A Blog Toast to the Class of 2015

I realize my last post was a year ago on a similar topic. I started several drafts that were either too difficult to complete or were in academic terms...sucky, but this post has become a favorite of mine to craft, primarily because it allows me to speak directly to my students through the written word. A task in which I should engage more frequently.

The past two years, I have written a post for the Class of 2013 and Class of 2014, thinking it would become an annual tradition in which I shared all the wisdom gained across the last year, but in re-reading the previous messages, I've realized one of two things. Either I peaked in the wisdom department at 36, or I got the message pretty right the first time. I'm honestly not sure which is more accurate--probably a little of both--but as my father never used to say, "If it ain't broke, maybe tweak it just a little."

So here is my mostly recycled, slightly revised, but still just as heart felt message to the Class of 2015 on the eve of their graduation from college...

Texans in Alabama
Alyssa, Lauren M., Me, Lauren P., & Chandler-Grace

As an educator, I grow older each year, and yet, my charges remain stuck in time, forever 18-22. You see, when this college thing works as it should, students eventually graduate...hopefully in 4 years, maybe 5 years time (no shame, victory lappers). And for me, there's something incredibly satisfying in shepherding a student from orientation to graduation. I am optimally positioned to witness the growth, achievements, and victories of the students I have grown to know and love...which makes these final days of the academic year a touch bittersweet.

A couple of years ago, I became the Dean of Students at Birmingham-Southern College, a small, private, liberal arts institution in Birmingham, Alabama. It's been a wonderful environment to call home, and I have grown to adore the students with whom I am privileged to work. At BSC, we have several great senior traditions--Bell Ringing on the last day of class, Senior Party on the Academic Quad, the Capping Ceremony, and of course, Graduation. 

At my Alma mater, we have a tradition called The Last Great Reception in which a faculty member offers a toast to the graduating class. It's a powerful, touching, and slightly rowdy tradition (that's what happens when you give booze to the parents of graduating seniors), but it's made me reflect on what I would say to a group of graduating seniors if I had my time at the podium.

Trinity University Orientation Team

So instead of a mic, I have my blog, and from my luminescent podium, I have some things to share with you, the Class of 2015--those I have grown to love in my current role and those I will forever hold dear even though I am no longer present in their daily lives.


Some of my words will be practical and some philosophical, but all of them are heartfelt:

You...are...precious. I don't mean that in a "condescending, creepy Uncle Ben, everybody gets a trophy" kind of way. I mean that in the "you are a gift to this world, don't let anyone tell you otherwise" kind of way. Surround yourself with people who believe in you and acknowledge your awesomeness. Abandon those who make you feel "less than" for embracing your, well, you-ness. Tell that self-defeating voice in your head to stuff it. Replace that voice with mine, and you'll always know that you are cherished by many.

You...are...fallible. What?! Seems a bit contradictory juxtaposed to my last statement. It's not. Mistakes don't make a person any less worthy of appreciation and respect. Own your mistakes, learn from them, and help them make you an even better version of yourself. When I am at my strongest and most confident, I have great comfort in acknowledging my faults, and quite frankly, I like the flawed version of myself much better than the mask of perfection I sometimes try to hide behind.

On Love. Love and be loved by a partner who makes you whole, but also, makes you someone who can stand alone. Wow, another contradiction! I say, nay, my friends...or maybe it's just that love is the perfect contradiction. My wife and I value our independence, and yet we enjoy life much better as a pair. We allow each other to be our authentic selves even when that authenticity creates conflict. We compromise daily without compromising ourselves. And the end result? A blessed union that is my greatest source of strength. I hope that you find your own perfect contradiction in time.

LeaderShape Family Cluster - Michigan Tech
Back: Kyle, Bradley, Andrew, Austin, Erik
Front: Sophia, Samantha, Rachel, Me, & Yu

Live your passion. I say two things to every incoming class. One, you have the potential to be world-changers in ways both big and small. Two, "Figure out what you care about and live a life that shows it" (John Hoyt). Okay, I also say, "Claim your education" and "Work Hard, Play Smart, Care Deeply, Be Awesome, Forward Ever" but I digress. As you graduate, I reiterate these statements again, and I hope you will find a way to take your knowledge, tools, and talents to engage in truly meaningful work. It was a gift to find that in my work with you. Thank you for allowing me to do so.

Contribute to the dialogue; not the cacophony. As of late, it appears that we have elected to eschew intellectual discourse for commentary that preys upon our basest fears...reduced to meme form. We live in a complex world with complex problems, and we owe it to each other to educate ourselves, seek out alternative perspectives, and find solutions based in reality rather than screaming from the sidelines of the far left or far right. That, my friends, is your education in action.

It's been a blessing to be a part of the last few years of your life, but I can take little credit in the people you've become. I was simply a witness to it, and as one who really paid attention, know that you have much to be proud of on your final days as undergrads. You have grown into the world-changers I knew you would become.

So as your time here comes to a close and you step onto a different, far bigger stage, know that I remain in the audience, still in awe of your talents, and cheering you on just as I've always been.

Cheers, Class of 2015. Your time has come.

A Toast to the Class of 2014

Full disclosure: In a desire to shrink my carbon footprint, I am making a concerted effort to recycle...my best blog post material.

You see, sometimes the message just can't get any better, and thus, to amend a statement or modify a phrase would betray the original sentiment. And sometimes, the original was...well...in the Queen's English...utter crap, making revision essential to my credibility with readership, which should eclipse 25 any day now. Of course, one must be able to discern which content needs revised versus retained, and I fully expect to have that mastered before pigs fly over a frozen hell.

Last year, I wrote a post for the Class of 2013, thinking it would become an annual tradition in which I shared all the wisdom gained across the last year, but in re-reading last year's message, I've realized one of two things. Either I peaked in the wisdom department at 36, or I got the message pretty right the first time. I'm honestly not sure which is more accurate--probably a little of both--but as my father never used to say, "If it ain't broke, maybe tweak it just a little."

So here is my mostly recycled, slightly revised, but still just as heart felt message to the Class of 2014 on the eve of their graduation from college...

As an educator, I grow older each year, and yet, my charges remain stuck in time, forever 18-22. You see, when this college thing works as it should, students eventually graduate...hopefully in 4 years, maybe 5 years time (no shame, victory lappers). And for me, there's something incredibly satisfying in shepherding a student from orientation to graduation. You are optimally positioned to witness the growth, achievements, and victories of the students you have grown to know and love...which makes these final days of the academic year a touch bittersweet.

Corbin Burns & Me
- Senior Party -

A couple of years ago, I became the Dean of Students at Birmingham-Southern College, a small, private, liberal arts institution in Birmingham, Alabama. It's been a wonderful environment to call home, and I have grown to adore the students with whom I am privileged to work. At BSC, we have several great senior traditions--Bell Ringing on the last day of class, Senior Party on the Academic Quad, the Capping Ceremony, and of course, Graduation. 

At my Alma mater, we have a tradition called The Last Great Reception in which a faculty member offers a toast to the graduating class. It's a powerful, touching, and slightly rowdy tradition (that's what happens when you give booze to the parents of graduating seniors), but it's made me reflect on what I would say to a group of graduating seniors if I had my time at the podium.

So instead of a mic, I have my blog, and from my luminescent podium, I have some things to share with you, the Class of 2014--those I have grown to love in my current role and those I will forever hold dear even though I am no longer present in their daily lives.

Austin Fann & Haley Williams
- Senior Party -

Some of my words will be practical and some philosophical, but all of them are heartfelt:

You...are...precious. I don't mean that in a "condescending, creepy Uncle Ben, everybody gets a trophy" kind of way. I mean that in the "you are a gift to this world, don't let anyone tell you otherwise" kind of way. Surround yourself with people who believe in you and acknowledge your awesomeness. Abandon those who make you feel "less than" for embracing your, well, you-ness. Tell that self-defeating voice in your head to stuff it. Replace that voice with mine, and you'll always know that you are cherished by many.

You...are...fallible. What?! Seems a bit contradictory juxtaposed to my last statement. It's not. Mistakes don't make a person any less worthy of appreciation and respect. Own your mistakes, learn from them, and help them make you an even better version of yourself. When I am at my strongest and most confident, I have great comfort in acknowledging my faults, and quite frankly, I like the flawed version of myself much better than the mask of perfection I sometimes try to hide behind.

On Love. Love and be loved by a partner who makes you whole, but also, makes you someone who can stand alone. Wow, another contradiction! I say, nay, my friends...or maybe it's just that love is the perfect contradiction. My wife and I value our independence, and yet we enjoy life much better as a pair. We allow each other to be our authentic selves even when that authenticity creates conflict. We compromise daily without compromising ourselves. And the end result? A blessed union that is my greatest source of strength. I hope that you find your own perfect contradiction in time.

Live your passion. I say two things to every incoming class. One, you have the potential to be world-changers in ways both big and small. Two, "Figure out what you care about and live a life that shows it" (John Hoyt). Okay, I also say, "Claim your education," but I digress. As you graduate, I reiterate these statements again, and I hope you find a way to take your knowledge, tools, and talents to engage in truly fulfilling work. I was a gift to find that in my work with you, and it is work I was born to do.

Contribute to the dialogue; not the cacophony. As of late, it appears that we have elected to eschew intellectual discourse for commentary that preys upon our basest fears...reduced to meme form. We live in a complex world with complex problems, and we owe it to each other to educate ourselves, seek out alternative perspectives, and find solutions based in reality rather than screaming from the sidelines of the far left or far right. That, my friends, is your education in action.

Robert Potts, Megan Kopkin, Jenny Lewis,
Victor Griffin, Maulin Shah, & Claire McIlwraith
- Honor Council Seniors -

It's been a blessing to be a part of the last few years of your life, but I can take little credit in the people you've become. I was simply a witness to it, and as one who really paid attention, know that you have much to be proud of on this day before your special day. You have grown into the world-changers I knew you would become.

So as your time here comes to a close and you step onto a different, far bigger stage, know that I remain in the audience, still in awe of your talents, and cheering you on just as I've always been.

Cheers, Class of 2014. Your time has come.

Twin Weddings

From this moment forward...as in the actual moment I wrote this, not the actual moment you read this (catch up already)...or is it the moment I clicked publish...oh, whatever...from this moment forward, 2014 will forever be known as the Year of the Sibling Wedding. You see, two of my three sisters got married this year, and thus, it only feels right to commemorate these occasions with some sort of obnoxious brotherly declaration.

Of course, going 3 for 3 would have been the actual definition of epic, but to do so would have required Texas to enact progressive legislation or the Supreme Court to acknowledge certain civil liberties are being denied to a subset of humanity, but you know, the world apparently needs more time to get its s*** together so "epic" will have to wait. Plus, the bachelorette sister just embarked on a pretty new relationship so the chances of a wedding hat trick were slim to none. At best, I've simply facilitated an awkward conversation for the newbie couple...my bad...that's on me.

Josh & Becca

The elder twin by minutes, Becca, got married this past January, electing to elope to Vegas. There was some discussion about having the wedding in Houston but conflicting family schedules and other unnecessary complications led Becca and Josh to do their own thing on their own terms (which is, frankly, how it should be). I'm not sure if they gambled while there, but if they did, no matter how much Josh lost...he won big in my opinion.

Sara & Me
(I'm the one not in a dress)

The younger twin, Sara, got married this past weekend in an intimate ceremony under a tree near their home. I had the privilege of walking Sara down the aisle (grass) before giving her away (being allowed to return to the crowd) at the altar (tree). It was a beautifully brief ceremony, which is essential for an outdoor wedding in Houston. The pastor did an especially nice job of acknowledging those who presence we missed dearly on this special day--both George's and our dad chief among those missed. That night, we enjoyed dinner at a great local restaurant, where a sign congratulated "Greg & Sarah" on their marriage. I quickly made sure the host corrected the misspelling of my sister's name, completing ignoring the slight to my new brother-in-law. Oops.

Sara & George

So cheers to Becca & Josh and cheers to Sara and Greg...I mean, George...dang it! May your marriage be as charmed as your wedding day and your lives together as sweet as...well...your brother.

With love,

Ben

Remembering Ma-Ma

My apologies, folks. I realize my recent posts have been a bit heavy as of late and that trend unfortunately will continue in this post.

Ma-Ma and Sara

Sara's grandmother, affectionately known as Ma-Ma (though each grandchild spelled her moniker a bit differently), passed away last weekend after a recent and rapid decline in health. All of this was a bit of surprise since Ma-Ma, despite her 84 years, was probably in better health than the rest of us. The last time she'd been in the hospital was 1959--a time when doctor's probably still smoked during surgery.

Despite herself being a non-smoker, Ma-Ma was diagnosed with lung cancer about a month ago. Over the
course of the last week, we went from a manageable diagnosis with years of life left, to 3-5 months, then 1-2 weeks, and finally 1-2 days. Thankfully, all of Ma-Ma's sons made it to Tyler to say their final goodbyes, but none of us were ready to receive the 3 a.m. call that shared the news of her passing. It was sad. It was abrupt. But it was merciful.

While I didn't have a lifetime with Ma-Ma, I've been around the Holland family for over 16 years, and when you've spent that many years in regular contact with a person, your spouse's grandmother soon becomes your own. Ma-Ma will be missed by many, and she will definitely be missed by me.

Ma-Ma was a strong, independent woman. A woman who spoke her mind often, recorded her thoughts always, and lived her life fiercely...without regret. She was warm, loving, and the leader of the Holland clan. Her role will never be filled; we will simply compensate for her absence in our lives and in our hearts.

There is much about Ma-Ma that could be said, but I wanted to hit a few highlights as I mentally (and blogally) celebrate her life.

Better than Fiction
Ma-Ma was one half of a great love story--one that caters to the hopeless romantic in me. Ma-Ma and Pap-Pa met in 2nd grade, and as legend has it, Pap-Pa came home that night and told his parents that he'd met the girl he was going to marry. I'm sure his parents rolled their eyes at little Casanova Claude, but Pap-Pa spoke truth that day--a truth reflected in 66 years of marriage. A love story born in the 2nd grade...you can't write a better, more heartwarming tale.

Breakfast Revelations
Whenever we were in town, I loved partaking of the weekly Saturday morning breakfasts that Ma-Ma would fix...not simply for the eggs, grits, and toast (though they were excellent)...but rather for the revelations that would come to pass when Sara's uncles joined the meal. You see, four Holland boys managed to create a lot of havoc in their younger years--not felony-level havoc but a fair amount of butt-whoopin' level destruction. Following breakfast, my FIL and his brothers would recount the missteps of their youth with Ma-Ma enjoying the tales in a way that only time and distance permits....except in a few rare instances when a tale would be told that Ma-Ma had never heard before. The combined look of shock and concern, paired with a clear desire to ground one or more of the middle-aged children sitting at the table, was absolutely priceless. In fact, these moments inspired a previous post.

A Final Hug
While I have always felt connected to the Holland family, nothing made me feel more embraced than an actual embrace from Ma-Ma. Ma-Ma used to remark that I gave the best hugs, and I always looked forward to our customary greeting whether it had been 3 months or 3 days since we last saw each other. I'll admit...the amount of pride I took in that compliment was both sizable and absurd, but for me, in that compliment, I read a deeper message--I was a member of the family, I was worthy of her granddaughter, and I was, in Ma-Ma's eyes, a good soul. So in the flurry of doctors and bad news that washed over our Easter weekend visit, I am so thankful that Ma-Ma requested a hug shortly after we arrived at the hospital. Little did I know that it would be our last, but in that final hug, I tried to say what words could not express--a deep appreciation for loving so generously, a futile hope for a miracle recovery, and a promise to be the husband, uncle, and son that I am capable of being.

I'm not sure there is much else to be said on the matter...other than thanks for putting up with somber Ben as of late. While the content has been sad, my heart is light. I have been blessed with wonderful people in my life, and I am thankful for the time I've had with them...even though it's felt fleeting at times.

Thanks for reading, my friends.

Good morning, Baltimore!

Last month, as my students departed for Spring Break, I boarded a plane for Baltimore so that I could join my fellow student affairs professionals at NASPA. NASPA is a professional association whose initials stand for the National Association of Student Personnel Administrators, which references terminology that became passé in the late 80s (though my Masters Degree, which was awarded in 2002, uses equally dated language). Weirdly, NASPA's byline now references "Student Affairs Administrators in Higher Education" with no mention of the acronym's meaning. Why is all of this important? It's not...it's simply another moment in which I take a hard left turn away from the point of my post, but now you know about NASPA soooo...you're welcome.

After four days in Baltimore during which I ate crab cakes at almost every meal (left turn), I arrived back home in Birmingham and began to reflect on my latest conference experience. My affinity for this conference has grown over the years, and this year's felt particularly special.

Me, Pete Neville, David Tuttle, & Raphael Moffett
(photo credit - some patron whose meal was interrupted)

First of all, it allowed me to reconnect with former colleagues who are near and dear to my heart. When you've worked in a profession for fifteen years, you're bound to make some significant connections. Counting my current boss, I had five supervisors present in the same location, which I can only imagine led to a gathering over drinks to compare notes such as these:

Does he still use 50 words when 5 will do?

Does he use the phrase "okey-dokey" when he's ready to get off the phone?

Does he leave his clothes all over the bedroom floor? (Wait, how did my wife join this confab?)

Is he still so insecure that he fabricates an imaginary "Council of Former Bosses" to discuss his annoying habits? (Whoa, my psyche just went meta...)

But really, it was great to reconnect with former colleagues who mean a great deal to me personally and professionally...even if they are meeting behind my back in my imagination. An especially touching moment occurred when my first boss, David Tuttle, tweeted a picture of me as I presented during a session. He remarked knowing me as a student and now a Dean of Students, which made him #proud...and made me #verklempt. (Blog amongst yourselves.)

Additionally, NASPA is a time to reconnect with my doctoral cohort--a community of friends who've become more like family over the years. We've celebrated marriages, births, and promotions, supported each other through illness, divorce, and loss, and journeyed through every major doctoral milestone together. And now that we're finished with coursework, our weekly WebEx visits and summer trips to Fort Collins have come to an end, which makes reunions like these all the more important.

Colorado State University Doctoral Cohort
College & University Leadership Program

Our Program Chair, Linda Kuk, received an award this year for outstanding contributions to higher education--well-deserved recognition for an outstanding professional and dedicated professor. Our program could have no better champion, and we could have no stronger advocate.

And of course, NASPA is a chance to recharge, reflect, and rethink all that we do on each of our campuses. I spent much of the conference attending sessions on proactively addressing and effectively responding to incidents of campus violence, but I did take the time to take in a session just for me called "Blogging Bravely."

It was amazing, and it really connected with the kind of blogger I want to be (when I'm not taking months long writing hiatuses). For me, blogging bravely means stepping beyond my personal stories (that comes easy for me) and speaking out when I feel compelled to share.

It may be messy, it will likely be difficult, and my charming wit won't always fend off criticism, but that doesn't mean my voice should be diminished. Much of what I will post may simply be for me, but that's okay, I'm choosing to engage the world...and blog bravely.

Mourning the Loss of Grief

It's not lost on me. The redundancy of this title. A repetition of synonyms that describe one's reality when a loved one is no longer with us. However, sequenced as they are above, those words portray a very different reality--one that is simultaneously disconcerting and comforting. A reality that I can only describe as a conflicted sense of melancholy...recognizing that the pain of loss is no longer with me; not palpably at least.

Today marks the 3 year anniversary of my father's passing, and while his absence still touches my life in significant ways, those moments rarely carry the weight of loss that they once did. And for some reason, the healing that evolution represents feels a bit like betrayal, and I find myself wishing that loss would feel like...loss...rather than acceptance.

I've come to describe my dad as a man who never aspired for greatness; simply goodness. Those words are not intended as a slight but rather a deeply felt compliment. In my mind, goodness is the more selfless endeavor...a life's journey filled with humility, compassion, and service to others. I didn't fully appreciate this part of my father until now, but in some ways, that makes sense.

It's hard to truly reflect on the essence of someone's life when they're busy living it. It's difficult to fully embrace what makes them special...until you notice its absence.

My father was full of goodness...and that is what made him great.

Work Hard, Play Smart, Care Deeply, Be Awesome, Forward Ever

Below are my remarks last Sunday afternoon to the Class of 2018 and our transfer students at Birmingham-Southern College. I thought I'd provide a glimpse into who I am as a professional and why I do what I do. And yes, my former colleagues and students, you'll see a few recycled sentiments...as I state below, I am nothing if not consistent.

Good afternoon, everyone.

I’m Ben Newhouse, and I’m your Dean of Students. I emphasize “your” because that is how I truly see myself—a Dean dedicated to supporting and challenging you as an individual and the community as a whole. Now, as a fan of all things pop culture, I realize that Deans have rarely been cast in a flattering light in movies and television; but, I look forward to showing you that a Dean of Students can be so much more than a hard-nosed disciplinarian…or at least not pure evil…during your time at BSC. I and my colleagues in Student Development, whom you’ll meet tonight, are truly wonderful people, who love working with college students and supporting each of you on your educational journey.

If you’ve looked at your schedule at all (or my insightful twitter feed), you will know that this afternoon is dedicated to what is expected of you during your time on the Hilltop and perhaps more importantly what you should expect from each other. We can’t progress as a community without a common understanding as to what we want our community to look like. And we cannot begin to explore our own sense of self without creating a safe space in which we can learn, grow, and thrive.

So I thought it would be important to open with my thoughts on the matter…coordinating the Orientation schedule grants you some quality mic time…one perk of being the Dean.

For those who attended Summer Orientation, and I know you hung on every remark I uttered, you heard me say this phrase: “Work Hard, Play Smart, Care Deeply, Be Awesome, Forward Ever.”

I assure you that across these next four years, today will not be the last you hear me say these words. I am nothing if not consistent, especially if it’s something I’m passionate about. And there is nothing I have more passion for than your success, your well-being, your ability to flourish here at BSC, and the positive impact our community can have on each other and this world. That’s right, when it comes to you, I don’t mince words…so indulge me a few minutes to lay the foundation for our time together and to explain what I mean by Work Hard, Play Smart, Care Deeply, Be Awesome, Forward Ever.

On the WORK HARD front of things…well, that should be pretty obvious. You are here, first and foremost, to earn a college degree. Regardless of where you came from—location, economic background, high school rigor, once you stepped foot on this campus, you entered rarefied air. Access to higher education in this world and even in this country is by no means a given; and therefore, I hope you treat your time at BSC like the privilege it is and truly Claim Your Education. The late poet Adrienne Rich once said to an incoming class much like you, “you cannot afford to think of being here to receive an education; you will do much better to think of being here to claim one.” You are no longer a passive participant in your education. Going through the motions will leave you ill-equipped for the world beyond BSC. Your education deserves a far more significant commitment from you. Please understand, I know you have made and will continue to make sacrifices to get here, but many, many others have, as well. Honor their commitment to you through your dedication to your studies. A word of gratitude is nice, but the greatest act of appreciation awaits four years from now, walking across the stage, a graduate of BSC, ready to lay claim to the next stage of your life.

I know you’ve heard the phrase “Work Hard, Play Hard,” but I’ll always found that to be an uneasy if not flawed pairing. I get it…for smart, driven, dedicated students, there are times in which you need to put the books aside and blow off some steam…so don’t think your Dean is anti-“all things fun.” But as a person who gets to deal with the outcomes of drunken mistakes, regrettable decisions, and traumatizing incidents, I have seen the error of a Work Hard, Play Hard mentality. In my experience…

Work Hard, Play Hard causes smart people to make stupid choices.

Work Hard, Play Hard finds lives of promise stuck in the land of regret.

Work Hard, Play Hard results in people abandoning who they are in hopes of impressing others.

And finally Work Hard, Play Hard is that moment when you stop being part of the joke and become the butt of the joke.

For me, Work Hard, PLAY SMART is the better option. It allows you to engage in many of the activities that a “Work Hard, Play Hard” person would…minus the negative consequences of Work Hard, Play Hard mentality. College is filled with choices—whether to drink at all or drink to excess, whether to participate in the hook-up culture or seek a more stable relationship, whether to remember the good times or attempt to piece them together over the course of the next day…and believe me, the story you finally are able to craft is never so cool that it involves a baby named Carlos or Mike Tyson’s pet tiger. Real life is generally far more embarrassing, disconcerting, and sometimes tragic. So Work Hard sure, but Play Smart. That mentality will work different for each of you, but it will most definitely keep you out of my office…at least for reasons you don’t want to be there for.

The reason I harp so much about Playing Smart is because I CARE DEEPLY for each of you and for this community as a whole. I want your lives of promise to be fulfilled and for you to take your own caring nature and positively impact the world. To Care Deeply is to truly be in community with each other…when it’s easy and when it’s challenging and difficult. If you want a model for what it means to care deeply look no further than the Orientation Team. A week ago today we were 50 distinct and disconnected individuals…a team in name only…and by no means could I have envisioned what we have become. But by caring deeply for one another…motivated by our collective commitment to all of you…we created a safe space that allowed us to be ourselves—our sometimes awesomely vulnerable selves—and create the kind of community we envision for all of you. But that takes a willingness to care deeply about this place, each other, and yourself. So take care of your surroundings—clean up after yourselves and even each other, get to know your classmates, your professors, the dining services staff, and the dedicated individuals who clean and maintain our home, and please, please, please, do not forget to care deeply for yourself. You are precious to me and you are certainly precious to your loved ones back home. Treat yourself with the kind of care and respect others have for you. You are worth that...at least that…and so much more.

 If we have that kind of community, then you will truly be permitted to Be Awesome. As I said this summer, I don’t care what kind of label, be it flattering or not, you had in high school. Unless it represented your authentic self, then discard it and know…to Be Yourself is to Be Awesome. We are a family at BSC. That is hopefully why you chose this place, and to be a family is to accept those around you for who they are, just as they are...with no conditions. There is something freeing about being given permission to just be yourself. And it’s time to start living that both as an individual and as a community. Now that’s the tough part. Sticking up for someone else when they are being mistreated, demeaned or excluded. Being vulnerable with others you don’t know very well. Putting yourself out there not knowing if you’ll be accepted. Being willing to shut up and listen when someone is telling their story and treasuring that moment for the privilege it truly is. So let’s make a commitment to each other. Over the next four days, we are going to check our cool kid caps at the door, tear down our walls, and allow ourselves to be awesome. Just give it a shot. I think you’ll find it’s just what we needed.

And finally, forward ever. I love this phrase because it presents the world as full of potential, full of promise; always learning, always growing. It’s what your education should be about. And what BSC is always about.

So Work Hard, Play Smart, Care Deeply, Be Awesome, Forward Ever. That’s what I expect for you. If we live that, our next four years will be fantastic.

Thanks!

Boom Boom Pow-lice

Prepping for the show

If you follow my blog at all (you know, all 20 posts), you’ve read about my Father-In-Law’s predilection for fireworks. Side note: The word “predilection” gets a bad rap. It simply means, “a preference or special liking,” (thank you Google) but only ever seems associated with deviant behavior. You never hear, “My FIL’s predilection for fireworks led him to provide an annual show for underprivileged children.” Instead you’ll read, “Tyler man’s predilection for fireworks caused him to push underprivileged children to the ground in order to get to the fireworks stand first.” Of course, the latter is closer to reality, but in his defense, he had no way of knowing those children were underprivileged.

Which brings me to this year’s show. Thankfully, the underprivileged children were safe…not because my FIL has seen the error of his ways. Nope, he’s simply discovered online wholesale shopping. That’s right, folks, my FIL now buys fireworks by the pallet…because “by the suburban” could no longer satisfy his…well…um…predilection.

Truckload #2

You see…his bulk-buying plan was to shoot off some this year and save some back for the future. As a bona fide fireworks enabler, I told him that was the stupidest plan ever—not because firework storage is dangerous (though it is) but rather because a firework was made to entertain through explosive awesomeness, and besides, who are we to deny this inanimate object it’s God-given right to fulfill it’s full potential, especially on this day of celebration in which we honor our great nation and our freedom from the tyranny of firework oppression…or something like that…’Merica!

I won’t give you a blow by blow (pun very much intended) of the night’s show, but I will offer a couple of highlights that made the night particularly memorable.

As the Lead Firework Setter-Offer Guy, I have grumbled mightily about the presence of artillery shells in the show. In the Texas heat amid a mosquito-filled field, a single light for a single boom is pretty unsatisfying. So my FIL came up with a solution—cannon fuse! In a rack of 50 pre-loaded tubes, he spliced about five fuses together so that one light would yield five sequential booms…at least in theory.

Best laid plans

Here’s what really happened…I lit a single fuse and just as the first aerial lifted off, I noticed that the other 10 fuses were suddenly alight, as well. I looked at my FIL, and we telepathically communicated, “This is either going to be AMAZING (pause for effect) or we’re...about...to...die!” Thankfully, amazing happened, and I live to blog another day. Imagine 50 multi-shot aerials exploding in the night sky all at once. Other than unintentionally showcasing what should have been the grand finale 10 minutes into the show, it was pretty cool.

The second highlight took place just as the show was coming to a close. An aerial had just finished, and I heard my wife shout over the radio, “Ben, don’t light anything more. The sheriff’s here.” Of course, I register the warning just in time to see my FIL light a 9-shot, 500-gram aerial…in the words of Rick Perry, “Whoops!”

After the explosions ceased and the ground stopped quaking, the sheriff wandered out to chat with my FIL. In a priceless example of inopportune timing, I noticed a previously discharged firework had burst into flames. So as my father attempted to smooth things over, I stealthily made my way to the aforementioned hazard and began jumping on it like it was my own personal trampoline…a trampoline of fire albeit. Now, I don't know about you, but ending up in jail was not in my plans for the evening so I began crafting a better alibi than “My FIL made me do it!" or "What propane torch, officer?" Fortunately, the sheriff was simply responding to a call from a neighbor who apparently hates fun and in his assessment everything was Code 4--that's police for "not breaking the law." I even heard him use the words, “Clearly, y’all are being safe.” I thought to myself, “Thank goodness he missed the artillery shell debacle.,” as I continued to jump on my fire trampoline…of death. But if safe means risky…and maybe a touch stupid...then, yes, officer, we are being safe.

So another 4th down…and we’ve clearly set a new benchmark for success: It’s not a party until the cops show up.

I think next year we’ll just invite them ahead of time.

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The Breakfast of Champions

Today, I make my way to San Antonio to serve on the faculty for NACA's Huge Leadership Weekend. I'm super excited to participate in the learning and growth of all in attendance, but I'm mostly excited to reenter the land of the breakfast taco.

For the uninitiated, let me describe the wonder that is the breakfast taco. It's simple really. A breakfast taco is pretty much any combination of breakfast-type foods...wrapped in a flour tortilla. (And now you understand my befuddlement as to how this national treasure has yet to become...well...a national treasure!)

Breakfast tacos can please almost anyone...unless you hate breakfast...and then I judge you. You can select from bacon & egg, potato & egg, or sausage & egg. You know, the gringo-friendly offerings. If you want to be a bit more adventurous, you can throw chorizo into the mix. If you're like me and have fully embraced Tex-Mex culture, then I recommend a bean & cheese, migas, or chilaquiles taco (chi-leh-ke'-les; not chil-luh-quil-les as my wife's coworker pronounced it recently...though with a sweet southern accent, it's pretty endearing).

What makes a breakfast taco so good...besides cheese, because, well, that's a given...is the fresh homemade flour tortillas. With every bite, I can picture mi abuelita making each tortilla with love...and lard...just for me. Yes, I realize my tiny grandmother has likely never seen a tortilla press, but a gringo can dream, can't he?!

Since moving to Birmingham, I have scoured the land (of google) to find a breakfast taco establishment. I even visited a specialty market down the road but to no avail. If I had the capital, the health permits and the abuelita to make it happen, I'd gladly bring the breakfast taco to Birmingham. 

Until then, I'll just have to make an annual trip to SA to get my fix.

Damn, I'm hungry.

My WAY better half

Thus far, my wife, Sara, has made only cameo appearances in my blog, playing a small part in a much larger story. And looking back over my body of work, I've painted quite the unflattering picture--knife wielder, dog disowner, and meal ticket. But that doesn't do her justice, and Sara is no bit player in the story of my life.

I've refrained from sharing too much about our lives together for a couple reasons. First, it's fine for my self-deprecating style to make me (or my Father-In-Law) the butt of the joke, but prior offenses aside, that's not a fate I want for my spouse. Plus, giving you insight into our daily lives would be like watching twelve years of the longest inside joke ever. That makes for a great marriage...but pretty mediocre reading material. (Keep this in mind all you future wedding toasters.)

And yet, I can't help but give you, dear readers, a little taste of the super-sweetness that is my wife. This past week, I've been in Colorado for my final onsite class for my doctoral program. It's tough to be away from Sara for several days in a row, but she is especially skilled at bridging the distance.

On most trips, Sara finds a way to hide a card for each day we're apart. It's heartwarming to wake each morning to the perfect card and her wonderful words. It's a trait that I adore but can never effectively reciprocate...but there was one time I came close.

This week's cards

The first summer we dated, I worked at a mission camp in Tennessee called Mountain T.O.P. Even in the early stages of our relationship, Sara was a card-sender. Actually, that's the understatement of the decade. Sara was the card industry's customer of the year. Every day would bring a new card and every week a care package full of baked goodness. My staff, having never met Sara, adored her nonetheless.

Now understand, I was over the moon for my future wife, but card-giving and romantic gestures were not a part of my depressingly limited repertoire, which makes the happy accident I'm about to detail all the more impressive. For all the cards I received that summer, I think I mailed four in return. Like I said, Ben has little to no game, folks. But one day, upon opening my card, I called Sara to ask if she'd gone to the mail yet...because waiting for her that very moment was the exact card she'd sent to me. Pretty cool, huh?

I've kept every card Sara has sent me over the years, but I cherish one set the most--our unexpected duplication which confirms, despite my failings in her area of strength, that the card's sentiment was right. We really are "two peas in a pod."

Class of 2013, Raise Your Glass...

As an educator, I measure time according to the college lifecycle. The terms semester, break and exams remain as present in my lexicon as they were 15 years ago. Each year, I grow older, yet my charges remain stuck in time, forever 18-22. You see, when this college thing works as it should, students eventually graduate...hopefully in 4 years, maybe 5 years time (no shame, victory lappers). And for me, there's something incredibly satisfying in shepherding a student from orientation to graduation. You are optimally positioned to witness the growth, achievements, and victories of the students you have grown to know and love...which makes these final days of the academic year a touch bittersweet.

Last October, I departed my professional home of 6 years to become the Dean of Students at Birmingham-Southern College. It's been a wonderfully fulfilling transition, and I have enjoyed celebrating the senior traditions on my new campus--Bell Ringing on the last day of class, the Senior Party on the Quad, the Capping Ceremony, and Graduation by the lake. 

But I can't help but think of those I left behind--those at Trinity whom I had the privilege of connecting with on a daily basis for 3+ years, and when I think of them, it forces me to acknowledge that I'm missing out on my favorite part of their educational journey.

At Trinity there's a tradition called The Last Great Reception in which a faculty member offers a toast to the graduating class. It's a powerful, touching, and slightly rowdy tradition (that's what happens when you give parents of graduating seniors booze apparently), but it's made me reflect on what I would say to Class of 2013 if I had my time at the podium.  

So instead of a mic, I have my blog, and from my luminescent podium, I have some things to share with you, the Class of 2013--those I have grown to love in my new role and those I will forever hold dear even though I am no longer present in their daily lives.

Some of my words will be practical and some philosophical, but all of them are heartfelt:

1. You...are...precious. I don't mean that in a condescending, creepy Uncle Ben, everybody gets a trophy kind of way. I mean that in the "you are a gift to this world, don't let anyone tell you otherwise" kind of way. Surround yourself with people who believe in you and acknowledge your awesomeness. Abandon those who make you feel less for embracing your, well, you-ness. Tell that self-defeating voice in your head to stuff it. Replace that voice with mine, and you'll know that you are cherished by many.

2. You...are...fallible. What?! Seems a bit contradictory juxtaposed to my last statement. It's not. Mistakes don't make a person any less worthy of appreciation and respect. Own your mistakes, learn from them, and help them make you an even better version of yourself. When I am at my strongest and most confident, I have great comfort in acknowledging my faults, and quite frankly, I like the flawed version of myself much better than the mask of perfection I sometimes try to hide behind.

3. Love and be loved by a partner who makes you whole, but also, makes you someone who can stand alone. Wow, another contradiction! I say, nay, my friends...or maybe it's just that love is the perfect contradiction. My wife and I value our independence, and yet we enjoy life much better as a pair. We allow each other to be our authentic selves even when that authenticity creates conflict. We compromise daily without compromising ourselves. And the end result? A blessed union that is my greatest source of strength. I hope that you find your own perfect contradiction in time.

4. Live your passion. I say two things to every incoming class. One, you have the potential to be world-changers in ways both big and small. Two, "Figure out what you care about and live a life that shows it" (John Hoyt). Okay, I also say, "Claim your education," but I digress. As you graduate, I reiterate these statements again, and I hope you find a way to take your knowledge, tools, and talents to engage in truly fulfilling work. I was blessed to find that in my work with you, and it is work I was born to do.

5. Contribute to the dialogue; not the cacophony. As of late, it appears that we have elected to eschew intellectual discourse for commentary that preys upon our basest fears...reduced to meme form. We live in a complex world with complex problems, and we owe it to each other to educate ourselves, seek out alternative perspectives, and find solutions based in reality rather screaming from the sidelines of the far left or far right. That, my friends, is a claimed education.

It's been a blessing to be a part of the last few years of your life, but I can take little credit in the people you've become. I was simply a witness to it, and as one who really paid attention, know that you have much to be proud of on this day before your special day. You have grown into the world-changers I knew you would become.

So as your time here comes to a close and you step onto a different, far bigger stage, know that I remain in the audience, still in awe of your talents, and cheering you on just as I've always been.

Cheers, Class of 2013. Your time has come.

Disney Diatribe Part II

What?! You're still here? Yours is a small world after all.

But since my world doesn't bore your world, here's a few more family-centric moments that made this Disney trip so special.

Justin's first kiss

Day one, on the bus ride back to the hotel, an overly affectionate, little red-haired girl decided to set her sights on my nephew. After asking Justin's name, she abruptly declared her love for him. Her parents were amused, Justin was non-plussed, I was mortified. Every time she planted a kiss on him, Justin would grimace and I would bemoan the non-consensual nature of each physical advance (forever a Dean of Students, folks). But don't worry (Emily), this relationship fizzled quicker than a summer camp romance...but for Justin and that little red haired girl...well, they'll always have Disney.

Casablanca Engine

On the 2nd day, we slowed down a bit because Justin wasn't feeling too hot. (I blame the red haired girl.) On a whim, we jumped on The Great Movie Ride at Hollywood Studios because of its slow pace. As rides go, it's pretty mediocre, but here's the cool thing--Sara's family used to have a airplane repair business and one project was for an unknown theme park. Turns out, their engine ended up in the Casablanca section of the Great Movie Ride. Holland family history in an unexpected place...that's pretty cool.

I've Got Class

While the timing of the trip was in many ways ideal, it did not quite mesh with my class schedule. On Day 2, I had to tackle a hellacious stats final while everyone else slumbered. Taking a 3 hour exam--computer perched on the end of the bed and my wife occasionally kicking off my notes--is not a scenario for success....or apparently it is based on my test score. (#humblebrag) On Day 4, I missed Dinner with Mickey for Class with my Cohort. I showed up in style, rocking my Mickey Mouse ears and an inspired stats presentation if I do say so myself...and I can...it's my blog...you can't stop me. 

The People Mover

Justin's favorite ride was called the People Mover. At a pace of about 20 miles an hour, the People Mover takes you on seated tour of Tomorrowland across about 10-15 minutes. Slow paced doesn't describe any moment in Disney...except for these glorious 15 minutes. Needless to say, I relished these moments...and so did my weary bones.

Space Mountain

No family vacation is complete until someone is scarred for life. This moment occurred when Sara and I introduced Justin to Space Mountain. Until that ride, Justin had been pretty adventurous, and Space Mountain pretty much crushed that spirit but the 3rd pitch black right turn. Yeah, we blew it on this one. You should have heard Sara faking cheers of glee in an attempt to calm Justin in what I believe was the longest 3 minutes of his life. While I think the night sweats have stopped, I'm pretty sure Justin starts to whimper any time he hears the word space...or mountain...or Ben.

I think he'll get over it eventually...by the time he graduates...from college.

Sigh.

Thanks for letting me rehash my memories. It'll be 6 years until we introduce our newest niece, Elizabeth, to the wonders of Disney...and I'm fully prepared for my princess makeover.

It's an AWESOME world after all

Greetings, dear readers,

Long time, no write. I blame myself mostly...myself and Mr. Walt Disney.

You see, a few months ago, I was dragged kicking and screaming (metaphorically...and in a dignified manner) to Walt Disney World.

I'm not going to lie, kids. I was not excited about this trip. I just couldn't envision myself enjoying a vacation consisting of long lines, screaming children, and mediocre food. Now, I'm not a theme park naysayer, but I'm a one day visitor; not a seven day inhabitant. But this trip was my mother-in-law's vision--one she'd been planning since Justin, my nephew, was born, and being one who relishes his #1 son-in-law status, I put on my happy pants in preparation to meet Mickey.

So how does Uncle Walt factor into my blogging deficiency? Well, after what turned out to be an amazing experience, I couldn't in good conscience blog about any other subject matter until I had blogged about this trip...plus, I think Sara's mom would have disowned me if I had.

But how does one capture the wonder that is Walt Disney World in a solitary post? You actually can't (as if that would stop me), but hopefully, my remarks will be intriguing to the uninitiated and reminiscent for those who have.

First off, there's something magical about witnessing Disney World through the eyes of a child so you'll notice this post is very Justin-centric. Plus, the presence of a child allows you to abandon certain adult-like pretensions: Ice cream at 10am? Sure! Ride the Buzz Lightyear 16 times in a row? Why not! Dance in the middle of the streets while eating a churro...okay that last one was just me...but you get my point. Disney is much more fun when you can experience it like a child...and it's a whole lot less creepy when you actually have a child with you.

Secondly, the hotel was amazing. My nephew loves the Cars movies so you can only imagine how excited he was to see life-size versions of his favorite characters as we entered the Cars section of the Art of Animation resort. His trip was made in that moment alone, and each day, we got to walk (as much as a six year old ever walks) by Lightning McQueen, Mater, and Luigi as if they were old friends.

Thirdly...okay enough with the -lys, bullet points from here on out:

• Production Value: This is what separates Disney from other theme parks I've been to. You don't just enter a park when the gates open. You're "paraded" in by Mickey and the gang. You don't just take a picture with a character. They sign an autograph book. You don't just swim in a pool. You swim in Nemo's "Big Blue Pool" with speakers pumping music underwater.
• Timing is Everything: We visited outside of the peak times--the first week of December...and it...was...glorious. Crowds were manageable, lines were pretty short, and the heat/humidity were just fine. Everyday, we spent far more time enjoying the park than waiting to enjoy the park. Of course, now that I blogged about this to my readership of 12, I'm certain I've just ruined a good thing, unleashing a stampede of new visitors to Disney World on December 1.
• Food/Snacks: We had one of those fancy-shmancy meal plans that pretty much allowed us to gorge ourselves throughout the day...you know, the polar opposite of "a shake for breakfast, a shake for lunch, and then a sensible dinner." And the food was pretty good. Sure, I got tired of eating a bacon cheeseburger every day, but yet, I was drawn to it like a moth to the flame every time. 

I'm pretty sure I've exceeded blogger word count etiquette two bullet points ago so I'll sign off for now, but stay tuned next time as I detail how this inexperienced Disney visitor inadvertently scarred his nephew for life.

Good night, folks!

Ben

A Farewell to Remember

4 generations of O-Team

Today was my official farewell party at Trinity...a midweek sendoff in anticipation of my final day on Friday. It was a truly special occasion marked by a few unique moments to make it memorable.

Dean Tuttle kicked things off by sharing some of the comments he made during my reference check. Simply put, he told my new boss that I was man with all the qualities of a good woman. I still can't tell if I should be offended...and if so, for myself or for the entire female population. All I can say is my interview must have been amazing to overcome such "thoughtful" remarks.

Then, the Campus & Community Involvement staff that I had supervised at one time or another usurped my brilliant (and also stolen) habit of writing a memo to a departing staff member's new boss...except they chose to direct their comments to my new staff. While their prose seemed to highlight my multitude of supervisory quirks, deep down (I mean, way deep down) I could tell their words hid a deep sense of loss and personal misery as they imagine life without me. No really.

After that came the sincere remarks, you know the stuff I paid people to say. A couple of weeks ago, I asked Kara Shervanick to weep openly at the reception, and she, being so method, has been tearing up ever since. In all seriousness, some of the kindest, most moving things were said across the next few minutes, and I am humbled and honored that they were directed my way. I will treasure those words forever.

And to close things out, the Trinitones and AcaBellas graced everyone present with a few songs. It's no secret that I am a big fan of both these groups, and it was a lot of fun to hear them sing one last time. The AcaBellas performed an especially moving rendition of Rascal Flatts' "My Wish." The Trinitones sang songs that each referenced...hmmm, how shall I put this...engaging in intimate relations with the opposite sex. I'm just...gonna leave that alone.

Of course, I was offered the chance to say a few words, and y'all know, I've never turned that opportunity down. Unfortunately, I can't remember half of what I said, but I am sure I spoke about the specialness of this place, my friendships with the faculty and staff, and the incredible privilege it is to work with our students.

No matter what I said, I am sure my words failed to convey the level of gratitude I feel towards all who have crossed my path during my time at Trinity. I am fortunate to have this great new opportunity at Birmingham-Southern, but I am fully aware of the blessing these past six years have been. I am the professional and person I am today because of the positive impact Trinity and its community has had on my life.

I am a lucky man, my friends.

Dearly Departed Coal

Yesterday evening, our 11 year old, little black pug, Coal, passed away.

Years of severe allergies had left much of his body hairless and most of his skin painfully inflamed despite regular injections, daily medications, and a number of rotating topical treatments that never seemed to provide any relief. After spending a decade on and off various antibiotics, he had become resistant to all of them. In the end, all we could do was try our best to keep his most recent skin infections at bay.

Pretty soon, we could tell we were fighting a losing battle; Coal was soon a shadow of his former self. The little dog who never seemed to let his infirmities get him down, no matter how bad he felt or how much he itched, was truly for the first time showing the effects of years of suffering.

Since his first birthday, Coal has been a certifiable mess. The first sign of trouble was an allergic reaction to a vaccination, and it's been downhill ever since. He has been on every treatment regimen Banfield could think of--each one providing a glimmer of hope before failing miserably. About three years ago, Coal even started visiting his own doggy dermatologist, but again, hope was soon met with disappointment. Our little guy even had to eat synthetic, hypoallergenic dog food as he was unable to tolerate Fish & Potato, Lamb & Rice, and Kangaroo & Oat (yep, you read that last one right).

To say Coal had a tough life would be an understatement, but you know what, he never seemed to let it bother him. That is what made him such an amazing dog...a wonder-pug as I've said on occasion.

For a dog that was in a constant state of pain and discomfort, he never let it show--never whined, never acted out, never let it slow him down. In spite of the constant appointments and mounting expense, I regularly told our vet how fortunate we were to have such a sweet-tempered pet because any other dog (or person for that matter) with half of Coal's ailments would have been miserable to live with. But Coal was special, and that is why it's been so hard for me to say goodbye.

We adopted Coal for our elder pug Charley, and Coal was instantly devoted to his brother. They would sleep intertwined, forming a yin and yang of fawn and black pug. For 11 years Coal rarely left Charley's side, which made his sudden and consistent absence from Charley all the more concerning. We could tell his health was deteriorating, and he soon began to ignore our instructions, skip meals (unheard of with pugs), and refuse to take his medications.

Sara and I both knew this day would come, and I thought I'd made my peace with it. But by the way I've been blubbering the past 24 hours, I clearly was not as prepared as I thought I was. Coal found his way much deeper into my heart than I realized.

I've both read and seen the movie adaptation of Marley & Me, and to be honest, I wasn't moved by the events of the closing chapters...and this is coming from a self-described softy. Marley, in my opinion, was a colossally bad dog, and while I didn't wish bad things on him, I never found him particularly endearing.

But now I get it. Coal, while not a bad dog, was his own form of colossal mess...but he was my colossal mess, and nothing could every change that. I will miss him dearly, and while I'm glad he's no longer suffering, that fact provides little solace. He may have been tough to pet and truly stinky, but he was the sweetest, most adorable little guy...my little Coaley-Roll.

Farewell, my friend. I hope your beauty within now has matching exterior. I look forward to petting your allergen-free, full coat one day.

Sorry for a downer of Saturday night/Sunday morning reading. Happier tales to come.

Thanks for letting me share.

Driving Through Dallas

It's hard to believe that almost a year has passed since my father died. As I start this post, I notice it's 5 a.m., Wednesday morning--I'm battling a bit of isomnia caused by the excessive rest of a recent illness--and I realize that on this very day last year...actually this very moment, I would be pulling into the hospital parking lot, having made the trek from San Antonio to Katy, TX after receiving a call from my sister that Dad had been transported by ambulance about 1 a.m. Truly, nothing good ever happens after midnight.

When I started this blog, I thought I would write more about my dad...as a means of healing and reflection, but I haven't found that to be the case. I have written a few Dad-centric posts but nothing consistently. Don't get me wrong, the act of writing about...well, everything...has been a cathartic process that has led to much reflection, clarity, and in some ways, healing. It's just my topic choices have been a bit...chaotic. But that's pretty representative of my life right now so I guess that suits me just fine.

Regardless of my disjointed focus, I did intend that in the week leading up to the anniversary of Dad's passing that I'd develop daily posts in his honor. But the universe had different plans in mind by afflicting me with the aforementioned illness--a revenge visit from a case of bronchitis that was only mocked and clearly irritated by the last round of antibiotics. So rest, not blogging, was in my future...until today.

I can't say anything profound will come out of me over the next few days. I prefer to reflect on happy times with my dad or reframe familial absurdities that I think the world just has to know. Come on, you know your life is more fulfilled now that you've read about the time my wife almost (not really), very nearly (not even close) stabbed me.

So, now that I've buried the lead (as I tend to do in all my posts), the actual reason I brought you all together today was to share an absurdity that arose on almost every family road trip that took us outside of Texas.

You see, if you're heading north from Houston, all roads appear to lead through Dallas, TX. And Dallas, my dear readers, is truly, the most terrifying city in all the world...or at least that's what my dad taught me as a child.

Now, we never had a formal sit down on the matter, but Dad was always very insistent that the land of Dallas was not to be taken lightly. Every time we approached the city limits, we were informed that not a word was to be spoken by any child of Newhouse descent lest those words be met with terrible consequences. I could never tell if said consequences would come from Dad or the minions of Dallas, but I truly believed that the outcome would be the end of me. And so trip after trip, the Newhouse clan sat in absolute silence until Dallas was nothing more than a speck in the rear view mirror of our station wagon.

Of course, now, I realize my dad was full of crap.

At best, Dad wanted to focus all his attention on the increased traffic and aggressive drivers..but these are the half-truths parents tell themselves to help them sleep at night.

In reality, Dad was using the first major city not named Houston to acquire some freakin' peace and quiet. You don't cram four kids and two adults into a station wagon without achieving decibel levels of a 90's metal band, recording such hits as Stop Touching Me!, What's That Smell?!, and my favorite, I Know You Are But What Am I? It's no wonder he chose a Metroplex for an extended, sanity-preserving respite.

Of course, he eventually pushed his luck too far. With each passing trip, Dallas got closer and closer to Houston. I mean, we were pretty smart kids, it only took us 10-12 trips before we caught on that Dallas was not spelled The Woodlands.

It's spelled C-O-N-R-O-E...thank you very much.

Charley Says It All

One morning, after taking Coal, the allergic to the world wonder-pug, to his monthly car payment...I mean, visit to his dermatologist. Yes, he has a dermatologist...don't even get me started. But after his visit and our return home, I entered through the laundry room, and I heard Charley letting out a terrible howl from somewhere in the house. I hustled around the corner to find him standing at the front door just bellowing away, and he didn't stop until Coal trotted around the corner into the living room.

Now, Charley has never been a mouthy dog. Even after teaching him to speak, he often lets out a silent bark the first time or two. For Charley to repeatedly howl, I can only think he was really upset, and based on his silence upon Coal's return, I thought he must have missed his brother. I honestly found it rather touching.

I called Sara on the way to work to recount the tale of our dogs' bro-union, and Sara was equally flummoxed by Charley's new vocal lamentations.

Later that night, Sara came home to find Charley howling away again...even though Coal was nearby. I, at first, became worried that Charley might be showing his age--he had lost track of Coal and became upset. But then it hit me, maybe Charley missed the humans in his life, likely Sara...most definitely me. And again, I was touched by Charley's deep connection with those around him.

So when I arrived home that night, I decided to do a little experiment. Sara and I, with Coal in tow, left through the front door as if departing. I patiently waited outside for the howls to commence, and...nothing. I returned Coal to the house while Sara and I remained outside, and pretty soon, the mournful sound of...silence became deafening. Charley seemed thoroughly nonplussed by our absence.

With my tail tucked between my legs and my experiment an utter failure, I reentered the house. Upon entry, I realized that the dog pillow was still in the dryer, and I went to grab it for the dogs.

As soon as I opened the dryer door, Charley came running around the corner, slipping and sliding on the hardwood with complete disregard for his own well-being. As I slipped the pillow into it's freshly washed cover, I thought Charley was about to come out of his skin in anticipation. Never has reunion between an animal and inanimate object elicited such emotion.

And it suddenly became painfully clear...Charley missed his pillow.

Not his brother...not his humans...his pillow!

His flippin' pillow.

The Night my Wife Stabbed Me & Other Tall Tales

Some people just know how to put on a production. My Father-In-Law is one of those people. Besides being able to choreograph a killer fireworks display, my FIL is a master storyteller. Anytime the family gathers for a holiday or another food-centric occasion, Saturday morning breakfast is guaranteed to devolve into an exchanges of tales from days gone by...and no one spins the yarns quite like Sara's dad.

You see, my FIL has a unique ability to paint a picture with his words. When he recounts the misadventures of his youthful days alongside three brothers, you almost feel party to the mischief, mayhem, and destruction left in their wake. (My apologies to the city of Shreveport.) When he tells stories about the mishaps at their airplane repair shop, it becomes clear that only through divine intervention did he escape those years without serious injury. I mean, an engine once grabbed him by the moob (that's the medical term), yanked him off his feet, and dumped him on his head, and he walked away just fine...with the exception of a hard to explain bruise.

I've witnessed looks of horrific clarity and revelation come across Sara's grandmother's face as years of unknown mishaps have been brought to light over the breakfast table. How'd her boys go through socks so frequently? Because they became projectile missiles with intent to maim after lights out. Why'd that favorite meal taste a bit off one time? Because my FIL coughed Nestle's Quik into the gravy and simply stirred it in as if it was a thickening agent to cover his tracks.

While my FIL never tells outright lies, he never shies from hyperbole...should it serve the story...as you'll discover in the titular tale.

Several years ago, Sara's father was a regular tenant at Casa de Newhouse. He was working south of San Antonio, and rather than driving 8 hours to Tyler, TX every weekend, he'd cut his weekend commute in half by staying with us.

It was Friday during Lent, and Sara, being a good Catholic, had planned a meatless dinner option for what I playfully (and begrudgingly) refer to as NO MEAT FRIDAY! I arrived home just as dinner prep was hitting high gear. She was making spaghetti, one of my favorites, but I noticed something...odd...in her meal preparation--she was cutting up zucchini and squash. Knowing that spaghetti is typically a stand alone dish for us, I innocently asked, "Are you putting that in the sauce?" (Okay, so there may have been a BLEEECH tone in my voice.) To which she informed me through clenched teeth that we had already discussed this plan, and I had given my approval.

Just moments later, Sara's dad walked through the door, surveyed the dinner situation, and seeing the veggies on the cutting board, asked, "Are you putting THAT in the sauce?!"

This is how my FIL describes the scene from that moment forward (with intensifying volume):

I mean, I just asked a simple question, and next thing you know, Sara grabs the knife and begins gesticulating with it, reading us the riot act about calling us...running the recipe by us...getting our approval...but honestly, all I can concentrate on is how with each passing moment and each blade-emphasized point, the knife is getting closer and closer to Ben's chest...and the poor boy doesn't even flinch...he's so used to these brushes with death.

Covertly, I kept to trying to signal to Ben that he should run for his life and save himself, but I wasn't sure I could get away with it without tipping off Sara. And so I simply begged forgiveness...in hopes of being spared...from an act that Sara clearly would have argued as justifiable homicide.

(End Scene)

With each retelling of this incident, the danger, the rage, and the size of the knife has grown in my father's portrayal. I'm pretty sure in the next iteration, I will finally be stabbed by a sword just for walking into the kitchen, and the scars I really bear from Crohn's and gall bladder surgery will be reminders of the day I questioned Sara's culinary prowess.

Of course, Sara has a very different view of this incident. She feels justified in her frustration since she had taken the time to gain meal approval from the masses, and she swears that she simply gesticulated with the knife because she was in the middle of cutting the squash. No husbands or fathers were ever harmed (or at risk of harm) in the creation of this tale.

And that's how I remember things, as well...because I'm writing this at knife point.

You can put it down now, honey.