Happy 43rd Birthday to My Oldest Son…

Joshua – 1977…
You probably don’t remember that day. Even for me it now seems like it was another universe. It was your first birthday. We called Fort Ord California home and, as it was with most Army families, we were as penniless as the winos down along the banks of the Salinas River. Your mother baked you a chocolate cake from a .29 cent box mix and decorated it with some homemade icing. We stripped you down to your diaper and sat you in your highchair while we sang birthday songs to you. You laughed as you crumbled your cake into oblivion.

Dumb Joke – My daughter has learned to count.

Yesterday, we took our daughter to a friend’s house to attend their son’s 5th birthday party. We were exhausted when we got home so she went right to bed and I fell asleep watching the ball game. At about 11:50 last night I felt a tug on my sleeve.
“Daddy,” she whispered. “Guess how old I’m going to be next month.”
“I don’t know, beauty,” I said as I slipped on my glasses. “How old?”
She smiled and held up four fingers.
It is 7:30 now.
My wife and I have been up with her for almost 8 hours.
She still refuses to tell us where she got them.

Author Unknown

As always my friends, if you enjoyed this post, please don’t forget to click LIKE or drop me a COMMENT, I’d love to know how things are going with you. Don’t forget to hit the FOLLOW button.

Flash Friday – Quick to Forget

For a couple of weeks the phone calls and cards expressed sympathies. Then as suddenly as death itself, they stopped. For the next year, things reminded me of her; a favorite song on the radio or someone would cook a dish she liked. Now, I only remember her twice a year. On her birthday I tweet she would’ve been 104. I wish her a happy birthday in Heaven. As if they had birthdays in Heaven. On the anniversary of her death I post on Facebook how I miss her and quickly scroll on to the next newsfeed.
Oh look…tiny goats.

Real Life Friday — My Brother David

He loathes the city with all its bright lights, glitzy neon signs and noise that makes it impossible to think. It seems to demand every second of his attention, always screaming at him, “Focus on me and don’t you dare look away.” Yet, it has never offered him anything in exchange for his obedience, except a headache.

He is an open field of wildflowers, a tree lined ridge, the coolness of a slow moving creek, a dog at his side and a pole in his hand. He needs the softness of grass under his feet. He is a country boy.