4am

It’s 4am and I’m sitting next to my dying father’s bed.   The nurse has just given him another shot of morphine, but it will be at least fifteen or twenty minutes until it starts granting him any comfort.    Until then he will be restless and his eyes will open and stare away at things I cannot see.  

He can receive morphine every four hours to make him comfortable, but at this stage he’s only getting about 3 hours of benefit.   The last forty five minutes or so the effect has been lost and he gives weak moans and is in noticeable pain.   Then it takes a while to kick in again after a new dose.    It’s a long hour.

Dad would have been 87 in November, and for most of that time, he’s been one of the strongest men I have ever known.   At five foot eight and slight build, most people would underestimate his strength, but those who worked with him knew that my Dad was primarily muscle and iron will.  He worked hard his entire life, even after retirement when he dedicated his life to taking care of my sister and my Mom.  

That was his prayer, he often said, that God would let him live long enough to take care of them until they didn’t need him anymore.   His prayers were answered and he’s now lived three years beyond when we lost them both in that painful late summer of 2012.    He cared for them selflessly and tirelessly, and now he is simply tired.

His health has been deteriorating slowly since their passing.   Congestive heart failure, renal failure, lung problems, lymphoma.    He’s dealt with it all in good faith and good spirits.      He attended church every Sunday that his health would allow (and many that I’m sure most of us would have stayed home).   He sang a solo in church just a few weeks ago.  He couldn’t play his guitar anymore, and he had to sit down to sing, but it was a blessing to all who heard him.     

It’s 4:30am and Dad is talking.   I can’t understand because his voice is so weak and he can barely push air out from his lips.   I lean in close to his face and ask him to repeat what he said but his eyes are closed again.    Whatever he needed to tell me is now gone.   I’ll never hear it.

There is nothing I can do and there is nothing more frustrating.    

It’s 5am and I know my Dad is dying.    He knows too, because despite his failing body and the effect of the morphine, his mind is strong.    He knew what it meant when the doctor said they were discontinuing the dialysis treatment.   He knew what it meant when they said they were going to give him morphine to help keep him comfortable.  

He told me just yesterday (when his voice was a little stronger and I could lean in with my good ear), that he was ready to go, but he hated to leave us.    I told him, “Dad, you’re not leaving us.   Mom didn’t leave us when she passed.   She’s still with me every day…and you’ll be with us every day too.   The things you taught us will always be in our hearts.”   He looked at me and nodded in acknowledgement.   I kissed him on the forehead and told him, “I love you Dad.”   He whispered back, “I know, love you too.” 

As his breathing patterns changed throughout the night and into the morning, I could feel him slipping away.   He was becoming less a part of this world and more a part of the next.   He couldn’t swallow so I began to wipe his mouth with a wet sponge and dribble drops of water into his mouth from the end of a straw.  These little things were as much for me to feel like I was doing something…ANYTHING…other that just standing there feeling so helpless.  

Just before Noon, as my brother Wayne stroked his forehead and I held his hand, Dad took his last breath.   I thought it would be easier, since I knew he was dying, but it was that same low punch in the stomach that I felt when I got that late night call that Mom had died.   The air in my lungs compressed and I was hit with the reality that the man who had been there for me my entire life was gone. 

It’s 4am the next day and I’m laying alone in the house that was once filled with the laughter and love of my family.   Mom and Dad moved here in 1960 and it was and always will be home.   I get up and wander through the dim light of the rooms and see my brothers and sister rushing past, still flush with youth and hope.   I see Dad in his chair and Mom at the stove cooking dinner.   I see my life here and it was a good one.  I will be forever grateful.

In the light of the morning, as I carried some things to the car, I could see some of the small cracks appearing in the foundation.   In the months that the house has been uninhabited, the porch has taken on a few loose boards, and the roof has become in need of some repair.     Mom’s garden is getting overtaken by weeds.   Dad’s fence needs cleaning out. 

I make mental note that we’ll have to come back soon and take care of all these things.   It’s strange that at the moment, they seem both unimportant but also extremely important.   As I back out of the driveway I can’t help but think that the house seems much smaller now, and kind of sad, almost as if the house is grieving too.    It will miss the smell of Mom's cooking and Dad watching over it from his chair on the front porch.    So will I.



Dad...a life in pictures

Orlando Vacation pt 2

Vacation planning is tricky.   I had given the girls the choice of spending more time at Disney or a longer stay at Universal.   Because of money, we couldn’t do multiple days at both theme parks, so they had to make the choice.   I just wanted them to be happy.   That was and is always my ultimate goal.   

Of course, we’re talking about three very unique individuals (four if you count their mother), so finding a satisfying balance was not easy.   I’m still not sure that we found it, but at some point during the week I completely lost the ability to care.   There was no way that all four could be perfectly happy all the time.    I had to let that pipe dream go.   I had to search for the moments of joy in one face (while the others looked on with a mix of boredom or frustration that we weren’t doing what they wanted to be doing).   If all this makes them sound incredibly self-centered and lacking in compassion for their fellow family members, then I’ve succeeded in getting my point across.    

Just kidding.     (Not really)    No, of course I’m kidding.    They are not like that (all the time).

The decision was made to go to Disney’s Magic Kingdom for one day and then three days at Universal Studio and Islands of Adventure.    As the girls have gotten older, the big rides at Universal have gained more appeal.    Universal also has Harry Potter.   Never underestimate the power of the Boy who lived.

After experiencing Disney on Sunday, we had planned three days at Universal, culminating with Universal’s Halloween Horror Nights on Wednesday night.   We were hoping that the lines would be less at Universal than we experienced at Disney on Sunday, but they were still fairly long.    Apparently the entire world has read the guides that suggest going to Orlando in the off-season because eighty percent of the people were International.    Huge families ranging from grandparents on motorized scooters to children in strollers and babies breastfeeding roamed the parks in genial packs that could only communicate with us in smiles or friendly nods.    It was a fascinating smorgasbord of languages passing by at any given time, almost always speaking much faster and more animated than our slow, American drawl.  

That first morning at Universal we made our way to the back of the park, shed a little tear for the missing Amity Island section and the loss of the Jaws ride, to stand on the cobbled streets of Harry Potter’s London, gaze upon Kings Cross, the three decker bus, and find our way into Diagon Alley.    For Ashlyn, the semi-obsessive Potter fan, this was Nirvana.   For the rest of us, it was simply amazingly awesome.  

Better than just walking onto the set of the movies, we were dropped into an alternate Potter reality.  We were constantly struck by the detail and artistry on display.   Dark and spooky and magical all at once; overseen by Gringott’s Dragon that occasionally belched out fire so intense you could feel the heat 40 feet below.   

Shelby and Ashlyn got in the long line to ride “Escape from Gringott’s” while Connie, Taylor and I explored the side streets and dark alleys nearby.   We got the famous “butterbeer” that is in no way beer, but a syrupy sweet butterscotch concoction that I’m glad I tried but will never feel the desire to try again. 

 

Once back together we got in the long line to ride the Hogwarts Express from Kings Cross station and platform 9 ¾ to Hogsmeade and the other half of the Harry Potter experience.    They have gone out of their way to make you feel a part of the book and movie.   It’s incredibly immersive and (with apologies to Disney) magical.

At Hogsmeade we had a nice lunch at the “Three Broomsticks” restaurant.   I had heard from a friend that the Fish and Chips were good, but they were actually exceptionally good.  The design of a rustic tavern added to the appeal and you could almost imagine Hagrid, Ron or Hermione walking through at any moment.

Hogsmeade was designed with the cozy appeal of a Christmas card, where despite the Orlando heat; snow graced each roof and smoke drifted from chimneys.   Somehow, just seeing the fake snow made the heat slightly more bearable.   

Once we finally slipped out of Potter world, we stepped into the tropical jungle of Jurassic Park and then on to the streets of the Marvel Hero section.    From ride to ride we wandered, each girl stating a preference for one ride over another, but generally getting along.   Connie and I found an air conditioned bar to sit while they did the big Marvel rides (Hulk, Spiderman, and Dr Doom).    It was a nice break.

Fun as the day was, I was enormously grateful that the Universal parks closed at the reasonable hour of 7pm.   Unaccustomed to the heat or the walking, I was pretty tired.   It’s a shame what office work and a sedentary lifestyle will do to you.   My shin splints had shin splints.

The girls had wanted to spend an evening at our hotel pool, and it was a great night for that.    There was a café and a Pizza Hut poolside, so we enjoyed some pizza and a beautiful sunset.   A perfect end to a pretty nice day.

The next day we were back at Universal early, trying to catch anything we didn’t see the day before because of our Potter mania.  Connie rode many of the rides with the girls and they all agreed that the Harry Potter rides were the best they had ever ridden.   Repeatedly I was told how much I would love them, but they also were pretty sure that the motion would make me sick.   

It’s a bit of a cruel joke that someone who loves movies as much as I do can’t ride most of the movie rides, but if I had any moment of feeling sorry for myself at the park, I was immediately grounded back into reality by one of the numerous children being pushed in wheelchairs throughout the park.   Their faces had no room for self-pity.   Their eyes were wide with wonder at what they could see and not bitterness at what they couldn’t do.    They live their life on the terms they’ve been dealt.   It’s really not a big deal that I can’t ride a few rides at a theme park while on vacation.  

 

That afternoon clouds started to roll in ahead of the forecasted rain.   We slipped out of the park and walked over to Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville restaurant for an early dinner.   I won’t say how much I ate, but I’m pretty sure I blew out my flip flop and lost my shaker of salt.  

That night, we crashed hard.   As the rain poured outside, sleep took us one by one.   Each drifting off to dreams of dragons and wizards, princesses and heroes.   I was last to go, after watching them sleep for a while.   I was so tired that night that if I did dream, I’m sure I dreamed about sleeping. 

Orlando Vacation pt 1

We just returned from our third family trip to Orlando and I am sure it will take me a while to recover.   It certainly was not a bad experience, but I definitely returned home far more exhausted than when I left.   I don’t know what the original purpose of a “vacation” was supposed to be, but I don’t think it left you ready to return to work so you could get some rest.

It was 656 miles from our door in Oak Ridge to the hotel in Orlando.   Our plan was to leave at 4am, and since everyone was excited about the adventure ahead of us, we were actually packed and in the car, pulling out of the driveway at 3:59!     Somehow, the girls slept for 90% of the 12 hour trip; only waking for a Cracker Barrel breakfast stop and a few rest area pee breaks.   It was a quiet drive but tiring. 

That evening we went to the Florida Mall because there aren’t enough places to shop in Tennessee and we needed to walk a few miles under fluorescent lights for no reason.  

Sunday morning we were parking in Disney’s Magic Kingdom parking lot (which I’m pretty sure is bigger than our town) by 8:30am so we could get in the park when it opened at nine.   The line at the ticket booth should have been a clue for what the day would be like.   Then the line to get on the monorail should have confirmed it.     My hopes for minimal crowds because it was fall and the “off-season” were being slowly crushed in the shoulder to shoulder sardine can search for Disney magic. 

Shelby had a plan for attacking the park, and I was more than happy to give up control.   It’s kind of exhausting to be in control of everyone’s happiness.   Planning a trip and trying to satisfy everyone is like wrapping your arms around two dozen helium balloons and trying to keep any from flying away.    I told her to lead and I’d gleefully follow.   We hurried to the back of the park to experience “Splash Mountain.”    Since lines for it get longer through the day, it was wise to get there early.   

Let me pause here to give a brief explanation:   I love theme parks.   I love the logistics.  I love the design and structure of rides.   However, in general, I do not ride them.   I have battled severe motion sickness for my entire life, so even the use of Dramamine doesn’t always ensure my ability to ride anything that spins, drops, loops or shakes.   It’s a risk I’ve learned not to take, because I don’t want my illness to affect everyone else’s good time.   I enjoy the park through their experience.     I am also the designated “bag” holder, which is a very important role…(seriously).

Fortunately, I’m a major “people watcher,” and there is always a consistent and entertaining flow of people to watch at a theme park (Dollywood wins the prize in this field, but any theme park has its virtues). 

When they got off of Splash Mountain, all laughing and wet and happy, I gave them their bags and we quickly followed Shelby to the next target on her agenda.    I don’t actually remember the next hour because they were a blur of running from one end of the park to the other, finding attractions that were showing up on her Iphone App as having shorter lines.   I did ride the Haunted Mansion, because even little kids and people with weak stomachs can handle that one.  That and Pirates of the Caribbean are the only two rides I planned to ride that day.   They are my speed.

 By 10:30am Shelby realized that the crowds were so thick that any real planning was pointless.   Everything was busy.    The good rides had lines of at least an hour and usually 90 minutes.   Even the lines to lesser attractions were lengthy. 

I know this is hard to believe, but I became a bit surly.   I’m not a crowd person, and I don’t like lines.    Magic Kingdom is the oldest of the Orlando theme parks and it shows in the way traffic flow is designed.   I am sure it was inconceivable for Walt Disney and his architects at the time to imagine the incredible number of attendee’s flowing through their gates and walking their narrow paths in 2014.    They didn’t foresee double-wide strollers and oblivious people on their smart phones rudely stopping in a high traffic area to do a selfie.   

It is a beautiful place…a magical place…it actually brought a tear to my lovely wife’s eye as she walked in.    It is immaculately clean and staffed with consistently friendly, considerate employees.    Without a doubt, it is one of the best managed places I have ever been.  

But by 3:30 that afternoon, I kinda hated it.

Originally I thought the park was closing by 6pm…7pm at the latest.    But no…Disney does everything better than anyone else…so their day lasts until 1am!    While this is certainly a bargain for a family that has just paid out over $500 for five one day tickets, all I could think of as the hot afternoon drug on was how tired I was getting…and how bad my feet were hurting from that hard concrete…and how long those stupid lines were.   

Rather than walking around aimlessly from long line we didn’t want to wait in to another long line we didn’t want wait in, we decided to start going to attractions that were not as attractive anymore.   Despite the girls having said that morning that they didn’t want to do “Hall of Presidents” (because it was “boring”), they did not put up a fight when we said we could be out of the heat and in air conditioning for about 30 minutes.   I think I fell asleep for a few minutes during the Presidential roll call and robot head nod.  I’m pretty sure we all did.

After that we tried to do the Pirates of the Caribbean ride (one of the few rides I can do), but it had shivered its timbers somehow and was not available.   In desperation, we did “Country Bears.”    For nostalgia purposes, I hope they never get rid of Country Bears.  It is one of the original Magic Kingdom attractions.    Everyone should see it once out of sheer respect.   This was the third time in my lifetime.   It made me want to go hunting.

Despite their ages, the girls still get excited about seeing the Disney Princesses and characters.   They each have their favorites.   Shelby loves Belle.   Taylor loves Ariel.   Ashlyn loves Peter Pan.    We couldn’t hook up with Belle, but they did get their picture with Gaston (and in the tradition of good girls liking bad boys, they decided he was good looking enough to overlook his dark heart).   We also saw Ariel and Peter Pan, along with Donald Duck, Goofy and some others.    I loved watching their excitement as they stood next to a person pretending to be an animated character.   THAT is the real magic of Disney.   

As darkness fell across the park and cooler air replaced the oppressive heat, I found myself bearing the crowds slightly better.  The lines relaxed a little and the girls did Space Mountain while Connie and I waited on a welcoming bench. 

We tried one last time to ride Pirates of the Caribbean but it was still broken.   While the girls waited in another line Connie and I rode the steamboat around Tom Sawyer Island.   Away from the crowds and most of the noise, with the dark water beneath us and the lights of the park all around, it was my favorite part of the day.

Around 10 o’clock the crowd gathered for the Disney celebration light show and then the fireworks.   Like everything else they do, Disney excels at spectacle and despite my exhaustion and frustration; I looked up at the castle and the sky like a little kid.   Awed and amazed at the magic of imagery and music.   It was a great end to the day.

Yes, the end…because Bless their hearts…the girls said we didn’t have to stay until closing.   I think they were tired too, but maybe they just took pity on their old Dad.    Disney had given us a good long day.    Worth the money despite many rides unridden and many princesses unseen.     That night, after collapsing into bed and falling asleep instantly, I was haunted by dreams of strollers blocking me at every turn.   There was no escape. 

Facing the Stranger

This week I had my first job interview in over twenty-four years.    

It’s a strange thing for someone who’s fairly self-deprecating and relatively sarcastic to have to talk about themselves and give people the impression that they are somewhat mature, responsible and will somehow be an asset to the organization.   I can be that person, of course, but I don’t like to talk about it.  

I have to stop and think a lot before I speak.   My mind doesn’t coordinate as well with my mouth as it does with my typing fingers when communicating (and not always that well with my fingers either).   I have said stupid things way too often, and been burned by my rush to say what I think is on my mind.   I’m sure this comes across as indecisive at times, or rambling,  but I’d rather delay my answer a few moments than say something I shouldn’t say.

When I am asked the standard interview question, “Where do you see yourself in five years?” my initial thought response is, “I didn’t see “fortune teller” on the job description.  Should I go buy some Tarot cards?”  

Fortunately, my first level filter kills that idea.    My second thought response to where I want to be in five years is usually, “Gainfully employed.”  While this is a much more accurate gauge of my true feelings, it’s still not what I know they want to hear.   

Finally, I sputter out what I think will sound professional and attain the right level of enthusiasm, “In five years I would like to be recognized as a productive and valuable member of your organization.”  

In the end, what is said and done during the interview process means very little when it comes to the actual job.    I’ve seen lots of people who have spectacular resumes and give great interviews but fail miserably at performing the duties they were hired for.   I don’t want to be one of those people.  I’d rather lower their expectations and then surprise them.

Appropriately, I guess, the old song by David Bowie has been bouncing around in my head all week…

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the stranger)
Ch-ch-Changes
Don't want to be a richer man
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the stranger)
Ch-ch-Changes
Just gonna have to be a different man
Time may change me
But I can't trace time

I’m sure this means different things to different people, but when I “turn and face the stranger” I see the person that I  probably should be if I were more open to change.  

(Of course, I really would like to be a “richer man,” so me and Ziggy Stardust differ on that little nugget.   Besides, he was already rich, so it was easy for him to say that!)

Change is a constant in life, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.   I’m a prehistoric creature of habit.   Routine is my sanity.  

With so much “out of control” in my life, I cling to what is “normal.”   By that, I mean what is “normal” for me.    My “normal” would be strange to anyone else, and vice-versa.   In a world of bombings, global warming, car crashes, plane crashes, animal attacks, random gun violence, and Fox News…I find the comfort of my “normal” reassuring. 

People are always saying, “Get out of your comfort zone!”   They say it like all “comfort zones” are a bad thing.   I disagree.   It all depends on where that zone is located.    If your “comfort zone” is located in a bottle of Jack Daniels, then yeah, it is probably time to pack up and move out.   If your “comfort zone” is located in an unhealthy relationship, a miserable job, or a complete life of gluttonous sloth, then you should definitely, move on.

But there is a positive side to being in a “comfort zone” too.   If your “comfort zone” makes you happy, then you should stay there.   If leaving your “comfort zone” creates a high level of risk to yourself, your loved ones or others, then you might need to reconsider.    There is no shame in staying in a productive, healthy “comfort zone.” 

(I apologize for that meandering tangent.  I no longer feel like talking about “comfort zones.”)

Less than twenty-four hours after my interview, I was offered my new position.   In essence it is very similar to what I’ve been doing for the last 13 years, but with some added responsibilities and opportunities.   It means that I get to stay with the company that I’ve been with for most of my adult life.   It means I get the warm and fuzzy feeling of the familiar (no longer using the “C-zone” word) while also being offered some new challenges.   It’s a good thing.   I hope.

If nothing else, this returns me to a sense of stability, which I haven’t felt for a while.   That story is a page for another day, much like many of the other things that have happened to me and around me in the last couple of years.   Some things I’ll write about and some things I won’t.    Some secrets belong to the stranger and me.

The Far Better Half

One of the most difficult things for me as a father has been to balance what I want for my daughters with what makes them happy.   My primary goal so far has been to keep them safe.   I’m sure they think that if I had my way, they would all be living in a bunker deep in the ground, or in the tallest tower of a far away castle.   In truth, this would be appropriate because they are my Princesses, despite the fact that I am in no way a King.

One of our goals as parents has always been to give our girls a strong self esteem.   We didn’t want them to go looking for their self-worth in a man, because a lot of men prey on young women who crave even the slightest bit of attention.   These men can easily take advantage of that lack of self worth and eventually they take complete control.    This was not a life we wanted for our daughters.

As I look back on my life as a father, I realize that I have done a few things right, but many things wrong.   I was probably too over-protective (although, in my defense, they have been largely injury free!).  I did not set a good example regarding diet and exercise.  I was sarcastic when I should have been sincere.    I was jokey when I should have been honest.

It’s amazing, miraculous even, that they have turned out as wonderful as they have.   They are good kids.   Better people than me.  Better people than most (yeah, I am not very objective on this subject). 

I owe much of this to the Grace of God, who gifted me with them in the first place and then didn’t let me mess them up too much.    They also have a great support system in their extended family, who love and support them unconditionally.    Finally, they have their mother, the best choice I ever made both for them and myself.  

I see Connie in all the good things about my daughters, which fortunately outweigh the faults they got from me.  They are careful, but not paranoid.  They are sarcastic, but caring.   They can joke and play, but know when to be serious.   They like pizza AND salad!

A good marriage, and a successful family, is based on teamwork.    While I find myself usually out in left field, Connie is our most valuable player, and also our Coach, team doctor and our cheering section.   Without her, we wouldn’t know how to play.

I hope my daughters understand that why I love their mother so much is that she doesn’t need me.   That doesn’t mean she doesn’t love me, but that she doesn’t need my constant approval to make her happy.   She is her own person, and she has her own interests.  She doesn’t think she’s as awesome as I know she is, but she has a healthy self-esteem.   She stands up for herself when she needs to and she will sacrifice for others without giving all of herself away.  

She is comfortable in a crowd, and can light up a room, but her favorite place is sitting quietly in a field in the mountains.   She has an adventurous heart, tempered by logic not to do something insanely dangerous.   She hikes for the journey, not the destination.

I hope my girls remember that she is never too tired for them.  No matter how late it is or how little sleep she has had, she listens intently to whatever story they think is important enough to share.   As my “Dad Hearing” ability to tune out chatter becomes stronger with age, she hears everything they say and remembers.   She understands more than most of us that nothing is unimportant when it comes to your child.

In case I’ve made her pedestal a bit too high, let me say that she’s not completely perfect.   She doesn’t believe me when I tell her how beautiful she is.    She doesn’t understand that I think she’s one the smartest, most capable people I have ever met (and at my age, I’ve met a lot of people…and a lot of them have been VERY smart and VERY capable).    She doesn’t grasp how proud I am to be her husband and anytime I don’t show it is due to my issues and not hers.

So, as my daughters get older and are reaching crossroads in their lives, I hope they pray for guidance and listen carefully for the answers they should hear and not what they want to hear.   I hope they think about the example set by their Mother.   I hope they appreciate her as much as they should.  

It seems so little to say, but here it is,   "Connie...my wife, my love, the amazing mother of my children...Thank You…"

If it had been me...

It could have been that when I was 17 years old, I was walking home from my job at the library.   It was a cool evening and I was enjoying the darkening skies and the look of the glowing lights in the windows of the storefronts and my neighbor’s homes.   It was my favorite time of the evening, and knowing that a delicious Mom-cooked dinner awaited me added a little extra hitch to my step. 

Amid the thoughts that bounced around a 17 year old boy’s head (girls, school, girls, work, girls, etc.) I suddenly awoke to the sound of footsteps approaching behind me.   This was not unusual at this time of day, as others were getting off work, or walking their dogs, or just taking an evening stroll.   I didn’t glance back, and at the next corner, I turned to head east on Main.

In one of the angled windows of the Lerman’s department store, I caught a quick glance of a man walking about 15 steps behind me.   In the dimming light, he was cloaked in shadows, and I couldn’t make out his face. 

At the corner of 5^th and Main, I turned and headed toward home.   To my surprise, the footsteps followed and seemed to be picking up speed.   I began to walk faster myself, not really nervous, but curious.   I found it strange that someone would be making the same turns I was, but I would certainly lose them as I cut across the parking lot behind First Christian Church.

About halfway across the parking lot, I realized that whoever was behind me, was still right there, and as my concern began to rise, it felt like he was closing the gap between us rather quickly. 

I decided to make a detour, away from home and back up 4^th street to Main.   I still thought he might just be heading home in the same direction that I had been.    If so, he could go his own way and I’d breathe easier.    Besides, Mom was home with my little sister alone.   Dad was out of town and my brothers were working night shifts.   I didn’t want to rush there for safety and bring danger to my home.

Main Street was quiet and when I turned the corner I began to run.   About halfway down the block, I could see that the man had indeed followed me, and was now running to keep pace.   I turned and cut through a yard, hoping to lose him in the bushes.   I came out the other side into a parking lot that sat mostly empty, except for a few cars.   I thought for a moment that I should hide in one of the cars, and I tried a few doors, but they were locked.  

The man ran into the parking lot and I turned to look him in the face.   His eyes were wide with what appeared to be rage, but maybe just crazy.   I couldn’t tell.   I realized quickly that I was a little bit bigger than he was.   I was not much of a fighter, but I didn’t like my options.   The police station was many blocks away.   There were no big stores nearby to go to.   Nearby there were only houses, and I didn’t know these people.    

It was dumb, but I decided to confront him.  Seventeen year old logic isn’t always logical.  We jump bikes over quickly constructed wooden ramps.   We climb to the top of trees and stand on swaying limbs.   We don’t give a lot of thought to consequences.

 He wasn’t carrying a weapon, so I thought if nothing else, I could kick him between the legs and drop him to his knees.   It might give me enough time to get away.

I turned to him and said, “What are you doing?   Why are you following me?”

He said something that sounded like, “… are you up to,” but the pounding of fear in my ears made it hard to hear.   It was far and away the most frightened I had ever been in my life.  He took another step toward me, and I decided to attack with my right foot.

I took two quick steps and started to kick, but he jumped forward too quickly, and my foot hit his knee.   He groaned in pain and fell against me, knocking us both backward onto the ground.   As we were falling, I turned my body enough that I was able to roll him over and get on top.   I only wanted to stop him from following me, but in my panic I began to pound on him with both fists.   A flood of adrenaline washed over me and raged at the fear he had brought into my peaceful life.   I raged at the terror I should never have experienced.    I raged and screamed, “I’ll kill you…” but my hands were already aching and my onslaught was slowing.   I just wanted to get up and run home.

His hands slapped and punched at me, but he couldn’t get any momentum from his position.   Suddenly I saw his hand reach into his jacket and come out with something dark and shiny in the glow of the street lamps.    I reached to grab it and for a second felt the cold chill of metal before blast of light exploded from its barrel and hit me in the chest like a sledgehammer.  

I flew backwards and hit the ground hard.  The lack of pain surprised me.  I felt warm, as if warm oil was being poured over me, spreading across my chest and covering me like a blanket.    It wasn’t comforting at all.

I thought of Mom, standing by the stove and finishing dinner.   I thought of Dad, on the road and hours from home.   I thought of God, and asked him what I had done to deserve this.  

I opened my eyes, and as my vision cleared I could see a tiny star glowing above me.  My mind drifted back to my childhood, which in my fear and sudden smallness, I realized I was still in.   Star Light, Star Bright…First star I see tonight.    I wish I may, I wish…

It could have been me...but for pigment of skin.