne and I lived right around the corner, so we were always there too. One year, 2010, we had a huge Christmas storm. The streets were covered in snow, and it was still snowing on Sunday morning. Dad sent an email telling everyone that the service was a go. It was a very small crowd. In an effort to make the most of the situation, I took a nice snowball into the sanctuary and pelted Dad right in the chest. I figured Jesus wouldn’t mind a little snow on the floor of the church because he loves little kids, and he knows how to have a good time.

It was a motley crew that Sunday, but we had a blast. We sledded in the parking lot, and had a snowball fight. It was the day after Christmas. I assume we sang a few songs and Dad shared a word, but I honestly don’t remember if we had a church service at all. I do remember playing in the snow with friends and family.

Similarly, a few years later, Dad scheduled an outdoor church service in June. It was only a few weeks before Dad passed away. The weather was iffy, but of course he decided to do it anyway. Dad, foreshadowing his own experience, released his turtle from captivity, back into nature where it belonged. The rain showed up, but the people didn’t. Those who did … they remember it.

I don’t know why cancelling things grated against my dad’s instincts. He was big on commitment and keeping the Sabbath. Attending church regularly was very important to him. He was also unfazed by the storms around him. Not reckless, but not careful either. In fact, oftentimes there was joy in the storm. There was shared experience in the struggle. I think that is what Dad enjoyed most. He wanted to exert his will over the circumstances instead of allowing them to push him down a path he didn’t want to go. I can relate, but sometimes the storms are too big for this life.

Storms blow, rain and wind causing a great tree to bow and break.
Storms blow, sickness and disease causing a great man to bow and break.
Storms blow, but we shouldn’t cancel life because of them.

We Bear the Scars

You’ll often hear older folks waxing poetic about the good ‘ole days when kids played outside, climbed trees, and weren’t afraid of a skinned up knee. I’ve slid down my share of impossibly high slides with no guard rails. I’ve spun so fast on merry-go-rounds that I nearly passed out and was eventually launched from the metal platform like a droplet of water flung from a shaking dog. I learned about centrifugal force that way. #science I’ve jumped on trampolines, and get this, there were other people on it at the same time!! Crazy, I know. I’m pretty sure the springs were extremely rusty as well.

Chicago Vacation 2019

I’ve included some pictures of our trip in this post, for more pictures click here.

We left Virginia Beach around 2am in a rental van. The goal was to drive straight through to Chicago. We’d check into our hotel, pick up my mom from the airport, and chill. It worked perfectly. I forgot how fun driving together on a long trip can be. We had so many great conversations. We know each other pretty well, but we got to know each other even better during that 14 hour van ride. The first few hours Jaron kept us company. The last few hours, Ava and Davin chimed in. The middle few hours went something like this ….

Ducklings in the Road (Earth Day 2019)

Suburbia is where the developer bulldozes out the trees, then names the streets after them. — Bill Vaughan

On the way home from church yesterday traffic slowed to a stop near a busy intersection. Up ahead we could see a couple of cars with their doors open. We thought it might be an accident until we saw a lady bent over on the median, walking with her hands out. She was trying to usher a duck, and four little ducklings, across the busy street. Six lanes of traffic were blocked, and there were a few people getting angry. We also had somewhere to be for Easter, but I thought about it and realized that this was the right thing to do.

Learning to Drive Stick Shift

Fewer and fewer cars are sold with manual transmissions. We never had one growing up. I learned to drive behind the wheel of our full sized family van. So it was kind of embarrassing when my girlfriend wheeled around in a Ford Escort stick shift, and I couldn’t even drive it. My fragile psyche couldn’t handle the emasculation. Dad had pity on me and took me out to the parking lot in Lianne’s car to show me the ropes. It was a trying ordeal, a rite of passage, a gauntlet on my journey to manhood.

Joe and the War Wagon

Joe Hancock, a co-worker of mine, passed away suddenly this week. He was 41 years old. I had plenty of interactions with him at work over the years. He had a wry sense of humor. He was kind. He was eager to learn and to teach on the job. He was an excellent teammate at the office, but that’s not what this blog is about. This blog is about the time, a few years ago, when he came up to our property in Amelia County to shoot. I’ll never forget him pulling up, parking, and opening the back of his truck to reveal an overwhelming arsenal of guns and ammunition. Joe was an incredibly peaceful guy, and also quite the gun enthusiast. My family is relatively inexperienced with weapons. We’ve shot small guns and rifles a few times, but nothing like what he had. I could tell he was proud of his collection, and eager to show us the ropes.

Shamrockon

I checked again, even though I knew the answer. Windy and 42 degrees for a high. In case you haven’t heard, I’m running a half marathon in March. I need to get in my thrice weekly runs so I can finish the race without embarrassing myself. Treadmills are torture, and I’m not a fan of the colder weather. I need to run at least 3 miles, that’s it. I psyched myself up and jetted home from work so I could get out there before dark. I double layered everything. I even found my jogging gloves.