Chad LeCroy

I changed my profile picture on Facebook today. It is still the holiday season, but the new picture is not one of me unwrapping a gift or hugging a relative. I am one of many others that did the same as we are all sharing a similar picture. Some are badges with a black stripe across the center and some are simply a picture of a fallen hero and a badge number. The picture of a father. A husband. A son that wont ring in the new year with his family this year.

Something as simple as putting a picture of this man on my facebook page wont change anything. There is nothing I or anyone else can do that will change what has happened. There is nothing I could say to his family that would make them or me feel any better. But it makes me proud to see so many people that wish they could. I never knew Trooper Chad LeCroy and I never will. An individual that doesn't understand the value of human life has made sure of this. There is no punishment that will make you understand what you have done to a family.

The peace I wish for the family will be difficult to find. You will be left to deal with your loss long after the public moves on. A scar that will ache when you least expect it, a bone that has grown back wrong. I hope you find peace and know that today the we cry with you.

The Club

Michael Vick wants a dog. This could easily be a comment taken out of context by the media sharks circiling the USS Vick, but let us assume for a minute that it is the truth. Everybody now knows that Mike went to prison for eighteen months for his involvement in a rather large and cruel dog fighting ring. He admitted his guilt, lost his high profile job and went to prison. For many this would be the end of the story and they would disappear into the anonymity most of us enjoy. But he chose to try to get his job back and re-enter the limelight and wealth he previously enjoyed. Get out the microscope.

It is the price paid for fame, and it can be expensive. In modern times one must assume at all times he is being photographed. I don't think you can buy a cellphone that doesn't also function as a camera so if you are getting in a cab you better be wearing underwear. But it must be worth it because we create new "media darlings" everyday. We build them up to super human status, follow and record their every move and ultimately watch many crash and burn. Become human again. Sounds expensive to me.

Somehow I have gotten off track of Mike Vick wanting a dog. I'm glad he wants a dog. Humans love dogs. The unconditional love that a dog offers is like no other. I love my cats but it's not the same. I have heard many people say "I love your cat, he acts like a dog". Unlike a cat, a dog only wants to be vice president. He wants to be your body guard and publicist.

"Letting Vick have a dog is like letting a child molester work at a daycare". I heard this on the news last week. I hope this is not true, and I don't think it is. I think it is the perfect time to enlighten him. I think it is the perfect time to let him join the club I have been a member of most of my life. I never knew I loved children until a nurse handed me my own. Granted I had never abused a child before, but I had also never really looked at one either. Other people's children were cute, but they were just things. They were shoes and coffee tables. Just things. I was allowed to join the club with no experience and I'm glad I accepted the invitation.

Let's give Michael Vick a chance to be a member of this club. Let him enjoy the love of a dog that is his own. He doesn't deserve this because he is a famous professional athelete, he deserves this because he is a human being. Maybe deserve is not the right word. Maybe he doesn't deserve anything for what he has done. But the benefits he will recieve from the love of a dog will out weigh the risk. I'm willing to take the chance. If he is not a changed man, he will be when the nurse hands him the baby.

We don't live in a perfect world. People do terrible things to each other everyday. Varying opinions of God give people free reign to treat each other in the most inhuman of ways. Skin color alone has probably caused more deaths than all diseases combined. Somewhere we have to draw a line. We have to understand that while there are many small clubs, they are all a part of a much larger one. The main club. The home office. The human race.

Relentless

Most of the people who have known me for any length of time understand that you never know what I might say next. My little brother always told me that I wasn't necessarily funny, I was just relentless. Just wear em' down. Go for quantity not quality. Maybe, but really I just love to talk. Believe it or not, I do recognize that glazed over look others give me when they are tuning me out, and while it does deter me, it wont stop me. Maybe I am relentless.
According to my parents I "came out talking". I know what they mean, but it's a scary image if you really think about it. As a little baby I told a stranger in the grocery store to " put it back in the sack" when she touched something in our buggy. That must have been weird because the stunned lady turned and walked away. I imagine she looked over her shoulder a time or two because a talking baby is horror movie material, second only to a talking doll. But I had things to say. Still do.
My parents were as tolerate as could be expected. I realize now why they encouraged me to read so much. It was one of the few times my mouth wasn't moving and I was still. Because along with lots to say, I was what old people called "busy". The antiquated version of hyper! Luckily my folks chose not to medicate me. It was popular at the time, but I think their was some fine tuning still to be done on those drugs. Probably still is. But I also realize now that nobody asked me very many questions. If I was not already speaking, why start me up? Just enjoy the peace and quiet because it wont last.
But I love conversation. Always have. As a baby my daughter was the same way. She was ready to communicate! I don't know the real truth about how early I did start talking, but I remember when she did. She started off babbling when she was 5-6 months old and graduated to conversations before she could walk. She either had a lot to say, or was simply trying to get a word in edgewise. Hard to say. But I do know that conversation is contagious. When we get out of the car at home we are greeted by a dog that gives us a 10-12 syllable welcome home. The longer we have been gone, the longer the greeting! I guess he has no one to talk to while we're away.
The biggest problem with talking so much is that you become very familiar with the taste of your own foot. The odds of your saying the wrong thing are greatly increased. I had a friend that was murdered several years ago in Alabama. He had been at my house in Georgia the day before and I was one of the last people to see him alive. The local detectivies had bogged down on solving the case and called me to see if I could offer any tidbit that would help find some answers. They decided to come to Georgia and interview several people that knew the victim. This was fine with me and I was really hoping I could help. When they showed up a few days later and got out of the car in front of my office I was shocked to discover that there were five of them. Hadn't counted on this and I was unsure how I would fit them in my tiny office. It kind of made me nervous as well. As it turned out only one man spoke. The other four took notes and basically just glared at me. No smile, no frown, no emotion whatsoever. Now I was really nervous.
Well I made it through the "interview" without crapping my pants, but I was rambling on like a talk show host. I walked them to their car and while they were handing me business cards and finally making small talk I asked them where exactly the body was found. They told me the location and I said....."huh, my brother lives a few miles from there". There goes the foot!
Well they left anyway, but not before they looked at each other and back at me for a few seconds then shook their heads, eyebrows raised. I was so glad when they finally got in the car and drove away. To this day I think they felt sorry for me. Why in the hell I added that little bit of information (that amounted to nothing) at the end of the interview still puzzles me. I guess I am relentless.

Looking Back

Last night my daughter and I watched "Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer". The 1964 claymation classic that for me has always dropped the green flag for the Christmas season. This year network television chose to air it on November 30, which seems way too early, but that is another topic. I don't remember the first time it aired because I was two years old, and even if I could have understood it then, we probably didn't have a television anyway. I don't think I knew it was in color until sometime in the 70s. But it is a classic. Let the games begin!

Watching it with an almost 14 year old is somewhat of a challenge. A teenager. The time when you adjust to the idea of Santa. The time to go from anticipation to reflection. Logic. A 300lb man and a chimmney don't add up. When the whole family participates in the wink that follows the leaving of cookies and milk for the delivery man. Playing the game that keeps the spirit alive.

I remember a certain Christmas when I was about 6-8 years old. My daddy told us in great detail Christmas morning how he had gotten up in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve because he had heard a strange noise. "Something scratching on the roof" he said, and he had to check it out. When he came down the hallway he noticed a large man in the living room dressed in red. He said it scared him for a few minutes before the man turned to look at him and he realized it was Santa! "What did he say? What did he look like? Did you see the reindeer? Why didn't you wake me up? Why, why, why" A million questions from all three boys. Daddy had actually seen Santa. Wait till I tell my friends.

Well my friends didn't really seem that excited, and they had similiar "Santa encounter"stories of their own. But I thought of this for years. I carried it with me until I came to that gray peroid of decision. The time when common sense and want collided. Why had they tricked me? Why not just give me some presents and take full credit? What about the toothfairy? The easter bunny? This was getting tough. While my friends told me that they knew all along there was no Santa, my parents still said there was. Better go with the home version...just to be on the safe side.

That was a long time ago. Many Christmas' past. And yes, it is tough at times to watch a Christmas classic with a 14 year old, but as we sat there and watched them I still remembered when she was finally old enough for me to tell her about her grandfather's Santa encounter. The scratching on the roof and the man in the red suit slipping quietly through our living room some forty years ago. How he had eaten the cookies and tasted the milk and how the carrots we left for the reindeer had the strangest teeth marks and how the were mysterious drag marks on the roof and in the yard and how the dog never barked and how......and the look on her face tells me all I need to know. It tells me why my parents told me the stories and why she will tell her children them too. Why they will believe for years....just to be on the safe side.