The Graduate

This past Friday I had the opportunity and the honor to do something I never thought I would . . . watch my baby girl walk across a stage and receive her undergraduate degree in communications.

A big deal for any parent, but an especially big deal for me. In 2003 I authorized a ‘do not resuscitate’ while in the back of an ambulance with some wicked bad chest pain.

In 2006, don’t you suppose while walking up the stairs carrying a gallon of paint, that same old feeling came  back and I drove myself to Innovis while having the second heart attack. This one left me with 28% cardiac capacity, which is not so good. That level of heart failure often carries a 5 year survival rate.

Since then I’ve learned a couple things: don’t authorize a ‘DNR’ order for a heart attack. They can generally jump start you and everything’s fine. Secondly, driving yourself to the hospital is a dumb idea. I put the car in drive and nearly drove through the wall of my garage, and then nearly hit the hospital’s emergency room entrance. Third, people with that level of heart failure tend to be in their 80’s and, duh, what do you think the survival rate is for ANYONE in their 80’s?

The reality existed I wouldn’t see my kids grow up.

How a parent could possibly throw away their son or daughter based on who that child falls in love with is beyond me.

Americans are all about having choices. Sometimes death takes those choices away. You can believe there is nothing in this world my kids could do that could make their daddy choose to stop loving them.

Today’s Gay Agenda: call Jan again and tell her how proud I am of what she’s accomplished. Remind her that boys only have one thing on their mind, and it ain’t doing their Sunday School lesson. Listen to her sigh and say “Daaaaaad”.