Katdish.net

If you were standing here with me in the bedroom, you would hear what I’m hearing. It’s plain as day, too, despite the fact that between us and the noise there is a door, a fan, and running water. And you would likely grin as I am grinning. I always do when my son sings in the shower.

I can’t recognize the tune—he likes to make up his own songs, which sometimes rhyme but most often don’t. I heard a reference to Santa a minute ago, and something about macaroni not being as good without the cheese. A deep thinker, my son.

He likes to sing in the shower. My daughter and wife, too. Me, I’ve always been more of a truck singer. Give me a good song and an open road, and I can really belt it out. And I’m a pretty good pew singer, too, though I’m conscious not to raise my voice so high that others take notice. In my head I sing like Harry Connick, Jr., but I’ve heard I sound more like Homer Simpson. I try to take that as a compliment, which takes some effort.

Still I sing, and often. And no matter who you are or how gruff you appear to be, the odds are good that you sing upon occasion, too.

But have you ever asked yourself why? On the surface, singing has no practical purpose. We use words because we must communicate, we laugh and cry to show emotion, we use our thoughts to order our world. So why sing rather than talk or laugh or think?

I’ve asked my son that question. His answer came by way of a furrowed brow that said, Don’t be stupid, Daddy.

Still, I wonder. We don’t need to sing in order to lead productive and fulfilling lives, so why do we?

I think this season tells us.

Christmas was made for singing. There is music everywhere. In stores and on street corners and on the radio (as I write this, Brad Paisley is singing “Away in a Manger”). They are songs of joy and peace and hope and goodwill toward men. Songs that when sung take your eyes off what you see and put them on what you cannot.

Like this, for instance:

Maybe that’s why we sing.

Because when we give melody to voice we communicate and emote and order all at once. Because the contents of the heart are so many that sometimes they cannot be dripped out, but poured forth. Because there is joy and longing and love and passion that words alone do not suffice.

We sing to reach our deeper selves and ascend to the highest heavens. It is thanksgiving and praise, a call for healing and inspiration. Thousands of years later, the words of Isaiah still ring true: “Praise the Lord in song, for He has done excellent things; Let this be known throughout the earth.”

That’s what I think. And to me, it doesn’t matter if it’s Handel or “Jingle Bells.” It’s one of those precious things in life that always makes you feel better in the during and the after.

Just ask my son.

(The following is one of my all time favorite posts from Billy. It’s also the very first guest post on my blog. If you’ve read it before, I hope you’ll indulge me for posting it again.)

The toy store downtown is one of those mom-and-pop deals that you can get lost in, the sort of place where you can find things that Toys R Us would never think of stocking. Good things. Great things. Things that really, really make me wish I were a kid again. Which makes shopping there both a pleasure and a curse. A pleasure because there is so much I’d like to get my kids for two weeks of chores well done. A curse because I can’t make up my mind what to get them.

So, there on a Wednesday during lunch, I wander. And in my wandering I happen to spot a Longaberger basket sitting atop a wooden display of toy soldiers (Toy soldiers, I think to myself. My son would love some toy soldiers).

In the basket is a pile of those long, thick pretzel sticks. The sign above them says PLEASE TAKE ONE.
Given the fact that it’s lunchtime and I’m hungry, that’s exactly what I do. I take one and munch while I walk. Through the Legos, the building blocks, the books, the dolls. Through the Tonka trucks and coloring books and Play Doh.

And I am back to where I started. At the basket of pretzels.

Still unsure of what to buy and still hungry, I decide to restock and take another trip around the store. I reach into the basket for another pretzel. And as I bite it, I see something out of the corner of my eye.
Standing beside the stuffed animals about four feet away is a little boy. Sixish, not much older than my son, and staring. At me. He holds out one fist and raises his index finger.

One, it says.

I wrinkle my eyebrows, unsure of what his attempt at sign language means.

One, again.

“What?” I ask him (which actually came out as “Wamp?” because I hadn’t swallowed yet).

“You took two pretzels,” he says.

“So?”

“You’re only ‘posed to take one.”

“Who are you” I ask, “the pretzel police?”

“It’s what the sign says,” he states, now using his index finger to point. “Mama said the sign says ‘Please take one.”

I look at the sign, then back to him. “No,” I answer, “the sign says ‘Please take one.’ There’s a difference. It’s all a matter of emphasis.”

“What’s empkasis?”

“Never mind,” I say.

“You shouldn’t have taken that pretzel. Mama says God watches us.”

My mind takes a sudden detour to those old Disney movies, where the older, bigger kid was always accompanied by Jiminy Cricket, Mr. Disney’s version of a conscience. I’m starting to think this kid is my Jiminy Cricket. Or maybe just aggravating. I haven’t made up my mind yet.

“Your mama’s right,” I answer, wondering where in the world his mama was. “But since God knows the sign says ‘Please take one,’ I think I’m in the clear.”

“Please. Take. One,” he corrects.

There we stand in the middle of the store, staring down one another like two gunslingers in a Western wondering who would draw first.

PLEASE TAKE ONE. An invitation to me, a rule for him. Which was right? I’m not as sure as I was a few minutes ago.

How do we decide who is right and who is wrong? Easy.

Go ask the owner of the store.

“Excuse me,” I say to the nice lady behind the counter. “I was wondering if you could shed a little light on a problem this youngin’ and I are having.”

She perks up and joins us, happy to have something to do.

“We were wondering about this sign here,” I say. “Is it please take one, or please take one?”

The owner gives us both a strange look. “Well, I’m not sure. No one’s ever asked.”

“It’s preyin’ on our minds, ma’am,” the boy says.

“Preyin’,” I add.

“If you’d like a pretzel,” she says, “please take one. If you’d like another, you can take one, too.”

Excellent.

“Can I have a pretzel?” the boy asks.

Situation resolved, the three of us part ways. Him to his mother, who had been preoccupied with the books, the owner back to the register, and me to finish my shopping.

Funny, I think, how three words led us this far. But I am sure of this: if two people can disagree over something as simple as pretzels, it’s no wonder why we disagree over the important things even more—politics and God, right and wrong, war and peace.

Who’s to know which is right and which is wrong? Or even if there really is a right and wrong? How do we settle our differences, put away our prejudices, and find the truth?

Maybe, I thought, we should all do what that little boy and I ended up doing.

Maybe we should all go the Owner of the store and see what He says.

To read more from Billy Coffey, visit him at at his website and follow him on the twitter at @billycoffey.

You could call Jimmy Henderson a lot of things—and many people have—but everyone agrees that above all, he is prepared. And in his mind we all should be, given the evil that lurks about.

Jimmy keeps an eye on all that malevolence. Drive by his house, and you’ll see no less than four newspaper boxes. His magazine interests range from the far left of the political arena to the far right, including such publications as Field and Stream and Backwoods Living. “Just in case,” he says. “Because you know they’re coming eventually. They’re coming for us all.”

In Jimmy’s case, They is the government (or some secret shadow puppet government, I can’t really remember which). He weathered the Carter administration well enough and barely got through eight years of Clinton, but Jimmy thinks he’s met his match with the current resident of the White House. He’s seen the documentaries and read the books, and he’s genuinely scared. So much so that Jimmy’s starting to worry that his Tea Party membership and flying one of those “Don’t Tread on Me” flags in front of his house just won’t be enough to stem the tide.

And he’s not alone. Lots of people are scared now. Bad times breed bad thoughts, and sometimes we see monsters where only shadows lie. For every person like Jimmy who’s convinced President Obama is about to bring down the country, there is another who thought the same about President Bush. There is an inherent distaste for government in most people. It isn’t easy for us to trust those in power, and I think there’s good cause for that. I also think the reason why our country has been so important for so long is because that inherent distrust was shared by the very men who created it.

But to be in power doesn’t necessarily mean to be in charge, and I think that’s where Jimmy’s confused. And I think his fear was born from a sense of powerlessness that can creep up on everyone when we begin to feel as though the world is crashing down. What frightens Jimmy more than black helicopters and government conspiracies is the simple fact that he thinks his voice doesn’t matter anymore. It’s being drowned in the deluge of spin and the shouting in the public square between parties.

It isn’t very often that I delve into the political in the things I write. It’s a subject that’s too touchy, and rarely is there anything of worth that can come of it. But I’ll make an exception in Jimmy’s case, if only because it’s something applicable to anyone, whether liberal or conservative or independent.

It is this:

In this country we have neither king nor queen, merely representatives of our own wills who must abide by the very laws we adhere to. Their jobs are just as dependent upon us as our jobs are upon their policies and committees.

If there is a tide that must be stemmed, it cannot be done through fear and anger or accusations and snipe. It is instead done in the privacy of the voting booth and in the sacredness of our homes. It is done in the raising of our children and the desire to end each day as better people than we were at the start of it.

Because what is true for Jimmy is true for me and for you—in the end, the future of our country doesn’t depend upon what goes on in the White House, but what goes on in our houses.

To read more from Billy Coffey, visit him at at his website and follow him on the twitter at @billycoffey.

As a teacher, my wife has corralled fourth-graders, mentored high schoolers, and endured the rants of countless bemused parents. As a mother, she has changed dirty diapers, cleaned vomit off the couch, and has no reservations about sticking her hands into the goop that collects in the sink strainer after the dishes are washed. She is a courageous soul, yes. There are none braver. I honestly believe this.

But she has not ventured near the mailbox for about a week now. She’s scared, she says. Because lurking there far in the back corner is a spider has taken shelter from the cold November air.

My wife does not like spiders. Not just the tarantulas or the black widows, either. She’s afraid of the teeny ones, the daddy longlegs, and those little furry black ones that like to hop, too. They are evil, she says, though she lacks the evidence to back that up. On those infrequent occasions when my wife has nightmares, spiders are often the primary antagonist. They’re in her hair or her food, and once they were even in our bed (it’s never a good thing to be awakened at three in the morning by a temporarily insane spouse exclaiming, “They’re going to eat us!!”).

Taking care of the spider was my job, which was done easily enough with the rolled up edge of the day’s Wal-Mart advertisement. It didn’t seem like a victory, not even a small one, but as I flicked spider guts onto the grass my imagination kicked in and I began to ponder.

What if I wouldn’t have been there?

Various scenarios were played out in my head. My wife would have never again checked the mailbox. Days upon days of junk mail and catalogs and bills would have piled up. Especially bills. Bills that would go unpaid, which would eventually lead to the electricity being turned off and then the gas, and then the water. Foreclosure would soon come. My wife and children would have lost everything, abandoned to a life of homelessness and destitution. All because I wasn’t around to kill the spider in the mailbox.

Okay, so maybe not. Maybe my wife would have ended up asking a neighbor to kill the spider or she would have just paid the bills online. But still, my responsibilities around the house to ensure domestic tranquility seemed at that moment pretty amazing.

I keep the yard and the vehicles up. I do the painting and hammering and sawing. I fix what is broken (and occasionally break what is fixed). I unstop the toilet. I kill the snakes and scare off the bears. I shovel the driveway and seed the grass and take the trash out.

When my kids go to bed at night, it’s me they wanted to make sure is in the next room. Not their mother, as important as she is. Their father. Because in the eyes of children, every father is a freaky combination of Old West gunslinger and Jedi knight—big and strong, wise and unflappable. At least, that’s the way it should be.

Men have a tough go at it nowadays. We’re not really allowed to be the people our father’s were, strong and stoic and tough. People in these modern times expect men to be in touch with their feelings, to be softer and not harder. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe. I don’t know.

But I do know this: in the corner of the dining room, right by the backdoor, another spider has taken up residence. I saw it this evening. And I’m pretty sure it saw me, too. I doubt that spiders hold men in high regard. After all, we’re the only people keeping them from overtaking the world.

***

To read more from Billy Coffey, visit him at at his website and follow him on the twitter at @billycoffey.

Sheesh! Apparently these questions were quite a bit harder than I thought they would be. Heck, even Billy got one of them wrong! But here’s Billy with the answers:

Question 1:Writing wasn’t Billy’s first career choice. What were his career plans in high school?
a) Mail carrier
b) Professional baseball player
c) College professor
d) MMA cage fighter
e) None of the above

The correct answer is B, professional baseball player. And you know what? All these years later, I’ll still have dreams at night that I’m hitting a baseball.

Question 2:Billy loves his Blue Ridge Mountains, but he also feels at home at:
a) The Rivah (or “The River” for you non-Virginians)
b) The beach
c) Richmond, VA
d) Washington, D.C.

That’s also B. There’s a certain freedom that only salt air and endless sea can provide. If I don’t get to the beach at least once a year, I’m a wreck.

Question 3:Billy once wrote that if God had made him an animal, he would be a:
a) snake
b) wolf
c) bear
d) eagle
e) bulldog

B yet again. An old Apache once told me so. And no, I’m not kidding.

Question 4:Billy Coffey has a few comfort foods. Which of the following is NOT one of them?
a) Beef jerky
b) Chocolate covered pecans
c) Starbuck’s coffee ice cream
d) Jolly Rancher jelly beans
e) Peanuts and Coca Cola

B – Who in the world eats chocolate covered pecans?

Question 5:
Billy once unknowingly tried to pick a fight with a group of:
a) Secret service agents
b) Black Panthers
c) Professional wrestlers
d) Navy SEALS

That would be D. Though in my defense, I did not know they were Navy SEALS. And thank you, Jesus, for making them very polite guys.

Question 6:Snow Day was not originally written as a novel. What was it presented to the publisher as?
a) Spiritual memoir
b) autobiography
c) self-help book
d) a collection of short stories

A – Snow Day was originally written as a spiritual memoir.

Question 7:Billy counts as one of his special talents his ability to:
a) hula hoop
b) fall asleep just about anywhere
c) ride a unicycle
d) say the alphabet backwards without pausing

B – I have fallen asleep while standing, sitting, lying down (of course), talking, and reading. I once even fell asleep in the shower. Strangely enough, I do not suffer from narcolepsy. Chalk it up to late night writing sessions.

Question 8:Billy’s maternal grandfather was a missionary. Which of the following countries did he NOT travel to?:
a) Turkey
b) Haiti
c) Russia
d) Japan

D – My grandfather never went to Japan. He was kidnapped by voodoo practitioners in Haiti and claimed to have found a piece of Noah’s ark in Turkey, but he never went to Japan. Bet he would’ve loved it, though.

Question 9:True or False: Snow Day is the first book Billy has ever written.

False. It’s just the first book I’ve written that managed to get published…

Question 10:Who does Billy Coffey consider to be his hero?
a) Jack Bauer
b) Don Mattingly
c) His dad
d) All of the above
e) None of the above

D – All of the above, and mostly because all three embody everything I want to be as a man. Even if one of them is fictional. (Which would be A).

Question 11:Billy Coffey has referred to himself as “the Cal Ripkin of not puking.” When was the last time he threw up?
a) March 31, 2001
b) December 24, 1995
c) January 1, 1989
d) Last Friday

That would be B – Christmas Eve, 1995. There are a few things in my life that I am supremely proud of. That is one of them.

Question 12:The first blog post I ever read by Billy Coffey was entitled “The Fruit Salad”. In the comments section, I referred to him as:
a) A gifted storyteller
b) The next Max Lucado
c) A jerk
d) None of the above

C – That’s right, C. Seriously people, this is Katdish we’re talking about.

Question 13:Shortly after I left the aforementioned comment on “What I Learned Today”, I received my first blog comment from Billy Coffey. It was:
a) Thanks for visiting my blog. Nice to “meet” you.
b) My grandmother has forgiven me for dropping the “f” bomb on her.
c) Please stop leaving snarky comments on my blog. Who do you think you are?
d) I. LOVE. This. Blog.

D. And that’s something she seems to constantly remind me.

Question 14:Shortly before Billy Coffey started writing his regular Monday posts here, I wrote an introduction post. What was the main reason I cited for asking him to guest post for me?
a) my desire to help him broaden his audience
b) lack of writing time due to several upcoming painting jobs
c) an attempt to class up the place
d) in increase in female readership

B again.

Editor’s Note: Lack of writing time due to several upcoming painting jobs was what I told Billy, the main reason cited in my introduction post was D - An increase in female readership. (Incidentally, my favorite comment from that post came from Wendy at Weight… What: “Using Billy as man-candy? Shame on you! Now do it some more.”

Question 15:Billy’s next novel is called “Paper Angels”. It is the story of:
a) a young southern boy and his love of origami.
b) a man with a guardian angel he can actually see and talk to
c) a rookie first baseman for the California Angels baseball team
d) a murder mystery set in a small logging community

Paper Angels is about a man named Andy Sommerville, who is either cursed (which he believes at first) or blessed (which he believes later on) to have his guardian angel as a best friend.

So there you have it, folks. No one (including Billy) answered all of the questions correctly. However, the person who had the least number of questions wrong and the winner of a personally autographed copy of Snow Day is a long time reader of Billy’s writing, so it seems only fitting that she should win. Congratulations…

Joanne Sher!

I’ll have one more giveaway before Christmas, so you still have a chance to win. Thanks to everyone who participated. I hope you enjoyed getting to know a little bit more about the man behind the cowboy hat.

Okay, not really. Made you look, though, huh?

I have been so impressed with the great reviews for Snow Day and excited about all the giveaways, interviews and general excitement for Billy Coffey’s debut novel.

I thought about doing a review or an interview, and I still may do the latter, but for now I wanted to give y’all a chance to win a very special copy of Snow Day—one personally autographed by the author himself.

But you’re gonna have to work for it, so I have compiled a list of trivia questions to test your Billy Coffey knowledge AND, since this is my blog and all, me. Ready? Here we go:

Question 1:Writing wasn’t Billy’s first career choice. What were his career plans in high school?

a) Mail carrier

b) Professional baseball player

c) College professor

d) MMA cage fighter

e) None of the above

Question 2:Billy loves his Blue Ridge Mountains, but he also feels at home at:

a) The Rivah (or “The River” for you non-Virginians)

b) The beach

c) Richmond, VA

d) Washington, D.C.

Question 3:Billy once wrote that if God had made him an animal, he would be a:

a) snake

b) wolf

c) bear

d) eagle

e) bulldog

Question 4:Billy Coffey has a few comfort foods. Which of the following is NOT one of them?

a) Beef jerky

b) Chocolate covered pecans

c) Starbuck’s coffee ice cream

d) Jolly Rancher jelly beans

e) Peanuts and Coca Cola

Question 5:

Billy once unknowingly tried to pick a fight with a group of:

a) Secret service agents

b) Black Panthers

c) Professional wrestlers

d) Navy SEALS

Question 6:Snow Day was not originally written as a novel. What was it presented to the publisher as?

a) Spiritual memoir

b) autobiography

c) self-help book

d) a collection of short stories

Question 7:Billy counts as one of his special talents his ability to:

a) hula hoop

b) fall asleep just about anywhere

c) ride a unicycle

d) say the alphabet backwards without pausing

Question 8:Billy’s maternal grandfather was a missionary. Which of the following countries did he NOT travel to?:

a) Turkey

b) Haiti

c) Russia

d) Japan

Question 9:True or False: Snow Day is the first book Billy has ever written.

Question 10:Who does Billy Coffey consider to be his hero?

a) Jack Bauer

b) Don Mattingly

c) His dad

d) All of the above

e) None of the above

Question 11:Billy Coffey has referred to himself as “the Cal Ripkin of not puking.” When was the last time he threw up?

a) March 31, 2001

b) December 24, 1995

c) January 1, 1989

d) Last Friday

Question 12:The first blog post I ever read by Billy Coffey was entitled “The Fruit Salad”. In the comments section, I referred to him as:

a) A gifted storyteller

b) The next Max Lucado

c) A jerk

d) None of the above

Question 13:Shortly after I left the aforementioned comment on “What I Learned Today”, I received my first blog comment from Billy Coffey. It was:

a) Thanks for visiting my blog. Nice to “meet” you.

b) My grandmother has forgiven me for dropping the “f” bomb on her.

c) Please stop leaving snarky comments on my blog. Who do you think you are?

d) I. LOVE. This. Blog.

Question 14:Shortly before Billy Coffey started writing his regular Monday posts here, I wrote an introduction post. What was the main reason I cited for asking him to guest post for me?

a) my desire to help him broaden his audience

b) lack of writing time due to several upcoming painting jobs

c) an attempt to class up the place

d) in increase in female readership

Question 15:Billy’s next novel is called “Paper Angels”. It is the story of:

a) a young southern boy and his love of origami.

b) a man with a guardian angel he can actually see and talk to

c) a rookie first baseman for the California Angels baseball team

d) a murder mystery set in a small logging community

So there you have it. Rather than leaving your answers in the comments section, thereby allowing others to copy you, I will be accepting answers via email at katdishrich@gmail.com until Sunday, November 15, 11:00 pm EST. The answers and the winner (or winners) will be announced on Monday, November 16.

Good luck to you all. And as with all my contests here at katdish.net (formerly Hey look a chicken), please NO WAGERING.

I am a big believer in the value of chores in the life of a child. My kids work. They keep their rooms clean, help clear the table after dinner, dust, and pitch in with the yard work. They even clean the bathrooms. And by doing such, they are introduced to what will one day become one of the most basic tenets of their lives—if you work and do a good job, you will be compensated accordingly.

But there is one chore that requires a No Children Allowed sign to be hung from it. In big, bold letters that are underlined and italicized.

They are not to help me wash the vehicles.

Never.

The reasons are pretty selfish. I’m man enough to admit that. And it’s a pride thing, too. I like my wife’s car and my truck clean. Spotless, even. I like the windshield completely free of bug guts, the tires shined, the wheels polished. I like the fact that a doctor could perform open heart surgery on my dashboard. Such things are important to me, as they should be to any man.

The problem, of course, is that having two kids involved makes the proper cleaning of a vehicle impossible. More often than not, they’re the ones responsible for the mess in the first place—the cracker crumbs, the soda stains, the castoff M&M that has melted into the seat. Ask them to clean that up, and you’ll only wind up with a bigger mess.

Which is why I always very politely and very casually brush their pleas aside whenever they ask to help. Usually works, too. But it didn’t last night. No amount of brushing aside would silence the chorus of “Please, Daddy?” My children employed one of their most powerful weapons in getting me to do what they wanted—they couldn’t convince me, so they just wore me down.

I decided to limit the damage by prohibiting them to handle the water hose and the vacuum. Those would be mine alone to control. So while I cleaned the interior, I put them on trash detail. Everything that couldn’t be sucked up the hose was their responsibility. And as we’d driven 140 miles the day before to a wedding, there was much to keep them busy.

My son found the Star Wars action figure he knew he’d left in the dirt outside the reception hall. The momentary shout of glee resulted in my daughter dancing for him, which evolved in the two of them dancing together in the back of the SUV, which then devolved into an impromptu light saber fight with the vacuum hose as a prop. I settled them down, but not before my son claimed victory by sucking half of my daughter’s hair into the hose.

I tried to keep them on task. Couldn’t. A stray Crayon and torn napkin found under the seat was reason enough for an art lesson. A forgotten pack of Tic-Tacs started a shoving match. The heat made them tired and cranky.

Washing the outside only made things worse. My daughter wanted to be in charge of the rinsing, but chose to rinse everything besides the truck. She rinsed the driveway and the grass and the neighbor’s dog. She rinsed her brother (yet another shoving match). And my son’s wash-whatever-you-want-however-you-want-to philosophy with the sponge didn’t help.

It was all too much for one adult to handle, so I did what any mature father would do.

I snapped.

I asked my daughter for the hose and my son for the sponge, then proceeded to drown them both in suds and water. They raced around the truck to hide. I found them. My son tried to crawl through the grass and escape. I pulled him back. But by then my daughter had managed to get the hose back, and she sprayed me. I kinked the hose and held it until she wondered what had happened and pointed the nozzle toward her face. The three of us ended in an exhausted heap in the front yard. The only words were uttered by my son, who looked up at the clouds and said, “That was the most awesome thing ever!”

We didn’t get the truck washed last night.

It’s sitting in the driveway with splotches of dirt mixed with small areas of cleanliness. It looks like a mechanical zebra.

But that’s okay. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.

Because there is a time for chores and a time for fun, and sometimes there is a time for both.

To read more from Billy Coffey visit him at What I Learned Today and follow him on the twitter at @billycoffey.

In light of the fact that Halloween is just around the corner (and that a certain blogger/author is a little busy right now), I’ve decided to re-run a post Billy Coffey wrote for this blog last year. I certainly enjoyed this peek into Billy’s secret fears just as much this time around. Besides, it’s given me some great Christmas gift ideas. Here’s Billy:

It’s a little ironic that though I tend to be a bit picture kind of guy, it’s hours and days I’m more interested in than months and years. What’s happening down the road doesn’t really concern me. What’s happening now does. This is why I tend to pay much more attention to my watch than my calendar.

This is also why it’s a good thing God made department stores. Otherwise, I would not know what holiday is upon us.

The department stores here say that Halloween will be soon. There are costumes and candy and ghouls and, even, greeting cards. You know you’ve arrived as a holiday when you get your own greeting cards. Halloween is getting big.

And I think it should be big, if for no other reason than it focuses upon one of the great issues of our lives.

Fear.

In the interest of writing-frees-the-soul, I can confess that I normally do not talk about my fears. I’ll even go so far as to say that I go to certain lengths to maintain the lie that I do not have any. I do have fears. Many, in fact. And I don’t care who you are, how tough you happen to be, or how much faith you have, you’re scared of something, too.

However. The thing about fear is that it’s often a very big shadow of a very little thing. Dragging it out into the light and seeing it for what it is can be a liberating experience, or so I’ve heard. So it’s along those lines that I will blaze the trail for anyone else who might read this and admit those things that send a shiver up my spine and force me to sleep with the light on.

Zombies


Ghosts? Ghosts don’t bother me. And I laugh at monsters. Vampires run from ME. But zombies freak me out. I think it’s the slow but steady movement. Zombies are patient, and I don’t understand patience. Honestly, the whole taste for human flesh thing doesn’t really bother me as much as the ratty clothes, the pale skin, and that “AAAHHHH” sound they make. Zombies are the worst creatures in the world. I don’t care who you are, if you turn into a zombie and come at me, I’ma killin’ you.

Clowns


The fear of clowns is shared by so many people that it actually has a clinical name—coulrophobia. Stephen King wrote about Pennywise the Clown in It. John Wayne Gacy, one of the worst serial killers in history, dressed as Pogo the Clown for children’s birthday parties. And who can forget Crazy Joe Davola on Seinfeld? He dressed as a clown, too. And he was crazy.

Ventriloquist Dummies

Parenting is all about doing your best to narrow the wide gulf between you and your children, which is much more difficult than it sounds. Often it seems as if your side of the gulf is higher than your children’s, or vice versa. You both speak a different language and have different priorities. Communication, then, can at times be an exercise in frustration and futility. It’s no wonder entire nations can’t get along, what with families struggling to do the same.

Where I get tripped up with my own kids sometimes is the belief that the flow of information can only flow in one direction—me to them. Which makes sense. I’m older and more experienced in the ways of the world. I’ve been where they are. They can’t say the same about me. And as Daddy, it’s my job to pass on to them what little bits of wisdom I can find.

Lately, it’s been the eternal.

As in, keep your minds on what isn’t temporary. Things like good fortune and happiness will sometimes be there and sometimes not, so it’s best to enjoy them while you can but not hang onto them too tightly. It’s a difficult point to get across to my children; their lives are bombarded by the temporary. It’s not just that their worries and fears revolve around things that won’t matter in the end, their attention revolves around them, too.

Better, I’ve told them, to focus on the things that last. That you can depend on being there.

I never bothered to question the wisdom of this, mostly because I didn’t think I had to. It was self-evident. Common sense.

My children seemed to grasp this philosophy well enough, at least in the God sense. It made sense to them that God will always be there, so He’s the one they should count on. Next came family, then came others. Yes! That’s Daddy preachin’.

I thought I was doing a good job until I thought maybe I wasn’t. Because I slowly began to realize that a lot of the things that make my children happiest are the ones that come and go.

Over the past year, I’ve seen their eyes light up as a shooting star fell over their heads.

I’ve seen them giggle and chase fireflies.

Seen them ooh and ahh over fireworks.

I’ve seen them pass precious hours lying in the backyard grass and staring at clouds, trying to decide which is a dog and which is a lollipop. They’ve caught snowflakes on their tongues. Watched deer graze.

None of these things last. A shooting star passes in seconds, and fireflies blink in and out in an instant. Fireworks pop and glow and then die into a black night. Clouds pass. The snow falls and then melts. The deer fill their stomachs and retreat back into the woods.

And yet these are the moments they seem to cherish, just as much as God and family.

I’ve considered asking them why this is so. I haven’t. I think it’s one of those things they would have a hard time explaining to someone like me, who’s still trying to figure some things out.

But I think I know the answer without having to ask. I think this is how they praise God. They appreciate the eternal by embracing the momentary. Those little moments that pass so quickly and may never come our way again aren’t to be shunned, they’re to be held tight.

Maybe this is just another case of my kids being mostly right and me being kind of wrong. The eternal is important, no doubt about it. But maybe the temporary is too, if for no other reason than because it doesn’t last.

To read more from Billy Coffey, visit him at his blog What I Learned Today and follow him on twitter at @BillyCoffey

October 11, 2010 was the official release of Snow Day by Billy Coffey. (Available at a bookstore near you. Buy early, buy often.)

This is Billy’s time in the spotlight, so I won’t take up too much of your time. But I wanted to take this opportunity to express my gratitude to some people.

First, to my family—who have graciously allowed me to spend countless hours on the computer that could have been spent with them. For understanding that sometimes you give of your time and talents not for personal gain or recognition, but simply because it’s the right thing to do. You’ve been my own personal cheering section.

To my bloggy pals who have been with me from the early days of Hey Look a Chicken. You believed in and supported Billy’s work because I asked you to. And even though his work never needed my endorsement, just the fact that you believed in him because I did means a lot. Y’all are friggintastic.

To Billy’s readers/friends, and for those of you whose paths I’ve crossed somewhere along the way—thank you all for welcoming this brash, outspoken, sometimes snarky and often ridiculous blogger into your midst. It’s been wonderful getting to know you all.

To Peter Pollock—I could never say thank you enough for all that you’ve done. Billy’s website would never have happened without you. You took the vision in my mind and translated it flawlessly into reality and you continue to provide excellent technical and moral support to my very demanding self. You truly are a prince.

And finally to Billy—
It’s been quite an adventure, no? Thank you for putting your trust in a virtual stranger almost 2 years ago who had no idea what she was doing, but let me figure it out along the way. Thank you for allowing me to read your words before sharing them with the rest of the world, and most of all, thank you for not giving up on your dreams, even when they seemed so far out of reach. The world would be a darker, less hopeful place without your stories.

Of all the lessons you’ve learned during this roller coaster ride—about faith and trust, about honor and friendship, if you take nothing else away from this experience, I hope you’ve learned this one undeniable truth:

I AM ALWAYS RIGHT!

ALWAYS.

(Snort!)