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Wednesday 10feb2010 |
Valentine’s Day
dance from this past Sunday. On Sunday, my two girls and
I went to the annual YMCA Daughter-Daddy Valentine’s Day dance, at the Ramada
Inn. Both girls wore matching dresses
with a pink-heart design. They looked
beautiful. When we arrived at the
dance, dads and daughters were on the floor, dancing to songs ranging from
“Butterfly Kisses” to “YMCA”. My girls
wanted to do the craft, for which there was a 20 minute
line. And
since we were in line for so long, we missed most of the snacks, including
the heart-shaped cookies. By the time we reached the
craft table, the colored sand was gone, and the craft idea deflated into a
less-than-exciting adventure. Sabrina asked, “When are we going home, Daddy?”
with those eyes that pull for attention.
On the way out the door, the YMCA folks had a small candy – a sucker
for Lauren, and a peanut-butter chocolate for Sabrina – and nicely-formed carnations.
“What color would you like?” the woman asked Lauren. “I’ll take that yellow-red one. It’s the only one like it in the bunch.” And Sabrina took
the red carnation. Once we arrived at
home, Sabrina trimmed the carnations and put them in a vase. Later when I asked the girls what was their
favorite part of the dance, they said, “The flower.” That’s what they
remembered best from the day; that flower was their symbol for the day. Symbols capture the
complexity of life and focus it on something tangible and simple. I haven’t yet
decided what will be my symbol that represents my Valentine’s Day with my
beautiful wife Stephanie. How do I capture
10-plus years of marriage, all that we share, all that we are and are
becoming, in a symbol? I don’t think I can.
But then again, maybe I don’t need to capture
it all. Maybe it’s
OK for me just to capture the story of how I feel at the moment. And with
Stephanie, and with my girls, I feel … filled to the brim. |
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Sunday 31jan2010 |
A
CENTER story … President Reagan and Character. The gunshot that changed my
life happened 2 days before my 11th birthday.
It happened at the Washington Hilton, and President Ronald Reagan had
just finished giving a speech to the Construction Trades Council. “After the speech, I left the hotel through
a side entrance and passed a line of press photographers and TV cameras,”
Reagan later wrote. All the major TV
networks were watching the event. And then it happened.
“I was almost to the car when I heard what sounded like two or three
firecrackers over to my left - just a small fluttering sound, pop, pop,
pop.” Of course, Reagan hadn’t heard firecrackers.
He had heard shots from the gun of John Hinckley, Jr. In an instant, Secret Service agent Jerry
Parr bent Reagan at the waist and shoved him into the open limousine
door. Reagan later wrote that as he
landed on the transmission hump, “I felt a pain in my upper back that was
unbelievable. It was the most excruciating pain I had ever felt.” “Get us out of here!” yelled
Parr to the driver. Telling the story in slow
motion doesn’t capture the urgency of the moment. Hinckley’s six shots took two seconds; the
limousine door slammed shut one second later; the President’s car was moving
five seconds later. Reagan yelled to
Parr, “Get off! I think you've broken one of my ribs.” When Parr checked over the President, he
looked OK, so the car headed for the White House. But then Reagan
coughed into his handkerchief, and his hand was covered in “red frothy
blood”. Parr knew that was bad
news. Something must have punctured
the President’s lung; Reagan thought that Jerry Parr had broken one of his
ribs as he landed on top, and perhaps that rib punctured the lung. Parr directed the driver to get to the
George Washington University Hospital.
As they drove, Reagan started looking pale. By the time the limousine reached the
hospital, the doctors and nurses were ready.
The agents jumped out of the car, and Parr reached his hand to help
Reagan out. And then came what Michael Deaver
remembers as “the Reagan Moment”.
Reagan emerged from the car by himself, stood tall, buttoned the
jacket of his brand new blue suit, and walked into the hospital as President
of the United States. He walked
through the doors of the hospital … and then his legs lost their strength and
he had to be caught by others. Later it was
found that one of Hinckley’s bullets had ricocheted off the limousine
door and landed within one inch of the President’s heart. The bullets were in fact explosive-tip
bullets, but none of the six bullets exploded. Reagan later quipped to his wife, “Honey, I
forgot to duck.” In Fall 2001
I heard Peggy Noonan tell this story to Chris Matthews on the TV show Hardball. And it changed my
life. How did President Reagan have
the presence of mind – after being shot – to walk into the hospital with his
dignity? As I pondered it over the
next few days, I considered how Reagan must have built his character over his
seven decades. “Character” was one of
President Reagan’s best friends, and in his time of need, Character was there
with him. What would my character
be? Probably everyone asks himself or
herself a similar question at some point.
What values will Darrell stand for … when tested? Will I crumple into
smallness, or will I be dignified, forgiving, and courageous like President
Reagan? Will
I see the world as being against me, or will I see an opportunity to have an
impact on people as President Reagan did? Will I choose to fall away quietly, or will
I re-dedicate my life to the purpose God has for me? That Christmas 2001 my wife
Stephanie bought me Peggy Noonan’s book When
Character Was King, and also Reagan, In His Own Hand. I raced through both books – I couldn’t set them down.
Reading those books was one of the pivotal events in my life. Maybe many of us have such life changing
events – I hope so. For me, hearing
the story about how our 40th President showed his character in a
time of crisis launched me on a journey that continues to the present day. |
TO READ … Noonan, When Character was King. (p 167-172). http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reagan_assassination_attempt |
